Through a translucent shower door he saw her outline. Matt sighed. He’d recognize those magnificent breasts anywhere.
“Callie!”
“What kept you, Matthew? Can’t you understand a subtle invitation when you get one?”
“Why didn’t you come down to my room?”
“Rosa gave me explicit instructions to stay out of my young man’s room.” Callie laughed softly. “She didn’t say anything about sharing the shower with him.”
Matt stepped inside and shed his clothes. In the shower he took Callie in his arms and felt contentment wash over him as if it had been brought by the warm shower spray.
In his room he’d been edgy and unable to stand still. Now he would be satisfied simply to hold her without moving at all. This woman was a drug that he was rapidly becoming addicted to, and Matt wasn’t a man to lose control of his body. He’d never been so emotionally vulnerable before. He shivered.
“Water too cold?” Callie reached behind him and turned up the hot water.
When the stream of heat hit his back, Matt roared. “What are you trying to do to me, woman, burn me up?”
She turned the hot water back down. The desire in her eyes was evident. “I just want you to feel the same way I do, Matthew.”
• • •
When Callie slid the emerald-green cotton sweater over her head, she frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Matt had given her a whimsical order not to wear anything revealing. If, as was her custom, she didn’t want to wear a bra, that was fine with him, he had said solemnly, but he didn’t want any other man to share in the secret.
She turned and surveyed her figure in the mirror. There was no hiding her breasts, but at least they were camouflaged reasonably well by the oversized sweater. With her pale green pants and green jelly shoes, she looked very Irish.
“Begora,” she muttered out loud. “Great merciful God, don’t be lettin’ me get in a brawl with this overbearin’, possessive man o’ mine.”
Quickly she applied a light brush of color on her cheeks and coral lipstick. She brushed through her fine mass of dark hair and caught it back with an orange-and-green chiffon scarf, tying the ends of the scarf in a jaunty bow atop her head. Shades of the forties, she thought, as she gave a final pat to her hair and started downstairs.
Matt was standing by the fireplace in the great room. His hair was still damp. The thickest part appeared almost coffee-colored where it hadn’t dried yet. His yellow knit shirt complemented his white cotton pants and white boat shoes. The shirt’s tiny monogram and the gold watch on his wrist stamped him with a signature of wealth, she thought.
Tonight that didn’t offend her. She felt the breath whoosh out of her as he looked admiringly at her, and she smiled.
“Where’s Miss Rosa? I thought she’d be standing guard at the steps like a headmistress in a boarding school,” he said teasingly.
“Oh, she went out to dinner with friends. Her other guests went out tonight, too. Apparently we’re alone.”
“You mean she was gone when we took that hour-long shower?”
“I believe so,” Callie answered airily, and moved into the great room with a show of innocent nonchalance.
“Then why didn’t we try out that antique bed in my room instead of …? Hell, Callie, I’m not used to shower stalls and weird positions.”
She laughed. “Ah, Matt. Where’s your spirit of adventure? I’ll bet you’ve never made love like that before, have you?”
“No. My back and elbows will never be the same.”
Still laughing, she kissed him. Her laughter faded, and she studied him seriously, then spoke in a low voice. “I want you never to grow tired of me. I …” She hesitated. “I never knew what making love really meant.” Callie paused again. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on, Matthew. No planned obsolescence here, I hope?”
“Sweetheart,” he told her, “what you do to me will never be obsolete.”
Callie was glad to see that Matt enjoyed their dinner of knockwurst and sauerkraut washed down with heavy, dark beer. Helen’s tourist appeal came from a carefully nurtured Bavarian atmosphere, complete with mountain chalets, German restaurants, and what Callie called “oom-pah” music.
“This is a very authentic Alpine atmosphere,” Matt said drolly, looking out the restaurant window. “No snow, no Alps. Really authentic.”
She punched his shoulder playfully. “Eat your southern fried knockwurst, mein lover,” she ordered. “The alpine village is as authentic as chalets built among Georgia pines can be.”
The small restaurant Callie had chosen must have had more German atmosphere than others in town, Matt decided. The menu’s premier item seemed to be lagers of thick beer that were passed about freely among the guests, all of whom knew Callie. He couldn’t keep her to himself, as he’d planned. He listened distractedly as a small band played loudly and off key.
“Ve dance, ja?” Callie asked in a terrible German accent.
Matt shook his head while she nodded. They grinned at each other.
“Ja, you vill dance, Matt,” she insisted.
“Nein, I vill not. Zee polka eez not for me. Nein.”
Of course she got him to dance, to try something new, as he had known he would. He danced so badly and she danced so well that they were soon the center of a stomping, clapping crowd. Breathing hard, laughing, he finally stopped embarrassing himself and pulled her out into the sweetly scented June evening.
“Let’s walk,” Callie suggested.
Matt agreed eagerly, sliding his arm around her waist and adjusting his steps to fit hers. They browsed along the shop fronts, admiring the arts and crafts in the windows.
“I have a friend who collects primitive folk art,” Matt said. “He’d love your baskets.”
“Ha! You consider my work primitive, do you?”
“You already know that I think your work is excellent. But it falls in the folk-art category.”
“What else do you collect, Matt, besides cars?”
“I lean toward sculpture and oil paintings. I like things I can keep in the house to enjoy.”
She chuckled. “The loving way you talk about Ruby, I suspect that you keep your cars in the house.”
He blushed, and she chuckled harder. Finally she calmed down and said, “How’d you get specifically interested in convertibles? Paintings, sculpture, and convertibles seem to be a strange combination.”
“Because of my father. He bought his first convertible the year I was born. It was a reward he gave himself for his company’s success. The car was a 1953 Oldsmobile Starfire.” Matt studied the darkening night sky for a moment. “He had to sell it to pay debts. Later I bought it back. I still have it.”
She hugged him. “Do you name your cars, the way my Fiesta is named Ruby?”
“No,” he said with a growl, his dignity ruffled. She laughed at the exaggerated look of dismay he gave her. “My cars are all male. They don’t want frilly names.”
“Well, give them macho names.” She thought for a moment. “Butch, Spike, Killer …”
“Arrrgh! Stop!” He pressed one hand over his face in a grand show of chagrin.
“Tell me how you got the rest of your car collection, Matt.”
“After I developed my paint formula, I began to look for a place to invest my profits. Do you know how much a classic 1953 convertible in good condition is worth now?”
“No, and I don’t think I want to,” Callie replied, remembering Ruby parked casually in the barn. She didn’t want a dollar value placed on her car. She wanted to enjoy it. “Tell me about your paint. I’m surprised that anybody would make paint that lasts for twenty-five years. You must not get a lot of repeat sales.”
“You’re right, of course, and we don’t market it that way, though that’s what it was made for in the beginning. Now it’s used in the space program. It can withstand extreme temperatures and pressures in space. The company does a lot of business with hospitals and commercial-building decorato
rs. The paint’s too expensive to be of interest to the general public.” They’d reached the end of the street and had started back again when Matt stopped before the window of one of the tiny shops. “Look, Callie.”
He was pointing to a display of rough stones. A sign said they were locally mined garnets. He tightened his arm around her waist and pulled her inside.
“Hello, Callie.” The young man behind the counter smiled broadly. “Good to see you. Who’s this?”
“Tony, meet Matt Holland. Matt, this is Tony Spencer. Tony is an old friend. When are you coming to Sweet Valley, Tony?”
“Soon, sweet lady. Very soon. I’ve missed you and John Henry. Is Matt the latest inhabitant of the smokehouse?”
Callie felt Matt’s arm tighten and knew that trouble was brewing and wouldn’t be stopped if she didn’t say something quickly. She took a deep breath.
“He’s my fellow.” She smiled wryly. “My main squeeze. My old man. My Big Daddy. My significant other.”
She glanced at Matt and was relieved to see him grinning at her comic descriptions.
“Ah,” Tony said. “Is there gonna be a marriage for the basket queen, then?”
Callie coughed. “Eh, Tony, Matt is interested in the stones in the window. Why don’t you show him a few? He’s a collector too.”
“Oh? You collect fine jewels?” Tony looked at him curiously.
“In a manner of speaking,” Matt answered distractedly. Matt was pleased by the way Callie had described their relationship to Tony. Until now she’d seemed slightly embarrassed by his presence, not sure how to introduce him to her friends.
“Well, come and see my collection,” Tony urged.
They followed him to a private room at the back of the store, where Tony retrieved a display case from a small safe. His collection of polished gems was impressive, Matt admitted.
“They all came from the north Georgia hills. People don’t realize that we have such treasures in our own backyard,” Tony explained.
Matt picked up one particularly brilliant teardrop-shaped stone hanging from a lacy gold chain, and held it up to the light. “Look, Callie. It’s raven red, just like Ruby.”
“Oh? Do you have a stone like this, Callie?” Tony asked curiously. “One I’ve never seen? I didn’t think you liked jewelry.”
“My Ruby isn’t a jewel. It’s a car.” She studied the stone with awe. “This is magnificent.”
“Are these stones for sale?” Matt asked.
“Yes, but the price on that one’s pretty high. It’s one of my better pieces. I could show you something just as lovely that might be in a more acceptable price range.”
Callie smothered a laugh. Even though Matt was well dressed, Tony assumed that he was one of the itinerant artists she’d been known to aid. She decided not to intercede. Let Matt get out of this himself.
“Well,” Matt said solemnly, “I have a little extra money right now. Maybe we could work something out.”
Thirty minutes later, Callie admitted that Matt knew how to barter like a pro. He and Tony had finally agreed on a figure that seemed outrageous to her, but not, apparently, to Matt. Tony placed the garnet pendant in a velvet box, which Matt slipped inside his pocket.
“Come again, Callie,” Tony called out as they left the shop. “And if you have any more boarders like him, bring them along.”
“ ’Night, Tony, and thanks, but I don’t think I’ll ever have another boarder like him.” She smiled up at Matt, who looked, she thought, exactly like the cat who’d swallowed the canary. “It’s still early,” she went on. “Would you like a cup of coffee or something before we head back to the inn?”
“Do you think Miss Rosa will be back?”
“I imagine so.”
His arm had found its way back around her waist, and his fingers were pulsating gently against the skin beneath her sweater. “I was afraid you’d say that. Why don’t we stop by the van? I think I left something there.”
“What?” she asked, squeezing his waist and wishing that she could feel his bare skin too.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, crushing her into the crook of his arm, “but I’ll think of something.”
The van was parked beneath the lofty limbs of a gnarled cedar tree. There were no streetlights and no car lights to reveal their presence as Matt pulled her into the darkness between the van and the tree, hungrily encircling her with his arms. His kiss was urgent and deep, and Callie’s response was just as passionate.
“I think, Caroline Carmichael, that I’ve seen more than enough of Helen already. It’s much too public. Isn’t there somewhere else we can go so that we can be alone? I don’t think I can keep my hands off you for another whole day.”
“Oh, Matt,” she said hoarsely, arching against him. “Dear, sweet Matthew …”
“I’m liable to do something outrageous if I’m forced to listen to more people who think I’m just another of your boarders. Couldn’t we just get in the van and—”
“Callie? Is that you out there?” a loud voice called.
Matt groaned. “If it’s not John Henry or William or Tyler, it’s somebody else.” One hand was kneading her breast while the other hand, at her back, was pressing her against his lower body.
Callie drew a shuddering breath. “Yes, Miss Rosa. We’re … we’re enjoying the night air.”
“Well, why don’t you come up on the porch? It’s more comfortable here, and I have some nice lemonade and cookies.”
“All right,” Callie said wearily. “We’re coming.”
“I wish,” Matt teased softly. Callie suppressed a giggle. “For Pete’s sake, don’t let her turn on the light out here, or she’ll see a fine example of male frustration.” Callie patted his arm as they started toward the porch.
“Come to my room later, Callie,” he urged as they started toward the house. “I’ll never be able to go to sleep, knowing you’re so close by.”
“Sure you will, Matt. Until a few weeks ago you didn’t know me. You managed then.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to think about managing without you now. I don’t ever want to manage without you again.”
Callie didn’t answer. Fortunately, they’d reached the porch, for she wasn’t sure she wanted to pursue his remark any further. This weekend was one thing, but “ever agains” were something she was afraid to consider.
“Did you have a nice evening?” Miss Rosa asked pleasantly.
“Yes, ma’am.” Matt’s voice was reasonably pleasant in return, Callie thought, in spite of the frustration he was trying desperately to control.
“I’m so glad you have your young man with you, Callie. Helen has changed so, that I don’t like to think about a young woman being alone. Why, just last week we had a girl accosted on the street.”
“Oh, I agree,” Matt said heartily. “Callie definitely shouldn’t be alone.”
Callie agreed, too, but silently. She’d been to Helen alone many times, and enjoyed the trips. But being here with Matt was more wonderful than she ever could have imagined. In just the short time they’d been together, she’d begun to build her life around him.
“Now, in my day, a girl would be married and with her husband. Don’t understand these modern arrangements,” Rosa told them. “ ’Course, I was never blessed with children, but my Jess and I, we spent thirty years together before he died.”
“Thirty years?” Callie looked out into the night. She could feel Matt’s gaze on her, and she wondered if he was agreeing with Miss Rosa that a girl should be married. She breathed deeply, taking in the scent of the mountain air and the essence of the man beside her.
“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Callie caught hold of the armrest on the door of the van to steady herself as Matt hit another rut and they bounced hard. “I think we’re lost.”
“Oh, no. I may not always know where I am, but I’m never lost.” Matt grinned as he rounded a sharp curve and saw a forest glade with a deep stream rushing through it. “
See?” Callie decided not to point out that he looked relieved.
Instead of having lunch with Miss Rosa at the inn, Matt had picked up a picnic basket from a local restaurant. Then he’d loaded Callie and the basket in the van. He’d refused to tell Callie where they were going, and for the last few minutes he hadn’t been sure that Miss Rosa’s directions were accurate.
“Rosa, darling, you were right. It’s perfect,” he murmured.
“What?” Callie looked around suspiciously. When Matt had hurried them away from the inn in such a mysterious fashion, Miss Rosa had pretended that she had no idea what was going on. She’d just smiled vaguely and said she’d see them later.
Callie grinned. “Matthew, this is a wonderful place.” She leaned over to kiss him. “I missed you last night. Come here.”
“Oh, you licentious woman. I’m not that kind of boy,” he said quaintly, and slid out on the driver’s side before her arms could circle his neck.
“What gives?” she demanded. “I want satisfaction. Immediately.”
“Greedy, greedy, greedy,” he chided as he walked around to her door and opened it. “Always wanting something new. Always feisty. Can’t you appreciate old-fashioned courtship?”
“Kiss me,” she insisted stubbornly, and pursed her lips.
He held out his arms to lift her down, and she practically leaped into them, expecting to be kissed at last. But he simply put her down, retrieved the picnic basket from the back, and set off through the woods, whistling loudly. Callie scrambled after him.
“Where are we going, you big tease?” she asked.
“Someplace where we can be alone for a very private meeting.”
His voice was a little formal, a little stern. “Why?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. We’re going to talk, that’s all.”
“Talk?” The sound of the stream was so loud now that she had to yell. “What a cute euphemism! I love to … talk … with you! Let’s take off all our clothes and talk up a storm!”
She had a hard time keeping up with him, trying to avoid what she was sure were patches of poison ivy. The trees and lush undergrowth gave off an earthy smell that filled her lungs. Perspiration rolled down her body, and she wondered how long they were going to walk, when suddenly they were out of the woods in a grassy, ethereal little clearing.
Too Hot to Handle: A Loveswept Classic Romance Page 11
