скачать книгу бесплатно
Right, he had no choice now but to wait until the daughter Gemma had never told him about decided to contact him again. And he wasn’t visiting his grandfather until tomorrow.
So, what could he do with the rest of his day?
Mmm, maybe he could drop in to see Dylan-Jane. See whether there was a chance of them taking up where they’d last left off...
And, he admitted, he could see for himself whether she was happy or not.
* * *
In the coffee shop on the Lockwood Estate, Mason James delivered an espresso to the student sitting at the table in the corner and glanced at the complex math equation the kid was solving.
Because math had once been his thing, Mason scanned the guy’s rough notes and immediately saw where he’d gone wrong. Mason opened his mouth to point out the mistake before pulling back.
Three years ago, complex situations and equations, troubleshooting and problem-solving, was what he’d done for a living and he’d made a stupid amount of money from it. The responsibility of the problems he’d been given to solve—some of them with life-and-death outcomes—had generated enough stress to elevate his blood pressure to dangerous levels and burn a hole in his stomach. It had also ended his marriage and threatened his relationships with his sons.
So Mason got out of the think-tank business, buying a chic coffee shop to keep himself busy. He attended his boys’ ice hockey and baseball games, played video games with them and helped them with their homework. He delivered coffee, muffins and pastries and told himself it was good to be bored.
Boredom didn’t place a strain on his heart, or burn that hole deeper into his stomach.
Mason turned away and then heard the low curse. He looked around to see the student putting his head in his hands, tugging his hair in obvious frustration. It was, for him, simple math. What harm could it do to help?
Mason turned back, scanned the equation and tapped a line. “Rework this line.”
Blue eyes flew up to meet his and Mason saw the doubt.
“With respect, I’m in the doctorate program at MIT...”
Mason shrugged and waited him out. He didn’t bother to tell the guy that he’d been through that program and many more. He just tapped the line again until the kid finally turned his attention back to the equation. His brow furrowed and then he released a long sigh. Yep, the light had dawned.
“Hey, thanks so much.”
Mason smiled briefly before retracing his steps back to his small kitchen. Before he reached his destination, he heard the muted ping that indicated he had a customer. He didn’t need to see who was pulling the door open—his heart was way ahead of his eyes and it was already picking up speed.
Mason leaned his shoulder onto the nearest wall and watched his current obsession walk into his coffee shop, followed by a brunette clutching a stack of bridal magazines. The older of Callie’s twin daughters, he remembered—Jules. Callie had her arm around Jules’s waist and love for her child on her face.
Callie Brogan was a beautiful mom.
Mason ran his hand over his face. The last thing he was looking for when he opened Coffee Connection was to be attracted to a stunning, ebullient, charming widow. Yeah, she was older than him but who the hell cared? He could date younger woman, had dated many of them, and none of them captured his interest like Callie Brogan did. It was unexplainable and not something he could wish away.
God knew he’d tried.
Callie’s head shot up and her eyes locked on his. Electricity arced between them and his pants, as they always did when she was in the room, tightened. Even though he was across the room, he could see her nipples respond—God, her breasts were fantastic. A flush appeared on her throat, down her chest. Despite her protests, Callie was as aware of him, as attracted to him, as he was to her...
Why hadn’t they ended up in bed already?
Oh, because she wasn’t ready and because she was still in love with her dead husband.
Mason looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. His was said to be one of the most brilliant minds of his generation, yet he was flummoxed by how to get this woman to sleep with him.
That’s all he wanted, some fantastic sex with an attractive, interesting woman. He wasn’t looking for love or forever—as a scientist, he didn’t believe in either. The human species simply wasn’t that evolved. But sex, a few hot nights? Yeah, he most certainly believed in man’s most primal urge.
Mason started toward her—he couldn’t stay away if he tried—but the infinitesimal shake of her head stopped him.
Right, he wasn’t wanted. He should go and count stock or take out the trash or do his taxes.
Simple, stress-free jobs he could do with his eyes closed. But so blah and boring. Looking through the huge windows of his shop, he wished he could go caveman on Callie. He’d toss her over his shoulder and put her behind him on his Ducati—in his fantasy it was spring or summer—and ride away. When he reached the first isolated area, he’d stop.
He had this fantasy of stripping her down, bending her over his bike and taking her from behind, his hands on her amazing breasts, his lips on her neck, sliding into her wet, warm...
“Sorry, sir? I’m stuck again. Could you help me?”
Mason rubbed his face before squinting at the messy calculations.
Since bike sex, or even warm weather, wasn’t in his immediate future, he could do math. And while he mathed, he could also keep an eye on Callie, which was his latest and greatest pleasure.
Two (#u5fb66e2a-be0d-567c-baa0-5b530d5e8cd7)
Matt walked into Brogan and Winston’s showroom on Charles Street and looked around.
A counter ran along an exposed brick wall and to the right of it was a waiting area with a striped green-and-white sofa and a white chair, both with perfectly placed orange cushions. Funky art hung on the walls and a vase brimming with fresh flowers sat on the coffee table. He liked what he saw, immediately understanding why Winston and Brogan had such an excellent reputation and were booked solid for months.
DJ, as the CFO, worked behind the scenes, but Matt knew how important her work was to the company’s overall success. He couldn’t do what he did without Greta, his office manager, who took care of the paperwork, the staff and the billing. Greta was as indispensable to him as DJ was to Winston and Brogan. Her name, after all, was on the door.
Matt heard footsteps on the iron staircase to the left and he turned to see a pair of knee-high boots and sexy knees coming down the stairs. He knew those legs, the shape of them. He’d tasted the backs of those knees, nibbled those pretty toes. The rest of DJ appeared: short skirt over black leggings, a white blouse, that gorgeous long neck. As she hit the bottom stair, he finally got to see her face for the first time in too many months and, as always, her beauty smacked him in the gut.
Her thick hair, as dark as a sable coat, was pulled back into a soft roll, tendrils falling down the sides of her face. Black-rimmed glasses covered her extraordinary brown-black eyes and her lips were covered in a soft pink gloss. She looked both beautiful and bossy, efficient and exciting.
Two steps and she could be in his arms—he’d duck his head and he’d be tasting her.
“Matt.”
No excitement, no throwing herself into his arms, God, he didn’t even rate a smile? What the hell had happened between last Christmas and now?
Matt took a closer look at her eyes and saw wariness, a healthy dose of I-don’t-need-this-today. Well, tough. He didn’t like unresolved situations. When he’d left DJ in the UK everything had been fine. Yeah, many months had passed but, unless she now had a boyfriend and had moved on, nothing should’ve changed. And if she had found someone—a thought that froze the blood in his veins—then why the hell hadn’t she just said so? That was their deal, dammit.
“Got someone else, Dylan-Jane?”
It took her a little time to make sense of his words, but when she did, her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. Yep, that was answer enough. So, no boyfriend. “Then what’s the problem?”
DJ glared at him, sent the young receptionist a cool smile and jerked her head toward the stairway. “Can we discuss this in private?”
Matt jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants as he followed DJ up the stairs and down a short passageway to a corner office. He stepped inside the brutally neat room and watched her stride toward her wide desk.
She wanted to put a physical barrier between them but he had no intention of letting that happen. One long step allowed him to capture her wrist. He swung her around and pulled her to him so that her breasts touched his chest and the top of her head brushed his chin. He looked down at her, his mouth quirking at her shocked expression. “So, no new guy, then?”
“No.”
Thank God. Matt dropped his gaze from her eyes to her mouth and after a couple of beats, looked her in the eyes again. She immediately understood what he wanted...and yeah, it was what she wanted, too. The attraction between them had always been a living, breathing thing. A year ago, he would’ve dived into the kiss and been sure of his welcome, but too much time and distance had created a barrier between them. It was hell to wait for her to make the first move, to wait for her to rise onto her toes and fit her mouth against his. It took a minute, maybe more, but then her lips were on his and the world suddenly made sense again.
Matt immediately took control of the kiss, covering her mouth with his, sliding his hands over her hips and bringing her flush against him. His pants immediately shrunk a size as he filled the empty places of his soul by kissing Dylan-Jane. Spice, sex, heat, heaven...
It took less than a heartbeat for Dylan-Jane to open her mouth up to his tongue, and a second later her arms were looped around his neck and her fingers were in his hair. Potent relief ran through him: she still, thank God, wanted him as much as he craved her.
Matt wound his tongue around hers, tasting her spiciness and sweetness, and sighed. Yeah, he’d missed this, missed her breathy moans and the purrs of appreciation she made in the back of her throat.
When DJ’s fingers pushed into his hair, when she held his head to keep his mouth on hers, he knew she was fully, completely in the moment with him.
Matt pushed aside his urge to strip her, telling himself that he wasn’t going to make love to her on her office couch in the middle of the day. But he could kiss her, let her fill up those hollow spaces in his soul. He needed nothing as much as he needed to hold her...
Soft, sweet and still sexy—Matt felt like he’d conquered the world when she quivered under his touch. He needed to taste more of her, kiss a place more intimate than her mouth, so he flipped open the top buttons of her designer silk shirt and pushed aside the fabric to reveal her lace-and-satin bra. Unable to wait, he pulled aside the cup and there she was, pretty and plump. Ducking his head, he touched his lips to her, swiping his tongue across her nipple, feeling the shudder run through her.
He loved that he could make her feel like this, that he could take her from mad and sad to pleasure, that he could put those purrs in her throat, make her arch her back in eagerness. Her fingers in his hair tightened as he blew air over her nipple and his name on her lips was both a plea and a demand for more.
He moved to her other breast, loving the taste and texture of her. His hand traveled down her hip. Matt slid his other hand over her ass, kneading her under the fabric of her skirt before inching the material up so his fingers brushed the back of her thighs. He wanted those legs around his hips, her breasts in his mouth. He needed to be inside her as soon as possible.
He wanted them naked; he needed her. Matt’s hand slid between her legs, wishing away the fabric barriers between her secret places and his fingers...
Then Matt was touching air and DJ was...gone.
Matt looked at the empty space between them and shook his head. One minute she was in his arms and the next she was halfway across the room, staring at him, her mouth wet from his kisses and her eyes blurry with desire. She wanted him, so why the hell was she six feet away and he was here? Matt took a step toward her and DJ held up her hands.
“This is my office, Edwards. I’m not about to get naked with you here.”
Fair point. How soon could they leave? It had been a hell of a long time since he’d seen her naked, kissed her senseless, heard her moan as she fell apart in his arms.
“I’m not about to get naked with you at all.”
Matt blinked. What?
There wasn’t anyone else. They’d just shared a kiss hot enough to melt glass. They’d been sleeping together for many years. He was going to be around for the foreseeable future and she was cutting him off?
What was happening here?
What was he missing?
DJ gestured to the sofa. “Take a seat, let’s talk.”
He’d rather be making love, but since that was out of the question Matt sat down, adjusting his still rock-hard erection and begging it to calm the hell down because it wasn’t needed at this precise moment.
“Coffee?” DJ asked.
Matt nodded, stretched out his legs and ordered himself to get a grip. He watched DJ with narrowed eyes as she popped a pod into her fancy machine, powered it up and, when the mug was full, added a dash of milk. Ignoring the sugar dispenser, she walked over, placing the mug on the coffee table in front of him. Then she took the seat opposite him and draped one slim leg over her bouncing knee.
DJ was nervous. Now, that was interesting.
“What are you doing back in Boston, Matt, and how long do you intend to stay?”
“I have some personal business that necessitates me sticking around for a few weeks. One part of that personal business is persuading my grandfather to move into an assisted-living facility.”
DJ’s eyes turned warm with sympathy and his heart stuttered. He loved her expressive eyes, the way emotions swam through them, the way they resembled luxurious chocolate.
“Is he sick?”
Matt shook his head. “Alzheimer’s.”
“I’m so sorry, Matt.” DJ tipped her head to the side, curiosity all over her face. “And your other personal business?”
He wasn’t ready to talk to her, or anyone, about his daughter, Emily.
Besides, he wasn’t here to talk. He wanted to feel. He wanted to touch the skin on the inside of DJ’s thighs, pull her tasty nipples into his mouth, nibble her toes. In her arms, while he loved her, he could forget about the complications of this past year.
Dylan-Jane was his escape, his fantasy woman, the perfect relationship because it was all surface. Because she didn’t demand anything more than he was prepared to give.
But instead of falling into him and losing herself in the pleasure he could give her, she was retreating. Hell, if she had “back off, buster” tattooed across her forehead, her message couldn’t be any clearer. DJ uncrossed her legs, leaned forward and rested her forearms on her bended knees. She stared at her hands for a long time before looking up at Matt. “Cards on the table, Matt?”
He didn’t expect a good hand but nodded anyway.
“Your being back in Boston, even on a short-term basis, doesn’t work for me.”
Well, hell. Not what he wanted to hear. In his mind, reality crashed into fantasy and he felt a little sick. And a lot disappointed. He’d been relying on having some time with DJ as a way to step out of his head and regroup.
“I have a life here and that life doesn’t have room for a hot lawyer who wants to share my bed.” DJ glanced at her desk and lifted her eyebrows. “But maybe we can go somewhere in the New Year, see if the magic is still there.”
Matt didn’t know if she was being serious, and not knowing where he stood pissed him off. And there was something in her tone...something he couldn’t put his finger on. Behind her tough-girl words, he could see vulnerability and...was that guilt?
“What aren’t you telling me, DJ?”
DJ arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
Damn if that prissy voice didn’t make him harder than he already was, if that was possible. “Spill it, DJ.”
Irritation flashed in her eyes and she shook her head, looking weary. “Lawyers. If you weren’t so damn hot I wouldn’t have hooked up with you.” She sighed. “I don’t have space in my life for an affair with you, Matt. I work long hours, I like my space. Also, I tend to get cranky around this time of year, so I prefer to be alone.”
She didn’t like Christmas? Why not? There was a story there. Another one. And why was he suddenly so curious? For seven years, he’d managed not to ask her questions, not to dig deeper, but now his first reaction to new information was to find a spade and start shoveling?
Get a grip, Edwards!
“Apart from a weekend of great sex with you here and there, I like being alone. Seeing you a couple of times a year is enough for me.”
Matt leaned back, placed his ankle on his opposite knee and held DJ’s gaze. She was trying so hard to remain calm, to persuade him that she was a cold woman who didn’t feel anything, but she needed to become a lot better at lying before he bought into her BS. She wasn’t cold, or sophisticated, or tough. What she was, was bone-deep scared of having him in Boston.
Why? Why could she easily handle a few days with him but seeing him regularly scared the pants off her?
And why did he care?
And why wasn’t he saying to hell with this drama and walking out her door? He could leave, walk down the block and into a bar and, after a couple of cocktails and an hour or two of small talk, he was pretty sure he could score. But he didn’t want sex with some random stranger.
There was only one woman he wanted...
