22. This is a Good Start
This is a Good Start
LILLIAN
Idon’t know how we manage to behave between the Naknek airport and Matt’s house, but we do. Conversation is limited, but that doesn’t bother me one bit because the anticipation is building. The tension is threatening to break.
And I can’t wait to crack it in two.
This connection has been building since the second I laid eyes on him at Half-Hitch. Of course, I didn’t know then what I know now. That the feeling is not only mutual, but the desire to act on it is, too.
Now that we’re here, though, it’s impossible to ignore just how deep my feelings are for him. How long I’ve wanted this moment. Even as I pushed it away, tried to keep it professional, and assumed that he’d want nothing to do with me since I’m an outsider, I still wanted him.
Each time I steal a look at Matt, he’s more and more tense, shifting his hands on the steering wheel and rolling his shoulders back.
With every passing mile, eagerness builds.
We turn off the highway onto a steadily inclining gravel driveway, flanked by trees that open up when we get to the house.
Matt’s house. Which doesn’t look anything like I expected it to.
It’s dark red with white trim, almost like a farmhouse.
The black-shingled roof looks rustic and durable.
But what surprises me most is the wood-carved bear by the front door, holding a sign that says, “Welcome.”
“Never took you for a lawn ornament type of guy,” I say.
Matt clears his throat. “Yeah, well, Gwen had it made for me when I bought the place and?—”
“It’s cute. I love it.”
My eyes linger on his for an extended moment. He looks nervous, like a scared deer waiting for its predator to make the first move.
“Shall we . . . go inside?” I offer.
“Yes! I mean, yeah. Good idea,” Matt says before climbing out of the truck as swiftly as he can.
I hold back a laugh. Do I make him this nervous, or does sex make him this nervous?
Matt buried the lead with the carved bear, because the inside of his house is darling. Wood-paneled walls, oriental rugs, and a unique collection of art and photos on the walls.
Of course, I’m much more interested in the doorway at the end of the hall that leads upstairs.
Matt, on the other hand, is surprisingly not. He ducks to the left into the kitchen. “You thirsty? Want some water? Let’s have some water.”
I hold back a giggle. God, he’s darling when he’s nervous! The steady sea captain is actually a bundle of nerves when he . . .
When he really wants something.
I follow him into the kitchen and watch as he shuffles from the cabinet to the sink, his shoulders rippling through his jacket.
Which reminds me, I should make myself comfortable. I unzip my fleece and drape it over my forearm.
Matt fills the cups with water and returns to me. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I take the glass, though I’m thirsty for something else.
“Yeah, sure.” Matt lifts his glass like we’re about to toast or something, his lips pursed in an awkward line. He drinks his water. Almost all of it in one go.
I’m about to explode from the laughter I’m holding in.
Matt takes a moment to catch his breath, running his hand over his mouth and beard. “Uh, let me take that,” he says, gesturing toward my jacket.
“Matt—” I try to interject, to slow him down, if only for a moment.
But he doesn’t wait, probably can’t even hear me with all the thoughts stampeding through his head. He dips back into the front hall, his footfalls heavy, and his actions quick and precise. Moments later, he appears again in the doorway. “I—um?—”
I stare at him, waiting.
Matt runs his hand over his head, messing up his signature black toque. His dark hair is ruffled and glorious, begging to be pulled by my fingers. “I haven’t done this in a while. If that wasn’t completely obvious by my . . .”
We both look at the glass of water in my hand.
“Yeah,” Matt finishes, trying to smile.
I let out a sigh, place the glass of water down on the counter, and go up to him. With steady, tender hands, I take hold of his biceps. “Kiss me,” I tell him.
Matt laughs breathlessly before giving me a soft kiss. His lips are just as tentative as his hands, and, god, how I want him to not be tentative. To haul me up the stairs and have his way with me.
I know he can. He just needs a little boost of confidence.
I settle my teeth into his lower lip and relish the frustrated huff he releases as I let go. “Now, would you show me your bedroom?”
Matt hesitates just long enough for me to worry he’s gotten into his head again. But before I can go in for another kiss, he ducks down, wraps his arms around my thighs, and hauls me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes.
I scream, laugh, and wiggle the entire way out of the kitchen and up the stairs, but there’s nowhere I’d rather be. Well, other than his bed, of course. But this is a good start.
When we make it to his bedroom, Matt sets me down. “This is my room.”
I spin around and take in the master bedroom.
A king-sized, or should I say Matt-sized, bed dressed in a dark gray duvet and framed by ancient, hearty wood.
There’s a matching wooden dresser against the wall.
I bet it’s full of wool sweaters and old jeans.
More important than any of the furniture, though, is the view.
There’s a series of three windows across from the bed that look over the treetops toward the serene Naknek River in the distance.
“Oh, my gosh. What an incredible view!” I exclaim and go to the windows.
“Thought you might like that.”
It’s a view I could get lost in. The swaying treetops and the clear sky would already be dark at this time in Los Angeles.
Not in Alaska, though. In fact, I see both the moon and the sun at the same time.
Celestial bodies that are two sides of the same coin.
Can’t have the moon without the sun. And yet, we act like they’re polar opposites. That’s just not true, is it?
My trance is broken when I hear the squeak of mattress springs. I turn to find Matt seated at the end of the bed, bent over to untie his heavy work boots. I lean back against the windowsill, letting the view of Matt overtake me.
He finishes removing his shoes and places them at the foot of the bed, side by side. “There we go. I usually take them off first thing when I get home, but I don’t really have my head screwed on right now, so . . .”
I grin and toe off my sneakers before going over to him, his knees grazing mine. “Why are you so nervous? It’s just me.”
Matt smiles. Handsome. Easy. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”
I rest my forearms on his shoulders, softly straddling him on the bed. “No?”
He laughs, shaking his head. Cautiously, he touches my waist, then lowers his palms to my hips. He squeezes. My insides flip. “You have no idea how nervous you make me, Lillian.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just Lillian,” I say as I lower my mouth to his.
“You’ve never been ‘just’ anything to me,” Matt mutters just before our lips connect.
I swoon into the kiss, my body melting into his strong, accepting arms. Matt’s hands sneak under the hem of my shirt at my back, his palms grazing my skin. I hum into his mouth, nestling myself into his body.
Now, I’m the one feeling nervous. His stare is consuming and electrifying. Goosebumps spark across my skin.
“You are beautiful” He touches my cheek with his big hand. Again, his touch is so much softer than expected. The calluses and hard ridges of his hand don’t hold a candle to the gentle energy he uses to touch.
Our eyes meet briefly. They’re wide, and for some reason, unsure. Like we’re both doing this for the first time. We are, in a way. The first time with each other. We both want to make it good. Make it count.
At least, I hope he’s thinking that, too.