Courting Chloe

by Nancy Warren

Unable to resist, she retrieved her tray of goodies and started offering them around. When she got to Matthew, who was chatting with Chuck about football, she said, “Would you care for a British appetizer?”

  Chuck chortled and grabbed one of the Yorkshire puddings, but Matthew simply looked down at her with everything carnal in his gaze without touching the food and said, “Yeah, I would.”

  Chuck’s attention was called away by his son looking for help in setting up a pick-up baseball game in the backyard, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Matthew said, “I’m hungry enough for a whole meal.” It should have sounded corny and laughable except that she knew exactly what he meant. The attraction between them was like an appetite, growing more urgent the longer it went unsatisfied.

  However, even her worst enemies had never accused Chloe of being an easy conquest. She looked up at him through her lashes and said, “It’s not dinnertime yet, Matthew.”

  She turned and walked away.

  To her shock and delight, he came up behind her and said, “The hell it isn’t.” He then hefted her tray out of her hands and set it on the closest table.

  “What are you—”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the open door to the backyard. “I want to talk to you.”

  “About what?” They were in the garden and the hot sun beat down on them. “Really, Matthew, I haven’t even got my straw hat.”

  He looked down at her, completely uninterested in the fact that UV rays were even now attacking her pale skin and she was defenseless but for the SPF in her Kiehl’s day cream. “It’s work related.”

  If he wanted to take the piss over her private investigation firm, she wasn’t in the mood. “Matthew, I am not a private investigator. I own a company called The Breakup Artist.”

  “I know.”

  She widened her eyes as the implication sank in. “You knew?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t leave the force because I was a bad detective.”

  “Oh.” Why had she never considered the possibility that she hadn’t been clever at all? That he’d known all along what she was up to?

  “I helped break you and Brittany up,” she said, feeling for some odd reason that she needed to confess.

  “I know.”

  Annoyance stole through her, curdling her stomach like lemon juice poured into milk. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He rocked back on his heels and appeared to contemplate some fascinating vista over her left shoulder. “I had my reasons.”

  “To make a fool of me, no doubt,” she snapped.

  “No.” His gaze moved to her face, his eyes sharp and piercing. “I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?” She was hot, irritable, and she’d gone to a great deal of trouble for nothing. Suddenly, the cool, green vistas of England beckoned to her. She could be shopping in Knightsbridge at this very moment, she could be sailing off the Isle of Wight at her friend Bunny’s home. She could be in Yorkshire, riding the moors with Jeremy Kirkbride. “I missed Wimbledon,” she said, following her train of thought to its station. “And the Henley Regatta.”

  “The Henley who?”

  “It’s not a who, it’s a what. A rowing race. I could have worn a smashing hat and drunk Pimms and ginger,” she said on a pout.

  “I am not following you at all,” he said, sounding as hot and irritable as she felt.

  “Well, that makes a nice change. You’ve followed me all over Austin.” She turned on her heel and stalked away from him.

  She heard him call out her name behind her but ignored him, of course, as one should always ignore a man who calls after one in that particular tone. The air was hot, the grass dry, and her dress felt like burlap against her skin.

  “And the Chelsea flower show,” she muttered to herself, thinking of the verdant lawns and exquisite flowers at the annual gardener’s paradise. In point of fact, she’d gone once with her mother and sworn never to go again, but just now the idea of geraniums arranged like the Milky Way and clumps of marigolds planted to resemble animals seemed charming and she was homesick for them all.

  Ahead of her a swimming pool sparkled, blue and inviting in the midst of the parched lawns and heavy air.

  “Chloe! Would you hold up a minute?”

  As though she were a horse. Or a convenience store during a robbery.

  “I’m glad you broke us up!” he finally shouted from behind her.

  Frankly, it was the last straw on the back of one camel who’d had just about enough of straw. She swung around. “Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?”

  “Because I want to talk to you.”

  He stalked up to her until they were inches apart. His eyes blazed at her, deep, blue, endless. “I am trying to thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “For getting me out of a relationship that wasn’t working.”

  She snorted. It wasn’t at all ladylike, and Mummy would have a fit if she heard such a thing coming from her only daughter, but this was Texas. “I shouldn’t think any relationship works that has you in it.”

  Instead of being angry, he seemed amused. He didn’t smile exactly, but the skin around his cheekbones lifted, lightening his face. “You think so?”

  She felt suddenly breathless. The air was too hot, too heavy, she couldn’t seem to get enough of it in her, and she was becoming lightheaded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  It seemed he’d moved closer, and she had no idea when or how it happened. She took a step back. Wary.

  “You and I have a relationship. We seem to get on okay.”

  “That’s because I am an extremely easygoing person,” she explained. “You and Brittany weren’t at all suited. She was too giving. Too nice for you.”

  “Uh-huh. So, you’re saying I need someone who isn’t giving or nice?”

  She wasn’t going to be trapped so easily, so she gave him her snootiest expression. “I do not make matches. My expertise is in breaking unsatisfactory ones.”

  “So, you’re just going to leave me like this? Broken up and single?”

  “I—” Her head felt as though it were full of bees. “I’m sure you’ll be—”

  Before she could finish the sentence, he pulled her to him and kissed her.

  It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was a thorough one. She was torn between pulling away or kissing him back when he raised his head and looked down at her, as though to gauge her reaction.

  “I don’t—I didn’t—” She was never at a loss for words. She was always the cool one, the one in control. How had one kiss from a too-tall, too-tough, too-arrogant Texan scrambled her wits? She took a step back. She heard the click of her heels on cement, but it didn’t register until she started to wobble.

  “Whoa,” he said, reaching for her, but it was too late. With a small cry, she toppled backward, endlessly, ridiculously. In slow motion she saw his mouth open but had no idea what he said because she hit the water and the splash drowned out everything else.

  The shock of falling into the pool was immediate. Chloe thought about spluttering, and gasping, and making a wretched mess of her hair, but the water was delicious, the kiss had been delicious and so she didn’t fight the deep, blue pull of the water, but sank until her feet touched bottom. She was minus one Valentino sandal, so she kicked off the other before pushing off with her bare feet and rising smoothly to the surface.

  “How’s the water?” he asked carefully, clearly wondering what her reaction would be.

  She laughed and floated on her back. “Delicious. Why don’t you join me?”

  “You are about the craziest woman…” he began as she closed her eyes against the sun and floated, feeling her dress billow around her like wings. Then she heard a splash and smiled up at the blue, blue sky.

  She wasn’t a bit surprised when she felt his hands on her, until she realized she was being towed. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t float. Not enough body fat.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Chloe,
who was floating effortlessly. Even though her eyes were still closed, she knew he was grinning at her. She let herself be pushed through the water, and it was wonderful, actually, the slight chill of the pool only emphasizing the sizzle that was going on just under her skin. Mmmm.

  They stopped moving and the gentle lap of ripples teased her skin. She felt his strength and stillness beside her and knew he’d reached shallow enough water that he could stand. Then the brightness of the sun behind her eyelids faded and she sensed him coming closer. She waited, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, for his mouth. It came at last, warm, wet, and tasting slightly of chlorine.

  He held her so she didn’t float away, but she had a wonderful sense of buoyancy, loved the way the water held her up with only the slightest assistance from the man kissing her. He took his time, going slowly. They’d waited forever for each other, all frustrated burn and sizzle, and now that he was kissing her, it felt as though they had endless time ahead of them and hurrying would be a crime. Yet, at the same time, she felt the building need within her.

  Letting her legs sink to the bottom of the pool, she started to rise, needing to press all of her against all of him, unable to keep waiting. He was so much taller than she that her toes didn’t quite touch bottom, so she twined her arms around his neck.

  Then, to her shock, he kicked her legs out from under her and pushed her shoulder so that she fell with a squeal, flailing and splashing as the water closed over her head.

  She emerged spitting water and fury. “What the hell—!”

  “Shut up and struggle. People are coming.”

  Chloe didn’t much mind an audience, but in view of the recent breakup and Brittany’s feelings, she understood the need for discretion. So she cried, “Help!” in what she hoped was a drowning female sort of voice, and tossed about artistically, until Matthew hauled her up against him and headed for the shallowest part of the pool. She imagined how they must look, like Rhett carrying Scarlett up the staircase if they’d both been caught in a rainstorm first. All wet, clinging clothes and dripping hair.

  In the name of artistic integrity, she put her arms around Matthew’s neck and turned her face into his chest. The nub of his nipple brushed her cheek and, turning her head a little further, she bit him there, through the wet shirt. He jerked and she smiled against him.

  That would teach him. Bully.

  He was warm and wet and she could feel his heart thudding. Oh, and he was so solid. His arms were all steely muscle and reassuring strength.

  “What happened?” Stella Carmody called out. “Chloe? Are you all right?”

  She kept her eyes shut and her face tucked against Matthew’s chest. How nice that they all cared so much about her, she thought, letting the little drama play out a bit longer.

  “She’s not saying anything. Is she dead?”

  “Of course I’m not dead,” she snapped, but her words were muffled by Matthew’s bulk.

  “Does she need artificial respiration?”

  Chloe felt the ripple against her lips as Matthew stifled a chuckle. “I don’t know. Give me some space to put her down.”

  She opened her eyes. The grass was nasty and stubbly and brown. She did not want to lie on it. So she fluttered her lids a few times theatrically and coughed. “I’m all right. Just had a shock, that’s all. You can put me down, Matthew. On my feet.”

  “What happened? How did you end up in the pool?”

  “Don’t English girls learn how to swim?”

  “Of course I can swim. I tripped and fell in and—” And what? “And knocked the wind out of myself, that’s all.”

  “It’s a good thing Matthew was on hand to save you.”

  After pushing her head under so she drank half of the very unpleasant tasting pool water. She glared at him. “Yes, it was.”

  “I’ve got all my clothes upstairs, honey. Would you like to change?”

  “I think I should get Chloe right home,” Matthew said before she could utter a word.

  “Yes,” she said in a faint voice. “I think that would be best. I’ve had a bit of a shock.”

  “Of course you have. But grab something dry first. At least let me lend you a sweat suit.”

  The notion of wearing a velour jogging suit filled Chloe’s soul with horror. “No, please. We’ll soon dry off.”

  “Oh, honey, you’re not thinking straight. At least let me get you some towels.”

  “All right. Thank you.”

  And within a minute, she was walking down the cul de sac, Matthew’s arm around her, dabbing her face and hair with a fluffy pink towel.

  “Nice party.”

  “You’re walking too quickly.”

  “In a hurry to get home.”

  The gaze he sent along with the words had lust shivering through her. She didn’t reply, assuming her cat-who-got-the-cream smile would be all the answer he needed.

  They arrived at his house first and, grabbing her hand, he hauled her in a delightfully he-man way through the back door and into his kitchen. He pushed her bodily against the fridge, kissing her as he did so, and she felt the heat of him through all their damp clothing.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a lazy, sexy voice, since she knew exactly what he was doing. He was undoing the three buttons that held her bodice closed. With his big fingers, he wasn’t particularly adept with the small, wet, cloth-covered buttons, but what he lacked in talent he made up for in determination.

  She let him wrestle with the buttons, enjoying the feel of him against her, the heat they were generating, and the knowledge of what was ahead. He managed one button. With more fevered kissing and some muttered swearing, he got the second button open. He grunted in exasperation and she heard the ping and rattle as the third hit the floor and rolled.

  “Very good—you only broke one button.”

  “Your buttons are too small,” he said, kissing her.

  “Your hands are too big,” she countered, nipping at his lower lip.

  One of his big hands plunged beneath the flap of fabric and cupped her breast. She shivered.

  He pulled his head back enough to look down at her. “You cold?”

  “I’ve been dragged for miles down a public street while soaking wet, and I am currently pressed against a refrigerator.”

  His grin was slow and lazy, making her stomach curl. “I asked if you were cold.”

  One of the things she liked best about him was the way he could see right through her. She smiled back at him. “No,” she said, pulling his head down so she could kiss him again. It was true. She didn’t think she’d ever been quite so hot.

  As though the one-word answer had flipped a lever, Matthew went into overdrive. His big hands were everywhere, warming her where he touched.

  He plunged under her skirt and dragged at her wet panties, which clung to her thighs as though trying to protect her modesty. He fought them and won, of course. She was certain he wasn’t a man who gave up when he wanted something badly enough, and he wanted her. Almost as much as she wanted him.

  She stepped out of the scrap of limp silk, surprised there wasn’t steam coming off their damp clothing. This time when he reached under her skirt, there was nothing in his way. He touched her in that magic spot and suddenly the teasing between them was gone.

  “I need to… I just need to…” he managed.

  “Yes,” was all she said, and then he was pressing against her.

  A tiny groan came from his throat. “Just a second. Don’t move,” he said and raced away, returning in about ten seconds with a handful of condoms.

  Good. Even in the heat of passion, she liked a man to be prepared.

  He attacked his own belt and she stood back and watched, enjoying his frantic haste, feeling the same urge licking at her. Hurry, her body seemed to be saying. Hurry.

  He had the belt undone, was unbuttoned, unzipped, and then he yanked at his jeans. They stuck. He cursed. He hopped around on his good leg, dragging the wet denim down, and it had to
be the most ungainly thing she’d ever seen.

  “That’s quite the striptease routine,” she said. “You must have been practicing.”

  “Shut up, or help.”

  She decided to shut up. It was much more interesting watching him cavort around and the way he twisted and turned showed off the lines of his body. She loved that body.

  Cursing, he finally managed to get the damn things down. He’d dragged his briefs down at the same time so she was treated to a sight that stopped her smart mouth in its tracks.

  He was big, hard, and gorgeous.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him. You’d think she’d never seen a naked man before.

  He didn’t seem at all put off by her fixed scrutiny. In fact, his lovely cock waved to her in greeting as Matthew came toward her. He hadn’t taken off his shirt, or she her dress, and it didn’t matter. They’d waited so long, it seemed to her dimly, as she felt her skirt lifted. She didn’t want to wait one more second.

  Matthew donned the condom much more smoothly than he’d divested himself of his wet jeans, and then he was hot on her, his mouth so warm against hers, his tongue no longer teasing, but possessing her mouth. His hand reached for her, touching her where she was almost unbearably hot. She gasped, fearing she’d explode right then and there. But he wasn’t the type to take chances, and she wasn’t surprised when he explored her gently with his fingers. “You feel so good, so wet.”

  Her reply was an unintelligible murmur.

  She felt him smile against her mouth and then he hoisted her up against him with such ease that she felt small and dainty. And powerful.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and slid down. He held her, easing her onto him even though, if left to her, she’d have done her usual and rushed into things. Thrown herself onto him. As it was, she felt the wonderful slow stretch as he pressed up and into her.

  She felt for a moment that they were sealed together, inseparable. Wet clothing clinging to wet clothing on the top of their bodies, naked and joined below. She felt the muscles of his butt clenching under her pressing heels, felt the strength of him inside her, where she was so open and wanting.

  “Oh, Matthew, it’s so good,” she cried, and that seemed to set him off. No more restraint. No more being careful. He pounded into her, and she pounded back. She felt high off the earth, unrestrained and yet held tight. It was marvelous. Erotic. Her back banged against the fridge in a thumping rhythm that was broken when she heard a sound like shattering glass and she squealed.