A Lesson in Passion: Season of Desire Part 4 (Seasons Quartet)

  A Lesson in Passion

  Season of Desire: Part Four

  Sadie Matthews

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Sadie Matthews 2013

  The right of Sadie Matthews to be identified as the Author of the

  Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

  reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any

  form or by any means without the prior written permission of the

  publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or

  cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar

  condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance

  to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781444781090

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  Contents

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Has Part Four left you wanting more?

  Also by Sadie Matthews

  About the author

  Have you read the After Dark series?

  Wish List

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m lying in darkness, surrounded by cool, fetid blackness. Nearby I can feel the damp chill of a rock wall. I blink, trying to make out what or who is around me. I can feel their presence although I can’t see anything. I’m paralysed by the darkness, and by the fear growing inside me. The presence is close. I can hear its breathing.

  I manage to move. I can stretch out a hand and touch something. It’s a rough fabric, like towelling, and underneath it is a firmness. I must be touching someone – a body – but it’s almost too cool for that. Where is the body heat? Why is there no warmth? My fingertips run lightly over the roughness.

  ‘Mama?’ I whisper.

  There is no answer, just the faintest hint of a sigh on the night air. And then, from nowhere, a hand grabs my wrist, seizing it with a hard, iron grip. My eyes fly open in shock against the darkness and I gasp, and then scream in utter terror—

  ‘Freya, Freya! Wake up, sweetheart, you’re all right. It’s just a bad dream. I’m here, sweetheart, I’m here.’

  Strong arms are wrapped tightly around me, and at first I struggle, trying to fight off the horrifying grip in my dreams. I’m blinded by fear, gasping and crying.

  ‘Freya! You’re all right! I’m here…’

  At last his voice penetrates my consciousness and my terror subsides. I slump into his arms, panting and sobbing as I realise, with a drenching relief, that I’m safe. Of course, I know where I am. I’m in the beautiful master bedroom of a chalet just above Klosters. I’m in Miles’s arms after spending the night with him. I ought to be in a state of bliss but here I am, still gasping after my nightmare, my eyes streaming.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ I say between intakes of breath. ‘I’m sorry!’

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he soothes me, ‘it’s fine, it’s okay now. Did you have a nightmare?’

  I nod.

  ‘It’s because of what we talked about last night, isn’t it?’ Miles says softly. His blue eyes gaze into mine, tender but questioning.

  ‘I guess it must be.’ I take a deep breath and let out a long sigh, trying to get my breathing back on track and restore myself to calmness. ‘Sometimes I get these flashbacks. They’re so powerful. They must be dreams but they feel so real. At first I dream that I’m sleeping and then, in my dream, I wake up. But it feels exactly like what waking up is like, and so when the bad stuff comes I truly believe in it.’

  ‘That sounds awful, you poor wee thing.’ Miles’s voice is so gentle, his Scottish accent so sweetly comforting in the way it rolls softly, enveloping me like a soft duvet.

  ‘And I can’t describe the presence – I can never see it. It’s near me and it’s so real, I can hear its breathing and feel its mass – sometimes its weight if I’m on a bed. It’s watching me and I can’t move, and at first I don’t know if it’s good or evil, it just seems curious about me. Then… then… I realise it wants to harm me.’ A sob in my throat catches me by surprise and I hunch forward. Miles’s arms tighten around me and he hushes me quietly, as I shake off the awful feeling that comes with the memory of that awful thing.

  ‘I don’t have to be Doctor Freud to interpret that dream,’ Miles says in a low voice, rocking me a little. ‘Not now you’ve told me about what happened in your past.’

  I nod miserably. ‘I know. So often I’m back there – in that cave. With my mother.’

  ‘You’re safe with me,’ he says firmly. ‘I’ll always keep you safe.’

  ‘Well…’ I sniff and manage a laugh. ‘You are a bodyguard, aren’t you? It’s your job.’

  He looks at me solemnly, his blue eyes as serious as I’ve ever seen them. ‘But we both know that you’ve got a good reason to be suspicious of bodyguards. No wonder you always had such an attitude towards me and the others.’

  ‘I suppose I have found it hard to trust after what happened. The fact that we were betrayed by someone who was supposed to keep us safe was very scarring.’

  ‘Well, I know that now.’ He shakes his head. ‘Personally I think we should have been told about this event. It would help us all understand your father’s paranoia and over-the-top demands. The security checks he insists on would put a military installation to shame. And it might make relations with you, our charges, a little bit easier if we knew about the history involved.’

  ‘You mean you all hate us!’ I say, with a weak smile.

  He grins back, that gorgeous half smile that twists his lips and makes my heart do little flips. ‘We don’t hate you. But let’s just say you don’t always make it easy to be enamoured of you.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ I feel calmer now, almost back to my old self. I lie back on the pillows. This room is so serene. It’s luxurious but very natural too, with the plain wood walls, the embroidered fabrics and the hand-carved furniture – an expensive take on a traditional Swiss chalet. Above me, sunshine floods through the skylight, illuminating the room with gentle golden glow.

  ‘We don’t talk about it to outsiders,’ I say, staring upwards. ‘My father’s channelled all his anger and fear into trying to keep us safe and making sure nothing like that ever happens again. But I think he felt guilty too because he couldn’t save us in time. All his money and power, and it turned out he could do nothing against a gang of kidnappers in the Italian mountains.’ I turn my head so that I can look over at Miles. ‘He’s never forgiven himself for my mother’s death. He’s afraid that if we talk about it to the outside world, it will give the impression that we’re weak and vulnerable. And someone might try again. So we have to pretend that our security has never been breached and we’re absolutely impregnable. That way no one will bother us.’ I shrug. ‘That’s the idea anyway.’

  Miles nods. ‘I can see that.’ He rubs one hand slowly across the top of his head, ruffling up the short dark hair there. His bare arm bulges with muscle and I have a strong
desire to touch him, to bury my face against his smooth skin and inhale the scent of him. ‘I really do.’

  ‘And if we told employees, it would be bound to leak out. For some reason, we’re objects of fascination. I mean, we’re only people like everyone else but the papers are obsessed with us. I don’t welcome it, it just happens. They get so much gossip about us, some of it invented, and some of it true. I have no idea where it comes from.’ I blink at him slowly. ‘It makes all of us paranoid. Maybe our friends are selling stories about us behind our backs, or perhaps someone’s listening in to phone calls or bugging rooms. That’s partly why we hardly ever talk about what’s really going on in our lives, even to each other, in case someone’s eavesdropping and it leaks out. Imagine if you saw your private life all over the papers, to be pored over and laughed at. I’m not an actress or a politician or a model, or someone who’s asked for attention.’ I shrug. ‘I’m just a girl!’

  Miles smiles at me. ‘Not just a girl, Freya. Never that.’ His gaze runs over me, taking in the curves of my bare shoulders, the rise of my breasts above the sheet, my dark hair spilled out over the snow-white pillow. ‘I never saw how beautiful you are until now. When you were Miss Hammond, I never even thought you were very attractive.’

  I laugh. ‘Oh, thanks!’

  He goes on, ignoring me. ‘But now…’ That raking look again, the one that sends my stomach into ecstatic raptures. When he speaks again, his voice is husky with desire. ‘Now I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

  A delicious shiver sweeps over me at his words. I beam at him, hoping I don’t look too stupidly happy at his compliment. I remember last night, when I couldn’t resist the temptation to open my heart just a little and whisper the word ‘love’ to him. A kind of hot but almost pleasurable flush creeps over my cheeks. There’s a very good chance that he did hear but I’ve no idea how I’ll find out one way or the other.

  ‘Is it time for our lesson?’ I ask, hopefully. My gaze shifts to the door to the bathroom. If the lesson today is on the theme of water, then perhaps he’ll be asking me to accompany him into the shower…

  Miles laughs, his eyes glinting mischievously as he shakes his head. ‘Uh uh. Let’s not rush things. You know, a lot of people believe that you learn better if you’ve had a healthy dose of exercise.’

  My eyes gleam. ‘Well, luckily for us, our lessons are all about exercise, aren’t they? Two birds with one stone.’ I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘So what are you waiting for?’

  ‘I’m thinking about an entirely different sort of exercise, you incorrigible girl.’ He picks up a snowy white pillow and tosses it on to me. ‘I think we need to get outdoors and work up an appetite for later – in more ways than one.’ His blue eyes are twinkling with humour now. I love that look: warm and merry. I feel as though I’m being allowed to see a Miles that very few other people have ever seen. I’m one of the lucky few.

  I wonder who the others are… The thought flies lightly across my mind and I felt a nasty tang of something like jealousy at the thought of other women Miles might have laughed with and loved. I put it out of my mind before it can poison our blissful morning together.

  ‘We are going to get up,’ says Miles as I squeeze the pillow to my chest, ‘and I’m going to make you coffee and eggs just the way you like them. Then we’re going to get dressed and go on the mountain.’

  ‘The mountain?’ Amid the happiness, I feel a small pang of anxiety. ‘You mean skiing? What if I see someone I know?’

  Miles purses his lips and frowns. ‘Let’s keep off the busy slopes as much as possible. In fact, we’ll go off-piste if you can manage it. You’ll be in ski clothes – Dominic’s girlfriend has some here that you can borrow – and goggles, and as long as we don’t hang out at any of the cafes or restaurants, you should be fine.’ He leans over and kisses me. I adore the taste of him on my lips and long for more, but he pulls away. ‘I think we should risk it. No one assumes you’re here, and that means they won’t expect to see you. In my experience, very famous people can walk about quite naturally if no one assumes they’re there.’

  ‘Okay, then. Let’s do it. I love skiing. And didn’t you say something about eggs? I’m starving…’

  A few hours later, I’m revelling in the sensation of taking the slope at speed, guiding my skis to move exactly as I want, hitting the snow with a steady hiss and glide as I fly down the mountain. Ahead of me is Miles’s dark form. I thought I was pretty good at skiing – I’ve been doing it since I was three, after all – but I’ve got nothing on Miles. He’s better than any instructor I’ve ever seen as he takes the slope at the kind of speed only an expert can manage. His technique is perfect, even awe-inspiring. It looks deceptively easy as he moves in lazy-looking zigzags, his body almost skimming the ground at every turn, his poles barely touching the snow. Only the wake of white powder from the blade of his skis shows how sharply he’s cutting through it.

  If he ever gets tired of being a bodyguard, I think, he could easily get work as a stuntman in the movies – in his black ski gear and sunglasses, he looks like nothing so much as James Bond as he skis effortlessly down the mountain.

  When I come to a halt beside him, I’m breathless but exhilarated. I love this kind of exercise, out in the open air, enjoying the ice-blue sky, the liquid sunshine and the crisp white snow. It’s also very sexy, perhaps because of our form-fitting ski gear. Miles found me a great outfit: an all-in-one ski pant suit in red with a matching ski jacket. With it, I’m wearing a red hat and a pair of sunglasses. I feel sleek and athletic, and with Miles all in black, we make a striking pair against the white slopes.

  ‘You’re amazing!’ I say, breathless as he smiles at me. ‘I had no idea you could ski so well.’

  ‘Training,’ he says drily. ‘A lot of it. We were made to master the toughest slopes in the world.’ He looks up the mountain, sunlight glinting off his metallic aviator shades. ‘This is kind of child’s play after that.’

  I laugh. ‘Of course it is.’ I stick my poles in the snow and take off my sunglasses. ‘What are we going to do now? I’m starving.’

  ‘Starving?’ Miles frowns. ‘We only just had breakfast.’

  ‘Four hours ago!’ I exclaim. ‘And skiing always makes me ravenous.’

  ‘I was worried that maybe you didn’t eat enough this morning.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it was delicious and I ate plenty.’ I grin at him. ‘I’m only glad you’ve turned out to be so good at the stove. I’m utterly useless.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ He laughs, driving his ski poles into the snow. Then he grabs my hands and pulls me so that my skis glide gently between his open ones and my body bumps softly against his. He wraps his arms around me, puts his mouth close to my ear and murmurs, ‘But you’re far from useless, Winter. I happen to know you’re very talented indeed.’

  My stomach tightens and my heart starts to race. There’s an answering tingle between my legs. His nearness and the timbre of his voice close to my ear are almost unbearable; my skin prickles with the sensation.

  ‘Really?’ I whisper. ‘Am I learning well?’

  ‘Very well. You’re going to pass the course with flying colours.’ His mouth is almost touching mine now, making me dizzy with longing.

  ‘I think I’m ready to start my education again,’ I say, my voice weak with the power of my desire for him.

  His mouth lands on mine, my lips open and our tongues meet. We start to kiss deeply, oblivious to everyone else around us – not that where we are is busy place. Because we were off-piste, it’s a very quiet part of the mountain and as far as I can see, there’s no one about. I relax into the deliciousness of his kiss, savouring his taste as he possesses my mouth with his.

  When he pulls away at last, he has a lazy look of promise in those blue eyes. ‘Shall we go back to the chalet, Winter? I think it might be time to resume your lessons.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I say. ‘Let’s go right now.’

&n
bsp; Back at the chalet, the chef Dominic called in for us has been in the kitchen during our absence and a delicious-looking lunch has been left out for us: a cold chicken and ham pie, tempting salads of roasted vegetables and balsamic vinegar, wild rice with charred beetroot and nuggets of feta cheese, and peppery rocket with sweet tomatoes. Freshly baked bread sits in a basket with a dish of Alpine butter, and there’s a board of Swiss cheeses, along with a plate of tiny chocolate-covered choux buns to have afterwards. There’s far too much for just the two of us but the skiing has had its usual effect on my appetite and I eat heartily.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ I say, leaning back in my chair. ‘I’m stuffed. I’ve been terribly greedy.’

  Miles pushes his plate away and smiles at me. ‘Too full for lessons?’

  I groan. ‘You know what? I might be!’ I’m taken unawares by a huge yawn. ‘In fact, yesterday’s activities have made me quite sleepy.’

  ‘Then I think you should have a rest. I don’t want you falling asleep on me later. Come on.’ He gets up and puts out a hand. ‘Lessons can wait. I want you on good form for the next one, it’s going to take all your concentration.’

  I get to my feet. I wanted Miles so badly only a short time ago. Now I can hardly keep my eyes open. ‘Mountain air,’ I say apologetically.

  ‘You’ve had a very exhausting time lately,’ he says as we head for the stairs, his arm around me. ‘I don’t just mean our lessons. You’re probably still recovering from the trauma of our accident.’

  ‘What about you?’ I ask, yawning again. ‘You went through the same trauma.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he says gently. ‘I'm trained for crises, and I don't have the kind of childhood baggage you have. Anyway, I’m going to stay awake so I can look after you.’

  I rest my head on his shoulder, loving the way he makes me feel. I do feel safe. Properly. Not guarded or monitored or filmed – but really safe, deep inside. I don’t remember ever feeling so calm. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper.