A Case For Trust (14 page)

He'd think about Philippa, and his apparently disastrous error of judgement, later.

Chapter 9

Pippa had been in bed—though definitely not sleeping—an hour when the firm tread sounded on the timber verandah outside her bedroom window. Her heart raced like the clackers, but it wasn't from fear. She'd hoped he'd come, despite her anger, despite her humiliation, despite her harsh words. She'd wanted him to come, wanted with an urgency she could barely contain to take up where they'd left off on the dance floor.

She'd carefully removed most of her make-up, had brushed her hair so the frothy curls lay silky across her shoulders, and had swapped the electric blue jersey for the closest she could find to a sexy negligee—a shorty nighty in baby pink. The cute penguin print was regrettable, but it was better than nothing. And she hadn't been quite prepared yet to wear nothing.

Now she lay in her bed, quietly, waiting for his knock. But the footsteps had paused outside her window, and she only imagined she could hear him breathing there because the sole sound was the sighing of the old house. Scarcely breathing herself, Pippa edged out of the bed and to the shuttered window to peek through the glass, only to jump with fright when his voice rumbled close to her ear through the wall.

‘Let me in, Philippa. Don't make me wait.' The words were arrogant, but she caught the note of desperation in them and without consciously moving, found herself at the front door and then in his arms. The time she'd spent dithering over her unsexy nightwear proved for naught; neither of them paid it any heed as it flew over her head and into a corner. Matt had backed her against the wall, his lips fiercely plundering hers before dragging them down, down along her jaw and across her clavicle, his hands gripping her buttocks and lifting her so his mouth was suddenly level with her breast and his tongue laving and tugging at its peak until Pippa cried out in equal parts pleasure and need.

‘I have tried … so hard … not to want you.' Matt's rasp was tortured as he allowed her to slide back down against the wall. Pippa's hands fumbled with the button of his trousers and he brushed them away and wrenched apart the offending obstacle while she turned her attention to the buttons on his shirt. These, too, he dispatched when her fingers weren't fast enough for them both, and a heartbeat later her knickers joined his pants on the floor. And then there was nothing but skin, nothing but touch, nothing but taste and a heaving, panting, groaning, gasping silence. When Matt's fingers slipped between Pippa's legs and found her slick with her need, he hoisted one of her supple legs to his waist, pressed her thigh to his hip and nudged at her entrance with his erection.

‘Wait! Wait!' Pippa gasped urgently and struggled against his hold.

‘I don't want to wait,' he growled and for a moment gripped more tightly before he suddenly thrust her away, shoving both hands through his hair then snatching up his shirt. Pippa's urgent hand stayed his.

‘Don't go! I don't want you to go. But … protection?'

Matt swore between his teeth and reached instead for his trousers and the condom in one pocket. This time it was
his
fingers fumbling with impatience and need.

‘You're going to tear it. Let me,' and Pippa gently tugged the foil packet from him and dropped to her knees before him, the condom in its wrapper on the floor beside her. Matt's hand took her chin and raised it carefully so he could search her face. His eyes were wanting, and doubting.

‘You don't have to do that.'

‘No, I don't. But I really,
really
want to.'

Pippa took his exquisite, tensile length in one hand and put her mouth to his bare hipbone. As she nipped his hip with her teeth, her fingers grasped his cock and coaxed him back into the silky steel of moments before. Swiftly she extracted the condom, then with agonising indolence rolled it, inch by tender, teasing inch, over his erection. When she was satisfied it was in place, she ran the rousing rasp of her tongue along the underside of his shaft. Matt's hips jerked in reflex and she rewarded his honest response with her mouth, sucking gently then with increasing pressure on his tip, occasionally flicking his frenulum with her tongue. She read the intensity of his pleasure in his suddenly locked limbs and the abrupt cessation of his breathing. His hands, fisted against the torment, suddenly unclenched and slid either side of her face to cup the back of her head, drawing her closer, urging her to take him deeper as he gave himself up to sensation. Pippa felt rather than saw him relax; understood from the easing of the tension in the thighs she gripped that he'd let go of whatever demons had been plaguing him and accepted his need for her. His hands in her hair were gentle, his fingers caressing, his thrusting restrained, respectful of her own comfort. She lapped at his silky length, enjoying the power of pleasuring him, and protested a little when he carefully pulled away.

‘Enough.'

‘You don't like it?'

‘I like it too much. I want to come inside your body, not inside your mouth.'

He helped her to her feet then gathered her up into his arms and carried her to her bed. The earlier impatience was gone, though neither of them had had satisfaction. Pippa still trembled with wanting, and Matt's erection still pressed against her stomach, nudging impetuously when her fingers wandered tantalisingly across surprisingly taut abs and into the hollows above his loins. He captured her hand lazily and stretched it above her head, exposing her own curves to his gaze, and Pippa caught her breath at the possessiveness she saw there. His eyes were fixed on the nipple closest to his mouth, and she suffered a torment of waiting for his lips to follow. Instead, he just looked, and with a delicious tingling her breast puckered and peaked in invitation until he at last lowered his head and suckled with a dragging insistence that had her hips rising in supplication. As Matt continued his oral assault on her nipple, his hand slid between her thighs and Pippa parted them with a moan he echoed as he discovered her wet welcome.

‘Please.' She bucked under his touch. ‘Please, Matt. Please.'

He kissed her then, sweetly, searchingly, almost tentatively, as he covered her body with his delicious weight. Then his lips hardened and his thrusting tongue mirrored the driving, urgent thrusting of his body. There was no more time for teasing, and Pippa answered each powerful move with equal passion, rising and falling beneath him, following his lead, learning him. Loving him.

The epiphany came as she sobbed his name in ecstasy, and she was glad to bury her face in his neck as he climaxed after her, glad to suffocate her urge to tell of her love against the salty shoulder that still shuddered above her. By the time Matt eased himself apart from her she had her face, if not her feelings, under control. Was able to smile calmly and agree, yes, it had been wonderful. Pretended to drift off to sleep so she could avoid those clever eyes trained to see more than his subjects were prepared to admit. She forced herself to breathe steadily for the ten minutes he remained in her bed, and didn't answer when he murmured a half-farewell before he left. She waited until she heard the low thrum of his car fade up the street. Then she let the tears come.

***

Matt let himself into his apartment as the first streaks of amber battled to disperse the early morning grey. He'd left Philippa sleeping again, looking much the same as she had the last time he'd left her bed. As it turned out, Philippa making love stone-cold sober was much the same as Philippa making love dizzy with champagne. She was warm, responsive, generous, inventive … His cock hardened as he recalled how inventive.

Matt, however, didn't feel the same at all. He could justify his first seduction of her. He'd been proving a point, proving she couldn't be trusted. Ensuring that in repeating history, he would deliver a different outcome. Keeping her from Justin.

He was on shaky ground on that last point, he knew. Not only because, as it transpired, she hadn't been sleeping with Justin at all but because, if he was honest with himself, his motives had been less about sibling protection and more about sibling rivalry. From the moment he'd clapped eyes on Philippa he'd wanted her with a passion he was barely able to fathom. He'd fed himself a line about preserving Justin's and Lucy's relationship to feel better about his pursuit of her. Looking back, his theatrical adoption of his father's head-of-the-household self-righteousness seemed faintly ridiculous, his own morals certainly no better than he'd imagined Philippa's to be. He'd persuaded himself she was chasing Justin, was in love with Justin, and had screwed her anyway.

But last night had had nothing to do with Justin. Matt hadn't doubted for a moment Justin's denial of any intimacy with Philippa. Justin had always been open, all but shameless about his various conquests, even those he'd regretted. Matt had known before he left the party, before his car turned down her street, before he'd stood on her verandah listening, sensing she was awake and waiting for him. He'd known there was no longer any excuse for making love with Philippa.

He'd done it anyway. And it hadn't been the clinical, expert, polished but perfunctory exposition of moves designed to arouse and satisfy in the minimally polite time required. He'd brought tenderness to her bed, and affection; a dedication to discovering what pleased her. He cared for her—hell, more than cared for her—and he'd had to force himself to leave as soon as he thought she might be asleep, or risk staying. Risk falling into her again. Risk holding her for what was left of the night, and perhaps in the light of morning revealing the feelings that made him all too vulnerable.

Risk turning into his father, so blinded by passion for a woman that he'd forgive her any betrayal.

You're not your father, and Philippa's not Eleanor. It doesn't have to be that way. If you're careful, if you're vigilant, you could make this work.

Careful vigilance was Matt Mason's maxim. He'd staked his professional life on it. It would serve his personal life just as well.

Chapter 10

‘Matt. What a surprise.' Eleanor didn't look surprised.

Matt waved the papers he clutched in his hand before depositing them on the kitchen bench. ‘I have the new insurance documents for the childcare centre for you to sign.'

‘I thought we were meeting tomorrow at your office to sort through those?'

‘I can't now. Something else has come up so I thought I'd bring them over.'

‘You could have emailed them.'

He shrugged, and knowing from her raised eyebrow he'd put a little too much insouciance into the gesture to be convincing, went on the offensive instead. ‘Careful, Eleanor, or I'll think you don't want me visiting.'

‘I wouldn't mind if I thought it was me you were here to visit.' Eleanor's tone was dry. The game was up. ‘She's out the back.'

Still, he tried to salvage it. ‘Who's out the back?'

‘You know who I'm talking about. Is it real, Matt? I don't want you leading her on if this is some kind of twisted attempt to get back at me for what you think I did to your father.'

‘It's nothing to do with you.'

‘I'm very glad to hear it. So what
is
it to do with?'

‘It's really none of your business, Eleanor.'

‘And yet here you are again in my house. Third time this week. You've been home more times in the last month than you have the past couple of years.'

‘Who's bloody counting?' His muttered imprecation acted like a balm on her asperity and Eleanor's face softened as she gazed at her eldest son's conflicted expression.

‘Oh, darling. It
is
real, isn't it. I'm glad.'

‘There's nothing to be bloody glad about. I can't work, can't concentrate. Came close to losing the Henshaw business through a stupid error. You won't be glad when the trust fund P&L shows a drop in earnings for the quarter.'

Eleanor didn't risk touching him, but moved a little closer. Matt could feel her sympathy emanating in waves, and stiffened. He didn't want her sympathy. He just wanted to see Philippa. ‘She's out the back?'

‘Yes. Matt, wait. You know I don't give a damn about the trust fund P&L. But you're miserable, and that
does
concern me. And it's unnecessary, darling. I'm quite sure Philippa feels the same way about you as you feel about her. Her eyes follow your every move when you're here, and while I'd never accuse her of slacking off, she has a distinct tendency to daydreaming after you're gone. So tell her, Matt. Tell her how you feel. What are you waiting for?'

‘I don't
trust
how I feel!'

All the anguish and confusion Matt had pent up for weeks exploded in his outburst. He'd been the world's greatest fool, telling himself he could control the rush of passion he felt for Philippa every time he saw her, could restrict and discipline and manage his need of her into tightly regimented, time-limited compartments of intimacy and non-intimacy. He was fighting that passion, and the longer he fought, the harder it was to remember why he was fighting in the first place, or how he was supposed to separate his private and public feelings for her. He wasn't prepared, yet, to give up the battle. But he knew it was hurting them both, knew how Philippa's confused, false façade of nonchalance every time he left her was costing her a little more with every encounter. If he was half smart, half decent, he wouldn't see her again. But he didn't know how to stop.

Eleanor regarded him pensively for the long moments it took Matt to get his breathing back under control. ‘I wish I could help you, Matt. I don't understand why, but since you came home from your Uncle Jack's funeral you've been like a man who's lost his compass—'

‘You know why,' Matt bit out, ‘and you refuse to talk about it. So let's
not
talk about it.'