Betrayed. Anne Mather

wouldn’t you?’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘After I’ve sat and watched you wolf down the most revolting mess of fried food I’ve ever seen!’

      Matthew’s lips twitched. ‘You’re talking about the great British breakfast,’ he told her sardonically. ‘We’re not all health freaks.’

      Olivia wanted to tell him that the amount of cholesterol he had swallowed that morning would go a fair way to clogging his arteries, but she refused to let him gain the upper hand. And besides, it had to be said, he didn’t look as if he suffered any ill effects. On the contrary, he looked disgustingly healthy, and observing his tanned skin she wondered exactly what kind of occupation he had chosen.

      ‘Well, anyway,’ she said, back-tracking, ‘we’re not in any great hurry, are we?’

      ‘You may not be,’ remarked Matthew, but he remained in his seat, and Olivia moistened her dry lips.

      ‘Does that mean you are?’

      ‘I do have responsibilities,’ conceded Matthew evenly. ‘Oh, go on. Get yourself a Danish, if that’s what you want. I must admit, if you were feeling sick earlier, food is probably what you need.’

      Olivia looked across at him. ‘Will you get it for me? I—er—I don’t have any change.’

      Matthew gave her an old-fashioned look, but he got to his feet and walked back to the buffet, flexing his shoulders as he did so. He was wearing jeans with his jerkin, and a pair of worn leather boots, like the ones he used to wear when they were together. She watched him as he exchanged a smiling comment with the girl on the pay-till, and she felt a stabbing sense of envy. He should be smiling at her, not at some stranger, she thought painfully. He had such a nice smile, and when he was relaxed the years just fell away.

      ‘There you are,’ he said, setting the plate containing the apricot Danish pastry down in front of her. ‘Hot, as you ordered, but probably nowhere near as delicious as you’re used to.’

      Olivia looked up at him, as he made no move to drop into the seat opposite. ‘Don’t be like that,’ she said, unconsciously using all her charm to persuade him to stay. ‘You’re not really going, are you?’

      Matthew’s eyes darkened perceptibly. ‘Liv——’

      ‘That’s the first time you’ve called me that!’ she exclaimed, digging her fork into the Danish, and lifting a sugary morsel to her lips. Her tongue came out to accept the delicate mouthful, and in Matthew’s eyes she saw a reflection of the torment she was feeling.

      ‘I’m married, Olivia,’ he said in a strangled voice, and although the news was no real surprise to her it still had the power to constrict her throat.

      ‘So—what?’ she managed, swallowing the fragment of pastry with a valiant effort. ‘I only want to talk to you.’

      Matthew hesitated, but after a moment he subsided into his seat again, and only the heaviness with which he did so revealed his reluctance to accede to her request. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Talk. I’m listening.’

      Olivia dragged her eyes away from his, and made an issue of detaching a slice of apricot from its sticky base. ‘It’s not that easy,’ she said, knowing she should have let him go. Playing games with Matthew Ryan was quite simply playing with fire. She knew the dangers. She knew the risks. And yet, she couldn’t seem to help herself.

      ‘I guess—I guess I just want us to be friends,’ she said, at last, lifting her eyes from her plate. ‘As you said, ten years is an awfully long time.’

      ‘No way!’ Matthew lay back in his chair, and regarded her with barely disguised hostility. ‘I said I was prepared to forget the past, and I am. But that doesn’t mean I want us to be friends.’

      ‘But isn’t that a contradiction in terms?’ Olivia sighed. ‘How can you say you’re prepared to forget something, and then use that something as a reason for rejecting any contact between us?’

      ‘I’m not interested in discussing it.’ Matthew ran an impatient hand through his hair. ‘Now, do you mind getting on with that, if you really want it?’

      ‘But—we’re different people,’ protested Olivia, putting down her fork and unconsciously leaning towards him. ‘You’re—married, as you say. And I’m—involved—with somebody. We don’t know anything about one another really. And—and I’d like to know about you. I would. Purely objectively, of course. Wouldn’t that be more—civilised?’

      ‘Civilised!’ Matthew almost choked on the word, and a wave of colour invaded his face. ‘What was ever civilised about our relationship? You don’t know the meaning of the word. You used me, Olivia. You let me think you cared about me as much as I cared about you. But you didn’t. It was all a game to you. You just wanted the experience of knowing how crazy I was about you! Well, not any more. I learned my lesson well. You won’t ever make a fool of me again.’

      Olivia gasped. ‘I didn’t make a fool of you——’

      ‘Didn’t you?’ Matthew’s expression was bitter, and he came forward in his chair, so that he could thrust his face close to hers. ‘And I suppose having the girl you had told everyone you were going to marry clear off to the States with a guitar player wasn’t a humiliating experience?’

      ‘It wasn’t like that.’ Olivia shook her head. ‘You know I went as the Kramers’ nanny. Stephen Kramer wasn’t interested in me. He was far too much in love with Denise.’

      ‘All I know is, one minute we were talking about setting up house together, and the next you’re jumping on a plane to New York. It was pretty mortifying, I can tell you. Not to mention emotionally shattering. My God, you seduced me, Olivia! And you sit there and talk about civility!’

      Olivia swallowed. ‘I—seduced you!’ She caught her breath. ‘Have you forgotten, I hadn’t even been to bed with a man, until you—until you made love to me?’

      ‘I didn’t make love to you, I made love with you,’ Matthew corrected her, in a low impassioned tone. ‘Oh, what’s the use? Love’s another word that doesn’t figure very highly in your vocabulary, isn’t it? Come on. Let’s go. I don’t propose to discuss this any longer.’

      Pressing his palms down on the table, he got to his feet, and towered over her. ‘Are you coming?’ he demanded grimly, and Olivia bent her head. She didn’t have a lot of choice, and he knew it.

      But, as she followed his stalking path to the door, resentment flared anew. Some of what he had said she could not dispute. But she refused to accept that she had been wholly responsible for the development of their relationship. Dear God, she had been a total innocent when she’d first gone to his rooms at the university. He couldn’t blame her for seducing him. Not when he had taught her all she knew about …

      Her anger was instinctive, and uncontrollable. For a few brief moments indignation blinded her, and as they walked through the swing glass doors she caught his arm.

      ‘I don’t care what you say—you wanted me!’ she declared huskily, gazing up into his narrowed eyes, and with a muffled oath Matthew put out his hand and grasped her nape with strong, unyielding fingers.

      ‘I know that, dammit,’ he swore, the pressure of his fingers increasing. And then, before she truly realised what he intended to do, he bent his head and brought her lips to his.

      Olivia’s senses swam. She couldn’t help it. It had happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, and the sudden heat of his mouth against her parted lips made her dizzy. In consequence, instead of pushing him away, she clutched the front of his shirt, and a button parted to allow her fingers to brush the hair-roughened skin beneath.

       ‘Christ!’

      The revulsion of Matthew’s withdrawal was like a slap in the face, and Olivia opened her eyes to find him striding away in obvious agitation. But it was nothing compared