her family, weren’t they? And in spite of everything, they loved her. She had to believe that.
Which was more than could be said about her grandmother, she thought ruefully. It was obvious where Harriet Stoner’s loyalties had lain, and they had not been with Olivia. She had been a potent reason to stay away from Lower Mychett. So long as Harriet Stoner was alive, Olivia would always have felt the outsider, the cuckoo in the nest.
Not that she could totally blame her grandmother for that, Olivia admitted. And, in all fairness, she had not been the only reason Olivia had stayed away. Her dread of seeing Matthew again, of rekindling all the pain and anguish she had felt at leaving, had provided a far more powerful deterrent. And she had been right to take those precautions, she conceded uneasily. Even now, the chemistry was still active, and avoidance seemed the only cure.
A SHADOW darkened the open doorway, and Olivia, who had been lost in thought, looked up almost guiltily. She was so used to being active. The agency she had founded, and which she now ran with the help of an American woman, Agnes Reina, demanded a lot of her energy, and it was rare that she found time to simply sit and meditate. Consequently, there was a look almost of culpability in her eyes when she turned her head, and the man in the doorway raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
‘All alone?’ he asked, propping his shoulder against the jamb, and surveying her intently. ‘What’s the matter? Has someone been upsetting you?’
Olivia’s nerves jangled. In tight jeans and a cotton shirt, that was open part-way down his chest, Matthew looked even more attractive today than he had done yesterday. His dark hair was ruffled, as if he had used his fingers instead of a comb, and his cool grey eyes were narrowed and disturbing.
‘No more than usual,’ Olivia answered at last, having taken a few moments to get her reactions to him under control. It wouldn’t do to let him see how he unsettled her. And she was realising, belatedly, that by agreeing to stay on after her grandmother’s funeral she was committing herself to more than just a family reconciliation.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked now, pushing himself away from the door, and stepping into the room. ‘What have they been saying? Talk to me. I want to know.’
Olivia looked away from his demanding gaze. ‘Why should you care?’ she countered, picking up her coffee-cup again, only to find it was empty. Damn, she thought impatiently, pushing the cup aside. She would have welcomed having something to do with her hands. But she wasn’t going to attempt to refill it. Not with Matthew watching her, and her nerves governing her movements.
‘I don’t know—but I do,’ Matthew responded evenly, swinging out a chair from the table, straddling it, and folding his arms along the back. ‘That’s why I came over, actually. I thought I’d better come and see if you needed any support.’
‘No. No support needed,’ said Olivia jerkily, and, unable to sit still under his calm appraisal, she got to her feet. Then, picking up the pot of coffee, she carried it busily to the sink, taking off the lid and pouring its contents down the drain.
She did it carelessly, recklessly, and the hot coffee splashed up over her hands, causing her to catch her breath. ‘Damn,’ she said audibly this time, and Matthew swung himself off the chair, and came to see what she had done.
‘It’s nothing,’ she said, flustered by his nearness, and by the way her skin prickled every time she looked at him. She thrust her hands behind her back. ‘Go and sit down. I’ll make some more coffee. I’m sure that’s what my mother would expect me to do.’
‘There was nothing wrong with that coffee,’ commented Matthew drily, putting his hand behind her, and drawing her resisting fingers towards him. ‘Here,’ he said, his lips compressing when he saw the red marks that marred her pale skin. Turning on the cold tap, he forced her hand under its cooling spray and she immediately felt its relief. ‘Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?’
‘Nothing’s going on,’ protested Olivia, the pressure of his hard fingers on her wrist causing a burning sensation to run up her arm. ‘Honestly, everyone’s been very—nice.’
‘Nice?’
Matthew looked down at her with darkening eyes, and Olivia’s breathing got shallower and shallower. ‘Yes—nice,’ she repeated, dragging her eyes away, and concentrating on the stream of water spilling over her hand. ‘I’m not saying we haven’t had our moments——’
‘I’ll bet.’ Matthew pulled her hand towards him, and after discovering that the marks were much less angry he turned off the tap. But he didn’t release her, and Olivia prayed no one would come in and find them like this. ‘I know what your old man can be like,’ he continued, tearing off a sheet of kitchen towel and dabbing her hand dry. ‘Remember how he used to chivvy me about driving too fast when you were in the car?’
‘Mmm.’
Olivia forced a polite smile, and finally succeeded in pulling her hand away. But when she moved across the room, on the pretext of collecting the dirty cups from the table, Matthew came after her.
‘Do you mind?’ she said, when she turned with the cups in her hands, and found him right behind her. ‘I want to wash these up.’
Matthew hesitated, and for one awful moment she thought he was going to touch her again. And she didn’t know how she would react if he did. Drop the cups probably, she thought unsteadily, and that would be the least of her worries.
But the problem didn’t arise. Matthew’s hesitation was only momentary. Then, he inclined his head and stepped aside, saying, as he did so, ‘What are you going to do today?’
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