“What the hell is that, paint thinner?”
Lisette muttered something that didn’t sound complimentary, then held out the glass again. “Is excellent gin that I brought up from N’Awlins, beau. Drink it.”
He reluctantly took the glass.
“You’re welcome.” More muttering.
“Thank you.” He took a cautious sip. The liquid seared a path down his throat and he coughed up a fireball. “Gin my ass!”
Lisette snorted, took the glass from him and tossed back the contents. “My family has been making gin for generations. This is a particularly fine batch.”
He noted the lack of flames licking along her words with narrow-eyed suspicion.
She rolled her eyes and tilted her head toward Grace’s door. “What’d you do?”
God, he’d rather drink more of that pipe cleaner she called liquor. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I may have been a little…bossy.”
“Lawd above.” Laughter tinkled out of her for a solid two minutes. Finally, she wiped her eyes and twisted to face him, her expression sobering. “Fellas aren’t all that bright when it comes to romancing, so I’ll let you in on a little secret. Women don’t like being bossed around and treated like they don’t have two brain cells to rub together in their pretty li’l heads.”
Matt frowned. “But I didn’t—”
A paint-smudged hand smacked up a half inch from his nose. “You sittin’ out here in the cold, ain’t ya?”
He crossed his arms.
“Grace is whip-smart, but she’s also terrified of anything that looks too much like a relationship. Even friendship is hard for her. Ya have to walk softly, not plow through with all the finesse of a gator in a tea party. You bossin’ her feels too much like…” she flicked her fingers, “…like permanence. Like you demanding a place in her life, when she don’t wanna give ya one, and sure as heck don’t believe you’ll stay.”
A man appeared in the stairwell carrying a heavy tool box and sporting a snazzy work outfit emblazoned with the company’s insignia. Pushing to his feet, Matt extended his hand to Lisette. She snagged it, rose gracefully to her feet, and surprised him with a quick, fierce hug before disappearing back into her condo as quickly as she’d appeared.
Matt nodded to the workman as he passed, then jogged down the stairs. Lisette’s parting whisper rolled through his mind.
“Stick like taffy, no matter what. She needs you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.”
At least Grace had called a locksmith. Hopefully, with some, or a lot, of groveling, he could fix the disaster he’d made of things. If not… He shook his head. No, he couldn’t even contemplate that. It’d kill him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Grace shut the door behind the locksmith and slid the shiny new keys into her pocket. On her person at all times, Detective Harrison had said. Taking an extra step of precaution, she’d even had the guy install a sturdier lock on her balcony door. He’d sworn on his “sweet dead granny’s” grave she held the only keys to her new locks.
With a groan of sheer exhaustion, she collapsed onto her bed. Except it didn’t feel like her bed. She religiously made her bed every morning. This bed was a disaster and didn’t smell right. It smelled like musky sex and Matt. She pulled a pillow over her face. And inhaled Matt. Just her luck.
She scrambled off the bed, shucked her clothes, and tossed them in the hamper. Then she stripped the bed and tossed the sheets and pillowcases in the hamper. She remade the bed, arranging the fresh sheets and blankets with exacting precision. OCD impulses satisfied, she crawled beneath the covers and buried her face in a pillow—that still smelled like Matt.
“Mother loving stinkin’ pansy petals.”
She flung the pillow across the room. It made a dull thud against the wall. She yanked another pillow across the bed and smacked it into shape. Tugging the blankets over her shoulders, she rolled onto her stomach. Then onto her side, cursing a green streak and insulting every flower she could think of.
Matt’s scent permeated the fibers of every single bit of bedding she owned. He hadn’t even slept on this pillow and she could smell him. The covers pulled up around her nose smelled of him. How the flip was she supposed to sleep? A girl couldn’t even throw a guy out without being haunted by him.
Flopping onto her back, she stared at the ceiling. She could admit…grudgingly…to herself at least, that she could see Matt’s point. He had suggested—as if he knew how to “suggest” anything—she get the locks changed a while ago. She hadn’t. Plus, she had kinda glazed over after seeing the doll on her couch. His truly spectacular job of totally pissing her off had jerked her out of that bizarre state.
Maybe the doll was laced with some weird inhaled narcotic.
Regardless, she’d probably come down pretty hard on Matt. Snuggled into her very big and very empty bed alone had little appeal. She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. 11:42 pm. Sighing, she glared at her bedside phone. What kind of desperate woman called a man in the middle of the night to come over?
Her fingers twitched. Well, she wasn’t calling to demand sex. They didn’t even need to have sex. Her pebble-hard nipples and the insistent throb between her thighs said otherwise, but she ignored them.
She reached for the phone. If he didn’t answer in two rings, she’d hang up. One…
“Hello?”
“Matt. I didn’t expect…I mean, did I wake you?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep.” The sound of his husky baritone made her arousal worse. “Is something wrong?”
“No. I, um, had the locksmith come out. I even had a new lock installed on the balcony door.”
“That’s good.”
Twining the blanket round and round her finger, she stared at the play of shadows across the wall. How did a woman go about asking a man to come over in the middle of the night, anyway?
Matt cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry about the way I acted tonight. I know how you feel about me bossing you around. I just…”
“I appreciate your concern. I…uh…I haven’t had a relationship in a long time. This is new and weird and I reacted badly. I’m sorry.”
“Wow. I didn’t think women said they were sorry.”
She frowned. “Is that some wisecrack or are you actually serious?”
“I would not be cracking wise right now. Scout’s honor.”
“Then you’re serious, which is somehow even more disturbing. So, what was her name?”
Silence. “Uh, Grace?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s nearly midnight. Did you really call just to chat?”
Well, crap. She sighed and mumbled, “I sorta called ‘cause I missed you and wondered if you’d come over.”
“Come again?”
“Seriously? You’re gonna make me repeat it?”
“Yeah, you’d better. I’m pretty sure I just fantasized you saying you missed me and wanted me to come over. Now.”
Giggling, she rolled onto her back. “Probably because I did.”
Click. Eyes going wide, she sat up and stared at the phone. Had he just hung up on her?
“Hello? Matt?”
Her lower lip jutted out and she slammed the phone into its cradle. Great.
Burying her nose in the Eau de Matt pillow, she shut her eyes and counted sheep. Then cows. Out of desperation, she switched to Great Danes. At the eighty-ninth Great Dane, someone pounded on her front door and she bolted upright.
“Grace?”
He’d come. Grinning like a fool, she clambered out of bed and flew across the condo. Throwing open the door, she didn’t get a chance to say a word before he swept her into his arms and kissed her. What a kiss! She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and kissed him back with abandon.
The door slammed shut. Matt fumbled for the locks without breaking their kiss and carried her to her room, bumping into things a handful of times before hitting the side of the bed. His warm calloused hands roamed her
body. Only then did she realize she’d answered the door in her birthday suit. His hands coasted around to cup her bottom and she forgot to care.
He set her on the bed, to her mewling objections. She had needs. Needs that needed addressing. Now. When he started yanking off clothes, she quieted. Watching a man strip was incredibly erotic. Especially when his erection sprang free.
Grace slid off the bed and dropped to her knees as he wrestled with his clothes, swearing under his breath. She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, licked her lips and guided him into her mouth. He stilled as she sucked him deep. Pulling back, she sucked the head and swirled her tongue like he was a Tootsie Pop.
His hands fisted in her hair, but he didn’t try to take over. He just held on. A move she rewarded by taking him all the way to the back of her throat and swallowing. His thigh muscles turned to steel beneath her hand and his shaft pulsed. Easing back, she increased the suction of her mouth and ran her tongue across the tip.
“Grace, I can’t…”
She swallowed him again and he broke off with a deep, guttural groan. Cupping his sack in her other palm, she rolled it gently between her fingers and swallowed. Hands gentle, he cupped her cheeks and withdrew from her mouth. She released him with an audible, reluctant “pop.” The taste of his sex lingered.
He bent down, stepped in the middle of the shirt he’d been struggling to remove and yanked. With a loud rip of fabric, he was free.
He didn’t linger over the wreckage of his oxford. He lifted her off her knees and tossed her on the bed. His enthusiasm set off giggles. He followed her down and thrust deep in one smooth motion, cutting her off mid-giggle.
Raw sensation spun out. She arched and hung on for dear life. He found a sharp, hard, pounding stroke. The tempo shot her straight to the edge and held her there.
Matt wrapped one arm beneath her shoulders and cradled the back of her head in his hand, kissing her in a blatant echo of his hips. His other hand ran down her side, over and under her hip. Cupping her bottom, he angled her hips up and thrust deeper. Orgasm washed over and through her, and he followed, his muscles tensing and groaning his release into her mouth.
In the aftermath, she clung to him, savoring his weight. His lips trailed down her jaw to her neck.
“I missed you,” he murmured against her skin.
Too breathless to laugh, she smiled. “You weren’t gone long.”
“Felt like an eternity.”
He rose onto his elbows. The deep-brown depths of his eyes were sober. Terrifyingly serious. No. She didn’t want serious. He moved inside her and her thoughts fractured.
“You’re insatiable.”
“Only with you.” He held her gaze. “I could make love to you for a hundred years and it wouldn’t be enough.”
His words rang with sincerity and she recognized her own feelings in them. Panic flowed beneath the surface of her desire. Another deep thrust buried the alarm deeper, but she knew it would be there. Waiting.
Grace blew hair out of her eyes and resumed scrubbing. The en suite bathroom sparkled. The floor was the only thing left. Taking a scrub brush to it had seemed a touch over the top, but she’d shrugged and gone for it. Once she was finished with the bathroom…
A spot caught her eye and she attacked with relish. Anything but think about the hunk’a-hunk’a-burnin’-love sleeping in her bed—and the declaration in his eyes. He hadn’t run out of steam until almost two a.m., it was now six and she’d been up for an hour. At least her bathroom was lemony fresh. She was pretty sure her stove needed a thorough cleaning too. It would be getting one regardless.
“I missed you.”
“It felt like an eternity.”
She scrubbed harder, backing toward the door as she went. The bedroom carpet forced her to stop and drop the brush into the mop bucket. Rocking back on her heels, she draped her forearms on her knees and stared at the shiny bathroom.
Long-term didn’t work for her, no matter how much she wished otherwise. No matter how much her feelings had deepened. Not a good sign. Then again, calling him in the middle of the night hadn’t been a great sign either. What had she been thinking?
Sex. It was just sex.
If only she could believe that, but the big galoot had won over much more than her body.
“Ruby-red roses,” she moaned.
“What was that about roses?” a husky masculine voice asked from behind her.
She turned. He lay on his side, head propped on his hand, sheet draped low over lean hips and looking yummy with bed head.
She couldn’t help smiling. “Nothing.”
“What are you doing over there?” His brow rose. “And you’re dressed. The rubber gloves are kind of kinky, but I’m willing to give anything a go once.”
Peeling them off and draping them over the side of the bucket, she laughed. “Hungry?”
“Yes.”
The low rumble in his voice warned her half a second too late. Warm, delicious-smelling male arms tugged her backward into the bed. Another half second and his hand was beneath her shirt. Liquid desire pooled between her thighs.
“Matt, I can’t.”
“Why not?” His mouth skimmed her throat.
Despite her denial, she angled her head to accommodate him. “I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Walking is overrated.”
“I can’t just…” She moaned.
Blunt fingers pinched her nipple and rolled it, while he found her favorite spot along her neck.
“You’re not playing fair.”
“Did I say I would?”
“Seriously, I…”
The hand tormenting her nipple traveled south, slipped inside the loose waistband of her sweats and spread her liquid arousal in ever-widening circles. Her eyes might have crossed when his fingertips glided over her clitoris. Breathing ceased when he inserted two fingers. Panting, she tried to think. She could have sworn she had declared a ceasefire with her body, written up a truce of accord and agreed single life really shouldn’t be underestimated.
Instead, her body betrayed her by arching into the naked man tormenting her and incited a mutiny. The nerve. This whole sleeping-with-the-enemy thing had gotten totally out of control.
Pretty sure she couldn’t move a single muscle if her life depended upon it, Grace sprawled on her back and stared at the ceiling. Her chandelier was dirty and cobwebby looking. Maybe she should have tackled the fixture instead of her bathroom. Taken it down and dismantled it for a thorough cleaning.
Sounded like a lot of work. Her eyelids drooped.
The bed shifted as Matt climbed out. She was a limp noodle and he was full of boundless energy. Must’ve sucked all her energy out with sex. Rolling over, she curled into a ball and let her eyes close.
A firm whack on her backside brought her upright and glaring.
Matt grinned. “Come on, sleepyhead. You mentioned feeding me.”
“That was before.” She lay back down.
The grin grew. She ignored the dimple and closed her eyes. Covered a huge yawn with her hand. Warm hands wrapped around her ankles and dragged her across the bed.
“Matt,” she moaned.
He freed her ankles, grabbed her wrists and hauled her up until she was sitting. A few really choice names came to mind. Then his chest pillowed her head and she relaxed. Never mind. This worked.
He wrapped his arms around her and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I can carry you out to the car, but I don’t know any restaurants offering nude dining.”
The humor in his voice tickled the edges of her temper, but she was too tired. He was abnormal. No one should be in such a good mood first thing in the morning. Sleep sang a siren song and she settled deeper into him.
“Go without me,” she mumbled.
“Not gonna happen, sweetheart. Come on. On your feet.”
He tugged her off the edge of the bed. Her feet hit the floor and her knees buckled. If he hadn’t been hol
ding onto her, she would have landed flat on her face.
“I thought you were joking about not being able to walk.”
“Um, no.” She yawned.
Matt scooped her into his arms. At this point, she was willing to sleep anywhere, so she curled into him. The welcome darkness of sleep fogged the edges of reality.
Water hit her skin and she jolted upright, heart pounding in her throat. Matt held her in his arms, but he’d stepped into the shower stall with her. She glared daggers. If there was any justice to be found, he’d collapse on the floor in agony. He grinned.
She crossed her arms and contented herself with pouting.
He bent his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth. Fine. She was awake already.
“You can put me down.”
“I like holding you.” He switched to the other nipple.
“Matt. If we’re going to be in the shower we should at least wash.”
“Me first.” He let her slide down his body. His freak of nature erection almost slipped right inside her, but she angled her hips away.
“No, me.” She snatched the bath pouf and liberally dribbled on her scented bath soap. Stepping behind him, she enthusiastically scrubbed his backside. By the time she hit his ankles, his skin glowed pink. Not the slightest bit remorseful, she circled around and glared at his bobbing erection.
“Bloody begonias.”
The man had far too much energy. She started on his feet and worked up. A cursory once-over with the sponge was all his testicles got. If the rest of him was rushed, well, shoot her.
His eyes twinkled when she glanced up. She glowered.
If he thought they were having sex again, he was nuts. Loony. Out of his gourd. She pitied the poor woman who would have to service his needs for the rest of her natural life.
The thought of him with another woman hit her with the subtlety of a sledgehammer on a flower blossom and she flinched. Then tried to brush it off. So she liked the guy. The tightness in her chest made a lie of that statement. Okay, she cared about him. A lot. She wasn’t the kind of girl who ran around sleeping with every Tom, Dick and Harry, after all.
Dying for Love Page 17