by Julia London
“Let me make it up to you—”
“It was just a toy. There is nothing to make up—”
“Want some ice cream, kiddo?” Matt asked Grayson, blowing right past her.
“YES! ICE CREAM!” Grayson shrieked.
Rebecca gave Matt a withering look. “That’s cheating.”
“I know.” He casually propped his arm against the car door and grinned down at her. “But it was the only way I was going to win. And I have to win this time because I was really an idiot, and if you don’t let me make it up to you now, I may never have another opportunity. So how about it, little girl? Want some ice cream?”
She debated, but his easy smile was making it difficult to think. “I might be talked into a soda.” She lifted her chin a smidge higher. “And you have to ride in the back with the Rescue Buddies.” She stepped back, out of his strong magnetic field, the one that could suck her in and seize her before she knew what was happening.
“Thanks,” Matt said cheerfully, and climbed in beside Grayson.
He directed her to Amy’s Ice Cream, which was located, rather conveniently, just across the street from his penthouse apartment. Grayson got double fudge chocolate with Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup pieces, Matt got butter pecan with extra pecans thrown in, and talked Rebecca into a small cup of chocolate ice cream, which she took with some reservation. She had a small problem with ice cream, much like a drug addict had a problem with cocaine. It was completely out of her control, and she really preferred Matt not hear any of the terrible oinking sounds she could make when she ate it.
They ended up taking their ice cream to Matt’s apartment after he asked Grayson if he wanted to see his room. The man was wily, she’d definitely give him that. They sat around his big glass dining table; Matt devoured his ice cream in about three bites, tossed the container into a nearby trash bin, then leaned back, stretching his arm across the next chair. “So how was your weekend?” he drawled as he watched Rebecca pick at her ice cream.
Small talk. She hated small talk, had never been any good at it, and was really no good at it when her skin was on fire just because of the proximity of a man. “Fine.”
“Fine? That’s it? Did you hit any bingo halls? Vacuum anything? Maybe hand-address a few thousand envelopes?”
Obsess about him, maybe?
“We went to Grandpa’s house,” Grayson answered for her. “He has horses and cows and some sheep. But no pigs, because Grandpa says they stink.”
“Excellent!” Matt exclaimed, and shifted his gaze to Rebecca. “So I guess I can assume you have nothing against the lyric opera, but were out of town?”
Rebecca smiled into her cup. “You may assume that.”
“Well paint me relieved,” he said, smiling. “I thought I’d done something wrong. So with all those animals around, did you find time for drawing?”
“Mom drew lots of pictures,” Grayson chimed in again. “And then she made Bean take about ten baths!”
Matt’s chest puffed a little. “You took your sketchbook, huh?”
Rebecca stabbed her chocolate ice cream, wondered why answering that question made her feel like she was pulling her skirt up and exposing herself. “Yes,” she said at last. “I took it. And I drew a little.”
“She drew some trees and some cows,” Grayson clarified.
“Ah,” Matt said, drumming his fingers against the table top. “Trees and cows . . . So? How did it go?”
With a soft laugh, Rebecca shrugged. “I’m no Renoir, that’s for sure. I’m very rusty . . . but it started to come back to me,” she said, and glanced sheepishly at him. “Thanks again.”
That made, Matt positively beam. “This is great news for me, you know. It means maybe I’m not a complete idiot.”
Rebecca shook her head; her gaze fell to his mouth, her heart filling with the memory of his kiss, how it felt to be held by him, how it felt—
“Mom, did you tell him about Tater?” Grayson asked, jerking her back to reality.
“Who’s Tater?” Matt asked, still beaming.
“He’s my dog.”
“So dude, what is up with all those dogs?” Matt asked, playfully punching him in the shoulder. “You have Frank, right? And Bean—”
“And Tater!” Grayson cried. “But we can’t help it ‘cuz they come to live with us.”
“They’re dumps,” Rebecca clarified at Matt’s quizzical expression. “People dump their dogs in the country when they don’t want them anymore. We’ve had as many as five dogs at once.”
“That sucks,” Matt said, his smile fading. “That really sucks. You wonder why people get a dog in the first place.”
Rebecca nodded her complete agreement.
“Bean came first,” Grayson said. “He bumps into things.”
Rebecca laughed, told Matt about Bean’s arrival, how disoriented he was, walking into walls and lying on his food bowl, and before she knew it, she had launched into a tale of all the dogs that had sought refuge with her. Matt didn’t interrupt—he seemed genuinely interested, appalled by the behavior of man, amused by canine antics, and shaking his head as she described how she’d wash them, feed them, and then pull the ticks from their coats. And how she and Grayson would take them to the local grocery in Ruby Falls and try and give them away, but how the worst of the lot—like Frank and Bean—were hard to place. They talked about how many animal shelters were full of dogs just like Frank and Bean, and probably Tater, too, how no one wanted throw-away dogs.
“It’s worse when they’re kids,” Matt said, and told her that he served on the board of a nonprofit organization, Children’s Aid Services. The organization tried to find services and clothing for children placed in foster homes. He told her a little about how hard it was to find services in general for the unwanted, and how he’d participated in clothing and toy drives for the organization.
That both surprised Rebecca and warmed her. It felt almost as if they shared a feeling of despair about the unwanted, and moreover, from the sound of it, Matt had spent his professional life trying to lift up people who had hit rock bottom. He confessed sheepishly (and rather charmingly, Rebecca thought) to being in quite a bit of trouble with his partner for taking on too many pro bono cases. “I just can’t turn my back on them,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “They need . . . someone. You know what I mean?”
She knew. Possibly better than he could ever understand.
When Grayson grew bored of their adult chatter, Matt set him up in the guest room with a remote and a TV. When Rebecca checked on him a few minutes later, he was fast asleep with Nickelodeon blaring in the background. She returned to the living room—Matt was sitting on the leather couch and patted the cushion next to him. “I won’t bite you, I promise.
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” she said, and Matt laughed as she walked forward and gingerly took a seat on the couch.
He playfully grabbed her hand. “By the way,” he said, “speaking of the unwanted—I can’t thank you enough for the Dennard referral. I always wanted to get involved in shoe insert patents.”
Rebecca laughed roundly. “Serves you right for busting vacuum cleaners and being so mean all the time.”
“Me? Mean?” Matt playfully protested.
Rebecca laughed again, looked down at her hand in his. It felt nice. Human. “I don’t get you, Matt Parrish, I really don’t,” she said. “You can be so charming.”
“This afternoon is getting better and better. Now you think I’m charming?” he asked, shifting a little closer to her, his hand sliding around her wrist.
“But you’re so . . .” She shook her head.
“So what?” he asked absently as he leaned forward to take in her scent.
“So full of yourself. I’m afraid you’ll float off at any moment.”
Matt laughed, turned her hand over and traced a line down her palm and up her wrist, his fingers moving lightly on her pulse. He lifted a brow. “Your pulse is racing, Mork.”
&nbs
p; Yeah, and her heart was about to come out of her chest, too.
“If I’ve been mean to you, I’m sorry,” he said, sounding sincere, and the little smile that turned up the corner of his mouth began to fade. “And if I’ve been charming, I hope you can tell me when that was so I can keep doing it.” He moved his hand to the crook of her elbow, a long, nonchalant stroke of her arm that caused another tremor to shoot straight to her heart. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there is something about you that makes me feel . . .”
“Bossy?” she murmured.
“A little confused. And a lot good.” He lifted his gaze to her then; the smile was gone. Matt was not kidding around, he was speaking from his heart; she could see it. “Actually, you make me feel so good that I want to do the protect-and-defend thing; you know, be a man,” he said sheepishly and shifted closer, dropping his hand to her bare knee, caressing it. “The God’s honest truth is that I can’t remember a time I ever felt like this.”
The headiness she was suddenly feeling was not relieved with a sharply drawn breath. She was uncertain what to say or do. “I thought . . . I thought we weren’t going there?”
“Yeah.” He flashed a lopsided smile. “Remind me why, again?” he asked, and brushed his fingers across her temple.
Funny, but she couldn’t think of her many good reasons at the moment. “Because you’re bossy and I am stubborn. I think that’s the way it went.” She smiled and reached for the bottom of his tie, flipped it around with her fingers.
“And you’re uncommonly horny. Don’t forget that,” he said low.
That she could hardly deny, and blushed, tugged on his tie a little. “See what I mean? Charming, then full of yourself.”
“I’ll try and be less full,” he said, and brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “But I should get extra credit for the fact that I can’t take my eyes off you when you’re around. Or when I go to bed, your image follows me into sleep.”
He made her feel sixteen all over again, alive and vibrant and worthy of a man’s dreams. But she wasn’t sixteen, she was in her thirties. “Sure you’re not just saying that . . . you know, because of the horny thing?”
Matt dipped his head a little to look directly into her eyes. “Did you see the pictures in the paper?”
She nodded; her blush sank deeper into her cheeks.
“Then you saw how I was looking at you. If you didn’t, you’re the only one in Austin.”
She risked a look at him. She had seen the way she’d looked at him, too.
“This is the point I’d usually make a joke, Rebecca. But it’s true—I can’t stop looking at you or thinking of you.”
Oh. Ooh . . . What was that she heard, the distant sound of a freight train headed right for her? His gray eyes seemed to darken; the way he was looking at her made her believe he could see inside her, could see the desire raging, could see how much she wanted him to look at her.
“I look at you and think of the Rebecca that’s beneath that gorgeous exterior, the one who accuses people of stealing quesadillas and takes in stray dogs and buys a vacuum cleaner for her son and befriends crazy senior citizens.”
Her blush was fire now, racing through her veins, licking at her heart.
“And I say to myself, dude, this isn’t you. You don’t fall all over yourself for a woman. But I have, Rebecca, and I want to know you, I want to be with you, and I am hoping like crazy that you want to know me, too.”
His admission startled her—she couldn’t think, couldn’t answer, and unthinkingly touched her face, felt the cool skin of her hand against the heat of her cheek. “I don’t know what to say,” she started, but Matt silenced her by touching his lips to hers.
It was enough to paralyze her. Desire raced through her as Matt kissed her, right there on the leather couch, with deep, thirsty passion, as if he was actually trying to reach the Rebecca beneath. He cradled her face; his finger stroked her brow, her temple, and fluttered to her neck. Shaky, Rebecca grabbed his wrist, was holding on so tightly that she could feel his pulse, pounding in rapid rhythm with her own dangerously explosive heart beat.
And then she was sliding, drifting down and down, Matt with her. His hand was on her knee, then her thigh, slowly sliding up, his tongue dipping between her lips as his fingers brushed against her panties.
A warm, liquid lust surged through her. Her hands were suddenly around his neck, her lips moving across his, urgently feeling and tasting them, then her tongue inside his mouth, feeling his teeth, the smooth skin of his mouth. When his finger slipped inside the silk of her panties, dipping into the damp cleft, she gasped into his mouth, and her hands fell to his shoulders, clinging to them, then his muscular arms, and his waist . . . and his erection.
Rebecca was heedless of anything but his body, his strong, hard body. Matt’s hand tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck; his other thrust inside her panties, stroking the wet heat between her legs. Purely sexual instincts took hold—she couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the longing for him to be deep inside her. And she was just moments away from feeling that very thing, because in the fog that shrouded her mind and all common sense, she felt Matt drawing her panties down her leg as he pressed his erection against her—
“Mommy!”
Rebecca jerked away, gasping for air. “Ah . . . just a minute, honey!” she called as she frantically clawed her way up and from underneath Matt. He fell away from her, melting into the couch, straightening his clothing and dragging a hand across the back of his mouth as Rebecca quickly pulled up her panties.
“I’ve got to go,” she whispered, fixing her blouse as she hurried back to the guest room.
But she felt as if she was moving in a blind fog; her mind was awash with risky thoughts and confusion. She did not trust herself when it came to matters of the heart; she felt that in some respects she was still too raw, and perhaps too weak—and when she saw Grayson sitting on the edge of the guest bed, she felt a huge wave of guilt. The kid was still having such a difficult time coming to terms with his parents’ divorce—how could she ignore that? But then again, it had been so long since someone had cared for her that Rebecca was afraid to let go of it. She wanted to cling to Matt, to feel his need and his want for as long as she could.
Her maternal instincts took hold, and she kept moving, gathering Grayson’s things. When they returned to the living room, Matt had collected himself, and he picked the boy up when Grayson complained. Grayson put his arms around Matt’s neck, his head on his shoulder. Safe and sound—Grayson felt it, too.
They made their way down to her car, where Matt put Grayson into his booster seat, then got in the front passenger seat. As Rebecca started the Rover, he reached across the console, put his hand on her knee. “Maybe we should quit trying not to go there and at least check it out, huh? Maybe you and Grayson could come to dinner sometime next week.”
“Maybe,” Rebecca said, smiling softly, thinking that would be really nice, thinking that maybe she could even feel something again after being so numb for so long.
“So I’ll give you a call, okay?” he asked as she pulled away from the curb and headed for the campaign offices.
“Okay,” she said.
They came to a light; Rebecca slowed to a halt, debated telling Matt that she really wanted to try, but before she could, he said, “Before you drop me, off—that fund-raiser thing you are doing for Tom? Not a good idea. Just let it drop.”
Her warm, light feeling evaporated. “Let it drop?”
“It’s not a good idea. The party has all the big ticket events lined up.” He said it amicably, as if he were in charge. Rebecca looked at him, tried to fathom how he could go from such a passionate speech and dangerous kiss to telling her what to do again.
“Light’s green,” he said.
It was green all right, and she punched the gas pedal, bucked Matt and Grayson into their seats. “Tom wants this fund-raiser,” she reminded him.
“Right,” Matt said
as he reached for the overhead hand grip. “But I’ve been talking to the party leadership, and they aren’t going to be able to squeeze it in. I mean, every moment of this election is wired.”
“I’ve already lined up the Three Nines Ranch—”
“I, ah . . . there’s the turn,” Matt said, motioning toward the offices.
Rebecca made a hard right.
“Look, you did a great job with the bingo thing,” he said, as if that was some anointment from the gods of social events. “And I’m sure you would with this deal, too, but that’s not what we want to do. If you want, I can hook you up so you can help out with some local events.”
Help out. Help out. Like she was some little assistant, pouring coffee and helping out.
“Hey . . . are you going to stop?” he asked carefully, and Rebecca realized she had just blown past his car. She hit the brakes.
“Mo-om!” Grayson complained from the back.
“Sorry, honey,” she muttered, threw the car into reverse, and punched it backward, braking to a stop behind Matt’s car.
He looked at her a little wide-eyed and a lot puzzled. “Are you all right?”
“Matt, please listen to me for once, will you? Tom asked me to put together a big gala fund-raiser, which I am happy to do. I think if you don’t want to do it, then you should speak directly with him.”
Matt nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll do just that.” He opened the car door, slid out, then shut the door and indicated Rebecca should roll the window down. He popped his head back in and looked at Grayson. “Later, kid.”
“Bye, Matt!” Grayson called.
He looked at Rebecca. “So about that dinner—”
“I’ll have to see about our schedules,” she said automatically.
“Oh,” he said, a frown darkening his face. “Your schedule. I see.”
No, he didn’t see at all, and that was the whole problem.
“Just one question—should I take it from your current demeanor, which seems to change almost as often as the clock by the way, that you are doing the fish thing again?”
“I really don’t know what you mean,” she said, gripping the steering wheel tightly.