Chapter 47.1

"You didn't tell me you'd read Ollie's Drum, Matteo," his grandmother half queried, one eyebrow arched in surprise.

Nicole stared at him, still processing her own surprise. He sat back, jawline tightening as though he'd just been smacked on the chin. "Since you've contracted Nicole to write our family history, Nonna, it seemed a good idea to see how she'd dealt with her own," he drawled, deliberately eliminating any personal interest in the content.

"I trust you were satisfied," Nicole bit out, anger rising at the lengths he'd gone to, checking that she wasn't cheating his grandmother.

"Very much so," he conceded. "The book was very well written and held my interest."

She burned. He'd probably been flipping through it to see if it contained any evidence of her whoring or fleecing people of their money. Her tongue wanted to whip him for thinking so badly of her, but she restrained it, remembering her outburst in the billiard room when he had apologised for misjudging her.

He had apologised.

He'd even said he respected her.

But then he'd bedded her with only the barest pause for her consent. Nothing to make her feel appreciated or valued. Just straight into sex, since her book had proved she was okay and there probably wouldn't be any nasty comebacks. She hated him for it, hated herself for having been a willing party to it, but in this company she had to appear civil.

"Thank you," she aimed at him, then forced a smile at his grandmother. "To get back to the show, I do think the staging was excellent, but Peter obviously knew what he had in Gina and she certainly delivered it for him."

"Oh, yes!" came the ready agreement. "From the time he first heard her sing, he was determined on showcasing her talent."

"Well, he sure did it tonight," Hannah chimed in, giving Nicole the opening to turn to her and chat on until Alex returned.

This was the signal for them to start making their exit from the box. Alex reported on all the excitement backstage as they milled out into the corridor. Inevitably Nicole was coupled with Matt again for the walk down the stairs to the foyer of the theatre.

As reluctant as she was to take his arm, common sense argued the stairs could be tricky in her long gown and high heels, and it would be too impolite if she ignored his offer and used the banister instead. Better to suffer his rock-steady support than risk losing her dignity by wobbling or tripping, though she inwardly bridled at having to be close to him, feeling the whole length of his body next to hers.

They trailed after the others and she wished he would quicken his pace to catch up, but if anything he slowed it, frustrating her wish not to be alone with him, not to be reminded of how he had felt naked, how she had felt...

"How old were you when Peter Owen featured in your life?" he asked, thankfully pouring cold water on her feverish thoughts.

"Ten and eleven," she answered, relieved that he wasn't dwelling on the same hot memories.

"Just a kid then," he muttered dismissively.

It goaded her into adding, "I might have been just a kid, but Peter always went out of his way to make me feel welcome in his company."

"Couldn't resist charming even little girls," came the sardonic comment.

"Charm is often in very short supply," she returned tartly. "And I appreciated it very much at the time."

"No doubt you did. Not much charm in waiting around hotels and nightclubs, watching over an alcoholic father and getting him safely home after his gigs."

The soft derision in his voice piqued her into glancing at him. He caught her gaze and his dark eyes were hard and penetrating as he added, "Was he really worth all you gave him of your life, Nicole?'' "You don't understand..."

"No, I don't. He should have been looking after you. What kind of man puts a set of drums and a bottle of whisky ahead of the welfare of a child? You were nine when your mother died. Nine..."

"He was my father," she answered fiercely. "Yes, and being a father should mean something," he retorted just as fiercely. "Do you imagine that Alex or Tony would ever neglect their responsibility to their children? That they'd let themselves wallow in depression or find oblivion in a bottle, robbing their children of the sense of security they should have?"

"They occupy a different world," she cried defensively. "They're men."

"All men aren't the same."

"True. But you're a woman now, not a child, and you should see things how they really were. From the story you've written it's obvious your father could charm birds out of trees when he wasn't completely in his cups. But charm doesn't make up for the rest."

"You're making judgments again about things you don't know," she seethed at him.

His eyes glittered a black challenge back at her. "Well, I do know Peter Owen has been married and divorced twice, and I'm sure his ex-wives were thoroughly charmed by him to begin with. You might keep that in mind at the party."

She sought to explain the difficulties in living with people who were passionately absorbed in creating a unique form of magic. "It's hard...living with musicians. If you don't understand how important it is to them..."

"So important that your needs always have to take a back seat to their kind of self-expression?" He cocked a mocking eyebrow at her. "You've had a long taste of that, Nicole. Was it so sweet?"

It finally dawned on her that he might be jealous of her interest in Peter. Possibly because she'd made such a firm stand about going to the party where she would inevitably meet her old friend again. Now that he knew of their personal connection, was he imagining she wanted to revive it?

She shook her head, dazed at the convoluted way he had used her life with her father to undermine any chance of her being charmed by Peter. The arm holding hers suddenly felt very possessive, as though it wasn't about to let her stray from his side.

They'd reached the foyer and were trailing the rest of the family group out to the street where the limousines were waiting. In a few minutes they'd be on their way back to the hotel where the party was to be held in a private function room. But Matt King wasn't quite finished pressing his point of view.

"You're free now," he went on in a low intense voice. "Free to pursue what you want. Have what you want. I gave you a choice up in your room, and you chose me. What do you think that says, Nicole? About your needs?"

She didn't know.

She'd been trying to work out what was happening between them and why. It was confusing, disturbing, and she wasn't acting like her normal self at all. There was no time for a reply, which was just as well, because her mind couldn't fasten on one. She followed Tony and Hannah into their limousine and put on a congenial mask for the ride back to the hotel.

Behind it she silently acknowledged Matt King was right about one thing. She was free to pursue whatever she wanted. No personal attachments. Her only responsibilities applied to whatever work she took on, and she no longer accepted a job that didn't appeal to her.

Free...

Was it a deliberate choice not to tie herself to anyone in all these years since her father's death? At first, she'd felt emptied of anything to give to a relationship. Easier to keep associations superficial. Nothing could be demanded of her. The need to become a whole person, by herself, for herself, had probably been more instinctive than thought out, but Nicole now recognised it was what she'd been doing throughout her years at university.

After that, well maybe she'd got into the habit of being alone. But she had felt lonely and there'd been a few men she'd dated for a while. Until the balance of what they'd enjoyed together got heavier and heavier on their side and she simply didn't want to be the one doing the majority of the giving and the understanding to keep the involvement going.

It was like a line drawn in her mind. This much I'll do. No more. But Matt King blurred all the lines, smashing every perception she'd ever had about men. The Kings, she decided, were a different breed. Their family history was telling her so with everything she learnt about them. Strong compelling men. Family men. Men who held what they had, looked after it and built on it. Was that what she needed?

Was this why Matt King drew such an instinctive response from her, bypassing any rational thought? She looked down at the hand he'd held.

Did he mean to keep holding it...if she let him? Or was she a passing fancy?