Читать книгу Brides, Babies And Billionaires - Мишель Смарт, Rebecca Winters - Страница 62

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LAUREN CURLED UP on his settee, buried her head into his cushion and sobbed at his tirade. How could he believe she’d break her promise?

Idiot, stupid, stupid idiot. She hadn’t realised the woman was a reporter until she’d begun to ask about Marcus. Fearing he might be annoyed that she’d been duped into the conversation, she hadn’t told him. Things the woman had hinted she knew could only have come from one of the select few people he trusted implicitly.

He hadn’t said what the reporter had claimed to know, only accused her of telling family secrets, and she had no way of proving her innocence. Maybe if she had been truthful with him he’d be looking for the real culprit. Instead he’d condemned her without even seeing her, proof his caring had been superficial.

She rubbed the tears from her cheeks, and went to wash her face with a cold flannel. The red-eyed wreck in the mirror gave her no choice.

She loved him so she’d make it easier for him. He didn’t want to see her so she wouldn’t be here when he came home. She booked a flight, packed her belongings and called a taxi.

* * *

Matt hadn’t needed his cousin’s harsh rebuke over the phone to know he’d been wrong to call her in anger. Personal confrontation when he could see her eyes and read her expression would have been better. Didn’t change the reality. Or did it?

Alan had rung to say he’d done what Matt should have—checked and found out the reporter was ambitious, and not particularly scrupulous in her methods of obtaining information.

He couldn’t postpone the morning’s scheduled meeting though he came close to doing just that. It was crucial to the company’s survival, especially after today’s media article. With the prospect of legal proceedings giving him motivation, he blocked Lauren from his mind and went to the boardroom to fight for his and the company’s future.

He deliberately stayed late at the office, arriving home to a dark and silent unit. Refusing to acknowledge the sour churning in his gut, he walked in.

I can’t bear to see you. Don’t want to hear your voice.

His words echoed in his head. He sagged against the door jamb leading to the kitchen area. The table was bare. The vase had gone. Lauren had gone.

* * *

Lauren had never felt more alone. She ached for Matt’s smile, his spine-tingling touch, and his midnight-blue eyes that could make her pulse race from across a room. She even missed his cajoling her to reassess her relationship with her family.

Knowing he believed she’d betrayed him tore her apart. Knowing she had unconditional support from her friends held her together. Whatever they suspected, they’d never push, would give her all the time she needed until she was ready to confide in them.

On Wednesday night, she cried herself to sleep, reliving his caresses, his kisses. The passion they’d shared. On Thursday she wandered aimlessly for hours, stopping only for drinks and an occasional snack. On Friday morning she went to see her employer and resigned. When she got back to the units, Pete was home so she told him.

‘You can’t, Lauren. You’re the best. You love digging out the solutions where others have failed. You...’ Words failed him and his arms flailed in the air.

Lauren shrugged. She’d lost enthusiasm for her work, and her heart hurt every second of every day. Matt didn’t want her, didn’t love her and had never really trusted her. He hadn’t bothered to ring but she’d have blocked the call if he had. His throaty voice was implanted in her brain. She heard it every night as she lay alone in her single bed. Didn’t need to hear the reality and have her heart ripped apart even more.

‘I’m going to teach.’

Pete made a scoffing sound, and dropped down beside her on the sofa. ‘You’ll be bored and climbing the walls in a week. And the salary’s crap.’

‘Private lessons to adults. One on one showing them just the functions they want to use on their own personal computers. I’ve done it for friends, and they all said they knew people who’d pay for the service.’

‘You’ve thought it through? It’s really what you want?’

‘For now it’s what I need, Pete. Who knows what’s ahead?’

Nothing but memories and what-ifs for her. Her throat tightened—it seemed to do that a lot lately—her breath hitched, and she shivered.

In an instant she was wrapped in friendly arms, her head was cradled to his shoulder and his hand made soothing strokes over her back.

‘I’d like to find the guy who hurt you and feed the most destructive viruses I can find into his computer system. And him.’

She choked up at the thought of polite, pacifist Pete going into battle for her. She felt warm and cared for, knowing he meant it and that the others would back him up. They might not have Matt’s name or details of the breakup but he was now the enemy.

Easing away, she stood up and brushed off the few tears that had escaped.

‘Save your knight-in-armour mode for Jenny. He wasn’t completely to blame. He’d been betrayed by someone he trusted and circumstances showed me in a suspicious light.’

‘Loving means trusting.’

Which again proved Matt didn’t love her.

‘And the only way is forward. I’ll take each day as it comes.’

And hide my torment in the dark nights.

* * *

All Matt wanted to do was to cower in a dark corner and lick his wounds. Nothing he’d suffered before had prepared him for the gut-wrenching pain whenever he thought of her, which was almost every minute of every day. He lay awake remembering the nights they’d spent together, reached out for her in his restless sleep on the couch.

The sun was rising as he drove into the city on Monday, an unneeded reminder of last weekend. Telling himself he was better off without her had no effect. His brain kept repeating one word over and over. Why?

Mid-morning he brewed another mug of strong coffee, couldn’t bear to drink it in his office. Even with the connecting door shut, he kept glancing that way as if she’d suddenly appear. He walked to the boardroom because she’d never been in there but she came with him now, in his head and his heart. There was no escape.

On the way back, the lift doors opened as he went through Reception and Clair stepped out. Surprised by her tentative smile when she saw him, he walked over.

‘I didn’t expect to see you, Clair. You’re always welcome, of course.’

‘I had to come. Can we talk?’

Her apprehension triggered a kindred unease. That damn article? Duncan had already assured him the reporter’s insinuations hadn’t affected his opinion at all. There was nothing he wasn’t aware of and their association wouldn’t change. He was also convinced the people who mattered wouldn’t equate Marcus’s condition with Matt’s aptitude to run the company.

‘Of course, this way.’ He guided her to his office, and over to the window seats.

‘Coffee or tea?’

‘Not now. Please, Matt, sit down. This is personal and it concerns you.’

His gut tightened as he obeyed. Lauren? He’d told Duncan she’d returned to Sydney. Not why.

She fiddled with the handle of her bag then dropped it onto the floor. He leant forward and took her hand, shocked to feel its trembling.

‘What’s wrong, Clair? If there’s anything I can do, just ask.’

‘It’s the other way round, Matt. I came because I’m partly responsible for that reporter’s knowledge, limited though it was.’

‘You?’ He shook his head, couldn’t take it in. A chill seeped into his muscles and he dreaded hearing more.

‘Your mother came to our group lunch two weeks ago, first time for ages. We were chatting in a quiet corner and she began to tell me about her problems with your father and his deterioration. I should have suggested we talk later somewhere more private but she was desperate to let it all out.’

The chill became icy. Every cell in his body seemed to shrink and close down. He had a vague awareness of letting go of her hand, of his shoulders slumping.

‘She said your father kept telling her things she knew weren’t true or dropping hints about special funding for his secret hideaway retirement. She didn’t want to worry you or the family with his fantasies, just wanted someone to sympathise with her.’

His mother had confided in a friend because he’d built barriers between them. She’d been overheard and Lauren was innocent. The reporter had been trying to get confirmation or more details. It was as if he heard the facts but couldn’t process them through the fog in his head.

‘Duncan showed me the article, and this morning I found out the woman who wrote it had been at the venue. I noticed her hanging around, and assumed she was a guest. I’m so sorry, Matt.’

Oh, Lauren, what have I done?

Guilt and anguish raked him, his throat clogged, and his stomach heaved. Condemnation roared in his head. Sweat dripped down his back, and his fingers balled into fists.

‘Matt. Matt, are you all right?’

His mind cleared. Clair was leaning forward, regarding him with deep concern. He shuddered back to reality.

He’d listened to her, heard what she said. He hadn’t heard Lauren’s explanation because he hadn’t given her a chance to tell him.

‘No. I think I’ve made the worst, stupidest mistake of my life and I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive me.’

‘Lauren?’

He nodded, too ashamed to speak.

Clair patted his knee. ‘Go and tell her in those exact words. Lauren loves you, Matt, and we women in love can forgive our men almost anything if they love us too.’

Could they? Would Lauren, after his bitter accusations?

* * *

Lauren stared at the four family-sized pizza boxes and clutched her fingers in her lap. She’d always begged off the Monday pizza, footy and whatever-you-want-to-drink evenings in Pete and Jenny’s unit. Why had she agreed to come tonight?

Because she wanted to prove she could watch an Aussie Rules game without breaking down. And she would as long as she didn’t think of the crowded Adelaide oval and being crushed against a warm, muscular body in the crowd.

‘So, did you keep that appointment with your boss, Lauren? Has he made an offer you can’t refuse to get you to stay?’ Jenny leant forward and opened the top box, the aroma evoking memories of the last time she’d been in Matt’s office.

‘We talked. He wants me to consider freelancing for him whenever he gets a job he thinks worthy of my talents. His expression. Soft soap and flattery. I think he’s hoping I’ll relent and come back full time after I’ve had a break.’

‘Could happen.’

‘I doubt it but the idea of a real challenge now and again is tempting.’

The last one had been and look how that ended. No chance of a repeat. She’d fallen in love and lost her heart to Matt Dalton, irretrievable and never to be reclaimed. The pain would subside and become a dull ache she’d learn to live with.

* * *

Matt needed someone to confess to, someone who’d listen, tell him what a drongo he’d been, and offer to help find her. The one person who’d shared all his dreams and aspirations, almost every failure and heartbreak. As soon as he’d finished essential work, he took a taxi to Alan’s city apartment, picking up Chinese food on the way.

The food was hot and spicy, and the cold beer from the fridge slid smoothly down his throat giving him courage to begin. He lounged back, crossing his ankles.

‘Lauren was my balcony girl.’

Alan stopped chewing and stared.

‘You’re kidding? I don’t remember seeing her that night and she’d have been noticeable even then. You definitely never forgot her.’

‘No, she was always there, even when I was contemplating marriage to someone else. I didn’t realise who she was until I kissed her again.’

He almost lost it as the memory seared his brain. Closed his eyes, picturing hazel eyes full of passion, and a smile that always sent his pulse soaring.

‘I’m an idiot, Alan. A blind, insensitive idiot who didn’t have the nous to see the truth in front of me or the guts to claim the sweetest prize any man was ever offered.’

His cousin nodded. ‘I agree. Now you tell me what happened and we’ll work out how you find her, grovel like a lovesick fool—which you’ll happily be—and win her back.’

Matt spilled his guts, taking all the blame. He’d cursed himself for not asking more about her life, her suburb, or the names of her friends. She wasn’t in the phone directory and he hadn’t been able to locate her on social media. Her employer had offered to forward any mail he sent, after justifiably refusing to divulge personal information. Apologetic words on paper could never convey his guilt and remorse. He needed to see her, hold her and beg for forgiveness.

‘My last hope is to contact one of her brothers but they’d probably ask why and refuse if I tell the truth. All I know is she lives on the same floor as her friends, in a suburban block of units in Sydney. I didn’t bother to ask her anything—’

He jerked upright, beer spraying onto his jeans and the floor.

‘The form.’ He sprang to his feet, dumping the can on the table. ‘Come on—you drive.’

‘What form? Where?

Matt was already halfway to the door.

‘The personnel form I filed without bothering to read it. Her name and address, contact number in case of an emergency, et cetera.’

Ten minutes later Matt perched on her desk and read the form out loud.

‘“Lauren Juliet Taylor”, her address and mobile phone number. And—’ the rush of joyful adrenaline almost tipped him off the desk ‘—“Peter Williams”, her friend in the apartment opposite hers.’ He punched the air in triumph. ‘I’ve got where she lives. I’ve got her friend’s number. And with his help, I’ve got a plan.’

* * *

Lauren fumbled in her shoulder bag for her keys as she took the last few steps to the third floor. Her first private lesson had been a success and her next three Tuesday afternoons were taken.

If even half her future clients were as good as feisty seventy-two-year-old Mary—or seventy-two years young as she’d claimed—her new occupation would be a pleasure. She’d listened intently, made copious notes in a neat legible hand, and was willing to give anything a go. She claimed making mistakes was part of living.

If that was the case, Lauren was certainly alive, so why did she feel numb inside? There was...

A large vase containing an incredible arrangement of orchids on the landing outside her door. Her foot caught on the last stair. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form a coherent thought.

Orchids: deep reds, yellow with leopard spots, and lilac ones of every shade imaginable. She stumbled forward and fell onto her knees, her trembling fingers reaching out to touch the soft petals, confirm they weren’t her imagination.

Tears flooded her eyes. Her heart hammered into life, sending her blood racing to regenerate every pulse point. Orchids. Matt. Linked together in her mind for ever.

‘Lauren?’

Broken, rasping voice. Trembling arms clasped her in a strong embrace. Warm lips pressed to her forehead. Disbelief scrambled her brain, and hope fluttered in her stomach.

‘Don’t cry, my love. Please, don’t cry.’

My love. Matt’s voice saying words she wouldn’t dare to dream. Matt kneeling beside her, his body warm and solid, and his heart thudding under her hand. Matt’s fingers lovingly stroking her cheek, and tilting her chin.

She barely had time to register dark shadows under his compassionate blue eyes before he kissed her. Not with the smooth arrogance of the youth, or the competent skill of the sophisticated man. Hesitant, unsure of her response.

She wanted the passionate lover who’d taken her to the moon and beyond, and refused to settle for less. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tangled her fingers in his hair, binding him to her. She teased him with the tip of her tongue and nipped his lip with her teeth.

In an instant he crushed her against him, chased her tongue back inside with his, stroking and tangling, claiming his rights as her man. His hands caressed her, fuelling fires she’d believed extinguished. His breathing was as ragged as her own.

Voices echoed up the stairwell and he lifted his head, chest heaving, throat convulsing and eyes gleaming.

‘Inside?’ Rough and barely audible.

Unable to speak, she nodded, and looked round for the keys she’d dropped. Matt picked them up and helped her to her feet. Her fingers trembled too much to take them, and her heart flipped at his unsteady attempts to unlock the door.

He followed her in, stopped just inside gazing wide-eyed at her home.

Her home, where she’d spent six tortured nights berating the fool that she’d been to fall in love with him. Where she listlessly performed necessary chores, and agonised over a solitary future without him.

He stood there as if he were a returning hero carrying his gift like the spoils of war. And the anguish and heartache she’d suffered surged into a torrent of anger at his injustice.

‘No.’