Passion & Pleasure: Savage Awakening / For Pleasure...Or Marriage? / Taken for His Pleasure

‘Yeah.’

‘So why don’t you want people to know where you are now?’ she asked practically, and he couldn’t prevent a wry smile.

‘Do you know what the media is?’

Amy shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Well, it’s newspapers and magazines and television reporters—’

‘Like you?’

‘Like I used to be,’ he admitted honestly. ‘Since I got back, they’ve all wanted a piece of me.’

‘A piece of you?’ Amy was perplexed. ‘You mean, they want to cut you up?’

In a manner of speaking, thought Matt drily, but he didn’t say it. ‘I mean, they all want a story—my story,’ he said instead. ‘I guess getting kidnapped by guerrillas is news. They want to know how I survived it.’

‘Gorillas?’ said Amy curiously. ‘Why would gorillas want to kidnap you? Did they hurt you?’

Matt couldn’t help himself. He laughed, and, seeing his amusement, Amy laughed, too. For a few moments, they were both convulsed with mirth, and it was only when the door opened and Fliss appeared that Matt realised she must have heard them and wondered what on earth was going on.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, and Matt made an effort to control himself. But it was the first time he’d laughed so unrestrainedly since he got back from Abuqara, and it felt good. Really good.

‘Everything’s fine,’ he said now, as Amy scrubbed the heels of her hands over her wet eyes. ‘Amy said something funny, that’s all.’

‘Did you know Quinn was kidnapped by gorillas?’ asked the little girl, trying to stifle her giggles, and Matt saw the look of comprehension that crossed her mother’s face.

‘Guerrillas, Amy,’ she said, and then, as if realising she was being too pedantic, she shook her head.

‘Well, I can see you’ve been having a good time,’ she remarked wryly. ‘Are you ready to go home now?’

Amy’s face dropped, and even Matt felt a reluctance to let her go. ‘Is it that time already?’ he asked, gazing at his watch in disbelief. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Do we have to go, Mum?’ protested Amy. She hurriedly picked up the album again and opened it at the page showing the picture of Abraham Adil. ‘Look, that’s the President of Abuqara. Quinn says he knows him.’

‘Really?’ Fliss barely glanced at the picture before looking at Matt again with concerned eyes. ‘You haven’t been telling Amy about—well, about your experiences, have you?’ she asked tightly, and he gave her a narrow-eyed look.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. Then, seeing her dismay, he relented. ‘What do you think I am? Crazy?’

‘Of course not.’ Her response was automatic, but he couldn’t make up his mind whether he believed her or not. And, dammit, he hadn’t exactly given her a good impression of himself so far.

‘Look, we were just talking, that’s all,’ he muttered gruffly. ‘If anything, I was giving her a history lesson. About the problems in North Africa.’ He paused and then continued wearily, ‘She already knew I’d been in prison. Perhaps you ought to ask her how she knew about that.’

Chapter Nine

FLISS had to work at the pub that evening.

She didn’t feel like it, particularly after the way she’d left the Old Coaching House that afternoon. She felt on edge and uneasy, ready to snap at the first wrong word. But, although she would have liked to blame Matt for her bad mood, she knew it wasn’t his fault that she felt so depressed.

Yet it seemed that every time she and Matt seemed to be making some progress, something happened to upset the balance. This time, it was what Amy had overheard—and apparently related to him—and she hadn’t known what to say when he’d accused her of gossiping about him at home.

Of course, his response had been triggered by her reaction to Amy’s excitement over the photographs. She’d immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion and there was no excuse for that. But, dammit, her fears had been fuelled by what her father had told her. If he hadn’t filled her head with what he’d heard about Matt’s supposed instability, she’d never have suspected him of telling Amy horror stories in the first place.

Not that those things weren’t constantly on her mind, too, she conceded unhappily, heading back to the restaurant to take another order. Although she’d attempted to convince herself that the scars she’d seen on his back looked worse than they actually were, the images they’d evoked simply wouldn’t go away. What had he done, for God’s sake, to deserve such punishment? What kind of monster had done that to him? Did anyone ever recover from that kind of experience?

‘Hello, Fliss.’

Someone spoke, a man, and Fliss, who had been concentrating on adding the table’s number to her order pad, looked up in surprise.

Harry Gilchrist was one of the four young people who had recently been shown to a table in the window. He and another man Fliss knew by sight were sitting opposite two young women she didn’t recognise. Pasting on a friendly smile, she returned his greeting and then said, ‘Are you ready to order?’

‘What are your specials?’ asked the other man, nodding towards the extra dishes that were posted on a board beside the bar. He raised his eyebrows at his companion. ‘I fancy a steak.’

‘Do you?’ she said archly. ‘I fancy something else entirely.’

Fliss ignored this and recited the evening’s special dishes, but she could see that Harry wasn’t comfortable with his friends’ behaviour. ‘Are you OK, Fliss?’ he asked, showing her the kind of attention he should have been showing his girlfriend. ‘I heard you’d gone to work for our local celebrity. What’s he like?’

Fliss’s lips tightened. ‘You should know, Harry. I saw you talking to him yourself the other afternoon.’

Harry looked a little put out now and Fliss knew she shouldn’t have taken her bad mood out on him. ‘I only meant what’s he like to work for,’ he muttered. ‘He’s bit of a weirdo, isn’t he?’

‘Who, Matthew Quinn?’ asked his male companion with interest. ‘I didn’t know you knew him, Gil.’

‘I don’t,’ said Harry shortly, giving Fliss a resentful look. ‘He came into the store, that’s all.’ He paused, before returning to his earlier comment. ‘That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.’

‘Well, you heard wrong,’ said Fliss, her nails digging into her pad. ‘Now, have you decided what you want to eat or shall I come back?’

She was flushed when she got back to the kitchen and Eileen Reardon regarded her curiously. ‘Is something wrong, love?’ she asked, her gentle Irish brogue soft with concern. ‘I saw Harry Gilchrist come in. What’s he been saying to you?’

‘Oh—nothing.’ Fliss couldn’t let Eileen think Harry was to blame. In all honesty, he had only been trying to be friendly, as always. ‘I—it’s very warm in there, that’s all.’

‘Are you sure?’

Eileen was looking at her with such compassion in her eyes that Fliss was tempted to confide in her. This was when she missed her mother most. Her father did his best, but he was a man. He didn’t always understand how she was feeling.

But she didn’t have the right to discuss Matt’s affairs with anyone, and, forcing a rueful smile, she said, ‘It’s been a long day. Thank goodness it’s the weekend.’

Eileen hesitated. ‘Is the job at the big house getting too much for you?’

‘Oh—no.’ Once again, Fliss’s colour deepened. ‘Um—I’d better give these orders in,’ she added, easing past her employer’s wife with some relief. ‘Or your customers will be complaining.’

Eileen let her go, but Fliss knew she wasn’t entirely satisfied with her answer. She hoped the older woman thought it was just because she was tired. She would hate any more gossip to find its way to Matt’s ears.

Fliss had hoped to stay in bed a little later the next morning, but at seven o’clock Amy came bounding into the room. She’d taken to copying her mother’s example and sleeping in cotton boxers and a T-shirt, and now she bounced onto the bed and crossed her bare legs.

‘It’s another lovely morning, Mum,’ she announced brightly, as her mother struggled to get her bearings. ‘Do you think we could go to the beach?’

‘The beach?’ Fliss shook her head in some bewilderment. She’d slept only fitfully again and she was having trouble in assimilating the fact that it was Saturday and she didn’t have to go to work. ‘Oh, I don’t know…’