A Solitary Heart (19 page)

knowledge of sex was that of a textbook kind. She knew all about the

facts of sexual frustration and fulfilment, but she had never

experienced them for herself, and her body was an untapped vessel.

She had never before considered herself to be a prude. She had

kissed, and indulged in some petting with a few of her dates, but it

had always been a light, mild sort of pleasure that did not stir the

heart and mind to uncontrollable recklessness. In consequence, she

had found it almost too ridiculously easy to refrain from going to bed

with anyone, and had gradually come to assume that she would wait

until she could give her virginity to her husband. It had seemed, in

the cold-blooded light of day, to be one more asset she could bring to

a marriage, especially in today's society when the indulgence of

casual sex carried its own dangers.

But Matthew called upon something ingrained and atavistic in her.

Effortlessly they seemed to strike right at the heart of each other's

archetypal instinct.

Him. Making her crazy, infuriating her, pushing her, pursuing her,

driving her where he wanted her to go. Sian's tousled head turned

restlessly on her pillow. She was tired of running, tired of denying,

tired of reasons and fears. She was tired of being pushed too far

without culmination. What to do about it? Pare to the essence in the

hunt for resolution, damn the consequences, and shove him back.

She smiled slowly, green eyes glowing, and for the first time since

meeting Matthew felt at peace.

Decision was a wanton lady.

After a time, she stirred herself to prosaic action, tidied and made her

bed, searched through her luggage for the small cloth bag that held

her cleansing cream and toothbrush. When she slipped down the hall

to the bathroom, it was empty, so she entered, locked the door behind

her and stood for several minutes under a stinging, cool shower

spray. It soothed her hot, flushed body and cleared her mind and,

after shampooing and soaping all over, she went back to the study

and pulled on a black vest top and a loose, comfortable pair of sky-

blue bermuda shorts.

She'd had time to remember why Matt had come to wake her up, and

went to the kitchen in search of him. The scent of fresh coffee filled

the air as she rounded the corner.

Matt had donned a white T-shirt and was busy at the butcher block

counter, halving grapefruit. Though she had moved silently, his

tawny head lifted and he turned to the doorway.

His expression was very serious, the hazel eyes overshadowed in a

way she had never seen before. They moved over her pale, carved

face and steady gaze, and, with a slight shake of his head, he sighed

and said, 'Sian, I am sorry.'

The deep self-accusation in his voice cut her to the quick, so she cut

back, with verbal stiletto. 'Ooh,' she cooed sweetly, 'regrets so soon?

That doesn't augur well for any future visits, does it, darling?'

His head reared back. He stared at her narrowly. 'Are you all right?'

She gave him a tight, sour smile and strolled into the room. 'I won't

pretend that I'm not—disturbed.'

He laid down his knife and took a step forward, and stopped dead

when she jerked back in instant reaction. 'Do you know,' he said then,

sounding so very odd, 'that I wouldn't want to hurt you for anything?'

'What's the matter, Matthew,' she mocked, cocking her head to one

side, 'are you afraid I'll break? Going to handle me with kid gloves?

It's a trifle late for that, don't you think?'

He averted his face sharply, nostrils flared, and admitted harshly, 'I

guess I deserved that.'

Her eyes gleamed with the liqueur of excitement. Push him again.

'Humility, no less,' she drawled, and he jerked towards the counter to

hold on to the edge with both hands. 'This is getting fun. If you lie on

the floor, I can kick you some more.'

'For God's sake!' he growled, lowering his head as if in deep labour.

His knuckles were white. 'Why don't I just point out my jugular so

you can lunge for that?'

She took a step closer, hackles raised to the intoxicating sense of

danger. How far was his limit? 'OK by me,' she said insolently,

watching with immense satisfaction his ivory jaw, his goaded eyes.

'Since you feel so obliging.'

Just the tiny neat inclination of his head gave the impression that he

rounded on her like a snarling animal at bay. Nearly there now.

'Watch what you say, lady,' he growled softly. 'You were a willing

participant in that little scene.'

Her eyebrows raised. 'You mean you were in a state to actually

notice?'

He hung his head, bared his strong clenched teeth. He looked

drugged. 'Just what the hell do you want from me?'

Ah, there was the edge. Time to push him over. She shot forward,

slapped a hand on the counter beside his and snapped, 'I wondered

when you'd get around to asking me that!'

'Back off,' he whispered, hazel eyes wide.

'I want to fight,' she told him throatily, and pushed her face into his;

ah, but she'd learned from an expert.

He couldn't help but read the evidence in front of him: the ruthless

glitter of her eyes, the dark colour along her cheek-bones, the angle

of her wand-slim neck that was both taunt and offering. She smiled

sexily, and enunciated in intimate provocation, 'And then I want a

good—hard—rousing -'

He gasped, and whirled, and suddenly they were together, holding

each other in a tight, bruising hug. Her head fell back as she smirked

at him. He shook her, his eyes ablaze, and she reached up to cover

those hazel orbs with one hand that slipped, and stroked his darkened

cheek, and his mouth fell ravening on to hers. He thrust his tongue,

and she suckled it, and he crushed her aching breasts with shaking

hands, and she writhed against him in fierce ecstasy.

Then they heard doors open and close, the distant sound of the

shower starting in the hall bathroom.

They leaped apart as if scalded, and ended up at opposite ends of the

kitchen. She stared at his back as he presented it to her. He gripped

his head with both hands and hissed, 'Did I ever say I liked your

friends? I hate them, so passionately -'

The sound of Jane's sleepy voice came down the hall, '—don't know

what time it is. Somebody's awake, though. I can smell the coffee.'

By the time Jane emerged on the scene, Matt was back at the cutting

board, while she was busy pulling margarine, bacon and a carton of

eggs from the refrigerator. Such a bland and domestic scene, but the

margarine fell on the floor from her nerveless fingers, and Matt, she

noticed, did not cut any more grapefruit, but spun one half in

repeated circles.

'Good morning, sleepyhead,' he said to Jane without looking at her.

He almost sounded normal.

Jane blinked like an owl and yawned noisily. 'God, you both look

disgustingly alert. How long have you been up?'

'Forever,' muttered Matthew in despair.

Sian walked drunkenly to the stove, her arms full. 'Not long,' she said

to her friend. 'I just took a shower. Want an egg?'

'Mmm, please. I'm going to jump in Matt's shower first, if his water-

heater will hold up with both going.'

He growled, 'It'll stay hot.' Sian was laughing like a crazy woman,

and he shot her a speaking glare.

'I'll bring you in a cup of coffee, then I'll cook your breakfast,' she

offered, wiping damp hands on a towel and reaching for the cups in

the cupboard.

'Isn't she wonderful?' murmured Jane affectionately to Matt. 'I just

love her to bits.'

His knife clattered as he threw it into the sink. 'Oh, she's peachy, all

right.'

She slammed the cupboard shut with a resounding bang, and this

time he laughed. With a pained wince Jane left the noisy pair.

Soon Steven and Joshua were lured into the kitchen by the aromatic

smell of bacon sizzling under the grill, and buttery eggs frying, and

Sian was kept busy cooking for everyone for the next half-hour or so,

until Jane claimed the skillet and made her sit down to eat.

Jane and Sian decided to go shopping that morning, which none of

the men seemed too keen to go along with, so they arranged to meet

for lunch. The group parted in the street; Sian watched as Matt

strolled away with Joshua and Steven.

In the strong sunlight, he looked casual and relaxed. Joshua turned to

say something to him, at which he shrugged. Then before they

disappeared from sight around the nearby corner, he stared back at

the girls, shading his gaze with one hand.

She turned quickly back to Jane, who had asked her a question.

'That's fine with me,' she said, having no idea what it was she had

agreed to.

'Then Marshall Fields it is,' said the blonde with satisfaction. 'After

all, they're such a big department store, they'll have everything under

one roof, and we only have a couple of hours before we meet the

others.'

They saw an empty taxi and hailed it. It promptly slewed across the

lanes, to the annoyance of the other drivers, and whisked them away.

Then, at the store, they browsed through sportswear, lingerie, and the

perfume and accessories counters.

Sian trailed along behind Jane like a ghost, stopping when the other

girl stopped. After she had stood, staring fixedly at a rack of

garments for several minutes, Jane noticed her preoccupation and

came up to her.

'You don't really want to buy that, do you?'

At the doubtful question said softly into her ear, Sian started and

looked about. She was at the edge of the maternity section of

clothing, and the dresses she'd been gazing at were huge tent-like

things designed more for comfort than high fashion.

'God, no!' she exclaimed violently and swung away. 'I was just

thinking, that's all.'

'Oh, thinking, were you?' replied Jane wisely. 'I'm relieved. For a

moment there, I thought you might be in love.'

'With those?' She looked comically horrified. Jane merely raised her

eyebrows, and she hunched one defensive shoulder and sidled over to

a display of scarves, running the shimmering, patterned material

through her fingers. The silence was eloquent, and too prolonged.

To break it, she said belligerently, 'Well, what if I am in love?'

'With the maternity dresses?' Jane assumed astonishment. Sian's

breath whistled inwards, a high, beleaguered whine, and the blonde

relented. 'Honey, I'm sorry. I won't tease any more.'

She lifted her chin. 'Doesn't matter. I'm not, anyway. In love, I mean.'

'Of course you're not,' Jane soothed.

Her fingers rubbed on the scarf, back and forth, back and forth. 'After

all, I've only known him a week.'

'Not at all a reasonable time schedule for falling in love,' her friend

agreed. 'And he did save your life.'

She was outraged and befuddled. 'What the hell does that have to do

with anything?'

'Oh...' the blonde girl waved vaguely '... saviour infatuation, or

something.'

'I happen to think that what Matt did that day said a lot about the

man!' Sian bristled, glaring at her friend. 'He acted in a selfless and

courageous manner, putting the boy's and my safety before his own!

He was gentle, and considerate, and competent, and attentive and—

and—oh, God.'

'Yes, love?'

Sian dragged the scarf to her face and hid in it. The rack on which the

scarf was hooked clattered to the counter, and attracted the attention

of a sales clerk, who hurried over. 'I am in love with him, aren't I?'

she whispered.

Jane said gently, 'Yes, love.'

'That makes it sound so simple,' she said to the scarf.

'It sounds simple enough, but even simple things aren't always the

easy ones.' She lifted her head, and Jane pried her fingers from the

scarf to hand it back to the disapproving clerk. The clerk scowled at

Sian, who smiled back at her bewilderedly.

Jane guided her through the department store and out to the street. It

was nearly one o'clock, so they went to meet the others in a

fashionable brasserie that had high French windows along the front

which opened to a wide expanse of pavement where tables and chairs

were set in a continental style. The men were already relaxing outside

with cold drinks.

Sian could feel Matt's thoughtful, brooding gaze on her but, in an