Summer Jazz

by Webb, Peggy

  "I won," she said.

  He was falling in love all over again. Heaven help him, he was falling in love with Mattie.

  His smile was bittersweet as he rose from the bed and punched the button to rewind the tape. "You certainly did win."

  "Well?"

  He turned around to face her. "Well, what?"

  "Don't be dense, Hunter. What's my prize?"

  He walked swiftly to the bed and bent over. "This," he murmured as he cupped her face. "A kiss for old time's sake."

  His mouth was tender and undemanding and unbearably sweet. Mattie thought she had died and been reborn at eighteen. There was no probing tongue, no heated desire in the kiss, just gentleness and giving.

  When the magic had ended, Hunter looked deep into her eyes. "We both won. Good night, Mattie."

  "Good night, Hunter."

  He left the room quickly, left Mattie staring at the closed door, her lips still warm from his tender touch. What was she going to do now?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hunter woke up at five. He felt as if he were balanced on the rim of a volcano, and at first didn't know why. Then he remembered. Mattie was in his house. Just down the hall. She was in his bed, hair tumbled, eyelashes lying on her peach-down cheeks, lips slightly parted in sleep. He saw her as clearly as if he'd been in the same room.

  He pulled the pillow over his head and groaned. Why him? Why hadn't she stayed in Paris and driven some other fool crazy? His heart thudded so hard, he could almost hear it.

  He cataloged all the reasons he shouldn't fall in love with her again. She'd walked out on him once with no explanation. That made her unreliable. And faithless. She had a dazzling career, and he wanted a woman who was content to stay at home and raise his children. He wanted children, lots of them. And he might as well admit it. Thirty-six wasn't young. It was high time he got started on that large family he'd always wanted. But with Mattie? Lord, her reputation was as scandalous as his own. He wanted his children's mother to be as pure as the driven snow.

  That last thought roused him to laughter. He sat up and tossed the pillow across the room. He was about as pure as a tar bucket. He reckoned that if he wanted an old-fashioned good girl, he'd better get busy shining up his own tarnished image.

  He crawled out of bed and pulled on jogging shorts. He'd grabbed some clothes before leaving his bedroom last night.

  No, Mattie was definitely not the woman for him. It didn't matter how he'd felt last night. That had been temporary insanity. In the broad light of day, he'd banish those foolish thoughts from his head.

  He left the guest bedroom and walked down the hall. He was proud of himself for passing his bedroom without even glancing at the door. What did it matter that Mattie was behind that door, curled in his bed, gorgeous and desirable and cuddly-warm in her sleep? He stopped at the top of the stairs. Heaven help him, he couldn't go down.

  Against his will, he turned around and walked back down the hall until he was standing in front of his bedroom door. His hand touched the knob and his senses reeled. He could almost smell the fragrance of her. He could almost feel her satiny skin, taste the heady wine of her kisses. He stood there, fighting temptation.

  Clenching his teeth, he backed away from the door and hurried down the hall. Determination lent wings to his feet. He plunged down the stairs, through his front door, and into the early-morning stillness. Taking great gulps of fresh air into his lungs, he vowed to wipe Mattie from his mind.

  He did his usual five-mile jog in record time and added a sixth mile for good measure, but still Mattie was with him. Back home, he stripped off his shorts and plunged into his swimming pool. His strong bronzed arms punished the water as he sought to banish Mattie from his mind and his heart. But still she was there.

  Finally exhaustion forced him from the pool. He climbed out and stood on the tiled apron, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He knotted an oversized bath towel at his waist and raked his hand through his wild hair. His heart was pounding so hard, he wondered if he was having a heart attack. It had happened to younger men than he.

  He sank into a lounge chair and tried to calm his breathing. He knew it wasn't a heart attack. It was Mattie. Why wouldn't she go away?

  Burying his face in his hands, he groaned. The minutes ticked by while he wrestled with himself. Suddenly he laughed. He figured that he could either kill himself with exercise, trying to forget her, or he could go back upstairs and start all over again. The sanest move would be to go upstairs and start all over again. It might not be the smartest move, but at the moment it seemed to be the most necessary. Whether she was tarnished or not, he had to have Mattie. It was that simple. And this time he'd be damned if he'd let her get away.

  "I hope you know what you're doing, Hunter Chadwick." He rose from his chair and went into the house. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, whistling all the way. He pushed open his bedroom door a crack and peered in just long enough to assure himself that the sexy bundle on the bed was Mattie, and not simply the tangled covers. Thank goodness she slept late. She always had. As he walked toward the guest bedroom he remembered how she used to groan and grumble in the wee hours of the morning when he would rouse her and sneak her back through the hedge. Those had been the golden days.

  A small sigh of regret escaped his lips as he donned cut-off jeans and an old football jersey, faded evidence of his college football career. No need to look back, he told himself. Mattie was not the girl she used to be, and he guessed that was his punishment for letting her get away in the first place. But not this time. This time he was going to keep her, even if he had to do it under lock and key. But first he had to win her.

  Grinning hugely, he rushed downstairs to the kitchen and began the first phase of his plan.

  Uncle Mickey was sitting in the sun-washed bay window, enjoying his coffee.

  "Good morning, Hunter."

  Hunter flung open the refrigerator door, rummaged around for a while, and emerged with four oranges.

  "She likes her juice freshly squeezed," he said. He kicked the door shut and ransacked the cabinets for the juicer.

  "I reckon I must be getting old," Uncle Mickey said. "Did you say something that I missed? Maybe I need a hearing aid."

  Hunter grinned at his uncle. "Mattie. She's upstairs."

  "Does that mean you're through with all this heating chart business?"

  In his state of exhilaration, it took Hunter a second to realize that Uncle Mickey had meant to say cheating heart.

  "Yes," he finally said. Rich, golden juice squirted out of the oranges.

  "Good."

  "I won't be in my office this morning." He poured the juice and plopped two pieces of bread into the toaster.

  "I thought not." Uncle Mickey added more sugar to his coffee and stirred. "Are you making a breakfast tray for Mattie?"

  "Yes." Hunter buttered the toast, studied it critically, and added more butter.

  "It seems to me Mattie has a soft spot for carrousels. If I were setting out to romance the woman, fly sox that I am, I'd put a music box on her breakfast tray."

  Hunter grinned. "You're a genius."

  "I know."

  "Modest, too."

  "Don't mean to be." Uncle Mickey stood up. "Seeing you like this almost makes me wish I were young again."

  "Some wise toy designer once told me it's never too late."

  "He wasn't talking about doddering old men like me." Uncle Mickey squeezed his nephew's shoulder. "Good luck, boy."

  "Thanks." Hunter stripped off his football jersey and turned his full attention to preparing the most delightful breakfast tray in all of Dallas.

  o0o

  Mattie's foot touched something warm and fuzzy. It brought her awake with a jolt. She sat up, pushed her heavy hair out of her face, and squinted. She didn't adjust to morning quickly. First she squinted toward the window to see if the sun was actually up. Next she peered owlishly at the bedside table to see if the clock was telling the truth. Then she stret
ched and yawned to make sure her body still worked.

  Everything checked out. That left the lump in the bed. With her mind partially functioning now, she burrowed under the covers to find out what was in bed with her. It was Hunter's puppet.

  "Fuzzy Wuzzy, you sly old reprobate, how dare you sleep in a woman's bed uninvited?" She grinned at the disreputable-looking puppet and smoothed his fur. "You’ll pardon my dishabille. It's the custom in Paris, you know. It's supposed to drive men crazy. Of course, I expected to be practicing my wiles on the puppet master, not the puppet."

  She became thoughtful. Propping herself against the pillows, she pulled the sheet over her naked breasts and surveyed the room. Hunter's room. She remembered it so well. It had changed a little. The chair by the window was new. The curtains and bedspread were different. How she used to love waking up in the morning with Hunter tickling her nose and urging her to hurry before the sun came up. One morning as they sneaked her back through the hedge, Uncle Mickey had seen them from the pool. But he'd pretended not to notice. After that, Hunter had started coming to Papa's, climbing the magnolia tree outside her window and climbing in like a fairytale prince. How they'd laughed.

  Mattie sighed. No use reminiscing over the good old days. She'd been sidetracked last night by Hunter's cartoons and his antics with the puppet, but she wouldn't let that happen again. She'd almost believed he was still the tender, whimsical man she'd once loved. She'd almost been persuaded that love had not died, that it had merely been in hiding for ten years.

  "I must have been out of my mind," she told Fuzzy Wuzzy. "He's tender, all right. With every woman in Dallas. No wonder I practically fell under his spell. He's certainly had plenty of practice with his technique." She propped the puppet on her knees. "That won't happen again. Mattie Houston is after satisfaction, not another broken heart."

  "Fuzzy Wuzzy has never looked so good."

  She spun around so fast, the puppet fell off her knees. Hunter was standing in the doorway, balancing a silver tray in one hand and holding the handle of a red wagon with the other.

  "Don't you believe in knocking?" She tried to make her voice stern. She tried to remember her need for revenge. She tried to harden her heart. But Hunter looked so delicious standing there in his cut-off jeans, she could do no more than smile.

  "Room service, Mattie."

  She started to bolt out of bed, then recalled that she was wearing nothing under the sheet. She caught it just as it slipped over one breast.

  "Don't you dare come into my room." She pulled the sheet up under her neck and tried to look prim.

  Hunter was immensely pleased with the view. With her green eyes shining from sleep and her hair tumbled about her, Mattie looked like a woman who had been thoroughly loved. "My room," he said. "Do get up, lazy bones. I like my coffee with you naked."

  "I prefer breakfast in bed."

  "As a matter of fact, I prefer you in bed myself. I may keep you there." He entered the room, pulling the red wagon behind him. It was loaded with gardenias and carrousel music boxes.

  To Mattie’s astonishment, Hunter set the breakfast tray on the bedside table and began to wind up all the music boxes. Miniature horses spun around to a tinkling cacophony of melodies. The Way We Were competed with Deep Purple. We're off to See the Wizard tried to drown out Dixie. Melodies from Oklahoma, South Pacific, and My Fair Lady joined the discordant music.

  Mattie was transported back to a time of dreams and enchantment. As she watched, Hunter set the last music box in place and strewed the gardenias across the bed. Their fragrance sent her reeling back in time.

  "What are you doing?" she whispered.

  "Don't you know?" He sat on the edge of the bed. Looking deep into her eyes, he tucked the last gardenia in her hair, then cupped her face in his hands.

  She thought he was going to kiss her. Although she tried to steel herself against the emotions that were swamping her, every nerve in her body was tingling with the need to be kissed.

  "No," she whispered. She didn't know whether she'd meant it as an answer to his question or as a last-ditch effort to keep herself from tumbling into the magic spell he was weaving. Whatever she'd meant, it didn't seem to matter. With Hunter's hands on her face like that, tender and possessive and loving, nothing seemed to matter except the moment.

  "I'm resurrecting a memory," he said.

  She tried to pull away. "Hunter, don't."

  "Yes." His thumbs caressed her lips. "Remember when we met, Mattie?"

  "Please." Her eyes were huge as she struggled with her ambivalent emotions. She wanted to remember. She wanted to recall the days of love and joy and innocence. She wanted to go backward in time until she could find her sweet teddy bear man once more. But she was afraid. She was afraid of becoming vulnerable.

  "Remember how it was, Mattie? Phillip had just bought the house next door. You'd come to spend your eighteenth summer with him. He was throwing a party for you." His voice mesmerized her, transported her back. "The gardenias were in bloom. Phillip had brought in a carrousel."

  She remembered. . . .

  The carrousel had been shipped in from Nashville. It was bright red and blue, with swan-shaped seats and wooden horses with rainbow-colored saddles. She'd been balanced precariously atop one of the horses, holding on to a dozen balloons with one hand and the carrousel pole with the other.

  "Icarus used wings," someone said. She looked down and saw a man who was young and handsome and had the blackest eyes she'd ever seen. He seemed to have materialized out of thin air. "If you're planning to fly," he continued, "you'll need more than a handful of balloons."

  She'd never seen a smile so devastating, and nearly fell off the horse.

  "Careful, there." He put his hands on her bare legs to steady her. "I'd never forgive myself if you broke your neck first."

  "First?" She thought his voice matched his smile, beguiling and sexy and altogether wonderful.

  "Before I kiss you."

  Her cheeks turned as pink as the ribbon holding back her hair. "Who are you?"

  "You don't kiss strangers, huh? I'm glad, because I'm afraid I'm going to be the jealous type."

  She tossed her head and tried to look haughty. "I think you're the most audacious man I've ever met. Furthermore, you're trespassing."

  "No. I'm paying a neighborly call. I'm Hunter Chadwick, from the house next door, and I can't wait to become better acquainted with my new neighbor. But you’ll have to come down from that horse first."

  "You're going to have a long wait. I happen to be hanging these balloons for a party, and I have no intention of coming down to get better acquainted with you. You're much too arrogant."

  "Does that mean I have to come up?"

  His smile almost undid her, but she managed to hide her own smile by catching her lower lip between her teeth. "Besides," she added, "you're much too old for me."

  "I can see you're going to require a long courtship." He bent over and plucked a gardenia off a nearby bush. "First the flowers." He sprang on top of the carrousel horse beside hers and tucked the gardenia in her hair. "Then the candy." Hanging on to the carrousel pole with one hand, he reached into his pocket with the other and pulled out a lollipop. He peeled off the wrapper and unceremoniously plopped it into her mouth. "Next the family history. My father's Rafe Chadwick, a well-known criminal lawyer. My mother is a Langston, old money, can trace her roots back to Richard the Lionhearted. And there's not a single skeleton in our closet that you wouldn't be proud to claim as your uncle. As for me—I've left the dusty old legal tomes for more steadfast young men and have decided to devote myself to the making of toys. Toy making will come second, of course."

  She laughed. He was so endearing, she couldn't help herself. Taking the lollipop from her mouth, she asked, "What comes first?"

  "This." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "And this." Next he kissed her nose. "Then this." He captured her ripe berry lips in a kiss that made her toes curl. When he finally lifted his head, hi
s black eyes blazed with undisguised desire. "It gets better all the time." He gently brushed a strand of red-gold hair from her cheek. "You never told me your name."

  "Mattie Houston."

  "This is going to be a summer to remember, Mattie Houston. . . .

  And it had been. Mattie closed her eyes as the sweet pain of remembering swept over her. Hunter's hands on her face felt as right and wonderful as they had that long-ago summer. Around them, the music of the carrousels played on.

  "First this, Mattie." He brushed her cheek with his lips. "Then this." Her nose came next, and then his mouth crushed down on hers. But it wasn't the sweet, innocent kiss of ten years ago. It was very adult, very expert, and very persuasive.

  Unconsciously she wound her arms around his neck, and the sheet slid to her waist. He gathered her close, his hands caressing her back, and his mouth devouring hers with a wild need that left her breathless.

  "It's been so long," he whispered against her lips. "Do you have any idea how I've missed you?"

  “Oh, Hunter…Please…Don’t….”

  “Mattie, I need you."

  She looked for the lie in him, the clever ruse. Seeing nothing but truth, she was lost. Lost in a forever dream of a love that wouldn't die. The music of the carrousels invaded her.

  He lowered her to the bed and pushed the sheet away from her body. His eyes were glittering black star sapphires as he gazed at her. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered." Suddenly his weight was on top of her and his arms were around her, squeezing as if he never intended to let go. "Mattie, Mattie," he murmured into her hair. She felt the stunning size and heat of him through his cut-offs.

  She almost surrendered. She was tempted to answer that broken plea, tempted to give herself up to the joy that flooded her and the need that ripped through her body. But the small voice of reason finally pushed its way through the desire that fogged her brain. What she felt now was a mistake, a trick of fate. The man she truly desired didn't exist, had never really existed except in her youthful imagination. Ten years ago her Prince Charming had displayed feet of clay, and nothing had happened to change that.