by Metsy Hingle
“Okay now?”
She nodded, but didn’t bother lifting her head from his shoulder. Not yet, she told herself, wanting to hang on to this feeling of safety a little longer. “For a moment when I saw the lightning I thought I remembered something. But then…”
“Then?”
“Then suddenly I was…I was so scared, terrified really. Matt, I think the reason that door keeps slamming shut when I do start to remember is because I’m afraid.”
The arms holding her tensed. “Of me?” he asked, his voice raw.
“No.” She looked up at him. “Not you, Matt. I’m not afraid of you. I don’t think I could ever be afraid of you. With you I feel safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“I’m not sure. It’s as though…as though I don’t want to face whatever it is behind that door.”
“You will. When the time is right and you’re ready, you’ll face it and you’ll remember.”
He sounded so confident, she didn’t tell him that a part of her worried that she might never be ready. Instead she said, “Until then, I think we both need to get on with our lives. That’s what I was trying to say earlier. We need some kind of normalcy again, and the best way to get it is for you to go back to work.”
“I am working.”
“Not from here. From your office. You need to go back to work, Matt. And so do I. It’s time.”
“But you’re not fully recovered yet,” he argued. “Your ankle—”
“It’s still a little tender, but the doctor says in a few more days it will be as good as new. Physically I’m almost 100 percent again. The only thing wrong with me is that I can’t remember anything before waking up in the hospital. Otherwise I’m fine. I’ve already checked with the neurologist, and she says there’s no reason I can’t go back to work. I plan to start back on Monday.”
“Why rush things? Give yourself a little more time,” he coaxed. “I know how important Desserts Only is to you. That’s why I’ve been checking with Lori every day to make sure everything is under control. And it is, Red. The place is doing just fine and running smoothly without you.”
“But I’m not running smoothly.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “You just said you were feeling better.”
Claire sighed. “I am better—physically. But I need to do something besides worry about when or if my memory is going to come back.” In fact, she feared she would go insane if she continued to spend half of her time fretting over her inability to remember and the other half battling her growing desire for Matt. More, she worried she was depending on Matt too much. She didn’t know why, but the idea of needing someone made her uncomfortable.
“And you think work is the answer?”
“I don’t know. I just know that I have to do something besides wait. And who knows, maybe being back at work will help me to remember.”
Being back at work hadn’t helped her remember anything about her life before the attack, Claire admitted two weeks later as she removed the chocolate chip cookies from the oven and set them out to cool. But it had gone a long way to ease the frustration that her inactivity and amnesia had caused. However, working again and the routine she had settled into had done little to diminish the sexual tension that permeated the air whenever she and Matt were in the same room together.
“Please tell me those are chocolate chip walnut cookies that I smell.”
Claire glanced up and smiled at the sight of Matt’s mother standing in the doorway of the kitchen of Desserts Only. “You’re in luck. Would you like one?”
“Can’t you see I’m drooling?”
Claire grinned at her mother-in-law. Maureen Gallagher didn’t look at all like a woman who had borne three children and helped her husband found a restaurant empire that had gained national acclaim. Probably because Maureen defied most people’s image of what a sixty-two-year-old grandmother should look like. Instead of allowing her hair to turn silver, she and her hairdresser kept it a rich shade of chestnut. The short up-swept style reminded her of an older Audrey Hepburn. So did the tasteful cranberry jacket, slacks and Sabrina heels she wore. But it was the sparkle and sass in the blue-gray eyes so much like Matt’s that stripped a decade off of her age and made it impossible not to like her.
Maureen bit into the cookie and groaned. “Claire, dear, these are sinful.”
Claire laughed aloud. “I’m glad you enjoy them.”
“Enjoy doesn’t even begin to describe how wonderful these are.”
“Have another one,” Claire offered.
Maureen sighed. Shaking her head, she cast a regretful glance at the cookies. “I’d better not. Tommy was saying just this morning how much he likes my hips. Too many of your cookies and he might change his mind.”
At the blissful expression on Maureen’s face, Claire felt a stab of envy. She remembered the goodbye kiss Matt had given her that morning. She could still taste him—hot, sweet, hungry.
“Claire?”
Claire yanked her gaze to her mother-in-law. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t be,” Maureen told her, a smile in her voice. “Something tells me that look on your face has nothing to do with those cookies and everything to do with my son.”
Claire flushed. “Actually, I was thinking of Matt and the cookies,” she said and snagged a box from beneath the counter. She began filling it with the tasty treat. “I thought I’d surprise him with these tonight for dessert. Would you like to take home a few for you and Mr. Tommy?”
“That would be lovely,” Maureen said, a catch in her voice. “Thank you.”
“Is something wrong?” Claire asked, concerned by the sheen of tears in her mother-in-law’s eyes.
“No,” she said with a sniff. She reached across the counter top, caught Claire’s fingers and squeezed them.
“Miss Maureen, are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine,” she told Claire and took the white box of cookies. “Really, I am. I’ve just missed you and I’m so glad you’re back.”
Puzzled, Claire tipped her head to the side and stared at Matt’s mother. “You saw me just a few days ago.”
“Of course I did,” Maureen told her as she fussed with the tab on the box of cookies. “I suppose I’m feeling sentimental because Maggie’s baby will be here soon.”
“Yes,” Claire said with a smile as she thought of Matt’s very pregnant sister. “It’s hard to believe she’s still got a month to go.”
“If she goes to term,” Maureen told her. “Personally, I’m not so sure the baby will wait that long. But actually Maggie is the reason I stopped by. I wanted to check with you about the baby shower for her. Katie informed me that she strong-armed you into agreeing to make the cake for the shower.”
“She did no such thing. I volunteered.”
“After a few well-placed hints from my daughter, no doubt.”
Claire bit her tongue. It was true, Matt’s other sister had finessed her into offering to make the cake. “I didn’t mind,” Claire replied and meant it.
“Are you sure, dear? Matt told me you’ve been putting in shorter workdays, and I know you’re probably backed up from…from when you were ill.”
“It’s not a problem. Things here are fine, and I’ve penciled the job in my book. The truth is I’m looking forward to baking and decorating the cake myself.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Maggie will be so pleased. Thank you, Claire.”
“You’re welcome.” Growing excited at the prospect of creating the teddy-bear-shaped cake to match the theme on the shower invitation, Claire said, “Since I’ve finally convinced your son I can drive again and don’t need a chauffeur, I’m going this evening to buy a baby gift for Maggie. I saw an adorable little jacket and booties in a boutique window in the French Quarter when I had lunch with Matt earlier this week. Do you think Maggie would like that, or should I get her something more practical?”
“I think she’ll love whatever you get her.”
Claire grinned. “She’s easy to please,” Claire conceded as she thought of Matt’s sister. “Still I can’t wait to see her face when she opens it.”
Maureen blinked. “Then you’re going to be able to come to the shower after all?”
It was Claire’s turn to be surprised. “Well, of course, I’m coming. Maggie is Matt’s sister. I wouldn’t think of missing her baby shower.” She frowned, chewed her lower lip a moment. “Did I forget to RSVP? I just assumed I had when I saw the invitation taped to the refrigerator door. I’ll call the number on the invitation and let the hostess know I’ll be coming as soon as I get home.”
Maureen Gallagher fairly beamed. “That’s all right, dear. Matt’s cousin Erin is giving the shower, and since I was planning to stop by her house when I left here, I’ll let her know that you’re coming. She’ll be thrilled to have you there—just as Maggie will be. Now I’d better be on my way and let you get back to work. Goodbye dear.” She gave Claire a quick hug and kissed her cheek. “Give my son a kiss for me.”
“Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Because believe me, I’m not,” Matt began, equally surprised and pleased to have had Claire be the one to kiss him first for a change. “But was that kiss for anything in particular?”
Claire grinned up at him. Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Actually it was from your mother.”
Matt narrowed his eyes and reluctantly allowed her to step back. “My mother?”
“Uh-hmm. She stopped by the shop today and said to give you a kiss for her.” She looked past him to the stove, where he had tomato sauce simmering in one pot and pasta boiling in another. “Something smells wonderful.”
When she reached for the lid on the tomato sauce, Matt snagged her fingers. “Not so fast, Mrs. Gallagher,” he said as he walked her backward until she came up against the kitchen counter. Caging her, he whispered, “If that kiss was from my mother, where’s my hi-honey-I’m home kiss from you?”
The laughter in her eyes turned wary for only a second. Then she cupped his face between her palms. “Hi, honey. I’m home,” she murmured in a voice guaranteed to make a man think of sin. Slowly she drew his mouth down to meet hers and brushed her lips across his. The contact was soft, like silk whispering against skin and as slow as a Southern drawl. And it sent heat licking through him like a greedy flame.
Matt balled his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her and deepening the kiss. Sweat pooled between his shoulders with the effort it took not to touch her. Still, he held himself back, determined to let Claire set the pace.
Over and over she made that lazy foray of his mouth, shaping his lips, fitting her lips to his. Every nerve ending in his body seemed to have centered on his mouth, and Matt wondered if it was possible for a man to die from a kiss that brought him pleasure and at the same time fueled his need for more.
Just when he was sure he was going to break unless he touched her, Claire repeated the movements—this time with her tongue. She tasted him, tested him, tempted him. And she drove him right to the edge of sanity. When she nipped his lower lip with her teeth, Matt heard a groan. He didn’t know who it belonged to—him or Claire.
“Matt,” she whispered his name like a prayer and looked up at him out of dark eyes that had gone sultry and hot.
“Say my name again,” he commanded, his voice rough with need.
“Matt.”
He pulled her against him, ran his hands down her spine, anchored her hips. When she trembled, desire jolted through him hard and fast. Unable to wait a moment longer, he devoured her with his mouth. And the groan that followed, this time, came from him.
Matt didn’t know how long he kissed her, trying to feed the insatiable hunger inside him. He didn’t know if it had been minutes, hours, days. All he knew was that he couldn’t get enough of Claire. He feared he might never be able to get enough of her. And given the way she was kissing him back, he suspected she’d become infected with the same fever that he had. “I want you,” he told her as he filled his hands with her breasts.
Her breath hitched. Her eyes went dark and hot before her lashes swept down. He rubbed his thumbs across the nipples that strained against her bra and shirt. And when she gasped, Matt swallowed the sweet sound with his mouth.
This was insane, he told himself as he released the first button on her blouse. When she made no move to stop him, he undid the next button with fingers that were no longer steady. For the space of a heartbeat, he contemplated carrying her upstairs to the bedroom. He knew he’d never make it that far. He wanted her here. He wanted her now. And he would have taken her right then, right there, standing up with both of them half-dressed and her pressed against the kitchen countertop had it not been for the angry hisses and spitting coming from the stove.
Matt jerked his mouth free. Darting his gaze to the stove, he swore. The pot of pasta was bubbling furiously, sending starchy foaming water sliding down the sides of the pot onto the burner and splattering all over the stove. “Damn!” Matt swung Claire to his left and reached over to turn off the fire. Moving around to the front of the island stove, he threw on the oven mitts, grabbed the handles of the hissing pot and carried it over to the sink where he dumped the pasta into a colander.
“How bad is it?” Claire asked from behind him.
Matt glanced at her. Her cheeks were pink, her lips bare. And her blouse, though rumpled, was buttoned and tucked into her skirt. But it was the confusion and wariness in her eyes that told him the moment of passion they had shared was gone. “That depends,” he finally managed to say, as regret and disappointment dealt him sharp blows.
“On what?”
“On whether or not you like your pasta overcooked,” he said with a snarl.
“I don’t mind. But if it’ll make you feel better,” she said as she opened the white pastry box she had brought home with her to reveal his favorite—chocolate chip walnut cookies—and held them out to him. “We can always start with dessert.”
They started with dessert and moved on to the salad, overcooked pasta with meatballs and tomato sauce and a nice bottle of Chianti. Polishing off the last of the cookies and sitting over steaming cups of coffee had helped to dull the edge of Matt’s frustration. He leaned back, stretched his arm out over the back of the couch and took a sip of the cognac he’d poured for himself. He looked at Claire. Seated across from him, she had curled up in the big overstuffed chair with her knees pulled up and her feet tucked beneath her. She’d been asking him about his day and the restaurants for the better part of the last fifteen minutes. “Enough about me,” Matt told her. “Tell me about your day.”
“It was busy, tiring, fun,” she said smiling. “Business is good.”
“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. You’re a good businesswoman, Claire Gallagher.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You offer a great product at a reasonable price. You’ve worked hard to make a success of Desserts Only. And you have. You should be proud of yourself. I am.” And he was proud. She hadn’t had the advantages that he’d had—a stable home and loving parents growing up, a family business that he loved and could be a part of. She’d had everything stacked against her, and she’d come out a winner, anyway. Not only did he adore her, but he admired and respected her, too. He even understood her fierce desire to be independent. He just wished that her independence and her determination not to rely on anyone hadn’t included him—at least not emotionally.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t forget how to bake, or I’d be in real trouble.”
Matt shrugged, but he didn’t miss that flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “If you had forgotten, you’d simply have learned all over again. You’re not a quitter, Red. You’re a fighter.”
She smiled at that. “Maybe you’re right.”
“So, tell me about the rest of your day.”
She told him, including about the visit from his mother. “Matt, you should have seen her face. I swear,
I think this cookie weakness must be in the Gallagher genes.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if it was. My dad said that my mom, when she was pregnant with me, craved chocolate chip cookies all the time. She even sent him out during a hurricane to get some.”
“Now that I don’t believe.”
“Scout’s honor,” Matt replied with a grin as he held up three fingers.
She arched her brow in such a way that reminded him so much of the old Claire—the one he’d first fallen in love with—that Matt felt an urge to kiss that skeptical look off of her face. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around the glass in his hands. “So, did my mother come by for anything in particular or just to mooch some cookies?”
“She came to ask about the cake for your sister Maggie’s baby shower.”
Matt set down his glass, leaned forward. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he told her, irritated with his family for asking her in the first place. “I told Katie you had enough on your plate already. Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell my mother and Katie to use a retail bakery.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” she insisted. “Your mother already offered and I turned her down. It’s for your sister’s baby shower, Matt. I want to do this. How could you think I wouldn’t?”
“You’ve been through a lot these last few weeks.” He avoided her gaze, afraid she would see more than he wanted her to see. “And you said yourself that Desserts Only keeps you busy.”
“Your mother said something similar.” She paused a moment. “Matt, I want to ask you something. Will you be honest with me? Tell me the truth even if it’s not something I’ll like?”
“Yes,” he told her, and waited for the questions to come that he’d dreaded these past few weeks. He would tell her the truth, everything, Matt decided. Only, he didn’t want to do it when she looked so lost, so vulnerable, as though a stiff wind would break her in two. “What do you want to know?”
