A Woman Of Passion

Besides, in his absence, Fleur and Chase had appeared to reconcile any differences they might have had. They had both grown older, for one thing, and Matthew’s different lifestyle had reinforced the barriers between them.

Then, five years ago, Matthew had written his first novel. A lot of it had been based on his own experiences in Beirut, and, to his amazement, it had been an immediate success. Film rights had been optioned; in paperback it sold almost five million copies. He’d become an overnight celebrity—and he’d found he didn’t like it.

That was when he had had the notion of moving out of the United States. He’d always liked the islands of the Caribbean, and the casual lifestyle of Barbados suited him far better than the hectic social round of living in New York had ever done. When his second book was completed, he had it written into the contract that he was not available for subsequent publicity. He preferred his anonymity. He didn’t want to become a media hack.

But, to his astonishment, like Fleur when he’d rejected her, his public found his detachment as intriguing as she had done. Avoiding talk-shows and signing sessions made no difference to his sales. His books apparently sold themselves, and curiosity about his lifestyle was rife.

All the same, it was a lot harder to reach him at Dragon Bay. The villa, which he had had erected on the ruins of an old plantation house, had excellent security features, and Lucas Cord—once his sound technician, but now his secretary-cum-assistant—made sure he wasn’t bothered by any unwelcome guests. Matthew supposed he’d become something of a recluse, only visiting New York when he needed stimulation. He seldom invited women to Dragon Bay. He wasn’t married, and he had no desire to be so.

Which was probably something else he could lay at Fleur’s door, he reflected cynically, watching as a dusty estate car skidded into the parking area and a girl and two young children tumbled out. For all his brother’s marriage had lasted until his death, he doubted Chase had really been happy. He’d lived his life constantly placating a woman who’d tried to cheat him at every turn.

‘Henry—wait!’

The girl—or was she a young woman? Matthew was never quite sure of the distinction—yelled desperately after the small boy, who had darted recklessly between the parked cars. She seemed hung up with the other child, who appeared to be doubled up with pain, and Matthew could see an accident in the making if the boy gained the busy area where the taxis were waiting.

Without giving himself time to think about the pros and cons of what he was about to do, Matthew thrust open his door and vaulted out of the Range Rover. His long legs swiftly overtook the boy’s, and his hand descended on the child’s shoulder seconds before he reached the open road.

‘Ouch,’ The boy—Henry?—looked up at him indignantly. ‘Let go of me! I’m going to meet my daddy.’

‘Not without your mother, you’re not,’ returned Matthew smoothly, turning to look back towards the cars. ‘Come along. I’ll take you back. Did no one ever tell you it’s dangerous to play in traffic?’

Henry looked up at him mutinously. ‘I wasn’t playing.’

‘Nor are the drivers,’ said Matthew drily, feeling the boy’s resistance in every step they took. He was aware that his action had drawn some unwelcome attention, and he hoped that no one imagined he was enjoying himself.

The child’s mother was hurrying towards them now, and Matthew regarded her with some impatience. With her waist-length braid and narrow body, she hardly looked old enough to have two children, albeit of preschool age. But she had the casual elegance of many English holidaymakers at this time of year, women who knew nothing about caring for their own children, and he felt a surge of anger at her obvious lack of control.

‘Oh, Henry!’ she exclaimed when she reached them, bending down to grab the boy’s hand with evident relief. ‘Don’t you ever—ever—go dashing off like that again.

If—if—’ she cast a swift glance up at Matthew ‘—this

gentleman hadn’t caught you, you could easily have been knocked down!’

‘Perhaps if you’d held on to his hand sooner, he wouldn’t have had the chance to run away,’ observed Matthew shortly, aware that it was really no concern of his. It wasn’t his place to tell her how to look after her children, and the deepening colour in her cheeks caused him as much discomfort as herself.

The trouble was, he realised, she had annoyed him. Driving into the car park like a mad thing, allowing the boy to put his life in danger. People like her shouldn’t be allowed to have children, he thought unreasonably. Though why he felt so strongly about it, he really couldn’t say.

‘Yes,’ she said stiffly now, facing him with eyes that were an indeterminate shade of grey. ‘I know it was

remiss of me to let Henry run off like that. But—’ she

cast her gaze down at the younger child, who Matthew could see was looking quite green ‘—Sophie was feeling sick again, and it all happened rather fast.’

It was a valid explanation, and Matthew knew it, but for some reason he couldn’t let it go. Was it that her colouring reminded him rather too strongly of the woman he’d been forced to invite here? Or was it some lingering sense of resentment that he’d had to get involved at all? Whatever the solution, he knew that she disturbed him. And he resented that intensely.

‘Wouldn’t it have been more sensible, then, to leave the child at home?’ he countered, and her eyes widened in obvious disbelief. He was getting in too deep, and he knew it. All it needed was for her husband to appear and he’d be totally out of his depth.

‘Mr—?’

‘There’s Daddy!’

Before she could finish what she had been about to say, the little boy started pulling at her arm. A tall man in a business suit, trailed by a porter wheeling a suitcase on his barrow, had just emerged from the airport buildings, and Matthew’s frustration hardened as the little girl set up a similar cry.

‘Daddy, Daddy,’ she called, her nausea obviously forgotten. ‘Daddy, we’re here!’ She tugged at her mother’s hand. ‘Let me go. Let me go. I want to go and meet him.’

The young woman cast Matthew one further studied look, and then released both children as the man got near enough to hold out his arms towards them. ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell their father what a hopeless case I am?’ she invited coldly. ‘I’d introduce you myself, but I didn’t catch your name.’

Matthew’s jaw compressed. ‘Forget it,’ he said shortly, turning away, but before he could put a sufficient distance between them the children’s father came up, carrying both his offspring. He looked quizzically at his wife, and then turned his attention to Matthew.

‘Do you two know one another?’ he asked. Then, loosening his collar, ‘God, it’s bloody hot, isn’t it? I can’t wait to get this suit off.’

‘Henry ran away,’ said Sophie, before anyone else could say anything, and Henry made an effort to punch her behind his father’s back. ‘He did,’ she added, when she’d regained her father’s attention. ‘He would have been run over if this man hadn’t brought him back.’

‘He might have been run over,’ amended her mother evenly, refusing to meet Matthew’s eyes, but her husband set both children down and held out his hand.

‘Thanks a lot,’ he said, shaking Matthew’s hand vigorously. ‘I know Henry can be quite a handful. I’m Andrew Sheridan, by the way. And I’ll see he doesn’t do it again.’

‘Aitken,’ said Matthew unwillingly, banking on the fact that it wasn’t such an uncommon name, and obviously neither of them had recognised him from the jackets of his books. ‘Um-actually, your wife wasn’t to blame for what happened. Your little girl was sick, and——’

‘I’m not—’

‘Thanks, anyway.’ Before his wife could complete her sentence, Andrew Sheridan intervened. He gave her a mischievous look, and then continued pleasantly, ‘You’ll have to come and have a drink with us some time. Give us a ring. We’re renting a villa out at Dragon Point.’

‘Really?’ Matthew managed not to make any promises, and to his relief, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucas striding towards him with Fleur flapping at his heels. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said, his polite tone disguising the dismay he’d felt at discovering they were holidaying a short distance from his estate. ‘If you’ll excuse me…’ He inclined his head curtly, and walked swiftly away.

He heard the young woman exclaim, ‘Why did you do that?’ and then, almost immediately afterwards, a choking gasp, as if her husband had hit her. It brought Matthew’s head round, in spite of himself, but there was no evidence that she’d been abused. On the contrary, she was staring after him, as if he’d done something wrong, her eyes wide with horror and all the colour drained out of her face.

It was crazy, because she meant nothing to him, but he was tempted to go back and ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. He’d got her off the hook, hadn’t he? She should be thanking him. Not gazing at him, for God’s sake, as if he was the devil incarnate.

With a grunt of impatience, Matthew swung his head round and continued towards his car. Forget it, he told himself fiercely. It was nothing to do with him. But he couldn’t deny a sense of anger and irritation—and the unpleasant feeling that he’d been used.

‘Who was that you were talking to?’ Fleur asked, after the briefest of greetings had been exchanged—reluctant on his part, fervent on hers. She insinuated herself into the seat beside him, despite the fact that Lucas had held the rear door for her, and gazed at him enquiringly. ‘A little young for your tastes, isn’t she, darling?’ she teased. ‘Or have you acquired a liking for schoolgirls in my absence?’

‘And if I have?’ Matthew countered, her accent jarring on him after his exchange with the other woman. His eyes glittered maliciously. ‘I’m only following in your footsteps, sister, dear. We both have peculiar tastes, don’t we?’

‘I’m not your sister,’ hissed Fleur, as Lucas climbed good-humouredly into the seat behind them. She cast the other man a tight smile. ‘Perhaps I can get some sense from you.’

‘I don’t know who they are,’ declared Lucas ruefully. ‘I’ve never seen them before. They’re probably here on holiday. We get a lot of them at this time of the year.’

‘On holiday?’ Fleur’s expression altered. ‘Not friends of Matt’s, then?’

Lucas met his employer’s gaze in the rear-view mirror, and gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. ‘Not to my knowledge,’ he conceded wryly. He pulled a face at Matthew before adding, ‘Did you have a good journey?’

Fleur relaxed, and for the first time since her arrival she allowed herself to show a trace of regret. ‘It was—lonely,’ she said, rummaging in her capacious handbag for a tissue, and using it to dab her eyes. ‘I couldn’t help remembering that the last time I came here Chase was with me. He loved to spend time with Matt, you know? It’s sad that in recent years they spent so little time together.’

Lucas made a polite rejoinder, and Matthew bit down on the urge to tell Fleur that she knew why that was, better than anyone. He had the feeling he’d been wrong to invite Fleur here, however sorry he’d felt for her at the funeral. She hadn’t really changed. She was just as ingenious as ever.

‘How’s Dad?’ he asked now, refusing to be drawn in that direction, and Fleur gave a careless shrug.