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The insight—revelation—about her true feelings for Matt was so strong it couldn’t be doubted. She loved the man she had married. Loved all that he was.
If she hadn’t been so hung up on Giorgio when she and Matt had first come together, if she hadn’t been so hung up on having a baby...blind, blind, blind! She’d had the right man, her mate in everything, and she’d blown the chance of a lifetime.
She broke into a run, out of the terminal, across the road to the taxi rank. She didn’t know how to fix the damage she’d done. Matt might throw her out of his office. She couldn’t blame him if he did. But she had to go to him and beg for another chance, convince him somehow that she did love him.
Otherwise...
No, she wouldn’t think about otherwise. There’d been too much negative thinking already. She had to be positive. Very, very positive.
So she had to stop shaking with the fear that she’d left it too late, stop thinking of herself. It was Matt she had to concentrate on...his concerns, his needs, his desires, his dreams. That was what love was about. He’d shown her. And maybe, if she was very, very lucky, he might show it to her again. After she’d shown him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MATT was immersed in paperwork. He heard the office door open. Rita bringing him coffee, he thought, and welcome it was, too. This computer printout was giving him a headache, it required so much concentration.
The door closed. Odd action for Rita. No smell of coffee, either. He looked up, frowning at the break to his mental summary of the figures in front of him.
Peta stood against the door.
The shock of seeing her where she wasn’t supposed to be made him question his vision and sanity for a moment. But she was real. Neither memory nor imagination could conjure up the sheer vibrancy that emanated from her. It choked him. Peta...as stunningly beautiful as she’d always been to him, and looking so vital, glowing with an energy that seemed to sparkle all around her.
A cramp hit his heart.
The sparkle couldn’t be for him. Something else must have brought her here. She was wearing her Qantas uniform, either going to or coming from work. A drop-in visit. She held a tissue-wrapped bundle in her arms—a sheath of flowers? It made no sense to him.
He stared at her eyes, so vividly blue, sharply alert, searching his almost fearfully, unsure of her welcome, yet there was bold determination in her stance, blocking the door, virtually challenging him to say something about it.
The tumult of feeling she stirred made silence the easier course. Let her speak first since only she knew why she’d taken this initiative. But she didn’t speak. Her throat was moving convulsively. He noticed the fast rise and fall of her breasts. Shallow breathing.
She was afraid of his reaction to her. Matt hated that. Peta had no reason to fear him. None at all. He would never have raped her. The very idea sent a wave of revulsion through him, driving him to put her at ease.
“You’re looking well, Peta,” he said, managing an ironic little smile.
“I hope you don’t mind my...my intrusion,” she gabbled out.
Just don’t say you’re sorry, Matt thought fiercely, feeling he would lose what composure he had if she did.
He effected a shrug. “Your choice. I regret that I overrode your choice to ignore me on our last night together. Please feel free to do or say whatever you like, Peta. I don’t really go in for molesting people.”
Hot colour raced up her neck and burned into her cheeks. “I know I was a blind, self-centred bitch,” she shot at him, a writhing shame in her eyes. She took a deep breath and softly added, “Especially after the miscarriage.”
Matt sat absolutely still, hit by the sheer unexpectedness of her harsh self-accusation. He didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t know how to respond.
“I hope... I hope you can forgive me, Matt.”
The plea triggered a wild rush of hope. Had she come because she wanted their marriage to continue? Caution clicked in, suppressing the impulse to offer her anything she wanted. Her conscience was troubling her. That was all. She needed to be at peace with it. To read anything more into a plea for forgiveness was asking for another rejection.
“It was a distressing time. For both of us,” he said quietly. “What’s gone is gone, Peta. Don’t worry over it on my behalf.”
The words rang in Peta’s ears like a death knell. What’s gone is gone... It was what she’d found with Giorgio. If Matt felt the same way, she didn’t have a chance.
But it hadn’t been real love with Giorgio, she wildly reasoned. Real love didn’t die. Even though she’d done her unwitting best to kill it, surely it could be revived. Matt and she were still the same people.
She loved him. How could she not have known it before? He sat there behind his desk, in charge of his world, emanating the strength to carry any responsibility, the power to make his vision happen. The character of the man was stamped on his face, mirrored in his eyes...steady, reliable, tough when it came to survival but with a readiness to be kind, to care for others.
She loved him. And he was so beautifully male...his shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up revealing his muscular forearms, hands lying in repose on the desk, their long fingers capable of the most extraordinary sensitivity. Her gaze fastened on his mouth...
She ached for him to kiss her as only he could, firing the passion they’d known and shared, the intimate possession of each other, the wild hot glory of it and the delicious sensuality he always drew her into. That couldn’t be gone. She wouldn’t let it be gone.
