by Joss Wood
She still wanted him.
Emily really wanted not to want him...
Matt lifted his hand off her hip and two seconds later weak light flooded the small room from the dull, bare bulb above them. Matt moved deeper into the closet and rested his elbow on a metal shelf behind him, his deep, dark eyes slamming into hers.
She would not, repeat not, give in to temptation and slam her mouth against his. But she really wanted to...
Emily turned away but then Matt took her hand and she swiftly turned to look back at him. Emily held her breath as he brought her hand to his lips, but instead of kissing her fingers as she expected—wished?—he stopped and his eyes took in the flawless, massive diamond.
“How did I miss this earlier?” he demanded, his voice rough with annoyance.
Emily shrugged. “You were too busy trying to make a half-assed apology.”
“Hey, I meant what I said. I am sorry for how I acted that night,” Matt said, and Emily heard the sincerity in his tone. She saw his eyes returning to her ring finger and noticed the muscle jumping in his jaw. Matt Velez was not happy at her engagement and the knowledge made her heart tingle.
Stupid thing.
He lifted her hand again and turned the diamond to the dim light. “Boring, as I expected.”
Say what? While she didn’t like her fiancé, she had to admire the ring. It was a perfect example of a stone with all the four Cs—carat weight, cut, color, clarity—and Matt Velez could keep his snarky opinions to himself.
“My ring is exceptional,” Emily told him, sounding haughty.
“Knowing Morris, the stone is probably a fake or, at best, manufactured in a factory. Even if it’s real, and it’s not, it shows his distinct lack of creativity,” Matt snapped back. “He could’ve, at the very least, sprung for a deep blue sapphire from Sri Lanka to match your eyes or a pink diamond to match your lips.”
“Do you often go around offering unsolicited advice on engagement rings?”
Matt didn’t miss a beat. “Only to a woman who once...” he hesitated and Emily held her breath, dreading his next words. They’d covered this ground earlier and he wouldn’t go there, she was sure he wouldn’t. “...expressed her interest in seeing me naked.”
He went there. Bastard!
“You called me a guppy,” Emily shot back. His words and supercilious tone still rankled.
“You were too damn innocent for the grown-up game you were playing,” Matt retorted.
Being called innocent because of the way her features were arranged was the bane of her life. And if people didn’t think she was innocent then they thought she was stupid or, more often, a combination of the two.
Few bothered to find out if any of their assumptions were true. People tended to get stuck on her face and couldn’t imagine her having a conversation about the humanitarian crisis in Darfur or the state of the economy. People, she’d decided, rather liked the idea of her being a bit dim; it was as if they couldn’t comprehend Emily being both beautiful and smart.
Her beauty was just a lucky combination of DNA; it didn’t mean anything. All it meant was that she’d just won the genetic lottery.
Emily narrowed her eyes at him. “Why did you yank me into this room, Velez? And why are we in a closet when there’s a perfectly good meeting room next door?”
“That small room is like Grand Central Station tonight and I don’t want to be interrupted,” Matt retorted. “So, are the rumors true?”
“What rumors?”
“Cut the crap, Emily,” Matt snapped. “Tell me that you aren’t engaged to Morris?” His thumb tapped the stone, his fingers still holding her captured hand.
God, she wished she could. “I am. And why are you suddenly so interested in my life?”
Before Matt could answer, a deep voice drifted through the thin walls of the closet. “Why are we meeting in this room instead of at the bar?”
Emily’s eyes widened at the strange voice and Matt tipped his head. He dropped his mouth to speak in her ear. “That’s Joshua Lowell speaking.”
Emily nodded.
“I got a birthday gift in the mail yesterday.”
“Oliver.” Matt mimed the word. “His brother, I think.”
“Bit late, isn’t it? Your birthday was last month,” Joshua commented.
Emily reached up to speak in Matt’s ear. “We should go.”
Matt’s hand rested on her hip and she felt the heat of his fingers through the thin fabric of her dress. Sparks skidded up her spine and her mouth felt dry. “If we do, they’ll know we’re in here and it might get back to Morris. Better to wait until the room and hallway are clear. I’d hate to be the one to cause friction between you and your fiancé.”
Emily narrowed her eyes at him, hearing the sarcasm in his voice. She had no doubt Matt Velez didn’t give a fig for Nico’s, or anybody else’s, opinion.
“The gift was a fishing pole, accompanied by an ultrabrief message. One word. ‘Someday.’”
Matt shrugged when Emily lifted her eyebrows. Obviously, he was equally unsure of why Oliver was making a big deal about receiving a fishing pole and a cryptic note.
“Do you remember when Dad used to take you fishing?” Oliver asked.
“Wow, that’s a memory from way back when. And yes, I remember—it’s not like it happened that often,” Joshua replied.
“Dad promised to take me fishing not too long before he disappeared,” Oliver said, sounding hesitant. “Josh...do you think...”
“That it could be from Dad? That he’s trying to let you know he’s alive?” Joshua rushed his sentence and Emily felt Matt tense beside her. He mimed the word wow and Emily felt guilty for listening in on a private conversation.
“No, Oliver. I don’t think it’s that. I think it’s someone trying to mess with your head. And if I find out who it is, I’m going to rip his head off his shoulders.”
“I’ve been clean for a long time, Joshua. And I’m not a fragile piece of china.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “Issues?”
“Cocaine,” Emily whispered.
How nice that Oliver had a big brother, someone he could rely on, Emily thought. Since the time she was fourteen, she became the “mom” of the house, shopping, cooking and trying to connect with her distant and workaholic dad.
She put on a smile, did everything right at home, pretending that she wasn’t gutted that the person who was supposed to love her the most had left her to deal with a distant father and a brother with special needs. She adored Davy but she’d been so young to assume adult responsibilities and her mom, by leaving, stole her childhood, her teenage years and her confidence.
“I feel stupid,” Oliver said from the other side of the wood paneling, pulling Emily’s reluctant attention back to the conversation on the other side of the thin wall.
“Don’t,” Joshua replied. “Listen, the Lowells are always going to be targeted, thanks to what Dad did and the mess he left behind. You’re not the only one who’s been trolled, Ol.”
Joshua hesitated before continuing and Emily had to admit that Matt was right, this was riveting stuff. It was wrong to eavesdrop but, like anything to do with the Lowells, this was a fascinating discussion.
“Sophie came to me and told me that she had a DNA report showing me to be the father of a baby girl born four years ago. I was, naturally, stunned,” Joshua explained.
“You have a baby girl?”
“No, you idiot, I don’t. I was always careful and none of my previous partners even hinted at me getting them pregnant. But the report looked totally authentic so Soph and I looked into it. We found out that the report was generated by a doctor with a long and torrid history of shady practices and false results. When I heard that, I was relieved—with our family history, I didn’t want to be a dad.”
“I hear you on that,�
�� Oliver fervently agreed. “We didn’t exactly have a great role model to emulate—we’d be terrible fathers. Well, I know I would. I don’t want kids.”
Joshua’s voice held the hint of a smile. “I was convinced I didn’t either but I think I might, want a child, that is. I figure that Sophie will keep our kid on the straight and narrow and I’ll take my cues from her.”
“You are a braver man than I am, big brother. It’s hard enough to look after myself—I don’t want or need the responsibility of parenthood.”
Emily heard the click of high heels and the door to the meeting room opened. “Guys, the auction is in the ballroom. Why are you in here?”
Was that Sophie’s voice? Emily heard the shuffle of big feet as the Lowell brothers left the room. When silence fell, Emily reached for the door handle and eased the door open. She peeked outside and saw that the hallway was empty. Time for her to go.
It would take all her willpower to walk away from Matt when all she really wanted was to step into his arms, feed off his strength, taste his mouth. Strip his clothes...
Right, enough of that, Arnott.
“You take girls to all the best places, Velez,” Emily said, making sure her voice was just a degree warmer than frozen nitrogen.
Matt tipped his head to the side and jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “Don’t marry him, Emily. You’ll regret it.”
She started to tell him that she’d regret marriage, period, but just kept herself from uttering the words. Emily sucked in a calming breath and, looking him in the eye, raised her stubborn chin. “I’m sure your opinion matters...to someone.”
Matt had the temerity to smile. “I’m going to change your mind, princess. Someday my opinion is the only one you’re going to care about.”
Emily lifted her hand to her brow, pretending to scan the environment. “And there goes a flying pig dressed in a pink tutu.”
Emily picked up the skirt of her floor-skimming dress and stepped into the empty hall. “Goodbye, Matteo.”
“This isn’t over.” Matt’s words, spoken in his deep voice, rumbled over her skin.
Oh God, she really hoped it was because she didn’t know if she could cope with both Nico and Matt.
Damn, but she needed a stiff drink. At home, while she was cuddling her cat. She was, officially, peopled out.
Three
The next evening, Matt rapped on the door to Emily’s above-garage apartment, wondering what the hell he was doing on her doorstep on a Sunday at twilight. But since leaving the auction the previous night, he couldn’t purge the image of Emily’s head on Morris’s shoulder, her hand tucked into his arm, his damned ring on her finger.
Was he simply envious Morris had a woman he wanted? So envious that he was prepared to, for the first time in his life, chase after a woman when his normal modus operandi was to let women chase him?
He’d lain awake for most of the night, thinking of the past and the present.
He’d been so young when he encountered Emily and yes, she’d knocked him off his feet. But he was older now and he could easily dismiss his initial thoughts of her being part of his forever as wishful, fanciful thinking. He didn’t believe in love and forever.
The only reason he was here was because he wanted her...
Wanted her enough for him to make more of an effort than he normally did. He also wasn’t the type who made a move on another man’s woman but Morris was a dick, and honor, after all the crap Morris pulled years ago, didn’t count in this situation.
And sure, he was a competitive SOB and, at the best of times—i.e. anything that didn’t involve Emily Arnott—he didn’t like someone else having something or someone he wanted. And he did want Emily, he’d wanted her six years ago and he wanted her now, and the thought of taking her away from Morris warmed his cold heart.
He would also be doing her a huge favor because he knew just how much of a dick Morris could be.
The snap of fingers in front of his face brought Matt back to the present and he focused on intense purple-blue eyes fringed with thick, dark lashes. Emily’s straight blond hair was raked back from her forehead into a high ponytail and her face was free of makeup. She wore a baggy sweatshirt, leggings and fuzzy socks, and every inch of him craved her.
A massive black, brown and gray cat meowed, sat on her foot and lifted its enormous head, eyes on the sandwich in her hand.
Speaking of which, Matt hadn’t eaten all day. He lifted the top slice of bread and frowned. “Cheese? And...” He wrinkled his nose. “Is that pineapple?”
“And jalapeño chilies and salt and pepper.”
Ugh. That sounded gross. “Are you pregnant?”
He looked down at her flat stomach. Was that why she was marrying jerk-face; to give her child a father? When did women start having pregnancy cravings?
“No, I’m not pregnant,” Emily replied, annoyed. “I just happen to like weird combinations of food. Chicken-liver paté and marmalade, pickles and Oreos.”
Yuck. “So, you’ll know you’re pregnant when you start craving peanut butter and jelly, cheese and ham?” Matt asked.
A hint of humor momentarily penetrated the frost in her eyes. “Why are you here, Velez?”
Matt waited for her to invite him in but when she didn’t budge, he sighed. “Let me in, Emily. We need to talk.”
Emily rolled her eyes, obviously exasperated, but she gestured him inside. Matt stepped over the massive furball and placed his hands into the pockets of his pants, taking in her apartment. He immediately felt at home, thinking he could kick off his shoes and sink down into that comfortable sofa. The apartment was spacious, with wide wooden windows looking out to the forest behind her dad’s house, and beyond that to the mountains. The apartment itself was a mishmash of colors and styles, in blues and greens with hints of pink, but nothing jarred.
Black-and-white prints of exotic places—he recognized the Imperial Citadel at Hanoi and Syntagma Square in Athens—covered her walls. He stepped up to them, captured by the moody atmosphere and the way the photographer played with the shadows. “These are brilliant. Who took them?”
“I did. I traveled solo for a few months after leaving college.”
The cat did a figure eight between his legs and Matt bent down to scratch him between his ears. “What’s his name?”
“Fatty.”
Matt smiled. “Unoriginal but appropriate.”
Emily placed her sandwich on the plate on the island counter, leaned her forearms on the counter and pinned him to the floor with her direct gaze. “What do you want?”
You. Naked. As soon as possible.
Too much? Too strong? Yeah, obviously.
Matt ran his hand through his hair as he turned to face her. “Why are you wearing that ridiculously big ring? Why are you really marrying Morris? And don’t tell me it’s because you love him.”
“Maybe I do.”
“BS.”
When he got out of his head, pushed aside his envy and jealousy—and his need to have her—and applied logic to the situation he still, instinctively, had the feeling their engagement was a sham. He’d watched her last night and nothing in the way she acted told him that she was in love or was even excited about her engagement. She accepted good wishes and congratulations with a pained smile and her responses had been too deliberate, too thought out.
Too choreographed.
Living on the outside of his family, not being a part of that inner circle of three, had honed his observation and perception skills. He could read body language as well as he could walk and talk and something about Emily and her response to being newly engaged was off.
“Are you in trouble?” he demanded, his voice rough.
Emily’s big round eyes widened in a too-practiced-to-be-real move. It instantly made her look younger and upped her innocence factor. But undern
eath the forced insouciance was panic and he wanted to know why.
“No, I’m not in trouble. And even if I was, why would I confide in you?” Emily asked, tipping her head to the side. “We’re barely acquaintances. I’m just another girl who threw herself at you, one of the few you didn’t bother to catch.”
She was pissed because he didn’t take her up on her drunk offer? Well, he was pissed off too. He would never tell her his reaction to her scared the crap out of him and that he’d been so tempted to throw caution to the wind and start something meaningful with her...
Thank God he hadn’t. Attraction faded and love never lasted.
“You were a kid and you’d been drinking,” Matt said, pushing his words through gritted teeth, using that same, probably tired, excuse. “Tipsy or not, I don’t take advantage of young girls.”
Her next question shocked the hell out of him. “And if I asked you that same question last night?”
He didn’t hesitate. “You’d still be naked, in my bed.” He gestured to the short hallway. “Or naked, in your bed. My place or here, trust me, you still wouldn’t be wearing a stitch of clothing.”
Matt watched as color flooded her face, entranced as her eyes darkened to a color similar to those African violets his mother had nurtured on the windowsill of their kitchen. Within those dark depths he saw passion, desire, the fight for control of both. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and Matt knew she wanted what he did—their lips fused, a taste of each other’s breath.
He moved, or did she, and then her fingers were on the back of his neck and his hands were on her hips and he bent down and she rose up and then...
God. Perfection.
Soft lips with a hint of pineapple, a flowery scent in his nose and a soft, surprisingly curvy body in his arms. Needing more, needing everything, Matt pulled her closer and Emily released a tiny sound when her breasts pushed into his chest and moaned again when his tongue swept into her mouth.
Emily seemed to sag against him and Matt wrapped his arms around her slim back, lifting her up and into him, happily taking her weight. Her fingers came to rest on his jawline, as soft and arousing as a feather.
