Her Man with Iceberg Eyes Read online

Kate knew how she was looking—hot and bothered, naked and knackered, mad as hell.

  She snatched up the sheet and wrapped it around herself; then stepped over to the easel in front of the wheelchair.

  Matthew had disappeared, and just as well, too. The studio was full of sharp objects, just right for skewering him...

  She surveyed the partly finished painting. She saw her hip, the slope of her back, the jut of a shoulder, a long thigh. Or did she? Translated into countryside colours she almost disappeared. But it was a softly contoured range of hills that Lottie played with—in contrast to her more usual dramatic landscapes.

  “I wouldn’t know it for a Janssen,” Kate said, relaxing a little now she saw the way she looked. She compared the painting with the photo. It was her and yet not her.

  “Can I rip the other one up?” she asked hopefully.

  Lottie nodded, and poked around on the table without finding it. “Maybe on the floor?” she asked.

  But when Kate bent and looked, there was no sign of the first photo. Still, the studio held so much mess you could probably lose the Titanic...

  She wriggled into her clothes again as a drained-looking Lottie took care of her brushes and palette knives.

  Kate drew a deep breath. If she was supposed to be looking after her famous charge, now was the time to start. “It’s probably time for your painkillers,” she suggested. “And shouldn’t you be resting, so soon out of hospital?

  Lottie gave her a faint smile. “Ya. I do that next, I think. For two hours maybe? And you wake me up with coffee?”

  Kate surveyed the messy kitchen area. “I’ll have a little tidy-up while you’re lying down. Just kitchen work,” she added, when Lottie looked alarmed.

  “The kitchen—okay, but not the paintings?”

  “I wouldn’t dare touch them.”

  She helped Lottie from the wheelchair onto the bed, brought her pills and a glass of water from the attached bathroom, and got to work. Collecting up mugs and glasses and plates was kitchen work—even if they were scattered out amongst the paintings. She restored a small amount of order, ignoring the dishwasher, and scrubbing energetically at long-crusted items. She presumed the plates and glasses Matthew had brought up to the studio should go back downstairs. She included them in her wash-up and carried them away. He was busy in his office—something whirred as she tried to slip by.

  “Kate.”

  Darn. Either he had eyes in the back of his gorgeous head or his hearing qualified him as a guard-dog.

  She stopped one pace inside the door.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t think my drawings were good.”

  She flinched at the memory of his eyes on her. At the wanton woman he’d turned her into. “Your drawings were excellent. I just wasn’t comfortable with the subject,” she replied stiffly.

  He looked at her for a long moment. “I thought the subject was utter perfection.”

  “Don’t. Please don’t. You tease me and make fun of me and it just makes things so difficult.”

  “What things?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

  “Helping Lottie. Being in the house. I’m only here until Sunday and then I’m gone.”

  Something hot and angry flared in his heart. Dammit—she was beautiful, and lively, and drawing her had turned him on outrageously. All of a sudden, he cared a little less about the possibility of her being a spy for Rob Pleasance. He threw caution to the wind. “You were by far the best person for the job. And Lottie likes you. When can you come back?”

  She shook her head.

  “Katie?”

  “I can’t. Just make use of me for the next few days and call it quits...” Her voice trailed off.

  “We’ll need to change your mind somehow. What will it take?”

  “What?”

  “We’re not without the means.” He waved his hand at the surrounding land.

  “No.”

  “My treat—anything you want.”

  Kate stared at him, horrified to feel so tempted.

  I want you, but you’re not on the menu.

  “Chilli prawns, fried rice and a green stirfry,” she blurted, remembering the combination she sometimes chose from the Asian takeaway at home in Auckland.

  “You’d stay for that?”

  “No, of course not,” she said, back-tracking madly, aware how strange her request must have sounded. “Sorry. It just slipped out. I’ve never been offered the choice of anything I wanted before. It threw me.”

  He regarded her steadily and then nodded. “It’s a start anyway. Chilli prawns for dinner and we’ll see what else we can come up with.”

  She stepped a little further into his office and he swung his chair around so he faced the huge computer screen again. His finger hit the keyboard and the image in front of him disappeared.

  “Sorry,” she said, backing off, presuming he was working on something confidential.

  “Just playing,” he said. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “It’s amazing what you can do with modern technology. Photography’s come a long way from Lottie’s old Polaroids. I can’t persuade her to use a tablet in the studio. Come back in ten minutes or so?”

  Dismissed, she resumed her walk to the kitchen. She stowed the plates and glasses away, and the huge open doors drew her outside. The weather was perfect. Cold, but so still and sunny the air had no real bite.

  She sat down in one of the outdoor chairs on the wide paved terrace. The sun soaked into her shoulders, soothing and warm. The ordeal of posing in the studio receded a little. She supposed there’d have to be another session or two if Lottie asked, but she’d make damned sure Matthew was nowhere around next time.

  And really, it was flattering to have been chosen to model for such a famous artist. How thrilled her darling mother would have been if she’d ever known.

  Kate relaxed as she idly considered the surprising offer Matthew had made. Was he serious? Anything so she would stay? But even the enticement of huge wages...a trip around the world...diamonds to die for...wouldn’t convince her to remain where she’d found exactly what she wanted but could never have.

  She closed her eyes, enjoying the sun and the soft air.

  A warm hand settled on her shoulder and she jerked awake.

  “Doing your Sleeping Beauty act again?” Matthew asked.

  She glanced at her watch, alarmed to find she’d been dozing, and that almost an hour had disappeared. She stifled a yawn as she tried to gather her wits about her.

  “I thought you were coming back to the office?”

  She looked at him through half-closed eyes, still trying to adjust to the bright light. He was more casually dressed today. Soft old black jeans hugged his narrow hips and long thighs. A dark grey ribbed jersey stretched across his chest and shoulders. The collar of his shirt was visible, one button undone. She wanted to undo the rest...see the rest...trace her fingers over the whorls and curves of his extraordinary tattoo. Still barely awake, she wondered if he and Lottie made use of the spa-pool every evening.

  Lottie! Kate had promised to wake her with coffee. She rechecked her watch and pushed herself out of the chair. “Sorry, I’m needed upstairs,” she declared.

  Matthew narrowed his eyes. “I’m next in the queue then. I have something to show you. Come back when you can.”

  She bolted. Absolutely bolted. Away from his too-gorgeous body and his too-sharp eyes and his too-clever hands.

  But she’d had no need to panic. Lottie was fine, awake but unworried. Kate set the promised coffee brewing and sneaked another look at herself-as-countryside. The painting was rough yet, but the bones of it were there. She wondered how much more detail Lottie planned to add. Would she leave it loosely daubed like a Toss Woolaston, or refine it until it was as polished and perfect as a Grahame Sydney? Somewhere in between, she hoped. The last thing she needed was to be rendered so photographically perfect she was recognisable.

  She took the coffee through to Lottie, asking if she needed anyt
hing else.

  “Can you tell Matthew dinner up here tonight? I go to bed properly, I think—I have a visit to make tomorrow.”

  Kate wondered if she should offer to help with undressing.

  “Rest of the day off for you,” Lottie said cheerily, dismissing her with a wave of a paint-smeared hand and a wide smile.

  So it was back to see what Matthew wanted.

  She dawdled down the thickly carpeted stairs. No wonder she hadn’t heard him approaching with their lunch. On the landing, there was another vast window. Kate stopped and drank in the perfectly framed view. Everything about this house had been planned to please. How much of it was Matthew’s work? Lottie said he’d designed the studio ‘all as I needed.’ He’d probably decreed exactly where that range of jagged mountains sat in the countryside, too.

  Lottie might be a painter, but Matthew was a draftsman. His meticulous recording of her body confirmed that. Her skin prickled as she thought of the two big charcoal sketches. Where were they now? She wanted desperately to have them safely in her own possession. To keep them private for herself, because it would be a travesty to destroy them.

  She pondered how to retrieve his work as she gazed out. The peaks were a soft grey-blue with a mantle of white only along the higher ridges. They’d be magnificent after heavy snow. Perhaps it had been a mild winter in Queenstown? New Zealand was so long and narrow that farms could be snowed-over in nearby Southland while the hibiscus bushes still flowered in the far north.

  Sighing, she resumed her descent. A descent into hell, maybe. What sort of temptation or humiliation had he lined up for her this time?

  She wandered slowly, enjoying the magnificent art collection as she progressed along the main hallway to his study and peered in. There was no sign of him, but maybe he’d put the sketches there? She took a few cautious steps into the big room and glanced around. She had no idea where to start searching.

  “Katie?”

  She jumped as he came through the door.

  His piercing gaze pinned her in place. “What are you looking for?”

  “You. You said to come back.” Had she imagined it, or did his hard face relax a little?

  “Come and have coffee. I’ve spread something on the table. Needed more room.” He stretched out an arm, and she flinched away from his grip.

  No more touching, no more kissing. She’d see he didn’t get within feet of her again.

  She moved forward and he pulled the door closed behind him. Kate had the definite feeling he hadn’t wanted her in his study. The sketches must be there somewhere. Good to know. Relief washed through her.

  But worse awaited on the big timber table in the living area. He’d laid out a sinuous design like a many-chambered nautilus shell. A repeating pattern in assorted colours, spiralling in and in, getting smaller and smaller toward the centre.

  She smiled. It was unusual and eye-catching.

  “Amazing what you can do with a computer these days, isn’t it,” he said, leaning over her shoulder and placing strong hands on the table edge either side. She bent a little further to increase the distance between them.

  “We could call it ‘Yours for a thong’.” She heard the teasing laughter in his husky voice. With a sudden jolt, she recognised her own body, manipulated, many-coloured, used as patchwork to produce a totally different work of art. He’d reproduced just her hips and the tiny panties—again and again.

  “You stole the other Polaroid,” she gasped, swinging around and fending him off. “I want that destroyed. It’s embarrassing. It’s awful. I don’t want anyone to see it. Please?”

  She thrust out her hand imperiously, willing him to give it back to her. She shook with rage. Matthew parted his lips.

  “Now,” she snapped, beating him to it.

  “Katie...”

  “Right now.”

  He swung around and strode back to the study. She raced along behind. He raised the lid of a scanner; the photo lay there. Kate snatched it up, ripped it in half and then in half again.

  “And I want it out of your hard drive, and wiped off anything you’ve transferred it to.” She stood tall, trembling, absolutely outraged. How could he just treat her like meat?

  “Katie, I was only having a bit of fun. You inspired me. I thought the finished result was great, actually.”

  “Well, it wasn’t actually your backside, Matthew. Why couldn’t you at least ask? Did you really think I needed one more dose of humiliation? Are you so used to getting what you want with all your money? Didn’t you think at all?”

  He placed his hands carefully on her shoulders. She flinched but stood her ground, staring straight into his eyes, and praying she’d be able to keep her gaze level.

  “Katie, I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. I...maybe...didn’t think at all. I certainly didn’t want to hurt you. But you’re beautiful—I enjoyed playing with you.”

  The apology sounded sincere enough, but she wasn’t about to back down.

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead. A light, quick, ‘sorry-and-let’s-be-friends-again’ sort of kiss. So much for keeping well clear of him! “Forgive me? I’ll buy you a stunner of a party dress.”

  “Money doesn’t always do it,” she snapped, still far from mollified.

  “It’ll do it tomorrow. You can have any dress in town.”

  “I want the backless one split up to the hip,” she demanded ungraciously.

  “Where did you see it?”

  “In my dreams.” She wriggled away from his hands with a sharply indrawn breath. Forgiveness was a way off yet, even though his kiss had been chaste and his regret seemed real.

  “We’ll see what we can find tomorrow then.”

  Kate hovered, eyes still searching for the sketches. Matthew had hidden them well. Where could they be? He’d closed the study door on her before, but this was another chance to try and retrieve them.

  “What do you actually do?” she asked, playing for time.

  He took a long slow breath. At least she’d changed the subject. Maybe that was a good sign, even though two spots of colour stained her cheekbones, and the rest of her face still looked chalky white with fury. “Internet projects. Some years back I created a very good Service Provider—an ISP—with a friend. We sold it for... more than I could have dreamed of. That’s what set me up. And I’m on the board of the company who bought it.”

  “And?”

  “Other business interests. I’m quite involved with the vineyard these days. And a graphics enterprise—I’ve always been keen on photography. Lottie’s not the only artist in the family.”

  “As you so ably demonstrated today,” she agreed, flicking him a look of disdain.

  He watched as her eyes returned to searching his shelves and desk-tops, and a prickle of unease skittered down his spine. “Yes...well...my biggest project—where my brain really is right now—is the software I’m working on.

  Kate nodded, but her eyes continued their frantic search.

  “And that’s why I need your help for Lottie,” he added, wondering if a little gentle blackmail would help persuade her to stay. “I need time and concentration for this.”

  Kate turned away with a sigh. She knew there was no way she could stay—and survive.

  There was no sign of the sketches. Unless he’d slid them between the filing cabinets, of course. The sheets of paper were too big for any of the drawers, and she couldn’t see them on the shelves. She wasn’t prepared to beg for them. Not yet.

  She glanced at her watch. “Lottie sent me down with a message. She wants her dinner brought upstairs. She’s decided to sleep up there tonight. Okay with you?”

  Tough if it isn’t.

  She turned and left him to it, but he followed her to the study doorway. She knew he was watching; his eyes almost burned holes in her spine. She tossed her hair back as she walked, and tried to make her long-legged stride confident and graceful.

  “I’m going out for a while,” he called after her retreating figure. />
  She didn’t look back. Simply kept going, although she did raise a hand in a half-hearted acknowledgement of his comment.

  Good. He’d be out of the way, and Lottie was upstairs and didn’t need her. She could have a proper search for the damned sketches in a little while. She returned to her seat in the lowering sun.

  Matthew swung himself into the SUV with a quiet and heartfelt curse. Offending Kate had been the last thing on his mind. He needed someone for Lottie. Needed someone desperately, so he could live his own life again.

  Lottie was not properly well—some sort of neurological problem, as yet undiagnosed. Multiple Sclerosis? It was early for that. She’d be very young to have it. So far the major symptom was her clumsiness. Her feet didn’t always know where the rest of her body was.

  She was his responsibility, and he’d look after her whatever the eventual outcome. But she was demanding. And she was scared—however vigorously she appeared to be getting on with life.

  Kate was by far the best applicant for the job. If he could persuade her to stay it would take a big weight off his mind (and maybe bring all sorts of other problems, he acknowledged grimly to himself.) There was nothing for it except to jump in, feet-first, and see what happened. For the next few days at least, he had someone to share his ‘Lottie-watching’ duties. He was confident he could prevent Kate from discovering anything too vital about his business before Sunday. And equally confident that by then he’d know a whole lot more about her.

  He accelerated sharply once he hit the road, roaring along far past the speed limit until the major intersection forced him to slow down and blend with other traffic. He felt edgy, super-aware of his skin and the blood coursing warmly just beneath it.

  He’d enjoyed seeing Kate really angry, although he regretted being the one to upset her. She’d revealed herself as strong-willed and passionate—a challenge to any virile red-blooded male. She could certainly stand up for herself when she felt the situation warranted it.

  She’d make a feisty lover. His body already stirred, thinking of her. Naked and eager for him. Her glorious hair tumbling over his pillows. Arms upraised in welcome, urging him to take her, tugging him down so they were skin to skin and mouth on mouth.