Lincoln slumped farther in his seat. “Gimme my keys. I’m going home.”
“I think maybe you should go get some air first.” No way was Matt letting his brother behind the wheel of that speed trap in his current condition. “Give me a few minutes to let Whitney know where I’m going, and I’ll drive you.”
“I don’t need you to drive me. Besides—I think I’m about to become the least of your worries. Look.”
Matt’s first thought was that Laura had somehow followed him here, and he sat up straighter, unconsciously correcting his posture. But that was ridiculous. Even though she’d been clingy as of late, she wasn’t obsessive. And she barely had the energy to leave the house anymore.
When he finally looked over, his gaze didn’t land on that of his ex-wife, looking uncertain in her surroundings. It landed on Whitney...and the mystery doctor. Dancing.
No. Not dancing.
The way the pair of them moved across the barn floor—faces close, lips moving, bodies swaying—wasn’t the embrace of two friends meeting for the first time in months. If he didn’t know better, Matt would say that Whitney had the other man’s neck in a chokehold.
“I, uh, think I might need to intervene.” Matt got to his feet and moved quickly. One thing he was sure of about Whitney—she wouldn’t forgive him for letting her murder someone on her birthday.
As he drew closer, hesitation settled in. Although Whitney’s face was unquestionably clouded with rage and homicidal thoughts, the man didn’t seem to feel the oncoming storm. The words party crasher, arrogant and asshole streamed rapidly out of Whitney’s mouth, and all he did was swoop her into a dip and flash a dazzlingly white smile.
Matt’s stomach churned acid. Who was this guy? And why, if Whitney so clearly disliked him, was she putting up with his arms winding tighter around her waist? Before he knew what he was about, his feet carried him all the way across the barn floor, his steps long and sure.
“Mind if I cut in?” he asked, barely recognizing the James Bond voice that slipped past his lips. “I believe you promised me a dance.”
Whitney and the man stopped spinning, but their hands stayed in place as the music twanged on. It would have been an opportune moment for introductions or for an exchange of pleasantries as Whitney changed dance partners, but Matt felt a sudden urge to prove a point.
What that point might be he had no real clear idea—but it had its roots in an overwhelming urge to have Whitney in his arms and as far away from the blindingly white smile of the arrogant asshole party crasher as possible.
Without waiting for either one of them to do the polite thing, Matt grabbed Whitney’s hand and twirled her away from the man’s grasp. He slid his fingers along the curve of her waist and pulled her close, glad when he heard a hitch in her breath.
“That was rather debonair of you,” she said, watching him closely. “Care to share what’s got you so riled up?”
“Not really.” The music slowed into a ballad about teenage love, and Matt adjusted his step to match. Every eye in the place was on them, but he didn’t dare loosen his grip. “Can’t I dance with my non-girlfriend on her birthday if I feel like it?”
“I had no idea you were so light on your feet,” she said, ignoring his question. “Have you been having fun?”
They’d reached one edge of the eight-by-eight patch of flooring that served as the dance floor, so Matt spun Whitney to begin a path back across. Unfortunately, that put him squarely in view of the mysterious doctor, who stood somewhat apart from the others, watching Whitney with a look of keen interest.
“I’ve enjoyed being here for you,” he said honestly. Honesty was necessary, as he meant to counteract it with a slight deception. It wasn’t his fault—he wanted to know who the hell that guy thought he was. “I believe I got around to meeting just about all your friends. There are only one or two newcomers I missed.”
“Oh? Any ladies catch your eye? I should introduce you to Gertrude.”
Matt’s grip on her waist tightened, and he hooked his thumb on one of the wide straps of her bandolier. He ran his fingers up to where the leather passed over her nipple, allowing his touch to linger on the hardened peak. Juvenile it might have been, but he relished the reassurance of her body’s response to him. “That’s not funny. You know there’s only one woman I want.” Then, before she could do more than open her mouth to protest, he went for it. “Who was that you were dancing with?”
“Who?” Whitney avoided his gaze. The obvious fact that she was hiding something only made the fire in Matt’s stomach burn higher. He remained silent until she was forced to speak, their dancing all but stopped in the middle of the floor. “Oh, you must mean my old friend from med school days. He just arrived in town this week.”
Perfect. Lincoln was right—they were all doctors. “For your party?”
“Possibly longer.” Then, lower, as if to herself, “Hopefully not.”
They turned again, this time bringing Whitney within clear view of the mystery medical man. Her body tensed, and a full twenty seconds passed before she was able to shake herself off.
Matt wished there was some way he could see what sort of an exchange had passed between the two, but the music switched to a faster song—one of those thump and grind ones Lincoln favored when wooing a woman. Something inside Whitney switched, too, and she drew closer.
“Oh, I love this song,” she said, her hips coming to rest against his. The beat picked up, drums and electric guitar pounding, and Whitney’s dance moves picked up with it.
Before Matt could do more than wonder at the sudden change, Whitney twirled so that they stood front-to-back, her entire body flush with his. The press of her ass—so tightly packed in those tiny jean shorts—as it wiggled against his groin proved too much for Matt’s restraint, and he placed his hands on her hips to still the grinding movements. He still had to walk away from the dance floor on just two legs, regardless of how wonderful it felt to bury his head in the curve of her neck and lose himself in the moment of sound and sensation and her.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Matt said, his voice low as his lips brushed against her ear. “I saw this great pile of hay out back.”
“Tempting.” Whitney turned back around and pulled his face down to hers. Her lips barely grazing his, she breathed against them, “But right now I need you to kiss me, Matt, please. Kiss me like you mean it.”
He didn’t need much more of an invitation than that. Without hesitation, he pressed his mouth against hers—softer than the music and his straining erection called for, but the exact way he’d wanted to kiss her since the day they met. Slow. Deep. Sharing breath and fusing souls. The rest of the room fell away and they stopped dancing. All that remained were his hands cupping the sides of her face, holding her tenderly while his kiss said all the things she wouldn’t let him say with words.
Like he meant it.
Matt was the first to pull away, dazed, robbed of all memory of where they stood and who made up the audience around them.
Whitney’s lips remained parted, her cheeks flush with color. It was too dark to read her eyes, but her body language—heavy breathing, her whole body unnaturally still—was clear. She brought her fingers to her lips slowly, as if testing to make sure they were still there, and the only thing that prevented Matt from capturing them again was the crash of a table overturning and Lincoln’s voice, loud and insistent, that he was perfectly capable of seeing himself home.
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, tearing his gaze away. “Whitney, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to take him home.”
All of Whitney’s guests were watching the spectacle of Lincoln attempting to right the table by himself and sliding in the Jell-O salad. All except one. The mystery doctor stood rooted to the spot, watching Whitney.
No. Watching Matt.
The man nodded once, tipping his head in a way that suggested conciliation or capitulation or even...recognition. But recognition of what?
He didn’t have time to wonder. Kendra appeared at his elbow, asking if he wanted any help getting his brother out to the car, but Matt shook his head firmly and forced himself to leave the mystery alone for now.
“I can handle Lincoln.” Maybe nothing else in his life made much sense, but the inevitability of Lincoln screwing up was almost a comfort. “Just get him outside. I’ll do the rest.”
He faced Whitney, intending to apologize for such an abrupt end to an unforgettable kiss, but she had already recovered her senses, and he could practically see the shift in her eyes as she regained control. “Go rescue your brother, Galahad. The people of Pleasant Park are counting on you.”
“You’re not mad?” Matt was furious. Lincoln was going to owe him big time for this.
“Of course not. You’re the nice guy, the dependable brother. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She brushed the hair from his face and rubbed her thumb along his jawline—an intimate gesture rendered void when her gaze shifted somewhere over Matt’s left shoulder. He knew, without needing to look, who she was staring at. “Thanks for coming. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Matt felt a burning urge to glance back as he exited the barn, to see if Whitney went to talk to the mystery doctor.
But he didn’t.
For one, Lincoln was retching all over the lanterns lining the path.
For another, he knew, with a roiling certainty in his gut, that the answer was one he wouldn’t like.
* * *
“Thirty-four looks good on you.”
Whitney froze in the midst of tossing a stack of plastic cups into the garbage bin. Determined not to let Jared goad her, she tossed her hair and kept cleaning. “Was there ever any doubt? The Vidra women are a well-preserved breed. You should know—you spend enough time with my mother.”
Jared’s hand fell on her shoulder, forcing her to turn and face him. “Don’t take it out on her. I made her invite me to your party. We need to talk, and you won’t return my calls. I didn’t have many other options.”
She dumped a stack of plates in the bag. Kendra and John were also supposed to be cleaning up, but they had conveniently disappeared into the night, leaving her alone in a stale, sweat-scented barn with the last man on earth she wanted to see on her birthday.
She wanted Matt. She wanted him in ways she didn’t know existed.
That kiss—that kiss had changed everything. That kiss was what women dreamed of and fought for and carried with them to the grave. That kiss brought life to parts of her untouched by the most inventive sexual positions. That kiss made her believe, for the first time in what felt like forever, that love might be worth the risk.
“You have until I finish clearing off this table,” she offered, feeling suddenly generous. If Jared brought out the worst in her, Matt brought out the best. “Go.”
“Who was that guy you were dancing with earlier?”
She twisted her head to peer at Jared. As always, his grim smile was difficult to read. “Really? This is your big grovel moment and you’re wasting it talking about my boyfriend?”
Boyfriend. The word just slipped out, hovering in the air like a cloud—and now that it was there, she kind of liked it. Matt Fuller, her boyfriend. The local kindergarten teacher, her boyfriend. Her boyfriend, who kissed like a god and worshiped like a mortal.
“I think he’s relevant, don’t you?”
“I think he’s incredible, and I also think he’s none of your business.” She moved faster, sweeping up piles of napkins with her whole arm. Matt’s benevolent influence over her only went so far.
Jared squatted to retrieve a few fallen beer bottles. “But he’s proof that you win. Isn’t that what you want to hear? You win.”
“I win?” Red-hot anger filled her, twisting her insides and making her ill. Earlier in the evening, Matt had rescued her from having to confront this man, saving her from herself before she even knew she needed it. But he wasn’t here now, and she was on her own. “What the hell does that mean? A nice, handsome guy happens to like me for me. So, what? Is that so out of the ordinary? Is that such a stretch of the imagination I need a trophy to commemorate it?”
“Dammit!” Jared smacked an empty beer bottle on the table with a loud crash. “Can’t you see? You have everything. Our friends. Our private practice. My career. Family. Security. Love. All those things we set out to build together—it’s all yours. And there’s not a single scrap left over for me.”
“And whose fault is that?” Her heart swelled against the cage of her ribs, her body not nearly big enough to contain her emotions. “You could have had all of it. That whole life you’re imagining I stole from you was yours for the taking. Remember? But you didn’t want it—at least not as much as you wanted to feel a shiny new vagina wrapped around your dick.”
There was no mistaking the expression on his face this time. Fury twisted the saturnine features, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. Jared wasn’t a violent man—at least, he hadn’t been back when she’d known him—but she could see that he was reaching the edge of his endurance.
Sighing, she added, “I’m sorry you feel left out of our plans. With all your fancy world travel and media popularity, how were we supposed to know you even cared about this kind of thing anymore?”
“You could have asked. After you ran away from Guatemala—away from me—you could have answered one letter, taken one call. You could have let me know you were okay.”
Shock robbed her of breath and of the ability to come up with an appropriate reply. How could she tell this man that despite what he saw on the outside, she wasn’t okay? Family and a medical degree and friends were great recovery tools, but they weren’t a promise that she wouldn’t get hurt again. They weren’t a guarantee she’d be able to give Matt the love he so clearly deserved.
That was what Jared had really taken away from her in Guatemala.
“I’m okay,” she said flatly. “Sorry it took so long for me to get back to you.”
Predictably, her words only enraged Jared further. With a flourish, he cleaned up the last of the table, ending their conversation and leaving her feeling worse than ever before.
“Happy fucking birthday, Whitney,” he growled, and stormed loudly out the barn door.
Happy fucking birthday, indeed.
Chapter Nineteen
Matt came to see her parents off, brandishing a bag of freshly baked bagels for the road and promises to look them up on Facebook when he got home. It was a cute, boyfriend-like thing to do, and her mom practically salivated when he pecked her on the cheek and promised to look after Whitney.
Her heart swelled with admiration for a man so wholly committed to wooing her parents that he’d remember to feed them. Who was she kidding? She swelled for him, period. But he had yet to look her squarely in the eye.
Something was wrong.
They stood side by side as her parents rounded the corner, waving, cheerful on all fronts. The moment the license plate was out of their line of vision, Matt jumped away and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Well, that’s done. We don’t have to pretend anymore.”
“Oh, poor thing, did your halo get a little tarnished these past few weeks?” Whitney strove to lighten the mood. Where was her cheerful Matt? Where was the man who made her feel better no matter what kind of gloom and doom lurked ominously near?
He squinted as he turned to face her, the morning sun casting a glow that was rather heavenly on his face, making him appear much younger than his already younger-than-her years. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”
Her heart stopped. “Then don’t do it,” she replied, her words coming fast and automatic.
&nbs
p; Illusions weren’t something Whitney harbored willingly, and she recognized his tone for what it was—the end of a relationship that had been stamped with an expiration date since day one. She’d pushed too hard to keep him away. He was finally tired of pushing back.
The thought of losing Matt just when she was beginning to see how wrong she’d been, scratched at Whitney’s throat, aching and raw. She wasn’t ready to pull the plug. Not now. Not yet. Something hot and sharp prickled in her sinuses.
“I mean it, Matt. Don’t say something you’ll regret—don’t give life to words you’re unsure of. Once you put them out there, you can’t take them back again.”
“I know that.” His face screwed up as if in pain. “Don’t you think I know that?”
Yes. She also knew he was much too noble to continue having sex with her once he made up his mind to move on. Dammit, he wasn’t ready—not when Laura still had her claws underneath his skin. Not when Whitney wasn’t sure she could exist in a world without him.
“Why don’t we go inside?” she said. Inside, where it was safe and she could lock the doors and make him listen.
Is this what it was like for Jared? Screaming with a thousand things to say, scared to death it was too late to say them?
Matt nodded once and followed her into her condo, his head ducked in a gesture of surrender. Unsure what else to do, she poured them both a glass of iced tea with actual mint floating in it. Maybe she could disarm him with domesticity.
It didn’t take. He ran his finger along the outer edge of the glass where condensation beaded, not drinking, not talking, not looking at her.
He was miserable. Galahad to the very end, unable to say the words that would rip her heart, still beating, from her chest. Well, she could at least give him this.
“Should I make this easy on you?” she asked softly, the words bitter on her tongue. “Hey, Whitney. It’s been fun while it lasted, but I think maybe it’s time you and I went our separate ways. I hereby declare myself successfully rebounded, and shall go on to enrich the lives of understated, quiet women the world over.”
The Rebound Girl (Getting Physical) Page 24