Her Man with Iceberg Eyes (20 page)

There are complications here I hadn’t
foreseen, but compensations, too.

Was he the compensation? He didn’t like being
described as that. Only minutes after he’d slipped from her body,
she’d thought of him just as ‘compensation’? Evil bitch. She’d
fooled him absolutely. Had him almost begging on his knees.

Good luck for your big merger
announcement
.

Now he was truly troubled. He’d heard no talk
of a takeover. No whiff of a merger on the rumour mill.

I still think you’re going to stun
people.

And he was certainly one of them. He sat
welded to his chair, staring at her words, wondering what he’d
missed, bitterly regretting his night of incredible passion with
the woman who would now have to be somehow wrenched from his
heart.

Kate stood under the stinging shower for
long, numbing minutes. Matthew had been furious—far more vicious
than a couple of sketches warranted. Okay, it had been cheeky of
her to look for them, but he hadn’t handed them over when she asked
for them earlier. And she’d asked for them more than once.

It seemed she’d now lost any chance of
getting them back.

She dried herself and dressed, still
wondering about his reaction. Their extreme intimacy had evaporated
in a few seconds. She was heartsick and confused. What would the
rest of the day bring?

Clad as warmly as possible, she ventured
outside. The tearing winds of the night before had piled snow along
the southern side of the house. But the north was much more
accessible. Now it was eerily fine and calm. The storm had been
swift to arrive and swift to depart. She hoped Matthew’s foul mood
passed as rapidly.

She looked back at her footprints in the snow
and then forward to the smooth blank carpet. There was her
life—laid out behind her in safe regular steps, but stretching
ahead full of possibilities. An hour ago, she’d been sure he was
one of those possibilities.

As of now, no way.

She saw movement through the kitchen window,
and deserted the snow. After stomping her boots clean on the
bristle mat by the back door, she walked inside. He pointedly left
the room.

“Get whatever you want to eat,” he snarled
from the hallway. “Lottie will be back about ten-thirty. I’m going
across to the vineyard. The office is locked, in case you’re
tempted to try again.” He stormed away.

She heard the low throb of the SUV, the
shudder of the garage door opening—and soon after, closing again.
And she was alone.

Any other day, she’d have been famished.
Yesterday’s dinner had been a couple of slices of toast and pate.
(And they’d certainly worked off those calories.) But now she was
unable to eat. She picked at a boiled egg. Pushed a muffin around
her plate. Sat there brooding until the painting cavalcade arrived
with cheerful toots.

Lottie hopped heavily through the shallow
snow, clutching at two friends.

“Katie—what a time we have had. The views are
fantastic. The light is amazing.” A third friend retrieved the
wheelchair from the following vehicle. Together, they got her
organised.

“Ya—a good thing we took the chains for the
wheels, or we would have been totally stranded,” she added with
wide eyes and a dramatic flourish.

From the amused look on the face of one of
the friends, Kate surmised it had been far from an emergency.

“Wonderful that you’re home then,” she said.
“Shall I make coffee? Tea? What would anyone like?”

But the other painters were keen to get home,
and departed as soon as they knew Lottie was in good hands.

“Matthew is here?”

Kate tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
“No—he’s gone to the vineyard. To help with the party preparations,
I expect.”

“And left you alone?” Surprise and outrage
lit her mobile features.

Kate shrugged. “It’s okay. He’s busy.”

Lottie glanced back over her shoulder as Kate
pushed her chair into the elevator. “So you and Matthew are getting
on well?”

Kate laughed less than humorously. “We were
last night, but I think it’s gone up in smoke. He seems to have
changed his mind.”

The elevator door slid aside and they entered
the studio. “Ach, Katie, surely not?”

“Well, I was searching for those sketches he
did of me and he found me looking for them in his office. He hit
the roof.”

Lottie nodded slowly. “But you told him it
was the sketches?”

“Yes, of course. And he didn’t believe me.”
Kate halted the wheelchair and perched on a nearby sofa arm, eyes
downcast.

Lottie sighed. “He does not trust easily
after... something that happened before. He is a proud man, my
brother.”

“He’s a cold man,” Kate snapped.

“I thought you were good for each other. He
relaxed with you. I saw him smiling and looking happy again.” She
reached across for Kate’s hand. “It’s at least a year since he sat
in the studio and worked with me. I saw how he looked when he fed
you lunch. How his eyes were warm when he sketched you. There was
life in his eyes. More life than I’ve seen for a long time. You
make him thaw.”

Kate shook her head. “Now he’s frozen up
again,” she muttered.

Lottie released Kate’s hand. “Did you find a
pretty dress for the party? That could be all it takes?”

“Beautiful. But I don’t think...” Her voice
trailed away. She drew a deep breath. “I don’t think I should go to
the party after all. It might only annoy him further.”

“Nonsense Katie. If it was good, can be good
again. Pretty dress, nice wine, a little dancing?” Lottie smiled.
“We patch him up—you wait and see.”

“What are
you
wearing tonight?” Kate
asked, wanting to change the subject.

Lottie sighed. “My new evening trousers I
bought will not go over this ankle plaster. What do you think are
the possibilities? Have a look with me and say.”

The proceeded to the bedroom and opened the
big wardrobe doors. Together they investigated the extraordinary
collection of clothes inside.

“Everything is here. Many years of buying. No
years of cleaning out.” Lottie poked a finger at a silver skirt.
“Top name. Real haute couture. See the label?”

Kate unhooked the skirt and Lottie grinned as
her jaw dropped. “But I don’t wear now. Live a different life, and
I’m not so thin.” She pointed to a check shirt. “From the local
market. Good for painting. More my style these days.”

Kate held up a brilliant pink silk jacket,
edged with orange braid. It was tiny, and her eyes held
questions.

“That was before Carlo,” Lottie said. “My
lovely son. Dead two years back. He was my darling.”

Kate sent her an anguished glance. “I didn’t
know. I saw a photo of a little boy in Matthew’s room last night,
but I thought he might be his.”

“No—my boy, my dear boy. A tumour.”

Kate bowed her head. “They look so alike,
Matthew and...Carlo?”

“Like my father, both of them,” Lottie
agreed. “The same intense eyes.”

Kate turned back to the wardrobe and began to
rummage along the racks. Lottie’s grief was raw. It was difficult
to find any suitable words of consolation. “I could help you sort
some of this out,” she offered. “The older things. The ones that
don’t fit any more? We could see what’s best then as party
outfits?”

“Good to get it done. Not the sort of thing
you expected with this job?”

Kate grimaced at that. “I don’t think the job
is a possibility now. Not after the way Matthew reacted when he
found me in his office.”

“There’s something I will tell you,” Lottie
said. “Matthew was married. Not to a suitable woman. It was a
bitter divorce after she stole his business information and asked
for money to give it back.”

Kate’s expression softened with
understanding, and then resignation took over. “No chance for me
then,” she said, turning back to the wardrobe. “Bad luck—I would
have loved to work for you.”

By one o’clock, they had five jumbo plastic
garbage bags packed up ready for the local charity shop. The ladies
there would soon be having a field day.

“So—this long dark green velvet skirt and the
gold tabard over the rusty silk blouse?” Kate suggested. “Or the
navy patio pants and jacket with this amazing silver mesh
top...?”

Lottie considered them both. “Ya—those wide
pants would hide my plaster. That blouse is good with my hair.
Maybe the blouse, okay?”

“And what are you doing with your hair?”

“Matthew will take me for my three o’clock
appointment.”

“We’d better have lunch then,” Kate said.

But Matthew had not returned by two-thirty.
Kate listened while Lottie phoned the vineyard. Hamish said he’d
left there soon after twelve. Lottie tried his mobile. He’d
switched it off. “So you take me, Katie.”

Kate shook her head, horrified at the
thought. Not in Matthew’s precious Alpha Romeo! And definitely not
on snowy roads. “Let’s call a taxi.”

“No time left,” Lottie said implacably,
fishing out a bunch of keys from her bag. “That one,” she added,
suspending the others from it.

Getting Lottie into the low car took a bit of
doing, but two determined women are rarely beaten.

Kate had no idea how to put chains on a car,
or if the Alpha even had any. The snow had now melted in places.
The driveway was clearly marked by short posts topped with
lanterns. Egged on by Lottie’s enthusiasm, she crept down to the
main gates in the tracks Matthew’s SUV had made...into the slushy
road below...and with slightly more confidence along the main
highway which had been cleared and gritted. They made it to the
hairdresser only a few minutes late.

Her nerves were in shreds after driving the
capricious and powerful vehicle. It was probably worth more than an
up-market house! And Lottie’s exuberant but vague instructions had
not made for an easy journey. Kate helped her into the salon and
bolted out to guard the car.

Moments later, Matthew drew up beside her. He
strode to her window and indicated she should lower it. She fumbled
with the unfamiliar controls. He waited, and said from his superior
height, “Trying it on for size? Checked all the pockets?”

“Taking Lottie to her hair appointment,” she
snapped.

He had the good grace to look slightly
chagrined, but didn’t apologise for his absence. “You’ll be back
when?”

“No idea. Her appointment was at three.”

“Take it carefully on the way home.”

“I took it carefully on the way here, seeing
that you didn’t turn up. It wasn’t my idea.” She stared straight
ahead, willing him to leave.

He must have taken the hint because the SUV
roared off a few seconds later, although she never saw him slide
away from her window.

The party invitations stipulated drinks at
seven, dinner from eight, dancing until dawn—for the youngest
guests maybe. Kate wondered how long she could survive the
festivities if Matthew remained determined to freeze her out. The
prospect of his cold presence was daunting. How far away was the
vineyard? About five miles if she remembered Diana’s comments
rightly. She’d be trapped there for hours with no means of
escape.

His comments after he’d arrived at the hair
salon had been far from encouraging. He was still in a foul temper,
and all because she’d been looking for something which she
considered rightfully hers.

She’d made several forays into the salon to
check progress, and finally Lottie’s red-gold hair was swept up and
sculpted into a tower of coils and curls. She was obviously taking
the party seriously. Kate sighed. At this rate her temporary
assistant had better summon up some party spirit too.

The ride home was not quite as bad as the
ride in to town, and she escaped to her bedroom with a book once
she’d done everything she usefully could. Matthew was still
avoiding her—leaving the room if she entered, coldly turning down
her offer of coffee.

She feared she’d made a very great fool of
herself, falling for him so fast. But how could she have resisted?
He was the most charismatic and commanding man she’d ever met. He’d
pursued her relentlessly, teased her, bested her at every turn
until her brain was as useful as custard...her body a-quiver like
jelly.

Then he’d devoured her like the big bad wolf
he apparently was, and now he was spitting out the bones.

Kate had not expected cruelty like this.
Although he’d made his interest obvious, he’d proceeded only at the
pace she’d allowed. He’d not pressed her until she’d joined him in
the electrifying game at the boutique. She’d presumed him a
gentleman who’d play by most of the rules. His sudden desertion and
stinging indifference shocked and confused her.

The print in her novel wavered on the page.
Something—or some
one
else—had all her attention. From his
current cold manner, she saw very little chance of him softening
toward her again.

So one day and night would be all there
was.

A teasing trip to buy the dress...the amazing
flight over the Southern Alps...the time on the boat where he’d
demanded her kisses, and dropped the wonderful bombshell of his
availability.

Then the sweet caresses and sizzling embraces
here at the house.

One night in his bed and goodbye.

Well, she had her pride. She would somehow
manage to put on a good enough show for the evening, even if she
crashed and burned once it was over.

Remembering his jibe about elastic marks
across her back, she slipped her bra off in good time.

She showered. She carefully made up her face.
She pinned up her hair and pulled down some tendrils. Applied
plum-coloured nail enamel to match her dramatic lipstick. And slid
into her dream of a dress.

She’d never looked better or felt worse.

His cold eyes blazed hot for an instant when
she stepped from the twilight of the hallway into the glow of the
main living room, but the heat was gone in a second, smothered in
ice again.