Was Peter’s expertise really worth so much? He was brilliant in the stock market, but it could also be intended to keep Dorothy from receiving more. It would be easy to do—accept a lower sales price and negotiate a handsome consultation fee in exchange.
As for the contract Peter was asking Dorothy to sign—it was short, dry and to the point...possibly because Peter didn’t want an official paper trail, referencing the embezzlement. It was the letter written to Dorothy, providing various sums and calculations, that helped the most. Matt reviewed the numbers he’d been scribbling on a sheet of paper about the sale of Hudson & Davidson. No matter how he worked the amounts, it didn’t look good.
Layne prodded his leg with her toe. “Did you spot something that might help?”
“I’m still looking. How about some ice cream?”
“I’ll get it.” Frowning, she got up and a few minutes later returned with a heaping bowl of Cherry Garcia for him, and a more modest one for herself.
“You need to eat more,” Matt said, trying to switch bowls with her. “You’ve lost weight and you don’t have any to spare.”
“Gee, thanks. Women just love being told they’re too skinny.”
“I’m not criticizing. I just mean you’ve generally lost weight. Your cheeks are thinner and your waist narrower. It isn’t healthy.” He stuffed a huge spoonful of Cherry Garcia into his mouth to keep from saying anything else.
* * *
MATT’S IRRITABLE REPLY told Layne he was genuinely upset.
“Is that why you keep feeding me?” she asked lightly.
“I feed you because we both have to eat, but now that you mention it, somebody needs to make sure you’re properly fed.”
She tried to filter his comment through her that’s-just-chauvinistic-bullshit meter, but it was hard to measure when he was plainly unhappy about something. She liked Matt; she just didn’t want to like him too much. And she had lost weight. Trust a man with an eagle eye when it came to women’s figures to notice a few pounds’ difference.
“Matt, quit saying dumb things and tell me what’s wrong.”
He swallowed another bite of ice cream. “All right. No matter how I look at it, the figures are a stretch, even without taking the consultation fee clause into consideration.”
Layne scrunched her nose. “You noticed the consultation fee, too. Pretty clever. The buyer gets a lower sales price, and Peter receives the same amount of money in the end.”
“There are valid business reasons to structure a sale that way, including managing tax liability. But it could also be to keep Dorothy from receiving anything more—he might figure your aunt won’t fight him unless it appears outrageous.”
“Or not at all, with his threat to bring everything out again about Uncle Will. He knows it would hurt Aunt Dee to have the case dragged into court.”
“That, too,” Matt affirmed sourly. “It’s lousy and unethical as hell. Offering your aunt twenty-five thousand dollars is practically an insult.”
Whoa.
Apparently all of the censors had come off Matt’s vocal cords, but Layne couldn’t deny how questionable it looked.
“And what if Peter did have something to do with the thefts?” Matt continued furiously. “What if he killed your uncle? My God, he’s married to my mother.”
Layne put her hand on his arm. “I know it probably won’t be any comfort, but I want to believe Uncle Will didn’t entirely misjudge his friend. And they were good friends, Matt. Once, a long time ago.”
He let out a long breath and lifted her hand, looking at her fingers as if he’d never seen them before. Very carefully he pressed his lips to her palm, his breath warm against her skin. Heat burned instantly in her abdomen.
“Matt...”
“Don’t say anything.” Matt put his bowl on the table and tugged her closer. He touched the tip of his tongue to the hollow of her throat, tantalizing her, then caught her mouth in a deep kiss.
Every inch of Layne’s skin burned, only it wasn’t the sultry air of a too-warm summer day—it was heat spreading from his hungry hands, exploring and moving clothes out of the way.
She gulped as Matt’s fingers slipped beneath her shorts, pressing against her center, dipping into the slick, dark space.
Part of her wanted to be annoyed about his obvious level of experience, but she already knew he must have been with more women than she would care to count.
“You’re not concentrating,” Matt breathed against her lips.
He touched her again, fingers sliding deeper, and all thoughts of other women vanished.
All at once the muscles in Matt’s shoulders bunched as he lifted her.
“The bedroom is upstairs, isn’t it?”
She nodded and held on to his neck as he trotted up the staircase, the newel post and polished wood railings flashing past. He stopped on the upper landing and looked around.
“Which door?”
“On the left.”
It was half-closed and he nudged it open. “Nice,” he whispered.
Her pulse slowed. “Except you don’t think it suits me, right?” Layne loved her bedroom, though she rarely let anyone in the family see how it was decorated. As a kid, she had filled her room with books and sports gear and pictures of famous newspeople. Now she had antique oak furniture to match the oak floor, including a high, four-poster bed, covered by a quilt in peach and sage-green. Full, soft white curtains hung at the windows and her photographs were enclosed in delicate porcelain frames.
It was beautifully, riotously feminine.
And she didn’t want to see her sisters or mother roll their eyes and make jokes about tomboy Layne McGraw choosing such incongruous decor.
“I think it looks just like you.” Matt kissed her throat before laying her on the bed.
Even if he wasn’t being sincere, Layne enjoyed hearing him say it. People often acted as if she was a sturdy, pint-sized version of the Little Engine That Could, instead of a woman.
Matt cupped her bottom, and Layne instantly lost interest in how anyone else saw her. Then all at once she remembered that the condoms in her bottom dresser drawer were probably expired, not having been needed in a while.
“Uh....” Layne wriggled upright, ignoring the hungry, grabbing demand between her legs. “Not to throw cold water on this, but do you have condoms that were made since the last ice age?”
Matt’s eyes gleamed. “A woman after my heart.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting two plastic-wrapped condoms. “They’re only a few months old.”
She let out a relieved sigh. Making love with Matt was insane, but she might go insane if they couldn’t finish what they’d started. “Good.”
He kissed her again and unfastened the thin laces between her breasts. It was only when he spread the edges open and stared at her shoulder that Layne remembered the dark bruise over her right collarbone.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“It’s nothing.”
“It isn’t nothing.” Matt traced the purple edges of the bruise, an intense frown on his face. “Is this from going off the road?”
“It was just a freak thing. I’d twisted around to look out the back window when we were hit. I was thrown against the door at an awkward angle, that’s all.”
He said something Layne couldn’t catch, then began kissing the discolored area, so gently she was barely aware of the touch.
Matt’s hands got busy, exploring the peaks of her breasts, and not to be outdone, she pulled the tails of his shirt free. He obliged by drawing the garment over his head, tossing it carelessly aside.
Ooh...my. Layne sucked air into her lungs.
His body was hard, lean and muscled in all the right places. He certainly didn’t have anything in common with her
last boyfriend, a guy who’d begun to spend too many extra hours at his desk drinking cappuccinos and taking the elevator instead of the stairs.
An instinctive urge to cover herself went through Layne. If only it were dark, then she wouldn’t wonder as much if he was looking at her and making comparisons. Yet her thoughts scattered as he sucked gently on one of her nipples, teasing the tip with his tongue, seeming to know how long and how much would send waves of need through her body.
Her shorts and his jeans went the way of their shirts and she laughed as her panties flew upward, only to be caught on one of the tall posts at the end of the bed.
Matt seemed particularly pleased about something, probably his aim, or lack of it.
“Mmm, boxers,” she said, pulling at the waist of his dark navy underwear.
“Disappointed?”
“Uh-uh.”
He settled into even more dedicated foreplay and Layne’s pulse raced impossibly faster. Finally he stripped the cover from the condom and invited her to roll the sheath down his swollen length. A moment later he eased into her, moving slowly.
Layne gasped as her body stretched to accommodate him; she couldn’t remember ever feeling so filled. But that was the last clear thought in her head. All else fled as Matt began thrusting, fast and hard, then slow and lazy, nearly withdrawing completely before returning until she finally exploded into a million pieces.
* * *
IT WAS AFTER dark when Matt’s eyes drifted open. Layne was curled against his side, her breathing slow and even. Her lacy panties still dangled on a high bed post, and he smiled, remembering how she’d laughed when they sailed there, instead of getting upset because things weren’t all rose petals and champagne.
His gaze drifted around the feminine room. She’d expected him to be amused by it, but it was like the rest of her home: simple, tasteful and uniquely Layne. No wonder she’d viewed his penthouse at the the Eisley Foundation building with confusion. It was no more personal than a hotel suite.
Layne stirred against him and he brushed his fingers over her silky brown hair; he was relaxed and sated and still wanted to make love to her again.
“You awake?” she whispered.
“Barely.”
“Me, too.”
Matt kissed the top of her head. Having sex with Layne was undoubtedly a mistake, but he’d have to deal with it later. He was too damned relaxed. It was the first time in weeks he’d felt this good, and the bizarre part was that Layne was both the cause of his tension and the cure.
For the most part, Matt didn’t care if people understood why he’d returned to Seattle, but it suddenly seemed important for her to know that he wasn’t just dabbling.
“Layne, do you remember me telling you about getting Remy Saunders to head up a research project?”
“Yeah, for ALS. It seemed like a big deal.”
“It is, and I should have told you why that project is so personal. You see, my best friend from childhood was diagnosed with ALS in January last year.”
Layne lifted her head and looked at him in horror. “That’s terrible. For anyone, but especially for someone so young.”
“He’s just a few months older than me. When things used to get crazy on the party circuit, I’d go visit him for a couple of days. He never judged me, and he didn’t envy me, either—he was simply a friend who accepted who and what I was.”
“We all need someone like that.”
“I’m not sure how well I understood it before, but I do now. And when he called about the diagnosis....” Matt’s throat closed for an instant. “Hell, it was as if someone had punched me in the stomach. All I could think was not Terry. Not my friend.”
“It must have been awful.”
“It was the worst day of my life. When I got off the phone, I punched the wall so hard I broke two bones in my hand. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen to people like Terry. He’s doing something real in the world, while all I’d ever done was play and live hard. And even with all my money, I couldn’t fix it.”
Layne silently held his hand, the way she’d done earlier.
“After a while I realized that the Eisley Foundation might be able to do something. But first I had to convince my grandfather. He wanted proof that I was serious and wouldn’t just abandon the foundation if I got bored.”
“So that’s why you started working at my uncle’s company.”
“Yeah. Peter knew what I wanted to do and created a position for me in the investment division. I worked hard, Layne, maybe to prove to myself that I could do it, as well as my grandfather.”
She didn’t say anything for a long minute. “So, when all of this started happening, you must have wanted to show loyalty to Peter, not just because he’s your stepfather, but because he had faith in you when no one else did.”
“Exactly.” Matt was grateful that Layne understood. “It’s still hard to believe that he might be trying to cheat your aunt. A month ago I would have sworn he was a stand-up guy. God, maybe I shouldn’t be director of the Eisley Foundation if I have such poor judgment.”
Layne’s eyes widened. “Are you looking for an excuse to quit?”
“No. I’ve made promises and I’m going to keep them, I just wonder if my critics might have a point about me.”
She didn’t say anything for a long minute, then sank back against her pillow. “Everybody makes mistakes. It doesn’t mean they have bad judgment.”
“I suppose.”
“And I have to say that discovering you have a few cracks in your supreme self-confidence is reassuring. Nobody likes people with a god complex, you know.”
Matt choked, both with surprise and laughter. Layne said the damnedest things, neatly poking holes in his ego. Yet the merry look in her eyes sobered quickly.
“Matt, you realize that finding a cure or effective treatment could take years, or even decades.”
“Or forever. But I have to try. Terry isn’t giving up. He’s a teacher and intends to keep teaching, even when he...if he becomes confined to a wheelchair.”
“Does he live in the Seattle area?”
“He has a place in Bellevue. His dad was my grandfather’s head groundskeeper at the mansion. That’s how we got to know each other. I’d come home from boarding school during the summer, and his dad would bring Terry with him to work. We did everything together...got in trouble, snuck into R-rated movies, had our first crush on the same girl, went hiking and swimming in the Puget Sound.”
“Yikes.” Layne shivered, despite the heavy, sultry air in the bedroom. “Even in summer the Sound is freezing.”
“You don’t notice it as much when you’re eleven.”
“I suppose not. So with all that, Terry became family.”
Family.
Matt nodded. That’s exactly what Terry was—a brother, the same as Aaron and Jake and Pierre.
* * *
LAYNE FELT MATT’S arm tighten around her.
Damn.
All this time she’d wanted to believe he was playing at philanthropy the way he’d played at everything else, but his raw honesty was impossible to discount. What a shock it must have been, learning his closest friend might die within a few years.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
She’d never had casual sex before, and it was obvious there was nothing casual or uncomplicated about Matthew Hollister either. When she’d gone to the foundation that first day, she’d seen him as little more than a plastic Ken doll, only to discover he was a whole lot more.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “You might have better luck getting things done if people knew what you’re trying to accomplish and why. People can do amazing things when they’re inspired.”
“Terry deserves his privacy.”
“Talk to him. Ask whether he minds
if you say ‘a close friend’ is dealing with the disease, and that’s why you came back to Seattle to start an ALS research project.”
“The press might discover he’s the friend.”
“He still might say it’s all right. Surely he knows why you took over the foundation from your grandfather.”
“Of course. I don’t want to give Terry false hope, but I thought it might help to hear what we’re doing. He won’t accept anything else.”
Layne thought about the Volvo in her driveway. It was a good bet that Matt had also wanted to help his friend financially.
“It’s odd,” Matt said thoughtfully. “I was originally going to take every penny of our annual budget and put it into searching for a cure, but I realized that would be irresponsible. And Terry agreed. Instead I’m evaluating the merits of each project or contribution and making sure the funds are being spent productively.”
“It sounds like a good plan.”
“Thank you.” Matt gave her a long, lingering kiss that was more sweet than sexy.
Sleep began overtaking her again and she yawned. There were never enough hours in the day to get everything done, so she tended to sacrifice her rest. Even now she felt as if she should be doing something instead of snogging Matt Hollister. Snogging...Layne suppressed a laugh. She’d never even heard that word before the Harry Potter books hysteria, now it was part of her lexicon.
Things changed.
Even Matt changed.
“You know what?” she murmured. “You may not be big on commitment, but you’ve taken over the Eisley Foundation for your grandfather, and are determined to find a cure for ALS. That sounds like a commitment to me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I’LL DO THE next call,” Matt offered.
Layne promptly handed him the phone and a copy of the Hudson & Davidson employee list pieced together from the cookbook.
Challenging Matt Page 22