Savage Awakening(31)

       
           



       

So, the question was, could she go on working here knowing that any  feelings she had for him were not reciprocated? Oh, she suspected he  would not be averse to having an affair with her, but did she really  want to risk the pain that an abortive relationship with him would  bring? The decision was far harder to make than it should have been.

In consequence, she was still in a state of uneasy confusion when she  arrived at the house the morning after Matt's mother had returned to  London. Mrs Quinn had been packing when Fliss left the previous day, and  although she'd suspected the older woman would have liked to have  another warning word with her, Fliss had deliberately left stripping the  bed in the spare room until today. She'd wanted no more advice, no more  homilies on the uselessness of falling in love with Matt. Indeed, it  would give her a great deal of pleasure to clean the room Mrs Quinn had  used, knowing as she did so that her enemy had departed.

No, not her enemy, she corrected herself impatiently as she opened the  door that led into the kitchen. Matt's mother meant well. She just  couldn't see how a common housekeeper, a single mother, moreover, could  have anything to offer her son.

There was no sign of Matt this morning, but that wasn't unusual. He  generally unlocked the back door for her and then either went to take  his shower or, if he was already dressed, he might work in the library  all morning. Since her father had told her about the series of articles  he was planning to write, she'd assumed he was working on them, although  his schedule had obviously been interrupted while his mother was here.

Occasionally he was still in bed when she arrived, but those occasions  were rare and usually coincided with the after-effects of work he'd done  in the garden. Despite her offer to help him find a gardener, he'd  insisted on doing everything himself, and she could only speculate that  he expunged his lingering frustrations in physical effort.

Though not frustrations about her, she assured herself grimly. Whatever  he felt for her, it was obviously easily mastered and since the scene  with his mother he'd given her no reason to believe that he regretted  anything he'd said.

Which should have made her decision as to whether to keep this job  easier, but somehow it didn't. She was a fool, she thought irritably.  She was letting him treat her any way he chose and she was too weak-or  too stupid-to do anything about it.

Surprisingly, there was no dirty coffee mug on the drainer this morning.  No sign that he'd had any breakfast either, and she decided he must  still be in bed. Not that it mattered to her, she determined firmly. She  had plenty to occupy her. Not least, his mother's bed to strip, the  sheets to put in the washer, and the adjoining bathroom to clean. That  would take her over an hour and by then he would probably be up.

But he wasn't.

Even though she'd stripped and remade the spare bed, removed all the  odds and ends of cotton wool and used tissues from the vanity in the  bathroom, scoured the bath and basin, and finally vacuumed the carpet,  there was no movement from Matt's room.

Which was unusual-and worrying, she conceded, not knowing if she ought  to check to see if he was all right. She had thought she'd heard  something from time to time, but, remembering the other occasion when  she'd gone to his bedroom, she was chary about appearing too forward.  She knew him better now, of course-some might say too well, she  acknowledged unhappily. Yet well enough to feel some responsibility if  there was a chance he might be ill.

To give herself time to decide what she ought to do-or maybe to give him  more time to wake up-she decided to go downstairs again and make  herself a cup of coffee. The caffeine would be welcome and it would be  ready if he needed it, too.

She was at the top of the stairs when she heard an unusual noise. She  thought it sounded as if someone was in pain, and as Matt was the only  other person in the house, it had to be him.

But what was he doing? It was a strange sound, as if-as if he was  moaning, she decided uneasily. Or snoring, she amended, trying to be  positive. He could be sound asleep and she was imagining the worst.

She hesitated. As usual, his bedroom door was ajar. She'd determined he  kept it that way because of his months in captivity. She'd guessed he  liked the idea that the door was open, that he could walk out of the  room whenever he chose. But he wasn't walking out now, and despite her  misgivings she had to find out why.                       
       
           



       

The sound was louder when she opened the door, and she couldn't help  feeling as if she had no right to be there. But someone had to help him,  and as she stepped towards the bed a shiver of apprehension slithered  down her spine.

He wasn't snoring, she saw at once. If anything, he was groaning, and  the way he was threshing about on his pillows made her sure he was in  pain. Yet his eyes were closed, and even when she said his name they  didn't open. Instead, behind his lids his pupils were moving agitatedly,  causing a flickering motion that was a little scary in itself.

'Matt,' she said tentatively. And then when that elicited no response, 'Are you all right?'

He was nude beneath the thin sheet, and she was half-afraid he'd throw  off even that covering. 'Matt,' she said again, wishing he would wake  up. But he didn't. He seemed deeply unconscious and she guessed it was  the dream he was having that was causing him so much grief.

She didn't need to think very hard to know what he was dreaming about,  however. After the experiences he had had, who could wonder? This  probably happened all the time, only she wasn't usually around to  witness it. He'd told her he often had trouble sleeping and she wasn't  surprised if all his dreams were as frightening as the one he was having  at present.

Then he spoke, and for a moment she thought her wish had been granted.  But his eyes were still closed and the words that spilled disjointedly  from his lips were not the kind of thing he would ever say to her. A  stream of curses and profanities, some in English, some in a language  she suspected might be Arabic, but all equally offensive, or so it  seemed, filled the room.

Fliss didn't know what to do. She wanted to wake him up. That seemed the  most sensible course of action. But how would he feel when he  discovered she had been a witness to his distress?

Yet did that matter, when she was already considering handing in her  notice? It didn't really figure what he thought of her so long as he was  all right.

Swallowing, she put out a hand to touch the arm nearest to her, but  before she could do so he reared up off his pillows. 'Don't touch me,  you filthy bastard!' he snarled, and she saw to her dismay that his eyes  were open now. He was looking straight at her, his stare dark and  glassy and filled with hate, and she gazed back, aghast. He was speaking  to her, she realised sickly. Oh, God, did he really despise her that  much?





CHAPTER FOURTEEN





HORROR gripped her. This was so much worse than she'd anticipated. What  did he think she'd been about to do to him? Take advantage of him?  Seduce him? She had never felt so devastated in her life.

'I-Matt-'

It was all she could do to say his name, but it seemed to have an  instant effect. Amazingly, his eyes changed. The glassy, hate-filled  stare disappeared, replaced by a look of almost horrified comprehension.  'Fliss,' he croaked weakly. 'Oh, hell, Fliss, what are you doing here?'

Fliss could hardly get her explanation out. 'I-I was worried about you,'  she stammered, praying he would believe her. 'You-you were making a  weird noise. I-I thought you must be having a bad dream.'

'Oh, was I ever.' Matt collapsed back against his pillows again, and,  although he closed his eyes for a moment, she knew there was no danger  of him falling back to sleep. 'God, I'm sorry.' He opened his eyes again  and now there was no trace of the stranger who had sworn at her. 'I  frightened you, didn't I? I can see I did.' He held out his hand towards  her. 'Forgive me.'

Fliss's legs were trembling so much, she was amazed they continued to  support her, and she was more than willing to let him take her hand and  draw her to the bed. 'Sit,' he said huskily, pulling her down beside  him. 'You look as if you've seen a ghost.'

'Not a ghost. A monster, maybe,' she admitted weakly, and he expelled a rueful breath.

'I'm sorry,' he said again. He paused, and then went on bleakly, 'It's  some time since I've had that particular dream. I guess I'm not going to  escape it quite yet.'                       
       
           



       

Fliss nodded. 'You-what you said-you weren't speaking to me, were you?'