her, following her probing finger with his eyes.
Oh, Lord!
Pulling her hand away from her mouth, she noticed, belatedly, that he didn’t have a glass. And, in an effort to change the subject, she said shortly, ‘Aren’t you joining me?’
‘Alcohol and drugs don’t mix,’ he replied flatly. ‘Now, do you want to tell me why you want a divorce?’
Taking another swallow of wine, she added tensely, ‘Let’s not do this, Matt.’
Matt’s lips twisted. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that divorces in this country are ten a penny.’ He paused. ‘Provided they are uncontested.’
‘I do know that, yes.’
‘So, you expect me to roll over, right? Isn’t that what you said in your emails?’ His eyes swept insolently over her, and she was supremely conscious of the flimsy fabric of the tunic and her bare legs beneath. ‘I have to say, you don’t waste words.’
Joanna sighed, guessing Adrienne had shown him one of the later messages she’d sent when impatience had made her less tactful than before. ‘I don’t believe I said I expected you to roll over,’ she responded defensively. ‘I thought you were deliberately ignoring me.’
‘As you would.’ Matt was sardonic. ‘But you’re my wife, Joanna, and if I have my way, you will remain so.’
‘You can’t make me,’ she said, and then could have bitten her tongue—metaphorically this time—at the childishness of her words.
She attempted to take another gulp of her wine and was dismayed to find the glass was empty. She took a steadying breath. She was allowing him to get the upper hand, and she’d only had one glass.
Matt hesitated, and just when she was afraid he was going to touch her again, he lifted his hands in a defeated gesture and crossed the room to seat himself at the piano.
With his fingers running idly over the keys, he said, ‘Tell me, why didn’t you touch any of the funds I deposited to your bank account in London?’ He paused. ‘You didn’t have to go back to work at Bellamy’s gallery.’
‘I wanted to.’ Joanna found herself approaching the drinks cabinet and lifting the bottle of Chardonnay. ‘I don’t need your money, Matt,’ she assured him, filling her glass. ‘I told you that when—when—’
‘When you stormed out of our apartment in London?’ Matt suggested mildly, the strains of an old George Michael song emerging from the keys. ‘I know what you said, Jo. Your words are imprinted on my soul.’
Joanna shivered in spite of the warmth of the evening. ‘Do you have a soul, Matt?’ she queried, trying to be flippant, and then gasped in dismay when he slammed the lid of the piano and got to his feet.
‘You’d better believe it,’ he snapped, covering the space between them so quickly that Joanna, who had been drifting unknowingly towards the music, suddenly found him only inches away. ‘I am not the devil incarnate, Jo, no matter what lies your father told you.’
‘Don’t bring Daddy into this.’
‘Why not? He’s the real villain here, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘He’s dead,’ said Joanna defensively. ‘You can’t blame a dead man for your mistakes.’
‘My mistakes?’ Matt was angry. ‘You are such a cliché, do you know that? You keep bringing up trivial things that have no bearing on this conversation. In an effort to try and justify what Angus did.’
‘He didn’t do anything wrong!’
‘Oh, I know that’s what you think. I heard the eulogies at his funeral.’ Matt was bitter. ‘I was there at the funeral, Jo. You didn’t know that, did you? I was tactful enough to guess you wouldn’t want to see me. But I saw you, Joanna, with Bellamy.’
‘David’s a good friend,’ Joanna protested, but Matt ignored her words.
Joanna had always denied that the gallery owner had any feelings for her, but it was Bellamy she’d turned to when Angus Carlyle had died; Bellamy who’d re-employed her and probably found her somewhere else to live.
She’d moved out of their London apartment, probably afraid he might turn up and demand his rights as her husband. As if he’d ever done anything but protect her interests.
Anger gave way to frustration, and, to Joanna’s alarm, his hand came to cup her face. His thumb brushed the high colour nesting on her cheekbones and then found the startled contours of her mouth.
He’d barely touched her, but Joanna felt as if he were branding her. Almost without her volition, her lips parted, and she tasted him on her tongue. The heat spreading from his fingers seared her throat and breasts, breasts that were suddenly swollen and taut with need.
There was a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach, too, as nervous tension gripped her abdomen. She felt her muscles tighten, her breath grow shallow, as an unwilling awareness of her vulnerability where this man was concerned weakened her knees.
She was gripping her glass with slippery fingers, and realised she was losing control.
Matt was staring at her, and awareness flared like a flame between them, burning them with its fire. She didn’t honestly know what might have happened next if someone hadn’t interrupted them; if another voice hadn’t chosen that moment to coldly break the spell.
‘For God’s sake, Matt! What is going on?’
* * *
Adrienne’s voice was shrill and accusatory, and Joanna despised herself for allowing such a situation to develop. Whatever defence she’d had before would be as nothing now. His mother was bound to think she’d had an ulterior motive for coming here.
Matt, however, seemed indifferent to his mother’s arrival. Although he drew back from Joanna, his response revealed his impatience at her words. ‘Keep out of it, Ma,’ he said, his hand lingering in the small of Joanna’s back. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’
Adrienne looked wounded. ‘Matt!’ she protested, and, although her son still looked grim, he got control of himself.
Apparently intending to placate her, he released Joanna and said curtly, ‘Do you want a drink?’
His mother was evidently in two minds, but she chose the least provoking option. ‘Wine, please,’ she said, her gaze flickering over Joanna’s glass. ‘I’ll have red, if you don’t mind.’
Joanna was drinking white, but she was so relieved that Matt had moved away from her that she didn’t make any comment. In any case, it was just another attempt to annoy her, and she wouldn’t give Adrienne the satisfaction of retaliation.
Taking the time to study her adversary, she had to admit the woman had changed little in the year since they’d last met. Adrienne’s dark hair might owe more to her hairdresser these days than it did to nature. But her slender build gave her a youthful appearance. If only her hostility towards her daughter-in-law didn’t draw her mouth into that thin hostile line.
Matt
