A Very Secret Affair

Matt grinned and picked up his port again. ‘He thought it only fair to warn me.’

‘And was I right?’ The provocative words fairly tumbled from her mouth. ‘Was this invitation for a drink together just a cover for an expected sexual rendezvous?’

The laughter died from his eyes, replaced by a puzzled frown. ‘Do you want a truthful answer to that or not?’

‘You said you admired honesty. In yourself, or only in others?’

‘Both, I hope.’ The blue eyes hardened as they swept over her. ‘I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll answer your question honestly if you answer mine first.’

A charge of adrenalin shot through Clare at the uncompromising ruthlessness in his eyes. He was looking at her in a way that chilled her soul, but at the same time aroused her body, and try as she might, all she wanted was more and more…

‘Not the fairest of bargains, perhaps,’ she countered, heart pounding, ‘but I’m game.’

‘Good. Then tell me… Is it me personally you dislike? Or all actors?’

‘That’s easily answered.’ She sipped her drink, her grey eyes challenging him over the rim of her glass. ‘Both.’

There was the minutest raising of an eyebrow. ‘And might I request an explanation?’

‘Aah…’ Her smile was sardonic. ‘That was not part of the bargain. Now you have to answer my question.’

‘What was it again?’ He poured himself a second port. ‘I’ve forgotten the exact wording.’

‘Liar!’ she accused, thoroughly enjoying the battle of words. ‘You, Matt Sheffield, would never forget words. Or lines. You’re just trying to embarrass me by making me say it.’

‘Say what?’

‘That it was sex you were expecting, not merely a drink.’

He fell irritatingly silent, savouring his port and giving her another of those disturbing looks.

‘Well?’ she prompted. ‘Is that what you were expecting?’

‘And I’m to be honest?’

‘Of course.’ A tingle shot up Clare’s spine as she waited for his answer.

His gaze was unnervingly frank. ‘I had no lecherous intentions when I asked to meet you for a drink. All I wanted was to get away and relax with someone who both interested and intrigued me. I thought I might find out why you seemed to like me one moment then despise me the next.’ He leant back, crossing his ankles. ‘Actually…I’m not in the habit of sleeping with a woman on such short acquaintance.’

His bluntness truly took the wind out of Clare’s sails, making her feel horribly cheap, as though she had been the one to suggest sex.

‘Of course,’ he resumed, a mocking sound in his voice, ‘I’m prepared to make an exception, in the circumstances.’

The breath zoomed back into her lungs, propelled by sheer anger. Or was it fright? She was getting out of her depth here. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

‘I mean…’ he began swirling the drink in his glass ‘…that some women bring up the subject uppermost in their minds. If you’re desperate to go to bed, I’m rather tempted to oblige.’

‘Oh!’ She jumped up, and several drops of port sloshed over the glass onto her beautiful rug. ‘How dare you? Who do you think you are, saying such things? Brother, you’ve got a nerve. You asked to meet me for a drink, not the other way around.’

‘You accepted,’ he said quite calmly, ‘believing it was for more than a drink.’

‘Only because I wanted to show you that living in the backwoods didn’t make a woman a pushover! I wanted to get up your hopes so that I could spit in your face!’

As soon as the ghastly words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She closed her eyes tight and a trembling sigh shook her body. ‘Oh, God,’ she rasped. ‘God…’

He must have stood up, for he took the drink out of her hand. ‘Have you got anything to sponge down this rug with?’ he said, completely ignoring her outburst.

Her eyes flew open to find him standing in front of her, a tightly cold expression on his face. An agonised groan of dismay escaped her lips when she finally saw the state of her rug and she dashed for the sink. Snatching up a wet sponge, she flew back to the damage, got down on her knees and rubbed away at the offending stains. ‘Oh, God!’ she sobbed again, but not because of the rug.

‘I think I’d best be going,’ Matt said with a weary sigh.

‘No…’ She staggered to her feet and threw him a beseeching look. ‘Please… I have to explain…’

‘You don’t have to. It’s quite obvious that you overheard me talking to Bill earlier this evening and decided to teach me some sort of lesson. I must admit, though, that it was unfair of you to condemn me for being an actor this evening. Your performance has been exceptional. Just the right amount of coolness, then the flashes of interest. I even detected a hint of desire. Damned how you managed that! I take my hat off to you.’

‘It wasn’t like that.’ She felt and sounded desperate. ‘I…I did overhear you and I was angry. I thought you were belittling us. But later I…it wasn’t…wasn’t all acting.’

‘No?’ He was sceptical, with good reason. He took a step forward, his hands reaching out to close firmly over her upper arms. Even through the collar of her dress, her skin leapt at his touch. ‘Then tell me what it was, then.’

Oh, lord, this was awful. Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest and her stomach was turning over and over. All she could do was shake her head dumbly.

‘What in hell does that mean? You certainly weren’t lost for words earlier.’

‘Nothing… Nothing…’ She tried to pull away from his disturbing touch but his fingers tightened, preventing her from breaking free.

‘Tell me!’ he ground out. ‘And stop pulling away from me. You want me to touch you almost as much as I want to touch you, God damn you!’

She stared at him and what she saw, frightened her. She shook her head from side to side, eyes falling to the floor.

‘You just won’t admit it, will you?’ One hand left her arm. It reached up to force her chin upwards so that she had to look at him. ‘Is it because I’m actor? Do you think we’re all liars? Egomaniacs? Incapable of true feelings? That’s not true, Clare. I have feelings. I can be hurt. And you’ve hurt me tonight.’

‘Matt…please…I didn’t mean to…’

‘No?’ Anger turned those blue eyes to slate. ‘I’m no fool, Clare. You had your mind made up before you even met me, well before you overheard that conversation. You wanted to hate me. I was a condemned man in your eyes. You sat there like that iceberg waiting for the Titanic, a mass of destruction lying beneath the surface. Well, I hit you, but you’re the one who’s going down, honey. I’m a bloody good swimmer.’

‘But I don’t hate you,’ she blurted out. ‘Not really. You…you reminded me of someone. Someone who hurt me once, very much.’

His sigh was deep, the tension in his bruising fingers draining away. ‘Aah…so that’s it…ah, yes, I see.’

‘No…no, you don’t see. You couldn’t possibly see.’ How could he ever see that she was terrified of these feelings exploding up through her body?

He reached down to pull the twisted sponge from her clenched fingers, throwing it away. And then his arms were winding around her and he was kissing her, slowly and surely, kissing her with an expertise not even the most sophisticated woman could resist.

Clare did not even try to resist. She couldn’t. Her mouth flowered open beneath his, her immediate submission sending a groaning shudder through Matt’s body. His hands wound up into her hair and he was pulling her head back, keeping her mouth open, thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper into its eager, compliant depths. With each thrust a hot dart of fire shot through Clare, racing up into her head where the blood began pounding in her temples like a jungle drumbeat.

A tortured moan struggled from her throat.

Immediately he drew back, a dazed questioning look in his eyes. Clearly, he had mistaken the sound for one of distress and Clare realised foggily that he was giving her the chance to stop. Don’t think, her aroused senses screamed at her. Don’t think! And for God’s sake, don’t stop!