The Bride Next Door by Hope Ramsay (15)

Courtney should have stopped after her second Manhattan. If she had, her walk home would have been less harrowing. She could have floated along on a buzz instead of stumbling a tiny bit.

And she would have been better prepared for what awaited her at home in the form of the ridiculously handsome Matt Lyndon lounging on his balcony with a long-necked beer in his hand.

If she’d been sober, she could have ignored him or even pretended that she didn’t see him. But no. Her brain was semi-pickled, and so she stood there looking up at him and said, “Hi,” and then giggled like an idiot.

He leaned on the railing. “You’ve been drinking,” he said, his eyebrow doing its thing.

She stumbled slightly because looking up messed with her balance. “Did you take lessons?”

His mouth tipped into a smile. “I took a lot of lessons. Which ones are you talking about?”

“The one where you learned how to do that thing with your eyebrow.”

He chuckled. “No. Everyone in the family does that. You should see my father. It’s very intimidating.”

She nodded. “I’m going up now. Have a nice night.” There. She’d been adult. Polite. Now all she had to do was make it to her apartment in one piece.

She dug in her shoulder bag, searching for the key that would open the building’s outer door. Damn. Her keys were in here somewhere. She shook her purse, satisfied by the metallic jingle. She stumbled sideways a little. Damn, it was dark out here.

She squatted down and rested her purse on the pavement as she dug deeper. She almost fell over on her ass. This was not going well.

The apartment building’s door opened. Thank God it was Matt and not Alyssa Riley, the ground-floor tenant.

No, wait. Something was wrong with that thought. Maybe it would have been better if Alyssa had come to her rescue.

Matt stepped onto the sidewalk looking delish in a golf shirt and jeans. He offered his hand. “Here, let me help.”

She stared at his hand for a long moment, trying to decide what to do next. He had beautiful hands, square fingered, broad palmed. Beautiful, talented hands that knew precisely where to touch, where to stroke. A little inarticulate sound escaped her throat.

“Come on. I’ll walk you up,” he said in that deep voice of his.

“Will you quote poetry?” A warm, intense yearning coursed through her.

“Come on, Courtney. It’s time to go up.”

He sounded so stern, and maybe a little disappointed. She was an idiot. He probably saved his poetry for the women he seduced. She turned back toward her purse, digging deep, and the keys finally made their way into her hand.

She pushed up from the sidewalk, ignoring his hand, and would have been fine if she hadn’t stumbled again. Matt was right there, putting his talented hands on her shoulders.

She looked up at him then, the streetlamp sparking in his espresso eyes. She leaned in, overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him.

But he kept her at bay. He shook his head. “Not like this,” he said.

Damn. She was making an idiot of herself, but just as she decided to pull away from him, he started reciting in that deep, incredible voice.

So instead of pulling away, she leaned a little closer. “Have I ever told you that your hair is vaguely Byronic?” she asked on a ridiculous sigh.

He barked a laugh. “No. But I’m impressed that you recognized Lord Byron. I didn’t think of you as a romantic, Courtney.”

“Bull. You know I’m a romantic. I’m just a jaded one.” She really should get the hell out of his arms. “I bet you quote that poem to all the girls.”

“No.” He shook his head, and for some reason, the light in his eyes grew sharper or something. She wanted to believe him.

“I think of that poem every time I see you.”

“Really?” She was melting in his arms when she should be freezing him out and running like hell.

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and Courtney’s body caught fire. “Really. You have such dark hair and such bright blue eyes.” He cupped her jaw and ran his thumb over her cheek. “I love your eyes. They always make me wonder about what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

Damn, damn, damn. She couldn’t resist. Even if she’d been sober, she would have succumbed. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, another groan escaping from her.

“Come on,” he said in an entirely different tone of voice. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

He took her keys and guided her through the door and up the stairs. He even unlocked her front door for her. And right there the fantasy unraveled. Aramis sat inside the doorway and gave out the feline equivalent of a lovesick howl the moment Matt crossed her threshold.

“Doom, bro, wazzup?” Matt let Courtney go and scooped the kitten into his arms. Damn. Damn. Damn.

She almost accused him of loving the cat more than he loved her, which, on reflection, was the absolute truth, since Matt Lyndon was not the kind of guy who did relationships. Except with cats. And she, on the other hand, sucked at being a spinster cat lady.

Her love triangle could be summed up this way: He loved her cat, she loved him, and the cat was a turncoat. It was enough to make anyone cry. Especially if the person had overindulged in alcohol. Tears overflowed her eyes, and Courtney wasn’t able to stop them. The sudden glimpse of a life lived utterly alone flashed through her brain, and it was more than she could bear. The sob she tried to hold back overwhelmed her, and she fled, utterly humiliated, into the bathroom.

She locked herself in right before she tossed every single one of her cookies.

“Go away,” Courtney said through the locked bathroom door.

Matt sat down on the floor outside the bathroom, settled his back against the wall, and let Doom circle his lap looking for a nice, comfy spot. “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t leave you locked in the bathroom. It goes against my moral code.”

“This is my apartment. Please leave.”

Matt took Courtney’s annoyed tone as a positive sign. He was also glad that she’d stopped coughing and gagging. If that had gone on much longer, he would have broken down the door. As it was, he had to hold himself back. Sometimes a woman needed privacy, but he had never abandoned a woman in distress. He was happy to give Courtney all the privacy she wanted, so long as he could make sure she was all right in the end.

He and Doom settled in, prepared for a long wait.

After five minutes she said, “Are you still there?”

He said nothing. Telling her the truth would only prolong the situation. She was moving around in the bathroom, washing her face, brushing her teeth. When the noises faded, she said, “I know you’re still out there. I can hear you breathing.”

He kept silent, and another few minutes passed.

“Go away.”

Doom, being a young cat with little patience, took matters into his own paws. The cat stood up, gave a sinewy stretch, and then pussyfooted out of Matt’s lap. He sat in front of the bathroom door looking up at the knob and meowed.

“Aramis?”

The cat meowed again and scratched at the door.

“Has he gone, Aramis?”

Matt found this both adorable and amusing even if he hated the name Aramis.

The cat meowed again, right on cue. Matt was going to have to find some way to get this cat back. Doom had a bright future ahead of him…as a therapy cat.

When the doorknob rattled, Matt scrambled to his feet and took a step to his left so Courtney wouldn’t see him immediately. The door swung open.

“You stayed,” she said to the cat, bending down to scoop him up. “I was so sure he’d seduce you into leaving me. And then I’d be all alone.” Her voice wavered at the very end.

Damn. She was still drunk and upset. Evidently about the cat.

He peeked around the door, but not before securing it in order to head off any retreats. She looked beautiful even with a swollen red nose and mascara rimming her puffy eyes. “I would never seduce your cat,” he said in a soft tone. “In fact, I’ve been taking good care of Ghul over at my place. You’re the one who abandoned him and absconded with Doom.”

“I did not. You seduced him, and I simply brought him back home.” She sniffled, and her lips trembled. “But he still misses you,” she said.

“Does he?”

She nodded. “He sometimes stands at the front door and meows, like he wants to go visit you.”

“He can come over anytime,” Matt said, releasing the door and taking a step toward her.

“I guess we’ll have to arrange a playdate for him.” She looked down at the cat, refusing to meet Matt’s gaze.

“You can come over too.”

She frowned. “Not a good idea.”

He put his finger under her chin and lifted it so he could stare down into her incredible eyes, which were still brimming with tears. “Why not?”

She blinked, and one of the tears escaped. He brushed it away. “Because…” Her shaky voice trailed off, and her lips trembled.

He didn’t press her for an answer. “Come on, it’s time for bed.”

She blinked again. “Are you going to take advantage of me?”

He snorted a laugh. “I don’t do that sort of thing. I was thinking more about making sure you’re tucked in nice and safe, with a couple of aspirin for the headache you’re going to have tomorrow.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “That’s a little disappointing.”

“You want me to take advantage?”

She shrugged. “Does that make me desperate?”

He shook his head. “No. But you might hate yourself in the morning.”

“I wouldn’t.” She took a tiny step in his direction and leaned her head on his shoulder. Doom snuggled down between them and started to purr.

Matt couldn’t just stand there, could he? No. So he put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her a little closer, tucking her head under his chin. He buried his nose in her hair, drinking in the scent of wildflowers and whiskey. He wanted her.

“I need to tell you a story,” he said, speaking the words against her temple.

“Is this going to be like a bedtime story?”

He chuckled. “You have a one-track mind, don’t you?”

She looked up at him. “And you don’t?” The frown she gave him was nothing short of adorable.

“Get this straight. I’m happy to tell you bedtime stories. In fact, I need to tell you this particular story. But no sex. Not tonight. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Damn. And here I thought you were a scoundrel.”

Doom decided he’d had enough of his people. He launched himself out of Courtney’s hands and then scampered away in the general direction of his food bowl. The cat’s exit gave Matt a chance to move Courtney toward her bedroom.

He’d never been in her bedroom before, and he’d expected a wedding planner to have something lacy and frilly and pink. But Courtney’s bedroom was none of those things. It looked like something out of a magazine captioned with the words BEDROOM OASIS. It was contemporary and done in various shades of calming gray. Damn.

Had she hired an interior decorator? Or did she have mad skills? Maybe he could ask her for a few tips on how to make his apartment look this nice. Maybe if she helped him, he could reassure Mom that he was going to be fine.

He guided her to the bed. “You want your bedtime story now, or do you want to put on a nightie or something?”

She fluffed the pillow before hopping into bed and leaning back. “It depends. Are you going to watch me put on my nightie?”

“Maybe I should just tell you the story.”

She patted the bed beside her. “Climb in. Make yourself comfy.”

Dangerous territory. But hadn’t he decided that he was tired of waiting around? So he accepted her invitation—with only the best of intentions. The mattress was soft and comfortable, like the woman and the room. He leaned back on a pillow. “Are you ready?”

She looked up at him with her tear-ravaged face. “Is this going to be a sad story? I don’t think I could do sad tonight.”

“Like all stories, it has its ups and downs.”

“Okay.” She snuggled back into her pillow. “You may begin.” She closed her eyes.

She would probably be asleep in thirty seconds. So maybe it wasn’t the best moment to bare his soul. But he’d crossed the bridge and it was time to set fire to it.

“Once upon a time,” he began, “when I was fourteen and a freshman in high school, I weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds, but I was only five foot three.”

“So it’s true. Wow,” she murmured, but didn’t open her eyes.

“Wait a sec. Did someone tell you that I was short and fat in high school?”

She nodded. “Yeah. She said you were dorky.”

“She? Who?”

“Allison Chapman,” Courtney murmured on a long, sleepy breath.

The name was like a prizefighter’s punch to the gut. It took a moment before he could collect his breath. “What did she say about me?” he finally asked, his pulse suddenly racing.

But Courtney didn’t answer; she’d fallen fast asleep.

Courtney startled awake. Something was different. She rose on one elbow, pushing her hair out of her eyes as she checked the digital clock on her bedside table. It was 2:30 a.m., she was fully clothed, and someone was hogging her blanket.

She sat up, her eyes as gritty as sandpaper. A gibbous moon spilled a ghostly, silver light through the French doors and revealed the blanket thief. Matt sprawled on the other side of the bed, also fully clothed but sleeping on top of the bedspread, pinning it down.

He looked peaceful in sleep, and so incredibly handsome. Like a Michelangelo statue, with the moonlight turning his skin to pale marble. But he was warmer than stone. And it seemed almost miraculous that he was here, in her bed.

Memories of the evening’s events spilled through her mind. Heat crawled up her cheeks. She’d lost it last night and in so many ways: her cookies, her dignity, her cool, and her mind. Why was he still here? Hook-up Artists always ran from drama. And hadn’t she been the quintessential drama queen last night?

And now what? She’d fallen asleep on his story. Damn. He’d been talking about his dorky past—also unusual for a Hook-up Artist. In fact, staring down at his gorgeous face and killer body, Courtney could only conclude that she’d been wrong about Matthew Lyndon.

He was not a Hook-up Artist. She ran through her list of man types, jettisoning each one as she tried to apply it to the man snoring softly in her bed. He wasn’t a Man Baby, or a Nice Guy Not, or a Space Invader. He wasn’t Clueless. He’d never belittled or shamed her. He wasn’t Too Selfless to Be True, and while he did work hard, he didn’t strike her as a Workaholic. And finally he was not an Ogler. The few times she’d been out with him, he’d never once even looked at another woman. In fact, Matt had a way of focusing in on her that made her feel special and beautiful and wanted.

Last night, he’d even tried to talk about something deeply emotional. Something that had probably scarred him early. As a high school ugly duckling herself, she could totally understand the pain of being fourteen and overweight. Negative body images were hard to overcome, and any man willing to open himself up to talk about those painful times simply couldn’t be Emotionally Unavailable.

So the question was: If he wasn’t any of the standard man types, then what the hell was he?

An emotion, tender and warm, spilled through her. A woman needed to be careful, but a woman also needed to see the truth when it knocked on her door. Matt was a man worth risking everything for.

She leaned over him and brushed his hair back from his brow before placing a small, heartfelt kiss on his forehead. He voiced a sweet, inarticulate noise that arrowed through Courtney. She truly wanted this man, on any terms.

She pressed against his chest and continued her assault on his face, linking tiny kisses from his temple down across his cheeks and jaw to the sweet spot under his earlobe. He responded by snaking his arms around her waist and giving her a small upward flex of his hips.

Yes. That was more like it. Fully clothed or not, there was no mistaking the fact that Matt was waking up, and with consciousness came that coiled male energy that had always turned Courtney on. He flexed his hips again while his hand ran across her butt in a sleepy exploration, right before he pulled her a little closer.

This time Courtney let go of a deep, throaty noise as Matt’s hands worked their magic. He echoed her then, with a gruff noise halfway between a purr and a growl, which told her he had awakened. She scrambled up onto his body, settling more firmly against him.

She took heart and courage from the fact that he didn’t stop her from exploring his neck with her mouth and tongue and teeth. Maybe he was too sleepy. Or maybe, like her, he’d gotten tired of waiting for this. Whatever the reason, her first tentative touches and kisses morphed into something more carnal, involving arms and legs and hands and hampered by clothing.

“I need to feel you,” she finally said, frustrated by his clothes. She sat up, straddling his hips. She looked long and deep into his eyes, which managed to twinkle even in the fading rays of moonlight. She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

He stacked his hands behind his head and watched as she freed him. But his watchfulness disappeared when she went down on him. She reveled in the taste and smell of him and in the way he enjoyed this pleasure-filled moment. But he didn’t allow it to go on for too long.

Courtney found the tables reversed as he rolled her over, pinned her to the bed, and kissed her senseless right before he efficiently stripped both of them of their clothes.

And after that, Matthew Lyndon showed Courtney Wallace just how incredible sex with Mr. Right can be.

The scent of coffee and frying bacon awakened Matt. He cracked his eye, suddenly alarmed by the angle of the sunlight pouring through Courtney’s French doors. He checked his watch: 7:45 a.m.—late for a weekday if you worked at a law firm.

He sat up and stopped himself from reacting to the time flashing on the clock. Instead, he took a big breath and let himself enjoy the combined scents of bacon, coffee, and Courtney that filled his head. It would be nice to wake up to this every morning.

The thought engendered no panic. Courtney was not Allison Chapman. She wasn’t cruel or selfish. Of course, she’d jacked him around at first, but that was because she’d known about his bet with Brandon. That bet was way in the past now. Trust had somehow grown between them despite everything.

So racing off to work would be the wrong move.

Besides, what was he racing off to do? Every day, Matt sat alone for hours at a time in his little cubbyhole office, working on divorces and trusts and wills. Every day David and Dad found ways to remind him of his inexperience. No one at LL&K appreciated his quixotic need to expose Bill Cummins and his cushy relationship with GB Ventures.

No, he didn’t need to dash off to work. The firm’s office hours were nominally nine to five, so he had some time. Who was he trying to impress anyway, getting to work every day before 8:00 a.m.?

He put on his jeans and shirt and followed the scent of bacon. Halfway down the hall, a pair of identical gray and white kittens greeted him. He checked his pockets. Sure enough, Courtney had stolen his keys.

That took him aback for a moment. Had she violated his privacy or crossed any of his unstated boundaries? Probably. But on the other hand, Ghul seemed happy to be reunited with Doom. And since Matt usually fed Ghul before 6:00 a.m. every morning, Courtney had saved the kitten from going hungry and being lonely. She’d also allowed him to sleep in. How could he fault her for any of that?

He entered the apartment’s main room, with its open kitchen and dining area, and found Courtney wearing a short, flowery robe that barely covered her ass. She’d piled her hair on top of her head in a messy bun, and she bustled in the kitchen with her back toward him. Oh man, she looked like a sweet morning morsel. His mouth watered, and his groin tightened.

If it weren’t for the hour and the smell of bacon, he might have snatched her up and carried her back to the bedroom.

Instead he cleared his throat. “Morning.”

She turned, her blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, her cheeks slightly pink either with a blush or beard burn. Either way, the effect was devastating. Delight filled him to overflowing. Last night, she’d been sad and lonely. Now look at her. Radiant, happy, and deliciously well-used.

“Hi,” she said, her plump lips curving a little like Mona Lisa’s. His mind flashed on those lips and the pleasure they had given him. “I made eggs and bacon. And I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed your keys and brought Porthos over to play with Aramis. I fed both of them. Your keys are on the counter.” She pointed.

“I don’t mind.” He sat down at the breakfast bar. Her apartment had a different layout than his. It was more up to date, and her furniture had more style and character. He liked the bold orange and yellow of her throw pillows, and the artwork on the walls. He should ask her for pointers. His walls were barren, and he hadn’t even thought about buying pillows for his couch.

“It’s okay if you don’t have time to eat breakfast. I understand,” Courtney said in a rush as she placed a plate in front of him containing two sunny-side-up eggs, toast, and several strips of bacon. How the hell did she know he liked his eggs sunny-side up?

“I have time,” he lied. He didn’t have time, but he would make time this morning.

Her smile was so wide that it lit up the room more than the sunshine. “You want coffee?”

He nodded. “Black, please.”

She placed a mug in front of him and then leaned against the countertop. “About last night…” she began, a little frown folding up the skin of her forehead.

He put up his hand to stop her. “No need to explain. We’ve all overindulged at one time or another.”

“I’m officially giving up Manhattans,” she said. “And I’m seriously thinking about giving up the Jaybird. None of my girlfriends go down there anymore. Not even Arwen. Drinking alone isn’t healthy anytime, but drinking alone with Ryan Pierce is pathetic.”

A mysterious and heretofore unknown muscle deep in his chest twisted tight, stealing his breath. What the hell? He still didn’t fully understand Courtney’s relationship with Ryan. And he suddenly wanted to know.

Damn. He’d never cared about that sort of thing before. The women he’d hooked up with had been temporary. If they had other relationships, it didn’t matter.

He didn’t like this tight feeling in his chest. Not one bit. And Ryan Pierce was an idiot if he’d been stringing Courtney along. He took a bite of bacon and chewed for a long, thoughtful moment. No wonder she’d had a crying jag last night.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he finally said, once he’d swallowed the bacon.

“Yes, there is. I didn’t need to drag you into my pity party. With all my girlfriends married and Sid moving away, I don’t know, I felt as if life was leaving me behind.”

“So you know that the Dogwood Estates tenants have gotten eviction notices.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to get Sid to move in with me, but he and Leslie seem to have something going. They were talking about moving to Arizona, where it’s warmer and cheaper.” She gave him a watery smile and continued. “Can I ask you a favor?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Would you ask Arwen to call me? I mean, she’s been avoiding me or something. She never wants to go down to the Jaybird anymore. You know, she’s probably like Sid. She’s probably found someone or something.”

“Um, I don’t think so.” He shook his head.

“No?”

“She’s been putting in a lot of extra hours at the office. And I’m probably the reason for that. We’ve been working on something.”

Courtney cocked her head. “On what?”

He shrugged. “It’s not that important. I thought I could figure out a way to stop the county from abusing its power and throwing people off their land and out of their homes, but yesterday David made me see the truth.”

“Abusing its power how?”

He looked up from his eggs into her curious face. And it struck him right then that Courtney could be so much more than a bed buddy, although God alone knew sex with her was nothing short of incredible. Maybe the sex was so good because there was more to Courtney than a curvy body and a pair of killer blue eyes. She had heart. She had soul. She was smart and accomplished, and sometimes she had the ability to see right through him.

“Matt?” Her voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s just that I’m frustrated in my job right at the moment.” He took a deep breath and spent the next fifteen minutes filling her in on the way Bill Cummins and several members of the Jefferson County Council had been using zoning and safety regulations to help GB Ventures acquire land at rock-bottom prices.

When he came to the end of his explanation, he shook his head. “Of course, with all this research into the County Council, I seem to have forgotten that my client is the Dogwood Estates Tenants Association. The truth is, none of the dirt I’ve dug up on the county is going to help them. I feel so utterly useless when I think about Leslie and Sid and all the rest of the tenants.”

“Oh my God. You need to do something with this information about Bill Cummins. He’s running for reelection. This stuff could be dynamite.”

“Or it could give him a boost,” Matt said. “David pointed out yesterday that a lot of people are happy to see eyesores like Dogwood Estates disappear.”

“You have to give this information to Linda Petersen.”

“Willow’s mother?”

Courtney nodded. “Linda and Leslie are great friends, so she’s already involved in the Dogwood Estates issue. Sid told me that Linda and Leslie are planning some kind of protest for later this week. They were going to picket GB Ventures headquarters in Arlington, but now I’m thinking maybe they should picket city hall. They could use this stuff, Matt. And you know what? I’ll bet Linda has friends at the Winchester Daily who would love to have your research. The Daily has never liked Bill Cummins’s pro-growth-at-any-cost agenda.”

Her shining eyes reflected an image that had nothing to do with scorn or disappointment or mistrust. She believed in him. She believed in his cause.

He leaned across the counter and snagged her hand. “Courtney, I want to make something clear. Last night wasn’t a one-night stand. I’d like to see where this goes, okay? And I will be here precisely at six thirty to pick you up for a nice dinner date. Where would you like to go?”

The corner of her mouth ticked up. “Could we try the Red Fern Inn again?”