Savage Awakening(27)

But, in the event, George Taylor wasn't at home. Although the Fiesta was  parked on the short drive, both he and Harvey were absent. Fliss  guessed he'd taken the dog for a walk and would probably be calling in  at the pub for a drink before coming home. It gave her the opportunity  to go and take a shower and change her clothes before he came in.                       
       
           



       

It occurred to her that the reason the car had been left on the drive  was that her father expected her to go to the supermarket in Westerbury  when she got back. But the shopping would have to wait, she decided.  There was always tomorrow and she really wanted to get out of these  clothes.

In consequence, Amy was sprawled on the sofa in the living room watching  television and Fliss was stirring a pan of bolognaise at the stove when  her father and Harvey returned.

As usual, Harvey took the edge off any atmosphere that still lingered,  and, determined not to bear a grudge, Fliss greeted her father with a  cheerful smile. 'Supper's almost ready.'

'Good.'

If there was still a note of hostility in his voice, Fliss chose to  ignore it. Instead she ran a surreptitious hand around the neckline of  her high-necked sweater, assuring herself that the mark Matt had left  couldn't be seen. Then, turning back to the table, she placed two wine  glasses beside their plates. 'I thought I'd open a bottle of that claret  Patrick sent you,' she went on, trying to act as if they hadn't had  that unpleasant contretemps that morning. Then, when he didn't respond,  'Have you had a nice day?'

She heard him suck in a breath. 'Do you care?' he enquired at last, and  Fliss turned back to the hob to hide her resigned expression.

'Of course I care.'

'But not enough to give up any invitation that comes your way,' he  retorted. 'Despite the fact that I expressed my disapproval of this  particular relationship.'

Fliss sighed. 'I have to make my own decisions, Dad,' she said evenly. She hesitated. 'I like Mr Quinn. And so does Amy.'

Her father snorted. 'And that settles it, does it? You know next to  nothing about this man, Felicity. Why would you consider his opinion  more important than mine?'

Fliss gasped, turning to face him again. 'You're being unreasonable,  Dad,' she said. 'I'm not having an affair with him, for heaven's sake!'  Though she'd come damn close to it, she had to admit. 'We're-friends,  that's all. What on earth is wrong with that?'

'You do know he's engaged to Diane Chesney, don't you?'

'He's not!'

Now, why had she said that?

'He denied it, I gather?' George Taylor's lips curled scornfully. 'I  have to ask myself in what circumstances such an intimate confidence  would be expressed.'

Fliss pressed her lips together, but she couldn't let him go on thinking  the worst. 'The phone started ringing as we were leaving,' she said  defensively. 'I said it was probably his fiancée and he said-he said he  didn't have a fiancée.'

'And you believed him, of course?'

Fliss shook her head. 'You're going to make something of it whatever I  say,' she replied flatly. She didn't like to think what he'd say if he  ever found out what they'd been doing since they got back. 'Amy!' She  called the little girl's name to put an end to the discussion, and to  distract her own thoughts from how devastatingly sensual Matt's kiss had  been. 'Come and get your supper. It's ready.'

The meal smelled delicious, and no doubt it tasted that way, too, but  Fliss couldn't enjoy it. Tension simmered around the table-and not just  the tension of knowing that her father didn't approve of Matt, either.  She also lived in fear of Amy saying something she shouldn't, and it  didn't help when her father started asking the child how she'd enjoyed  her day.

It was a sneaky way of finding out what they'd done and Fliss hoped the  look she gave her father conveyed what she thought of his methods. But  Amy was only too happy to describe the outing in detail, telling her  grandfather how Matt had taken her swimming and that they'd all gone to  McDonald's for lunch.

'That must be why your mother's not eating her supper,' he commented  pleasantly. 'She's not hungry.' He paused. 'Or perhaps she's too warm. I  must say, a high-necked jumper and denim jeans do seem excessive for a  warm evening like this.'                       
       
           



       

Fliss stiffened. 'I was cold,' she said quickly. 'You know what it's like if you've been sunburned. You feel chilly later on.'

'That's right,' chimed Amy, even though Fliss had hoped to divert her.  'Mummy got really sunburned. All down her-' She met her mother's warning  stare and broke off awkwardly. 'I mean-all down her arms.'

George Taylor was not deceived, Fliss could tell. The glance he gave her  confirmed he'd intercepted the look she'd directed at Amy. 'All down  her arms, eh?' he said, half-maliciously. 'Did Mr Quinn get burned,  too?'

'Oh, no, but he's got these awful marks on his back that he got when he  was in prison!' Amy exclaimed, clearly deciding her mother couldn't  object to her talking about Matt. 'I didn't like them at first, but he-'

'Amy!'

Her mother's angry use of her name silenced the child, but George Taylor  wasn't half so easy to control. 'She was only being honest,' he said,  leaning across the table and patting his granddaughter's hand. Then he  looked at Fliss again. 'I hope you've put some cream on your arms. You  know how sensitive your skin is.'

'I'll survive,' said Fliss shortly, swallowing a mouthful of wine before  getting up to clear the dirty plates away. 'Does anyone want ice  cream?'

'Yes, please,' said Amy at once, soon recovering her confidence, but George Taylor shook his head.

'I've had enough,' he said. 'I think I'll go and sit in the garden for a  while. Come and join me when you're finished, Amy. I'd love to hear  some more about your trip.'



On Monday morning Matt woke with a hangover, which was hardly surprising  considering he'd drunk the best part of a bottle of single malt the  night before.

But Sunday had been a bloody awful day. He'd woken before dawn,  disgruntled and soaked in sweat, with the tangible remains of the erotic  dream he'd been having still tingling in his groin. He was  half-aroused, but he knew better than to imagine it meant anything in  his present condition. Morning erections were a thing of the past and  the sooner he accepted it the better.

It was easier said than done, however. Frustration didn't go away. It  still ate at him like a terminal illness, polluting his confidence and  screwing up his head. And his attempted seduction of Fliss the day  before had only added to his depression.

For it was Fliss again who had destroyed his rest; Fliss, whose warm,  expressive face and lush body had haunted his sleep. She'd been beside  him this time, her fiery hair spread across his pillow, her white limbs  entwined with his. Her full breasts had tantalised him, swollen and  round beneath his hand. When he'd moved closer her legs had parted  invitingly, and the tight curls that were all that barred his way were  as fiery as her hair.

But it was when he'd pushed into her that he'd experienced real  pleasure. Even in his subconscious state, he'd responded to the physical  pull of his senses. She'd been so hot and wet and deliciously tight,  her muscles closing around him, silently urging him on.

And he'd wanted to go on. With her hands cupping his buttocks, her hips  lifting to meet his, she'd been desire personified. He thought he'd  groaned as she climaxed around him, the reality of his ineptitude  intruding at last.

He shuddered now. He'd felt her orgasm, he thought. He'd actually  smelled the musky aroma of sex before the images had slipped away. But  slip away they had, leaving him to fight his own demons, as weak and  defeated as he'd ever felt since he'd come home.

Which was why he'd spent Sunday morning working in the garden. He'd  found an ancient lawnmower in the back of the garage and, after  siphoning some petrol out of the Land Cruiser, he'd managed to cut the  grass at the front of the house. It wasn't very well done, but it had  briefly satisfied his need for action. Then he'd gathered a spade and  fork and recklessly dug the weeds out of the flower border.

Of course, by lunchtime, his limbs had been trembling with fatigue, and  not even a hot bath had eased the pain in his back and thighs. But at  least the pain was a physical thing, something he could deal with. Not a  pathetic illusion serviced by a phantom.                       
       
           



       

Diane had rung in the afternoon and he'd had to answer it. He couldn't  go on ignoring his calls, but he had made a note to buy an answering  machine the next time he went into town.