An Heir Made In The Marriage Bed. Anne Mather

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 handed his mother her glass and refilled Joanna’s without her permission. But, what the hell? she thought recklessly, taking another gulp of the deliciously cool liquid. She needed all the courage, real or artificial, that she could get.

      After drinking a little of her wine, Adrienne turned to Joanna again. ‘Sophie tells me you’re staying at the Corcovado. How long are you planning to stay in Miami?’

      Joanna shrugged. ‘Until tomorrow.’ She refused to prevaricate, even if she sensed Matt’s anger at her words.

      Adrienne forced a tight smile. ‘Perhaps you should have let us know you were coming.’

      ‘Why?’ Joanna was tired of defending herself. ‘So you could have kept that news from Matt, as well?’

      Adrienne gasped. ‘How dare you?’ she began, but Matt broke in before she could continue.

      ‘It’s the truth, Ma, and you know it. I’ll let you know how long Jo is staying after we’ve talked.’

      He returned the bottle of white wine to its tray, his eyes boring into Joanna’s, cautioning her not to argue with him. And, although she would have liked to refute his words, there was still a certain pleasure to be had in thwarting his mother.

      Adrienne’s lips thinned. ‘I understood from your correspondence that you intended to ask Matt for a divorce. I don’t see what there is to talk about.’

      Joanna would have answered her, but Matt chose to intervene. ‘If you hadn’t chosen to keep Joanna’s correspondence to yourself, I might have phoned her,’ he said mildly. His hand returned to the sensitive hollow of Joanna’s spine. ‘As it is, we have the opportunity to speak to one another face to face.’

      Once again, Joanna attempted to move away from him to dislodge those cool fingers that were threatening to unnerve her. But her breathless silence was an admission of his dominance, nevertheless. And although it galled her to admit it, she knew that right now he had the upper hand.

      ‘I’m sure Dad would be most disappointed if we didn’t make her welcome,’ Matt continued, his tone mellowing. Probably because he thought he was getting his own way, thought Joanna, in frustration. ‘He was delighted to hear that she was here.’

      ‘You’ve spoken with your father?’ Adrienne was obviously disconcerted and Joanna guessed Matt’s mother had hoped to keep her husband in ignorance of what she’d done.

      ‘Of course, I’ve spoken with him,’ responded Matt, as his sister came into the room to join them. He looked again at Joanna. ‘Let me refresh your glass.’

      Once again, to her dismay, Joanna saw her glass was almost empty. She hadn’t been aware of swallowing the wine, but her nerves were all over the place so she obviously had.

      ‘Um—thanks,’ she said, ignoring Adrienne’s disapproval, and found a smile for her sister-in-law when Sophie complimented her on her dress.

      Thankfully, Sophie’s arrival did take a little of the pressure off. The young woman might be Matt’s sister, but she’d never been able to twist her mother round her little finger as her brother could do. In consequence, Adrienne turned her wrath on her daughter, berating her for not being here sooner and criticising her outfit.

      Sophie was wearing a wraparound sheath dress in a rather striking orange linen. Not the shade Joanna would have chosen, but it suited Sophie’s dark colouring.

      Joanna accepted more wine, but, despite Sophie’s friendly chatter, she was overwhelmingly aware of Matt’s brooding expression, his dour countenance colouring her mood.

      She should have refused his invitation, she thought. Being civil was getting them nowhere. And whatever she did, Adrienne would never compromise.

      They ate in a small dining room overlooking the floodlit patio. It was near the kitchen and was much less intimidating than the formal one Joanna remembered when she and Matt were last here. Conversation wasn’t easy. The only consolation was that Adrienne disliked the situation as much as she did.

      However, when Sophie’s attempt to ask her about her work at the art gallery brought a scowl of disapproval from both her mother and her brother, Joanna chose to speak her mind.

      Ignoring Matt’s warning gaze, she said, ‘I enjoy my work, Sophie. I may not be a painter myself, but I have learned to recognise talent when I see it. We—that is the gallery owner and myself—occasionally give unknown painters a showcase for their work. Sort of an amateur exhibition. But you’d be amazed how many of them