Nice wasn’t the description she would have chosen, Emily thought dizzily. Wonderful, dangerous, mind-bogglingly desirable, yes—but nice?
‘Mm…there’s something just right about the way you feel in my arms Emily, do you know that? You’re still too far away, though.’
Too far away! Any closer and she’d be… She swallowed nervously as Matt ignored her rigid tension and closed the small space between them by wriggling close to her.
‘Mm…yes, you do feel good.’
Good. On the contrary, she felt far from good. ‘Matt,’ she protested a second time.
He lifted his head and looked down at her, and, if that small movement somehow meant that every inch of his skin where it met hers dragged ever so gently and erotically against her in a way that made her tremble with arousal and need, she prayed that only she was aware of it.
‘I’m sorry, Emily, don’t ask me to make love to you. I can’t, not knowing that you love another man.’
Emily was lost for words. Don’t ask him? A fierce thrill of anger ran through her. How dared he assume? She had had no intention of doing any such thing. Ask him to make love to her, indeed. She took a deep breath and then another and then discovered that the gentle friction of her naked breasts against his chest had stimulated them to such an extent that they actually seemed to be quite wantonly pushing against the solid wall of muscle, as though deliberately trying to incite a response from him.
Apprehension weakened her anger. She tried discreetly to pull away from him, and when she couldn’t move said breathlessly, ‘Matt, it would help if you didn’t hold me quite so closely. I know you only want to help but—’
She tried to wriggle free and froze as she discovered the effect that movement had on her rebellious body. ‘Matt,’ she demanded.
‘Just lie still and go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.’
Better? Did he really not know what he was doing to her? Of all the stupid, insensitive, thoughtless creatures. Emily seethed bitterly, knowing that the only way she was ever going to feel any better was if she stopped breathing.
She was desperate enough to even try doing that, holding her breath until she couldn’t hold it any longer, and then letting it leak slowly out of her lungs, but somehow or other during the short space of time she had been holding it Matt had closed the tiny distance he had managed to create between them. He had also somehow or other managed to fall asleep, as well, she realised indignantly as she listened to his even, undisturbed breathing and fought against the sensual messages sent to her brain by her rebellious body.
She appreciated that Matt was acting out of the kindest of motives, she acknowledged frustratedly, but really she would far rather he had simply just walked on past her door. Either that or that he would wake up and…
And what? Make love to her? She shuddered as she acknowledged the impossibility of what she was thinking. The trouble was that, while her brain and her heart had no difficulty at all in accepting that while she might love him, Matt most certainly did not love her, her body seemed to have erected an impenetrable barrier against this knowledge and defied all her attempts to convince it that its wanton desire for Matt no longer seemed to be reciprocated.
How ironic that was.
All that panic when Matt had first arrived here, all the problems which had now arisen from her defensive lies about being engaged, all her self-contempt and soul-searching anguish on believing that Matt wanted to establish a relationship with her which was based merely on sex—and now here she was lying naked at his side, aching for him to wake up and make love to her, while he…
She heaved a deep sigh and forced herself to turn round so that she was lying with her back to him; she even managed to lift and remove his heavy arm from around her waist. After all, if he could sleep then so, surely, could she.
Only every time she managed to establish a small distance between them, Matt would either move in his sleep so that he was lying just as close to her as he had originally been, or, even worse, when she rebelliously decided to move away from him altogether, his arm came out and curled around her waist, drawing her back against him. And there was something blissfully pleasurable about sleeping within the curve of his body, absorbing its heat, lulled to sleep by his heartbeat, she acknowledged drowsily.
Only when he was sure that she was actually asleep did Matt dare to open his eyes, ruefully wondering if his plan wasn’t far more likely to backfire on him than coax Emily into admitting that she loved him.
* * *
It was much later than usual when Emily woke up. She could tell that by the angle of the sun glinting through her window. She had slept much more deeply than usual, much more relaxingly. She stretched her body luxuriously and then froze.
‘Mmm, I wondered when you were going to wake up, sleepyhead,’ Matt murmured softly in her ear. He started nuzzling her throat, teasing the soft flesh behind her ear, making her come sharply awake.
‘Matt,’ she protested, and then froze a second time as her bedroom door opened and Gracie came in carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee on it.
‘So,’ she teased, putting them down beside the bed. ‘It’s just as well Uncle John didn’t come home last night, isn’t it, you naughty things?’
Emily knew she had gone bright pink from head to foot. The amusement dancing in Gracie’s eyes made it obvious that her sister thought they had spent the night making love. She remembered how last night she had planned to take Gracie on one side this morning and confess to her what she had done, to beg her for her help, to tell her that Matt meant nothing to her.
‘Travis and I will be going out in half an hour or so. We won’t be back until dinnertime. Is there anything we can get for you while we’re in Oxford, Emmy?’
Emily wanted to
beg her to stay—she needed to unburden herself to her, but Gracie was already heading for the door and she could scarcely leap out of bed in her unclad state and run after her. And how was she going to convince Gracie that Matt meant nothing to her, that she did not want this engagement, that she felt nothing for him, when her sister had seen her in bed with him with her own two eyes?
Her expression betrayed far more than she knew as she watched the door close behind her sister, but Matt refused to allow himself to weaken.
There was only one thing for it now, Emily decided tiredly. She would have to tell Matt the truth—or at least some of it, she decided cautiously. She couldn’t tell him that she loved him. That would have to remain her secret. No, but she could tell him that she had lied about Travis, and why.
She took a deep breath and said quickly, ‘Matt, there’s something I have to tell you.’
She focused on him and saw that he was looking gravely back at her. The overnight growth of his beard had darkened his jaw, and she ached to reach out and touch it…to reach out and touch him.
She was shaking inside, terrified by what she had to do, but she had to bring an end to this farcical engagement before things went any further. Soon Uncle John would be back—this might be her only real chance to talk properly to Matt.
She took another deep breath, and discovered that Matt had taken hold of one of her hands under the bedclothes, and that he was holding it almost comfortingly, as though he knew what she was going through and was trying to help her.
That feeling, ridiculous and unfounded though it was, gave her the courage to say breathlessly, ‘Matt, I lied to you. I have never been engaged to Travis, nor to anyone else.’
She waited anxiously for him to betray the anger she knew he must be feeling, the explanations he was sure to demand, but instead, astoundingly, his grip on her own hand tightened slightly and he said simply, ‘Yes, I know.’
‘You know!’
Suddenly she was the one who was angry. She pulled away from him and tried to sit up, realising only when the bedclothes slid off her body revealing her breasts just how inappropriate such an action was.