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Besides, he was not—definitely not—a Mummy’s boy!
CHAPTER TWO
LENTILBURGERS!
Not to mention more rabbit food!
Matt’s stomach growled a protest as he surveyed the lunch menu. What he’d give for a big juicy steak and a plate of French fries! His mouth salivated at the thought.
“Hungry, dear?” his mother said brightly. The Reiki massage had somehow perked up her energy level.
He forced a smile. “Starving.” He piled four slices of freshly baked wholemeal bread onto his plate. At least that was filling.
“They do make such tasty salads here,” his mother rattled on, helping herself to an avocado mix and lots of other greens as she moved along the buffet table.
It was good for her, Matt told himself. She’d piled on weight from comfort eating and needed to get herself back on a decent diet. If she left here with more of an interest in healthy food, at least he had achieved something. But it was no consolation to his stomach. He forked some tomato and onion onto his plate, added as many slices of boiled egg as he thought he could get away with, found some beetroot, and followed his mother to the table they’d been occupying, her at the foot of it, him next to her.
“Oh! Just look at that girl!”
The words were hissed at him as he sat down.
He looked, knowing from the shock in his mother’s voice whom he’d see. He didn’t expect to be drawn into staring at her again. But his eyes seemed to get glued on her and couldn’t be wrenched away.
The black leather jacket had been removed. She wore a red sweater that clung like a second skin, showing off the superb slopes of two glorious breasts. Matt had never thought himself a breast man. Legs had always taken his fancy. He suddenly found himself converted. There was definitely a compelling attraction about perfectly rounded and fulsomely weighted breasts.
“I didn’t think you could wear red with red,” his mother murmured, her initial shock having turned to awed fascination.
“Mmmh...” he replied, leaving his response options open.
The vision of feminine plentitude moved past them to the buffet table, not so much as flicking a glance in his direction. Which was just as well, since being caught gawking at her again would have been galling. The cornflower blue eyes were quite capable of slicing him in two and shrivelling all activity below the belt. Though, come to think of it, his testosterone levels could probably do with a bit of shrivelling at the moment. Not since he was a teenager had he felt such a strong wave of lust.
“Well, she’s new,” his mother declared with relish, her eyes atwinkle with more lively interest than she’d shown in anything for quite some time.
“Mmmh...” Matt repeated, busily buttering his bread. The communal table was filling up with the regulars. It usually held ten, though a couple of guests had departed this morning. He didn’t
want to be put on the spot with an open discussion of the new arrival. After all, he was the only male here and the focus of considerable speculation. He didn’t really care to reveal how taken by her he was. Not when it was still uncertain how she felt about him. Now if she attended the archery session this afternoon...
“Don’t you think she’s striking?” his mother pressed.
“Quite,” he agreed, stealthily withdrawing his personal salt cellar—a recent and desperate purchase from the grocery store in the nearby village—from his trouser pocket. Salt was not supplied at the health farm. He would suffer a lot for his mother, but doing without salt was taking sacrifice too far. He surreptitiously sprinkled it on his food while everyone else was still settling down to their meal.
“There’s a spare chair here, dear,” his mother called.
Matt couldn’t believe his ears. His ultra-respectable, conservative mother inviting the sexy as sin, red on red to sit next to her? Opposite him? In the hot seat left by Vida, the vamp, who had gone through five husbands and had flirted with the idea of taking Matt as her toy-boy, much to his mother’s amusement and his embarrassment?
He held his breath. She was coming, a whimsical little smile showing her surprise at the encouraging welcome extended by his mother. She cocked an eyebrow at Matt and he knew curiosity had drawn her. Mummy doing the honours for Mummy’s boy?
“Thank you,” she said, placing her plate on the table. “I was wondering where I should sit.”
“There’s no special place for anyone,” his mother informed. “I’m Cynthia Davis. This is my son, Matt. And you are?”
“Peta. Peta Kelly.”
Matt stood up to offer his hand in courtesy, only to realise he was still holding the salt cellar. She looked at it, looked at him, and rolled her eyes mockingly.
“Still at it, I see.”
“At what?” his mother asked.
