“I’m working on it, Momma,” she whispered.
“I know you are. Are you coming to lunch tomorrow?”
Ah. Was she? If she went, she was hiding from Matt and his text demand. If not, then what? Was she going to go out to the fountain at one and let him have the upper hand? She was so tired of thinking.
“I don’t think so, Momma. I’m so tired.”
“You work too hard. Rest. I love you.”
“I love you too, Momma.”
Tired. Yes, she was tired. She ended the call and looked at the time. Too late to call Sadie. Not that Sadie would mind but Lena was tired of thinking. She polished off the wine and got to her feet to pour the last of the bottle into the empty glass. Grabbing the container of organic catnip from the top of the fridge, she shook it, bringing Sass running.
“Wanna get slightly toasted, Sass? Yeah?”
She shook some catnip right onto the coffee table. Screw the mess. Raising her wineglass as Sass rolled in the herb, she shook her head. You’ve become a crazy cat lady. Hanging out, getting drunk with your cat on a Saturday night. Might as well go get another cat or ten.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MATT LOOKED OVER the various containers on the tiny kitchen counter. Hummus. Pita points. Kalamata olives. Fresh mozzarella cubes.
“Dude. You’re going all out, huh?”
He looked up at Dylan and shrugged. “Just the basics.” He reached into the fridge and removed a bottle of wine. “Red or white?”
“You’re asking me? I’d go with PBR. Is this for that hot little Latina honey from the gym last night?”
Matt shook his head. “Aw, man. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That Latina crap. Her name is Lena.”
Dylan raised his hands, palms up. “Okay. Got it.”
Turning his attention to fitting all the containers in his backpack, Matt held his tongue. Dylan was a nice guy. He lived in the apartment on the ground floor and had got Matt out of the roach-infested shack he’d first rented. But guys were guys. He couldn’t stop others from spewing ignorant nonsense, but he could not allow it in his presence.
“So,” Dylan asked, opening a container and stealing a chunk of cheese. “You really got a thing for her, huh? Going for the full romantic picnic?”
A grin crossed his face and Matt shook his head. “She’s skittish. I’m just trying to get her to even think about me.”
“You have women falling at your feet. Those two last night? This one doesn’t want you, move on.”
“Maybe that’s why I like her. Because she won’t fall at my feet.”
“Don’t even tell me you’re falling for the hard-to-get routine.”
“That’s the whole thing,” Matt said, slipping the bulging backpack on his shoulders. “She’s not playing a game.”
“Then she’s not interested. Move on.”
“I’m interested.”
Dylan followed him down the stairs. “I’m telling you, man, it’s not worth it. If a chick’s not into you, don’t waste time chasing her down.”
Straddling his bike, Matt strapped his helmet on. “I like to run,” he said.
As he navigated the backstreets to the harbor, he wondered if Lena would show up. Probably not. But he hoped she would.
He swerved to miss a car backing out of a driveway. The little bits of her he’d seen in the moments when her guard was down only made his curiosity stronger. Behind the strong, cool exterior she showed the world was a woman of great warmth and love. Why did she hide that? What would it take to get her to let down those walls?
And that kiss. He hadn’t planned it. He’d simply been unable to leave that car without touching her. And that thing with the paintbrush. She’d been playing with him. She was attracted to him. Her response to the kiss was all the proof he needed. But then the walls had gone back up. Twice as high.
As he reached Waterfront Park, he coasted to a stop and walked the bike along the path to the Pineapple Fountain. His heart rate picked up a little as he approached. Don’t get your hopes up, man. She’s not going to show. His doubt only added to his excitement. How long had it been since he’d felt this way?
Of course she wasn’t waiting on him. Checking the time, he saw he was a few minutes early. Okay, Matt. It’s showtime. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he spread out the blanket and sat down. As he unpacked the picnic, he found himself glancing up at every footstep along the path. He hadn’t fully realized how much he wanted her to join him until now. Yeah, he’d probably been a bit too frat boy with his text. He opened the containers and put the bottle of wine down in the center of them. Took a picture. Sent her a text with it attached.
Ms. Reyes, you are cordially invited to join me in a picnic lunch. RSVP.
Nothing. He put the lids back on the containers and lay back on the blanket to watch the clouds drift by. She’s not coming. Probably not even home. You’re out here looking like a stood-up idiot. He smiled up at the sky. Had he ever been stood up before? He lifted his phone.
I have mozzarella. Fresh.
Five minutes later there was still no answer. Maybe she really wasn’t even home. He took a picture of the wine and sent that.
Chardonnay.
He set his alarm to go off in thirty minutes and stretched out on the blanket. If she hadn’t responded or come out by then, he’d leave. The sun was warm on his face and he closed his eyes. The park was full of sound. People talking. Bits of music. The sound of the water splashing in the fountain. The sound of children playing.
“You got a corkscrew?”
He opened his eyes and smiled up at a scowling Lena. He looked at his phone as he sat up. “Five minutes,” he said, showing her the counting-down clock. “I was going to leave.”
She sat primly on the corner of the blanket. “Nice to know you have standards.”
He took the corkscrew out of his backpack and began opening the bottle. “Thanks for joining me.”
“I only came for the wine,” she said as she picked through the containers. “And the cheese.” She popped a chunk in her mouth.
“Wine and cheese,” he said pouring wine into a red Solo cup. He handed it to her. “Duly noted.”
“Hummus! And real pita points, not the chips. Why, Mr. Matthews, you do know how to put on a picnic.”
He felt a weight he hadn’t know existed lift from his chest. He’d made her happy. “But wait, there’s more!”
He pretended to not notice her watching him. He felt like a single wrong word or movement would send her storming back to her apartment in a fury. He kept the conversation light and inane. Weather. Mild hospital gossip.
“Why are we here?”
He looked at her. Her dark brown eyes looked directly at him. Into him. Through him. But he couldn’t see into her. And he wanted to. How he wanted to. He wanted to get behind that wall. Feel the heat he’d felt when she was in his arms. The care he’d seen in her eyes when she was talking to the children. The warmth and strength he’d felt in her family.
“I wanted to talk about yesterday.”
“Yesterday was a mistake. I thought we’d agreed on that.” She sat up and began matching lids to containers.
“I don’t think it was a mistake.”
Her hands stilled and she turned to look at him. “Matt. We can’t do this. I’m your financial manager. We cannot, we will not, have a personal relationship. Besides, I’m not in the market for a relationship right now.”
He let that last remark go unchallenged. Her family certainly seemed to think she was in the market. “Give my account to Mose, then.”
“No. As your financial manager, I can’t give you bad advice. I’m the best there is. For me to tell you to go with a brand-new, untested manager would be bad advice.”
> He grinned at the tone of her voice. Completely professional. “I don’t think you believe that. I think Mose would do just fine with my account.”
“And what makes you qualified to assess that situation?”
He sat up and leaned closer to her. “Because, Lena, you wouldn’t hire anyone you didn’t feel could at least match your skills. And I’ll even go a little further and say you’re the type who is hoping her mentee outshines her one day.”
“That’s true,” she said with a frown. “But it still doesn’t warrant turning your account over to her just because you want to get in my pants.”
“And there’s the problem, Lena,” he said, reaching out to take her hand in his. “I don’t want into your pants. I want into your life.”
She looked down at his hand but didn’t pull away. A good sign. There was no small amount of heat—the bad kind—when she looked up at him. A bad sign. “Does this twaddle work with the sorority girls?”
He let go of her hand. “I’m serious. I don’t know the words. I’m a painter, not a poet. I thought I made my feelings clear when I gave you that sketch. I want to know the woman in that drawing. And I want to know this woman who is glaring at me right now. And I want to know the cool aunt who sends her cousins to college. You’re like a kaleidoscope, Lena. Every time I look at you, I see something different. I want to know it all.”
Her glare softened, but she was still shaking her head. “No, Matt. I can’t. First, because of our current business relationship. Second, because it’s just not the right time for me to...”
Her words drifted off and the look she gave him was one he’d never have expected to see from her: defeated. He couldn’t stand to see it in her eyes. He shrugged and gave her his grin.
“I understand. Had to try though. I’ve never met a woman like you before, Lena Reyes.”
“I can give you some recommendations if you don’t feel comfortable continuing with my company.”
He began to pack away the picnic leftovers. “No. That’s not necessary. I trust you. One hundred percent.”
“I’m sorry, Matt.”
“Me too.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“WHAT DO YOU THINK, Sass? Vietnamese? Thai? Deli?”
Lena scrolled through the list of delivery options on her phone. Sass sat on the coffee table, her head tilted as if she were pondering the decision.
“Sushi?”
Sass meowed at that one and Lena laughed. Oh dear God, you’re sharing jokes with your cat. Dropping the phone, she brought her hands to cover her face. What are you doing? She tried to think of all the reasons she had to turn Matt down this afternoon. Here, now, in the late evening of another Sunday night alone, all her reasons seemed stupid and shallow. She wanted to call Sadie but knew that she was probably tucking Jules into bed and eyeing some grown-up time with Wyatt. Family time.
She sat up and shook her head. “The thing is, Sass,” she said aloud, “Matt is a temptation. I’m done with that. I’m done with going through men like Sadie goes through jelly beans. I had my fun. But it’s time to grow up. It’s time to get serious.”
Yes. Yes. But still. Why did her body remember every sensation stirred up by his kiss? The feel of his mouth on hers. His tongue against hers. The scratch of his beard? The heat of his hands on her back? She let her head drop back. Okay. It was amazing. But you aren’t doing the sex-for-sex’s-sake stuff anymore.
Problem was she wanted him. Wanted to feel his hands on her. Wanted to see what was under that frat-boy facade. Wanted to either shock him or be surprised by him. Wanted to see what the heat of that kiss could ignite.
She left-swiped on her phone. She had a long list of restaurants that delivered. A testament to her success. She didn’t have time to cook. She could afford takeout every night. I am an independent woman. Problem was she wasn’t hungry.
Sliding open the door to the balcony, she learned autumn was finally showing up. Cold air cooled her skin and she took in a deep breath and let it out in a frosty mist. Sass peeked out the door and ran back in to the warmth. Leaning on the balcony railing, Lena looked out over the harbor. Through the oak trees, she could see the lights of the Cooper River Bridge and the Yorktown Memorial Museum. A brightly lit sailboat made its way from the harbor up the Cooper River. Loud voices echoed off the walls from the fountain where college kids had gathered to drink and make out.
And she was alone.
No, no, no, you don’t do this anymore.
She went back inside and closed the door. Slowly. Deliberately. Making sure Sass was inside. Tomorrow, she would be Lena Reyes, the professional. The perfect one. The role model. Whatever other labels people wanted to attach to her. Tonight, she just wanted to be warm.
* * *
“LENA.”
Her denial of her actions crumbled as she faced him. He’d opened the door to her quiet knock, despite her hope that he wouldn’t. And now, face-to-face with him, she thought she would have doubts, come to her senses. But no. The sight of him in a pair of hiking shorts, shirtless, barefoot, with a palette in hand, the smell of oil paint in the air only inflamed her further. He stepped back as she crossed the threshold.
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you see in my heart?” she asked.
He seemed bigger. More masculine. Maybe it was his bare chest. Wide. Muscled. Covered in light brown hair that her fingers wanted to touch. Silky or crisp? She loved crisp chest hair, the feel of it across her breasts. She locked her gaze with his and those icy blue eyes heated up. He stepped back and shut the door.
“What do I see?” he echoed.
“Yes.”
He held out a hand and she took it. He pulled her into the small, sparsely furnished room. There was a table along the wall. Next to it was an easel with a canvas. A landscape, she noted. Placing the palette on the table, he let go of her hand. She watched as he dipped the index fingers of each hand into the paint. Dark red paint.
Her head pounded. Part of her was screaming that this was a mistake. To stop this madness. But part of her was mesmerized by the look in his eyes. Hot. Wild. He lifted his paint-smeared fingers and placed them on either side of her nose, swiping slow streaks to her cheeks.
“I see strength.”
The heat his touch generated clashed with the wet chill of the paint. He put a hand under her chin and tilted her face up. His finger went to the palette again. He reached up, placing a fingertip smeared with a brilliant blue in the center of her forehead and smeared a line down to the tip of her nose.
“I see loyalty.”
“Matt...”
“Shhhh.” He reached one more time for the palette. This time his fingertip found a bright pink. His finger touched her chin immediately below her bottom lip, drawing a gasp from her that grew to a low moan as his finger traced the paint down her chin, throat and to the cleft of her breasts.
“Compassion,” he finished. “That’s what I see in your heart. A fighter. Fighting for those she loves.”
His hands closed in on either side of her face and he kissed her. Slowly, briefly touching his lips to hers as their breath intermingled for a moment before he brought his mouth down on hers, firmly, confidently. Drawing her into his arms. The heat of him against her was almost unbearable and yet she hooked her arms around his shoulders and drew him closer. Her fingers pulled at the band that held his long hair back until it gave way. His hair was like silk beneath her palms.
He pulled his lips away just far enough to whisper, “There are so many things that fascinate me about you.”
She felt the old angry defensiveness rise up. “My exotic beauty?”
“No. How you came to be where you are. The bond you have with your family. Your drive. Your success. Your humor. That fascinates me.”
He kept his eyes loc
ked on hers as he spoke. She’d become adept over her lifetime of spotting the lies. The backpedaling. He was sincere. She felt the tendrils of anger slip.
“That you are here now fascinates me.” His hands moved through her hair. Down her arms to her waist. “Why are you here?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. She reached out and pressed her palms to his chest. Crisp. A smile crossed her lips.
He captured her hands and held them between his. “If you aren’t sure, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s not that. I want to be here. I’m just not sure what I’m doing.”
“I think you know exactly what you are doing.”
She felt heat rise to her cheeks. They both knew. Why was he making her say it? Guys were usually okay with a random booty call. “I want you,” she said in a whisper.
“I got that, but I’m talking about what’s going on in that brain of yours. What’s changed between super-professional-can’t-do-this Lena from this afternoon and showing-up-on-my-doorstep Lena?”
“The sun went down.”
“The sun went down?” He let go of her hands and took a step back. “I’m not sure that’s a good enough reason. Have you been drinking?”
“No.” She stepped toward him. “I’m stone-cold sober.”
He backed up a few more feet. She walked to the easel and looked at the landscape he was painting. It was in the early stages but it looked like a marsh scene. “I like your landscapes better than that modern stuff.”
“You’ve made that very clear,” he said.
He’d moved close enough that she felt his breath on her hair. His hands closed on her shoulders and she leaned back against him. “You want me too.” she said.
“True.”
She turned in his arms. “Then why aren’t we naked?”
He laughed and dipped a finger in yellow paint and put two dots above her eyebrows. “Because I want more than naked.”
She smiled. Oh, she could play this game too. She drew her fingers through the vivid blue paint on the palette. Lifting her hands, her smile grew wider as he lightly grabbed her wrists.
Boss Meets Her Match Page 14
