Читать книгу: «Mistress For Hire»
“What exactly are you suggesting?” Lisa demanded.
“I’m a wealthy man,” he said in a low voice. “I already come to Melbourne quite frequently on business and I could come even more frequently for pleasure.”
“You make me sound like a fast-food outlet,” she hissed. “Juicy steaks, medium rare, prepared to perfection while you wait! And a money-back guarantee if we fail to satisfy.”
Matt look at her from under half-closed lids.
“Oh, I don’t think you’d fail to satisfy,” he murmured.
ANGELA DEVINE grew up in Tasmania surrounded by forests, mountains and wild seas, so she dislikes big cities. Before taking up writing, she worked as a teacher, librarian and university lecturer. As a young mother and Ph.D. student she read romance fiction for fun and later decided it would be even more fun to write it. She is married with four children, loves chocolate and Twinings teas and hates ironing. Her current hobbies are gardening, bush walking, traveling and classical music.
Mistress for Hire
Angela Devine
MILLS & BOON
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To my sister.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
‘TIM!’ shouted Lisa. ‘Aren’t you back yet? I’m getting a cramp in my shoulder!’
She raised herself on one elbow and gave an exasperated sigh. Even with the padding of a thick Chinese quilt spread beneath her, a dining table was not the most comfortable place to lie naked except for a thin drapery of silk. She twitched the green sari impatiently back from the curve of her hip, sat up and swung her legs over the side of the table. Luckily there were no neighbours who could look in, and the tossing green canopy of a silver birch tree produced exactly the quality of shifting greenish-gold light that Tim wanted for his study. It was to be called Female Nude on a Spring Afternoon, but as far as Lisa could see, it would never be finished unless Tim got out of the annoying habit of running out for a drink whenever his inspiration flagged. Suddenly she thought she heard the sound of a soft footstep downstairs.
‘Tim?’ she called hopefully.
There was no answer. Sighing again, Lisa rose to her feet and padded around the room. She had to admit objectively that it was in a bit of a mess, not that that bothered her or Tim. Why would any sane person want to have a dining room when they could so easily turn it into a studio? Oh, there were still a few signs of gracious living—the gold and white striped wallpaper, the cream Austrian blinds drawn up into opulent swags above the large picture window, a bowl of yellow roses that filled the room with their heady perfume, not to mention the Chippendale chairs pushed casually back against the wall or the handsome mahogany sideboard that was almost buried beneath the litter of paints, rags and brushes. Yes, there were still a few faint indicators of the Lansdon family’s wealth and good taste, but on the whole the room looked exactly like what it was. A work space for two enthusiastic painters. And just at the moment Lisa felt she would far rather be painting than posing.
She arched her back, trying to stretch the stiffness out of her neck and wriggling her shoulders to loosen them. What she needed was a really good work-out to loosen her stiffness so that she wouldn’t get pins and needles and start fidgeting the moment Tim came back. Yawning widely, she reached out one hand and put a cassette in the tape recorder. Ravel’s “Bolero”—now that was the sort of music you just had to dance to! She began to move voluptuously around the room, her back to the door, letting herself sway and posture sensually with the beat of the music. Anywhere else Lisa would never have dreamed of dancing naked, but Tim was dedicated enough to art to see her body only as an interesting combination of planes and surfaces, even if he did return while she was still in action. Ever since he had met Lisa acting as a model in his life drawing classes six months ago, he had regarded her as a cross between a great aunt and guru. Since she was only six years older than him this amused her, but it also made her feel safe. Safe enough to move into Tim’s luxury flat when he made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. If Lisa would give him painting lessons, she could have free board in return. She paused fractionally in the middle of a long, sensuous stretch, expecting to hear Tim ordering her to get back up on the table and pose for him. Sure enough, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps halting in the doorway. Lisa gave one last, voluptuous wriggle, hoisted herself on the table, flung the drapery dramatically around her and addressed him over her shoulder.
‘Hurry up, sweetie. I can’t wait another minute.’
‘Now there’s a tempting invitation,’ murmured the hoarse voice of a total stranger.
Lisa froze in shock, then swung round.
‘Who on earth—’ she began, then flushed to the roots of her hair as she realized she had only made matters worse. Instead of a discreet partial rear view, the stranger was now getting a full frontal and enjoying every moment of it to judge by the gleam in his ice-blue eyes. Lisa had a confused impression of a tall, powerfully built man dressed in an autumn-toned checked jacket, beige slacks and a striped tie. The amused contempt in his smile galvanized her into action. She snatched at the silk drapery and tried to wind it protectively around her as she stood up. That was a fatal mistake. As she scrambled off the dining table she tripped and fell to the floor with a startled shriek, losing half her covering in the process.
‘Dear me,’ said the stranger softly. ‘I seem to have given you a surprise.’
He crouched down as if to help her, but only succeeded in stepping on her sari.
‘Don’t touch me!’ yelped Lisa, scrabbling vainly at the length of silk. Was he deliberately standing on it? ‘Who are you? How did you get in?’
His reply came in a lazy drawl, as if this were nothing but a routine social occasion.
‘My name is Matt Lansdon. I’m Tim’s uncle. The door was unlocked so I just came up. I presume you must be Lisa Hayward?’
‘Tim’s uncle?’
Lisa stepped back a pace in shock as she realized that this was the ogre she had heard so much about, the hard-hearted trustee who had thwarted Tim’s burning desire to study art and insisted that he do economics at Melbourne University instead. Subconsciously she realized that she had been expecting a white-haired, fire-breathing old dragon of about eighty, but this man was relatively young. Certainly no more than thirty-five or thirty-six, with a hard, tough, youthful physique and only a faint silvering of the temples and an indefinable aura of authority as emblems of the power he held over his nephew. As Lisa continued to gape at him, he spoke again, like a lawyer cross-examining a witness.
‘I assume you must be Lisa Hayward?’
‘Yes, how did you know?’ she demanded defensively.
‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he replied.
There was a steely note in his voice, which sent a shiver of misgiving through her. For a moment he looked at her as if she was something that had crawled out from beneath a log, so that her chin came up and her eyes flashed dangerously. Then she made an effort to see things from his point of view. After all, it was hardly surprising if he disapproved of her, considering the circumstances in which they had met. In a desperate attempt to regain her poise she wrenched the sari out from under his foot and swathed herself in it.
‘I—I’m sorry about this,’ she stammered. ‘Tim and I were just about to…’ Her voice trailed away as she realized suddenly that the painting lessons she was giving Tim were supposed to be a deadly secret. Matt Lansdon gave her a sardonic smile.
‘Don’t explain,’ he begged. ‘I can imagine what you were just about to do. You’re Tim’s lodger, I gather? So tell me, what’s the arrangement? Do you pay him rent and share expenses or something of that sort?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Lisa unhappily. ‘Well, that is…I don’t exactly pay rent. We have another arrangement.’
‘Indeed? How interesting. You know, you make me more and more anxious to see Tim and have a little talk to him, Miss Hayward. And perhaps you and I should have a chat, too. Although you might like to get some clothes on first?’
Lisa’s cheeks burned. Little chat, indeed! There was no way she wanted to talk to him! Any fool could see what he thought was going on between her and Tim, and she didn’t see why she should suffer the ordeal of stammering out a lot of incoherent explanations that wouldn’t make sense. Why couldn’t Tim have the courage to come right out and tell his uncle the truth? That he hated economics and wanted to study art and that Lisa was trying to help him achieve his ambition in return for having a roof over her head? And where was Tim, anyway? How long could it possibly take to go to the pub across the road?
At that moment the telephone rang. Clutching her sari protectively around her, Lisa lunged at the receiver. A muted uproar of chinking glasses, bar-room conversation and the click of billiard balls immediately assaulted her.
‘Lisa?’
‘Tim,’ she cried gladly. ‘What are you doing? You said you’d only be gone five minutes!’
Tim’s voice gurgled down the line at her. Lazy, amiable and already slightly slurred.
‘Don’t get upset, gorgeous,’ he urged. ‘I ran into Barbara and some of the others at the pub and we’re all going to have a counter meal and then go on to a party at Tony’s place, so I guess the painting session’s over for today. Oh, Tony says you can come to the party with us, if you want. I don’t suppose you’re interested, though, are you?’
The invitation was lukewarm and Lisa’s reaction was exactly the same. She thought of the horseplay, the drinking, the numerous dogmatic arguments about the meaning of life that always seemed to go on at student parties and immediately felt as though she was approaching her hundredth birthday.
‘No, thanks, Tim,’ she said crisply. ‘I don’t feel like a party and you can’t go right now, either. Your uncle Matt is here and he wants to have an urgent talk with you.’
There was a muffled groan at the other end of the line.
‘Uncle Matt? Hell, I’m out of here! See you later, Lisa.’
‘Tim, he wants to speak to you! You can’t just hang up—’
Suddenly Matt shouldered her aside and grabbed the phone from her hands.
‘Timothy? I’m warning you—’
There was a distant click at the other end of the line and Matt gave a snort of exasperation. His eyes were narrowed to mere slits of cold blue light as he put down the receiver, and the set of his mouth left Lisa in no doubt at all that he was very angry.
‘Young fool!’ he growled. ‘When is that boy going to learn that he can’t escape trouble by ducking out of a difficult situation? He hasn’t even got the guts to stand by you, and I’m supposed to believe that he’s mature enough to run his own life! Heaven preserve us, I think Sonia’s right for once!’
Lisa stared at him with a puzzled frown. What on earth did he mean by talking about Tim standing by her? And what did Tim’s mother, Sonia, have to do with it? Was Matt Lansdon unbalanced? He didn’t look unbalanced! He looked like a powerful man unused to being thwarted and very annoyed about it. She forgot these speculations as Matt suddenly turned his anger on her.
‘Well, Tim may have escaped for the moment,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘But that still leaves you, sweetheart, and you and I have a lot to discuss. I suggest you begin by getting dressed in something more substantial than a sheet of cling wrap.’
His contemptuous tone touched Lisa on the raw. After all, it wasn’t her fault that Tim had hung up, leaving his uncle in the lurch, and she certainly hadn’t invited Matt Lansdon to enter the house and see her naked.
‘I’ll get dressed when and if I choose to!’ she flared. ‘May I remind you, Mr Lansdon, that this is my home and you are an uninvited visitor here? What’s more, I’m not your sweetheart and I don’t like being spoken to in that tone of voice.’
His reply was low, silky, threatening.
‘And may I remind you, Miss Hayward, that I am the legal owner of this flat? Tim is my tenant, not you, and he has no right to sublet without my permission. I could throw you out on the street at this very moment if I chose to do so.’
Lisa was taken aback, but didn’t show it. The news that Matt Lansdon was the legal owner of the flat came as a complete surprise to her, but that wasn’t the real crux of the problem. She was beginning to realize that she had leapt quite blithely into her rental arrangement with Tim without having any idea of the possible repercussions. At the time it had all seemed gloriously simple. Free art lessons in exchange for free board. Yet there had been several occasions since then when Lisa had wondered whether the benefits of free accommodation really made it worthwhile putting up with Tim’s often juvenile behaviour. And if she now had to suffer the blazing antagonism of his uncle, as well, the whole situation would become utterly impossible.
‘I see,’ she said levelly. ‘In that case, perhaps you would like me to pack my belongings and leave right now?’
Matt’s eyes skimmed over her, not with any sensual intent, but with a piercing scrutiny she found profoundly unnerving.
‘That might well be the best solution,’ he rasped. ‘And it’s certainly what Sonia would prefer, but I want a few answers first. Before you go anywhere else, Miss Hayward, you’re going to give them to me. Get dressed at once and we’ll have a little chat about what’s been going on here since you moved in with Tim.’
Lisa felt a sinking sensation. Tim’s uncle was wearing the gloating expression of a dentist intent on performing a series of thorough and painful extractions. She wouldn’t stand a chance if he started interrogating her.
‘I can’t!’ she gabbled, improvising wildly. ‘I have an appointment at the hairdresser’s in fifteen minutes’ time and after that I’m going to the opera at the State Theatre.’
Why had she said that? Perhaps because she would have given her eyeteeth to go to the performance of Carmen tonight. As usual, she couldn’t possibly afford a ticket, but Matt Lansdon didn’t know that. And at least it should get rid of him!
‘Indeed?’ drawled Matt sceptically. ‘What a pity. Still, the solution’s obvious. I’ll go to the opera, too, and we’ll have supper together afterwards. That should give us plenty of time to talk.’
Lisa flashed him a stricken look.
‘Y-you can’t,’ she stammered.
‘Why not? It’s the simplest thing in the world. Oh, but you’d better give me your ticket so that I can go to the box office and arrange for you to sit with me. Have you got it somewhere handy?’
‘Um…no…actually I’ve lost it! I was going to see if I could buy another one when I arrived there.’
‘Really? Well, there’s no need for that. I’ll organize it all. You’ll come as my guest, of course.’
She could see perfectly well that he didn’t believe her, and humiliation scorched through her. Yet she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting she had lied.
‘How nice of you to invite me,’ cooed Lisa.
The flash of angry amusement in his eyes showed that he had caught the irony in her tone. His dark eyebrows peaked.
‘It’s not an invitation, Miss Hayward, it’s more in the nature of an order.’
‘Why should I take orders from you?’ she whipped back.
The cynical amusement in his expression grew more apparent than ever.
‘If you have the slightest concern for Tim’s welfare, you will,’ he replied curtly. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven. Good day to you, Miss Hayward.’
Once he had left and Lisa had carefully locked the front door after him, she sank down in a dining chair, buried her head in her hands and groaned.
‘What’s going on here?’ she demanded aloud. ‘Why is he so hostile to me? I know I had no clothes on, but he surely can’t think I’ve seduced his precious nephew! Anyway, doesn’t he know that Tim’s having a torrid affair with Barbara Simpson? No, of course that’s not the kind of thing that Tim would admit to good old Uncle Matt, is it? And who could blame him? Still, I could murder the stupid kid for running off and leaving me to deal with all this. Lord, what a mess! I’ve a good mind to go out and not be here at seven o’clock when his wretched uncle comes back.’
All the same, Matt’s parting shot had been shrewdly aimed. As Lisa ran a steaming hot bubble bath and lowered herself into it with the bathroom door locked—she wasn’t going to risk a second interruption—she pondered his words. What possible connection could there be between Tim’s welfare and Lisa’s acceptance of Matt’s invitation? And hadn’t there been something vaguely sarcastic in his tone, as if he didn’t believe Lisa had the slightest interest in Tim’s welfare? It was all very puzzling, and she had to admit that her curiosity was stirred, although there were also other, less comfortable feelings simmering inside her.
The thought of going to the opera with Matt filled her with mingled dread and annoyance. Normally she would have jumped at the chance, since she adored the drama and passion and vitality of opera but could rarely afford tickets. Yet the thought of sitting side by side in an auditorium all evening with Matt Lansdon was about as appealing as being escorted by a sabre-toothed tiger, and a hungry one at that. And that was not a bad image, she reflected, soaping a sponge and brushing it dreamily over her breasts. There was definitely something primitive and feral about the man that seemed all the more dangerous in contrast to his impeccably tailored clothing. Now that she thought about it, she remembered that Tim had told her his uncle was a grazier in Tasmania, and he certainly dressed like one. The aura of old money, old Georgian houses and antiquated notions about masculine power and importance clung to Matt Lansdon as persistently as the leathery aroma of his expensive aftershave. A deeply conservative man, if Lisa was any judge. And yet beneath the conservatism lurked something wild that sent an odd, unwelcome thrill through her.
Trying to recall every word and look and gesture that had passed between them, she found herself remembering how the dark hairs curled around the band of his Rolex watch on his left wrist, how his muscular thighs thrust against the fabric of his slacks, how his broad, powerful shoulders filled out the Fletcher Jones jacket. A faint grin curved her lips as she realized what a shock it must have given him to burst in on her and find her wearing no clothes at all. Although I suppose I’d have been shocked, too, if the situation had been reversed, admitted Lisa fairly, but that thought brought another in its train. What would Matt Lansdon look like without any clothes? He would have massive shoulders, powerful arms, a narrow waist, muscular thighs, she felt fairly sure of all that. But what about the features she hadn’t seen? A hairy chest and a line of dark hair arrowing down from his navel to… Lisa blushed and slid under the water at the image that rose to her mind.
What had got into her to be thinking this sort of thing? She didn’t even like the man! He was rude, arrogant and domineering, and there was no reason something should melt and flutter deep inside her at the thought of seeing him naked. She must stop having torrid, adolescent fantasies and decide what to do about his invitation. Should she go or not? It would certainly be more comfortable never to see him again. But if Tim’s welfare was involved, she really had no choice about confronting his alarming uncle. However infuriating her flatmate might be at times, she was genuinely fond of him. Ever since she had first met Tim, Lisa had suspected uneasily that his family was exerting too much pressure on him and had felt that someone ought to tackle them about it. Well, perhaps the someone was her and this was her opportunity.
She took special care over dressing and applying her make-up. Not that she wanted to impress Matt Lansdon, she told herself fiercely, but simply because she wanted to do justice to the atmosphere of the opera itself. It gave her a brief pang of regret that nobody seemed to wear long dresses these days, but she chose the next best thing. A figure-hugging jade-green sheath with a low-cut, square neckline and a bodice embellished with intricate beading and embroidery. She brushed her long, curly dark auburn hair back from her face and fastened it with a pearl clip that had the double advantage of letting her display the creamy line of her throat, while at the same time sending her curling locks rippling down her back as she moved. A pearl choker around her neck, gold and pearl-drop earrings with black stockings and a gold evening bag completed the ensemble. Satisfied with her clothes, Lisa turned her attention to her make-up. Gazing critically at herself in the mirror, she wished for the millionth time that her mouth wasn’t so wide and that her nose didn’t have a bump in it. Well, she would just have to attempt a little bit of camouflage! She applied a light foundation that hid her freckles, smoothed on some gold eye shadow to bring out the highlights in her toffee brown eyes, added some blusher high on her cheekbones before outlining her mouth vividly with a dark, burgundy lipstick. Then she sprayed on a liberal cloud of Jicky Guerlain perfume and struck a pose with one hand behind her head like a 1920s vamp. At that moment the doorbell rang. An unexpected feeling of breathlessness overtook Lisa as she ran down to answer it.
Matt Lansdon stood on the doorstep, looking grim, unsmiling and diabolically attractive. The formal black tuxedo, white shirt and black bow tie suited his rugged masculinity to perfection. His dark, wavy hair was brushed back from his forehead, his mouth was set in a tough line and his eyebrows met in a thoughtful scowl above vivid blue eyes. He did not smile at Lisa’s appearance, but she thought she saw a flash of surprised approval in his eyes as he scanned her from head to foot.
‘Good evening, Miss Hayward,’ he said neutrally. ‘Are you ready to leave?’
As he helped her on with her coat, Lisa glanced at him over her shoulder with a small, troubled smile.
‘Can’t you call me Lisa?’ she asked. ‘It seems so unfriendly to go on calling me Miss Hayward.’
His eyes narrowed into such a hostile expression that she half expected the retort that unfriendliness was exactly what he felt towards her. Instead he gave her a small, formal nod.
‘Very well…Lisa,’ he said stiffly. ‘And I suppose you’d better call me Matt.’
She smiled at him, aware that her eyes were dancing and the dimples were showing in her cheeks.
‘Thank you, Matt,’ she said in a breathy, little-girl voice that she had used to charm packets of sweets out of elderly great-uncles when she was six years old.
It failed dismally with Matt. His mouth hardened and his hand tightened briefly on her elbow as if he was consciously resisting the impulse to strangle her.
‘Come along,’ he urged. ‘We’d better not keep our driver waiting.’
As she followed him out on to the footpath, she was startled to see that there was a limousine waiting outside with a chauffeur in a grey uniform waiting respectfully to help them into the back seat. Lisa blinked.
‘Are you always driven around by a chauffeur?’ she marvelled, as the car glided away from the curb.
‘No,’ growled Matt. ‘Only when I’m in Melbourne or Sydney and don’t want the bother of driving myself.’
‘Oh,’ muttered Lisa, settling into her seat and eyeing him doubtfully. It would have been nice to think that he had planned this as a special experience for her, but even her optimistic nature couldn’t accept that explanation. It was obvious that Matt Lansdon felt a powerful antagonism towards her, although she still wasn’t really sure why. As the car glided along through the streets of St Kilda towards the city, she thrust that small, niggling worry out of her mind and concentrated on enjoying herself. She had always loved this hour of the day when the neon lights of the city began to sparkle like coloured jewels against the backdrop of the silvery twilight. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her.
‘I’m so glad they’re performing Carmen tonight,’ she murmured, half to herself. ‘It’s my favourite opera.’
‘I thought it might be,’ said Matt with a sardonic curl of his lips. ‘The heroine seems like the kind of character who would appeal to you.’
‘A gypsy slut with no heart and no morals who makes her lover suffer so cruelly that he stabs her in a jealous fit of rage? That’s the kind of character you think I could identify with?’
‘Yes.’
Lisa’s eyes flashed dangerously.
‘It must be wonderful to be able to sum up people’s characters the moment you meet them without having to bother about getting to know them,’ she purred. ‘I’m afraid it’s a skill I’ve never had and I might make terribly embarrassing blunders if I tried it. Take you, for instance. If I were foolish enough to go by my first impressions, I might think that you were arrogant, ill-mannered, prone to jumping to conclusions. Whereas no doubt if I wait, eventually you’ll be revealed to me as gracious, fair-minded, and with a heart as soft as a marshmallow.’
Matt scowled silently at her for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.
‘I’m sorry if I seem discourteous,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll do my best to be fair-minded about whatever you have to say to me this evening.’
‘Yes, why don’t you do that?’ agreed Lisa sweetly. ‘That way I’m sure we’ll both have a very pleasant evening.’
In some ways it was a very pleasant evening, although she could not remain unaware of the mysterious tension that seemed to be bubbling between them. Yet Lisa had a naturally cheerful disposition, so that even with Matt brooding silently beside her, she was still able to enjoy the magical atmosphere of the State Theatre. The women in their beautiful, shimmering dresses, the men looking splendid and formal in their dark suits, the sounds of instruments tuning up in the orchestra pit, the dim house lights, the rustle of programmes and then the colour and vitality of the stage sets and the costumes and the glorious, swirling music all combined to lift her spirits.
During the interval they did not join the rest of the throng, battling for glasses of champagne at the bar, but Matt ushered her into a private room, where the members of the opera board and their guests were mingling. To Lisa’s relief, he set aside his ill humour here and escorted her around from group to group, introducing her as if she was a cherished guest. Fortunately Lisa was in her element and recognised several people she knew from art gallery openings. She was soon deep in a conversation about the stage sets for the production, which had been painted by one of her old art school cronies, so she simply smiled and nodded when Matt asked her to excuse him so he could speak to a business associate. Later as they filed into the auditorium for the second half of the opera, she found him gazing at her with a thoughtful, appraising look, as if he was surprised that she had fitted in so well with his friends.
‘What’s wrong?’ she whispered wickedly in his ear as the house lights went down. ‘Did you think I was going to rip all my clothes off and lie on the table?’
Just before the orchestra came in on cue, she could hear the audible grinding of his teeth. However, the rest of the performance was so magnificent that Lisa’s thoughts were soon swept away from the mysterious subject of why Matt disliked her so much. Both of them became absorbed in the performance and, when the opera reached its stunning climax and the final curtain fell, they rose to their feet cheering and clapping with the rest of the audience. Only after half a dozen curtain calls had been taken and her hands were stinging from clapping did Lisa stop applauding and turn to look at Matt.
‘Wasn’t it wonderful?’ she breathed. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me.’
His eyes kindled.
‘My pleasure,’ he murmured. ‘It doubles the enjoyment to be with someone who appreciates it so much.’
Yet as they went up in the lift to the restaurant upstairs, Lisa sensed that the brief truce was over. She still felt magically uplifted and would have liked nothing better than to enjoy the discreet opulence of the restaurant with its candelit tables and its murals of famous opera sets from the past, but she had an uneasy certainty that Matt was spoiling for a fight. All the same, her earlier shot about his manners seemed to have gone home.
‘I think we should enjoy our meal and have a little chat to get to know each other better before we discuss anything really heavy, don’t you?’ he suggested with a wintry smile as they sat down.
‘Yes, I do,’ agreed Lisa candidly. ‘I’m starving and I won’t enjoy my food so much if you quarrel with me while I eat.’
Matt gave an explosive growl of laughter.
‘Well, that’s honest,’ he conceded. ‘And I’ve always liked women who enjoy food. It makes me feel they would enjoy everything else about life, as well. So tell me, my ravenous little sex goddess, what are you planning on eating?’
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