Her Man with Iceberg Eyes (13 page)

Friends would notice her and start
speculating immediately. They’d all want to know more, and be
curious as hell. He grinned to himself. It was time they thought he
had a new woman, even though the truth might be far from that.

It was a long time since he’d felt so
attracted. Kate had appeared like a flash of lightning through a
thunderous sky—so desirable he could barely keep away. He needed
her as an employee, but he also wanted her as a woman.

Dangerous choice
, he muttered to
himself. Was she the bait in a honey-trap? She wouldn’t be the
first pretty woman sent to distract a man while making off with his
secrets.

He’d trusted his ex-wife, Martine. Loved her.
Thought she’d loved him. Had never seen the sting coming. Ever
since then, his electronic security arrangements had been
extreme.

He’d call Sy Karlsen and ask him to check
Kate out. He’d scan that CV for starters, and email it off. Sy was
a discreet and thorough investigator. If Kate Pleasance had things
to hide, Sy would lay them bare. And in the meantime, Matthew
decided he’d pursue her for the pure pleasure of it.

Once he’d left, Kate prowled along the main
hallway and slipped into Matthew’s study. She peered between all
the cabinets, and anywhere else he could have hidden the big
sketches. She found nothing.

She quickly searched the luxurious sitting
room, although she found it an unlikely hiding place. Nothing.
Except memories of a pleasant evening, and the knowing look he’d
given her when he caught her inspecting him. Again, she felt the
delicious heat flowing through her; the ridiculous craving and edgy
excitement.

Get back to the job in hand, Kate!

There were no sketches in the magnificent
dining room, either.

Bedrooms, then? She peeked into the room next
to hers where Diana and Hamish had slept. Nothing under the big
bed. Nothing in the generous walk-in wardrobe. Nothing in any of
the drawers. Or in the en suite bathroom.

Nothing in her own room, naturally.

Nothing in the two bedrooms further along the
hallway.

Nothing even remotely resembling sketches in
the chilly storeroom, although the racks of wine were impressive,
and she found skis and snowboards, and all manner of other things
there.

Could he have deviously hidden them up in the
studio? She trod up the densely carpeted stairs and peered around.
Lord—that was a mission...

She crossed to Lottie’s bedroom, ostensibly
to check on her wellbeing.

“Would you like any more coffee? Or
anything?”

“Ach, Katie—you’re a good girl. No thank you.
Just dinner when it’s ready. How is that painting looking now?”

Kate grimaced. “Very different from the
sketches Matthew did.”

Lottie grinned at her expression. “I never
saw the second one. How was it?”

“I’ll see if I can find the pad for you,” she
said, pleased to have an excuse to dig around. But a further search
amongst the mess brought no result.

She returned downstairs, hurried to the front
of the house, and checked for any sign of him returning. The long
driveway was empty.

There were no sketches hidden in the
wonderfully appointed gym where very hot scenes featuring a
bare-chested Matthew floated through her mind and would not be
erased.

The spa-room and changing room weren’t really
options, although she glanced quickly into each.

So that left only the main bedroom, and now
her search was getting far too personal. She hesitated by the half
open door, breathing fast, heart lurching and fluttering as though
she’d just run for miles. Then she took two quick steps inside,
pushed the door almost closed, and tried hard to concentrate. This
was where he slept, where he showered, where he made love. Where
the scent of him lingered.

It was a huge calm silver-grey room with
silky black curtains and a very large bed with a throw of the same
glossy fabric. Kate crouched and peered underneath. It was low to
the floor. Nothing.

There were black lacquered chests set either
side of the bed. Not big enough to conceal the sketches. She
hesitated, fingers caressing one of the drawer-pulls, wondering if
she dared to open it.
Wanting
to open it and share a little
more of his life. But perhaps this was Lottie’s side of the bed?
The clock-radio and empty coffee mug on top gave no clue. The other
chest had nail scissors, a hank of ribbon, and a box wrapped in
birthday paper. Sighing, she turned away, resolved not to spy
unnecessarily.

Her gaze drifted to two comfortable armchairs
set by floor-to-ceiling glass doors in front of a sunny terrace. A
table between them held magazines, books and framed
photographs.

She bent to see better. A younger Hamish and
Diana with boys and dogs. Matthew, Lottie, and a small, dark-haired
child. The same small boy again, close-up, held in masculine arms.
Lottie beautifully dressed at a formal ceremony. Matthew, impassive
behind sunglasses, lounging against a small plane.

She touched the glass with a trembling
finger, sliding over his face, down his body, all the way to his
booted feet. Felt the arousing sensations that even a photo of him
caused.

You don’t like him. You don’t want him. He’s
not available. He’s nothing but an arrogant tease.

She made herself turn away and scan the huge
walk-through wardrobe for anything that could be his sketches.
Nothing—unless they were concealed in the travel bags on the
topmost rack, which seemed unlikely.

She turned back to the table. Whose was the
child? She’d not detected any sign of children in the house, nor
heard any mention. She stole another look at the photos, intrigued
and confused. The small dark-haired boy looked nothing like Hamish
and Diana’s sons. But was that Matthew’s Rolex just visible below
the cuff of the shirt? Could Matthew have a son somewhere?

She jumped as the telephone shrilled. Not
wanting to be in such a private space for a second longer than
needed, she raced back to the living room to answer it.

“Kate, it’s Diana. Is Matthew there?”

“Can I ask him to phone you back? Or you
could try his mobile? He’s out, but not for too much longer.”

“Well, it’s just about the movie tonight. The
new James Bond thing. He gave us tickets for the charity premiere
and I wanted to ask a couple of questions.”

“I’ll tell him you rang.”

“How’s Lottie doing?”

“She’s gone to bed, very sensibly. But she
says she’s going on some sort of visit tomorrow. She seems good,
but I don’t know her well yet of course.”

“If she’s in bed, she won’t be going to the
premiere. Will you come with us? Shame to waste a hundred dollar
seat?”

Kate sighed, tempted to spend more time with
such pleasant people. “I’ve nothing fancy to wear.”

Diana chuckled. “Lord, it’s not a dress-up
deal! Only a movie. No sequins required.”

“Well, okay. Maybe. I’ll get Matthew to phone
you as soon as he’s back.”

The distant rumble of the garage door
signalled his return a few minutes later. He loped in to the
kitchen where Kate was making coffee, and dumped several packages
onto the dark green marble counter.

The moment he entered the room, her body
screamed into emergency mode. She found it impossible to ignore
him, feeling him intruding on her personal space even from several
feet away. “Diana phoned about your movie tonight,” she said.

He looked blank for a moment. “Oh, the
charity thing? That’s crept up faster than I expected.
Tonight?”

Kate nodded. “Apparently. I said you’d get
back to her.”

“Damn... so much for a leisurely dinner.” He
grabbed his phone. “Di? Kate said you rang?”

She watched him in profile. Thick dark
lashes, long nose with its imperfectly mended break, beetling black
brows over ever-alert eyes, the uncompromising jut of his jaw, the
hard ridge of his cheekbone. Nothing soft anywhere. Totally male. A
tough face apart from those surprisingly lush eyelashes.

“Yes, of course she will,” Kate heard. “We’ll
see you there at a quarter to.”

She watched as he set a plateful of last
night’s leftover curry and rice to heat in the microwave oven.

“Can you make some more of that salad?” he
asked, opening the fridge and retrieving a part bottle of wine.

“For Lottie?”

“Gets her out of the way. We’ve lost a bit of
time with that movie.”

Kate complied, and took the tray upstairs. By
the time she returned, Matthew had fried rice under way in a wok
and pungent chilli sizzling in a pan. A pile of huge tiger prawns
awaited transformation, and he’d poured two glasses of wine.

“How’s she feeling now?” he threw over his
shoulder.

“Well enough to tackle food, anyway. Asking
for you.”

He grimaced at that. “Better do it right now.
Can you keep an eye on this?” He banged his stirring spoon against
the side of the wok and laid it on a chopping board. “And deal to
these?” he suggested, indicating the bags of bok choy, bean-sprouts
and celery on the counter.

So he was quite domesticated? Kate wondered
about that as she stirred and chopped. Would it be his first wife’s
influence, or Lottie’s? Probably the wife who’d bought him the
beautiful gold chain. The wife he’d described as ‘wrong’. Lottie
seemed not to have an ounce of kitchen pride to judge by the filthy
dishes upstairs. Although the curry had been delicious... Her
speculations swirled around until Matthew bounded back in. “Nothing
but drama,” he muttered, tipping the prawns into the pan where they
hissed and sizzled.

“Who taught you to cook?” she asked.

“Me.”

It was such a cold and uncompromising answer
that she turned away and took cutlery to the table. The same table
where, a little earlier, her butt had made a spectacular statement
in his artwork. Moments later, he set her hot and fragrant
requested dinner down in front of her.

“Thank you—this looks...delicious,” she said,
trying not to sound too grateful.

He turned away, and returned with the two
glasses of wine.

By then she’d torn the tail off a succulent
prawn and popped it into her mouth.

His quicksilver gaze sought and held hers.
“You’ll come to the movie with me?”

Not a request, she noted. A statement.
Again.

She swallowed. “The premiere tonight?
Maybe.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up, and he
reached for one of his own prawns. “I don’t see Lottie managing the
cinema stairs in her present condition.”

Kate smirked to herself. She’d be safe enough
with him in a big crowd like that. She tore the tail off another
prawn, licking her fingers as the juice spurted out. Matthew’s eyes
followed her every move.

“You
can’t
eat these with a knife and
fork,” she protested.

He shook his head, agreeing.

“Or chopsticks,” she added.

“I’m pleased to see you enjoying them.” He
reached toward her chin as though to touch it.

She reared back out of his reach. “Don’t
do
things like that,” she snapped.

“Boyfriend a bit too recent?” he asked.

Wife a bit too close
, she thought.
“Something along those lines,” she murmured.

Matthew leaned back in his chair with a broad
grin. He could wait if he had to. He was good at waiting. He had
unlimited patience when it came to solving intriguing problems, and
Kate intrigued him beyond measure.

Kate walked automatically to the passenger
door of the SUV, but Matthew called her back. “Round the other way.
We’ll take the car tonight.”

She’d glimpsed a racy red vehicle on the
other side of the big garage and taken no particular notice of it,
assuming it to be Lottie’s.

“You rather suit each other,” he added as he
handed her in to the passenger seat of his very new, very powerful
Alpha Romeo.

Kate tugged her skirt down and inhaled. The
expensive upholstery smelled divine.

Matthew reached for the seatbelt and squatted
beside the low-slung car to fasten it for her. He leaned inside,
invading her space outrageously, and his own scent wafted through
the air, even more enticing than the luxurious leather.

“I can do that, thanks,” she said, trying to
fend him off.

“I’m sure you can,” he murmured, taking no
notice and gliding the belt down over her breasts and clicking it
into place. “But I wouldn’t want you coming to any harm while
you’re in my care, Katie.”

His face stayed only inches away. His
dangerous wonderful mouth was so easily within reach again. His
eyes laughed at her discomfort. It was all Kate could do not to
lean forward that tiny distance and bite him with furious
longing.

Matthew trailed his big hand from her hip,
along her thigh to her knee. He gave it a hint of a squeeze as he
stood again to push the door shut. The moment he’d gone, Kate
wanted him back, no matter that it could lead nowhere. She dared
not have him. She was desperate to touch him. She
had
to
resist...

Her defences were crumbling to dust.

The sleek scarlet car purred and roared and
spat as he wound it up to high speed on the long straight before
the main road. Every corner of Kate’s body throbbed, although was
it from the sexy car or the sexy man?

He wore a hand-tailored dark suit, a snowy
shirt, and a misty grey tie. Conservative. Expensive.
Devastating.

He’d recently shaved, and his short hair
still looked shower-damp. She longed to reach out and ruffle it up,
comb her fingers through it, and scrape her nails lightly down his
neck.

In the pulsing darkness of the car, she drank
him in while he concentrated on the road.

She’d worn her cream suit and the black shirt
he’d ‘persuaded’ her to buy. When she’d appeared, he’d subjected
her to a thorough and appreciative inspection, and said, “Better
than the chocolate.” Kate knew he was right. The black set off her
skin and hair the way the chocolate never would have.