Her Man with Iceberg Eyes (22 page)

And it seemed to Kate that she spent every
hour of the long night tossing and turning as she re-lived the
party, and the contradictory messages he’d sent her as they
danced.

He spoke exactly thirteen cold words to her
the next morning: “I’ve booked a taxi to take you to the airport.
I’m going flying.” He turned and left.

Lottie watched with concern. “Katie—still not
good? You looked so beautiful in that dress, and I saw you and
Matthew dancing close?”

Kate shook her head. “Punishment, not
forgiveness,” she muttered. “Your brother doesn’t know what he
wants.” She closed her mouth before she said anything further that
might offend Lottie.

“My brother wants someone to love him.”

Kate laughed—a sharp little snort. “He has a
funny way of showing it, then. You have to trust someone before
they’ll love you.”

“His first marriage ended badly. No children,
thank heavens. But his wife was—what you say—mercenary? After
money?” Lottie nodded at her choice of word. “Ya – it went badly.
He was hurt.”

“It doesn’t excuse him, Lottie. I
wasn’t
after money. He kept trying to spend it on me, but it
was his choice, not mine. The clothes. That party dress. And I’m
not taking any of them with me. He can throw the stuff away, for
all I care.”

After breakfast, Kate scrupulously packed
exactly what she’d brought with her: one spare blouse, one pair of
panties, one pair of shoes, one red jersey, her makeup and
nightgown. All of his clothes she left in the wardrobe. All of his
lingerie she left in a drawer.

To pass the rest of the long morning she
helped Lottie. There were letters to prepare. Exhibition details to
confirm. A painting had been commissioned by one of the big
corporations for their boardroom; money and timing needed
discussing. Notes for a prestigious lecture had to be located
amongst the clutter in the studio.

“Katie, I wish you could stay. It would be so
good to have you here.”

Kate shook her head. “I know, Lottie. I’d
enjoy it enormously.”

“When I travel you would be such a help, too.
Not so easy on my own these days. And I cannot expect Matthew to be
always with me.”

“It’s not possible for me to stay. Not with
him like this.”

“I know. The only decision you can make right
now.” Lottie sighed and glanced across at her easel. “He’s out of
our way if he’s flying. We could have one more little session for
your painting, maybe?”

Kate agreed. Her fight was not with Lottie.
Once again, she collected and placed the bedroom lamps, and after
inspecting the painting so far, stripped to her panties and resumed
the pose. She wondered if she’d ever see the finished work. “Send
me a photo when it’s done?” she asked.

“I Polaroid it for you,” Lottie agreed as she
began to squeeze the paints onto her palette.

This time there was no excitement; no darkly
handsome visitor, no feverish distraction or nerve tingling
inspection from intrusive silver-grey eyes. Kate tried very hard
not to imagine him sitting just feet away, watching and sketching,
feeding her sandwiches and snapping the elastic of the tiny panties
he’d bought her. She saw it all in a different light now, knowing
he was not Lottie’s husband.

The swift kiss he’d branded her with still
sizzled on her lips when she thought of him. But she mustn’t think
of him like that ever again. It was over. However much her heart
felt wrung dry, however much her throat ached with unshed tears,
Matthew didn’t trust her. Didn’t want her any more. Couldn’t even
be polite.

She arrived back in Auckland in time for a
solitary dinner—chilli prawns, fried rice, and stir-fried greens
from her local takeaway. Not a patch on his Queenstown meal. She
had no-one to flirt with, no-one to gaze across the table at as she
pushed the food around with her chopsticks.

He didn’t trust her. Maybe he’d never trust a
woman properly again. What a waste of a life. She gave in to her
misery, and tears slid slowly down her cheeks as she thought about
resuming her job search. She’d use the time before starting a new
job to do some work on the townhouse she’d inherited from her
mother. Plainly she wouldn’t be moving south to work for Lottie, so
she’d update it to her own taste.

Her mother had collected blue and white
china. Kate laid down her chopsticks and began to plan. She decided
to pack away the pretty ornaments, and paint over the rose-strewn
wallpaper in the dining and sitting rooms. A neutral shade as a
base to display paintings on. The Queenstown house had intensified
her interest in artwork.

She’d search out a rich tribal patterned rug
to liven up the plain carpet. Something like Diana had on her
hardwood floors. A total change. Sooner or later the past would
recede.

But Matthew was constantly on her mind. Next
day, after hurrying to the nearest paint store, she worked the
roller up and down over the roses and recalled their first meeting
at the air terminal, and the ride to see Lottie in hospital. The
Italian lunch, the clothes buying spree, the dinner and subsequent
spa. His body. God, his body...

His sinful mouth. His taste. His silky skin.
His scent.

She finished the first coat over the walls by
mid afternoon, made coffee and took it to the outdoor table to
enjoy the unexpected winter sunshine. The steam spiralled up,
carrying the drink’s rich fragrance. Kate dropped her head into her
hands and closed her eyes, blotting out the reality of drab winter
in sub-tropical Auckland and exchanging it for sparkling
Queenstown.

She remembered every moment of ecstasy in the
spa, in front of the glowing fire, and in his bed. She’d never
imagined she’d abandon herself so absolutely to a man. She’d
lowered her defences and given him her total trust—and where had
that got her? Back home. Alone. Hurting deeply.

After the extreme rapture Matthew had created
for her, the pain he’d inflicted was agonising. She vowed never to
leave herself so open to rejection again.

Two days later, she returned with a handsome
rug and spread it on the floor. She set a bunch of golden
chrysanthemums in a tall copper vase, and gazed around with
satisfaction. Redecorating the sitting room had been a
success—she’d tackle the main bedroom next and try to create some
sophisticated ambience. Two coats of low sheen paint... she’d be
finished in another couple of days. Three silver-grey walls with
deep charcoal on the fourth behind the bed. (Not to remind her in
the least of Matthew, she told herself, but because she’d seen the
scheme in a décor magazine on the flight home from Queenstown.) The
pale curtains and carpet would be fine as they were.

She bundled up her mother’s flounced
bedspread to donate to the church shop, deciding to replace it with
the geometric grey and cream bed linen she’d seen in the Bed’n’Bath
boutique. Her mother’s peachy scheme was soon just a memory. If
only she could wipe Matthew from her life so easily...

The next afternoon she bought the linen and
visited several galleries, searching for the perfect painting to
complete the charcoal wall. She couldn’t afford anything in
Lottie’s league, but maybe a dramatic and sombre nude would look
good in the room?

She wondered where in the world the
countryside/woman painting would be hung. Her final morning’s work
in Queenstown had given her a deeper understanding of what a truly
international figure Lottie was. It would have been a wonderful
job.

But...

By early Friday, Matthew was still waiting
with barely controlled patience for the results of Sy Karlson’s
investigation. Surely Sy must be back from his break in Fiji by
now? He was desperate for ammunition to blast Kate out of his mind.
His concentration had been shot to pieces. She wandered through his
thoughts uninvited, hour after hour.

But she
was
Rob Pleasance’s daughter.
He
had
found her in his study more than once. And the second
time, when she’d thought him safely asleep, he’d seen with his own
eyes she’d been searching for documents. Her excuse about the
sketches had been feeble.

The evening before that, she’d not wanted him
to see her e-mail. Asked him to get the glasses of juice to give
her privacy. Sent the message off the screen the instant he’d
returned. When he’d retrieved it, he could certainly see why. But
he was still in the dark about the mysterious merger.

She was poison—no other interpretation was
possible.

He sighed as he shuffled some papers together
and snapped his briefcase shut. Auckland later today for a board
meeting. It would be even harder to keep her from invading his mind
there, knowing she was only a few minutes’ taxi ride away.

The early morning flight took off full. Most
of the passengers were business people. Holidaymakers didn’t travel
at crack of dawn as a rule. Matthew found himself seated next to an
older woman who didn’t appear to be a frequent flyer. She peered
about nervously, and gave her full attention to the safety
demonstration. When the flight attendant came by offering
magazines, the woman accepted two. She opened the first, and tilted
it to the light.

The hairs on Matthew’s neck rose, and a
sputtering buzz filled his brain. The other magazine lay on her
lap. A nubile blonde smiled in triumph over a screaming red
headline: ‘Terry to marry her tycoon.’ Behind her lurked Rob
Pleasance.

He made an undignified grab for it, causing
the woman to jump.

“Sorry—just spotted someone I know on the
cover.” He snapped the pages over until he found the story.

So that was the merger? A marriage—not a
business deal at all. He skimmed through the article, voracious for
facts.

Top businessman Rob Pleasance, blah blah
blah, had proposed to well-known socialite Terry De la Hunt, blah
blah blah, and the couple would marry on picturesque Waiheke Island
in September. He had considerately waited until his former wife,
Jennifer, had passed away from cancer before proposing to his new
love. His only child from the former marriage, swimming champion
Kate Pleasance, had given her blessing to the new union. The
bride’s dress would be designed by Trelise Walker. Terry’s six-year
old son Damien would be a pageboy. And so on, ad infinitum.

The merger was a marriage
.

He read through it again with growing dismay,
appalled he’d jumped so easily to the wrong conclusion. Kate had
mentioned letting people know she’d be unable to attend a
celebration of some kind. The engagement bash, apparently.

And that some people would be stunned. The
ambitious Terry was about half the age of her prospective
groom—more his daughter’s age than his own. His ex wife was very
recently dead. Yes, people might indeed be surprised.

Acid burned Matthew’s gut as he thought of
the way he’d treated Kate. His furious words, his cold-shoulder
treatment. His rudeness at the party. His cavalier manner on the
dance floor—holding her against her will, and then so violently
demonstrating his fierce lust for her body even as he threw unkind
words in her face.

What had Sy Karlsen discovered about her?
Anything more to back up his own suspicions? Or would Sy’s report
show Kate was pretty much what she claimed to be?

Damn the cell phone suppression on the plane!
He had to get his hands on the facts today. If he’d been as wrong
as now seemed possible, he needed to make one hell of an
apology—and fast.

But was there the least chance he could patch
things up between them? Recapture the blissful state they’d
achieved in the snowbound house?

He’d never been so attracted to a woman.
Despite all his suspicions, head over heels in half an hour.
Inventing excuses for her to stay. Buying her clothes whether she
wanted them or not. Foisting his choices on her as though she was a
doll to be dressed to his wishes.

Within minutes of meeting her, Kate had his
body and brain in turmoil.

He’d been in both paradise and purgatory when
he held her sobbing in his arms while Diana and Hamish made love.
Only a miracle had stopped him from ripping his pyjamas down and
showing her a hell of a lot more than a slice of his tattoo.

He’d grabbed her and kissed her in the cinema
like a love-struck sixteen year old, and had no idea how he’d
summoned up the strength of will to stop at one kiss. It had taken
all his steely determination to try and lose himself in the movie
as a distraction from the beautiful desirable woman pressed close
against him, smelling so good, tasting so luscious.

Joining Lottie in the studio and sketching
Kate had been a real turn-on. The charcoal had re-created her for
his private pleasure, sliding smoothly over the paper just as his
hands itched to wander over her lustrous skin. He’d consigned the
drawings to the back of the SUV, and taken them to a picture framer
before he bought the prawns for that evening’s meal. They must be
almost ready by now. Mounted in black. Framed in sleek chrome. A
tribute to her desirable body.

He was glad he hadn’t told her. Now they
might be the only way he’d see her again.

He squeezed his eyes shut and fought for
equilibrium. His world had just lurched off its axis. He’d made a
total fool of himself and probably alienated her forever. It would
take a miracle to get her back.

The instant they opened the plane’s doors in
Auckland, he thumbed through his phone for Sy Karlsen’s
listing.

Kate chose a conservative ivory blouse and
her best black business suit. She’d decided not to take her car
into the central city so it would be easier to hand deliver her CV
to three of the city’s top employment agencies. She hoped for an
interview with one of their consultants. (Or should she phone
ahead? Her heart wasn’t really in this!)