However, when she’d told her father what Matt had said, Angus Carlyle had burst into tears. She’d thought at first it was gratitude, but, with his eyes streaming, he’d claimed that, far from protecting him, Matt was deceiving her, too. Angus had friends in New York, he’d said, friends who’d already told him that his name was toxic in the oil-producing community. The authorities were already investigating Carlyle Construction’s involvement and it was only a matter of time before NovCo shifted the blame.
His final plea had been that she was his daughter. Whatever differences they’d had in the past, their love for one another had never faltered. And Joanna had known she couldn’t deny the words of a man who was suffering with terminal cancer. Particularly as she’d always suspected how determined to protect the company’s interests Matt could be.
There’d been a huge row with Matt telling her she had no idea what her father was capable of, and Joanna accusing him of using Angus as a way to save NovCo’s reputation. Then she’d stormed out of their apartment, declaring she never wanted to speak to him again.
Learning, weeks later, that NovCo had, in fact, settled all claims against the company had been little compensation. As far as her father had been concerned, Matt had been trying to save his marriage, and had realised he’d made a terrible mistake by accusing him. Angus had even challenged her to ask Matt to explain why he’d hacked into her father’s emails, if it wasn’t to create a record of phony deals with risky suppliers he was supposed to have made.
She’d phoned Matt but he’d denied it, of course, although he hadn’t been able to deny that he had had Angus’s financial dealings investigated. But when Joanna had asked him why, he’d refused to answer her. He’d told her to ask her father that question; to put the old man on the spot.
However, Angus had had a relapse, and Joanna hadn’t been able to talk to him. And by the time he was in a temporary remission, Matt had been called back to New York.
The weeks of their separation had turned into months. Her father’s death had left her devastated, and she couldn’t help blaming Matt for ruining the last weeks of his life. David Bellamy had been a hero, helping to organise the funeral for her and offering her her old job back. A situation she’d been glad to accept when she’d discovered her father had been practically destitute when he died.
Turning from the mirror, she went into the bedroom and tried to distract herself by admiring the beauty of her surroundings. Pale walls, pale rugs, and a pale satin bedspread on the wide colonial bed. The colour in the bedroom was provided by exotically patterned cushions and curtains. Paintings of Indian masks and other spiritual objects on the walls were meant to remind the visitor of the area’s Native American heritage.
The house was two-storey, stuccoed, with a red-tiled roof and grounds spread over a couple of acres at the end of a gated cul-de-sac. The whole area was criss-crossed by canals, where just occasionally you might glimpse a manatee. The drive leading up to Matt’s parents’ house ended beside a mission-style Spanish fountain. The steady splash of water on the mossy layers of stone was always present, creating a soothing retreat from the busy world outside.
Joanna had been here before, visiting his parents on a couple of occasions. Though remembering Adrienne’s attitude towards her then, she hadn’t been sorry to avoid them in recent months.
All the same, the suite Adrienne had reluctantly provided for her use was very appealing. It was all very civilised; very inviting. Nevertheless, Joanna knew that without Adrienne’s intrusion she’d have told Matt immediately what she wanted and hightailed it back to the hotel. That had been the plan, anyway. The only thing was, after learning how he still felt about her, she doubted he’d have been willing to grant her request.
She had to come up with a Plan B. Tomorrow afternoon, she’d intended to fly back to London. The trouble was, by giving in to his request to stay for dinner, she didn’t have time to devise an alternative plan.
A faint draught of warm air drifted in through the open windows. Ivory sheers shifted sensuously, and Joanna moved the curtains aside to slide back the long French doors.
Stepping out onto her own private balcony, she breathed in the exotic scents from the garden. Lilies, fuchsias, the heady scent of night jasmine. The humidity was great, as it always was at this time of the year. Early summer in England was not the most appealing time to come to Florida.
Perhaps she should just cut her losses and leave.
The arrival of a maid to tell her drinks were being served in the family room downstairs baulked that possibility. This was it, she thought. Fight or flight? Well, she’d never been a coward, and surely nothing Adrienne Novak said could hurt her now.
As she walked along the landing to the curving marble staircase she saw no one. Below, the marble-tiled foyer was deserted, too. The family room was to her right, a comfortable space, with leather chairs and sofas. A drinks cabinet offered refreshment, and an elegant baby grand piano stood beside the windows at the other side of the room.
When Joanna paused in the doorway, she could smell the flowers that filled the tiled hearth, and the not unpleasant aromas of alcohol and tobacco. But the room itself appeared to be unoccupied as well.
Like the foyer, the lighting was mellow and subdued, and it wasn’t surprising that Joanna thought she was alone. But then a figure emerged from the shadows beside the fireplace. A tall figure, lean and saturnine, in a suit and shirt so dark a grey they appeared black.
Matt.
JOANNA’S MOUTH DRIED. Surely, they were not dining alone.
‘Jo,’ Matt said, moving towards her, his low voice so familiar, so disturbing to her ears that she caught her breath. ‘You look refreshed. Did you rest for a while?’
‘Just for a few minutes,’ said Joanna, well aware that she hadn’t relaxed at all. His clean masculine scent drifted to her nostrils but she endeavoured to ignore it. ‘Where is—’ she almost said ‘your mother’, before amending it to ‘—everyone?’
‘They’re coming,’ said Matt smoothly. He surveyed her with dark expressive eyes. ‘You look very beautiful this evening, Jo.’
‘Thank you.’ But Joanna stiffened, touching the low neckline of the tunic with a nervous finger. She was tempted to check the hemline, too, to pull it further down if that was possible, but she restrained herself. ‘Um—how long has Sophie been here?’ she asked, desperate to keep their conversation from becoming personal. ‘Is she staying long?’
‘As long as my mother is prepared to have her,’ he replied drily. ‘Since the divorce, she spends a lot of time here.’
Joanna nodded. Sophie and her ex-husband had divorced before Matt’s father had been taken ill. Joanna had wondered if the break-up of Sophie’s marriage had contributed to Oliver Novak’s stroke.
‘Well—it was nice to see her again,’ Joanna continued, when the silence became unbearable. She paused, and then, refusing to be diverted, ‘Did your mother show you my emails at last?’
Matt’s eyes darkened. ‘I assume that’s your way of asking if I now know why you’re here.’
Joanna shrugged. ‘I would have preferred to speak to you in private. That was why I planned to stay at the hotel.’
‘There’s no hurry.’ Matt lifted his shoulders indifferently. ‘Let me get you a drink. That might help you to relax.’
‘I am relaxed.’ Though of course she wasn’t. Joanna’s lips tightened. ‘Why can’t we get right to the point?’
Matt ignored her outburst, approaching the drinks cabinet and holding up a bottle of Chardonnay for her inspection. With some misgivings, she nodded,