Maggie Cox - Passionate Protectors?

Which was crazy, she chided herself impatiently, trying not to notice the length of his eyelashes or the darkening line of stubble on his jaw. Such a strong jawline, she mused, aware of him with every cell in her being. This close, she could see every pore and bristle, was only inches away from the sensual curve of his mouth.

His breath fanned her temple, warm and only slightly flavoured with the strong black coffee he’d drunk at breakfast. She could smell the soap he used, smell his sweat. And was helplessly aware of her own reactions to him.

She was instantly ashamed. She had no right to be speculating on what it would be like to be in his arms because he wanted her there. It was useless to wonder how she’d feel if he touched her, touched her intimately. But, if he allowed her slim frame to slide against him, would she find he was aroused?

She sucked in her breath. This had to stop, she told herself fiercely. She’d never had thoughts like this before. She’d certainly never considered herself a sexual woman. The only man she’d ever known intimately was Max.

Her husband’s name acted like a douche of cold water. She shivered violently and Matt, misunderstanding, said sharply, ‘Are you getting wet?’

‘No.’

Her response was sharper than it might have been because of the way she was feeling, and Matt arched an ironic brow. ‘Well, we’re nearly there,’ he said, nodding towards the dry sand directly ahead of them. ‘I should have warned you about the tides around here. They can be dangerous.’

Sara shook her head. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said, turning to see the cliff path just a few yards away. ‘You can put me down now.’

‘Perhaps I don’t want to,’ remarked Matt, stepping out of the water onto the patch of sand that was still uncovered by the tide. He looked down into her startled face and she was uneasily aware of how emotionally vulnerable she was. ‘I think you and I need to have a little talk, Mrs Bradbury.’ He allowed her name to register with her. ‘Don’t you?’

Sara could scarcely breathe. ‘How do you know who I am?’ she asked, not bothering to try and deny it, and Matt hesitated only a moment before setting her on her feet.

‘How do you think?’ he asked, stepping away from her. ‘I saw your picture in a newspaper, of course.’ He paused, looking back at her. ‘Look, do you mind if we continue this after I’ve got out of these wet clothes?’

Sara’s mouth felt so dry she doubted her ability to speak. But she had to say something in her own defence. Swallowing, she whispered, ‘It—it was an accident, you know. It wasn’t my fault.’ She drew a breath. ‘I—I didn’t mean to—’

‘Deceive me?’ Matt finished the sentence he thought she’d started in a dry, cynical voice. ‘Yeah, right.’ He glanced towards the path again. ‘Well, like I say, I’d prefer to have this conversation when I’m not in danger of freezing my butt, okay?’

He attempted to pull the soaked jeans away from his legs, but only succeeded in drawing Sara’s eyes to the way the denim was drawn taut over the swell of his sex. He intercepted her stare and gave a wry grimace. ‘Sorry if I’m embarrassing you, Mrs Bradbury,’ he added mockingly. ‘I guess I’m not as cold as I thought.’

Sara’s face flamed. ‘You’re not embarrassing me,’ she exclaimed, even though her face was bright red. Now she looked anywhere but at his crotch. ‘Would you prefer me to go first?’

Matt’s lips twisted. ‘Yes, I’d prefer you to go first,’ he mimicked her prim tone. ‘And when we get back to the house you’re going to let Mrs Webb take a look at that hip. I know it’s hurting you, and the old lady used to be a nursing auxiliary until she had a family and had to give it up.’

Sara pressed her lips together. This wasn’t the time to argue with him, as he’d said, but she hoped he didn’t think the fact that he’d discovered who she was gave him the right to order her about. She had no intention of letting Mrs Webb or anyone else examine her. If she was arrested—She licked her dry lips. Well, she’d face that problem when she came to it. Until then…

It was harder climbing the cliff path today than it had been the day before. She assumed fear—and the prospect of imminent exposure to the authorities—had stiffened her muscles, and it was difficult putting one foot in front of the other.

On top of that, her mind was buzzing with thoughts of what Matt intended to do with her. Had he already called the police? Or was he prepared to listen to her side of the story before turning her in? Although she knew there was no chance of her getting away, she couldn’t help considering and discarding every option open to her.

Reaching the house, she had only Mrs Webb’s ire to contend with, however. The housekeeper clicked her tongue when she saw Matt’s wet clothes and said, ‘Go and get into a hot shower before you catch your death.’ Then she turned on Sara. ‘You should have told me you were going out,’ she exclaimed shortly. ‘I would have warned you about the tides.’

‘I know.’

Sara was contrite, but Matt chose to intervene. ‘Give her a break,’ he said, heading for the hall. ‘She’s had a shock. And, as far as getting wet is concerned, it is the middle of June, not November.’

‘And that water’s warm, is it?’ Mrs Webb enquired, with some sarcasm, and he sighed.

‘Warm enough,’ he said, not to be outdone. ‘Right. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.’

Sara knew this remark was addressed to her, but she had no intention of staying in the kitchen until he returned. It was to avoid the housekeeper’s questions that she’d sneaked out in the first place, and although she was fairly sure Matt hadn’t told Mrs Webb who she was, she wasn’t prepared to take that chance.

She waited until Matt had disappeared upstairs before saying casually, ‘I’ll be in my room, if anyone wants me.’

‘Why don’t you stay here?’ The housekeeper sounded put out. ‘Unless I’m not good enough for you, that is.’

Sara blew out a breath. ‘I need to use the bathroom,’ she said evenly. ‘It has nothing to do with your company, I can assure you.’

Mrs Webb regarded her grudgingly. ‘Matt says you’re staying until tomorrow,’ she remarked conversationally. ‘Have you—er—have you known him long?’

Sara blinked. ‘Matt?’ She shook her head ‘I only met him yesterday. I thought you knew.’

‘I know what he said,’ declared the housekeeper narrowly, looking sceptical. ‘But he seems awfully concerned about someone he only met twenty-four hours ago.’

Sara wished she’d left when Matt had. Whatever she felt about it, Mrs Webb was determined to get her pound of flesh. ‘I meant it,’ she said, ‘we barely know one another.’

But she couldn’t help wondering what the housekeeper would say if she was honest. She and Matt might only have known one another for a short time, but their relationship couldn’t be judged in terms of hours and minutes. Despite the shortness of their association, he probably knew her more intimately than anyone else.

Mrs Webb shrugged and returned to the casserole she’d been preparing before they came in, and Sara took the opportunity to get away. Favouring her uninjured leg, she left the kitchen, going as swiftly as she could up the stairs and along the gallery to her room.

It was amazing how quickly this room had become her refuge, she thought, sinking down onto the bed. It wasn’t her room, and it certainly wasn’t anything like the room she’d shared with Max. But it was bright and cheerful, and she felt at home there.

Which she had never done in the luxurious duplex apartment she shared with her husband. Situated in a fashionable part of the city, it had been decorated and furnished by a firm of interior designers that Max thought highly of. She’d had no say in any of it. The apartment was expensive and soulless, and she hated everything about it.