Savage Awakening(15)

It was ironic really, because for most of the week she'd sweated in her  jeans and T-shirt. But today it was so hot, she'd decided to go with a  sleeveless vest and shorts. It wasn't as if Matt noticed what she was  wearing, she'd assured herself. Most of the time, he barely seemed to  notice she was there.

Except for that first morning …

But she didn't want to think of that now, not when Matt was standing  staring up at her with those dark, inscrutable eyes. He was wearing  loose-fitting cotton trousers and an open-necked chambray shirt folded  back over muscular forearms. Both the trousers and the shirt were black  and accentuated the sombre cast of his expression.

'D'you have a minute?' he asked, and she wondered with an uneasy pang if  he was going to give her notice. Finding out that her father wrote a  column for the weekly newspaper had definitely angered him. It was only  because he'd developed those muscular pains in his back and shoulders  that the subject had been dropped.

The fact that that was several days ago now didn't reassure her. He had  been avoiding her, and he might have thought he had to let her work a  week before finding fault with her efforts. Whatever, he was waiting for  her to get down before telling her what he wanted, and, dropping the  cloth she'd been using into the bucket, she turned, her foot groping  blindly for the second stair.

The sudden crack as the support that had been holding the steps together  snapped sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. Almost in slow  motion, it seemed, the two sides of the steps parted company, sliding  away in opposite directions, leaving Fliss to flail uselessly for  something to hold on to.

She was going to fall onto the steps, she knew. She couldn't avoid it. A  vision of herself hitting the floor, of her limbs crumpling onto broken  ribs and bare metal was all too vivid in her imagination, and there was  nothing she could do about it.                       
       
           



       

It didn't happen. Somehow, Matt managed to grab her around the waist and  haul her back out of harm's way. For a heart-stopping moment she was in  his arms, the hard muscles of his chest and thighs pressed close to her  back. Then he lost his balance and they both went down, Fliss landing  heavily on top of him.

He grunted as her weight knocked most of the air out of his lungs, but  for a moment Fliss couldn't move. She was so relieved that she'd escaped  serious injury, that she wasn't nursing any broken bones, that it  wasn't until she heard his stifled groan that she scrambled off him.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' she cried, only just resisting the urge to run her  hands all over him. Just to reassure herself that he was still in one  piece, she told herself fiercely, ignoring the other urges his supine  form engendered in her. 'I'm such a fool. I should have had more sense  than to use those old steps!'

Matt shifted a little uneasily, as if testing his own resistance to  injury, and said weakly, 'It's not your fault. You didn't know they were  going to break at that moment. Where the hell did you get them,  anyway?'

Fliss pulled a wry face. 'From the shed.'

'Whose shed?'

'Colonel Phill-I mean, yours,' she amended lamely. 'They've been there for years.'

'I believe it.' He managed to get an elbow under his body and levered himself up onto it. 'I guess I need some new ones.'

Fliss sat back on her heels. 'I suppose you do.' She bit her lip. 'Are you all right? I haven't-damaged anything, have I?'

Matt's lips twitched with reluctant humour. 'Well, you're not as light  as you look,' he conceded mildly, and faint colour entered her cheeks.  He winced as he moved again. 'I may have need of your other services,  however.'

Fliss blinked. 'My other services?' she echoed, not understanding what he meant for a moment. 'What other services?'

Matt gave her a dry look. 'What are you offering?'

Fliss swallowed. 'I don't know what-'

'Physiotherapy?' suggested Matt innocently, though his eyes were giving  her a decidedly sensual appraisal. 'I'm afraid I'm not in the market for  anything else at present.'

'Oh!' Fliss's face burned. 'I wasn't-I mean I never thought-'

'No.' His gaze had dropped to her mouth and she felt a flame ignite deep  down in the pit of her stomach. 'I know that. I was only kidding.'

He didn't look as if he'd been kidding, she thought, knowing she should  scramble out of reach before this situation got any more embarrassing.  She wasn't used to this. She wasn't used to dealing with a man as  sophisticated as he was, and if she wanted to save herself further  humiliation she should move before he realised it.

Getting hurriedly to her feet, she said awkwardly, 'Do you need help getting up?'

'Do I look as if I do?' Matt pushed himself into a sitting position and seemed to be assessing his injuries. 'Yeah, why not?'

He held out his hand towards her and Fliss had no choice than to take  it. His fingers were long and hard, his palm slightly callused-possibly  the result of his incarceration. She'd read somewhere that he'd been  kept in a cell barely big enough to lie down in, and she doubted he'd  slept in a bed. God knew how he had kept himself sane, let alone  anything else.

His hand fairly engulfed hers and she hoped he wouldn't notice how damp  her skin was. Well, she had been using a wet cloth, she assured herself,  hoping he'd put her sweating palm down to her exertions. But, looking  into his knowing eyes, she rather doubted it.

She heaved then, stepping back as she did so, and with very little  effort, it seemed, Matt came to his feet. He grunted, which might have  been in protest, and clutched her other arm as he gained his balance.

'Thanks,' he said, his warm breath invading her mouth and nostrils,  making what should have been a casual act of kindness into something  personal and intimate. 'Are you OK?'

'Me?' The word was hardly more than a squeak and she struggled to  recover her voice. 'Yes,' she said, intensely aware of his hand gripping  her bare forearm. 'You-er-you cushioned my fall.'                       
       
           



       

'Oh, right.' Humour lurked at the corners of his mouth, but for some  reason he didn't immediately let go of her. 'I knew it was only a matter  of time before somebody used me as a doormat.'

'I didn't-' she began and then broke off abruptly, pressing her lips  together when she saw the glint in his eyes. 'I suppose you're teasing  me again? It must be so satisfying to have such an easy target.'

'Sorry.' His humour disappeared and he looked down at his hand circling  her arm. Was he comparing the darkness of his flesh to the paleness of  hers? she wondered tensely, and then felt an unwarranted tremor in her  knees when he added softly, 'I didn't mean to offend you.'

Fliss didn't know how to answer him. She was afraid her amateur efforts  to defend herself had summoned an entirely too-serious response. Unless  he was joking with her again. How was she supposed to know? How did  women know these things? She wished she knew.

His bent head drew her unwilling gaze. He kept his hair very short, but  that didn't hide how thick and springy it was, and she wondered how it  would feel to run her hands over his scalp. Her fingers itched to touch  him, to take advantage of this sudden, unexpected intimacy. How would he  react if she behaved in a totally uncharacteristic way?

She wasn't going to find out. Not in this lifetime. She simply didn't  have the courage and, besides, he would probably think she was mad. He  already had a girlfriend, one far more versed in the arts of seduction  than she'd ever be. Goodness, did she want to lose this job before she'd  even had her first pay packet?

That didn't stop her from noticing that from this angle she could see  the streaks of grey among the dark strands. Another consequence of his  imprisonment, she presumed. He must have been scared at times. No matter  how brave a person was, he had to have wondered if they were going to  kill him. How old had they said he was in the article she'd read?  Thirty-two or thirty-three? He looked older.

It was then that he lifted his head and found her looking at him. Their  eyes connected, and it was like that moment in his bedroom all over  again. His eyes were the same, heavy-lidded and intent, but also  sensual. Her pulse quickened automatically, and she realised she should  have moved away before he became aware of her interest.

She tried to do so now, but for some reason he held on, his fingers  tightening about her arm. 'You're not afraid of me, are you?' he asked,  as if the reaction she was exhibiting were panic. 'I've noticed you've  been avoiding me all week. What has your father been telling you about  me?'

'Nothing.' In all honesty, her father had been more interested in what  she could tell him. 'I haven't been discussing you with him. I do have  other things in my life.'

'Of course you do.' Matt pulled a wry face. 'So, when can I expect to see this article he's writing about me?'