A Case For Trust (16 page)

‘You're a legend.'

‘I know.'

***

Matt closed one file, making a notation on the pad before him, and immediately opened the next, glancing up at the wall clock and grimacing. At this rate he'd still be here Sunday. Just as well he'd decided to stay away from Philippa tonight. His thoughts started to wander that familiar path, to what Eleanor had said, to what he knew he had to do, and he jerked them back to the task at hand.
Focus!

His concentration was interrupted again almost immediately by a knock on his door and he stifled his impatience with difficulty. ‘Simon? Still here? Haven't you got a family to go home to?'

‘They're with the in-laws for dinner; catching up on some work was much more appealing. I found something for you.'

‘Hmm? What did you find?'

‘You remember you asked me to keep an eye on that landscaping business? Lloyd's Landscapes? She's taken out a second mortgage, and needed mortgage insurance plus some new public liability cover to do it.'

Matt was surprised. Philippa hadn't mentioned it. But then, when they were together, talking about her business was seldom high on the agenda. ‘So?'

‘So she lied in her insurance application. Or lied through omission. She didn't declare the alcoholism.'

The tide of protectiveness that surged over Matt had him clenching one fist on the desk, and he fought with his features to maintain his usual impassivity. ‘Her father was the alcoholic, not Philippa.'

‘Doesn't matter. The question required her to declare any family history of alcoholism.'

‘Could have been an oversight.'

‘An oversight? From what you told me, her father's drunkenness has been one of the great shaping influences on her life. It's hardly an oversight.'

‘So what's your point?' Matt abandoned the pretence of neutrality, his tone the forbidding voice he used to warn his staff when they seemed likely to make fools of themselves in front of their managing partner.

Simon looked at him as if he'd gone mad. He probably had. ‘My point is, you've got her. You've got something on her. Her insurance company's our client, she's lied to our client, and she's an identified risk. If we file an action against her and cancel the insurance, she'll never get finance again. You wanted to put her out of business; here's a way to do it.'

Matt looked unseeingly at Simon. Had he really said that? Thought that? Wanted that? It seemed such a long time ago. And such a harsh plan of retribution for a woman who, in the end, had proved innocent of his accusations. Who hadn't deserved any of the contempt he'd laid on so thickly. Who hadn't deserved to be seduced and used without care. Who wasn't, after all, his mother.

Simon was still staring at him, waiting for a response. ‘Matt? What do you want me to do with it? Will I file it?'

Matt nodded abruptly. He wanted an end to this whole ridiculous affair. No more lies. No more covert digging. No more threats. No more lawyerly manipulations or wasting staff time on his personal business. He was ashamed of himself, of how he'd acted, of how he'd been willing to destroy a woman's life. A beautiful, vulnerable woman. A woman he thought loved him, and whom he thought he might love back.

‘File it. Then forget about Philippa Lloyd altogether and go home to your family. I'm going myself. This is no place to waste a Friday night.'

Chapter 11

Another red light. Another stream of raucous, rowdy football fans airpunching and dancing across the road. He hadn't registered it was finals night, hadn't realised this part of town would be congested with stadium traffic, human and auto. The drive to Philippa's house seldom took more than fifteen minutes, but Matt was earlier than usual; the streets were normally empty. He swore at the delay.

The don't-walk sign was already flashing when a young couple stepped off the kerb, and he tapped impatient fingers against the steering wheel, muttering at them to hurry the hell up. Instead, they stopped abruptly in the intersection, right in front of Matt's car, and kissed like there was no tomorrow.

Matt's fingers froze on the wheel. For a second, he thought the petite redhead wrapped in the football brute's arms was Philippa. Then she pulled away, laughing up into her lover's face, and he knew it wasn't Philippa at all. But the nagging jealousy didn't cease. It was their open affection he envied now; the exuberant passion they didn't bother to hide from the world. The car behind him beeped its horn and the young man waved apologetically then dramatically scooped his girlfriend into his arms and ran with her to safety on the other side. Matt followed their antics with yearning eyes. Had he ever felt that free, that young? Had he ever felt so in love?

The driver behind him leant on his car horn, and Matt jerked out of his reverie, fumbled the gears, stalled the car, swore, started it again. He glanced to the side as he took off, but the couple were already lost in the teeming river of maroon-garbed humanity. The image of them stayed on his mind, though, as he drove. He'd never really cared about his life of responsibility and ambition; never really thought about it. Certainly never resented it. Why, now, was he suddenly feeling caged? Why, now, was he desperate to be that bloke in the middle of the street, kissing his woman and not worrying about whether she might not love him tomorrow?

Free of the traffic, he edged his car over the speed limit. Suddenly, he just needed to be there, with Philippa, not caring about being or doing or needing anything else. His thoughts flew by as fast as the landmarks. What was the harm in admitting he loved her? Love wasn't permanent, he knew that from his parents' example. But while it lasted, he'd seen it was good. Eleanor and Ed had had—what?—a dozen years of happiness, presumably, before her love changed. He'd take a dozen years with Philippa. He'd take half a dozen. He'd take a dozen hours if it meant he could say out loud what he felt, and hear her say it too. If he could revel in the passion and excitement and sheer bloody joy he felt when he was with her.

By the time he arrived at the entrance to her street he was travelling so fast he nearly collected a street sign as he cornered. He braked, heart pounding with adrenaline and anticipation, then braked again, savagely, as he neared her house. Justin's car was there. The agony as his heart cracked reminded him why he'd never given himself over to love. He worked to convert the hurt into familiar black rage, and found himself unable to force the transition. Instead, he sat in the dark, awash with pain and breathing harshly against it. At some point he realised the engine was still idling, that the car was still in the middle of the road, and he eased it into a parking space, snuffed the engine and sank his head to the steering wheel.

It could be innocent. He couldn't imagine why Justin would be at Philippa's house on a Friday night, but still—it could be purely innocent. Justin had said himself there was nothing between them. And of course, Philippa had said the same, over and over.

On the other hand, he knew his brother desired Philippa. Eleanor had told him only yesterday that Justin's hoped-for reconciliation with Lucy hadn't progressed. His brother was handsome, rakish, witty. Liberal with his affections where Matt was austere, open-hearted where Matt was guarded … When Justin turned on the charm there wasn't a woman in the city who wouldn't respond. And Matt knew, to his very great delight, to his very great cost, exactly how Philippa responded to seduction. How she purred under his caresses, how she matched his passion with unbridled, generous passion of her own.

Matt's fingers clenched on the keys in the ignition. He'd go. He wanted to trust her, but if he discovered his suspicions were true after all, he knew he'd break apart. He'd go. But Eleanor's words returned to his head. Was she right? Was she right about how Philippa felt? He desperately wanted her to be right, because she was dead right about how
he
felt when he looked at Philippa.

His eyes flicked to the clock on the dashboard. Some nights he'd be arriving around now. Was she
wanting
him to find her with Justin? He'd often imagined her waiting for him, preparing for him. Who was to say she hadn't been entertaining Justin first?

No.
No
. He knew her. And she wasn't like that. She had integrity. She was honest, and trusting. Trustworthy. They had never discussed their relationship, had never talked about exclusivity, but in his bones he knew it. She cared for him. It was in her eyes when she met him at the door and in her touch when she loved him. And she wasn't capable of simply going from one brother's bed to another's. There wasn't a duplicitous bone in her body.

He'd go. There was bound to be a perfectly rational and perfectly innocent explanation for Justin's presence there tonight. He'd go now, and he'd phone Philippa in the morning and ask if he could come over tomorrow night. God,
there
was a novel concept. He'd actually phone her and ask if she wanted to see him, instead of turning up unannounced and expecting her to welcome him into her bed. What an arsehole he'd been. He could see it now, open to his love instead of blinded with lust. He could see exactly what type of pig he'd been. It was a miracle she hadn't had him physically ejected, if not the first time then any of the times since. And since she hadn't … surely she loved him, too?

His fingers turned over the ignition and the car hummed with life. Then Justin appeared at Philippa's doorway. Matt hadn't realised he was holding his breath until he let it out with an audible hiss as Justin trotted down the steps. Philippa was there now too, standing on her verandah and waving, but there was nothing more than casual friendliness in her wave. He heard Justin call out, ‘Thanks, see you next week at the opening.' Heard Philippa's reply: ‘You bet!'

Justin drove off, and Matt was out of his car without any clear thought directing his actions. She'd turned back inside the house, but spun around when her front gate creaked at his entry. She was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved top that sloped off one shoulder, and her hair was floating around her face as he loved it. Pretty. Sexy. Surprised, but not guilty.

‘Matt! Where did you come from?'

‘I was waiting in the car. I didn't want to interrupt anything.' He'd thought he'd made his voice pleasant, light, but her face filled with uncertainty and her tone was defensive.

‘You weren't interrupting anything. Justin needed my help with something, that's all.'

He'd reached the top step and paused, a breath away from her. He tried to colour his voice with friendly reassurance. ‘Sure. Is it okay if I come in?'

He read reluctance in her face.

‘It's getting late, Matt, and I have to work tomorrow.'

‘Of course, I understand. I won't stay long. There was just something I wanted to talk to you about. It'll only take a few minutes.'

She led him through the house to the kitchen, and he saw her quickly gather up some papers covered in what looked like Justin's scrawl, but he said nothing about them and neither did she. Instead she offered him coffee, her inflection edgy, her posture stiff, and Matt realised in shock blended with shame it was the first time in the weeks he'd been visiting he'd made it past her bedroom. Hell, some nights they didn't make it out of her hallway.

‘I owe you an apology,' he blurted, and she jumped at his voice.

‘Oh? Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?'

‘No. Something else. But that can wait.' His hand closed over her fingers which had been busily and purposelessly fiddling with an open packet of sugar granules, and she dropped the packet. They both watched the granules spill across the counter. ‘Please, leave it.'

Philippa paused in her movement to sweep the sugar into one palm. She wasn't looking at him, but she was listening, at least.

‘Philippa, please. Would you look at me?'

He reached out for her other hand and she let him take it, let him guide her to the stool beside his and perch on it. She looked quickly at his face and away again, hot colour blooming in her cheeks and rapidly dissipating. Matt held her hands, stroking the tops with his thumbs.

‘I'm sorry, Philippa.' Softly.

‘For what?'

‘For making assumptions about you. For acting as if they were true. For not listening when you tried to tell me the truth. For not respecting your professional ethics. I'm sorry I've been coming here night after night and treating you like a body with no purpose other than to satisfy my desire.'

At this her eyes filled, and he silently called himself all kinds of fool for how he'd hurt her. ‘I'd like to start again.'

She began to speak, cleared her throat, began again. ‘Start what again?'

‘Us. I'd like to start us again. Take some time, get to know each other properly.'

‘Why? Why now?' She looked at him now, and her eyes challenged and accused.

Matt laughed humourlessly. In truth, he didn't have a good answer. To admit he thought he loved her seemed ludicrous in the circumstances, and her frosty glare dared him to invent a reason. He wouldn't lie to her, there'd been enough trust issues between them already, but he couldn't find the words to explain what he wanted. Absurd. One of the city's most eloquent lawyers and negotiators, and he couldn't find the words he needed.

He was still holding her hands, she hadn't pulled away, and he raised them to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Her breath caught, and Matt let go her hands to shape her face for his kiss. She was unresponsive at first, sitting passively below his mouth, and he intensified his kiss, dipping his tongue between her lips to open her mouth and taste her again. She let him, but she didn't reciprocate, and with a groan he gathered her close in his arms and buried his lips in the hollow of her throat. Matt felt the fire rush through his veins again, just like always. He slid his mouth up the length of her neck and heard her stifle a moan. He nuzzled her, seeking her lips again, and this time she gave them to him, open-mouthed and hot and needy. Without thinking, he scooped her off the stool and carried her the few steps to her bedroom, laid her tenderly on the bed, stripped her with focused intent, got rid of his own clothes and buried himself in her lush, luxuriant warmth.