He snorted at the thought.
As they wound their way through the streets, Amara kept her face trained out the window. After a few minutes, she said, “Why are the stars so faint here?”
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated. “There seem to be fewer of them than there were in England.”
“Light pollution, probably.”
“Light pollution?” She looked at him as she repeated the phrase.
“Yeah, the electric lights in town dilute the atmosphere, making the stars appear dimmer.”
“Oh.” She exhaled, as if in relief. “I’m glad to know they’re still there.”
“You thought stars had suddenly disappeared?”
She crossed her arms, her chin jutting out mulishly. “Please don’t make me feel stupid. I am not stupid. I just don’t know all the things you know. Like you surely don’t know everything I know.”
He swallowed. He hadn’t meant to offend her. He’d spoken without thinking. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it like that.”
She nodded but said nothing.
“Tell you what,” he said as they turned another corner. “I’ll take you to Skyline Drive, and you’ll see what I mean. It’s quite a difference viewing the sky from there as compared to the middle of town.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Unless you want to get back. I’ve kept you all day. I shouldn’t have taken so much of your time.”
“No, I’d be pleased to go. I was merely thinking I had detained you far too long; I know how busy you are.”
He was quiet for a moment, the sound of the tires on pavement the only noise. “I am. Too busy. It’s been a long time—years—since I’ve been stargazing. I think maybe I need it.”
The streetlights illuminated the answering smile on her face. “All right, then. Let’s go stargazing.”
After a comfortable silence on the interstate, Matt took the exit at the top of Afton Mountain, threading his way along Skyline Drive, the scenic highway that wove through the tops of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Within minutes, Amara exclaimed, “They are brighter already! Look, there’s Ursa Major.”
“You know your constellations.”
“A few.”
“More than I do, I’m sure. I slept through most of the astronomy section of earth science.”
Her sigh caught him by surprise. “You are lucky to have had instruction.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No.”
“How do you know constellation names, then?”
“My brother had books in his library. Copernicus, Galileo, Newton, the Herschels. I read them numerous times. How fascinating are nebulae and comets, and the planets! I would love to look through a telescope, to see the stars and mysteries of the heavens more closely.”
“You never have? Not even a toy one?” he teased.
“They make toy telescopes?”
The surprise in her voice indicated she wasn’t joking. Another oddity within the mystery that was Amara Mattersley. Should he press her for more information? He was loath to disrupt the peaceful camaraderie between them, though, and she hadn’t taken his earlier ribbing well, so he kept quiet.
After a few miles, he pulled into a parking area, grateful for the large open space among the trees. The lot was empty and dark. When he turned off the headlights, the inky blackness swallowed them up, and mild unease crept through him. Not that he’d admit it. It was strange to be in such utter darkness. Even in his apartment at night, lights from various computers and electronics, not to mention the digital clocks, illuminated the room at least a tiny degree.
“Oh, it’s heavenly,” Amara said, as she got out of the truck. “I missed the darkness more than I knew.”
He used the light from his phone to find his way around to her. “Let’s sit in the back.” He reached his hand out to help her into the truck bed. She clasped his fingers, and the heat radiating between them set his loins on fire. They were out here, alone, just the two of them. Perhaps ...
“It’s rather cold,” she said, her teeth chattering.
“I’ve got blankets in the cab. Hold on.”
He retrieved them, grateful for his mother’s insistence he be prepared for emergencies. “I’m not going to freeze to death in the middle of Charlottesville,” he’d argued, but she’d insisted.
“You never know. People drive off the sides of roads and aren’t discovered for days. Better safe than sorry.”
So he drove around with two blankets, several bottles of water, and a box of stale Graham crackers to ease his mother’s mind.
Jumping into the back of the truck, he spread one blanket out on the base, then sat down on it. “Here, sit.” Amara did, nestling against him. He tucked the other blanket around them, enfolding them in their very own cocoon. “Better now?”
“Yes. Much.”
Had she meant the temperature, or was she, too, glad for the physical contact? It felt as if he hadn’t been with her, hadn’t touched her for days, as if he were thirsting in the desert and she the only thing that would quench him. He leaned against the back of the cab, taking her with him. Both gazed up into the sky.
“Aren’t they magnificent?” Amara whispered.
“Magnificent, indeed,” he responded.
But he wasn’t talking about stars.
Chapter 27
Amara lay in the shelter of Matthew’s arms, reveling in his warmth and nearness as she soaked in nature’s majesty above. The stars twinkled in full glory, winking at her as they had since she was a child. She spotted a few familiar constellations: Leo, Cancer, Cassiopeia. What she wouldn’t give to see them closely, to know of what they truly were made.
A strange blinking star moved across the sky, and she tensed. “What is that?”
“What?”
“The red star, the one that is moving.”
“That’s not a star. That’s an airplane.”
She exhaled. The man must think her the biggest ninny on the planet. There was so much she didn’t know. “Oh,” she mumbled, pulling her arms more tightly around herself. His fingers stroked a rhythmic pattern up and down her arm, and after a moment she relaxed into him.
They sat there together, enclosed in each other’s arms but focused on the stars, for what must have been at least a half hour, if not longer, Amara occasionally pointing out constellations. Not once had Matthew’s gentle caress indicated the desire for anything more, and not once had she thought to pursue a more intimate connection, though the idea held appeal. It is too cold, part of her said, and while that was certainly true, mostly she didn’t wish to interrupt the soothing sensation of simply being with him, without any sexual connection.
It thrilled her. It also frightened her.
No complications. No commitments. That’s what they’d agreed; there was nothing deeper between them, would be nothing deeper. A few hours seeking mutual pleasure was fine, but more than that was not what either wanted.
Was it?
“I can’t feel my toes,” he finally said. “We should probably go.”
She scooted away quickly, her own derriere numb from the sitting and the temperature. Once in the cab again, she bundled herself in one of the blankets, her teeth chattering.
“I kept you outside too long,” he said, the interior lights revealing a grimace as he started the truck.
“I wanted to be there.”
He only nodded as he pulled onto the road. He turned on the radio, which she took as an indication he did not wish to talk. It was fine; her own conflicting thoughts and emotions were all consuming.
What was between them? Could she, could they still claim a mere sexual liaison, given they’d spent the entire day in each other’s company, most of it not in bed? Then again, Taylor’s loss of her laptop had extended the day. Had they remained in Charlottesville, surely they would have parted ways hours ago.
She stole glances at him, the headlights of passing cars occasionally highlighting the contours of his face. She longed to reach ou
t, to stroke the little hairs at the nape of his neck, to rest her hand on his thigh. She longed for things she didn’t want to admit.
She was in trouble.
Matt tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm to the song on the radio, Selena Gomez’s Hands to Myself, acting for all intents and purposes as if he were totally at ease driving seventy plus miles an hour down the highway with this delectable woman next to him.
In truth, he was anything but. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual, perhaps; Lord knew far too many of his waking hours in the last few weeks had revolved around thoughts of Amara Mattersley. But it’d mostly been thoughts of Amara in bed—of what he wanted to do with her, what they had done, what she’d surprised him with.
Now his thoughts weren’t on sex at all. Okay, maybe ten percent on sex, especially considering the song playing, but the rest of his brain wrestled with how much plain old fun he’d had with her today, how relaxed he’d felt in her company, how glad he’d been that she’d come with him to Staunton. How pleasurable it’d been to watch her soak up the actors on the stage. How moving it’d been to see her face light up at the miracle of the Milky Way expanding across the sky. How he’d wanted to hold her, sure, but how the motivation had not been lust, but something far closer to ... tenderness.
He peeked over at her, her face mostly in shadows, lit just barely by the dash lights. She chewed on her lip, lost in thought. Could she be struggling with the same emotions, the same longings, the same confusion?
Half of him wanted to change up their agreement, to move from friends with benefits to friends who were very clearly something more. The other half of him wanted to run. A relationship didn’t fit into his plans. No way, no how. He didn’t have time for it, couldn’t afford to be distracted. And frankly, he didn’t want to get hurt again.
He’d told himself for years he was perfectly satisfied on his own. He didn’t want, didn’t need anything more. That kind of thing would complicate his life in ways he’d rather avoid. He had his cat; he didn’t need any more females in his life.
But looking over at the honey-haired beauty to his side, he was ready to chuck all those reasons against anything deeper right out the window. She was incredibly sexy, to be sure, but she intrigued him in ways beyond the physical. She was highly intelligent, and yet there were great gaps in her areas of knowledge. One moment she was open and friendly, the next biting and defensive. What wounds did she carry beneath that beautiful exterior? And since when had he cared about another’s emotional wounds?
His heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat. He had a feeling he was in serious trouble. The question was, was she in it with him?
Chapter 28
“Do you want to come back to my place?” Please, oh please, come. Share my bed. Be with me.
Amara was quiet for a moment longer than was comfortable. At length, she said, “It’s been a wonderful day, Matthew. But I am quite tired. Perhaps returning to Cat’s would be best.”
He nodded, the pangs of disappointment too strong to ignore. “No problem.” The words were casual, but casual was far from how he truly felt. He wanted to take her to bed, to kiss her, caress her, bring her to the ultimate high ... and then sleep with her in the true sense of the word. But they’d agreed—no strings, no expectations.
The blocks passed in silence, the streetlights heartbeats of illumination. Before long, he pulled into the Treasure Trove’s parking lot. “Looks like someone’s still up, at least,” he said, nodding at the light in the upper front window as he put the truck into park.
Amara set her hand on his knee. Instantly, his groin quickened, and it took everything he had not to move her hand farther inward, to beg her to come with him, just for the night.
“Thank you, Matthew,” she said. “This was a blissful day. I enjoyed the time with your sister.” She swallowed. “The theater, the ... stars.”
He tipped his head. “Agreed. Thank you.”
Neither moved.
Finally, Amara gave a half-sigh and opened her door. Matt reached over and grabbed her left hand with his right, his other hand turning her face back to him. He stared into her eyes for a moment, those dark pools he could hardly see save for the bit of light from the headlights he’d left on. He bent in, slowly enough she could pull away, but she didn’t, and he touched his lips to hers, a strange sense of joy, of rightness, zinging through him at the sweet connection. They remained like that, their mouths barely touching, until her right hand came off the door handle and into his hair, holding him to her as she opened her mouth, the moan in her throat echoed in his.
He returned the kiss in kind, so damned grateful to have her in his arms. His lips tickled the inside corner of her mouth, then pressed tiny kisses across her cheek and down her jawline to her neck. Soft noises erupted from her, and he moved his hand to the edge of her shirt, his fingers reaching under to stroke her bare skin, its heat sending delicious tremors through his own.
Suddenly, she leaned back, breathing heavily. “I ... ” She didn’t finish the sentence. “I must go.”
He sat up. “Of course.” Whipping open his door, he jumped down and jogged to her side of the truck, holding his hand out for her to use to descend, and she took it, that same instant sense of connection, of belonging, winging through him. Once on the ground, she withdrew her hand, and disappointment, mixed with something stronger, coursed through him.
It was okay. It was probably only momentary, this ludicrous rush of emotion, of desire that went beyond the physical, probably just a reaction to the not-so-subtle hints from his sister.
“Thank you,” she repeated, hesitating for a moment.
He nodded, saying nothing.
She walked to the apartment stairs, ascending them and opening the door without once looking back. As she closed the door behind her, it was as if she’d slammed it in his face—or someplace lower, a region perilously close to his heart.
Amara leaned against the door, her eyes welling with unexpected tears.
“Hey,” Cat called as she strolled into the room. “You were gone a long—” She broke off, crossing over to Amara. “Oh, honey, you okay?”
Tears spilled over Amara’s cheeks, and she wiped them off hastily, sniffling.
“Come on,” Cat said. “Sit with me on the couch.”
Amara trailed after her, the tears flowing, embarrassed by her own emotionality. What was wrong with her?
Cat scowled, her eyebrows dipping low over her eyes. “What on earth happened? Did Matt do something?” Almost to herself, she muttered, “I’ve only known him to be a stand-up guy, otherwise I never would have—but how well do I really know—”
Amara shook her head, and Cat ceased talking. “No, he didn’t do anything bad.” She sniffed again. “He did too many good things.” A wail escaped her. “I—I think I have feelings for him.” She tried to suck in a breath as another sob overtook her.
An awkward chortle escaped Cat. “I don’t see the problem. That seems pretty terrific to me. And not altogether surprising, considering I wrote you guys into a story. Not that that guarantees anything. Ben’s always reminding me I provide opportunity, not destiny.” She broke off. “Sorry, sometimes even now I struggle to understand these powers gifted to me.”
Amara nodded, her nose running. She must look a sight.
“I’ll get you a Kleenex.” Cat hopped up and grabbed a box of tissues off the side table, handing them to Amara.
She took one, using it to wipe her nose. Paper tissues were such a bewildering idea. She snorted. Not that this was the time for such errant thoughts. “But I don’t wish to have feelings for him. I want ... I need to be independent!”
Cat was silent for a second. “And you think if you get involved with Matthew, you’ll lose your independence?”
Amara nodded emphatically, misery leeching out of her every pore. “I do not wish to be dependent on a man in any sense. I saw what that did to women in my e
ra. What it did to my mother.”
Her mother had become a harridan in her older years. There was no mincing words about it. Granted, Eliza’s arrival had turned that around. Well, not her arrival. That hadn’t gone over so well. But the end result—the obvious love Deveric felt for the peculiar American—had finally softened Matilda’s heart.
For most of her years, though, Matilda Mattersley had lived a miserable existence, a misery predicated on her husband’s betrayals. Deveric thought Amara unaware of their father’s numerous mistresses, but she’d long known her parents’ relationship had been fraught with as much tension and anger as passion. Her mother had wilted away until nothing but a core of icy bitterness remained, a bitterness no one had ever thought would thaw.
Between that and Amara’s own experiences with Drake Evers, dependence on a man held no appeal. It led to heartbreak. Her mother’s and her own situation weren’t the only she’d witnessed, either. Too many women of her acquaintance had suffered humiliations big and small: broken engagements, public slights. Unwanted pregnancies.
Thank heavens her indiscretion with Drake had not produced a child, for all the other evils it’d wrought upon her. Her dear friend Frances hadn’t been so lucky, had found herself with child out of wedlock. She’d quickly married a man twice her age to cover up the potential scandal, a man who soon proved less than a loving new husband. Had he known of Frances’s condition before the marriage? If he hadn’t and had learned the truth, perhaps that explained his cruel behavior. Though it did not excuse it. Frances had ceased talking of her marriage or husband and had in fact largely bowed out of polite society. Amara hadn’t seen her for the better part of a year.
No, Amara wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t rant and rail, as her mother had. Wouldn’t submit and endure, as Frances had. Wouldn’t give her heart and trust so easily, as she had all those years ago. She’d learned her lesson.
Except ... except Matthew Goodson called to her like no man ever had. Was it that they’d shared their bodies with each other? Perhaps, in spite of her best intentions, maintaining emotional distance when so physically connected was not possible. Though men of her acquaintance seemed capable of doing so, given their many short-term liaisons. Was it true women could not keep their hearts separate, while men could?
The Magic of Love Series Page 78
