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He bumped her again. She made a sharp noise in her throat and straightened to fold her arms across her middle. He straightened with her.
“What am I going to do about you?” She was trying really hard to look disgusted.
They were very close—nose to nose. He found he was getting kind of lost in her eyes. “Blue, deep blue,” he heard himself murmur. “I’ve always loved your eyes. I’m glad Kira got them…”
“Cut it out, Matt.” The words said one thing, but the softness of her lips and her breathless tone said another.
He had the wildest feeling that if he tried to kiss her, she just might let him. It was probably no more than a drunken delusion. They didn’t kiss anymore, not ever, except for the occasional friends-only peck on the cheek.
And yet. As he looked in those jewel-blue eyes, he couldn’t help thinking that she was thinking the same thing he was thinking.
A kiss. What would a kiss hurt?
Soon she would marry Bob Thompson, who actually was a decent guy, damn it, and the possibility of Matt’s ever kissing her again—ever really kissing her—would diminish exponentially. Funny, but he hadn’t thought about that until right now, half-blitzed in her spare room in the middle of the night, staring into those eyes that his daughter had inherited. Those beautiful, crystal-clear, sapphire-blue eyes…
Never to kiss Corrie again.
Uh-uh. It wasn’t right. Wasn’t possible.
Possible. Yeah. That was the word, wasn’t it? That was the thing, the simple possibility. She was not only getting married, she was taking away all the possibilities between them. Just wiping their slate clean. Bare. Empty.
What they were now—good friends, co-parents—that would be the extent of it. If it ever might have been more again, it never would.
“Matt?” She whispered his name. She sounded even more breathless than a moment ago.
He decided not to answer her. Not with words anyway. He only had to bend his head and his lips touched hers.
“Matt…” She said his name against his mouth. There was tenderness in the way she said it. And confusion. And heat, too.
He focused on the heat. He reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, turning the brushing kiss into something deeper.
Something hotter.
It was so good, the heat. The wanting. He’d missed it more than he’d realized. For way too many years.
She put her hands against his chest, pulled her mouth from his. “Matt. No.”
No.
It was the word a man had zero right to ignore. But he did ignore it—at first. The bed was right there, freshly made, waiting for them. He took her down onto the softness. And he kissed her again, pressing her into the mattress, feeling the shape of her beneath him, so womanly and warm, so well-remembered.
And in spite of that “no,” she was kissing him back, sucking his tongue into her mouth, pushing her hips against him, running her hands up under the sweater he wore. She was acting like no was the last thing she was thinking.
He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe her kiss and her curvy body moving against him, wanted to forget that a few moments ago, she had told him to stop.
But in the end, he couldn’t forget it. It was only right to make sure.
Yeah, he wanted her. Bad. But even half-plowed, he knew that her “no” couldn’t be allowed to stand. She had to admit she wanted him, too.
Either that, or they had to stop.
Somehow, he made himself break the hungry kiss. He braced up on his hands and he stared down at her, with her blond hair wild around her pretty face, her mouth wet and red and so damn tempting.
“No?” He dared her. “Did you say no?”
She called him a very bad word, fisted her fingers up into his hair and tried to yank his mouth down on hers again.
He winced as she pulled his hair, but he didn’t give in. “Answer the question, Corrie.”
She growled low in her throat and gave another yank. That time he let her pull him close. “Shut up,” she said against his lips and kissed him again.
He dragged his mouth away for the second time, caught her wrist, pinned them to the pillow on either side of her head. “Just say yes. Say yes or we can’t—”
“Yes, all right? Yes.” She hissed the word.
“Well.” He stared down at her, satisfied. And aroused, too. She felt just right beneath him. And he was so hard for her. Like a rock, despite drinking more wine than he should have. He bent, nuzzled her neck, muttered roughly against her throat, “That’s good. That’s perfect.”
He raised his head again so he could watch her face as he pressed his hips hard against her. She moaned and lifted up, pressing back, showing him her willingness, her desire. Her sapphire eyes went to midnight, the softest, deepest kind of darkness.
She whispered his name. “Matt. Oh, Matt…”
The rest was like a dream he’d been waiting almost six years to have again.
They kissed. Endless, amazing kisses. They pulled at each others’ clothes, unbuttoning, unzipping, pushing everything off.
And then they were naked. Her skin was hot silk. He rolled her under him and she wrapped her legs around him. He sank into her heat and sweetness.
It couldn’t be happening.
But it was.
He was making love to Corrie. Again.
At last.
Chapter Two
Corrine couldn’t believe it.
She could not believe what she’d just done. There was no excuse. Absolutely none.
She thought of Bob—his open smile, his trusting heart…
Oh, God, please, she prayed. Let this all be a dream. Let me not be a cheater.
But it was no dream. And she was a cheater. She had done it, betrayed Bob. Corrine shut her eyes tight. She wished she would never have to open them.
But then she couldn’t keep them closed. She turned her head cautiously to look at Matt. He lay on his back. His eyes were shut. He seemed to be smiling.
Smiling.
He’d just helped her ruin her life—and he was smiling.
She breathed in deep and let it out slowly. She reminded herself that there was nothing to be gained by yelling at him, or by slapping that ridiculous smile right off his face. He’d only given her exactly what she’d asked for.
What he’d made her ask for…
A hot flush flowed up her cheeks as she remembered the way he had made her say yes. He hadn’t even left her the comfort of blaming him. He’d made her admit she was willing. More than willing. He’d made her admit she wanted it. Bad.
“Matt.” She spoke softly, her teeth firmly gritted.
He didn’t answer, didn’t turn his head her way, didn’t even open his eyes.
She got up on an elbow and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Matt.”
That was when he started snoring. A soft, contented sort of snore. And he was still smiling.
She watched in outrage as he turned to his side facing the far wall. He tugged the covers up under his chin with a happy little sigh. Oh, how she longed to shake him some more. And not gently this time. The least he could do was to stay awake and talk to her about the whopper of a mistake the two of them had just made.
But no. He was sleeping peacefully. And she was left to stew on her own.
She pushed back the blankets and jumped to her feet. He didn’t move—and she hadn’t left the bed all that carefully, either. She stood there naked, glaring down at him, thinking about how much she longed to wake him up and tell him what a total jerk he was for kissing her in the first place when he knew damn well that she was an engaged woman. And not only for kissing her, but for not simply stopping when she said no. For kissing her long and hard, until she was willing to say anything to get him to keep kissing her.
And then, most of all, for the rest of it. Which had been fabulous. Damn it.
Corrine put her hands to her burning cheeks. Somehow, that was the worst of it, that she had liked it so much. That she’d pulled him back down on top of her and started ripping off his clothes. That when he was inside her, she had sunk her teeth into his shoulder and cried out at how good it felt.
That she had come.
Twice.
No. She wasn’t going to wake him up. If she did, she would definitely end up yelling at him. And that would wake Kira and that wouldn’t be good.
So she scrambled around gathering up her clothes, which strangely had ended up flung into all four corners of the room. Her panties were out in the upstairs hall, for crying out loud. One of them must have thrown them there. The door was wide open, the overhead light still on.
God. Kira. She could have so easily gotten up and come down the hall and seen them. Corrine covered her face and whimpered in self-disgust at the very idea. But only for a moment. Whimpering, after all, wasn’t going to do any good. She’d done what she’d done and now she was going to have to figure out what to do next.
She thought of her mom, her stomach knotting in sadness and longing. Kathleen Lonnigan had been the soul of practicality. If she was there now, she’d probably say something like, Well, baby. That was stupid. But time only moves forward and there’s no one yet that can change the past. Right now, you just put one foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward and do what needs doing.
So all right. It was one-foot-in-front-of-the-other time. She went and got the panties and put them on and then put on everything else. She turned off the light and closed the door quietly as she left the room. On tiptoe, she went down the hall and checked on Kira, who was sound asleep. The sight of that—of her daughter sleeping—made her feel marginally better. No kid who had just seen her parents naked could sleep so peacefully, smiling like a little angel.
Corrine went downstairs. She cleared away the mess from the wine-tasting party. By the time she finished that, it was after four. She trudged up the stairs again to her own room, shed her clothes for the second time that night, pulled on her favorite sleep shirt and dropped into bed. Lucky for her she was really, really tired. Too tired, even, to stare at the ceiling and think about how much she despised herself.
She rolled to her side, tucked her hands under her head and slept.
When she woke, it was daylight. Matt was standing over her, wearing the khaki trousers and wool sweater she’d ripped off of him the night before, looking worried. At least he was holding out her favorite mug and a delicious trail of coffee-scented steam was curling upward from it.
Corrine started to reach for the mug, but then she looked at the clock. It was nine forty-five. She let out a screech and threw back the covers.
“Relax.” He steadied the mug with his free hand. “I gave her breakfast and took her to school.”
She blinked. “You did?”
The worried look became a sheepish one. “I figured it was the least I could do.”
“You’re late for work.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re never late for work.”
He shrugged. “I called the office. They’ll get along without me until lunch time.”
Corrine flipped the covers back over her bare legs and plumped the pillows so she could lean against them. “Give me that coffee.”
“You promise not to throw it in my face?”
“Don’t tempt me. The coffee. Now.” With care, he handed it over. “Thanks,” she said grudgingly.
He backed up and sat in the chair in the corner. For a minute or two, they just stared at each other. He seemed to have no more idea of what to say than she did.
But in the end, he spoke first. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, it was the wine, that’s all.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted that so badly. And hey, it probably was just the wine as far as he was concerned. Something he could blow off as lowered inhibitions and bad judgment.
For her, well, it was much worse. What they’d done called everything into question. It made her a liar on too many levels. To Bob—and somehow even worse than that, to herself.
She sipped the coffee. “Yeah. A big mistake, all that wine.”
He raked his fingers back through his spiky brown hair. “Stupid.”
She sipped again. “Beyond dumb.”
Another silence. Then he said, “And no one has to know about it. We can agree that it never happened.”
Easy enough for him to say. He wasn’t the one with an engagement ring on his finger. The closest he’d ever come to an engagement was his on-again, off-again relationship with Tabby Ellison, the daughter of one of Aleta’s Phi Beta Something-or-Other girlfriends from college. Tabby was beautiful and rich and traveled in the same social circle as the Bravos. She would have made Matt a very suitable wife. If only Matt wanted to settle down.
But he didn’t. Never had. Matt wasn’t a ladykiller type or anything. He just didn’t particularly want to get married. He wasn’t ready for that, he said, seeming to mean that he would be. Eventually. Maybe that was true. And in four or five years, whenever that “right” time finally came around, he and Tabby would have a country club wedding and then Tabby would produce a couple of little darlings destined to grow up rich and very spoiled.
“Corrie, did you hear me?”
She puffed out her cheeks as she sighed. “Yeah. I heard you. And I can’t do it. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. Bob has to know.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” He made a low, pained sound in his throat and rubbed at his temples.
She felt a certain…tenderness toward him. Okay, he’d started it last night. And he’d been more than happy to finish it after he got that yes out of her. Then he’d dropped off to sleep instead of staying awake so she could yell at him.
But this morning, he’d fed their daughter and driven her to school. And then he’d come in here to deal face-to-face with the mess they’d just made. He hadn’t tried to slink away. She had to give him credit for that at least.
