by Cheryl Holt
"Knock it off," Brittney scolded Ken. "We're not fighting, remember?"
"Tell him, not me," Ken said. "He's the one in the permanent bad mood."
Matt ignored him and continued up the stairs. The only room that didn't have frantic activity occurring was his bedroom. He hated to be sequestered with her in it, but he didn't have a lot of choices.
He yanked her in and closed the door. He'd meant to whip around and berate her for her brazen usurpation of his home and family, but he was momentarily flummoxed by the remodeled condition.
It was so darn…nice. A big new bed. Curtains and rugs in varying shades of green—his favorite color. Each little detail seemed to have been precisely selected to make him comfortable.
There were even some weights in the corner, the exact set he needed for the therapy on his arm, to keep it limber and flexible.
"This turned out great, didn't it?" She walked over to the bed and flopped down on it. "Ken told me the colors to order, and Jeremy suggested the weights. Are they the right ones?"
"Yes, they're the right ones."
She grinned a sexy, tempting grin. "Are you surprised?"
"Definitely."
"Then why are you staring at me as if you swallowed a prune? I swear, Monroe, you are the most contrary, disagreeable man I've ever met. I have no idea why I'm bothering with you."
"Would you get off my bed?"
"Make me," she taunted, but he wasn't about to approach her.
Him. Her. A plush mattress that was begging to be broken in. Nothing good could come from it.
He kept his feet firmly planted by the exit, his back pressed to the door.
"Do your brothers know where you are?" he asked. "Because they were over here once, barking at me, and I'd just as soon not have them over here again."
"Yes, they know I'm here. In fact, they insisted on it."
"They did not."
"They did. They travelled all the way to the Caribbean to convince me that I should give you another chance. What are you going to do about it?"
"Probably call them so they can drag your ass out of here."
"They won't. For some reason, they decided I'd be happy with you." She patted the quilt. "Climb in, Monroe. Let's try out this bed. See if it suits us."
"No."
"I didn't fix up that guest bedroom for myself. I'm sharing this one—with you."
At the notion, his heart literally skipped a beat. "You are not."
"I am. Check the closet if you don't believe me. I already hung up my clothes."
"You better not have. I won't have Jeremy thinking you sleep with me."
"Then I guess you'll have to marry me so I'm not a fallen woman." She batted her lashes. "Are you proposing?"
"Are you kidding me? No!"
"And for the record, I don't plan on sleeping when I'm in here with you."
Her eyes were alight with mischief. To her, this was a diversion, a lark. To him—to Ken and Jeremy—it was life and death. If they bonded with her, if they loved her, it would kill them when she left.
"Why are you doing this to me?" he inquired.
"Doing what?"
The fight went out of him. He reeled over to a chair—a sturdy guy's chair perfectly placed by the window so he could stare out at the Front Range—and toppled down into it.
"I'm just so tired, Brittney," he admitted. "I'm tired, and I always feel like crap."
"I know."
"I need to rest and heal and stagger through my world as best I can. I can't play this game with you. Please don't make me."
"What game am I making you play?"
"You butted in and took over our lives—without asking me what I wanted."
"Well, if I'd waited for you to consent, I'd be ninety years old and still at my family's house on St. Martins and picking up the phone every two seconds to see if you'd called. I'm sorry, but I don't have that much patience."
"I don't understand you," he said.
"What's to understand?"
"Why are you here?"
"Why?" she snapped, growing exasperated with him. She sat up, her legs dangling over the edge of the mattress, her feet on the floor.
"It's like we're your new project. I could be an abandoned mutt you adopted at the pound. You've waltzed in and started throwing money at us. But where will we be when you leave? Did you ever think about Jeremy? Or Ken?"
Or me? he bleakly thought, but didn't say aloud.
"Jeremy is my nephew," she tersely reminded him, "and Ken is my father, which I've learned is true—no thanks to you."
At her mentioning his lie, his cheeks flushed with shame. "Yes, he is."
"What's your problem with me? I keep asking myself that question, but I don't have a good answer. Why would you hurt me like that?"
"I was trying to do what's best for Ken. And for you."
"What's best for us? Listen, you pompous know-it-all. If you weren't partially disabled, I'd walk over there and whack you alongside the head for being such an idiot."
They ran out of words, and they glared, the distance between them so vast they might have been perched on opposite shores of an ocean.
He wanted to tell her so many things: how hard his life had been, how lonely he was, how desperately he wished that dreams came true.
But they didn't, and he wouldn't invest in some fairytale where he wound up rich and pampered and everybody lived happily ever after.
Life didn't turn out that way. Luck didn't flow in his direction.
So…what now?
She intended to stay—at least for the foreseeable future, and Ken liked having her around. Where was Matt's spot in that scenario?
He couldn't imagine moving out, being separated from Jeremy. His connection to Ken and Jeremy gave him purpose, kept him sane.
He didn't want to move out. He couldn't afford to move out. The notion of being away from them, of being alone again, was terrifying.
His head in his hands, he stared at the floor, feeling much older than his thirty-two years. He'd been battered and burned and blown up, and he was such a perpetual mess that he could barely function.
Now his heart was breaking too, when he didn't think it could. He'd always supposed he was too tough, that he'd learned not to let himself be hurt, not to let relationships matter.
But Ken mattered. Jeremy mattered. Brittney mattered too, and he couldn't figure out what to do about it.
"Tell me what's really going on, Matt," she quietly said.
"I don't know what's going on."
"Why are you making this so difficult? I thought there was a hot bond between us. I thought it might be important to you."
"How could it be?" he countered. "We don't have anything in common. We're nothing alike."
"That's where you're wrong. I'd never met anyone who was more miserable than me—until I met you. Wouldn't it be nice to not be so alone? Wouldn't it be worth it to hook up just so we had each other?"
He heard her rise and walk over to where he was slumped in the chair. She was wearing flip flops, and he could see her toenails. They were painted red with little white flowers. The exquisite, expensive pedicure underscored their differences.
She probably spent more on her toenails than they spent on food in a week. How could that disparity ever be a benefit? How could it not be a wedge?
"Hey." She laid a soothing palm on his shoulder.
"What?"
"Look at me."
He raised his eyes to hers. She was gazing at him with such annoyed affection.
"You called me a coward once," she said, "and I'm turning the tables on you."
"What do you mean?"
"You're the coward!"
"I am not!"
"You are! You're afraid of what could happen. You've convinced yourself that it will be awful so you're scared to take a chance."
"I've never been afraid of anything," he fumed, his notorious temper flaring.
"You're afraid of falling in love, of being happy."
"I
'm not afraid of being happy. I'm afraid of being unhappy."
"You're positive I'll leave. Why?" Her own temper was heating up. "Why are you so sure that's how it will end?"
"Because that's how it always ends. Because that's the cards the universe dealt me. I can't change that fact."
She leaned down so they were nose to nose. "What if you're wrong?"
"I'm not."
He didn't like that he was sitting and she was standing. It made her seem taller, tougher, in the right. He pushed himself to his feet, and the momentum carried him into her so that, suddenly, his body was pressed to hers.
She didn't give any ground, didn't step away. The sparks they constantly generated ignited with a vengeance. His desire for her was alive and well; he couldn't deny it.
He wanted her. He'd always wanted her. He'd go to his grave wanting her.
She grinned up at him. "Can you feel that, Monroe?"
"Yes, I feel it."
"You're so hot for me, you're about to burst into flames."
"So what? I'm hot for you. It doesn't mean anything."
She threw up her hands in frustration. "It means everything, you dolt. What if we could sleep together every night? What if you could wake up next to me every morning? For the rest of your life, Monroe. For the rest of your life!"
She wrapped her arms around his waist, rose up on tiptoe, her lips an inch from his own.
"Kiss me," she said. "You know you want to. Don't be such a butthead. Just do it and get it over with."
He hovered there, perched on a precipice of despair. He was anxious to proceed, but absolutely terrified too.
What if he relented? What if he latched on, only to learn that she wasn't serious, that she had no intention of following through?
"Love me, Monroe," she murmured. "Love me. Have me. Keep me."
"I can't decide what's best," he groaned.
"I'm best. I'm exactly what you need. Don't fight it. Give up. Give in."
She grabbed his ass and pulled him to her. She was warm and soft, and she smelled so good. He couldn't think of a reason not to behave as she was demanding.
He lifted her and shoved her against the wall, his mouth crushed to hers in a sizzling kiss that promised more than he could offer, that promised more than he had.
A battle raged inside him. He craved what she was dangling in front of him, but he was so obstinate, the inflexible voice in his mind telling him he couldn't have it.
Gradually, the embrace gentled. He eased away, and she slid to the floor. A thousand comments floated between them, but he couldn't verbalize any of them. He was afraid he'd say the wrong thing, that he'd do the wrong thing.
She smiled a smile as old as Eve's. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
He snorted out a laugh. "No, it wasn't so bad."
She looked at him, her affection blatant and welcome.
"Love me, Matt," she said again.
"I want to," he finally, reluctantly confessed.
"Have a little faith."
"I'm trying."
"Let me prove to you that it will be all right. Trust me. Once in your life, just trust."
She reached in the pocket of her shorts and withdrew a piece of paper. She held it out.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Credit card receipt."
"For what?"
"Two plane tickets to Vegas. You and me. Saturday."
"We'd fly to Vegas? Why?"
"You told me once that I should avoid all the wedding hassle by eloping. It's a great idea."
His heart didn't just flip-flop; it fell to his shoes.
"You want to get married? To me?"
"Yes. Saturday. All you have to do is say yes. Ken and Jeremy would like to come with us, but it's up to you. We could simply throw a big party when we get back."
He started to shake so hard that he thought his knees might give out. He lurched over to the chair by the window and dropped onto the soft cushion.
"Pardon me for pointing this out," he said, "but a few weeks ago, you were engaged to someone else."
"A major mistake; I admit it."
"And now, with a month or so gone by, you're ready to marry me? I'm a bit skeptical."
"So what? You're always skeptical."
"You can just flit from him to me? Why would you?"
"Don't you know, you goof?"
"I don't have a clue."
"You make me happy, Monroe. When I'm around you, I feel so alive. When I'm around you, I know I'll never be alone again."
She walked over to him, her hands extended. She linked their fingers and squeezed tight.
"You and me, Monroe. We're a unit. A dynamic duo. A team."
"A team?" he scoffed.
"You might as well agree, because I won't quit harping until you tell me what I want to hear."
A knock sounded on the door, and Ken flung it open. Jeremy was with him.
"I decided I'd better check on you," Ken explained. "I had to be sure you haven't killed anybody."
"I haven't killed her," Matt said. "Yet."
"I wasn't talking about you," Ken responded. "You're a stubborn jackass, and I've been worried about her and what she might do when she's had enough of you." He grinned at Brittney. "Have you worn him down?"
"I'm still trying. He doesn't think I'm much of a catch."
"I never said that!" Matt complained, but no one listened.
Ken glared at him. "What is your problem, man? She's rich and beautiful and generous, and she'll take care of you for the rest of your damn life. Cram your male ego in your pocket and let her."
"I just…just…"
Matt couldn't find words to describe the feelings roiling him. He was so unworthy of her. Injured. Broke. Never able to support her as she deserved to be supported.
He had nothing to offer her, yet she was utterly certain that she wanted him anyway.
Jeremy pushed past Ken.
"Dad"—it was the first time he'd ever used the term with Matt—"she already moved her stuff into your bedroom."
"I know," Matt said.
"I won't allow her to sleep in here with you unless you guys are married."
"Stop being such a wuss," Ken scolded Matt.
"Yeah, Monroe," Brittney added, "stop being such a wuss."
She tugged him to his feet and turned them so they were facing the mirror. Ken and Jeremy stood behind them.
"Look at us, Matt," she murmured. "Look at us together. Look at our family. Imagine how it can always be."
He took a deep breath, held it, let it out. He felt as if he was falling and falling and falling, and he had no idea where he'd be when he landed.
"You can't ever leave," he ultimately said to her. "Promise me. Swear it."
"I won't ever leave. I swear."
"And you have to love me. You have to love me forever. Swear that too."
"That's easy. I'll love you forever—till my dying day."
He gazed at her, at Ken, at Jeremy. Finally, he ignored his torment, his doubt. He shrugged.
"Why not? I haven't been to Vegas in years."
They all paused, then Brittney tentatively ventured, "Should I take that as a yes?"
Matt nodded. "Take it as a yes. Vegas. Saturday. You and me and the cheesiest wedding chapel we can find."
Brittney nodded too. "The absolute cheesiest. I guarantee it."
Jeremy frowned and peered up at Ken. "Does that mean they're getting married?"
"Yup," Ken said, and he grumbled, "About damn time they came to their senses."
"Can we come to Las Vegas with you?" Jeremy asked.
"You'd better," Matt replied.
Jeremy whooped with joy and rushed over to hug Matt. Matt hesitated, unsure of how to accept such an open display of affection.
Brittney grabbed them both and showed them how it was done.
THE END—or is it just the beginning?
***
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In 2011, I wrote and published a t
rilogy of three novellas about the rich, notorious Merriweather siblings and their life in the Colorado Rockies. The stories were released in three separate ebooks titled, SEDUCE ME, KISS ME and LOVE ME.
I decided to bundle the stories into one e-book titled, MARRY ME. It contains all three novellas in their original format.
Seduce Me, Kiss Me, Love Me…
MARRY ME!
I hope you enjoy!
321
Mud Creek
CHERYL HOLT is a New York Times and USA
Today bestselling author of over thirty novels.
She's also a lawyer and mom, and at age forty, with two
babies at home, she started a new career as a commercial
fiction writer. She'd hoped to be a suspense novelist, but
couldn't sell any of her manuscripts, so she ended up taking
a detour into romance where she was stunned to discover
that she has a knack for writing some of the world's greatest
love stories.
Her books have been released to wide acclaim, and she has
won or been nominated for many national awards. She is particularly proud to have been named "Best Storyteller of the Year" by the trade magazine Romantic Times BOOK Reviews.
She lives and writes in Hollywood, California, and she loves
to hear from fans. Visit her website at www.cherylholt.com.
Praise for New York Times Bestselling Author
CHERYL HOLT
"Best storyteller of the year..."
Romantic Times Magazine
"A master writer…"
Fallen Angel Reviews
"Cheryl Holt is magnificent…"
Reader to Reader Reviews
"From cover to cover, I was spellbound. Truly outstanding…"
Romance Junkies
"It is always a wonderful feeling, like comfort food, to read a favorite author, and her storytelling here is just as wonderful as in her first book. I find this to be uncommon, but Ms. Holt is this type of author. I recommend any reader to search out her books and read them." Book Wenches.com
"A classic love story with hot, fiery passion dripping from every page. There's nothing better than curling up with a great book and this one totally qualifies."