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‘I haven’t really been very hungry the last few days—I’m still recovering from flu,’ she protested half-heartedly, her mouth watering as she watched him skilfully chop chicken, celery and a hard-boiled egg and deftly fold them into sour cream sprinkled with capers, fresh parsley and chives.
‘Which I take it is also my fault?’ he said, spooning the mixture into a cup of a lettuce and sliding the plate across the tiled breakfast bar where she sat. ‘But I can solemnly promise you, Rachel, that’s the only kind of infection you risk catching from me in bed.’ He smiled at her expression. ‘Surely by now you’ve guessed that’s how I hope we’re going to end up? By being upfront now we can enjoy the spontaneity later…’
While she was still gaping at his staggering presumption he forked up a morsel of salad and popped it between her parted lips. As her mouth closed and she automatically began to chew he handed her the implement and distracted her from the fact she was eating, with a string of amusing stories about his brash father’s cunning machinations to free Matthew from the social stigma of being a nouveau riche rubbish-man’s son.
Without realising it, Rachel allowed him to draw forth wry recollections of her far less privileged home background, and the impact her unplanned arrival had had on a mother and father who had already discovered the first time around that they were not natural parents. Their love had been strictly rationed according to behaviour; their expectations as low as Kevin Riordan’s had been high.
A fragrant cup of spiced tea eventually replaced her empty plate, and Rachel realised they had strayed far from the purpose of her enforced visit. She hurriedly returned to their discussion of tactics, and when he objected to her insistence on pursuing her own separate avenues of investigation, her heated accusations prompted him to frankly spell out exactly why Weston Security had lost its bids.
‘It was not because of my personal reaction to you.’ He refuted her bitter allegation with passionate conviction. ‘I wouldn’t survive very long at the head of a financial empire if I let my emotions, however intense, dictate my business decisions. Nor was it from any prejudice against women—some of my brightest executives are female.’
He listed a string of salient factors that forced Rachel to acknowledge that perhaps she had been the one guilty of prejudice, her hindsight coloured by the disparaging remarks that Neville had dripped in her ear.
She found herself agreeing that she would take no steps without full consultation, but made no promises that she would accept any resulting advice.
‘Let’s remember that I’m the professional in this field; you’re just a—’
‘Gifted amateur?’
‘Bumbling amateur,’ she corrected.
‘Oh, I get it. I’m Watson to your Holmes.’
She frowned. ‘This isn’t a game.’
‘No, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it.’
She felt a little tingle in her bones, not of foreboding but of illicit excitement. ‘You said something before about neutralising any scandal…’
She turned to watch him carry the dishes to the dishwasher and caught sight of the kitchen clock high on the wall. She checked it disbelievingly against her watch, appalled to see that the whole afternoon had slipped effortlessly away. She leapt to her feet, determined to assert herself, only to find her erstwhile kidnapper effusively helpful.
Quite how Matthew had persuaded her to allow him to drive her home in her own car she couldn’t afterwards remember, but she knew it was a mistake as soon as he introduced himself to Robyn on the doorstep and insinuated himself inside to accept an offer of a cup of tea and endure a sisterly interrogation.
Looking perfectly at ease in the modest drawing room, he sipped his tea and listened to Robyn chatter about her last day at work, and proved so charming that when Rachel reminded him for the fourth time about the taxi he had supposedly come inside to call it was Robyn who leapt up and rushed away to do it.
‘I suppose using your cellphone was out of the question,’ Rachel said, knowing that he probably never went anywhere without a lifeline to the financial markets.
‘I think the battery’s flat,’ he lied blatantly, as the front door slammed open and shut again, and feet pounded up the hall just ahead of an excited voice.
‘Hey, guess what—my class threw a farewell party for me at school today!’ Bethany skidded to a stop in the door, her hazel eyes and pink mouth rounding in recognition at the sight of the man rising politely to his feet. ‘Wow, it’s the babe!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Matthew held out his hand, looking amused. ‘I’m Matt Riordan.’
Bethany laughed as she shook it. ‘You’re the man from the photo—the one who was kissing Rachel’s hand at that party.’
Only Rachel noticed the tip of his ears go pink. ‘You saw those photos?’
‘I opened them at the breakfast table,’ Rachel said cruelly.
‘I only looked at one—Rachel hid all the others. Were they horribly obscene or something?’ asked Bethany.
‘Utterly,’ he grinned, slanting Rachel a sly look.
Bethany was sharp-eyed. She tilted up her chin. ‘Are you and Rachel going out on a date?’ There was mingled curiosity and disappointment in her voice.
He shook his head. ‘I know this is your last night here, and you probably want to spend it together. Actually, I’m here to ask you for one.’
‘Me?’
