The Crown Affair (3 page)

Because why else would he have leapt to the wrong conclusion and rushed over here? Why else would he have completely overreacted and lashed out at her? And why else would he be finding it so hard to keep his hands off her?

The flush of colour in her cheeks, the flashing of her
eyes and the heaving of her breasts made him want to behave in the kind of prehistoric way that he doubted would go down well with a twenty-first-century woman. Even when he'd thought she was a journalist and had been burning with fury, he'd still wanted to throw her over his shoulder and cart her off to the nearest bedroom.

Which was never going to happen. Even if he'd wanted to explore the attraction that sizzled between them he didn't have the time and really didn't need the complication.

Ignoring the sliver of regret that pierced his chest, Matt set his jaw and pulled himself together. A tower of strength, that was him. Rock hard. Implacable.

Above all, he was absolutely not cracking up and it was about time he proved it. Giving Laura a polite smile, he hardened his heart. ‘I'm afraid that's completely out of the question.'

 

Oh.

Laura's smile faded and her shoulders sagged a little at Matt's flatly delivered response. A flood of disappointment washed through her and a lump formed in her throat. Dammit, she could have sworn he'd been about to agree to her request. She'd thought she'd had it so in the bag.

But as she stared up at him, taking in the rigid expression on his face and his unyielding stance, it was blindingly obvious that Matt had made his decision, and it was equally clear that nothing she said would make him change his mind. He looked unforgiving, unbending and as immovable as granite.

She swallowed back the lump and inwardly shrugged. Ah, well. She'd tried. That was the main thing.

She'd given it her best shot and been defeated. Matt clearly valued his privacy and definitely wanted to be left alone. He'd made his decision and she'd respect that. So her curiosity would remain unsatisfied, but that didn't matter. There were plenty of other equally interesting houses she could visit if she felt like it. It really was no big deal.

She was on the point of turning on her heel and leaving when her conscience suddenly decided to wake up and demand to know what the hell she thought she was doing.

Hang on a minute. She froze as her head began to pound. Was she really going to give in just like that? After all she'd been through? After all the self-analysis she'd done? After all the money and energy she'd spent on that course?

What was she? A wimp or a warrior?

Feeling determination begin to course through her, Laura stiffened her resolve. Hadn't she vowed to banish her inner wimp and embrace her inner warrior?

She had. At length. So no way was she going to let the wimp win.

This wasn't about the house any more. This was about her, and the promise she'd made to herself to shuck off the old Laura and embrace the new.

Matt might be standing there like Everest, but he was still a man, flesh and blood just like anyone else. Well, not
quite
like anyone else, she thought, letting her gaze roam over him and feeling her temperature rocket, but he was bound to have an Achilles heel somewhere. All she had to do was find it.

She'd get what she came for. By whatever means possible.

 

Why wasn't she spinning on her heel and going?

Matt watched the emotions play across Laura's face and his frown deepened. He'd made it perfectly clear his answer was no, so why was she still hovering there?

More to the point, why was
he
still hovering there? Just because she was running her gaze over him didn't mean he had to stay until she'd finished, did it?

‘Oh,' she said, her teeth catching on her lower lip as she finally lifted her face and batted her eyelids up at him.

Oh, no, Matt thought, steeling himself against the nugget of guilt that suddenly started tugging at his conscience. He was
not
going to be swayed by the disappointment swimming in the big blue eyes shimmering up at him. Or distracted by the wet red pout of her mouth.

No way. The guilt and the desire could get lost. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and dragged them through his hair. Dammit, this was precisely why he should have been the one to leave.

‘Please,' she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, the pout curving into an enticing smile.

Matt's gaze dropped to her mouth before he could stop it and he was thwacked by a vision of those lips roaming over his body, her hair fanning out and tickling his skin as she moved down him, her hands stroking everywhere. At the force of the desire that slammed through him his mouth went dry and his head swam.

And for the life of him he couldn't remember why letting her loose in his house was a bad idea.

‘OK,' he heard himself say. ‘Sure. Why not?'

‘Great,' she said, the disappointment vanishing from her eyes and her smile switching from enticing to strangely triumphant. ‘Lead the way.'

Why not?
Why not?
God. He was definitely cracking up. Wishing he could give himself a good slap, Matt muttered a ‘Follow me,' turned on his heel and marched off.

W
ELL,
that had been something of a surprise, thought Laura, resisting the urge to punch the air and setting off in Matt's wake instead. Having never employed such wily tactics before, she hadn't really expected the pout and the eyelash flutter to work. But while she might be faintly stunned that they had, Matt, judging by the merciless pace he set as he stalked along the path, was fuming.

By the time they reached the front door of the house Laura was hot, panting and, without doubt, hideously red in the face. Matt, on the other hand, hadn't broken a sweat.

If she was being brutally honest, her current breathlessness wasn't
entirely
due to the unexpected exercise. She'd trotted along behind him, her gaze fixed to his lithe muscular frame as if magnetised, and her body had begun to hum with something other than adrenalin. The easy way he moved and the purposefulness of his stride had her thinking about all the other things he might do purposefully and easily, and her head had gone all fuzzy. She'd scraped her hair back into a messy ponytail in the faint hope it might cool her down but it hadn't worked.

‘Where would you like to start?' he snapped, drop
ping his keys onto the console table and whipping round to face her.

With the removal of his T-shirt ideally, Laura decided, totally distracted by the rippling muscles in his forearms as he crossed them over his chest. First she'd slide her hands beneath it and draw it over his head. Once she'd dealt with that she'd run her hands down his torso and tackle his belt. Then she'd undo the buttons of his jeans, hook her hands over the waistband and ease them down over his hips before pushing him down onto a deep soft sofa that was bound to be lurking somewhere around the place. And then she'd sink to her knees and—

‘Laura?'

Laura blinked and hurtled back to reality. God. She was doing it again. At the heat that rushed through her, her cheeks began to burn even more fiercely.

For the first time since she'd decided to become an architect she thanked God for the eighteenth century window tax that had bricked up thousands of windows and ultimately led to dark halls across the country. Including, to her eternal gratitude, this one.

‘Yes. Sorry.' She blinked and swallowed and gathered her scattered wits. The house. He was talking about the house. Of course. ‘The—ah—attic, I think,' she said. As far away from Matt and his disturbing effect on her equilibrium as possible.

‘I'll take you to it,' he said, heading for the stairs.

What? Alarm knotted her stomach. He was planning to accompany her? Laura shivered at the thought. With him watching her every move she'd never get anything done.

‘No,' she blurted out.

Matt stopped, turned and stared at her in surprise. As well he might.

‘I mean, it's fine,' she added hastily with a quick smile. ‘I'm sure you have things to be getting on with and I should be able to find the attic. Top of the house, right?'

‘Where else?'

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing as if trying to work out if she was entirely trustworthy, and, what with the unorthodox methods she'd employed to inveigle her way inside his house, she couldn't entirely blame him.

‘Well, quite.' Laura swallowed hard and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Look, Matt,' she said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, ‘I really do work better alone. And I promise not to run off with the silver.'

Matt frowned and then shrugged. ‘Fine. I'll be in the library if you need anything.'

 

Oh, for God's sake, Matt thought, scowling down at the report into Sassania's fishing quotas that he'd been trying to work on and shoving it aside. How long did getting a few photos take? The house wasn't that big, but Laura had been up there for an hour at least. She couldn't have found
that
much of architectural interest, could she?

Something banged right above his head and Matt winced. Perhaps she had. Judging by the sounds of scraping furniture and the hammering on walls that had been coming from various parts of the house, Laura was taking the whole place apart.

While part of him reluctantly admired her thoroughness and determination, another, more persistent part of him had spent the past hour wondering whether her
enthusiasm and passion for her work carried over into other areas of life. Like sex.

An image of her lying on his bed, naked, her hair spilling all over his pillows, her long tanned limbs tangled in his sheets, her eyes all slumberous and inviting, slammed into his head yet again and his body stiffened painfully.

Matt shoved his hands through his hair and ground his teeth in frustration. This was ridiculous. He was a sensible rational man of thirty-three, not a hormone-ridden adolescent. So why was he finding it so hard to concentrate? Why had he spent the past ten minutes reading the same page of that damned report with still no idea of what it was about?

It hadn't been
that
long since he'd had sex, had it? He cast his mind back and tried to remember the last time he'd had a woman in his bed. Was it six months ago? A year? Surely it couldn't be longer than that, could it?

Matt frowned. Even if it was, there was no need to panic. He'd been busy. That was all. And it wasn't as if he
needed
sex. He'd gone far longer without it and had survived perfectly well.

Footsteps echoed down the stairs. His blood rushed to his head and he pushed himself away from his desk and leapt to his feet. He needed to get out, before he did something really rash like bundle her back upstairs and demand she show him the architectural features of his bedroom.

He'd go and chop what was left of those logs. The release of hard physical work after spending months in stifling meeting rooms had worked earlier. It would work now. Just to be on the safe side he'd stay out there until she'd finished. If he ran out of logs, he'd fire up the lawnmower.

And there was another benefit of his strategy, he thought, identifying the sound of a camera clicking coming from the drawing room and striding across the hall. Laura could let herself out. Once he'd told her where he was going he need never lay eyes on her ever again. And then maybe, just maybe, his body would stop twitching and aching and straining, and he'd regain some sort of equilibrium.

Good. Excellent. It was a brilliant plan. With every step he took he could feel his head clearing and his sanity returning.

Until he got to the doorway. Where he stopped dead.

As he'd figured, Laura was in the drawing room. What he hadn't allowed for was that she'd be investigating the fireplace. With her back to him, on her knees. With her legs spread and her bottom in the air.

His gaze dropped, automatically zooming in on her bottom, and as his blood rushed to his feet and his body began to pound with lust the breath whooshed from his lungs and his brilliant plan turned to dust.

 

Laura sensed Matt's presence a nanosecond before she heard it. The nape of her neck pricked, her pulse skipped and goosebumps sprang up all over her skin. And then she caught the sharp exhalation of breath and the muttered oath, and with utter horror the picture she realised she must be presenting flashed into her head.

Barely a minute ago she'd walked into the drawing room and immediately spied the ornamented fireback of the fireplace. She'd rattled off a couple of photos before hunkering down to take a closer look. As a result she was on her hands and knees, face to the stone and bottom to the air.

Oh, God. A cold clammy sweat broke out over her entire body as mortification flooded through her. It was so not a good look. Heaven only knew what Matt must be thinking.

Desperately seeking to claw back some kind of dignity, Laura clambered to her feet as elegantly and quickly as she could.

Which would have been absolutely fine had she not been tucked inside a four-foot-high fireplace.

Realisation came way too late.

As did Matt's shout of warning.

With a sickening thud her skull cracked against solid seventeenth century stone. Her yelp of shock ricocheted around the fireplace. For a second she could feel absolutely nothing. Could see nothing but a fuzzy sort of blackness dotted with stars. Could hear nothing but the hammering of her heart.

Then as the blackness faded an excruciating pain shot the entire length of her body and spread throughout her limbs. She let out an agonised gasp. Her stomach churned and sent a wave of nausea rolling into her throat. Her knees buckled and she crumpled. She screwed her eyes tight shut and braced herself for more unimaginable pain.

Which didn't come.

How strange. Where was the agony? Where was the shock?

Faintly bewildered, Laura just hung there for a second, suspended by two bands of steel that had come from who knew where and snapped round her waist. Come to think of it, what exactly was the solid thing she was pressed up against and why was her body suddenly zinging with electricity?

Her heart beginning to pound even faster, Laura gin
gerly opened her eyes. And found herself staring straight up into Matt's, so close, so dark and so focused on her that she nearly saw stars all over again.

When he'd caught her he'd evidently had to clamp her to him. Now every inch of her body was plastered up against his and awareness fizzled along her nerve endings. She could feel the tension in his muscles as he held her. She could feel his heart banging against the palm of her hand. The intoxicating scent of him enveloped her, seeped into her head and made her dizzy.

He was so close she could see flecks of gold in the brown of his eyes. So close his mouth was barely an inch from her own. The lingering traces of pain and shock receded and slow drugging desire began to hum in the pit of her stomach.

Laura's pulse leapt. Her lips actually tingled. All she'd have to do would be to lift her head a fraction and she could put an end to the speculation and find out exactly what he tasted like. Perhaps she could blame it on concussion, because, Lord, it was tempting.

But it was also just not on, Laura reminded herself, dragging her gaze from Matt's mouth and fixing it firmly on the wedge of tanned flesh exposed by the V of his T-shirt.

The only reason she was in his house was because she'd guilt-tripped him into it. He didn't really want her here and, as was clear from the scowl on his face, he wasn't exactly ecstatic about having had to jump to her rescue.

A kiss from her would be about as welcome to him as UPVC windows were to her. No doubt about it.

Unfortunately knowing that wasn't apparently enough to stop a deep sigh of longing escaping her lips.

Heat rushed to her cheeks in the silence that followed.
God, she really hoped Matt hadn't caught that. And she really hoped he couldn't feel her swelling breasts and hardening nipples press against his chest.

But as his arms tightened around her any hope she might have had that he hadn't noticed her reaction to him evaporated. Her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes jerked up and met his just in time to catch something flaring in the brown depths. Barely a flash, but it was enough to set her heart galloping and her head spinning. And then she felt another part of his anatomy flaring and the bottom fell out of her stomach.

Oh, good Lord.

It wasn't just her. He felt it, too. Laura's heart thumped. Judging by the impressive evidence swelling against her hip, Matt was as attracted to her as she was to him. His head was moving forward. His eyes were darkening as they roamed over her face, lingering on her mouth before sweeping back up to meet hers.

For a split second delight shot through her and then quite suddenly panic elbowed the delight aside and thumped her squarely in the chest. Her nerves started to twist into a tangled mess.

Oh, God. If Matt did want her as much as she wanted him then she ought to leave. As soon as possible.

Because if he did make a move and kissed her, she'd never be able to resist. One thing would lead to another and another and another, and before she knew it she'd be back where she started, assertiveness course or no assertiveness course.

It would be even worse if he
didn't
kiss her. Because then the danger was that what with her highly unstable behaviour of late
she'd
be the one to make a move.

Either way the outcome would be a disaster of epic proportions.

So why wasn't she pushing him away? Why was she letting him get closer?

Time seemed to skid to a halt and Laura couldn't move. Matt's hand came up to cup her face and her skin burned as if he'd branded her. Anticipation thundered through her and her bones melted. When he slid his hand up and threaded his fingers through her hair Laura couldn't help lifting her face. Couldn't stop her breath hitching and her lips parting.

God, who cared if she couldn't resist? If this was wrong, why did it feel so right? Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her heart hammered. Desperation to taste him clawed at her insides and she had to bite on her lip to stop another whimper of need escaping.

‘It doesn't look as if you need stitches,' he murmured, ‘but you'll have quite a bump.'

What?

Laura froze. The whimper died in her throat. For a moment bewilderment besieged her brain. And then clarity dawned and she went scorchingly hot.

Agh. The bump on her head couldn't possibly be any bigger than the one she'd just had crashing back to reality.

What on earth was the matter with her? How could she have got it so wrong? Thank God Matt had drawn back before she'd lost patience and grasped the initiative.

At the thought of just how massive a fool she could have made of herself mortification roared through her and made her cheeks burn. God, was there
no
hope for her?

Suddenly desperate to get away, Laura wriggled in his arms and pushed against his chest. When his arms
loosened she stepped back. And nearly collapsed all over again.