“Doing wh-what?”
His mouth—warm, soft, talented—worked down her neck. Her eyes may have crossed. “Thinking,” he mumbled. “Stop it.”
As if. “Okay.”
His laugh was more of a rumble. “I’m serious. Lift your arms. Or...not,” he said to her frown. “If I’m rushing things...”
“No! It’s not that. It’s...” Kelly huffed a sigh. “It’s...” Oh, hell. She crossed her arms. “You don’t get to call all the shots, okay?”
“Hey. As long as shots get called, does it really matter who calls ’em?” At her frown, he said, “Okay...how’s about we trade off every so often? You, then me, then you again. Sound good?”
“And how’s that supposed to work, exactly?”
His eyes darkened. And not with lust. Not only with lust, anyway. Slowly, softly, he swept her hair away from her shoulder. “Somehow, between the two of us, I think we can figure it out.”
Somehow, she figured he was probably right. A second later, she whisked the silk top over her head, shivering at the static crackling along her skin, in her hair—
Her skin sizzled at his stare. Honestly, she felt like the most inexperienced goober in New Jersey. Then, grinning, he met her gaze. “Kinda hard to demonstrate my skill at removing a bra one-handed if you’re not wearing one.”
“Seemed...superfluous,” she said, and he chuckled. “You really couldn’t tell? Before?”
Matt shrugged. And stared some more. And yet the more he stared, the less exposed she felt. If anything, she felt...sheltered. “Thought maybe it was one of those not-really-there numbers. Lace or something.”
“I don’t do lace, remember?”
“Oh, right. Forgot.”
Then, in one muscle-rippling move, his own shirt was gone, and...oh, my, yes. And then some. Then, smiling, he laid her back on the bed as he kissed her again, and again, and again and again, not touching her breasts, each kiss deeper, longer than the one before it, and she felt everything...melting...yielding...except for her nipples, which by this time were begging. For his hands, his mouth, anything but all this stupid air between them—
A laugh bubbled from her throat between those kisses, those wicked, wonderful kisses that had traded the terror for yesyesyesohplease....
“What?” Matt said, smiling against her mouth.
“Oh, you’re good.”
“Oh, just wait,” he said, and she smacked him. Then grabbed his shoulders. All granitey and such, they were.
“Touch me.”
“Not yet.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Hey. It’s my turn, right?”
Like she knew anymore. “Except you’re not doing anything!”
More grinning. His slightly rough fingertip traced her jawline, trailed to the hollow of her throat...and she gasped. And—oh, hell—whimpered.
“Not doing a damn thing, nope.”
“You are so dead.”
Now his breath was warm in her ear. “Patience, pumpkin,” he said, and kissed her some more, then grinned into her eyes. “It’s not every day a guy gets to live out his teenage fantasy.”
Took her a moment. “Oh. Really?”
“Really. Of course, there were others. Fantasies, I mean. As we got older. But when I was thirteen... Yeah.” He slowly swept one fingertip across her bottom lip. “These made me crazy.”
“Not...” She glanced down at her breasts.
“That didn’t happen until later.”
“Since neither did they, you mean.”
“Something like that, yeah. They’re very pretty, by the way.” At her eye roll, he chuckled, then leaned back, head propped in his hand. She really was gonna kill him. Until she noticed his gaze had darkened again, that the smile had vanished. “This, right now—it really is all about you. What you want.” He shifted again to cup her face. “What you want.”
Suddenly self-conscious, Kelly sat up, grabbing a pillow to cover herself. “But what about you? What do you want?”
The smile returned. Less teasing, more...something. A something that made her shudder with equal parts anticipation and apprehension that whatever was about to happen wouldn’t leave her where it found her. “What I’ve got right now,” he whispered, then sat forward to cradle her skull in his palm and kiss her again. And maybe she wasn’t the most experienced chick-a-doodle on the planet, but if that was a kiss about now, she’d eat Linnie’s stuffed monkey.
Because there was promise in that kiss, by gum...promise, too, when he gently tugged the pillow away, laid her down and, at long, long last, touched her breasts...at first the barest whisper of knuckle across first one nipple, then the other as he kissed her...then moved to her jaw...her throat...her collarbone...and when his lips finally closed around her nipple, she sighed and smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, her hand in his short, bristly hair, and simply...let. Let him have at it, at her, let herself live in this incredibly precious moment.
Then, on another evil chuckle, Matt pressed his mouth to her belly, unzipping her jeans inch by inch...and it was magic and heaven and Christmas all rolled into one, what he was doing, how he was making her feel...how she was letting herself feel, cherished, and confident, and so, so alive.
And tears leaked from her eyes, of joy, and amazement, and maybe even a little gratitude.
Then he tugged off her jeans and panties, both at once—so skilled, he was—and spread her legs, and kissed her there, and she thought, yes, and oh, please, and then she said the words out loud because she wanted him to know she wanted him, she wanted him, and somewhere in there she might have mentioned the condoms in her purse, and he chuckled and said, “Got it covered,” which was when she realized he was naked, too. Except for one crucial part which was thankfully not.
So she opened to him even more, inviting, but he whispered, “Not yet.”
“No, you don’t understand,” she said, tense, expectant, and he said, “Oh, trust me, I do,” and then it was only about his mouth, and the joy—oh! the joy!—liquid and tingling and sparkling, and her cries as she tumbled over the edge and straight to Nirvana. And she thought—eyes shut, grinning, panting—now I get it.
Also, hallelujah.
Then he pushed her knees apart, and her eyes popped open.
“Seriously?” she said.
And he smiled and said, “Trust me,” and slid inside her, filling her, but not enough, not like she needed to be filled—
“More,” she whispered, lifting her hips, and he shifted, cupping her bottom, and...
Yes, there, like that....
“Good?”
“Mmm-hmm...”
Then he stilled, trembling slightly, and Kelly opened her eyes to see him looking at her like she was a miracle, and suddenly she was mad that Rick had never looked at her at all when they’d had sex, much less as though she was a miracle, that he’d never bothered to make sure it was as good for her as it was for him. Then she got madder still at herself for accepting that, for never saying, “Hey, buster! You’re not the only one in this bed—!”
“You okay?” Matt whispered, stroking a thumb across her temple.
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re frowning.”
She pulled him closer, letting herself sink so deeply into his gaze she knew there’d be no turning back. “Not for long, I imagine,” she said.
And let go.
* * *
The sky was still that blah, not-quite-daylight color when Matt bolted upright, annoyance spiking when he realized he was alone. He crashed back onto his pillow, breathing hard, telling himself this wasn’t a surprise, that he should just shut up and be thankful for what they’d shared—
Wait. Where was the dog? And was that...bacon?
Happiness glimmered.
<
br /> Because unless Alf had learned how to cook in the past twelve hours, the woman who’d rocked his world last night—more than once—was making breakfast.
And maybe she’s just hungry.
There was that.
Still, with a joint-popping stretch he got out of bed, tended to business, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. By now the scents of coffee and cinnamon mingled with the bacon, tugging him to the kitchen—sunny, eat-in, outdated—where Kelly, her back to the door, chatted away to Alf as she cooked. She’d apparently gone back to her apartment to change, her curls blazing against the dull gray of that baggy, god-awful Seton Hall hoodie. Could’ve fit two of her in there, he mused, but knowing—really knowing, not guessing anymore—what was underneath the hoodie? Yow.
Softly smiling, Matt linked his arms over his growling stomach and leaned against the doorjamb, watching her.
Being a dude, he was no stranger to the concept of sex and love being two distinct things. Heaven knew, before his marriage, he’d had some pretty enjoyable encounters along the way with no emotional attachment whatsoever. Not a lot, maybe, but enough to know what he was talking about. Hell, even he and Marcia had fooled around up to the end—her ploy, he now knew, to keep him from guessing about her secret life—and it had been well past the expiration date on any real feelings between them. If there ever had been, he thought sourly. So love was definitely not a prerequisite for good sex.
But he was beginning to think it might be for great sex. As in, potentially life altering. Sure, he’d known he had feelings for Kelly, but...
Yeah. Stuff just got real.
For him, anyway.
The dog finally wrenched her attention from the bacon strips lying on a paper towel on the old gas stove to give him a good-morning bark, and Kelly whipped around.
“Hey,” she said, with an almost shy smile, and Matt instantly covered the few feet between them to haul her against his chest, lay one on her. Which she returned, absolutely, but still, when they broke apart he saw a whole bunch of questions in her eyes. God knew women were no picnic to figure out under ordinary circumstances, but this one was the biggest tangle of contradictions he’d ever known.
“What?” he said, and she smiled. And blushed.
“I can’t stop thinking about last night.”
Sex talk, bacon and blushing? Best. Morning. Ever. He tugged her closer. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” More blushing. Adorable. And hot. “I kinda broke some new ground, there. Once or twice.”
Huh. True, way, way in the back of his mind he thought maybe she’d seemed a little surprised now and then. But while he wasn’t into the kinky stuff, he did know about it. And what they’d done didn’t even come close.
“You should’ve said, if something didn’t feel right.”
Her laugh startled him. She linked her hands around his neck, her smile fading slightly. “You have no idea,” she said softly, “how right things felt. Besides, do you think I’d still be here if they hadn’t?”
Okay. He could work with that. He reached around her to snag a piece of bacon. She’d cooked up an entire package, looked like. Which she sure as hell hadn’t found in his fridge. “But you didn’t have to make breakfast.”
“For you, maybe not. For me, yes. I woke up starving.”
Matt chomped off a bite of the bacon, ignoring his drooling dog. Not to mention the impulse to point out that since she’d obviously gone downstairs to change clothes and get the bacon, she could’ve stayed there, fed her starving self in her own kitchen. So...yeah.
“Whatever works,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “I’m just grateful.”
“Oh, wait...” Kelly slipped out of his arms to open the oven door, flooding the room with warmth and even more amazing smells. The dog whimpered. Matt relented and fed her the last bite of his bacon. “One’s a scrambled-egg casserole with cheese and scallions,” she said, “the other’s baked French toast.”
“Wow.” And he’d thought the sex had been fantastic. “I usually make do with Wheaties.”
Snorting, she grabbed a pair of pot holders to pull first one, then the other, baking dish from the oven, plunking them onto the range top, and between the sunshine and the incredible smells and her hair, glorious in the sunshine, Matt thought he’d die. “So I noticed.”
He leaned over the egg casserole, inhaling deeply enough to get a whiff of Kelly as well, then straightened, sliding his gaze to the sweatshirt. “This almost makes up for that hideous thing.”
On an affronted gasp, she looked down at the shirt, pulling the fabric tightly enough across her front that he almost imagined her saw her nipples outlined on either side of “Est. 1856.” “Don’t listen to him, Gertie,” she whispered, “you’re beautiful exactly as you are—”
“You name your sweatshirts?”
“Only this one,” she said with an unapologetic shrug, then lugged the first casserole over to the small table next to the window. “She’s gotten me through some tough times, Gertie has.”
“And is this one of those times?” Matt said quietly, and Kelly turned, her hands knotted in front of her.
“Breakfast first,” she said, and hope took a header.
But in the good-news department...at least there was bacon, right?
* * *
Kelly wrapped her hands around her warm mug—had to give the man props, he did have decent coffee—and smiled as she watched him finish off his third helping of the egg casserole. Not that she’d exactly picked at her food, either—she hadn’t been kidding about being starving. She’d also hoped against hope that eating would fuel her brain as it filled her stomach. At least enough to sort out a thing or six rattling around in there.
So much for Lynn’s fling theory.
Of course, all along there’d been options, not to initiate last night’s funfest to begin with topping the list. But even after Kelly had set that little scenario in motion, she could have changed her mind. Or slunk away in the wee hours like a coward. Or, this morning, pretended that everything was completely fine, which seemed more stupid than courageous. So this was her compromise—sticking around, making breakfast. Addressing issues.
And this quietly amazing man had been gracious enough to simply sit down and eat his breakfast, biding his time, not pressing her for answers he must have guessed she didn’t yet have, or at least wasn’t ready to talk about. Instead they’d chatted about ordinary stuff, such as his imminent return to work, and her menu for that night’s event—even the weather, for heaven’s sake—as though today was no different than yesterday.
As though she was.
In the surprisingly comfortable, if pregnant, silence that had settled between them, Kelly lowered her mug to the table, fingers still clamped around the handle as she rested her chin in her hand and watched him. She wasn’t going to lie and say there’d never been afterglows with Rick, because of course there had, at least at the beginning. Heck, she’d been so new at all of it any sex was good sex at that point. Took her some years to realize there was more to that side of things than she was getting. That she wanted more, and not only in bed.
And there was Mr. More himself, sitting right in front of her. Someone who redefined the concepts of attentive and unselfish and giving. Someone she trusted completely. Someone she knew she could count on, who’d probably do anything for her—within legal limits, anyway.
So why the niggles? Why, as amazing as last night had been, did something feel off...?
“You’re doing it again,” Matt said quietly, wiping his mouth and leaning back, arms crossed high on his chest, and she knew her reprieve was over.
“Doing what?”
“Thinking.”
“Oh, and you don’t think?”
“Not as loudly as you do.” Then he smiled, held out his hand and said, “Time
to talk,” when she put her hand in his. And, yep, she could feel it again, even stronger, that old pull she’d fought and fought and fought since her return to Maple River, to let Matt be whatever he wanted to be, to be her everything, because she was tired, dammit, of carrying the load all by herself. Tired of making all the decisions, tired of holding her breath for fear she’d make the wrong call, screw up her kids...tired of not having anyone else to talk to. Other than Lynn, that was, who’d lost her son, for God’s sake, and didn’t need a whiny, insecure daughter-in-law to deal with on top of her own grief.
“I’m a little freaked out right now,” she said, because it was the truth and he deserved no less. But now the tears searing her eyes were angry ones.
His gaze locked in hers, Matt gently squeezed her hand. “Because of...?”
“Everything.” Matt lifted one brow. “You have no idea, how many times last night I...lost myself in you. In what we were doing.”
“Actually, I do. But this is a problem why?”
“I’m serious, Matt—”
“I know you are. Except— Oh, hell, get over here.”
She hesitated, then got up to sit on his lap, where he looped his arms around her waist. “Call me crazy, but I think that’s how it’s supposed to work. That losing-yourself thing.” He smiled, but it was slightly off-kilter, not his usual cocky smile.
“So...you’ve felt like that before?”
Something flickered in his eyes. Maybe. “Before you? No.”
“Oh, come on—”
“What? You think I’m blowing up your skirt?” His gaze darkened. “I don’t do that, Kelly. Which I would’ve thought you’d’ve figured out by now. So yeah—last night shook me up, too. And don’t give me that face, like you don’t believe me, because it’s true. And you’re right. It is scary. Scary as hell. And you know why?”
Wasn’t as if she didn’t know the answer to this one. “Because it’s about giving up control.”
“Exactly,” he said, giving her waist a squeeze. “And you and me... We both have good reason not to want to do that. So when I woke up this morning and thought you’d left...it wasn’t a good feeling, believe me. Because for a moment, I thought I’d failed you.”
The Real Mr. Right Page 16