by Nancy Warren
He opened the door and was surprised to see Brittany. After the way he’d treated her the other night, he’d imagined she’d stay away from him until he’d done some groveling. The fact that she was here on his doorstep with one of her baskets of homemade baking and her color heightened, made him feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.
He opened his mouth to apologize to her, knowing he owed her that much, when she stopped him cold. She lifted a letter out of the basket and pushed it at him. “Here,” she said breathlessly. “Read this.”
He took it from her, his gaze narrowing on hers. She looked both guilty and resolute. “Come in.”
“No, I can’t.” She turned away. “I’m so sorry.”
She was halfway off the porch when she realized she was still carrying her Little Red Riding Hood basket. She dropped it and kept going.
He ripped open the letter and scanned the single sheet.
He felt like a death row prisoner who’d just had his sentence commuted. He read the thing again to be sure he understood the implication.
Brittany was at her car by this time, fumbling to unlock it. Only Brittany would lock her car when she was walking from the driveway to the front door to drop off a letter.
“Hey,” he said. “Are you dumping me?”
She was so startled she dropped her keys. She picked them up and then nodded, her head turned away from him. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.
He walked off the porch, hopping down the steps because his knee still wasn’t perfect. When he got to her, he put an arm around her and gave her a hug. “You know what? I am proud of you.”
“Proud?” She looked at him as though she might be ready to check his forehead for a raging fever.
“You finally stood up for yourself.”
“You’re not upset?”
Okay, play it cool. Jumping up and down for joy would be a bad idea, even though it was what he wanted to do. “I’m sad it didn’t work out, Brit. But I am happy you had the guts to end this.”
“Oh. Thank goodness.”
“Look, there’s a whole batch of baking sitting on that porch. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll make some coffee.” He sent her a grin. “As friends.”
She smiled back at him.
Over coffee, they talked about all the things they hadn’t been able to and he thought it had ended better than either of them could have imagined.
As she was leaving, he spied the letter on the hall table where he’d dropped it and said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“That letter impressed me. It’s short, to the point, and—” He picked up the stationery and showed it to her, grinning. “—there aren’t any damn ducks on it.”
She laughed. “Truth is, Chloe helped me write it.”
His good mood dimmed faster than a flaming torch in high winds. “Chloe? You mean Chloe from next door?”
“Yes.” Then she stood there biting her lip. “Oh, maybe I’m not supposed to tell you that. She didn’t say anything about it being a secret.”
Matthew had a bad idea he knew where this was going and, as relieved as he was about the outcome, he did not want to think that interfering princess next door had had anything to do with it. She might Rule Britannia but she did not rule him.
“Why did you ask Chloe to help you? Isn’t there an English teacher at your school who could have done it?” Someone who didn’t annoy him and inspire him with lust in equal measures?
“Oh, Matthew, I tried to hire her.”
“You tried to hire her?”
“Yes. Only I didn’t know it was her. I saw this flyer at my hairdresser’s. The Breakup Artist. I probably wouldn’t have called, but my hairdresser has a couple of clients who’ve used the service and they said it was great.”
“Let me get this straight. You hired Chloe to break up with me?”
“I didn’t know how you’d take it. I didn’t want you to get hurt. And I didn’t know it was the Chloe from next door until after I’d made the appointment and she came and met me.”
“She must have laughed herself into a coma.”
“She didn’t. She wouldn’t take my money, and she told me I should come and talk to you myself.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I’m not great at hurting people’s feelings. But she told me that if I couldn’t tell you myself, then I should write to you and bring you the letter. It was my idea to bring the coffee cake.”
What was done was done. No point in busting Brittany’s chops over something that couldn’t be fixed. “It’s a good cake. Thanks.”
“You won’t get mad at Chloe, will you?”
“Someday I will wring that woman’s neck. But it won’t have anything to do with you.”
“You know what’s weird? She talked about wringing your neck, too. You two sure have some violent fantasies about each other.”
“Just being neighborly.”
Chapter 24
“I’ve been invited to the neighborhood potluck for the fourth of July!” Chloe announced to Matthew when she went over with her monthly rent check. “I see you’ve got one too.” She saw the identical colorful computer printout that had been slipped through her mail slot sitting on his hall table. “What a lovely idea.”
He took her envelope and tossed it on top of the printout. “You know, we’re celebrating our independence from you people.”
The knowledge that he was now single should have lessened his attraction for her, since available men tended to bore her, but oddly enough, she was even more attracted to him now than she had been before. Especially since he showed no signs of hoping to make their relationship any warmer.
She smiled at him sweetly. “I’m not one to hold a grudge. After two hundred–odd years, I say let bygones be bygones.”
“So you’re going?”
“Yes. Aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Probably.”
“Well, I think it will be great fun.” The Carmodys, who she understood hosted the potluck every year, had one of the grandest houses on the crescent, complete with swimming pool.
The day of the party dawned as most days in the Austin summer seemed to: sunny, hot, and dry. She wore a red linen sundress with a scoop neck and tiny cloth-covered buttons down the bodice, lace-up white sandals, and her big straw sun hat.
Naturally, she took an appetizer to the potluck. After much mulling, she’d decided on tiny Yorkshire puddings, topped with rare roast beef and a dollop of horseradish. In case anyone missed the Britishness of the offering, she stuck tiny paper Union Jacks on toothpicks in each one. And take that, Matthew we-threw-you-people-out-of-our-country Tanner.
When she arrived, she noticed most of the neighbors were already there, as well as a number of friends and relatives of the Carmodys whom she didn’t know. She loved parties and soon had a group of new friends. Matthew was already there, in his usual jeans and an orange Longhorns T-shirt. Honestly.
Unable to resist, she retrieved her tray of goodies and started offering them around. When she got to Matthew, who was chatting with Chuck about football, she said, “Would you care for a British appetizer?”
Chuck chortled and grabbed one of the Yorkshire puddings, but Matthew simply looked down at her with everything carnal in his gaze without touching the food and said, “Yeah, I would.”
Chuck’s attention was called away by his son looking for help in setting up a pick-up baseball game in the backyard, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Matthew said, “I’m hungry enough for a whole meal.” It should have sounded corny and laughable except that she knew exactly what he meant. The attraction between them was like an appetite, growing more urgent the longer it went unsatisfied.
However, even her worst enemies had never accused Chloe of being an easy conquest. She looked up at him through her lashes and said, “It’s not dinnertime yet, Matthew.”
She turned and walked away.
To her shock and delight, he came up behind
her and said, “The hell it isn’t.” He then hefted her tray out of her hands and set it on the closest table.
“What are you—”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the open door to the backyard. “I want to talk to you.”
“About what?” They were in the garden and the hot sun beat down on them. “Really, Matthew, I haven’t even got my straw hat.”
He looked down at her, completely uninterested in the fact that UV rays were even now attacking her pale skin and she was defenseless but for the SPF in her Kiehl’s day cream. “It’s work related.”
If he wanted to take the piss over her private investigation firm, she wasn’t in the mood. “Matthew, I am not a private investigator. I own a company called The Breakup Artist.”
“I know.”
She widened her eyes as the implication sank in. “You knew?”
“Yeah. I didn’t leave the force because I was a bad detective.”
“Oh.” Why had she never considered the possibility that she hadn’t been clever at all? That he’d known all along what she was up to?
“I helped break you and Brittany up,” she said, feeling for some odd reason that she needed to confess.
“I know.”
Annoyance stole through her, curdling her stomach like lemon juice poured into milk. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
He rocked back on his heels and appeared to contemplate some fascinating vista over her left shoulder. “I had my reasons.”
“To make a fool of me, no doubt,” she snapped.
“No.” His gaze moved to her face, his eyes sharp and piercing. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?” She was hot, irritable, and she’d gone to a great deal of trouble for nothing. Suddenly, the cool, green vistas of England beckoned to her. She could be shopping in Knightsbridge at this very moment, she could be sailing off the Isle of Wight at her friend Bunny’s home. She could be in Yorkshire, riding the moors with Jeremy Kirkbride. “I missed Wimbledon,” she said, following her train of thought to its station. “And the Henley Regatta.”
“The Henley who?”
“It’s not a who, it’s a what. A rowing race. I could have worn a smashing hat and drunk Pimms and ginger,” she said on a pout.
“I am not following you at all,” he said, sounding as hot and irritable as she felt.
“Well, that makes a nice change. You’ve followed me all over Austin.” She turned on her heel and stalked away from him.
She heard him call out her name behind her but ignored him, of course, as one should always ignore a man who calls after one in that particular tone. The air was hot, the grass dry, and her dress felt like burlap against her skin.
“And the Chelsea flower show,” she muttered to herself, thinking of the verdant lawns and exquisite flowers at the annual gardener’s paradise. In point of fact, she’d gone once with her mother and sworn never to go again, but just now the idea of geraniums arranged like the Milky Way and clumps of marigolds planted to resemble animals seemed charming and she was homesick for them all.
Ahead of her a swimming pool sparkled, blue and inviting in the midst of the parched lawns and heavy air.
“Chloe! Would you hold up a minute?”
As though she were a horse. Or a convenience store during a robbery.
“I’m glad you broke us up!” he finally shouted from behind her.
Frankly, it was the last straw on the back of one camel who’d had just about enough of straw. She swung around. “Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?”
“Because I want to talk to you.”
He stalked up to her until they were inches apart. His eyes blazed at her, deep, blue, endless. “I am trying to thank you.”
“What for?”
“For getting me out of a relationship that wasn’t working.”
She snorted. It wasn’t at all ladylike, and Mummy would have a fit if she heard such a thing coming from her only daughter, but this was Texas. “I shouldn’t think any relationship works that has you in it.”
Instead of being angry, he seemed amused. He didn’t smile exactly, but the skin around his cheekbones lifted, lightening his face. “You think so?”
She felt suddenly breathless. The air was too hot, too heavy, she couldn’t seem to get enough of it in her, and she was becoming lightheaded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
It seemed he’d moved closer, and she had no idea when or how it happened. She took a step back. Wary.
“You and I have a relationship. We seem to get on okay.”
“That’s because I am an extremely easygoing person,” she explained. “You and Brittany weren’t at all suited. She was too giving. Too nice for you.”
“Uh-huh. So, you’re saying I need someone who isn’t giving or nice?”
She wasn’t going to be trapped so easily, so she gave him her snootiest expression. “I do not make matches. My expertise is in breaking unsatisfactory ones.”
“So, you’re just going to leave me like this? Broken up and single?”
“I—” Her head felt as though it were full of bees. “I’m sure you’ll be—”
Before she could finish the sentence, he pulled her to him and kissed her.
It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was a thorough one. She was torn between pulling away or kissing him back when he raised his head and looked down at her, as though to gauge her reaction.
“I don’t—I didn’t—” She was never at a loss for words. She was always the cool one, the one in control. How had one kiss from a too-tall, too-tough, too-arrogant Texan scrambled her wits? She took a step back. She heard the click of her heels on cement, but it didn’t register until she started to wobble.
“Whoa,” he said, reaching for her, but it was too late. With a small cry, she toppled backward, endlessly, ridiculously. In slow motion she saw his mouth open but had no idea what he said because she hit the water and the splash drowned out everything else.
The shock of falling into the pool was immediate. Chloe thought about spluttering, and gasping, and making a wretched mess of her hair, but the water was delicious, the kiss had been delicious and so she didn’t fight the deep, blue pull of the water, but sank until her feet touched bottom. She was minus one Valentino sandal, so she kicked off the other before pushing off with her bare feet and rising smoothly to the surface.
“How’s the water?” he asked carefully, clearly wondering what her reaction would be.
She laughed and floated on her back. “Delicious. Why don’t you join me?”
“You are about the craziest woman…” he began as she closed her eyes against the sun and floated, feeling her dress billow around her like wings. Then she heard a splash and smiled up at the blue, blue sky.
She wasn’t a bit surprised when she felt his hands on her, until she realized she was being towed. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t float. Not enough body fat.”
“Thank you very much,” said Chloe, who was floating effortlessly. Even though her eyes were still closed, she knew he was grinning at her. She let herself be pushed through the water, and it was wonderful, actually, the slight chill of the pool only emphasizing the sizzle that was going on just under her skin. Mmmm.
They stopped moving and the gentle lap of ripples teased her skin. She felt his strength and stillness beside her and knew he’d reached shallow enough water that he could stand. Then the brightness of the sun behind her eyelids faded and she sensed him coming closer. She waited, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, for his mouth. It came at last, warm, wet, and tasting slightly of chlorine.
He held her so she didn’t float away, but she had a wonderful sense of buoyancy, loved the way the water held her up with only the slightest assistance from the man kissing her. He took his time, going slowly. They’d waited forever for each other, all frustrated burn and sizzle, and now that he was kissing her, it felt as though they had endless time ahead of them and hurrying would be a crime. Yet, at the same time, she f
elt the building need within her.
Letting her legs sink to the bottom of the pool, she started to rise, needing to press all of her against all of him, unable to keep waiting. He was so much taller than she that her toes didn’t quite touch bottom, so she twined her arms around his neck.
Then, to her shock, he kicked her legs out from under her and pushed her shoulder so that she fell with a squeal, flailing and splashing as the water closed over her head.
She emerged spitting water and fury. “What the hell—!”
“Shut up and struggle. People are coming.”
Chloe didn’t much mind an audience, but in view of the recent breakup and Brittany’s feelings, she understood the need for discretion. So she cried, “Help!” in what she hoped was a drowning female sort of voice, and tossed about artistically, until Matthew hauled her up against him and headed for the shallowest part of the pool. She imagined how they must look, like Rhett carrying Scarlett up the staircase if they’d both been caught in a rainstorm first. All wet, clinging clothes and dripping hair.
In the name of artistic integrity, she put her arms around Matthew’s neck and turned her face into his chest. The nub of his nipple brushed her cheek and, turning her head a little further, she bit him there, through the wet shirt. He jerked and she smiled against him.
That would teach him. Bully.
He was warm and wet and she could feel his heart thudding. Oh, and he was so solid. His arms were all steely muscle and reassuring strength.
“What happened?” Stella Carmody called out. “Chloe? Are you all right?”
She kept her eyes shut and her face tucked against Matthew’s chest. How nice that they all cared so much about her, she thought, letting the little drama play out a bit longer.
“She’s not saying anything. Is she dead?”
“Of course I’m not dead,” she snapped, but her words were muffled by Matthew’s bulk.
“Does she need artificial respiration?”
Chloe felt the ripple against her lips as Matthew stifled a chuckle. “I don’t know. Give me some space to put her down.”
She opened her eyes. The grass was nasty and stubbly and brown. She did not want to lie on it. So she fluttered her lids a few times theatrically and coughed. “I’m all right. Just had a shock, that’s all. You can put me down, Matthew. On my feet.”
