The Fiance Dilemma (The Long Game #2)

Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

Something got my attention from outside the window of Stu’s.

Bobbi snapped her fingers, demanding I look back at her.

“Do you really need to do that?” I asked her as sweetly as I could. “Because I thought we’d turned a corner, and you were nice and encouraging and—”

“I’m a multifaceted PR strategist,” she said. “And your attention should be on this steak tartare. Not outside the deli. Stuart closed up the shop for us.”

I arched an eyebrow. Stuart? It didn’t sound like Bobbi to care about some man closing his shop for us. “A wedding planner,” I said, loading my fork and bringing it to my mouth. “Multifaceted wedding planner, in any case.” Matthew huffed out a laugh from my side, making me puff out my chest with pride. Bobbi’s eyes narrowed. “And no one serves steak tartare at a wedding. Raw eggs, raw meat, and unpasteurized cheese are very risky options. Everybody knows that.”

Bobbi drummed her nails on the small table where we’d been sitting. We were in a more private corner of the deli, although it was just us and Stu at the back. Stu’s Beef Barn was in a neighboring town. Despite its name, it wasn’t a big establishment, but it sourced everything locally and it had a few spaces for people inclined to grab a quick bite up front. Or for people like us, who were trying their offerings for an event. Bobbi had yapped about us going to a real caterer, as she had called it. But I’d checked this out on her master list, as much as I’d done so randomly. It had been an existing option, and I loved that fate had brought us here.

“We’ll add it to the entrées—but for the rehearsal dinner, then,” she finally announced. “I’ll go check with Stuart to see if it’s possible.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that it made no difference, since the wedding and rehearsal dinner had exactly the same number of guests, but Bobbi was scurrying off her chair before I could.

“Who would have thought,” Matthew said.

I knew exactly what he meant. “Not me. But I can’t say I blame her.”

Matthew’s knee nudged mine. I also knew what that meant, so I glanced back at him. His smile was small, careful. “If you’re into bald, bearded men in aprons surrounded by cuts of meat, you should have said something. I’m not opposed to trying out new looks.”

I wasn’t. Stu was nice, objectively speaking. Attractive, if you were into those things Matthew had just mentioned. “I don’t know. Could you really pull off a bald head?”

“Absolutely I could,” he said, bringing a hand to his chin. “And I could grow a beard, too.” I cocked a brow in question. “I could learn how to broil things. Slice brisket. My biceps would flex really nicely while I do that, just the way you like.”

Something a little too close to a giggle almost left me then, but I intercepted it in time. “You’re pretty, but you’re not bald-head pretty,” I lied. I also loved his hair too much.

Matthew smiled. “So you think I’m pretty.”

I shrugged. “You know I do.” I turned back to the tartare and brought the plate closer to us. “I hope Stu stops Bobbi from adding this to the rehearsal dinner. I’d hate for half the town to get food poisoning. That happened at the last barbecue we held by the lake. And I ended up loading people on the bed of my truck and making collective runs to the ER.” My eyes returned to him as I loaded my mouth with more tartare. I pointed at him with my fork. “If anyone ever offers you homemade ice cream in Green Oak, just say no.”

Matthew watched me, as if waiting for something.

I didn’t know what that could be. Specifically. There were one too many things hanging over our heads at the moment. And we’d been so caught up in the rehearsal weekend, not just dinner, as it had been executively decided by Bobbi, that it was hard to tell them apart. For me, it was that kiss. That was all I seemed to care about these days. And it was the one thing continuously escaping away from me. If we weren’t with Bobbi, discussing something, Andrew was somehow there.

Matthew’s words at the party had seemed to have an effect, and last time we’d sat down with my father, it had been to discuss his side of the guest list. He’d been very apologetic about it, and everything really, and went as far as asking whether I wanted him to do something about Duncan. Whatever that entailed. I’d declined, but I’d been able to tell that Matthew had been content at Andrew asking.

The memory of that meeting made me think of Matthew’s family. He’d said they’d be there. But I couldn’t know whether that was true, or something he was expected to say. I didn’t dare to ask.

One day at a time, he’d said at my truck.

Yet here we were, trying out catering options for a—

“Will you sit on my lap?”

A half cough, half laugh toppled out of me. I sensed him move, and I stopped him, looking around even though I couldn’t hear Stu or Bobbi. “What? No.”

Matthew looked so hurt it was almost comical. “Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason,” he pointed out. “Come sit on my lap.”

I couldn’t believe this was a conversation we were having. I glanced back over my shoulder. No trace of them in the deli. “Where do you think they’ve gone? Maybe the kitchen?” I turned back around and found Matthew’s pout in front of my face. “Are you serious right now?”

“I never joke about my lap.”

A laugh puffed out of me. “I don’t even know what to tell you.”

“Tell me you’ll sit on me, then.”

“Give me a good reason,” I said, fighting him. Because what if I didn’t, huh? Then what? I’d be really sitting on his lap, with his face right there, up close, and then, God knew what I’d do. This man had the power to disarm me with a smile, no matter what experience I had with men or smiles. “A single reason why.”

“Your head,” he answered. “It was going places. Places I can’t reach. Places I don’t like, just based on how your brows curl right here.” His finger touched a spot on his forehead. “I’d rather have you smiling. And I know you like my lap so…”

So he’d just managed to disarm me, then. Just like I knew he could. My hand, which had a mind of its own, reached out, falling on his forearm. I squeezed. “You’re so—”

Matthew moved before I could finish. He somehow snatched my wrist and pulled, softly but firmly enough that I stumbled into his chest. His other arm slid around my waist and, boom, he’d maneuvered me into his lap.

“Am I not a much better choice than a chair?” he asked, voice smug.

I blew air through my lips in response, but yes. Yes, he was. So I didn’t even try to complain, even though that special kind of warmth had climbed up my face at the closeness of his chest and… well. Everything else. I tipped my chin up, decidedly making the best out of this, and then I shifted my ass. I made myself at home, snuggling in his lap, just like he wanted, as if I wasn’t sitting sideways on top of a man who had declared himself better than a chair.

“I’m sure this is something expected anyway,” I murmured. He wanted to distract me? To stop my mind from wandering off? Okay. “Engaged couples are handsy. They get carried away in the honeymoon period and all that. Right?”

There was understanding in Matthew’s hum. There was something else, too. Gratitude? Frustration? I couldn’t tell those apart with my ass planted so close to his crotch. “We wouldn’t want anyone in the deli to think we’re not one of those couples.”

It’s just Stu and Bobbi in the deli, I thought. But I said, “We really, seriously, absolutely wouldn’t want that.”

Stu popped up in front of us with a big plate of beef cuts. “Here you go, guys.” He set it on the table, not batting an eyelash at the fact that I was using my fiancé as a chair. “This is our chuck roast, and some of our London broil. Hope you enjoy.”

“That looks incredible,” Matthew said. “Thanks, Stu. I think that’s the last?”

“That’s correct.” The bearded man gave him one satisfied nod. “I’ll be in back nailing down all the details with Miss Shark if you need us,” he added. “Pretty sure I’m about to haggle like I never have ever before, so please wish me luck.”

We watched him leave, and only when I heard the swinging door lock into place did I say, “Do you think it’s only details they’ll be nailing? Should we go check?”

“Absolutely not,” Matthew said. “Unless a scream comes from the back—and let’s face it, it’ll be Stu’s—we’re not going anywhere close to that door.”

“Huh. You make a good point,” I said, returning to the plate Stu’d just set before us, grabbing my fork and snatching a bite. “Oh wow,” I said through my mouthful. “This is incredible. Yes. I want this. Hundred times over.”

Matthew let out a soft chuckle before rearranging me in his lap so he could have a better look over my shoulder. He sniffed, reminding me of a hungry animal.

I chuckled, and when I loaded the fork with a new bite and turned to offer it to him, it was purely out of reflex. Surprise registered on Matthew’s face, as if he thought he’d have to beg me to do such a thing. As if I hadn’t been reliving the evening with the wine over and over in my head. Men could be so blind sometimes. So— He closed his mouth around the fork.

“Good?” I asked, not breaking eye contact. The response he made was a groan. A groan. And it was so outrageously erotic that it made me squirm. I cleared my throat. “More?”

“Please.”

My fork snagged some of the roast this time, and when I turned to look at him, he was leaning back in the chair. My breath caught a little at the sight of him, looking so brash and presumptuous like that. So in control. So unassumingly smug.

The fact that we were alone in the deli made it all the worse. Better. Dangerous probably.

I cupped his jaw with my free hand. The touch of his stubble prickled at my palm, the warmth of his skin sending tingles down my wrist. Matthew’s eyelids fluttered closed. I brushed the pad of my thumb over his cheek, as if telling him that I, too, loved the feel of him. That I had missed this version of us. The version of something we’d never fully been. The realization of the latter, so powerful that it made my palm move, encouraged, hungry, trailing my fingers with it, until my thumb reached the corner of his mouth. What beautiful lips, I thought. I couldn’t even remember them on mine.

Matthew’s eyes reopened, and he parted his lips, demanding more attention. I obliged, grazing my finger across his bottom lip. Just a kiss of the pad of my finger against it. Just enough to make the brown in his eyes swirl with the same feeling I was sure mine did. Blood pumping, I wondered what I could get away with without breaking any of my rules. Or breaking all of them, except for his. I leaned a little closer, fork in the air again. Fingers wrapped around my wrist.

His head gave a shake. “Use your fingers.”

My eyes widened with surprise and… excitement. Yes. And it was pouring down my body now, making my skin tingle with the possibility, my words barely whispered, “My fingers?”

“Your fiancé is a handsy man,” he said, and ba-boom went my chest. “What’s anyone going to say? I’m yours to do with as you want.”

An overwhelming sense of… need swept me. Head to toes. Toes to head. What’s anyone going to say? I snatched the greasy cut of meat between my index finger and thumb. Matthew’s thighs bounced, impatient, determined, still sitting like a king waiting to be fed, and bringing my whole body toward his chest. My hip was sealed against his gut. Only I didn’t just feel that. I also felt him. And boy. Matthew was hard, so much I could feel him pulsing against me, only the fabric of my dress and his jeans separating him from me.

He let out a curt grunt. “What are you going to do about that, Josie? Give me what I want? Or make me beg a little more?”

Beg. I wondered if the sharp pang of victory at feeling him had to do with that. I pushed my hand closer to his lips, and when Matthew closed them around my fingers, he did it in silence this time. Keeping his eyes on me. I leaned closer, not wanting to miss a single second of him. Matthew snatched my wrist.

A short gasp escaped me. And before I could manage to get my breathing under control, he was bringing my hand to his lips, slipping the pad of my thumb into the warmth of his mouth.

All the air left me in one single swoosh. My whole body shook as I felt his tongue against my skin. Need swirled, and I imagined how that would feel somewhere else. My lips? My tongue? My skin? Anywhere would do. Matthew pulled my finger out of his mouth with a pop. I pulsed. All of me. All around. Need pooled between my legs.

“Tried to warn you, Baby Blue,” he said, and I swore I could hear the hint of that Boston cadence there. Oh God, I was already ready to combust. The weight of his palm at my waist shifted. It moved down. “I knew this would happen. That I’d taste an inch of you and I’d want more. Everything.” My eyelids fluttered closed. His touch drifted around my hip, landing on my thigh. Fingers closed around the fabric of my skirt, dragging it across my thigh. “Now I want it all.” My skirt kept riding up, shivers curling around my legs, pooling between my thighs. “Can I slip my hand under this?”

A breath escaped me, broken, needy. Now I want it all. Everything. I gave him a nod.

Skin clashed against skin. Mine warm, tingly, ready to burn under his. Matthew’s greedy, aflame. His palm dragged up. Matthew hummed. “Can you feel me against your hip, Josie?”

“Yes,” I whispered. I was defenseless under his touch. Effectively disarmed. And he was so hard. It was impossible to ignore.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear, the advances of his hand coming to a stop. “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

“Yes.”

Matthew moved us, dragging the chair with one push of his body and legs, tucking us further into the corner, out of direct view from anyone coming in from the kitchen at the back of the deli, if I had to guess.

My heart tripped at the realization. The possibility of what he—we—was going to do. “Everyone’s in the back,” he said. The flickering of his fingers across my skin resumed, reassuring, encouraging. “It’s just us here.”

“That’s good,” I whispered. And at the same time, a part of me wanted to acknowledge that it was also bad. That I’d never done such a thing and it… excited me.

Matthew hummed in understanding, as if I’d always been his to read. His thumb tickled around my inner thigh. Just a little. Just slightly. Just an inch. I shivered. “Anyone could come back at any given minute. See me with my fiancée in my lap, food forgotten. Hand up her skirt.”

All the air in my lungs escaped me. I couldn’t believe we were doing this. I couldn’t believe we never had. “Your hand’s not high enough.”

Matthew’s chuckle was surprised. Delighted. Dark. His palm was splayed around my inner thigh in one single motion of his hand. “What else?”

“You’re…” I swallowed. Overcome. “Not touching me.”

His fingers pushed upward, reaching the elastic of my panties. My whole body clenched. “Touching what?”

I met his gaze. “Me.”

His smile was as beautiful as it was sinful. Fingers tugged at the fabric, one rough, determined tug, letting it snag back against my skin. His voice lowered, hard as concrete. “I’ve been wondering how wet you’d feel against my fingers ever since that night on the phone.” My eyelids fluttered closed. Oh God. I was— “No. Look at me.”

Not without effort, I reopened my eyes.

“I want to watch your face when I touch you. I want you to see what it does to me.”

There was a question in his eyes. Last chance to tell him no.

This was insane. We were in an empty deli, but it was a public place. I’d never done something like this in a place where I could get caught. The words left me in a rush. “Please, Matthew.”

Matthew’s jaw clamped down in response. There was a kind of urge on his face, in his eyes, that I’d never seen before. That I wanted to touch, but just as I reached out, his fingers moved. He tucked my panties aside. What had to be his thumb grazed me. My mouth parted with a gasp. And in response, he gave one determined stroke.

A low moan escaped.

His chest rumbled with a grunt.

“More,” I whispered.

Matthew cursed, hand moving again. Against me. A second stroke. “You’re going to come,” he rasped against my ear. “Here, on my lap. You’re going to watch me. And when that scream rises, you’re going to press your face into my neck and you’re going to come for me. Say you understand.”

My lips parted over the word yes.

He stroked a rough circle over me, higher this time, over my clit, showing me exactly what he meant. “You want to hear why?”

My head fell back, only slightly, only enough. But I couldn’t function with him gliding over me like that.

“Because those moans are mine,” he all but growled. A whimper rose up my throat, and I turned my face over his chest. This was crazy. This was so inappropriate. It was insane. His fingers slid further down, slightly in. Goodness me. “Are you going to give me what I want?”

I had no doubt, but I was too overwhelmed.

His mouth descended again, finding my ear. “Say yes, Matthew.” Another brisk motion of his hand over my folds demanded I did. But I couldn’t speak when his index and middle fingers were stroking me up and down, up and down, up and down, making me grow slick, restless, needy with release. His thumb circled my clit again. I threw my arm over his neck and slipped my hand into his hair, holding on to him before I flew away. “I didn’t hear you, Blue.”

“Yes, Matthew,” I expelled with a breath.

The laugh that left him was the kind you brought with you into a fantasy. My thighs pressed together, engulfing his wrist as he moved. I felt his body strain with mine, growing harder still, pulsing against me. “You feel how hard you’re making me? I’d be turning you over this table and fucking you in a heartbeat if we were truly alone.”

My head started spinning. All sense leaving me. All that existed was Matthew’s fingers, now back to tracing circles over my clit. His body under mine, now shaking. His scent, all around. His voice. Just him. I tugged on his hair, squirmed in his lap, I wanted more of everything. I wanted the tension to snap.

“This is all I’ve been picturing,” he told me, his wrist flicking. My body spasmed. “Since you came over the phone, saying my name.” The memory led him right to the spot I’d touched that night, imagining it was his hand. He circled, rubbed it back and forth. God, I couldn’t believe I was going to come like this. I— “Give me what I want. Let me have you to myself.”

I brought my free hand down, over the fabric bunched at the top of my thighs. Covering us. I placed my palm over his. Matthew hissed a breath, as if caught off guard. I whispered, “I want to know it’s you.”

“Fuck,” he cursed with a grunt. “Come. Now.” He pushed forward, moving us against the edge of the table. As if he was about to buck. I started throbbing. Pulsing. Leaving my body. I clasped his hand. “Josie. Now.”

I went off. No cry, no whimper, no name off my lips. I just spasmed against Matthew as I rode the highest of highs, feeling hot and cold and full and empty all at once. He continued moving, drawing it out, pressing his mouth against the top of my head. It was like a soundless kiss, and he did it several times, as if once or twice wasn’t enough. The smile parting my face was sated and happy and wide. And when I noticed his hand was still sandwiched between my thighs, it turned greedy. I wanted it there. It didn’t matter where we were. What we were.

A hum left me.

It made Matthew laugh. “That was a beautiful sound. And I think you love the shit out of this chair.”

“I think I might,” I admitted. I let out another content sigh. “I can’t believe you’ve made me come twice. It doesn’t seem right.”

“Why the hell not?” Matthew asked. The reluctant retrieval of his hand leaving me… a little less content. “I love my tally,” he continued, the sight of the mess I’d made out of his fingers distracting me. I brought them to my lap and cleaned them with the fabric of my dress. Matthew huffed out a laugh. “Fuck, Josie. Christ. You’re going to make it impossible for me to stand up.”

Which reminded me… “Were you touching yourself? When we were on the phone?”

His smile was lopsided. “Absolutely. Until the line went dead. Killed my hard-on on the spot.”

I straightened, meeting his gaze. “Why didn’t you say?”

“It didn’t seem important. Not when you weren’t talking to me.”

My cheeks flushed.

He nudged me with his nose before pulling back to look at me. “Don’t get shy on me when you just used your dress to wipe my fingers off. Not right after I had them deep inside your—”

Matthew’s eyes were no longer on my face. They were somewhere behind me.

“Matthew?”

His brow set. All that lightness gone.

“Hey,” I insisted, trying to turn, but finding my body trapped between his chest and the table. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

Matthew’s body moved back, making the chair scrape on the floor. He set me on the ground gently, still not looking at me. Then he came to his feet. Blocked me with his body.

“Where’s Bobbi?” he barked. Then louder, “Shark!”

I peeked over his shoulder, scanned the section of street across the window. Something stood out. A guy. Leaning on a car. A backpack at his feet. “Why do you need Bobbi?”

Matthew finally turned, eyes meeting mine, and it was as if his body gravitated toward mine. His arm snaked around my shoulders, and he held me to his chest. “Can you wrap your arms around me?”

I immediately did. “What’s happening?”

“There’s a fucking pap outside,” he said. “And if Bobbi doesn’t deal with him, I swear to God, I’m going to walk out that door and—”

Noise sounded behind us, then Bobbi dashed past. “Stay put!” She barked back, leaving us behind. “You’re not getting your hands on anyone else today, understand? I’m dealing with that!”

Anyone else?

Oh boy.

I didn’t know what was worse. The possibility of that pap having caught me dry humping Matthew’s lap, or the fact that Bobbi knew what we’d been doing up front.