by Megan Hart
“Starving, actually.” She put a hand on her stomach, which was jumping with nerves as well as hunger.
He smiled. “I can make something. Nothing fancy. Spaghetti? Garlic bread?”
Oh, exactly the right thing for an intimate interlude. She laughed, wondering again if she’d misjudged him. “Sure. Sounds great. What can I do to help?”
“Salad in the fridge, if you want to put that together.”
They moved together expertly, stepping out of each other’s way as he puttered with the pot of water and she rinsed the lettuce and cut the tomatoes to add to a large stoneware crock he handed her from the cupboard. He poured her a glass of wine she wasn’t sure she wanted after two iced teas and an equal number of Manhattans, but she took it anyway and sipped. It was good, even to someone who didn’t usually like wine.
They ate together from mismatched plates and flatware at an antique-looking table in the small dining room. Matthew kept her glass filled. His too. He twirled a fork of spaghetti and held it out for her. Later, when Stella did the same for him with a bite of the cheesecake he’d pulled from the freezer to thaw during dinner, he circled her wrists with his fingers and held her hand steady while he bit the dessert.
He didn’t let go.
If he kissed her, she thought, she would slide herself onto his lap and straddle him. She’d taste wine and garlic and cheesecake on his tongue and it would be delicious. She would rock her cunt against his cock and urge his hands to grip her ass and hold her closer.
If he kissed her.
He let go of her wrist, but not her gaze. His tongue touched the center of his bottom lip for a second. He blinked, blinked again, something faltering in his gaze. He’d snagged her with it before, but now he was letting her go.
“Stella...”
She never gave them her real name, and this was one of the reasons why. When she was someone else, it didn’t matter what they said or did, all those men who didn’t know her. It didn’t matter who they thought she was. Maria, Lavinia, Suzanne, Amy, Lisa, Karen, Debbie.
“Shhh.” She shook her head, willing him not to say anything else. She didn’t want to hear him tell her this had been a mistake, that she should go, or worse, that she could stay anyway. “Matthew. Shh.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, brow furrowed against some small pain. When he opened them she saw desire, but also something else. Guilt, she thought. Anxiety of some kind. It alarmed her enough to push back a little, the legs of her chair squeaking on the tile floor.
“I want to kiss you so much right now,” Matthew said in a low, rough voice on the edge of breaking. He blinked rapidly and licked his bottom lip again. “I just...want...so much...”
This she understood. This she knew. Stella drew in a breath, mind racing even as her heart thumped faster. “So kiss me, Matthew.”
He gave his head the smallest shake, not quite a denial. More as though he’d found himself not unwilling, but incapable. His fingers gripped the edge of the table. Stella got up carefully, making sure not to scrape the chair on the floor any more than she had done. Now he had to tip his head to look up at her, though he didn’t otherwise move. She took a step back, then another. Matthew stayed motionless except for the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
“I’ll get a cab,” Stella said quietly. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. It was nice...meeting you, Matthew.”
The words felt stale and sour, certainly not sincere, but this was awkward enough without her trying to escape without at least an attempt at civility.
In the hallway, she let her hands shake as she tugged her still-damp coat from the hanger and lifted her bag. She screamed when she straightened and closed the closet door to find Matthew directly on the other side. He looked as startled as she was, and he caught one of her flailing arms to keep her from knocking into the mirror hung on the wall next to the closet.
Babbling words rose to her lips, a string of some senseless apologies on a stutter of breath. The adrenaline rush of fear pushed her heartbeat into an even faster, unsteady rhythm. Made her light-headed and spinny, her feet slipping a little on the wet floor.
“You scared me.” She put a hand on her heart, fingers slightly curled, and gave a self-conscious laugh.
“I’m sorry.” He ran a hand over his head, his hair too short to rumple, though she got the idea that maybe he was used to wearing it longer, that he was accustomed to pushing it out of his eyes. “I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not.” She pressed her palm against her chest for another moment before touching his arm. “Really.”
They both looked down at the touch of her fingertips on his bare skin. He was warmer than she’d expected, or maybe it was because she was so suddenly chilled. Her nipples tightened, and she was sure he could see them. The crisp, curling dark hairs on his skin tickled her knuckles. She wanted to let go, she knew she should let go, but as Matthew stepped closer and pulled her into his arms, all Stella could do was hold him tighter.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmured with his mouth all at once so close to hers that every word he spoke sent a shivery breath across her lips. “I just...”
Stella didn’t waste more time with words. She moved against him so there’d be nothing for him to do but let his mouth press hers. It was as sweet as it was strange, that first kiss. It lasted a few seconds before he broke it, eyes closed, not moving more than a breath away. She didn’t have time to count even a heartbeat before he was kissing her again, harder this time, but not rough. Her mouth opened as her hands slid up and over his firm chest to link behind his neck.
He tasted as good as she’d imagined, maybe better because she’d been so sure she wouldn’t find out. He backed her up a step, then another, his mouth never leaving hers. The wall pressed against her back, Matthew’s body a delicious counterpressure at her front.
Whatever had stopped him before had gone away. His hands moved over her breasts, belly, hips. One centered on her lower back as the other cupped the back of her neck. His tongue stroked hers.
This kiss ended with them both panting, breathless. He stared into her eyes, and she was close enough now to see the green ripples in his irises and the thick black fringe of his lashes. He licked his mouth again as he tilted his head to angle his mouth toward hers, but he stopped just before kissing her again.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I want to.”
She never wondered what the men thought when she went with them to their hotel rooms or to shadowy corners. She never cared. She wasn’t interested in knowing them any more than she assumed they wanted to know about her. Already she’d spent more time learning Matthew than she had any man since... Well, since Craig. And all of that in the past few hours.
Matthew’s thumb stroked her jawline. The hand at the small of her back pressed her against the thickness in his groin. He brushed his mouth along her cheek to nuzzle at her ear, his breath hot. His shoulders lifted and fell with a sigh before he mouthed her neck. Her head tipped back at the wet slide of his tongue on her skin, then the nip of his teeth along her collarbone.
“Yes,” she breathed, and gave herself up to each small pleasure. “Like that.”
Desire had become the one true constant in her life, the only feeling she could count on never to disappoint her. Desire required nothing from her. No investment. No responsibility. All desire wanted was to be sated. It was physical, and therefore, could be killed.
She pushed his hand between her legs, the denim an inconvenient and unaccustomed barrier. Still, when his knuckles rubbed at the seam of her jeans, it pressed her clit so sweetly she bit her lip with the pleasure. His mouth returned to hers, the kiss teasing and taunting her until all she could do was open her mouth and let him take it however he wanted.
Matthew worked her button free, then the zipper. He slid his fingers into her pa
nties and unerringly found her clit. He dipped a little lower to slide along her folds, then up again. She wasn’t quite wet, and Matthew withdrew his hand long enough to slick his fingers with his mouth before sliding them again into her panties. It was such a simple thing, not showy, just practical, but lust pulsed through her, making her throb around his fingers as he pushed them inside her.
Matthew shuddered a little against her, his tongue dipping inside her mouth before he broke the kiss again. He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. Pinned by his hands behind her neck and between her legs, Stella could only return the look.
His mouth teased at hers. “Bedroom, down the hall.”
She followed him, their fingers linked. His room was sparely furnished with a bed on a Hollywood frame, no head-or footboard, made up with a plain blue comforter and several pillows in white cases. A small bedside table, a match of the one in the hall, held a lamp with a plain white shade, a utilitarian-looking black clock with red numbers, and a tissue box. The dresser in one corner and the surprisingly beautiful armoire in the other were antiques too, of softly curving wood inlaid with a pretty pattern and equally lovely ornate handles. No curtains, just a plain white roller shade. Through another narrow doorway, past the black wooden door with the crystal knob, she could see what looked like a white-and-black-tiled bathroom. The hint of a claw-foot tub.
Inside the room, Matthew let go of her hand. He gestured at the bathroom. “If you want to...”
“Oh. Sure, yeah.” She definitely could use the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and ran the water in the sink, which had the cutest old-fashioned taps. She didn’t peek inside his medicine cabinet, though she wanted to. She blotted her face, studying her reflection.
She could still keep track of the number of men she’d fucked. She didn’t need to know or remember their names to recall the taste of each of them. The length and thickness of their pricks. The smell of their cologne. She didn’t have to be able to pick them out of a crowd for each one of them to have been imprinted on her in some way. They’d all left their mark.
But not on Stella. On someone else, whoever she was when she put on the lipstick and the lace. Stella didn’t walk in those high-heeled pumps, but Stella’s was the face that looked at her from this mirror now.
What the fuck was she doing?
Stella gripped the sink with both hands and listened to the rush of water with her eyes closed for a moment or two. She should walk out. Get her coat and purse and carry-on the way she’d meant to, call a cab. Leave this apartment and this man behind her, no matter how sweet his kiss. His touch.
She used the toilet and then automatically used the sink again to clean herself. She laughed, the sound low and shaky, as her fingertips moved in the heat of her flesh. She could tell herself whatever she wanted, but she was going to go out there and fuck him, because something inside her made her helpless to stop herself.
Because she wanted to fuck him.
She wanted to.
That was the simple truth of it, and she could be ashamed, or she could be honest. She could be brave and bold, she could be a little crazy, or she could embrace this desire, because she certainly could not deny it.
Stella looked at herself in the mirror again. This was who she was, even without the hair, the makeup, the clothes. Here she was.
She slipped out of her cardigan to be in just the tank top beneath, her nipples already jutting against the thin fabric. The blessing of small breasts meant she could go without a bra when she wanted, and though she normally didn’t, she was glad she had done so today. The granny panties were going to be bad enough. If she’d worn the bra she’d packed, wash-worn and faded, she’d have been too embarrassed to take off her clothes.
Matthew hadn’t taken anything off, but he had turned down the bed and sat on the edge of it with his head bowed. He looked up when she came out of the bathroom, and his smile looked sincere even if it was only half the brilliance it had been earlier. She moved to stand between his knees, her fingers brushing over the short scrub of his hair before she cupped his face in her hands and tipped his head back.
She didn’t kiss him, not at first. She just looked at him. The bedside lamp had pretty decent light, golden, casting half his face in shadow. She traced the lines at the corners of his eyes, then the shallower ones bracketing his mouth. She touched the silver in his hair and the scruff of beard growing in on his chin and cheeks. This was a man who’d lived.
One fingertip moved over his eyebrows, one at a time. Matthew closed his eyes under her touch, still smiling. When she drew a finger over his lips, they parted just enough for her to slip the point of her index finger inside. He bit it gently, then sucked, and the sensation sent a delicious shudder all through her.
He opened his eyes. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs to cup her ass, though he didn’t pull her closer. She thought he would lie back on the bed, maybe pull her on top of him. Instead, he pressed his cheek against her belly, just below her breasts. She’d noticed before the heat of his skin and felt it now through her tank top. He was a furnace. Her hand stroked the back of his head and found the back of his neck.
They stayed that way for what felt like a very long time, breathing in. Breathing out. She wondered if he heard her heart beating or if it was only the pulse in her throat and wrists, the rush of it in her ears that made it seem so loud.
Matthew murmured something she didn’t catch and tipped his head back to look up at her. The phone on the bedside table rang just as she kissed him, but Matthew shook his head when she started to pull away. He shifted on the bed, tugging her down next to him.
“Let it ring.” In the next minute, though, his pocket rang. He sighed, defeated, and moved to pull out his cell phone. He looked at the screen and frowned. “Sorry. I should’ve known she’d just keep calling until I answer.”
Stella sat back on the bed, giving him space to answer the call. Awwwwwkward. As Matthew answered, she gestured, pantomiming that she was going to go out to get her own cell phone. She couldn’t be sure he understood her charade, but he nodded.
“Yeah. Hi.” He sounded brusque.
Stella ducked out of the room to get her purse. No messages from Tristan or his father. She shrugged off her worry, but it didn’t go far. She sent another quick text as she walked back toward the bedroom.
“What do you want me to do about it? Well, buy them what they need. You take care of it. You don’t need my... No. Of course not. Well, if they were with me, I’d do it, but they’re not. Yes, I’ll have them next weekend. You’re the one who said they needed the stuff right now. If it can wait, sure, I’ll take them. If not... Look,” Matthew said sharply, “I don’t see what the problem is.”
Stella paused, not wanting to intrude. She typed another message to Jeff, and with reservations, added one to Cynthia too. She didn’t like going to Jeff’s wife for things, but the fact was Cynthia, God love her, did keep track of everything much better than Jeff did. Stella remembered how that had been.
“Just take care of it, then! Christ, Caroline. What do you want me to say?”
Silence. The creak of the bed. Matthew sighed. Stella gently pushed the door open, and he looked up.
“Hey,” she said.
His smile looked tired. “Hi. Sorry about that.”
She came in and sat next to him. “It’s fine.”
“It’s my ex,” he explained, though she’d figured that part out. “Something with the kids. I don’t really know why she can’t just deal with it, but she likes to mess with me, make me feel guilty under the guise of keeping me ‘in the loop.’”
He made air quotes with his fingers, a gesture Stella would’ve found irritating but for the fact that he’d used the word guise correctly. She was such a sucker for a good vocabulary, it wasn’t even funny. She shrugged and nudged him with her shoulder, teasing.
Matthew brushed some hair off her face, then over her shoulder. When his gaze went to her mouth, she anticipated the kiss and leaned in...just as his phone rang again. He muttered an expletive.
“I’m not answering it.”
She laughed and kissed him, spoke against his mouth. “You probably should. Or turn it off.”
“Yeah...” They melted into the kiss. His hands slid up her body to cup her breasts, and he thumbed her nipples.
His phone beeped with a voice mail. A moment later, a text. Matthew groaned and buried his face against the side of her neck while Stella laughed and petted his hair.
“Maybe you should call her back,” she offered, taking a peek at the phone. The text was simple to read: ANSWER YOUR PHONE.
He sighed, looked at the text and frowned. He didn’t listen to the voice mail, just tapped in a number. “What?”
Ouch. Stella settled back on the bed, watching Matthew as he got up from the bed to pace. He spoke with his hands when he got upset, his face expressive. Studying him was a guilty pleasure, since he looked very, very fine when he was angry. She was glad she wasn’t on the other end of the phone.
“Why do we have to have this discussion now? Let me talk to them.” He frowned and tossed up his hand. “Of course they’re in bed, why would you call me when they’re awake so I could actually talk to them? I did call them. I left a message. Christ, Caroline, if you don’t answer the house phone, I figure it’s because you’re busy or, you know, out and about doing something that you should be paying attention to, not answering your damn cell phone. Like driving, maybe you should pay attention instead of answering the phone, right?”
He paused, cutting a sort of guilty-looking glance toward Stella. “No, I’m at home. Yes, I’m alone.”
Stella considered feeling offended, but knew she’d have said the same thing if the situation were reversed. She carefully kept her eyes on her own phone. Matthew tossed his phone in the dresser drawer and climbed up on the bed.