"On my birthday!" The child looked at him as if he'd suddenly lost his mind before skipping into the house. Ask a stupid question, he thought to himself wryly.
"Her birthday's in September," Kim offered. "Mine's in April."
"Is it? So is mine." His eyes softened as he looked down at Kim. Casey had her mother's coloring, but Kim's poignant air of vulnerability reminded him so damn much of Angie and her reaction to him—and it tugged at his heartstrings almost as much. "We'll have to celebrate together next year, won't we?"
She responded with a timid smile, then bit her lip and hung her head. She looked so pitifully uncertain that Matt dropped down on one knee beside her. "What is it, Kim?" he encouraged gently. "What's wrong?"
The tip of one sneaker toed the ground repeatedly before she finally looked up hesitantly. "Do you like my mommy?"
Both the question and the solemnly intent expression on Kim's face took him by surprise. He was on the verge of frowning when he realized she might take it the wrong way. Like her? Good Lord, he loved her.
His voice was curiously unsteady. "Yes, Kim. I like her... I like her very much." There was a brief pause while he took one small hand in his. He half expected Kim to draw away, but she didn't. "Do you mind?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "I... I like you, too," she confessed shyly. "Lots better than Todd." She smiled timidly, but a troubled look appeared in her eyes once more. "You won't hurt my mommy, will you?"
His answering smile faded as he felt her fingers tremble in his. Her anxious whisper tore into his heart, even while he wondered why on earth a child of eight would ask such a question. Yet somehow he sensed that his answer was somehow vitally important to Kim.
"No," he said firmly. He gave her fingers a gentle but reassuring squeeze. "I would never hurt your mother. Never," he emphasized.
"Promise?" Her eyes demanded that he do so.
"I promise," he echoed solemnly, then grinned at her. "Cross my heart and hope to die." The words were accompanied by the proper gesture, and Kim's face brightened as she giggled.
He was still pondering Kim's unexpected questions when the two of them entered the house a moment later. He caught a glimpse of Angie sleeping on the sofa. Pressing a finger to his lips, he made a game of tiptoeing the girls up the stairs for a bath. Regardless of how much she pretended otherwise, the day had been filled with a great deal of mental strain, and he hated to spoil this brief reprieve for her.
He felt rather proud of himself, especially in light of his bachelor status, because, by the time nine o'clock rolled around, Kim and Casey were bathed and snugly tucked in bed.
Angie was still asleep in the living room. Flaxen ribbons of gold had come loose from her topknot and trailed across the small throw pillow her head rested on. One hand was tucked loosely under the rose-tinted smoothness of her cheek. Her pale peach dress draped loosely over her breasts and hips, hinting at the supple curves beneath. She had kicked off her shoes, and they lay carelessly tipped on their sides under the coffee table.
The now-familiar wave of protectiveness swept over him. Oddly, it was the sight of her bare feet that triggered the reaction. Matt dropped into a chair across from her, smiling as he savored the feeling.
"What's so funny?" Angie lifted her arm away from her eyes and stretched before sitting up.
Matt's eyes lingered on her bare feet, now resting firmly on the floor. "Just trying to decide who you really are, Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty."
Angie smiled without restraint at Matt's rhetorical comment. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but she was glad that she had. The short nap had eased some of the tension that had marked the day.
"Are the girls upstairs?" Her hands reached up to pin back into place the stray hairs that tickled her cheek.
"Upstairs, tucked in tight as a drum and clean as a whistle."
"You gave them a bath? And they're in bed already?" She halted in the midst of slipping on her shoes and stared across at him.
Matt chuckled at the stark surprise registered on her face and in her voice. "Don't worry, I didn't peek. Besides, Kim really needed a bath." He shook his head. "Maybe I shouldn't have taken her to the Mariners' game after all. We didn't get much batting practice in because she kept rubbing dirt on her hands and swinging the bat around. Just like the pros," he added dryly.
Angie's lips twitched. She had no trouble envisioning Kim doing exactly that. "Let's just hope she doesn't start spitting when she comes up in the batter's box."
"Uh, it might be a little late for that." Somehow Matt didn't look the least bit repentant as he laced his fingers across his stomach and stretched his long legs out in front of him.
"She didn't!" Angie gasped.
He laughed at Angie's horrified expression. "She did," he confirmed, feeling for all the world like a proud, doting papa. "Didn't you know it's the trademark of a true baseball player?"
"Oh, Lord," Angie muttered, but the humor of the situation suddenly struck her, and she found her laughter joining Matt's. "I wish I'd seen her," she reproved without heat. "You should have woke me."
"I thought you were busy," he admitted. "I didn't know you were asleep until we came inside. Besides, you needed the rest." He studied her quietly for a moment, his face pensive. "They're great kids, Angie. You should be proud of them."
His words made her feel warm and glowing inside. "You're really good with them," she told him unselfconsciously. The next second, though, a faint line was etched between her brows. "You and Linda, Matt." She broached the subject hesitantly. "You never had any children?"
Unknowingly she had hit a nerve. The pain reflected in his eyes dazed her for an instant, and she was taken totally aback. "You're so good with Kim and Casey," she told him quickly, speaking before she even realized it. "I just thought...I mean, you'd make such a wonderful father."
"It's something I always wanted," he admitted quietly. "In fact, I wanted the whole shot—a station wagon, a house in the suburbs, along with a houseful of kids." His mouth twisted in a bittersweet smile. "A baby would have ruined her figure. Linda wanted glamour and action. I knew that when I married her, but I thought I could change her." He stared into space as he spoke. "In the end I felt cheated. The only kind of family ties Linda really understood was a hand in her father's wallet."
Cheated. That was exactly how she'd felt when her marriage began to unravel. Why was it, she mused sadly, that when a person discovered a lifetime of happiness was just within reach, fate cruelly snatched it away? It had happened to her. And it had also happened to Matt.
It was but one more reason why she didn't dare risk any involvement with this man, didn't dare risk falling in love with him, a tiny voice whispered. Yet there was such longing written on his face that Angie's throat clogged with some nameless, twisting emotion that cried "liar" to that debilitating voice in her mind.
She wanted him so much, yet she was afraid of the tumultuous way he made her feel inside. She wanted to run and hide and never look back. But she also wanted to reach out and stroke away the lines of pain etched beside his mouth.
Angie did neither. Instead, she sat very still, her head lowered, her hands clasped tightly in her lap before she finally got up, murmuring that she wanted to check on Casey and Kim.
A pair of disturbed gray eyes followed her retreat from the living room. Matt eased up from the chair, tiredly rubbing the back of his neck and wishing he'd had sense enough to keep quiet. He must have said something to bring back unwelcome memories. Why was it that, every time he felt they were growing closer, something sent her running in the opposite direction, when all he wanted was for her to run straight into his arms?
Angie was composed but subdued when she returned downstairs a few minutes later. Matt was on the phone in the kitchen, and she couldn't help but notice his intent expression as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. She gathered from his brief comments that the subject under discussion was the note she had received earlier that day, and she f
elt a sudden chill.
She pulled a quart of milk from the refrigerator and cocoa from the cupboard. She started to take two cups down from the rack on the wall, then glanced quizzically over her shoulder at Matt. He nodded in response to her unspoken question.
Busying herself at the stove, she stirred the milk, cocoa and sugar into a saucepan. The bright lights and homey familiarity of her kitchen were reassuring, and she tried to ignore Matt's sharp eyes watching her steadily.
She brought the cups to the table just as he hung up the phone. "Find out anything?" She tried not to sound overly anxious.
He shook his head and sat down next to her. "We could only get a couple of clear prints—-yours and Todd's."
"Damn," she murmured. "I was hoping the fingerprints might turn up something." Thinking of what he'd told Georgia earlier, she summoned a wan smile. "Too bad this isn't Hollywood."
Matt's face was grave as he curled his fingers around the cup. "We don't have much to go on, Angie. You realize that, don't you?"
"I know," she agreed, sighing wearily. She started to lift her cup to her lips, then lowered it before it was halfway there. "It just now occurred to me," she said slowly, her brow knit in concentration, "that if someone is trying to influence my stand on the city hall issue, maybe some of the other city council members have also been threaten—"
Matt's firm shake of his head cut her off. "We've already checked. You're the only one." His tone was light, but his eyes were perfectly serious as they rested on her. "Any idea who might be on the warpath? Someone holding a grudge against you, perhaps?"
"Enemies, you mean," she stated unequivocally, then paused to consider who they might be.
"What about that newspaper reporter?"
"Blair Andrews?" She grimaced. "She doesn't like me, that much I know."
"Because her uncle lost the election to you?"
"Right." She was a little surprised that he remembered. "But slashing tires and kidnapping cats— somehow I can't see Blair stooping that low." Her smile was cynical. "She'd much rather hack me to bits in one of her columns."
Matt neither agreed nor disagreed. "What about her uncle?"
"He did resort to some rather dirty politics during the campaign," she recalled.
He crossed his forearms on the table and leaned forward. "Something like this?"
"Not exactly." She related in a low voice how Bob Andrews had tried to make an issue of the fact that before his death Evan had lost his job at the bank.
"Anyone else?' he asked when she had finished.
Angie thought for a moment, feeling a little like a tattletale in the third grade. It wasn't something she was entirely comfortable with.
"John Curtis is really pushing for a new city hall," she said slowly, then frowned. "In fact, I've been trying to figure out all day why someone would go to such lengths to get me to support the new building instead of renovating."
"What else?" Matt questioned skeptically. "Money."
"But how?" She looked at him in puzzlement. "Until the issue is decided, we can't even begin to take bids or anything like that."
Matt rapped his fingers against the table, momentarily lost in thought. "We don't know what or how high the stakes are, and we probably won't until we find out who's behind this." Angie got up to empty her cup into the sink, and he realized the action was a signal for him to stop. "Are you okay?" he asked.
She made a pretense of carefully rinsing the sink before turning to face him. Facing a known enemy was one thing, but facing the unknown was quite another. And although she'd been telling herself all day that Matt's insistence on staying with her was more self- motivated than anything else, as she absorbed the genuine concern in his eyes, she realized she'd done him a great disservice.
Silently she nodded in affirmation.
"You don't look okay." He watched her closely. "I could use a bit more convincing."
"I'm fine. Really," she insisted, though her smile was a little wobbly. "See?" She held out her hands. "Steady as she goes."
His eyes never wavered from hers as he rose and closed the distance between them. Lifting her hands in his, he turned each one over and lightly kissed first one palm and then the other. A ribbon of sensation shot through her veins at the touch of his lips on her skin. He loosely linked their hands together, then tested her grip-
"You're right," he murmured. "Steady as she goes." When he realized Angie couldn't meet his eyes directly, he added, "No one is going to think any less of you if you admit you're scared."
Time marched silently on. Angie marveled that he knew her so well. Certainly Evan never had, in spite of all the years they'd spent together. Yet where Matt was concerned, the knowledge both pleased and disturbed her. Still, that very contrariness was typical of her feelings toward him.
"Even you?" she asked finally.
She felt a gentle pressure on her hands. "Especially me." There was a strangely husky quality to his voice she'd never heard before.
"Do you ever feel that way? Scared, I mean?" She posed the question hesitantly.
"We all do, at some time or other."
Golden wisps of hair caressed her cheeks as she shook her head. "It's hard to think of you as being scared," she whispered. "You're so... so strong."
His grip tightened on hers for an instant. Angie was revealing more of herself than she ever had before, and he fought the need to envelop her in his arms and never let her go.
"You're wrong." His voice stole softly through the silence. "Where you're concerned, I'm not strong at all." His hands withdrew from hers, only to frame her face so that he could stare directly into her eyes. "Because it's getting harder and harder to keep from doing... this."
He kissed her then, a kiss that spoke of need, of tenderness, of promises unfulfilled and promises yet to be made. It was a soothing touch, a yearning caress that sought to heal her hidden wounds, vanquish her secret fears and show her a world where yesterday was forgotten and tomorrow was a golden beacon of laughter and love.
Angie's lips trembled like the wings of a butterfly as his mouth teased and tempted. Their flesh melded, their breath mingled. The sensual magic of his lips on hers filtered through her like a warm ray of sunshine, affording her a tantalizing glimpse of paradise. Nothing on earth could have prevented her mouth from opening to welcome the tender invasion, the infinitely exciting thrust and parry of his tongue skirmishing boldly with hers.
Matt's restraint fell away like glistening beads of dew before the blazing heat of a morning sun. She was so sweet, so warm, and she was his—his to claim, his to love. He heard her sudden intake of breath as his hands slipped from her face to her waist, urging her body forward.
She melted against him, her hands slid up to test the tautened muscles of his shoulders before burying themselves in his hair. She felt his fingers steal upward to gauge the ripe fullness of her breast. Little tingles of excitement shot through her as his thumb feathered over the straining peak, the touch so light she almost thought she imagined it.
It came again--this time more firmly, a tender manipulation that seemed to last forever and ended much too soon. Sharp needles of exquisitely delicious sensations burst to life within her. Again, she prayed silently, her nipples swelling tautly against his hand. Again...
The low moan pulled from within her body echoed in his mouth. He knew a split second of ecstasy as his arms wrapped around her and drew her full and tight against him. The feel of her body, so sweetly cradled against the part of him that swelled with near-painful intensity, made him ache with the need to join with her, to share himself with her and show her his love once and for all. Matt felt rich as he'd never felt before.
Angie tensed. But she didn't draw away.
It was Matt who finally pulled back, trying hard not to let his shoulders slump with resignation.
Angie stared at him. One moment she was safe and warm and sheltered as she hadn't been in such a long, long time. The next she was cold and alone and chilled with an icy num
bness that seemed to penetrate clear to her soul. She wanted him so much that it hurt inside, but she was ashamed of that wanting.
The raw pain that flashed across his face hurt her even more. "Matt..." His name emerged as a muffled cry. Her trembling lips opened, but no further sound came out.
He sensed she wanted to explain the conflicting emotions warring inside her. The tears that sprang to her eyes made his heart ache, but until she found it in herself to trust him with whatever it was that held her back, he could do nothing to help her.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done, but somehow he forced himself to rise and move to the doorway. There he looked back at her, his face carved into harsh, unreadable lines. "Good night, Angie," he said quietly.
She heard his footsteps on the stairs and the soft click of his bedroom door closing.
It seemed like hours, but in reality it was only minutes later that she climbed into bed, her mind still on the scene that had unfolded downstairs.
She dreaded these next few days with Matt. Tonight only proved what she had known almost from the start. Her body was willing, her spirit was weakening... and her heart was torn in two.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"is she awake?"
The whisper was hushed. It sounded as if it were muffled behind a small hand.
Angie groaned and squeezed her eyes more tightly. It was Saturday, Kim didn't have a game, so why couldn't the girls let her sleep in just a few minutes longer? She buried her face in the pillow, hoping they would tiptoe quietly out.
There was a giggle and the sound of footsteps shuffling along the floor.
"She's still asleep." Angie recognized Casey's disappointed singsong. "Can't we wake her up, Matt?"
"No," she muttered, still caught halfway in a world between sleep and wakefulness. "Let her sleep just a minute longer, Ma—"
Matt! Her eyes flew open. Her fingers clutched the bed sheet and pulled it frantically upward from her waist to her chin.
"Now she's awake," Matt commented dryly, grinning at two small faces, one on either side of him. He was standing at the side of the bed, wearing an old faded pair of jeans that tightly hugged the muscles of his legs. Bronzed, hairy arms peeked out from the rolled-up sleeves of his pale-blue-and-white-striped shirt, their sheen matching that of the wiry curls at the base of his throat. His strong jawline was dark with a shadowy growth of beard. But even though he hadn't yet shaved, he looked damnably good to her. In his hands was a fully laden tray, complete with coffee, juice and a single red rose.
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