Chapter 47
FORTY SEVEN
MY EYELIDS FEEL heavy. The lingering weight of a sleep so deep it bordered on oblivion.
I blink slowly, blissfully cocooned in warmth.
The sheets are impossibly soft, the duvet a comforting weight.
The first conscious thought that drifts through my mind is one of bone-deep peace.
A gentle light, like spun gold, filters through the blinds, painting soft stripes across the room.
A subtle shift beside me draws my attention.
I turn my head lazily on the pillow, and my heart gives a soft lurch.
Matthew is already awake. Propped up on one elbow, simply watching me, his dark hair rumpled across his forehead. The morning sun catches the emerald in his irises, making them glow. A lazy smile touches his lips as our eyes meet. A feeling too new for words swells in my chest.
His free hand comes up, his knuckles grazing my cheek. “Morning, love.” His voice is a low, husky rumble, thick with heart-melting fondness.
A corresponding smile finds my own lips. A little wobbly, a little shy, but utterly genuine. “Morning,” I whisper back.
The peace is all-encompassing. It feels like we’re the only two people in the world.
The world…
The Saturday morning rush.
The café.
Helen.
Reluctantly, I break the spell of his bright eyes, glancing around the room. “What time is it?”
He lets out a contended sigh, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer, until my cheek is pressed to the warm skin of his chest. “What does it matter?” he rumbles, nuzzling my hair.
A thrill shoots through me. Every fiber of my being yearns to surrender to this bliss. “Mmm,” I sigh, melting against him for another delicious moment. “Weekends are the busiest at the café.”
A low chuckle vibrates through his chest. He rolls us, settling partially on top, his body caging me against the soft pillows.
“The café, always the café,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my forehead, then the tip of my nose.
“You know, there are laws against working seven days a week.” His voice is a teasing caress.
“Is that so, Esteemed Counselor?” I giggle. “But if you love what you do—”
“It doesn’t feel like work,” he finishes for me, his gaze dropping to my lips.
Before I can answer, his mouth is on mine. A slow, teasing kiss that deepens, reigniting embers from the night before into an insistent flame. His lips trail from my mouth, down my jaw, to my neck. I gasp, my fingers tangling in his rumpled hair.
“I’m hungry,” he whispers against my throat.
A fresh wave of giggles bubbles up. “If you drive me to the café, I can feed you…” I barely manage, breathless.
“Mmm,” he hums. The soft cotton of his T-shirt rides up my torso as his hand slides underneath, fingers caressing the skin he’s just exposed. “Why wait…” His eyes, blazing with desire, find mine.
“Well, because…” My voice is barely a thread of sound.
“I’m not asking,” he interrupts, his mouth reclaiming mine.
This time, there’s no teasing. It’s a deep, hungry claiming that speaks of pent-up longing. I meet his hunger with my own, my hands pulling him closer, my body a desperate, arching plea for more.
The feel of his hand, warm and seeking on the bare skin of my stomach, sends molten heat pooling deep in my core. All thoughts of the café, of Helen, of anything beyond this bed and this man, evaporate like morning mist.
His palm splays possessively over my ribs, just beneath my breast. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin there, making me gasp against his lips. His other hand joins the exploration, mapping the curve of my hip, fingers dipping beneath the thin barrier of lace.
Every touch is electric. Every kiss a deeper plunge into a vortex of sensation.
The hard planes of his body on mine.
The rasp of his stubble on my skin.
The scent of him.
The taste of him.
The low growls rumbling in his chest.
My own soft moans shattered on his lips.
His hands find the hem of the T-shirt, pushing the fabric up and over my head. His lips and tongue leave a searing path in their wake while his fingers explore.
Ignite.
The wildfire rages, consuming every last coherent thought, every inhibition. Matthew groans, a primal sound against my lips. His hands rove with an urgent heat, learning…
Every curve…
Every dip…
Every newly exposed inch of my skin.
My body is alive. Every nerve ending singing…
More.
He lifts his head, his eyes nearly black with passion, mirroring the inferno in my own veins. His chest heaves against mine. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. Then, with a grunt of effort that’s half exertion, half suppressed laughter, he lifts me from the bed.
“Matt!” I yelp as he throws me over his shoulder.
Nudging the door open with his foot, he carries me into the ensuite.
Still breathless and giddy, I find my footing on the cool tiles as he sets me down inside the large, glass-enclosed shower.
He turns the chrome knob. Warm water hisses from the oversized showerhead.
In seconds, steam curls around us, veiling the glass, creating a private world just for us.
Matthew reaches for a dark bottle of body wash. “No flowery soaps in here, I’m afraid,” he says, that wicked smile still playing on his lips. “Hope you don’t mind smelling like me.”
A genuine laugh bubbles from me. “You’re growing on me,” I tease, playfully snatching the bottle from his hand.
“Am I now?” he drawls, biting his lower lip. That sexy smile widens as his hands find my hips, pulling me flush against the hard heat of his body.
The sudden, firm contact sends a fresh jolt of unadulterated want shooting through me.
My eyes fly to his. Just as his head starts to dip, his gaze fixed on my lips, a spark of mischief ignites.
I hold up the bottle like a playful shield between us.
I slowly flip the cap open, my smile mirroring his.
He recoils with a soft, surprised chuckle, his eyes alight with amusement.
My pulse hammers, but I hold his gaze. I lift the bottle to inhale deeply, eyes fluttering closed. The intoxicating blend of rich cedarwood and dark amber, pure Matthew, invades my senses, coiling low in my belly.
Defiantly, I squeeze the clear gel across his chest. A sharp hiss escapes him at the sudden coolness, his muscles clenching.
My palm presses against his skin, fingers spreading wide.
I smooth the liquid soap across the hard planes of his front, working it into a rich lather.
The masculine scent blooms in the steamy air.
Intoxicating.
My gaze deliberately lifts to his through my lashes. A guttural groan rips from deep in Matthew’s chest. His fingers dig into my hips, thumbs pressing rhythmically, pulling me a fraction closer.
His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut. “Amy…” he rasps, his breath hot and uneven.
“Turn around,” I whisper. A sultry challenge.
He straightens, lowering his head, his eyes blazing into mine. “Amy,” he repeats. A clear warning.
“Patience,” I murmur, my lips brushing his ear.
He groans, a mix of exquisite agony and reluctant obedience.
Shaking his head, he turns, giving me his magnificent back.
I take a moment to admire the view.
The broad sweep of his shoulders. The powerful muscles that flank his spine. The way water sluices over his skin, making it gleam.
A potent tremor zaps through me, but I will myself to focus.
I dispense more gel into my hand, applying it to his upper back before setting the bottle back on the shelf. My lathered hands glide over the breadth of his shoulders, then down his back to his sculpted sides in feather-light caresses meant to torment.
A deep shudder runs through him.
I let my hands slide around his front, tracing the lean indentation of his waist, smoothing up and over the hard ridges of his abdomen.
The playful teasing gives way to a simmering heat. Just as my hands trail lower, one of his closes firmly over mine, stilling my exploration. He spins to face me, backing me up against the wet tiles with a speed that leaves me breathless.
“Two can play this game, love.” His murmured words are an intimate caress against my ear.
His lips brush my jaw, then trail with agonizing slowness toward my mouth as he reaches for the body wash.
His mouth is a mere breath from mine. Just when I think he’s about to kiss me, he pulls back.
He flicks the bottle cap open, a knowing glint in his eyes.
He aims the cool stream of gel directly between my breasts, making me gasp and arch against the wall.
His eyes blaze down at me with a possessive, triumphant heat.
He puts away the bottle before his hands return to my skin.
With agonizing leisure, they slide up my torso, fingers splaying over my collarbone, then tracing my throat.
He smooths the soap over my breasts with unbearable slowness, drawing a broken moan from my lips.
“Matt…” His name is a shattered plea.
“Patience…” His voice is a silken rasp, his own breath coming in fast, shallow gasps.
His touch is everywhere.
A broad stroke down my stomach that makes my muscles clench.
A feather-light caress along the inside of my thigh that has me biting back a cry.
The slick glide of his fingers over my hips, my waist, every touch designed to make me unravel.
My hands are in his hair, gripping tight, my body a desperate plea. He groans my name against my lips, pressing me back against the tiles, his body a hard, demanding heat against mine.
His eyes, radiating with untamed passion, bore into mine. “Game over,” he growls.
He lifts me swiftly, wrapping my legs around his waist. His mouth descends on mine with all the pent-up need he’d been so masterfully reining in. Everything outside the glass walls of this shower ceases to exist. We are lost in the torrent of hot water, slick skin, and our all-consuming storm.
Slowly, reluctantly, the sound of drumming water filters back in.
Pressed together against the shower wall, Matthew’s breathing is still ragged, but evening out.
I can feel the thrum of his heart against mine, a steady, powerful beat that feels like the new rhythm of my life.
A contentment so deep and pure it’s almost overwhelming settles into my bones.
I could stay like this forever. Lost in this steamy sanctuary with him.
He presses a soft, lingering kiss to my lips, then another to my forehead. “Wow,” he murmurs the word in a hoarse, wondering whisper.
A watery, thoroughly satisfied giggle escapes me. “Wow, indeed.” My voice is weak, my body humming with a blissful lethargy.
That roguish glint returns to his eyes. He chuckles and turns off the water.
After ensuring I’m steady, he steps out, grabs a towel from the rack, and wraps it around his lean waist. He hands one to me, his eyes lingering on my slick body with an appreciative warmth that sends a fresh flush through me.
Wrapped in our towels, we pad from the steamy ensuite into the sun-dappled calm of his bedroom.
Our clothes are still scattered all over the floor.
Matthew picks up his boxers, his leather jacket, and jeans on his way to the walk-in closet.
I slip back into my underwear and reluctantly reach for my black dress.
Matthew returns just as I pull the fabric up, the silk cool against my heated skin.
He has transformed. He is back to his effortlessly handsome self in a fitted, dark navy crew-neck sweater and classic light blue jeans.
“Let me get that for you,” he murmurs, stepping in when he sees me struggle with the tricky clasp at the nape of my neck.
“Thanks,” I say, acutely aware of wearing a cocktail dress in the bright morning light.
I feel the light brush of his fingers as he deftly fastens the clasp. “All done.” He presses a soft kiss to my bare shoulder before stepping back. “This dress…” He exhales appreciatively. “You look incredible.”
A deep blush heats my cheeks. “Thank you.” I glance down at the black silk clinging to me, then back up at Matthew, a rueful expression settling on my face. “More nighttime than daytime, really. But it’s all I have right now.”
Matthew’s gaze softens with understanding. “Let’s swing by your place first. So you can change.”
My place.
Icy panic explodes in my chest, a frantic reel of images flashing through my mind…
My cramped office.
My one suitcase open on the floor.
My coat thrown over the couch that currently serves as my bed.
Him seeing all that?
It would ruin this.
I force a smile, hoping it masks the fluttering in my stomach.
My voice comes out a little too bright, a little too rushed.
“No time,” I say, waving a dismissive hand.
“We should get there right away. Make sure Helen’s not swamped and everything’s under control.
” I glance at the door, feigning eagerness.
“Plenty of time to change later. She’s used to my strange outfits. ” I manage a weak laugh.
I hold my breath, praying he buys it.
The light in his eyes dims, replaced by a thoughtful scrutiny that makes my stomach sink.
He tilts his head. “Is everything alright? You seem… off.”
My wall of breezy nonchalance is clearly riddled with cracks. My mind scrambles for a better deflection, but panic scatters my thoughts.
I manage a small, shaky smile, forcing myself to meet his searching gaze. “I’m fine. Really.” I stall, my mind desperately searching for the right words. “I’m just…” I make a vague gesture with my hand, trying to articulate a feeling that’s not entirely false. “I’m just anxious to get to the café.”
He’s quiet for a long, torturous beat. His green eyes search my face.
He knows.
My heart plummets.
He knows I’m not being honest.
A slow breath leaves him, and some of the searching intensity recedes. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right, love?” He lifts his hand, thumb gently brushing against my cheekbone.
All I can do is nod, afraid of shattering if I try to speak.
His lips curve into a faint smile. It doesn’t quite erase the knowing look in his eyes. “Okay. Let’s get you to your café.”
Relief so potent it almost makes my knees buckle floods through me. But as we leave the sanctuary of his bedroom, I can’t shake the weight of his gaze.
I have to find an apartment.
Fast.
Before the messy reality of my life tarnishes the way he sees me.
With any luck, I can get it sorted out without him ever knowing just how close to the edge I’ve been.