Wicked Fortune (Wicked Nights #5)

Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

My head rests on his lap, the sheet soft against my cheek as he gently strokes my hair.

“What happened to you being a noisy thinker?” he whispers. “I can’t hear a damn thing.”

I laugh. “So sorry.”

“How can I tell if you enjoyed our movie night if I can’t get into that head of yours?”

I twist around, then resettle on my side with my head on a pillow. He does the same so that we’re facing each other, the giant bed spread out like an ocean around us.

I reach out and stroke his hair, smiling at the touch of gray at his temples. It really is so damn sexy. “Will you believe me if I say that I was thinking about how incredible you are? And how amazing you made me feel.”

I slide my hand along his side, taking the sheet with me until he’s just as naked and exposed as I am. “I like you better this way,” I say, resting my palm on his bare hip. “And I definitely like the view.”

His brow rises. “You’re breaking the rules, Ms. Parker. We agreed there’d be no more touching.”

“Because we need sleep,” I say, parroting our agreement. “And because touching leads to activities that are a tad more energetic than shut-eye.”

“Exactly,” he says.

I expel an intentionally dramatic sigh. “That’s what I get for dating old men. I guess it’s time to just settle in and head off to sleepy-town.”

He shakes his head, then clicks his tongue. “Honestly, babe. I don’t know that this is going to work. I need a woman who can keep up.” He makes a show of looking me up and down. “Someone a bit younger. With more stamina.”

“Oh, you’re in trouble now.” I laugh, then roll on top of him. “You want stamina? I’ll show you stamina.” But he counters by flipping me onto my back, then straddling me.

He kisses me, long and hard and deep, and when he pulls back, my body is once again tingling with need.

“That’s to keep you craving the next time,” he says, pulling me close and spooning against me, his cock half-hard against the curve of my ass. “But if we still want to fuck tonight, we can do that in our dreams.”

“I like the sound of that,” I murmur as I snuggle my backside against him. But even as I do, I’m glad he can’t see my face. I’m thinking about what he said. If we still want to fuck. And I can’t help but wonder if that’s all this is to him. A good time. A fast fuck.

For better or for worse, this night has pushed me fully over the threshold into Matthew Land. That crush I’ve had since the day I saw him on the Starks’ patio—it wasn’t just about the sensual fantasies that grew and bloomed for years. No. It was about him .

It was a crush that grew deeper and wider with everything I learned about him, whether from an article, a casual mention by a friend, a radio interview, or even overhearing a wannabe actor/waiter talking about Holt’s many, many accomplishments.

That first moment of lust I’d felt upon seeing the man had taken root and grown into something deeper and truer. And now here I am, head over heels for the whole of who he is. A talented, vibrant man who seems to check every box in the What I Want list that has been growing in my brain since junior high. His talent. His mind. His ambition.

Plus, he’s gorgeous, and that’s definitely icing on the Matthew Cake.

Now that I seem to have him, though, I can’t help but wonder if I can keep him. What could a guy like that see in a woman like me? A woman who’s almost thirty and still hasn’t settled into a career. A woman who would actually take a job where sex is so obviously part of the equation.

Of course he only wants to fuck me.

And that, I tell myself, is all I should want, too. I’m here on a mission, after all. And I should know better than to let good sex and a crush mess with my head.

I should … but apparently, I don’t.

With a sigh, I roll over, putting my back to him, then using a corner of the sheet to dry my tears. I draw a breath and tell myself it doesn’t matter if he’s only here for a few good fucks. This is all about Jenny. And the less there is between Holt and me, the easier it will be to take him down.

But when he rolls over in his sleep and puts his arms around me, I have to wonder if that’s really true. I can tell myself a hundred lies, but the truth is that I want this man. I have for a very long time.

So am I really here to help my dead friend, or did I take on this challenge to get close to Holt?

And if it’s the latter, what kind of shitty friend does that make me?

The aroma of bacon rouses me from a dream involving a naked Matthew, a convertible Porsche, and a three-ring circus going full steam in the parking lot behind Vons.

I almost register a complaint when I reach the kitchen—I really, really wanted to know where that dream was going to land—but all thoughts of fast cars and circuses evaporate when I see the man standing by the stove, showered and dressed and looking ironically sexy in nothing but sweatpants that sit low on his hips and a floral print apron tied behind his neck and back.

I let out a low whistle, then raise my phone. “How much do you think The Hollywood Reporter would pay for this picture?”

He points kitchen tongs at me. “One, I don’t serve bacon to women who threaten my masculinity.”

My lips twitch. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure I have a granola bar somewhere in my car.”

“Two, the apron was my mother’s. I found it in a box after she died.”

I nod, as if considering that. “I didn’t know your mom, but I’ll take a wild guess that she’d have been on my side.”

From his scowl, I know I played that right.

“And three,” he says, moving the bacon to a paper-towel covered plate, “anyone who messes with my cooking vibe will find herself getting no more bacon at all.”

“I told you. Granola?—”

“And just to be clear, ‘bacon’ is a metaphor for sex.”

“I see,” I say, working very hard not to laugh. I slide my phone onto the counter. “The public doesn’t need to know everything,” I say. “But, damn, you look hot. The apron is a serious turn-on.”

And, frankly, it kind of is. He looks a little ridiculous, very adorable, and wildly sexy.

I’m not sure if that’s an empirical assessment or if my take means I’m falling hard.

I have a feeling it’s the latter.

“Over easy again? Or do you want to be wild and split a mushroom and cheddar omelet?”

I press a hand to my heart. “Sharing food. Better be careful. You’re going to get caught in my web.”

He meets my eyes. “Ah, Ariadne. I can’t think of a better trap to fall into.”

I smirk as I think of my Jenny mission. I should tell him the truth—surely this man couldn’t have hurt Jenny. More, he could help me find out what really happened.

But instead of telling him the truth, I smile, as if it’s all just silly banter. Because I’m standing too close now to really see the truth. And just like I told Bree—Matthew Holt is a man who could kill. He could, I think, kill to protect me.

And he could kill to protect himself, too.

It’s in him. That ruthlessness. But what would it take for him to hurt a woman like Jenny? Could he even do it at all?

That, I still don’t know.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a trick question.”

I jump, pulled from my reverie. “Oh. Sorry. I’m not quite awake.”

He points to the coffee maker. “Grab some elixir. So, yes to the omelet?”

I nod, then make a beeline for the coffee. I’m in the midst of pouring when his phone rings. Not his cell, but some hidden landline that is now chiming throughout the house.

He taps a button on his watch, then says, “Holt.”

“You have a meeting at eleven.” Lila’s voice filters into the room through speakers hidden somewhere above us. I presume you’ll be here in time to review the file.”

“And a good morning to you, too. It’s only nine-fifteen. I don’t think it’s time to send a helicopter for me just yet.”

“It’s my job to make sure your calendar runs smoothly, Matthew. Try not to make my job more difficult.”

“I’ll do my level best,” he says. “If there’s nothing else, my breakfast is getting cold.”

“Actually, I thought you’d want to know that Ms. Parker hasn’t come in yet. As I’d feared, I don’t think she fully understands the depth of responsibility her job contains.”

“Nonsense. She’s so responsible she came here. It’s a working breakfast.”

“I see.”

For twenty-seven seconds, the line is completely silent. As it turns out, twenty-seven seconds is a lot more time than you’d think.

“In that case,” Lila says, continuing as if there’d been no pause at all, “ask her to stop by the Widow Bluff set on her way in. Accounting needs the cost overrun reports by the end of day.”

“Done,” he says. “Which also describes my omelet. I’ll see you soon, Lila. You can fill me in on the rest then.”

“You need?—”

But I don’t hear what else Matthew needs, because he’s tapped his watch again and the ceiling goes silent.

I glance up toward the hidden speakers and mics. “I can’t decide if that’s cool or creepy.”

“Cool,” he says, then flashes a tight smile. “Sorry about that. I’m sure you’ve already noticed that she’s a bit overprotective.”

“Understatement much?”

He gestures to the small table by the window, and I take a seat. He joins moments later with the omelet, some fried potatoes I didn’t realize he’d been heating up, and toast. He slides the plates onto the table, then leaves, returning in a few seconds with two carafes—OJ and coffee.

“I would have helped.”

“Maybe I like waiting on you. Besides, that’s everything. Unless you need ketchup or something?”

“Nope. I’m all good.” I start to pick up my fork, then hesitate. “Are you?”

“Am I what? Good?”

He sounds genuinely confused, and I shrug, feeling a little confused myself.

“Aria?”

“I—” I shake my head, feeling like an idiot. “I just—oh, hell. Is there … I mean, you and Lila. Is there something there?”

“No,” he says.

“But—”

“No.”

I nod, then focus on my meal. Which isn’t difficult since it’s freaking delicious. All of it. Omelet. Bacon. Toast. OJ. Coffee.

Coffee refill.

And then there’s no more food … which means no more distractions.

I lean back in my chair, my finger tapping a rhythm on the tabletop. He sighs, then reaches across the table to take my hand. “There’s nothing romantic or sexual between Lila and me.” His voice is soft. Earnest. “But there’ve been times when she’s made it more than clear that she wants there to be. And maybe even some times when she thought we were heading that direction. But, no. There’s nothing now. There hasn’t been anything for a very long time.”

“Oh. So there was.”

“We were in our early twenties. We were working together. It was casual, just one time. We were celebrating something.” His eyes meet mine, and I see only regret. “It didn’t last. The friendship did.”

“I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business.”

“Oh?” His eyes meet mine. “I kind of hoped it was.”

“Yeah?” My question is so soft, it’s a wonder he can hear me.

But he can, and he nods, then grins. “Where exactly have you been the last couple of days? Because if that’s not something you picked up on, I’m going to have to rethink your role as my PA. I mean, I need an assistant who gets me.” He reaches for my hand. “I thought you got me.”

I match his grin, feeling both full up and very light all at the same time. “I think I do. But I’m certain you’ve got me. And that you get me, too. Does that count?”

His brow furrows as he sways from side to side as if pondering some internal debate. “Judges say yes.”

“Well, good. I’m glad I’m still in the game.”

“In it?” He squeezes my fingers. “Baby, you won it.”

For a moment, we just look at each other. It’s one of those moments that seems removed from both time and reality. “Is this—are we—I mean, we’re moving awfully fast.”

I regret the words the moment I say them. I don’t want him to pull back. And not because I need to be close if I’m going to find out what happened to Jenny. This moment is only about Matthew. And me.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I make up my own rules. And I think we’re moving at the speed of us.”

I tear up a bit, delighted by his words. “Yeah. I guess we are.” I hesitate. “Except …”

His eyes narrow, and he strokes the pad of his thumb lightly along my hand. “No. No exceptions.”

“It’s just that I don’t think Lila likes me. And I have a feeling that the speed of us isn’t something she’s going to understand.”

“She’s my receptionist, not my mother or my shrink or my relationship counselor.”

I notice that he doesn’t deny my assessment as to Lila’s utter lack of love for me.

“But she’s also my right hand,” he adds. “I won’t fire her. There’s too much history there.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “She knows where all the bodies are buried.”

His tone is teasing, but I go cold nonetheless. I take a sip of coffee, then look at him over the mug. “And how many bodies are there?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I battled Hardline into existence. And for every person who looks at a plot of land and sees a historic battleground, there’s someone else who looks at it and sees a graveyard.”

He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “My rise in this business was fast but legit. I may have killed my competition, but only metaphorically. Don’t worry,” he says, “Once Lila gets to know you better, she’ll like you just fine.”

He says it, but I don’t believe it. It doesn’t matter, though, because I trust Matthew. More than I ever thought I would.

Hopefully not more than I should.

I take another sip of coffee, trying to wrap my head around how I feel about this man. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since I arrived for movie night, and yet it feels like we’ve lived a lifetime. Like he is—and always has been—right by my side.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, a vibration I feel all the way to my toes.

I glance up, meeting his gaze. “I was just thinking about how you make me feel.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Like I’m safe.” I hesitate, feeling a vulnerability that almost scares me. But he’s here, watching me with those fathomless eyes, and somehow I know I can be honest. “Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

“You are,” he says simply, his words wrapping around me like a promise.

For a moment, neither of us speaks, and I let myself bask in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Then, of course, I have to dive back into deep waters. “Lila,” I say. “You really think she doesn’t want you back?”

He shakes his head. “There’s no back . I told you, we weren’t together that way except for the one time. And that was a drunken, celebratory mistake.”

“It’s just that … well, it’s obvious she doesn’t like the idea of me and you.”

“She’s protective. We go way back, and without her I never would have gotten my first films made. We made a good team, but …”

“But?” I prompt, sensing the weight behind the word.

“But we had some rough months, then went our separate ways. She hit hard times, and I let her back in. I owed her.”

“Owed her?”

“She—well, let’s just say she was instrumental in getting me on this path. I owe her a lot. And we’re friends. Good friends.”

“I never saw you as the kind of businessman who would hire someone just out of obligation.”

He leans back. “I’m not. She also happens to be great at what she does. More than that, I trust her completely.”

The silence hangs between us, heavy with things unspoken. “I’m sorry,” I say. “We’re barely together—I don’t even know if it would be fair to say we’re dating—and I’m getting all bent out of shape about something that’s clearly in the past.”

His face is unreadable, but I see the way his body relaxes. “One, we are dating. Exclusively,” he adds, in a voice that makes me want to drag him right back to bed.

“It’ll be a challenge, but I guess I can live with that.”

“Two,” he says, fighting the smile that tugs at his mouth, “Lila’s seeing someone.”

“Oh. Who?” The question is automatic. It’s not as if I’ve been around long enough to know Lila’s paramour.

“Elias Trent” he says. “He’s?—”

“—head of Talent Relations.”

His brows raise. “I’m impressed.”

I flash a modest smile. “I want to do a good job. I studied the corporate chart. Other than that, I know nothing about the guy.”

So maybe Matthew is right. Maybe Lila’s just protective and prickly, and I’m reading too much into things.

But even as I tell myself that, a little part of me can’t help but wonder if he’s blind to what’s right in front of him. And if there really is something dark and scary happening at those parties.

And if so, does Lila know?