by Mary Campisi
Sara broke into his thoughts with, “Just another sec.” Another sec and the icemaker clunked ice, followed by the hum of the machine dispersing water.
“Extra ice in mine,” Matt hollered to her.
“I know. I know.” She padded into the room, handed him his drink, and plopped on the sofa. “I almost think I liked it better when you weren't talking to me. At least you weren't bossing me around all of the time.”
He slid her a crooked smile. “Women. Just can't please ‘em.” His smile deepened. “Damned if I do and damned if I don't.”
She slouched beside him, slumping into the leather. “Right.” Her shoulder brushed his. “Something tells me most women would be pleased playing servant for you anytime.”
“But not you.” It was a statement, but there was a hint of curiosity there. Would she be interested? Would he want her to be?
“Not me,” she said, her throaty little laugh rolling over him.
He couldn't picture her being interested in that position either. She leaned over and scooped a handful of popcorn from the bowl resting on his thigh. God, but she smelled good. Since when did he find orange blossoms intoxicating? Her bare leg touched his. Soft. Smooth. Enticing. Her breast brushed against his arm and he turned rock-hard. Shit! How had that happened? He did not need this bulge in his pants getting in the way of his friendship with Sara. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the erection away.
“Matt?”
There was that low, velvety voice. “What?” Think of something else. Mother Teresa. The Virgin Mary. Joan of Arc.
“Why are you squeezing your eyes shut? Is something the matter?”
“No.” He forced the word out and edged the popcorn bowl closer to his stomach. Don't inhale, don't listen, don't feel. Think of something else. Sister Mary Catherine. Sister Julia Angelina. He jumped when her fingers touched his forehead. “What are you doing?”
“Relax. You've got a crease six inches deep. Right here,” she said, smoothing out the lines on his forehead.
He let his head fall back onto the cushions. Her fingertips were warm and soothing. She could do that all night. She worked her way to his temples in long even strokes, then began circling. Keep going. Lower. Lower. “Enough.” He grabbed her wrists, halting them in mid-motion. He had to stop this insanity before it got out of control. “I'm fine. Okay?” He knew he sounded too abrupt, but damn it all, she was pushing him. The hell of it was, little Miss Innocent had no idea what she was doing to him.
“I was just trying to help you relax a little.” He didn't miss the defensiveness in her voice.
He wanted to reassure her she'd done nothing wrong. He was the sick one who had taken their new friendship and desecrated it with sexual fantasies. But he couldn't afford to be soft right now, because if he did, she might forgive his rudeness and spend the rest of the night six inches from him, talking, laughing, sometimes touching, and never knowing he’d been thinking about jumping her bones.
Talk about ruining a friendship.
“And would you mind sitting in that chair over there?” he asked, pointing to one of the matching leather loungers. He had to put some distance between them. Clear his head. And his nostrils of her sweet orange scent. “I need to spread out a little more.”
“Sure.” Her tone told him it was anything but okay. She bounded from the sofa and flopped into the lounge chair. “How's this? Do you have enough room now? Maybe I should go sit in the kitchen.”
Matt ignored the sarcasm. This was for her own good. He turned his back to her, stuffed a pillow behind his head and lay down, propping his feet on the armrest. “Yeah, this is great.”
“Good. I'm glad.”
She probably hoped he choked on his popcorn. “Just one more thing.”
“Yes, your majesty. What might I do for you?”
“Could you not talk so I can concentrate on the game?” When she didn't answer, he figured she got the message. He heaved a sigh and called himself a thousand kinds of fool. The erection was gone. Unfortunately, the fragile new friendship they shared might have followed the same path.
***
He should be here any minute. She gnawed on her lower lip and played with the edges of the tickets. Crisp. Hard. She flicked them back and forth with her thumb. Where was he? Rosa had gone to wake him ten minutes ago.
She had to tell him today. No more postponing. The game was tomorrow night. She sucked in a breath, swallowed twice, and wondered how she'd ever come up with such a ridiculous idea. Matt would never agree to it, especially after last night
She still didn't understand why he’d gone and ruined the whole evening. Told her not to talk so he could concentrate. The big oaf. Of course, she'd clamped her mouth shut for the rest of the evening, tighter than a size four dress. She would have ripped her tongue out before uttering another word. But he didn't seem to notice her silence because he was intent on treating her like a piece of furniture. Why had he reverted back to the old Matt, cutting and arrogant, nothing like the man she'd come to know these last few days? Why had he shut her out and gone to such pains to be rude? The question plagued her the whole night, wrecking any hopes of enjoying the ball game and stealing precious hours of early-morning sleep. Had she offended him in some way? It was a usual night, the same kind they'd shared for the last three days. Relaxing. Enjoyable. Intimate.
Intimate?
Where had that come from? She dropped the tickets on the kitchen table. Intimate? She replayed the events of last evening, leading up to Matt's strange behavior. She'd been fixing their drinks in the kitchen and enjoying his playful bantering. He kept telling her to hurry up or she'd miss the game. All perfectly normal. He wanted more ice. She got it and went to the living room, handed over his iced tea and sat down beside him. Nothing strange there. Then they'd joked about her being a servant or something. They'd both laughed, and she’d grabbed a handful of popcorn. And a big whiff of his cologne. Woodsy, with a tang of spice. Hmm. How close was she anyway? Then she'd noticed his tense expression and reached up to massage the lines away. That's when he'd gone a little ballistic.
Sara rewound the last part. His change in behavior had something to do with her touching him. She'd bet on it. Did he think she was coming on to him? Like the last doctor? Matt knew her better than that. Didn't he? He knew she'd touched him with nothing but friendly concern. Knew she'd thought nothing of her leg brushing against his. They were friends, bordering on becoming good friends. It had nothing at all to do with romance.
Didn't he know that? Was he still thinking about that night in his bedroom? Hadn't she told him to pretend it didn't happen? Not that she'd been able to look at his mouth without remembering, but she'd die before she admitted it to him. How could she, when she couldn't even admit it to herself?
She had to see him right away so she could set his mind at ease and reassure him the last thing she wanted in this world or beyond was a romantic relationship with him. Sara took a sip of lukewarm coffee and glanced down the hall. What was keeping them? She heard a door open and Rosa waddled out, carrying her purse and a piece of paper.
“He be right out,” the older woman said. “I go to grocery store with Rex. You need something?”
“No, but thank you.”
When Rosa left, Sara glanced at the three tickets in front of her. First she'd talk to Matt about last night, then she'd deliver the real blow. The Pirates were playing the Dodgers tomorrow night. And they were going—she hoped.
Matt ambled into the kitchen a few minutes later, his curly hair still wet from a recent shower. His silver eyes scanned the room, honing in on her. “Hello.”
“Good morning.”
He gave her a little half smile and walked to the coffee pot. This wasn't going to be easy but it had to be done. She wiped her damp hands on her sundress and took a deep breath.
“About last night,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
He’d moved right behind her but she refused to turn around. It would be easier to say what nee
ded saying without looking at him. “Actually, I think I might be the one who should apologize.” She traced the edges of the tickets in front of her. Just say it and be done. “I think that maybe…though I don't know how…I might have given you the wrong impression last night.”
Silence.
He wasn't going to make this any easier on her. “Anyway, when I touched you last night…I mean, when I touched your face last night you know, tried to massage your forehead and temples, well, I was only trying to help you feel better.” What an idiot.
“I know.”
“It's not what it might have seemed like,” she continued, as though he hadn't spoken.
“What did it seem like?”
“Well…you know,” she said, hoping he'd use his imagination to fill in the blanks.
“Why don't you tell me?”
He leaned forward, his breath fanning her hair. His scent filled her nostrils, pulsed through her veins and drowned out everything, especially common sense. She closed her eyes and said, “It might have looked as if I were coming on to you.”
“Oh.” He trailed a finger down the side of her neck. “Or maybe I was sending out some invisible signal that said I wanted you to come on to me,” he suggested, making lazy circles along her collarbone. “Maybe I wanted you to, even as I was pushing you away.”
It was too hard to think with him touching her. “Did you?”
He didn't answer right away, as though he wasn’t certain of the answer himself. “I don't know,” he said with a ragged sigh. “I just don't know. Last week I wanted to boot you back to Pittsburgh. Now I'm dreading the day Jeff shows up at my doorstep.”
“I know.” Sometime over the last few days, she'd forgotten she was on assignment. Forgotten it was temporary. Forgotten that she was never going to get involved again.
“I think this is probably not a good idea,” he whispered as his lips brushed the back of her neck.
Tiny shivers ran through her. “No. Probably not.” Even as she mouthed the words, she leaned forward to grant him better access.
Matt graced tiny kisses behind her left earlobe, trailing his mouth to her collarbone. He pushed the sundress strap aside. “So soft. So silky,” he murmured. “Good thing I'm not into buttoned-up psychologists from Pittsburgh. That could be dangerous.”
“Very dangerous,” she sighed. Logic crumbled with each of his touches, transforming itself into raw emotion where nothing existed beyond his touches. She reached back and ran her hands down his waist. The low rumble of approval spurred her to boldness and she let her fingers roam his thighs, feel the muscles beneath them.
“Sara.” Matt groaned and grabbed her hands. “Too fast.” He turned her around, circling her with his strong arms. “Too good.” He took a deep breath, smiled down at her. “Too damn good.”
She smiled back into unseeing silver eyes and wound her arms around his waist, anxious to be closer. He nudged her into the edge of the table, his legs on either side of hers. Their bodies melted together, flowing over and through each other, heat into light, strength into softness.
“Sara,” he said, pulling her to him. “Sweet Sara.” His head dipped low, stopping mere inches from her lips. “I've got to taste you.”
Oh, and she wanted him to taste her. Her eyes drifted slowly shut as their lips met in a promise of passion and desire. He coaxed her mouth open. She touched her tongue to his, stroking, probing, gently sucking. She wanted him with an intensity she'd never felt before.
He broke the kiss and buried his head between her breasts. “Sara,” he rasped, running his hands under her dress and up her bare legs. “If you don't stop me soon, it'll be too late.”
His hands teased the waistband of her silk panties. “I think it's already too late,” she said, tugging his polo shirt from his jean shorts.
“It was too late the day you walked through the door,” he said, grabbing both sides of her panties and pushing them down her legs with one quick jerk.
She stepped out of them, anxious to feel his hands on her naked body. His fingers worked their way to her sex. When he touched her, she grabbed his shoulders and moaned as heat and need poured through her. Nothing existed but those fingers doing incredibly wonderful things to the most private part of her body.
“Ah, Sara,” he murmured, working his magic with his finger and thumb. His free hand slipped the sundress straps off her shoulders, teasing her breasts through the silken fabric until her nipples ached.
His touch, his voice, his scent, all drove her to the edge, threatening to make her explode into hundreds of fragmented emotions. She wanted to touch him, wanted to run her hand along the bulge in his shorts and make him as crazy as he was making her. She slid her hand along his chest, hovered on his belt buckle, moved low to cup him. He groaned deep in his throat, thrusting himself into her palm as he stroked her and sought her mouth. It was too much, too intense for her to hold on and she exploded, her body pulsing with a hundred tiny convulsions that would not stop.
Matt was the first to speak. “Was that a mistake?”
She leaned her forehead against his chest and he pulled her close, stroking her hair. “I'm sure it was.”
“Do you care?” he asked, his voice as soft as the caresses he'd given her a few minutes ago.
This was not the time to be untruthful. “No.”
He pulled her closer. “Good. Neither do I.”
She sighed and turned her head to rest on his chest, the thump of his heart beating against her ear. “Rosa's usually gone for a few hours on shopping day. Why don't we go back to my room and finish this?”
And then what? she wanted to ask. But she didn't, because right now it didn't matter. She wanted to be with him. Needed to be with him. And for once in her very practical, extremely organized life, she was going to listen to her heart and not her head.
“Sara,” he asked, “will you come back to my room and make love with me?”
Yes, her heart answered.
“Hey, anybody. I’m home!”
Chapter 9
It was Adam!
“Shit.” Matt jerked back and pulled her sundress straps into place and ran a quick hand down her dress.
“My panties,” she said, unable to move.
He knelt and swiped them up just as Adam entered the kitchen.
“Hi, you two,” he said, a big smile on his tanned face.
“Hey,” Matt said.
Such casual nonchalance. Was he always this smooth in these circumstances? And how often was he in these circumstances? Maybe she was just the flavor of the month—Triple Dipped Stupid. She honed in on the swatch of balled-up pink in his right hand.
“Sara,” Adam said. “What's the matter? You look pale. Are you sick?”
Sick? She was sick all right. In the head. “I’m—”
“She's fine. Just stayed up too late last night watching the ball game. As a matter of fact, she came to tell me she was thinking about going back to bed.” His silver gaze settled on her. “Isn't that right, Sara?”
She stared at him, amazed at the finesse he employed as he twisted the truth, making it sound so believable. She'd been thinking about going back to bed, all right, but it hadn't been to sleep.
“Sara?” he repeated, tightening his hand around her panties.
“Yes,” she said, dragging her gaze from his right hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw him stuff the panties into his jean's pocket.
“You two and your ball games,” Adam said, shaking his head. “I don't understand how grown people can get excited about watching a guy hit a ball with a stick and run around.”
Matt shrugged. “It's in our blood.”
“Is it terminal?”
“Hard to tell yet,” he said, digging his hand partway into his right pocket. “We both seem to be equally hooked.”
A rush of heat splashed across Sara’s face. She wasn't good at playing relationship games or throwing around double entendres. And she certainly hadn't considered what they'd been d
oing a game. Had he?
“Well, I guess that makes me odd man out,” Adam said.
There was such truth in his words.
“Guess it does,” Matt agreed.
“How was New York?” Sara asked, eager to change the subject. Adam might be clueless to the double meaning of the conversation, but Matt knew exactly what he was saying. He was probably even enjoying himself.
“Very productive. Looks like the merger is a go.” His gaze lingered on Sara. “But the company just wasn't the same.”
Matt cleared his throat. “It's good to see you again, too.”
Adam threw him an annoyed look. “I wasn't referring to your company.”
“I gathered your target was Sara.”
Had she detected a bit of jealousy in his tone? Ridiculous. She doubted he’d ever been jealous in his life.
“You are so astute,” Adam said, chuckling. He headed for the coffee pot, pulled a mug from the cupboard, and poured himself a cup. “I really did miss you, Sara. Watching the sunset on Dana Point, sharing a double fudge brownie sundae. Even the trips to those God-awful boutiques,” he said, his smile deepening to reveal a pair of dimples and a flash of very white teeth.
Matt frowned. “Did I miss something here? Is there something going on between you two?”
“No!” Sara's denial filled the kitchen. “We're friends. Just friends.”
Adam seemed undisturbed by her vehement denial of a more involved relationship. “Of course, we're just friends,” he said, in a soothing voice. “That's how all great relationships start. As friends.”
She managed a weak smile. How could she tell him they would never be more than friends? She glanced at Matt who had his eyes fixed on her, stone-faced.
“I've got something for you,” Adam said, rising from his chair and walking toward the suitcase he'd deposited in the corner. He unzipped it and pulled out a square box wrapped in silver with an elaborate gold bow. With a huge smile on his face, he moved toward her and extended the gift. “For you. A little token from New York.”