When He Was Bad... by Anne Oliver Page A

Looking forward to catching up…
    Was his tone an indication that he was talking to a woman or did he speak to everyone in that deep velvet voice? She didn’t know him well enough to tell…was this just Ellie being slightly paranoid Ellie?
    â€˜Matthew’s always been a bit of a playboy….’
    Something hard and heavy lobbed dead centre in her chest. She jabbed the point of her knife into her half-eaten steak, hacked off a piece, jammed it in her mouth. Why the hell didit matter who he met? She chewed vigorously. Or what he did with whomever it was tonight? At 8:00 p.m. In one of the best hotels in the city.
    She tried to swallow but the food lodged behind the knot which had formed in her throat over the past couple of minutes.
    â€˜Meat not to your liking?’ Matt took his seat once more and resumed eating.
    â€˜It’s…very nice,’ she managed and swallowed carefully. ‘Just a bit of a sore throat.’ She reached for her juice to wash it down. ‘I need an early night. In fact…’ She made a show of glancing at her watch, didn’t note the time. ‘I’ll get going. There’s a tram due in ten minutes. I’ll collect my other clothes later.’
    â€˜I’ll drop you home.’
    â€˜Not necessary, I’ve an umbrella in my bag.’ And you have a date .
    â€˜I insist. I have to go out in any case—I’ll drop you off on the way. Just give me a moment.’
    She accepted because she really didn’t feel one hundred percent and it was easier than arguing. But she almost changed her mind when he reappeared in dark trousers and a smart charcoal jacket that looked as if it had been tailored exclusively for him. A few wisps of masculine hair were visible at the open neck of his shirt.
    He’d splashed on that cologne she’d smelled the other night. Something free and fresh and foresty that reminded her of secret midnight trysts.
    She thought about that—and him—when she climbed into her narrow bed after he’d dropped her outside her apartment building a short time later. And reminded herself that permanent playboys were not for her.
    Â 
    Matt rolled over, peered at the digital readout on his clock and swore. Seven-thirty.
    He dragged a hand over his face. He felt as if he hadn’t caught more than ten minutes’ shut-eye at any one time. Erotic dreams had plagued him from the moment his head had hit the pillow. The kind of dreams he’d not experienced since puberty.
    Ellie was entirely to blame.
    Pushing the quilt down to cool his overheated body, he stared at the ceiling’s blank canvas, hoping to rid himself of the images still dancing behind his eyes.
    No such luck. It didn’t make a scrap of difference that he’d chatted up a tall well-constructed New York advertising executive after his meeting with Cole. Lysandra. Lissendra? He’d bought her a cocktail and they’d discussed… Global warming. A couple of cocktails on, she’d had a few interesting suggestions to help cure his insomnia. And he’d come close to letting her try.
    Until a vision of Ellie Rose wearing nothing but that towel had sauntered into his mind like a siren from days gone by… He sat up in bed, scratched his morning stubble. Damn it.
    Since when had he turned down a woman like Lissandra whose requirements ticked all the right boxes? Why would he pass up an opportunity like that for a girl who didn’t want to get involved, despite her eyes and the way she kissed telling him otherwise? A girl nothing like the women he dated.
    And that girl would be turning up at any moment, if she wasn’t here already. Easing off the bed, he padded down the passage and into a spare bedroom for a view of the backyard. Low on the horizon, the early morning’s thin lemon sunlight was sliding obliquely between the clouds, glistening wetly on the lawn. He scanned the boggy patch where Ellie had been