by Nancy Warren
“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.
“Hit the ice dispenser,” he panted.
Turning them, he set her on the kitchen counter, the lovely posh, dark granite counter. It was cold on her bottom, but she liked the stability and the change of angle.
She leaned back on her hands and gazed deep into his eyes. He was thrusting deeper, stroking that wonderful place deep inside her that, like the rest of her, so loved attention. She was climbing, higher and higher as she felt him move in faster, more desperate thrusts.
She heard the ice maker presumably replenishing itself, their harsh breathing, and then the scrape of her fingernails on the granite as her hands clenched. As everything clenched, from her throat to her toes, and then the wonderful wave rolled over her. In the background of her own cry, she heard Matthew, felt him shudder against her and then slump forward, so his lips were against her neck, his
head resting on her shoulder.
She liked to feel his breath against her neck, panting and then slowing. They didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. And then she shivered as the combined chill of sitting on polished rock in wet clothing got through to her.
“Darling,” she said, “I’m freezing.”
“Hot shower?” he said against her throat.
“Mmm. Keep me company?”
He nipped at the sensitive skin of her throat. “Oh, yeah.”
Later, when they were curled up in his big, comfy bed, her body limp and satiated, she said, “I think I lost count of my orgasms.”
Matthew raised his eyelids and looked at her through sleepy eyes. “You count ’em?”
“Usually it’s not that difficult.”
He closed his eyes again, but the skin around them remained crinkled and one side of his mouth curled.
She punched him on the shoulder. “And put that self-satisfied, smug expression away, young man.”
He laughed, rolling her over and pinning her beneath him. “Just happy I did my patriotic duty.”
“Patriotic—”
“Improving English/American relations.”
“Oh, honestly.” But, since he was kissing her, and she had a feeling her mystery tally was about to go up, she let him get away with his arrogance.
For now.
Afterward, she lay with her head on his shoulder, thinking. “When did you find out what I really do?”
He was breathing so deeply she thought he might have nodded off. He hadn’t, but she could see it was close. He opened one eye. “Do you always talk after sex?”
“If I’ve got something to say.” The other eye opened and before he could speak she said, “All right. Always.”
“Me, I like to sleep after sex.”
“We’ll compromise. You talk to me, then I’ll let you sleep.”
He yawned and shook his head. She liked being here, with her head on his shoulder. His skin was warm against her cheek and she could hear the heavy thump of his heart. Then the rumble of his words. “Pretty early on.”
Damn. She’d been so pleased with herself. “How early on?”
“After Rafe started spending some weird-ass hours at your place, I got curious. I followed you one day.”
She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see her. “You were always following me.”
“Only the two times.”
“You were jealous.”
She felt him struggle, thought he’d deny it, and then was pleased when he said, “Hell, yeah, I was jealous. And crazy mad ’cause I didn’t have any right to be.”
“You were in torment. There I was right next door and you couldn’t have me.”
“Don’t sound so happy about it. And I wasn’t in torment.”
She raised her head and looked down at him. “You weren’t?”
He lifted a hand to push the tangle of her hair behind one ear. “Maybe a little.”
“That’s better.” She put her head back down. “So, you were in terrible torment over me and you followed me. Again.”
“Don’t make me sound like a stalker. It was investigative research.”
He sounded cross. She smiled against his chest. Turned her head and kissed him there.
“You went into a spa with a bunch of brochures and came out a half hour later walkin’ funny and with flip-flops on your feet.”
“I must have had a pedicure.”
“I went in after you and saw a stack of brochures for The Breakup Artist. It was easy to cross-check the phone number with your address.”
“What a clever detective you are.”
She didn’t have to glance up to know he was rolling his eyes. “Not hardly.”
“So you’ve known all this time?”
“Yep.”
“And you didn’t let on.”
“Nope.”
“Did you want to hire me?”
His chest rose and fell on a deep breath. “I would never have hired you. I try to do my own dirty work. Only I couldn’t. Brittany’s—”
His voice faded and she wondered if he was feeling awkward bringing up his ex-girlfriend while in bed with another woman. “Brittany’s a darling. But you two were hopelessly mismatched. You’d only have brought each other misery.”
Another gargantuan yawn. “Can I go to sleep now, or did you want to discuss world peace or global warming?”
She kissed his jaw. “Get your rest. You’ll need it.”
Chapter 25
A few days later, Chloe walked through her own kitchen door at nine thirty in the morning, feeling mildly guilty, and ran upstairs. “Sorry I’m late,” she said to Stephanie, who was tapping away at her computer.
The younger woman said, “You don’t have to apologize to me. It’s your company.”
“Right.” Of course it was. She was mad. Utterly mad. Also annoyed with herself. She didn’t like sleepovers if she could help them. It gave men ideas.
Matthew was exactly the sort of man she didn’t want getting ideas. He was too—too everything. Too good looking, too good in bed, too sure of himself. A man like that could only mean trouble.
“I should have been here in case you needed anything.”
Stephanie looked at her as though she’d gone off her head. “You were only next door. I could have found you if I’d needed you.”
“How do you know that? I could have been any number of places.”
“Your car’s out front. I assumed—”
“Forget it,” she snapped. “I’m in a stupid mood. Don’t mind me.”
“Okay.”
The day passed in a blur. Her stomach felt strange, her head buzzy. She couldn’t concentrate. She’d think she needed sex, except she was currently having the best sex of her life. Every day. It was easy, after all—it was only next door.
When Stephanie came up beside her, where she was standing looking out the window, she jumped. “You startled me.”
“Sorry. I called and you didn’t answer. You okay?”
“Yes.” Of course she wasn’t okay. She’d been watching Matthew mow the lawn, thinking dreamily of the things he’d done to her last night. The things he’d whispered in the dark. “I was—”
“I know,” Stephanie said.
“I’m not feeling right,” she said, turning from the window and seating herself firmly at her desk. “I’m sort of lightheaded and woozy.”
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then you must be in love.”
For a stunned moment Chloe stared at the woman standing on the other side of her desk, then she broke into laughter that sounded faintly hysterical. “With Matthew?”
“Unless there’s another guy you’re spending every spare minute with.”
“Nonsense. He’s convenient, attractive.”
“Great in bed?”
She put a hand to her chest. “Oh, darling, don’t get me started.”
She nodded. “He makes you laugh.”
“In his odd way.”
“Have you told him things you’ve never told anyone else?”
She shifted in her chair. “A couple of little things, perhaps.”
Stephanie nodded sagely. “When you think about the future, do you see him in it?”
“Where did you get these questions? The latest Cosmo quiz?”
Stephanie just looked at her.
“Oh, no. Not you too.”
Stephanie nodded, not seeming nearly as neurotic about the idea as Chloe, but then she hadn’t left quite as many men at the altar, either. “Trust me, it’s love.”
“But I don’t want to be in love with Matthew,” she wailed as Stephanie walked out of the room.
Her assistant turned, looking for too knowledgeable. “Then you’d better figure out what you’re going to do about it.”
“I think I need to breathe into a paper bag.”
Stephanie chuckled. “Oh, don’t forget I’m
leaving early today. I’m going to be in the studio audience when Deborah and Jordan are interviewed about their book.”
“That’s nice. Is Rafe going?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t think it was a great idea for him to be on TV.”
“Oh, right. Of course. Well, I’ll watch the show and look for you.”
The minute Stephanie was out the door, Matt found an excuse to come over. He was all sweaty from mowing the lawn. His shirt had flecks of grass on it. When she saw him on her doorstep, her heart lurched—oh, God.
Stephanie was right. She was in love with him.
So, instead of throwing herself into his arms as she wanted to, she wrinkled her nose. “The tradesman’s entrance is around the back.”
He looked as though he was thinking of shoving her bodily over his shoulder and taking her straight to bed, sweat and all, and truthfully she wouldn’t have put up much of a struggle. Instead he said, “I’m going home to shower, then how about I take you downtown for dinner?”
“Oh, but Deborah Beaumont’s on television. We have to watch it. Come on in and shower here. We can eat later.”
He shook his head. “Let’s go to my house.”
“Why?”
“There’s a TV in the bedroom.”
“Really, Matthew. Is sex all you ever think about?”
The look he sent her had her pulse rate increasing. “Only when you’re around.”
Naturally, they ended up watching Deborah and Jordan on television from the comfort of Matthew’s big bed, curled up together naked and sharing a beer.
“She looks pretty good for a doctor,” Matthew remarked when Deborah and Jordan were introduced on the television show. “Hot.”
Deb did look hot. Amazing. She also seemed very different from the woman who had shown up at Chloe’s house in the middle of an emotional meltdown. She seemed a lot less tense, and happier somehow.
Even dull, stuffy Jordan seemed different. More of a man and less of a geek.
The interviewer asked them the obvious questions about the book. What was the secret of lasting love? Jordan and Deborah looked at each other and she said, “Communication is essential to a healthy relationship.”