The Secret Mother. Lee Wilkinson
until his fingers felt as though they might crush the delicate bones. Moving closer, he suggested silkily, ‘Surely we need the beautiful princess to kiss the poor toad?’
Finding she’d been backed into a corner, and trying not to panic, she said as lightly as possible, ‘It’s just a fairy story Caitlin’s taken to.’
‘Ah, but a fairy story has to have a happy ending, and as the leading character...’
His dark face was only inches away. She looked at his mouth, that austere yet sensual mouth, and remembered with stunning clarity what it felt like when it touched hers.
A treacherous wave of heat engulfing her, somehow she managed, ‘I really don’t think I’d rate as a beautiful princess.’
‘You may not rate as a princess, but you’re certainly beautiful enough.’ All at once he sounded angry, driven.
Terrified of what might happen if he touched her, she begged hoarsely, ‘Oh, please, Matthew...’
Ignoring the plea, he took her face between his hands and his mouth closed over hers.
All thought obliterated, her whole being melted instantly, completely, so that without the support of the wall she couldn’t have remained on her feet.
His touch, his kiss, was what her heart and mind and body had craved. When finally he lifted his head, it took her a few seconds to gather herself and register that he was breathing as though he’d been running hard.
Knowing he’d only kissed her because he was inexplicably angry, she felt a fierce satisfaction that he hadn’t remained totally unmoved.
‘Well, well, well...’ he drawled, and his voice had a harshness to it. ‘Who would have dreamt such a prim-looking nanny was capable of so much passion?’
Terrified that her uncontrolled response might have stirred memories in him that were best forgotten, she said raggedly, ‘Please let me go. You have no right to treat me like this.’
‘Can I plead provocation?’ He was laughing now, making fun of her. ‘Promise never to touch you again?’
‘I’d prefer it if you did, Mr Carran.’
‘Why so formal? A minute ago you called me Matthew.’
She felt a quick stab of fear. ‘I—I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...I was upset.’
He was still holding her face between his palms, and his thumbs stroked backwards and forwards across her cheeks in a movement that was no caress but an expression of his anger.
‘Tell me, Miss Smith, if I find it impossible to keep my hands off you, what will you do?’
She wanted to say that she would go, but at the thought of being anywhere else her heart seemed to shrivel and die in her breast..
‘Will you leave?’
Somehow he must have guessed that she would never leave of her own accord, she thought agitatedly, and he was deliberately taunting her.
Her voice impeded, she pointed out, ‘I don’t think that would help Caitlin. She’s just got used to me, and a child of her age needs some stability.’
As though the mention of Caitlin had sobered him, Matthew let his hands drop to his sides and stepped back, his expression controlled and dispassionate now.
But, when Caroline would have hurried away to the safety of her own suite, he once again stopped her. ‘Don’t disappear,’ he said briskly. ‘I want to talk to you. Have you had your evening meal yet?’
‘No.’
‘Then we can eat together and talk at the same time.’
Desperate to be alone until she had regained her equilibrium, Caroline made the first excuse that she could think of. ‘Oh, but I usually eat in the kitchen with Mrs Monaghan. She might think it strange if I—’
‘Isn’t Friday her night off?’
It was. Earlier in the day the housekeeper had announced her intention of spending the evening with her married daughter.
His eyes on Caroline’s transparent face, Matthew said sardonically, ‘However, if you feel more at home in the kitchen, when I’ve showered and changed I’ll join you there.’
He appeared to be back to his cool, disciplined self, and, watching him walk away, she wondered shakily what had provoked that burning display of anger, that need to deride and dominate.
Surely not just the use of his name in a child’s fairy tale?
She felt a cold shiver run through her. He had never tried to disguise the fact that he didn’t like her, but for that short space of time he had appeared almost to hate her.
Yet he had kissed her like a man who was starving.
As she made her somewhat unsteady way to the kitchen the remembrance filled her with disturbing and conflicting emotions.
Just one kiss, nevertheless it had altered everything. It had destroyed her composure, banished any slight feeling of peace or security she had gained, and reinforced how perilous her being here was.
A meal had been left ready, and while she put the chicken casserole into the microwave and began to set the table she was beset by a different anxiety. What did Matthew want to talk to her about? Her month’s trial time was almost completed, so had he decided to get rid of her?
No, surely not. She tried to be practical. He knew Caitlin had accepted her, and he needed a nanny.
Then what? Had he somehow discovered who she was?
No, if he had he would have turned her out immediately. She remembered only too clearly the look of loathing on his face that awful night as, white-lipped, he’d said with a fury no less devastating for being quiet, ‘I want you out of my house first thing in the morning. I never want to have to set eyes on you again.’
Shivering, she made an attempt to push the painful memory away. It had happened a long time ago, and was part of the past she tried so hard not to think about.
In a way, coming to work here had been madness, but she couldn’t regret taking the chance fate had offered her. Yet it left her open to even more heartache, she thought despairingly, if her brief happiness was about to come to an end.
The click of the latch made her jump.
Though she had thought herself prepared, her heart turned over at the sight of him. He had changed into an olive-green polo-necked shirt and casual trousers, and looked both dangerously attractive and formidable.
He had a way of moving, an arrogant tilt to his dark head, an almost feline grace and symmetry that, combined with his extraordinary eyes, had always put her in mind of a black panther. She felt her mouth go dry.
While she removed the casserole from the oven he took a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and, having opened it, he asked, ‘Why only one glass?’
‘I don’t usually drink,’ she answered simply.
His eyes clouding with anger, or impatience, he went to get a second glass. ‘I know that’s what you told me, but just this once I won’t hold it against you.’
As he filled the glasses she put a bowl of fluffy rice and a tossed green salad on the table, and took the chair opposite his.
With easy authority, he served both her and himself before picking up his fork.
For a while they ate without speaking, until, needing to break the silence, striving for normality, she asked, ‘Have you had a good trip?’
The chiselled lips twisted. ‘You sound for all the world like a dutiful wife.’
‘I’m sorry. I was just trying to be pleasant.’
‘While I’m being anything but?’
Then, with that sudden