A Solitary Heart

A SOLITARY HEART

Amanda Carpenter

A game of chance

It had begun with Matt Severn's overblown accusations of her

involvement with his younger brother. Now he and Sian are dancing

around each other with the open aggression of two boxing opponents.

He's getting to her, making her crazy, pushing and pursuing her--

shifting his tactics with subtle dexterity, shattering Sian's poise and

self-control. Until Sian has no choice but to let him discover a

woman who is unawakened, unfulfilled, untouched--a woman who's

not yet sure how to love....

WHO was he?

The question, intimate as only a thought that would never be

divulged could be, ran through her mind as she surreptitiously

watched the man who had just appeared on the back porch.

His presence had certainly made a forceful impact, and not just on

her. People looked. They, like Sian, couldn't help themselves, for the

man was hard angles and sheathed intent, white-shirted and haloed in

golden sunshine and quite staggeringly beautiful for a man, beautiful

in the way of a lean, hungry cat. In one hand he held a sweating beer

can, powerful fingers negligently gentle on the aluminium, and with

the other he pushed back the tawny hair from his forehead.

Sian took a sip of her chilled wine, smiling to herself as loud guffaws

burst from a nearby group. She had taken a moment from socialising

to lean against a tree- trunk, grateful for the shade in the heat of the

day.

She and her room-mate, Jane, were born just a week apart, and were

having a combined birthday, Memorial Day and graduation

celebration. They had just completed their senior year of final exams

at Notre Dame University, and all their university friends, families

and friends of the families had been invited to the party.

The idea had been a simple one a few months ago, but somewhere

along in the planning it had grown into monstrous proportions, until

Sian felt it wise to invite all their neighbours as well. Best to make

allies from potential opposition, then nobody could complain about

the noise. More than a hundred people milled about the ground-floor

apartment and spilled out on to the wide back lawn. It was a

crushing, noisy crowd in eighty-five- degree weather. Guests had

started to arrive at noon that Sunday, and at four o'clock everyone

was relaxed and convivial.

The man stepped off the porch, and his torso was framed in light,

from the tight hip to the tough broad shoulders.

Sian wasn't surprised that she didn't know him. She was only

acquainted with about a third of the people at the party. His

connection was probably tenuous at best: a friend of a friend, a

second cousin of a neighbour. If he could be anything as mundane as

that.

One sweep from a dark gaze spanned the group, and he began to

prowl.

The raw grace of his body made her mouth grow dry. He was

masculinity in expression, fluidity in aggressive motion, a predator

lazily casing the herd.

How many men at the party? How many men had she met throughout

her life, of all shapes and ages and sizes? They were a parade of pale

imitations to this luminous reality. Once she had- thought differently,

but now she knew that she had never known the definition of a man

before. Sian struggled to hide her crazy heartbeat and trembling

hands under her customary cool poise.

His eyes locked with hers.

He strode towards her.

Sian jerked her gaze away, a tell-tale reaction eloquent with rejection.

It was a delusion. It had to be. The stranger was a devil to climb

inside her head so, but he couldn't possibly live up to the promise of

his first impression. He would open his mouth and utter something

banal, and the spell would be shattered. In a moment she would

breathe normally, and her world would be sane again. The roaring

silence that filled her mind would resolve into babble, loud music and

the civilised enjoyment of good friends sharing a moment of triumph

together. This wild thing invading her would pass unnoticed into

oblivion.

Then Lucifer, morning star, the brightest and the most beautiful of all

the archangels, appeared slowly through the smoky swirl blown off

the barbecue, and halted in front of her.

She could not ignore him, and must not pretend to. Her heavy green

eyes lifted from contemplating her glass of wine. The stranger's face

was hard, uncompromising, his sardonic hazel eyes two quartz chips

honed to razor- sharpness.

Here it comes. Something trite and meaningless, she prayed. What's a

nice girl like you...?

'Sian Riley?'

The fluid voice that would be velvet in tenderness now grated on her

hypersensitive hearing.

Her expression was closed to the observer, the lovely features locked

as tight as a treasure vault. 'Yes?' she replied, amazed at the calm in

her reply. 'What can I do for you?'

His predator's eyes raked her, claws naked and judgemental. He said,

soft and tight and ungentle, 'Just one thing, Ms Riley. My name is

Matthew Severn, and I want you to stay away from my brother

Joshua.'

'What?' Sian gasped, any possible comprehension of their meeting

blown to smithereens by those gunshot words. She leaned more

heavily against the tree-trunk, her incredulous gaze telling the man

confronting her that he was a madman.

'You heard what I said.' The stranger lifted his hand, and for one

awful moment, as her shocked eyes watched it come towards her

face, Sian thought he meant to slap her.

She couldn't move. The strong, graceful hand went to the tree-trunk

behind her head, and he leaned the weight of his body into his

powerful outstretched arm. Corded muscle in his bicep flexed with

tension, a small shift under the sleeve of the white shirt, as he trapped

her into intimate confrontation with his body and his undiluted

antagonism.

'Joshua Severn,' he growled very quietly. 'My brother. Your fiancé.

Stay away from him, Ms Riley. This is the only warning you'll get.

You're not his kind.'

Somewhere Sian had stepped, all unsuspecting, through some

invisible barrier into an incomprehensible nightmare. Her green eyes

seemed to collect jagged shards of illumination into coalesced rage.

'How dare you?' she said from the back of her throat, still reeling

internally from the unexpected assault. The stranger's proximity was

an intimidation she refused to knuckle under. She leaned forward

from the waist and glared up at him. 'Just who the
hell
do you think

you are?'

'As trustee in control of Josh's inheritance, I'm a man in a position of

some authority,' Matthew Severn replied silkenly. 'And I assure you,

I shall exercise that authority to the limit. You're not acceptable

partnership material and, whatever advantages you might think to

acquire from marrying Joshua, you can forget it. I'll make sure he

doesn't see a cent before his thirtieth birthday. You'll both face years

of struggle to get through graduate school, so wise up now. This isn't

Easy Street.'

'No,' Sian agreed in a snarl, transformed from the porcelain grace of

her former repose into a tempestuous, vitalising fury. 'This isn't Easy

Street. This is my home, and you've just violated all the rules of

courteous conduct by your boorish intrusive manner and your insane

allegations! I want you to get out now!'

'How convenient that would make things for you, wouldn't it? Well, I

have no intention of leaving until this is resolved!' Matthew snapped,

then ran his gaze down the length of her body compulsively. 'Look at

you—butter wouldn't melt in your mouth until somebody crosses

you, then all hell breaks loose. What's the matter, darling, your

control of the situation slipping?'

'Get out!' she snarled, for he was quite right. Her rage was out of

control.

He brought his face down to hers and, nose to nose, shaped his

throaty words with a white flash of hard teeth and a ruthless mouth.

'Make me.'

Sian felt a flicker of insight and clutched at it. He was too taunting,

too provocative. How he would love for her to cause a scene in front

of everyone. Her green eyes narrowed, the raven slant of her sleek

brows pronounced. 'Oh, no,' she said gently, and gave him a

malicious smile. 'You haven't got what it takes to drive me that far

out of control.'

'Young lady,' he purred, the angles of his face taut and breathtaking,

those hazel eyes fierce, 'that sounds remarkably like a challenge.'

Sian's whole being was a weapon, as she replied breathily, 'What a

concept! Who could presume to challenge the opinions of one such

as you? By his own account, a man in a position of some authority!'

'Who indeed?' he agreed, in that soft, velvet and steel voice. 'One

would think only pyromaniacs would be so foolish.'

'While only insecure little men feel the need to prove themselves,' she

shot back, quick as a striking snake. If anything his hot gaze grew

even hotter, and his tiny smile should have warned her.

'Prove themselves in what area, Sian Riley?' he murmured

mockingly. Those hot eyes dropped, to the racing pulsemark in her

creamy throat, to her breasts. 'Prove themselves how many times, and

in what—position?'

Another woman might have recoiled from the sexual innuendo in

distaste or confusion, but she saw that it was what he expected, and

another wave of anger washed over her. She snapped nastily, 'I would

think you're just the type to know all about untenable positions!'

That had his roving gaze springing back to her angry expression in

amazement, then, to her astonishment, he threw back his tawny head

and laughed out loud. It came from his chest, free and infectiously

generous. Sian was encased in ice, however, and was not tempted.

'Darling,' he drawled in lazy amusement, 'there's nothing untenable

about my positions.'

'You would think so.' She matched him blow for blow, only her

amusement was cold and pitying. 'Personally, I'm unimpressed. I

never did see the attraction of a legend in one's own mind.'

She would have slipped away then, but his other hand dropped the

empty beer can and shot to hold her, and the shocking contact of his

warm long fingers curling around her bare arm made her teeth clash

together.

'No,' he said, his face dark and satiric, 'you prefer younger men who

are easily influenced by all the wrong things. Tell me, does Joshua

know what a temper you have? Has he ever borne the brunt of your

sharp tongue?'

This man was making her crazy. His confrontational, abrasive

attitude, his accusations, his warm touch on her sensitive skin, his

very presence—Sian felt goaded beyond endurance. She gritted,

reactive and rash, 'I guarantee that Joshua doesn't find my tongue

sharp at all.'

She heard his breathing halt as suddenly as if she'd knifed him; over

the noise and tumult of the party, she heard it. Or perhaps she had felt

it, through the searing physical connection. Or perhaps she had

imagined it, for his face was stone. She couldn't endure being so

close to him any more and tried to wrench away, but his fingers

tightened convulsively.

Matthew Severn said, with terrible simplicity and conviction, 'My

brother is not the man for you. Accept it, Sian.'

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two of her former class-mates