by Cheryl Holt
She was grateful for the respite Ken had provided, for his easy acceptance of her, for how he’d made her feel welcome. She was more comfortable with him than she’d ever been with her own family. Yet she hadn’t raised the tricky subject of giving him gifts he obviously needed.
She had so much, and they had so little. It would be a simple matter to improve their situation. But she was worried about their idiotic male pride, about insulting them if she suggested financial assistance in the wrong way.
“I need some clothes too,” she said. “I can’t keep washing my stuff in the sink.”
“You should have thought of that,” Matt absurdly replied, “before you came over here without a suitcase.”
“You brought me straight from the restaurant, so I would like to point out that that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. And trust me, in the time I’ve known you, you’ve said plenty of stupid things.”
“Now, now kids,” Ken sarcastically cut in, “let’s not fight.”
“Too late,” Brittney snapped. “I’m asking you again, Monroe: What’s your problem with me? Ever since I arrived, you’ve been growling like a wounded bear.”
She leaned in so that her front was pressed to his. He stared at her, studying her mouth, her eyes, and she could tell that he wanted to respond, but she couldn’t decide if he was about to kiss her or throttle her.
“I don’t like rich people,” he scathingly said. “I told you that the first day I met you.”
“You never said why.”
“Because it was a rich, spoiled princess like you who killed Emily and Michael. She got away with it too.”
“Matt…” Ken admonished. “That’s not fair.”
“How did she get away with it?” Brittney inquired.
“Her daddy hired a high-powered lawyer. How do you think?”
“Is that true?” Brittney asked Ken.
“Yup. Killed them both and didn’t spend a minute in jail. It’s a bit of a sore spot with us.”
Brittney whipped her gaze to Matt. She still couldn’t understand this hostility that had developed. He seemed about to explode over issues that had nothing to do with her. If she could light the fuse, he might detonate, and they could move beyond this tantrum he’d been having.
“I’m rich,” she jeered. “I’ve always been rich. I’m richer than you can ever imagine. I’m richer than you can ever picture in your wildest dreams.” She poked a finger at his chest. “Deal with it.”
“Believe me, I’m dealing with it.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “You’re such a baby.” She glanced over at Ken. “I’ll call a cab. I’m going to stock up on groceries and clothes and some other stuff. Then I’ll be back to bake that cake.”
“You don’t have to waste any of your money on us,” Matt fumed. “Is that why you think I brought you here?”
“I have no idea why you brought me here”—Matt shot a fierce glower at Ken that Ken pretended not to see—“but I’m buying you guys some food.”
Matt’s wallet was on the counter. He grabbed a hundred dollar bill out of it and shoved it down the front of her shirt.
“We can pay our own way,” he insisted.
“I never said you can’t.”
“We don’t need your charity.”
“Shut up,” Ken warned Matt. “She has plenty of money. She said so herself. If she wants to buy us some groceries, I won’t complain. Don’t fuss so much or she might change her mind.”
Matt glared at Ken, his look so bleak that Brittney didn’t know what was happening.
“You’ve had five days to handle this,” Matt cryptically told Ken. “I’ll give you until tonight. If you haven’t finished it by then, I’ll finish it for you.”
“Finish what?” Brittney asked, perplexed by his rancor. “Are you about to murder me in my sleep? Hold me for ransom? What?”
He didn’t answer, but whirled away and headed for the stairs. He stomped up to his bedroom.
Completely exasperated, she peered over at Ken who was his usual affable, composed self.
“What is he harping about?” she said.
“Don’t pay any attention to him.”
“It’s hard not to when he’s shouting constantly.”
“He has some bug up his ass about you and your money. He’s been a mess ever since he got back from that hospital in Germany. Ignore him.”
“Why is he so angry with me?”
“You want the truth?”
“That would be very helpful.”
“He hasn’t been laid in awhile.” Ken grinned slyly. “It makes him surly.”
She blushed such a bright red that she wondered if she might burst into flames.
“I told you,” she scolded. “No matchmaking.”
“Can’t hurt to talk to him.” He nodded toward the front room. “It might calm the waters a bit—if you know what I mean.”
“I really don’t like him barking at me.”
“Maybe if you went upstairs, he’d stop.” He pushed himself to his feet and extended his hand. “Give me that hundred. I’m feeling better. I’ll drive myself to the store; I’ll pick up the stuff for the party.”
She gave him the bill, then opened her purse and pulled out two hundred more. “Buy whatever you need. And get something fun for Jeremy.”
“I will.” He walked to the door. “I’ll be gone for hours, and Jeremy won’t be home from school until four. The house will be empty—in case you decide you’d like some privacy.”
“Why would I need any privacy?”
“I’m taking the car, so even if he tries to storm off in a huff, he won’t be able to.”
“Good plan.”
“I thought so.”
Ken left, and Brittney was alone in the kitchen with a ton of options.
Go upstairs? Or not? Poke that furious, stalking tiger? Or not?
She poured herself a cup of coffee and plopped down to figure it out.
* * * *
Ken sat in Matt’s car, curious if Brittney was in Matt’s bed yet, or if she was still debating.
He already understood her much too well. Eventually, she’d goad Matt into doing precisely what he’d been salivating over since they’d first met.
Hopefully, when Ken returned, all that pent up sexual energy would be tamped down. A man could have some peace and quiet in his own damn house.
Watching the two of them, it made him wish he was twenty again. Almost anyway. Occasionally, he missed those wild escapades of women and bad choices.
These days, he was simply a sorry old fool, regretting his errors and working to fix them before he ran out of time.
Matt believed he’d brought Brittney home for Ken’s sake, that he’d done it because Ken had requested it of him. But Ken had done it for Matt.
Ken hadn’t allowed Emily to marry Matt—even though the poor girl had been crazy about him. Then she’d died soon after. Why had he—Ken—been so obstinate and inflexible? Why couldn’t he have let her have her slice of happiness?
In the end, Ken’s stubbornness had been pointless.
Emily had wanted Matt so desperately. It was the only thing she’d ever asked Ken for, and he’d refused her. He hadn’t just broken his daughter’s heart, he’d sent Matt away so that he spent years off on his own, serving his country and nearly getting himself killed in a thousand different ways.
Emily had paid the price of their idiotic separation, and Jeremy had suffered too. But Matt had suffered the most. And Ken wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
Matt had grown up in the army, had proved himself to be fine and decent, and he needed someone to love him like no one had ever needed to be loved.
Brittney was no better. She had all the money in the world, but she was so alone.
Though they would both deny it, they were perfect for each other, and Ken was more than happy to play the matchmaker Brittney insisted she didn’t want.
“Stupid kid,” he scoffed, thinking of
Matt. “You don’t stand a chance against her. Or me.”
As Ken had learned through bitter experience, it was silly to fight the inevitable.
He backed out of the driveway and headed for the store. He took it slow, wasting time. There was no reason to hurry. No reason at all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Open this door. Right now.”
“Go away.”
“No.”
Brittney pounded on the wood. “Let me in.”
“No.”
“You are such an idiot,” she mumbled.
It wasn’t locked, which she finally figured out when she spun the knob. She marched in, her temper blazing.
“What part of go away don’t you understand?” Matt snarled.
He didn’t know how else to act. He’d spent five hellish days avoiding her, ignoring her, pretending she wasn’t strutting around in those sexy short-shorts of hers.
How was he supposed to focus when she never had any clothes on?
“Why are you being such a jerk?” she fumed.
“I’m trying to stay away from you.”
“Have I asked you to stay away from me?”
“No, princess, you haven’t.”
She stomped over, all five-foot-six of her quivering with feminine outrage.
“I can’t decide,” she taunted, “if you’re obtuse, blind, or gay. Which is it?”
Oh, he wasn’t any of those. He felt like a stallion on a ridge that had just scented the mare he’d been chasing forever.
“What’s the matter?” he taunted in return. “Are you so used to having men drool over you that you can’t handle it when one of them won’t?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, bud. If I wanted some dull, obnoxious guy to drool over me, I’d have flown to New York to hang out with my rich, boring boyfriend.”
“Why don’t you do that? What’s stopping you?”
“I’m slumming. I’m a poor little rich girl—with too much time on her hands. I guess I’ll have to waste some of it with you.”
She grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head. With a flick of her wrists, she was wearing only her bra and shorts. The bra was a flimsy, lacy thing that scarcely covered any spot that should be covered.
“Put your shirt back on.”
“No.”
Her fingers went to the button on her shorts, then the zipper. She tugged them down and kicked them away.
Damn! Her thong matched her bra: hot pink, lacey, barely there.
She slammed her fists on her hips. “I’m just about naked, Monroe. What will it take to get a reaction out of you?”
Still, he hesitated. He’d always viewed himself as cocky and confident, had pursued what he desired with a dangerous intensity, but he was frozen with uncertainty.
He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, but what was the point?
She’d be gone—probably later that evening. And she’d hate him when she walked out their door. Why make the situation worse by sleeping with her too?
Her blistering gaze slithered down his torso to his crotch, where his hard-on blatantly pressed against the front of his sweats.
She smirked. “Well, you’re not blind, and you’re definitely not gay.”
She flicked apart the clasp on her bra, and the straps slid down her arms. Her breasts were perfect, small and round, the tips pink and inviting.
He’d meant to do the right thing, to behave himself, but there was only so much restraint a man could exhibit.
“That’s it,” he grumbled. “I’ve had enough.”
“Enough of what?”
“You asked for it and now you’re going to get it.”
“Get what? You’re all talk, Monroe.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Warn me about what?”
“You’ll see tonight, and I’d better not hear a peep out of you.”
He slipped his good arm around her waist, yanked her off the floor and flung her onto his bed. She bounced once, and he was on her, stretched out and pinning her down.
They came together like a pair of angry cats, like wrestlers fighting for control, like combatants in a war that no one could ever win.
He fell on her, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that went on and on and on. His fingers roamed over her, learning her shape and size, and he wasn’t gentle or slow. He pinched and scraped and scratched, as she hissed and bit and commanded him to go faster.
She wanted him naked, and she tore at his t-shirt. She couldn’t remove it quickly enough, though, so she ripped the fabric and shred it to pieces. Then she pitched him onto his back, grabbed the waistband of his sweats and dragged them down and off.
She straddled him, appearing wicked and determined. She thought she was in charge. She thought she’d precipitated the encounter and could orchestrate it to her liking, but she didn’t know squat.
He bucked with his hips, tossing her to the side so he could roll onto her again. He dipped to her breasts, sucking on her nipples until she was writhing beneath him.
“Get on with it, Monroe,” she snapped.
“When I’m ready.”
“Do it!”
“Not yet.”
“Matt!”
“Don’t order me around. Not when you’re in my bed and lying underneath me. Be quiet.”
“I’ll be quiet when you give me a reason to shut up.”
He wedged a thigh between her legs, clutched her thong in his fist and wrenched it away. He paused to glance down her body.
She’d tormented his dreams with erotic visions of how she’d look without her clothes, and she was just as magnificent as he’d imagined she would be. Slender, tanned, shapely, and so very, very beautiful.
She arched up, offering her breasts, herself, and he’d finally reached his limit. Though he’d fought the inevitable, the battle was over. He was racing to the end and couldn’t stop.
He shoved two fingers into her, taunting her with what was approaching.
“Don’t you ever be sorry that we did this,” he said.
“I won’t be.”
“Don’t you ever complain or wish we hadn’t.”
“I’ll always be glad.”
“Not a word of regret.”
“No. Never.” Her eyes grew shrewd and cunning. “Do it, Monroe. I dare you.”
“You don’t have to dare me, princess.”
He moved his hand, centered himself, and with a hard thrust, he was inside her. They were both so aroused that there was no opportunity for any finesse.
Instantly, she started to come. She cried out as he held her close, as close as he was able anyway with only the one arm that worked.
As she tightened around him, he lost whatever tiny bit of control he still possessed. He came with her, their bodies shuddering, tensing, heading up to heaven, then tumbling down.
Just that quickly, it was over.
He drew away and flopped onto his back. They stared at the ceiling, and she laughed, her voice husky and sultry and making him want her again already.
“What did that take, Monroe?” She glanced over at him. “Five seconds?”
“At least ten.”
“Is that all I can hope for with you?”
“Hey, just wait till next time.”
“Can you do it twice in a row?”
“Maybe—if my heart doesn’t burst.”
They shifted so they were facing each other. She looked smug and wise, as if he’d behaved precisely as she’d planned.
“Why are you grinning?” he asked.
“Because you’re so easy.”
“I’m a man. I’m supposed to be easy. What’s your excuse?”
“Ken told me that if I had sex with you, you’d stop shouting at me.”
“Ken should mind his own business.”
“He might be on to something. Your volume is quite a bit lower.”
“I’m too drained to shout.”
“Good. I’m tired o
f you being so obnoxious.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From me.”
“Too late, Monroe.”
She rose up on an elbow and kissed him, and they both sighed with pleasure.
Her hand dropped to his cock, and even though he’d just come so ferociously that he’d nearly blown off the tip, he immediately started to harden.
“Ken went to the store,” she said.
“Really?” He raised a brow, intrigued by the news. “Did he happen to mention how long he’d be gone?”
“Hours.”
“How many hours?”
She peered over at the clock. It was a few minutes after nine. “I’m betting till four, when Jeremy gets home from school.”
“That long, huh?”
She simpered like a flirtatious coquette. “Whatever can we do to amuse ourselves while he’s away?”
“I can think of a couple of things.”
“Like what?”
“Let me show you.”
He pushed her onto her back, and they began again.
* * * *
Brittney awakened gradually, but she didn’t open her eyes right away. Matt was still dozing beside her, and she couldn’t bear to have the moment end.
They’d made love over and over, fast and slow, rough and gentle. Finally, they’d fallen into a blissful sleep, but the afternoon was almost over. Jeremy and Ken would return soon.
Matt groaned quietly and slipped out of bed. She listened as he rummaged around, as he dug through a drawer and pulled out some clothes.
She took a deep breath, inhaling numerous, delectable masculine scents. The sheets smelled like him, the air smelled like him, her skin smelled like him. It was an aphrodisiac like no other. Her entire body was alight with the fire he’d ignited.
He approached, braced his palms on the mattress and bounced against it.
“Hey, lazy bones,” he murmured, “time to get up.”
She smiled. “I’m awake.”
“I can’t have Jeremy pounding up the stairs and finding you like this.”
He straightened and stepped into a pair of jeans, and she watched with a great deal of feminine appreciation as he tucked himself in and zipped the zipper.
“I’m too comfortable,” she said. “I want to stay here forever.”