CHAPTER SEVEN

She should have been concentrating on the passing scenery, but her gaze kept being dragged back to the clean-cut obduracy of his profile, the competence of his hands on the wheel, the tantalizing strength of his thigh.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘No particular destination. Just following my nose. Why?’

‘Don’t go too far. Remember Hannah’s predilection for punctuality.’

‘Can one go too far, Zoe?’

The sensual intonation was deliberate.

‘Stop that, Matt.’

‘Stop what? I haven’t touched you.’

‘Just see that you don’t.’

‘If you say so. I’m law-abiding at heart. I obey the rules of society and adhere strictly to the highway code, or any code. If you put up prohibitive signs, I’ll observe them.’

She believed him, so why did she feel uneasy? Determinedly she turned and made herself look out the car window, but although she pretended to be totally absorbed, she was too conscious of Matt to banish him wholly from her thoughts.

They were traveling in an easterly direction, following what was supposed to be one of the most picturesque roads in Europe. For a while the car hugged the coastline of the Côte d’Azur, named for its blue and sparkling sea. The area was sheltered by the Alps, and its exceptionally mild climate produced vegetation like that in much hotter countries, palms, dates, oranges, bananas, and pomegranates. And flowers, everywhere flowers. Then Matt pointed the nose of the car inland, and they climbed a secondary road through magnificent mountain scenery with beautiful views of the sea below.

‘Next time you’re dabbing scent behind your ears, bear in mind that the rose, violet, hyacinth, or whatever it was made from was probably grown not too far from here.’

‘Is that a fact?’ Zoe said, although it was something she had already read somewhere and stored away. The area was noted for the large amount of flowers it grew for sale in London and Paris and for making perfume.

Never again would she take out a perfume stopper without thinking of that moment. Yet no bottled fragrance could equal the scent carried on the warm breeze.

‘I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be late getting back,’ Zoe despaired, the words a contradiction to her deep sigh of content.

‘Does it matter?’

‘I shall stand behind you and let you take the brunt of Hannah’s wrath.’

‘What about your fiancé’s wrath?’

Why did he have to remind her of Tony? ‘His, too,’ she said.

‘Coward.’

‘Perhaps I just like a quiet life.’ She didn’t care if he did read a double meaning into that. Life with Tony would be more tranquil than with him. ‘I think we should turn back now. But first, can we stop, please, and get out to look at the view?’

‘Of course.’

He slowed and pulled in at the first convenient place.

As she got out of the car he said, ‘Does it constitute touching you if I hold your hand? Not because I want to hold your hand, of course, but because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do to help a lady over rough ground.’

His mood was too mischievous. She didn’t trust it. But she gave him her hand as they walked to what Matt assured her would be the best vantage point. When they stopped, Zoe drew her breath in sharply. It seemed unfair that this sun-drenched corner of the earth should abound with so much beauty. It was a miracle of nature that no mortal painter, no matter how delicate his touch, could reproduce. The last rays of the sun brushed deep shafts of coppery gold over the earth, animating each rock and tree, every sweeping line and plane of color, down to the sparkling, breathtaking blue of the sea.

Zoe’s eyes soaked it all up. She was still savoring it in wonder and awe when she felt the first soft suspicion of a raindrop. She looked up at the sky. Surely its loss of vivid blue was because of the fading daylight? It was incomprehensible that rain would spoil this lovely day, and she dismissed the feather touch on her cheek as imagination, until it was joined by another . . . and another. The gentle cascade gained momentum and grew into a shower which, with relentless, fiendish speed, turned into a drenching downpour. Matt took her hand and they ran back toward the car. The rain beat them back with tropical force. They plowed on, feet squelching, blindly scurrying for the cover of the car. What had initially seemed a short walk was a waterlogged nightmare on the return trip.

Matt wrenched open the door for her, his hands closing on her hips and pushing her in before he ran round to the other side and got in himself.

Grinning across at her, he said, ‘Why do you look wetter than I do?’

‘Possibly because I am wetter than you are. Long hair,’ she explained tersely, opening the car door for a brief moment, making a rope of her offending tresses, and wringing out the excess water.

She couldn’t have been more sodden if she’d swum underwater to get back. Despite her efforts, her hair was still streaming. Her skirt adhered to her thighs, and she dreaded to think what the tightly clinging suntop was revealing, although it was doubtful if it was anything he hadn’t already guessed from the low cut of the back.

‘You’d probably do better to take that off and lay it out on the back seat to dry,’ he said, giving one slender strap a tweak.

‘Probably,’ she said, ‘but you know I’m not going to—and why.’

‘I’d see as much any day if I walked on a beach at St. Tropez,’ he said, but he didn’t press the issue. He extracted a clean, folded handkerchief, which was miraculously dry, from his pocket. ‘Not much, I’m afraid,’ he said, gently patting her face, ‘but the best I can do.’

‘I’ll survive until we get back. Why are you just sitting there, Matt? Why don’t you start the engine and get moving?’

‘Slight problem. Well, actually, major problem. Did you notice the poor condition of the road we’ve just traveled up, not to mention its steepness?’

‘Yes, but you’re competent. You’re more than just an average driver.’

‘In normal circumstances. These aren’t normal circumstances.’

‘I’m not afraid. I’d rather get back than stay here while it abates. I’ll feel perfectly safe with you.’

‘Don’t bet on that. I might risk my neck, but I’m not risking yours.’

‘Would you stop procrastinating and kindly explain what you mean?’

‘The windshield wipers don’t work. I was going to fix them tomorrow.’

‘I don’t believe you. You’re making it up.’

He switched on the engine and fiddled about on the dashboard. Nothing happened.

‘I do believe you!’ she gasped.

‘I’m sorry, Zoe. I didn’t know it was going to rain.’

‘I know you didn’t.’ But she also knew he wasn’t sorry.

Something was knocking at her brain, some gleam of intelligent reasoning that demanded to be admitted. The triumphant look on Matt’s face was akin to the one that had been on Tony’s face the previous evening at dinner when he’d pawed and fondled her just to make Matt squirm. Matt had asked her to come out on a drive with him to get even. He had never intended to get her back to Les Charmettes in time for dinner; perhaps he meant to keep her out all night!

Oh, he hadn’t arranged the rain, but it had been a godsend. When it had started raging down like that, she bet, he undoubtedly couldn’t believe his luck. It had saved him from having to engineer some excuse for not being able to take her back, the most likely one being the old classic of the car failing its after-repair test drive. It would have broken down at the crucial moment, possibly when it was too dark for him to find out what the trouble was, and so they would have had to stay put until morning.

Not because he wanted to spend the night with her. That was the choking, humiliating part, but to score off Tony. She’d had the feeling the night before that she was being used to settle a difference. What had been an idle thought then grew into a certainty now. Neither Matt nor Tony really cared about her, except as a weapon to use against each other.

Her fury knew no bounds. She dragged open the car door, but before she could get out Matt’s steel fingers wrapped round her arm.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘Anywhere to get away from you. I remember passing a village a little way back. I’ll head for it. I won’t stay here with you.’

‘It’s pouring. You’ll get washed away.’

‘I can’t feel a bigger drip than I already do for falling for this rotten setup.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You never meant to get me back in time for dinner. I doubt if you meant to get me back tonight. Can you deny it?’

‘Why should I? You can think what you damn well like; but you’re not getting out of this car. The village you’re talking about is too far away for you to walk it in this. There’s a better prospect a few kilometers ahead.’

He switched on the ignition again; the engine hummed to life, and he wound his window right down and put the car headlights on at full beam.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look as if I’m doing? I’m taking you there, aren’t I?’

‘This is crazy,’ she said as he swung the car back onto the road.

‘Not half as crazy as letting you walk.’

He drove with his head stuck out the window, and she wished that she hadn’t flown off the handle. She wondered what her stupidity had let them in for.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he yelled at her. ‘I’ve been in worse than this. You should have seen some of the walls of fog I’ve driven through. I’ve got a built-in radar system that I switch on at times like these.’

But even trusting him more than she would have trusted any other man, she was still afraid. A sheet of rain battered at his face. ‘Pull in somewhere, Matt. This is madness.’ But either he didn’t hear, or he didn’t want to hear, because he kept on relentlessly. In the end she held her breath, and it seemed to her that she didn’t let it out again until his target was reached. A building of some sort swam mistily into view. He pulled into a yard and didn’t look at her until he’d shut off the engine and wound the window back up.

‘You could have killed us both,’ she accused, her relief at being safe exploding into anger.

He took her face in his hands. The tenderness of the action melted her anger away. ‘No, I couldn’t, Zoe. I knew what I was doing. I might take the odd calculated risk, but I never take foolhardy ones. What do you want most in the world at this moment?’

The rain had been beating in at them through the open car window and Zoe was soaked again, ‘To feel dry,’ she said.

‘And to sit down and eat a civilized meal?’ he inquired.

‘That would be a bonus.’

But first another bonus was coming her way. She knew it, but she didn’t seem able to draw back from it. A profound sense of unreality gripped her as his hands gathered her close, molding themselves to her wet, clinging suntop, finding the sweetness of her breast and sending tingling sensations through her body. A wildness sang in her blood as his mouth sought and devoured hers. He hadn’t broken his word not to touch her. ‘If you put up prohibitive signs, I’ll observe them,’ was what he’d promised. She hadn’t. All barriers were down.

It was madness. Divine madness. Her fingers obeyed impulses that she had previously managed to resist, wriggling open a button of his shirt and sliding inside to press themselves against the hard wall of his chest, and then, appeasing an intolerable curiosity, they tangled in the masculine growth of hair. Even damp, it was slightly wiry to the touch, a sensuous experience.

She felt a shiver run through him. Her other hand went up in time to follow a ripple moving along his throat. In that strange moment it was as if they had reversed roles, as if she was the one using him for sexual pleasure and he was the vulnerable partner. He was back in control with shattering quickness, her moment of power lost as he reseized the advantage she had stolen. He was on top again, the supreme male dominating her into bliss as he kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. His fingers moved to her shoulders, bringing down the straps of her suntop and then playing along her naked back, sending tingles down her spine, coming round to entrance her breasts with a light touch that enchanted and delighted her. The velvet caresses of his fingertips hardened her nipples; then his lips softly brushed them each in turn before lifting to tease her temple.

In the ensuing moment the nature of the sensuous game he was playing came to her. He hadn’t lost the upper hand, not for one single moment. She hadn’t seduced his senses when she touched him. The seducer was playing a subtle trick on her. She hadn’t stolen the initiative just then, he had given it to her. And he was giving it to her again, but, if he’d done his inveigling well, this time she would make a bolder foray. And so it would go on. He would dominate, and then appear to be dominated, instilling in her a false sense of security by letting her think that she was on top of the situation and could call a halt at any time she chose. But the controlling power had never left his hands. He had banked on her not being aware of that until she’d advanced to the point of no return, when both she and their joint passions were totally out of anyone’s control.

In the heady moment of realization, her senses on fire, her desire stoked to an impossible high by his superb cunning and mastery, she didn’t know how to handle the situation; she didn’t even know if she could handle it.

When he brought the straps of her suntop back up over her shoulders, her sluggish brain couldn’t make sense of the action. It took several seconds for it to sink in that sitting in a car in someone else’s yard provided neither the comfort nor the privacy for what he had in mind.

‘I’m glad you attempted to make that crazy break,’ he said thickly. ‘I had this place half in mind. I’m glad you forced the issue. If we’ve got to wait the storm out, why not do it in comfort?’

‘Why not?’ she echoed in an oddly strangled voice.

‘But I didn’t know how you’d take the idea—the idea of driving through the rain to get here, that is.’

‘I wouldn’t have been wildly enthusiastic. What is this place, by the way?’

‘It used to be a farmhouse, but it’s been converted into a logis. In case you don’t know, a logis is a small, modest hotel. But don’t let that fool you. I’d give this one the four-star rating of a first-class establishment. The patron and his wife, Jean-Claude and Berthe Poussin, have a name for keeping a good table and an impressive wine cellar. I’ve eaten here myself, so I know it’s true. I’ve never had occasion to need overnight accommodation, but I’ve heard that the rooms, although simple, are clean and comfortable. Not that we’re likely to need them. By the time we’ve eaten the rain is certain to have stopped, but you never know.’

Mellowed with good food and free-flowing wine, you never knew; that was what he meant. He might not know, but she did. She was on her mettle now and she had no intention of being manipulated by his playful feather caresses and led into indiscretion by his oh-so-innocent and oh-so-lethal charm.

Madame Poussin gave them an effusive welcome. Zoe didn’t understand a word the woman said, but ‘clucking’ was the same in any language. Matt translated for her. ‘Madame didn’t expect anyone to come on such a night. She is distressed at the thought of letting you sit down to eat in those wet clothes, and she would be delighted to loan you something to wear while she takes your things through to the kitchen to dry.’

Madame Poussin was considerably shorter than Zoe and very plump. She was as round as a butter-ball. Thinking of herself in Madame’s clothes made Zoe want to laugh. It was an effort to keep her mouth straight as she answered Matt. ‘Please tell Madame that I’m very grateful, and that it’s a kind offer, but I won’t trouble her. I’ll soon dry out.’

This was duly relayed to Madame Poussin, who threw up her hands as another unintelligible spate of words issued from her mouth.

Matt again turned to face Zoe, conspiratorial laughter in his eyes—although when she came to think about it, perhaps he wasn’t laughing with her but at her. ‘Madame says it’s no trouble, and that you will be more comfortable and her mind will be happier if you will permit her to fix you out, or words to that effect. I think you’d better go with her, Zoe. Otherwise I don’t think there’s much hope of our being fed.’

‘What about you? What about your wet clothes?’ He shrugged. ‘No mention about that. Perhaps I’m supposed to be made of hardier stuff. That, or I shall suddenly be besieged to follow some equally insistent male.’

‘I hope so.’ I hope Monsieur Poussin turns out to be a roly-poly midget and you look every bit as stupid as I’m going to look. Her eyes flashed this message to him; then she put on a brave smile, nodded her acceptance, and allowed Madame to conduct her to an upstairs room.

A wardrobe door was swung open, and although Zoe didn’t understand the verbal instructions, the accompanying gestures encouraged her to choose something.

Still Zoe hesitated, not wanting to select Madame’s best apparel. With an understanding grin, Madame decided to make the selection herself and took out an exceptionally pretty dress with a tiny green and blue star pattern on a white background. It was, if Zoe was any judge, exactly her size. Madame then beckoned for Zoe to follow her and this time led the way into a bathroom, pointed to the large fluffy towel on the towel rack, and left Zoe to get on with it.

When Zoe joined Matt again she felt clean and tidy, her hair restored to its former bounce and silky texture.

His eyes flicked over her with approval. ‘Madame was right. Her daughter must be about your size. Anne-Marie’s dress could have been made for you.’

‘You rotter. You could have told me.’

‘You’re too quick at jumping to conclusions, Zoe. That should serve as a lesson,’ he said, taking her elbow and guiding her into the dining room.

It had a subdued, cozy intimacy, with the candles and soft lighting throwing a warm rosy glow everywhere. Red tablecloths were on the tables and snowy white napkins had been folded to resemble water lilies.

Only two other tables were taken, giving the tiny dining room an almost spacious look. It would have appeared to be bursting at the seams if it had been fully occupied. A corner table was set for them.

‘I ordered for you. Is that all right?’

Zoe sank comfortably into a deep wall-seat upholstered in dark red velvet, relaxing amid the eye-pleasing decor and the luxury of feeling dry and deliciously pampered. ‘Yes, lovely.’

‘The womenfolk wait on the tables, Madame and her daughter, Anne-Marie.’

At that precise moment Madame appeared. A bottle was presented for Matt’s inspection. He gave an affirmative nod, and pale golden liquid flowed into tall, thin-stemmed glasses.

Zoe raised her glass to her lips, savoring the bouquet with her nose before satisfying her palate.

Madame departed and Matt resumed speaking. ‘Jean-Claude is the chef. He takes his art seriously. He creates each course, rather than prepares it. It could be a—’

‘Gastronomic treat,’ Zoe said as a trolley of hors d’oeuvres was wheeled alongside the table by a young French girl.

Zoe’s mouth moistened at the sight of all the silver dishes, each arranged so that the artistic assortments of delectable, and delectably colored, foods tempted the eye as it invited the juices to flow. There were crisp celery curls; tomatoes filled with white breadcrumbs, garlic, and herbs; stuffed eggs and thumb-sized artichokes; sardines; mussels in a marinade; tiny pink shrimps in lemon juice; thin slices of sausage and ham; tiny French beans; and black olives glistening in a dressing of oil and herbs.

The French girl heaped Zoe’s plate and set it before her. Zoe asked Matt if this was Anne-Marie. On being told that it was, Zoe then asked Matt to thank her for the loan of the dress. This done, Matt faced Zoe and relayed Anne-Marie’s reply. ‘She says it’s her pleasure. She also says that she didn’t realize how pretty the dress was, but perhaps it looks that way because you are so much prettier than she is.’

‘Thank Anne-Marie, but tell her that’s not so. She’s much prettier than I am.’

‘I will, but with tongue in cheek. Either you’re very modest, Zoe, or you don’t look in your mirror often enough.’ Anne-Marie walked away moments later, her lips turned up in pleasure at Matt’s words. ‘Before Anne-Marie arrived, you interrupted too quickly. I hope it will be a gastronomic treat. But what I was going to say was that it could be a lengthy business. While you were upstairs putting on Anne-Marie’s lovely dress I phoned Les Charmettes and spoke to my mother. I explained our predicament.’

‘I’m glad you thought of that and managed to get through. I wouldn’t like Hannah to be worried.’

‘She wasn’t. You, I, and the car were missing. She did some simple arithmetic and came up with the right answer. She knew that you would be safe with me.’

‘And Tony?’

‘Ah, now, that’s a different matter entirely. Mother said that he’s been most agitated and so she would be happy to put his mind at rest.’

The horrible mocking grin was back on Matt’s mouth. Far from being at rest, Tony’s mind would be even more agitated, wondering what was happening and what they were up to, and Matt was reveling in that knowledge. Tony knew that she was still attracted to Matt, and he didn’t trust Matt any more than she did.

‘Everything satisfactory?’ Matt inquired, his voice as bland and as smooth as the mayonnaise coating the eggs.

It was another of his remarks with a double meaning. She answered as if she had recognized only the innocent one. In the best French tradition, the vegetables were either raw or almost raw. She crunched on a bean. ‘Entirely.’ Her tone was as sharp as the well-seasoned vinaigrette dressing the bean had been dipped in.

Anne-Marie returned to whisk away the plates. The first course had done its trick, awakening but not satisfying, rousing and exciting tastebuds for what was to come: bass grilled with fennel, which was a speciality of the region. That was followed by duck with grapes and wine sauce. Matt hadn’t ordered dessert ahead. He chose French apple pie, distinguished from the English version by a top ‘crust’ made of sliced apple instead of pastry. Zoe asked for the tiniest portion, a mere token taste, of a light as whipped cream bavaroise dashed with Grand Marnier. Her wineglass had been refilled during the meal, and she declined the brandy Matt tried to press on her with her coffee.

Zoe enjoyed the fragrance coming from the enormous iridescent glass that Matt lifted to his lips in an abstract and wholly contented way. He had sat across from her during the meal, but now he joined her on the cushioned wall-seat. The gentle lighting, the shimmering glow of the candles, softened the hard planes of his face. It seemed impossible to believe him capable of a devious or culpable act, yet evidence that he was came from the strong fingers that encircled her wrist and drew patterns in the palm of her hand in a disturbingly intimate way. The pressure of his hard thigh against hers increased her feeling of excitement.

The brandy swirled as he offered her a sip from his glass. It was no accident that her lips were directed to the spot where his hand touched. The brandy exploded with an aromatic warmth in her mouth and throat; her lips tingled as though at his kiss. He lifted the glass to his own mouth, covering the exact same spot. His eyes caressed her over the brim, and again her lips burned as if he’d kissed them.

It was getting near decision time, and Zoe knew it, but she didn’t seem capable of lucid thought. Seduced by the good food and wine and Matt’s sumptuous attentiveness, she wanted to float forever on this euphoric cloud of content. The rest of her body wanted its share of the shivery things he was doing to her hand under the discreet cover of the tablecloth. Feeling that she was under the influence of some mesmeric pull, she snatched her fingers away. His eyes mocked her as his fingers concentrated their wicked attention elsewhere, subjecting her thigh to the sensual torment.

She hadn’t noticed that the dining room had filled up until Matt drew her attention to the fact. ‘More refugees from the rain, do you suppose?’

‘It could have stopped raining,’ she said.

‘Exactly what I was afraid of.’

The illusion of privacy had already been dispelled, so it was no intrusion when Madame Poussin came to their table to present the bill and ask if they had enjoyed their meal. Matt translated her words for Zoe, who asked, ‘Will you add something extra for the loan of the dress?’

‘I already have,’ he said, tucking a quantity of francs into the folded slip of paper.

Zoe beamed a smile at Madame, which was returned in full measure. More conversation passed between Madame and Matt, during which time a wry little smile touched Matt’s mouth, setting Zoe’s curiosity alight.

Her eyes followed Madame’s disappearing back. ‘What was that about?’

‘Your clothes are dry and in the upstairs room where Madame escorted you earlier. She said for you to make your way up there and change back when you’re ready.’

‘That wasn’t all she said.’

‘No.’ Laughter gleamed from beneath his half-lowered lids.

‘Aren’t you going to tell me? You delight in teasing me, don’t you?’

‘You’re so delightful to tease. Perhaps, if you’re a very good girl, I’ll tell you later.’

She knew that she would get no more out of him for now. ‘I’ll go change out of my borrowed finery,’ she decided.

Upstairs again, she took off Anne-Marie’s dress and hung it on the outside of the wardrobe for Madame to find. In her own simple suntop and skirt she went back downstairs to where Matt was waiting for her. Madame and Anne-Marie came to say goodbye, and in this they were joined by Monsieur Poussin. Matt took her hand as they walked out.

It was a beautiful night, the stars burning vividly in the sky. It was impossible to believe it had rained so heavily, except for the fact that the air was even more redolent of flowers, the way it always was after a storm.

The drive back to Les Charmettes was companionably silent. Matt parked the car in the drive. It was a natural place to park, but it was also out of sight of the house.

Zoe’s instincts didn’t have to be all that alert for her to know that she should make a run for it. She would have, too, but for the detaining hand that came out to clamp round her wrist. Her lips tingled as they had earlier in anticipation of the real thing. The promise of his kiss hovered in the air between them as his fingers moved up her arm, sending dangerous flames of passion through her veins. His mouth came so gently to hers that, although the kiss was expected, the fiery explosion it set off took her by surprise. It was like a fever attacking her brain and weakening her pulse, reducing her resistance to a whimper that escaped her lips before the delicious onslaught began again.

The heat burned her up and melted her bones. His hands filled themselves with her breasts, before wandering up and over her shoulders, down her spine, molding her to him, closing round her hips. Then his voice was rasping against her forehead, vibrating with impatience. ‘This damned car is too restrictive. Why aren’t we in bed together, Zoe? We could have been. We still could be.’

She tried to form the word ‘no,’ but it wouldn’t come.

‘I’m human, Zoe. I’m tired of just making it so far. I want all the joy.’ His voice cracked. ‘That’s ironic.’

‘What is?’ she managed hoarsely.

‘It’s too near the bone to what Madame said.’

‘After that, you’re going to have to tell me.’

‘I suppose I am. Madame said she knew we were going to be very happy together, and that you would give me a lot of joy.’

‘She said that?’ The way Matt said it made it seem coarse, and Madame Poussin was the epitome of sweetness and refinement. Then it clicked. ‘Madame saw my engagement ring and thought that you and I . . . ?

‘Yes.’

Suddenly Zoe was angry, angrier than she could ever remember being in her life. ‘How very quaint of Madame. You can get all the joy you want without marriage—but not from me. I admit that I almost lost my head for a while, but I’m on an even keel now. I’ve been here before. I was nineteen and ready to give everything. And almost did. No man had ever touched me in that way before. You said you’d come back. When you didn’t I died a thousand times of humiliation. It won’t happen again.’

‘It wouldn’t, Zoe, I can explain.’

‘You’re five years too late. I’ll explain it to you. You didn’t want me until I belonged to Tony. And now you only want me to get me away from him. I’m not giving you that satisfaction.’

‘The hell you aren’t!’

‘You’re a poor loser, Matt. Can’t you get it through your head that you’ve lost?’

With that she opened the car door and ran into the darkened house. She didn’t stop running until she was in her own room with the door closed and locked behind her.