by Julia London
And then suddenly he grabbed her. She had the sensation of flying. Rebecca gripped the scarf that covered her eyes, yanked it free to see Matt looming above her, a bead of perspiration on his brow, his eyes dark with lust.
“Are you ready to come better?” he asked her through gritted teeth. “Are you ready to know how it feels to be completely free?”
She laughed, licked her lips. “Ready.”
Matt kissed her then, a desperate kiss of pure lust, then broke away, grabbed the ice cream container and dipped more of it out, pushing some into her mouth with his fingers, then maniacally spreading it on her skin while Rebecca laughed. Then he surprised her by smoothly flipping her over onto her belly and spreading it on her hips, lapping it off one cheek, then the other. Giddy with desire, Rebecca reached down to feel the ice cream on her body, to feel the sticky wet sweat on them, and Matt’s arm snaked around her waist, lifting her up as one thigh went between her legs.
His entry brought a shock of raw pleasure to her; she didn’t breathe, didn’t move as he slid, slow and easy into her, letting her body adjust to him. The sensation of it was startling, so cool and hot all at once, and so intoxicatingly provocative that Rebecca’s breath came out in one long and heavy sigh. She instinctively lifted her hips; Matt slid in deeper, to her core, and Rebecca felt a surge of sensual gratification so deep she threw her head back against his shoulder, moaning.
Matt’s hand slipped from her waist to her sex, and as he began to move inside her—slow and smooth at first—he toyed with her, teasing her toward the climax he had warned her about. Rebecca’s breath was coming in spurts now; she was gulping for air, lost in the sexual bliss that surrounded them as he slid deeper and harder into her, pushing her toward release with his body and his fingers.
She reached turned the point where there was no going back, where she could feel it nearing the surface, and Matt said hoarsely, “Let it go, Rebecca, let it go . . .”
She let it go with an animal cry, her arms flailing, knocking the last of the ice cream onto the bed, her body shuddering from the sheer weight of her orgasm. Rebecca let go, came harder and better than she ever had in her life, falling headlong into pure rapture. And as it rained down all around her, she heard Matt cry out with his release, and thought, almost giddily, that he was louder than her.
Several moments passed before either one of them seemed to breathe; several more before they could untangle themselves from each other. They laughed later; laughed at the ice cream everywhere, laughed at the scarf, which Matt confessed had been a last-minute idea. They lay together on sticky sheets, their arms and legs entwined, Rebecca feeling so wonderfully vibrant and alive that she wanted to explore it all, to know everything there was to know. Matt obliged her, even while joking about the beast he had unleashed, and when they had at last exhausted themselves, they spoke low to each other about little things, and somewhere between talking and giggling at their toes, that blissful night passed into a blissful dream.
A dream that was brought to an abrupt end when the faint strains of “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” drifted into Rebecca’s consciousness.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When you’re in love it’s the most glorious two and a half days of your life . . .
RICHARD LEWIS
At the sound of that familiar refrain, Rebecca’s eyes flew open; beside her Matt shifted and groaned lightly in his sleep. Carefully, she moved his arm that was slung across her torso, slipped out from the sheets that were now impossibly sticky thanks to their adventure in ice cream, and darted into her bathroom, where she quickly cleaned up, pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and donned a silk robe.
When she stepped into the bedroom again, Matt was still out of it, sprawled across the bed facedown—it looked as if his cheek might actually be stuck to the pillow—the sheet covering him from the waist down. He did indeed possess a beautiful body, a magnificent form that she’d like to paint someday, but at the moment, she really didn’t have time to admire him, and tiptoed out of the room.
Grayson was in the great room, sitting cross-legged in front of the television, glued to his favorite cartoon. Surrounding him were the dogs, who all clamored to their feet when they saw Rebecca, and all came charging forward, tails wagging.
“Hi, honey,” she said, trying to wade through a pack of snorting and hungry snouts.
“Hi,” Grayson mumbled.
“Did you sleep all right?” she asked, pushing Bean away.
“I dunno,” he said, and inched closer to the television in a clear sign that Rebecca was interrupting.
She walked out onto the porch and fed the dogs, pouring whatever came out into their bowls without any thought. Fat little Tater looked up at her in wonder, as if she were a doggie food angel sent from heaven. Rebecca laughed, squatted down to scratch him behind the ears. “That’s right, Fatso. It’s a new day,” she said, and left the dogs scarfing their food to go back inside, where she took a seat directly behind Grayson.
Speaking of new days . . . there had to be a proper way to broach the subject of a man in Mommy’s bedroom, but it wasn’t exactly a situation Rebecca had anticipated dealing with anytime before he was eighteen. Now she wished she’d had the foresight to at least look it up in one of her parenting books. But she had to think of something quick, because Patrick and SpongeBob were grabbing balloons and floating away as the theme song played to an end. “Hi, kids! We’ll be right back!”
Grayson stood up, started toward the kitchen.
“Ah . . . Gray, come here, will you?” she asked, reaching out for him.
He looked at her hand very suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because I want to give you a hug.”
“Ah, Mom,” he complained, but stumbled forward nonetheless, dragging his feet, until Rebecca could reach him and wrap him in a strong embrace.
“Mom! You smell like ice cream!” he complained, pushing away from her.
Rebecca grabbed his hand before he bolted. “Grayson, honey, listen . . . you know Matt and I are friends, right?”
He nodded.
“Well . . . sometimes, grown men and women like each other. You know . . . like mommies and daddies like each other.”
“Okay,” he said agreeably.
No, not okay. He was supposed to sit down, ask questions. Assuming, of course, a five-year-old could really ask those types of questions. “Well, Matt and I . . . Matt and I sort of . . . like each other.”
“Did he spend the night last night?” he asked solemnly.
Rebecca reared back—honestly, how did he do that? “Umm . . . yes. Yes, he did, Grayson. Sometimes, when adults like each other, they like to spend the night. It’s natural. It’s what people do. Someday, you’ll want to spend the night with someone, too.”
“I want to spend the night with Taylor.”
“Taylor?” she said, pushed slightly off task by that. “I thought you didn’t like Taylor!”
“Maybe I’d like him if he spent the night. You didn’t like Matt and he spent the night.”
“That’s a little different,” she said. “How did you know Matt spent the night?”
“His car is outside,” Grayson said. “Is he going to be here today?”
So here it was, the defining moment, the instance in which she might screw the kid up forever. Rebecca bit her lower lip as she looked at a stoic Grayson. What answer did he want? Did he want Matt to stay? To go? Was this when she made him understand what spending the night meant?
Grayson tugged on her hand.
“Okay. All right. Listen, Grayson, Matt is . . . well, he’s—”
“Hey, pal, ask your mom while she’s trying to figure out what I am if she has any coffee,” Matt said from the kitchen, finishing up with a big yawn.
“Matt!” Grayson wrenched his hand free of Rebecca’s. “Can you take me on the boat today?” he shouted as he ran to where Matt was standing.
“Tell you what,” Matt said, and Rebecca realized that he w
as wearing only a pair of jeans, “find me some coffee before I slit my wrists, and if your mom says it’s okay, I’ll take you out on the boat.”
“Mom! MOOOOM!” Grayson screeched from five feet away. “Can Matt take me on the boat?”
That was it? That was all it took? No sit-down talk, no review of what grown-ups sometimes did together? Relieved, Rebecca fell back against the couch. “Honey, he can take you all the way to the ocean if you’d like.”
“Yeah!” Grayson cried, jumping up and down and clapping.
“Wait—we had a deal,” Matt said gruffly. “Before you go getting your swim trunks all blown up, where’s my coffee?” He grabbed Grayson and turned him upside down like he weighed nothing and shook him until Grayson broke into a fit of giggles.
It was, Rebecca thought, exactly the way Matt made her feel. Upside down and full of giggles.
So Matt knew he was in pretty deep, like up to his neck, because he did not leave that lake house until Sunday evening, and even then, he had Rebecca and Grayson in tow. This was not like him at all.
He’d come to Rebecca’s special little lake house Thursday afternoon just to talk, but Friday morning, when he went back out to his car, the world was a whole other place than he’d known before, all shiny and new. And as he stood there, Rebecca’s phone in hand, he knew that the world would never be the same again. He hadn’t been the same since he’d looked up and seen her gliding toward him in the capitol park, all demon-eyed.
He also knew, all the way down to the pit of him, that he had, after more than thirty years, found The One. Not that he was entirely certain how he knew—but one night of fabulous sex did not usually make him feel all mellow and protective and part of a unit, and that was exactly how he was feeling at the moment. Definitely a feeling unlike any he’d ever had, and even though the lawyer in him would argue against it on principle, history, and his typical, doglike practices when it came to women, Matt knew it was true. He really, truly, knew.
Still barefoot, he hopped up the gravel road a ways, for a little privacy and phoned the office. Naturally, Harold answered crisply on the first ring.
“Harold, how’s it going?”
“How’s it going, Mr. Parrish?” Harold echoed, the surprise evident in his voice. “Well . . . I suppose it’s going exactly as it ought.”
“Listen. I’m not going to make it in today. I’m feeling a little under the weather.”
There was a long pause. Then a muffled cough. “Excuse me, Mr. Parrish—if I may . . . are you calling in sick?” Harold asked incredulously.
“What, aren’t I allowed the same courtesy we extend to all twelve employees? Am I not human? Do I not bleed?”
“Certainly, Mr. Parrish, it’s just that . . . well, sir, I’ll just walk out on a limb and say that as you’ve never called in sick even once in the eight years I have worked for you. I am very surprised.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Matt said, smiling. “Get Townsend to cover my docket, will you? He can do it with one hand tied behind his back.”
“Ah . . . I beg your pardon, sir, but Mr. Townsend said if you called, I was to put you through—”
“On Monday, Harold. Have a good weekend,” he said, and clicked off before Harold could say more. Ben would be mad as hell come Monday, but at the moment, Matt couldn’t care less. He was too busy falling in love, man.
The next order of business was clothes. He did maintain the one-shirt rule, as in always have an extra shirt in the car. But he did not, however, maintain the extra pair of boxers rule, and donning his polo, Matt hopped into his car and drove to Ruby Falls, where he found Sam’s General Store. Among various pottery and dolls and frilly little things that he assumed old ladies bought, Matt found a rack of men’s golf clothes, picked up some pants, shorts, a couple of shirts, and a pair of sandals. The only thing he couldn’t find at the general store was underwear. The high school kid at the checkout told him he could get some undies at Sam’s Corner Grocery. Why was he not surprised?
He found them there, all right. On the “other” aisle.
Dinah was at the same register when he came through with a pack of gum, another huge bouquet of roses, and a package of three boxer briefs. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she rang them up. “I guess you found Ms. Lear’s house all right,” she drawled.
With his underwear and flowers, Matt flew down the two-lane to Rebecca’s, through the gate with the flying pig, up to the lake house with the flowering pots and charming crankcase windows and rustic planters and big wraparound porch and thought, for the first time in his life, that it would be nice to come home to this. He loved the smell and sound and feel of this house.
Rebecca never asked him when or if he was leaving; he figured if she wanted him to go, she’d say so, but he had the definite sense that she was just as entranced with the little world they had stumbled into as he was.
In truth, she even seemed a slightly different person after their earth-shattering lovemaking. Even as early as this morning, he noticed dog food pellets on the floor, unswept. When she cheerfully offered to make breakfast, she dropped a clean dish towel to the floor and stuffed it back onto a stack of them, without regard to color or texture or shape. And as that magical weekend wore on, the various facets of her perfection began to slip away, like so many pieces of leaves scattered to the wind.
Matt made good on his promise to take Grayson out on the boat, and in the end, all four dogs and Rebecca went along. She packed a lunch, said she knew a little place upriver, which turned out to be a small island where someone had gone to great pains to make a grassy picnic area under the boughs of old pecan trees. It was perfect for a lazy afternoon like this.
While Grayson threw sticks in the water for the dogs to fetch—those that would, anyway, as Bean never saw the stick, Tot was afraid of the water, and Tater was disinclined—Matt and Rebecca lay on a quilt beneath a pecan tree and talked. About everything. Stuff he hadn’t thought about or mentioned in years. Like they had been stranded on a deserted island, had come into human contact after a long absence, which, in a metaphorical sense, Matt figured was right on target.
Rebecca told him about Bud, how she had fallen in love with the high school football star and had followed him to college, then given up her dreams of an art degree because he wanted a wife and a beauty queen. And how Bud had grown disenchanted with her when she became pregnant, even found her changing shape off-putting. It was then, Rebecca casually reported, that the affairs began, one after another, and that even some of her so-called friends thought nothing of screwing her scum of a husband in the garage while Rebecca was inside nursing their son. She said it so matter-of-factly, so numbly, that it sent a cold shiver down Matt’s spine. He was beginning to understand how a woman like Rebecca could be so stiff, so afraid of life and of love.
She was much more animated when she talked about her sisters. She laughed as she told him about Robin, headstrong and ambitious and finally out from “under her father’s thumb.” Rachel, the baby, who was still in school studying ancient British literature and battling a weight problem, brought on after years, Rebecca said, of her father’s criticism.
Her father, Matt quickly understood, was the central character in their lives, whether they wanted him to be or not. “Sounds like a hard-ass,” he reflected, after Rebecca told him of the rift that had developed between him and Robin over her place in the family company.
Rebecca shook her head. “That’s really too nice—he’s a bastard,” she said, without rancor. “When he found out he had cancer, he called my mother, even though they had been separated for years. She dropped everything in L.A. to come and care for him. For a while, it looked like things were going to work out. I thought maybe he had grown up a little, that maybe his mortality had shaken something lose in him.” She gave a long and weary sigh. “But, as soon as the treatment started to take, and the cancer went into remission, he was back to the usual—bossing us all around, running ou
r lives. And even though Mom dropped everything to be with him in his hour of need, he started ignoring her all over again.”
“I take it you don’t get along with him.”
“Oh no, we get along,” she said. “I mean, in spite of all I’ve said, he can be a decent man. He adores Grayson, and I think he truly wants my happiness . . . it’s just that he wants to define it for me. I do love my dad, but I don’t like him very much.”
Matt changed the subject, asked her about her reigning year as Miss Texas, which made her snort in that funny way she did and roll her eyes. “Another great chapter of my life,” she said caustically.
“Then you weren’t kidding when you said you never wanted to be Miss Texas?”
“God, no. Never!” she said emphatically. “It was great after it happened, but it was all Bud’s thing, not mine,” she said, and confessed that she had been a stupid young woman who was more interested in pleasing everyone around her than in doing what was right for Rebecca. Good ol’ Bud, Matt gathered, cared more about the way things looked than what they were, and in particular, his wife. He knew the type—men who were so insecure with themselves that they insisted their wives were perfect, their house, their kids. It all went into feeding their own sick egos.
Rebecca was a gracious, kind-hearted, and determined person. Even though she could be confoundingly stubborn, she was appealing in a charming way. The fact that she was gorgeous was just icing on the cake. So if there was a man out there who thought that wasn’t enough and wanted more, he had to be an a prick to Matt’s way of thinking.
Whatever she thought of her ex, Matt couldn’t say—but she seemed to be well past any feelings about Bud, grateful to be out of that dysfunctional relationship and now was anxious to become someone in her own right. All by herself. Just as soon as she figured out who or what.
“Any ideas?” she asked as they lay on their bellies, side by side, while Grayson and the dogs napped.