Passionate Protectors?. Maggie Cox

had of her husband, she was absurdly loyal. Even though she must know that by changing her name he had removed another of the props that had made her who she was.

      Matt had decided not to show Sara the article in the newspaper. He hadn’t wanted her to be concerned because Bradbury had implied that he knew where she was. The fact that he’d chosen to tell the media that she was in the north of England was just a coincidence. It had to be. But it was another example of how everything seemed to work to Bradbury’s advantage.

      Sara’s rental car was no longer advertising her presence, at least. He’d had the garage in Saviour’s Bay pick it up and return it to the local franchise in Ellsmoor, and, although he’d been forced to admit that there’d been nothing wrong with it in the first place, Sara hadn’t complained. Whatever she chose to do after she left here, for the moment she seemed happy to be free of all obligations.

      The phone rang before he could indulge in any further introspection, and, tamping down his resentment, he went to answer it.

      ‘Yeah?’

      ‘Matt?’

      He recognised the voice at once. It was his agent, Rob Marco, and he pulled a wry face. He could guess what Rob wanted: some kind of timeframe for the completion of the new manuscript. The fact that he should have been in the final stages by now was just another cause for his tension.

      ‘Hi, Rob,’ he answered now, dropping down into his leather chair and propping his feet on the edge of his desk. He glanced at his watch. ‘How are things with you?’

      ‘They could be better,’ replied Rob, with just the trace of an edge to his voice. ‘How are things with you, Matt? When can I expect the new manuscript?’

      Matt gave a sardonic snort. ‘I should have guessed this wasn’t a social call,’ he said, hooking the phone between his ear and his shoulder and pulling open the bottom drawer of the desk. ‘I don’t work well with deadlines, Rob. You know that.’

      There was a moment’s silence while the other man considered his response and Matt used it to lift the half-empty bottle of whisky from the drawer. Unscrewing the cap, he treated himself to a healthy swig before setting it down beside the computer. He deserved some consolation, he told himself defensively. It was lunchtime, after all, and problems were assaulting him on all sides.

      ‘I’m not giving you a deadline,’ said Rob at last, his tone infinitely more conciliatory. ‘But, as you know, your next book is due for publication in the spring. Your publishers would just like to be able to announce the date of publication of the new novel on the flyleaf.’

      ‘What you mean is, they’re hoping I’ll sign a new contract,’ remarked Matt drily. ‘Have they come to you with any figures? I assume they’ve got an offer in mind?’

      Rob sighed. ‘We haven’t gone into specifics, Matt. I wouldn’t do that without your say-so. But Nash is a good publisher. They’ve done pretty well by you in the past.’

      ‘In other words, you’re interested,’ said Matt, studying the toes of his loafers. Rob was a good agent, and if he was recommending another deal it meant Nash had come up with a pretty spectacular sum. Of course, the book Nash was hoping to negotiate for wasn’t his current work in progress. Their interest had been prompted by his next project, an outline of which had been with his publishers for the past three weeks.

      ‘It’s inviting,’ affirmed Rob. ‘I doubt if you’d get a better offer.’ He paused. ‘They’re hoping they can persuade you to sign a three-book deal this time. They’re talking seven figures. That’s as much as I’m going to say.’

      Matt shook his head. ‘Seven figures,’ he echoed wryly, wishing he felt more enthusiasm for Rob’s news. But right now getting his current manuscript finished and ready for despatch seemed an insurmountable task. The idea of committing himself to writing three more books, even with a seven-figure advance, sounded almost impossible to achieve.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Rob was nothing if not intuitive. ‘Isn’t it enough?’

      ‘More than enough,’ responded Matt, blowing out a breath. ‘Thanks, Rob. As I’ve said before, you’re the best agent in the business.’

      ‘But you’re not happy.’ Rob wasn’t deceived. ‘Come on, Matt. What’s your problem? Is it Rosie?’

      ‘Rosie’s fine.’ Matt chose to answer his last question first.

      ‘You got her a nanny, right?’

      Matt hesitated. ‘Not exactly.’

      ‘Not exactly?’ Rob was curious. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Either you got her a nanny or you didn’t.’

      Matt wished he’d just answered in the negative and been done with it. ‘I’ve got a temporary nanny,’ he said at last. Then, hoping Rob would take the hint, ‘Thanks for calling, Rob. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have some definite news.’

      Rob sounded put out. ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ he exclaimed. ‘You haven’t even told me how the new manuscript is coming along.’

      ‘It’s getting there,’ said Matt evasively. ‘I’m sorry if you think I’m ungrateful. I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment.’

      ‘Including the temporary nanny?’ suggested Rob shrewdly. ‘Who is she, Matt? A girlfriend? I tell you, pal, that’s not a good idea. You should never mix business with pleasure.’

      If only he could, thought Matt bitterly, and then chided himself for the thought. Just because Sara was grateful for his protection it did not mean she spent her time fantasising about what he’d be like in bed. After her experiences, sex would be the last thing on her mind. Besides, however unhappily, she was married. And at no time had she let him think that anything else was on the cards.

      It was pathetic. He was pathetic, he thought irritably. At the first opportunity he should find himself another woman and get a life. There was always Emma. Since her husband had died she’d made no secret of the fact that she’d be willing to advance their relationship. But he wasn’t attracted to Emma; he hadn’t been attracted to anyone for a long time. So why the hell was Sara Bradbury playing havoc with his hormones?

      ‘It’s nothing like that,’ he told Rob shortly. ‘She’s just someone I met recently who was looking for a job. But she’s not staying. As I said before, it’s just a temporary arrangement. But Rosie likes her. And that’s what matters.’

      ‘So what’s she like?’ Rob was trying to sound casual and failing abysmally. He’d probably made the connection between his evasion and Sara’s arrival, thought Matt grimly. ‘Is she young? Attractive? Married?’

      A knock at the study door interrupted Matt’s concentration. ‘Come in,’ he called impatiently, guessing it was Mrs Webb with a sandwich for his lunch. Then, to Rob. ‘I’m not getting into what she looks like. She’s—passable, okay? But in any case she doesn’t interest me.’

      It was only as he was completing this sentence that he looked up and realised it wasn’t the housekeeper who was hovering in the doorway. With an inward groan, he let his eyes meet Sara’s across the width of the room. She had evidently heard what he was saying to Rob and taken exception to it. He was devastated by the injured look that crossed her face.

      ‘Ah. Damn—’ His exclamation was audible to both Sara and Rob, but he didn’t have time to spare his agent’s feelings right now. ‘Speak to you later, Rob,’ he said quickly. ‘Something’s come up.’ And, slamming down the phone, he got to his feet. ‘Sara—’

      ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ she said, the stiffness of her words only equalled by the rigidity of her stance. Matt closed his eyes for a moment against the almost irresistible impulse he had to leap across his desk and take her in his arms. ‘I could have come back.’

      She looked so delicate standing there, so fragile. Only yesterday he’d thought she was losing