Smitten - LOVESWEPT - 392

by Janet Evanovich

  "I like it. It's useful. I like being outdoors. The men have been nice to me." She looked into his eyes. "And I like working next to you. You're re­storing my interest in the opposite sex." She saw the way his eyebrows raised and his mouth curved into a mercurial smile. "I don't just mean in the sexual sense. My marriage had a lot of painful moments. As the years progressed I reached the sorry conclusion that not only weren't men neces­sary to happiness, but they were a definite pain in the neck." She shook her head. "I was basing that judgment on very limited experience. There haven't been many men in my life."

  "Does this mean I'm not a pain in the neck?"

  "No. The part about the pain in the neck still holds. The part about happiness has changed. When we work as a team I feel like all the puzzle pieces fall into place and make a whole. It's com­fortable. It makes me happy inside. I decided it has something to do with man-woman chemistry and friendship. We would probably make wonder­ful love together."

  Matt fanned himself with a hand towel. Maybe she would mention the trip to Paris after all.

  "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

  "Yeah. It feels great."

  Jason knocked on the closed bathroom door. "I gotta go."

  "Go upstairs," Lizabeth yelled. "Matt's working in here."

  Matt looked amused at that.

  "I thought you might want to continue the dis­cussion," Lizabeth said.

  "About making love?"

  "Mmmm. Bathrooms are so intimate. They in­spire frankness, don't you think?"

  Matt grinned at her. "Have you been drink­ing?"

  "Nope. I've been thinking."

  "That's even more dangerous." He stood and pulled her to him. "What else have you been thinking?"

  "Uh-uh, it's your turn to think."

  His hands spanned her waist, framing her hip­bones. "I think I should kiss you."

  She felt her stomach tumble. "A man of action, huh?" Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second— long enough for Lizabeth to see the raw hunger, long enough for her to see some other emotion. Annoyance? Their mouths met and all things ce­rebral were forgotten. Only passion remained. They had both been abstinent far too long. Physically and emotionally abstinent.

  His hands roamed her back, pressing her into him, but the closer he held her the more dissatisfied he felt. It was always like this, he thought. He was never able to get enough of her. Never enough talking, never enough laughing, never enough lov­ing. It was the loving he needed now. He needed more. He needed to feel flesh against flesh, not for a stolen moment in a bathroom, but for hours and hours in total privacy.

  Someone rapped on the bathroom door and Matt whispered an oath into Lizabeth's hair.

  "Yes?"

  "I have to use the facilities," Elsie said. "You gonna be done soon?"

  Lizabeth took a moment to find her voice. "Well be done in a minute, Aunt Elsie. Matt's just fin­ishing up in here."

  "I bet he is," Elsie said. "When that door opens I better see some fancy caulking."

  Matt moved away and gathered his tools. "I think I'm in trouble."

  "It's all my fault," Lizabeth said.

  Matt handed her an empty container of grout. "Damn right it's all your fault. Next time you want to have a discussion about making love it's going to take place in my house." He saw the panic register in her face. "That suggestion make you nervous?"

  "Very."

  "You know what you are? You're a tease. Every time you get passionate with me it's in a public place." He tangled his hand in her hair, his thumb stroked across her lower lip, and his voice gen­tled. "You need to take some time out and come to terms with your own sexuality. And you have to give some serious thought to me. I'm in love with you."

  Lizabeth swallowed. "Wow."

  Matt opened the bathroom door and nudged her forward. That wasn't so bad, he decided. Now it was out in the open. He said it out loud and his voice hadn't cracked, and he hadn't fainted, and the world hadn't come to an end. He'd broken out into a cold sweat, but he didn't think anyone would notice.

  He passed Elsie in the foyer. "You're sweating like a pig," she said. "It must have been hot in there."

  Four

  Matt was in love with her. She'd run it over in her mind a hundred times in the last three hours, and she still wasn't sure how she felt. It was flattering, of course. And exciting. It was also fright­ening. And it made her stomach upset. Nerves, she told herself. She wasn't ready. It was all hap­pening too fast. Well, if it was happening too fast it was her own fault. She'd encouraged him. Worse than that, she'd taken the initiative. And he was right about the teasing part. She always managed to lead him on in public places. It hadn't been intentional. Matt called it teasing, and she sup­posed it might look like that from his point of view, but she knew that sort of teasing wasn't part of her makeup. It was more that she was testing the water, and she'd unconsciously pro­vided herself with a chastity belt. It had been cowardly, she decided.

  She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. Her curtains were open, allowing the cool evening air to fill her room. Moonlight spilled over her bedroom floor, and Bob the Cat stretched across the bottom of the summer patch­work quilt. "You see what that man has done to my life?" Lizabeth questioned Bob. "He's made me into an insomniac. He's disrupted my emo­tional stability." It was a nice disruption, she ad­mitted. Her life was immeasurably richer since Matt had come into it. Okay, so if it was so much richer why was she so worried? What was the problem? The problem kept slipping away from her. That didn't mean it didn't exist, she told herself. All it meant was that she wasn't able to nail it down. It sat in the pit of her stomach—a small dark lump of panic that was only notice­able at two in the morning.

  The silence was pierced by a woman's scream. It was a scream of outrage, not terror, Lizabeth decided, scrambling to her feet. She heard the sound of someone running, and she reached the window just in time to see the flasher sprint into her yard. He stopped short and looked up at Lizabeth, not bothering with his flashlight. The sky was clear and there was enough moonlight to illuminate the man's pale skin. He stood abso­lutely still for a split second and then he waved. It was a little wave, the kind you do with just the tips of your fingers and your hand held at shoul­der level. Dogs barked throughout the neighbor­hood, a police siren sounded in the distance, and the man took off at a dead run and disappeared into the night.

  Elsie rushed into Lizabeth's room. "Did I hear someone scream? Was that pervert back here?"

  "He must have frightened some lady down the street. And then he ran through the yards trying to get away. He stopped only long enough to wave."

  "You mean I missed him again?"

  "Yup."

  Elsie pressed her lips together. "Was he naked?"

  "Yup."

  "Was he dangerous-looking?"

  Lizabeth smiled. "No. He wasn't especially dan­gerous-looking. In fact, he looked quite harmless." And there was something familiar about him, she thought. Something she couldn't put her finger on.

  "It's them harmless-looking ones you have to worry about," Elsie said. "This guy could be a killer. He could be a rapist."

  Lizabeth pulled the curtains closed. "I don't think he's a killer. He wouldn't have anyplace to hide the murder weapon."

  Matt took a firm grip on his coffee mug. "He came back?"

  "No big deal," Lizabeth said. "He ran through the yard and waved to me."

  "What about the police? What were the police doing?"

  Lizabeth leaned her elbows on the kitchen table and sipped her coffee. "The police were chasing him. They waved to me, too."

  "This is a great neighborhood you live in," Matt said. "Very friendly. Everyone waves to everyone else."

  "No need to get sarcastic."

  "I'm not sarcastic. I'm worried. I don't like the idea of some nut-case picking you to be his victim."

  "He didn't pick me to be his victim last night. He just happened to run through the yard."

 
Matt scowled into his coffee mug. She should be more frightened. People were careful when they were frightened. They didn't take chances. Lizabeth was talking about this guy in the same tone of voice she used for stories about Ferguson. Next thing she'd be leaving cookies on the picnic table in case Mr. Peekaboo got hungry while he was exposing himself. "So who was the victim last night? Anyone we know?"

  "Mmmmm. Angie Kuchta. She lives two houses down."

  "Have you spoken to her?"

  Lizabeth studied the contents of the doughnut bag and extracted a Boston cream. "Yes. His MO was pretty much the same. He got her attention by throwing stones at her bedroom window. Then he turned the flashlight on her, and when he turned the flashlight on himself she screamed and woke up the entire neighborhood."

  "And the police didn't catch him?"

  "Nope." Lizabeth bit into her doughnut, and a glob of pudding squeezed out the back end and dropped onto the table.

  Ferguson loped in from the living room and cleaned the pudding off the table with one swipe of his huge tongue.

  Lizabeth's upper lip curled back. "Oh, gross!"

  "Don't worry," Matt said. "I came prepared this time." He handed Ferguson a second bakery bag and opened the back door for the dog. "I hope he likes sticky buns."

  Lizabeth poured Lysol on the kitchen table and scrubbed. When she was satisfied the table was clean she sat down and refilled her coffee mug. "There's something odd about all of this." She looked around to make sure they were alone, and she lowered her voice. "Angle's husband was off on a business trip last night. There aren't many single women in this neighborhood, but the flasher hit a woman alone both times. And another thing: How does he always know the right bedroom?"

  Matt raised his eyebrows. "You think he could be one of your neighbors?"

  Lizabeth thoughtfully chewed her doughnut. "There was something familiar about him. The way he stood, or the way he waved. I don't know."

  "Have you told this to the police?"

  "I mentioned it to Officer Dooley, but he said he could hardly go door-to-door gathering up men. Also, we have a problem, because the only part Angie and I would definitely recognize is usually covered up in a lineup."

  Matt raised his eyebrows. "That is a problem."

  "Mmmm. And to tell you the truth, I haven't seen very many men, but so far they've all looked pretty much alike down there. I might not even be able to recognize the flasher if he were naked in a crowd."

  Matt squinted over the doughnut bag. "Lizabeth, exactly how many men have you seen?"

  "Two."

  "Does that include the flasher?"

  "Yup."

  He couldn't stop the smile from creeping across his face. "Would you like to see a third?" He was being flip, but he was secretly pleased. He thought it was nice that she was so selective.

  "Would you like a knuckle sandwich?"

  He tipped back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe you wouldn't need to see that part of the flasher. Maybe you could rec­ognize him from his build or his walk or his wave."

  "I don't know. I don't feel very confident about that."

  "Suppose we gave a barbecue and invited every­one in the neighborhood. You'd get a chance to scope out all the men."

  Lizabeth gestured with her half-eaten dough­nut. "You know, a barbecue might not be a bad idea. It would give me the opportunity to meet the rest of my neighbors, and who knows, maybe some­thing would click." She turned her attention back to the doughnut, giving it a look of sublime ap­preciation. "Yum," she said, flicking her tongue at the chocolate icing.

  Matt felt his blood pressure suddenly skyrocket. He'd known his share of women. He'd seen them wallowing in Jell-O, floundering in mud, and danc­ing on bars . . . and he'd never had a problem with the fit of his slacks in public. But watching Lizabeth strip a doughnut of its icing had him squirming in his seat.

  She finished the doughnut and looked at him ex­pectantly. "Something wrong? You look all flushed."

  "I'm fine," Matt said. "Why don't we go over to my house and make plans."

  "For the barbecue?"

  "Yeah, that too."

  "We can make plans right here," Lizabeth said. "I'll go get some paper and a pencil."

  He put his hand over hers to stop her from getting up. "I need privacy to make these plans. I need time. Lots of time."

  "Matthew Hallahan, you're not talking about a barbecue, are you?"

  "Listen, Lizabeth, I'm in a bad way. How close are you to finding yourself? Maybe if we both looked, we could find you faster."

  "I don't think finding myself is a group activity."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you don't assert your independence by asking someone to help you. This is something I have to do by myself. I need time ..."

  "How much time?"

  Lizabeth rolled her eyes. "I don't know how much time! This isn't something I can set a deadline on. Maybe a week, maybe a month, maybe a year."

  "A year! I can't wait a year. Ill be dead in a year. I have an incurable disease. You have to help me."

  Lizabeth grinned at him. "What's the name of this disease?"

  "Infatuation. The symptoms would be a lot less painful if we were alone together in my bedroom." He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed a fingertip.

  Lizabeth felt the heat shoot through her. She watched him move onto another fingertip and surprised herself by moaning out loud when he took the finger in his mouth and circled it with his tongue. She immediately snatched her hand away.

  "You sure you wouldn't like to fool around a little?"

  "Of course I'd like to fool around a little. I like you. And I'm attracted to you." Saying that she liked Matt Hallahan and was attracted to him was such an understatement it bordered on a lie, Lizabeth decided. Why she felt compelled to hold him at a distance was beyond her, except that she really hadn't known him very long. And what she did know about him showed they were very differ­ent. A serious relationship was tough enough with­out the additional burden of different life-styles and educational backgrounds. It was the first time she'd articulated the thought, even to herself, and it hit her like an Acme safe falling on Road Run­ner. She wondered if that was the problem eating away at her stomach every night. Different life­styles and educational backgrounds. She'd gradu­ated from Amherst and Matt had a tattoo on his forearm. Lizabeth Kane, she silently whispered, you're a snob. You've met the man of your dreams, and you're holding him at arm's length because he's a carpenter. Could that be true? She'd never thought of herself as a snob before, and she didn't like the way it fit. It was something she'd have to chew on when she was alone.

  Matt watched her with raised eyebrows. "Well?"

  "I have to give this some consideration."

  "Listen, if it's a morality thing about prenuptial sex I could fix it. We could get married. I know a justice of the peace who works on Sunday ..."

  "No!" Lizabeth cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "I'm not ready to get married. I had one bad marriage, and I don't want another. I don't want to rush into something I might regret later. Besides, I have a suspicion that if I said 'yes' to your proposal you'd take the first train out of town. You're playing with me."

  There was some truth to that, Matt thought. He could afford to be bold about commitment, know­ing she'd reject him, but he didn't think he'd take the first train out of town. Impossible as it seemed, even to him, he actually, wanted to get married. "Okay, so let's go over this then. You like me. You might even decide you love me after due delibera­tion." He was ticking each point off on his fin­gers. "You don't want to rush into another marriage. And you obviously don't want to rush into what might be an incredibly passionate but purely phys­ical relationship."

  Lizabeth gave a sigh of relief. He understood. "Yes."

  "How far do you want to go?"

  "Pardon?"

  "I thought it would be helpful to set some bound­aries. Just to make everything clear. So I know exactly how far I can go."r />
  Relief turned to alarm. "Do we have to decide that now?"

  "I don't want to make any mistakes. I assume kissing is all right."

  "Kissing is fine."

  He leaned across the table. "With tongues?"

  She felt the flush beginning to creep up from her shirt collar. "Tongues are okay."

  "How about touching? What body parts am I allowed to touch?" His eyes dropped to her chest. "Can I touch your breasts?"

  Lizabeth unconsciously pressed her knees to­gether. "I don't think this is necessary right now ..."

  "Can I take your shirt off? Can I—"

  Lizabeth smacked him on the side of the head with the doughnut bag. "Listen up. I am not going to bed with you. As far as I'm concerned, anything up to that point is fair game, but I put the burden of stopping on you. You are totally responsible for maintaining my virtue."

  "That's rotten!" Matt narrowed his eyes and grinned malevolently. "You're doing this because you have no willpower. You're putting the burden on me because you're afraid once you get going you won't be able to stop"

  "Yup. That's true."

  "Heh, heh, heh."

  Lizabeth picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, looking at him over the rim. "You don't scare me. You're an honorable person and you're sup­posedly in love with me."

  "Yes, but I'm also a desperate man."

  "So you're telling me you'd take advantage of me when I was in a weakened position?"

  "Damn right!"

  Elsie came in for another doughnut. "What's going on in here?"

  "We're making plans for a barbecue," Lizabeth said. "We're going to invite the whole neighbor­hood."

  "I'm not going to have to cook for this, am I? Don't think I'm making potato salad for two hun­dred people."

  Lizabeth shook her head. "Well ask everyone to bring something—a dessert or a covered dish. And well provide the hot dogs. We can borrow a couple of grills."