Matt couldn't help it. His chuckle turned into a laugh at the sight of Mayor Angela Hall, flawlessly groomed as always and clutching a shoe in each hand.
Angie tried very hard to frown, but it was rather v hard to maintain her dignity while she was standing barefoot. The humor of the situation suddenly struck her, and she gave in to a smile. "You're the guest of honor," she reprimanded lightly. "What are you doing hiding out here?"
"Getting a breath of fresh air?" he suggested.
It must have sounded like the feeble excuse it was. Her laughter came so readily and was so unlike the rest of her that Matt found himself studying her once more. There was both strength and softness in those fine- boned features, and he finally admitted to himself that there were some inconsistencies about this woman. And he couldn't have called himself a cop if he wasn't intrigued by the thought of investigating them further.
He also couldn't have called himself a man if he'd been totally unaware of exactly how lovely she really was. It both irritated and amused him that he found her desirable and alluring. To be singed by the flame once was excusable—twice was something only a fool would do. Apparently this was his day to make a fool of himself.
"To tell you the truth," he heard himself say, "I was just thinking I could use a cigarette. Unfortunately, I don't smoke."
A cigarette, not a lollipop? Angie couldn't quite hide her amusement as she thought of Janice's comparison of this man to Kojak.
She also couldn't help thinking that he seemed a little more approachable tonight than on the previous occasions they'd met—the smile softened the blunt edges of his harsh masculinity. Before she had been distinctly on edge. Now she felt she could relax—almost. What was it Matt had said? Something about tonight being a stressful situation.
"I know the feeling," she returned softly. "Unfortunately, fading into the shadows isn't always possible."
"Or expected of the city's mayor," he remarked. There was a small silence before he added almost conversationally, "I suppose you'd rather be anywhere but here right now."
She felt an odd fluttering in her stomach as she watched him slip his hands into his trouser pockets. His hands were big, dark with a generous sprinkling of hair across the wide backs, the fingers long and lean. She shivered, unable to suppress an unwelcome memory of Evan's hands, warm and tender, hard and hurting.
Evan was the last person she wanted to think about now, or any other time for that matter. She forced her attention back to the present.
Moistening her lips, she took a deep breath. "If I say yes, will you believe I don't mean that personally?" She glanced up at him, wishing she could see his face a little better. "Unfortunately, I can't pretend I don't hear when duty calls." She sighed, then added, "But I'm really not very fond of get-togethers like this."
Surely she wasn't saying she was a homebody. Matt tried not to look surprised. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd thought all along that she would be in her element at something like this, just like Linda. But for some reason he was reluctant to call her a social butterfly, either.
"At last, a kindred spirit." His tone was teasing, but his mind had backtracked to the moment before. For just an instant there had been something vulnerable in her expression. But vulnerability was a facet he found difficult to reconcile with his impression of her as diamond hard.
His eyes dropped to the shoes that still dangled from her hands. "You look like Cinderella fleeing the ball," he observed.
She smiled, a rather secretive smile, Matt decided. He watched as she moved a few steps to sink into a wrought-iron chair, putting her high heels beneath it. Her feet, he noticed, were exactly like the rest of her--small, slender, dainty.
"More like Cinderella fleeing the wicked stepmother," she corrected with a thread of amusement in her voice. Tipping her head to one side, she looked up at him. She wasn't really sure why she felt more at ease with him, but the feeling was infinitely better than crossing swords with this man. She only hoped she wasn't about to shatter the truce.
"Do you remember the reporter from the press conference on Monday?" she asked. "The one who—" She paused, suddenly not quite sure how to phrase the question.
His eyes glinted. "Oh, yes. The one who enlightened me as to my—"
"That's the one," she broke in hastily. "Her name is Blair Andrews."
Matt nodded. "Don't tell me—you're not winning any popularity polls where she's concerned."
Angie shook her head. "That obvious, hmm?" She watched as he shrugged, then angled a chair next to hers and sat down. His posture seemed inviting, so she went on. "Actually, Blair's uncle was the last mayor. He was my opponent."
"And she's carrying a grudge because he wasn't reelected?" He hoped he didn't sound uninterested. But it was hard to pretend an absorption in her words when all he could really think of was how pretty she looked with the moonlight turning that golden halo of hair into silken threads of silver. Even those incredibly blue eyes of hers were flecked with silver.
Pretty? God, that didn't even begin to describe her. Gorgeous. She was absolutely gorgeous.
"Are you married?" He didn't recognize the voice as his until it was too late. Hell! Matt thought with annoyance. It sounded as if he were making a pass—and he wasn't. At least he didn't think he was. Not for an angelic-looking temptress with a heart of ice.
"I—" The question startled her. Angie wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was because she didn't like divulging personal details to someone who was, after all, a stranger. But she suspected it had something to do with the rather intent expression in those intense eyes that swept over her body. It was a look that was much too thorough for her peace of mind—and much too male.
Her back was suddenly ramrod stiff in the chair. "That really isn't any of your business," she coolly informed him.
That icy tone was one he was already very familiar with. It riled his defenses and made him madder than
hell. But it also made him want to feel—just once— that he had gotten the long end of the stick.
"Are you?" he asked again.
She glared at him.
Matt grinned in satisfaction.
When she continued to stare at him in tight-lipped silence, he slipped his hands into his pockets. "I'm not," he offered casually. "At least not anymore."
"Do I dare ask why?" Her voice was slightly mocking. "A case of 'marry in haste and repent at leisure' perhaps?"
That was indeed a rather accurate description of Linda's actions when their marriage had ended nearly six years ago, but Matt didn't say so. Instead, he crossed his long legs, then turned so that their knees brushed.
Angie stiffened. This man had an amazing knack for putting her on the defensive. While it was a position she was used to assuming, somehow he made her feel as if she were floundering in deep, unknown waters. She knew she should get up and leave. Now. This instant. The whole conversation was absolutely ridiculous! But when a warm, faintly rough fingertip reached out to touch one of her hands where it lay curled around the thin arm of the chair, she felt a curiously debilitating sense of weakness wash over her. All she could do was focus on that long finger as it traced a random pattern over the back of her hand.
"Angela—" his voice was soft as silk and just as smooth "—you don't mind if I call you that, do you? Or do you prefer Angie?"
She flushed uncomfortably. "Angie," she heard herself confirm in a low voice.
"I was just wondering...is there anything in the city charter that forbids the mayor from fraternizing with the hired help?"
His hand still caressed her own. Caress. Why was she thinking of it like that? she wondered wildly. Even in the muted light she could see that the contrast between his dark skin and her own honey coloring was startling. Her eyes moved slightly to take in the figure next to her, but the sight that she met didn't ease the tight knot of awareness in her chest. The knee nudging her own was connected to a long, tautly muscled thigh. She felt both hot and cold, but she couldn't stop her gaze from
journeying slowly upward. His hips were lean and trim; his jacket parted to reveal a broad expanse of chest.
It was almost a shock to realize that this man—infuriating as he was—touched an awareness inside her that she hadn't felt in a long, long time. She hadn't looked at a man—really looked at a man--since before her marriage. Certainly not after.
She snatched her hand from his and stood up abruptly. "Chief Richardson—" she began.
"Matt. Please call me Matt." He flashed an engaging grin. "Try to forget, just once, our differing stations in life."
He was baiting her. She knew it and she also knew she shouldn't let it disturb her. At the same instant she recalled exactly how thorough her own inspection of his blatant masculinity had been. And oddly, that thought angered her more than any of his roundabout suggestiveness.
"Chief Richardson," she stated with a calm she definitely didn't feel, "let me make one thing perfectly clear. You may be free, but I'm not interested."
With that she turned on her heel and left him sitting in the dark.
Matt watched as she stalked inside the hotel, her head held regally high. It occurred to him then that he'd been trying to get more than just a cool, passive response from her—a response of any other kind would suffice. Experience had taught him to be wary of her type, but again he found himself admitting she was one damn attractive woman. And he couldn't deny that she made him feel more alive than he'd felt in years.
Looks like you got what you wanted, old man, he thought with a smile. She's just as human as you are.
He got to his feet, and as he glanced idly down, his smile was transformed into a full-blown laugh.
Cinderella had left her slippers.
CHAPTER FOUR
Matt found he was still smiling when he stepped onto the porch of a white two-story house a short time later, Angie's shoes tucked under one arm. As his eyes traveled quickly around the darkened property, he experienced a swell of pride. Through the darkness he could just make out the shape of the huge rhododendrons that bordered the house on all sides. When Matt had bought the house a month earlier, he'd been totally entranced with the fragile pink blossoms that displayed frilly ruffles and pale blushes against a background of leathery green leaves. Coming from a man like himself, he'd found his reaction rather amusing, but it hadn't stopped him from vowing to plant a vegetable garden—for the first time in his life.
Inside the living room, sparsely but comfortably furnished, he eased himself into a recliner in front of the fireplace, not bothering to switch on a light. Stretching his long legs out in front of him, it suddenly occurred to him that he was encountering quite a few "firsts."
Buying this house had been a first, for instance. The first fifteen years of his life had been spent cooped up with his mother and his brother in a run-down apartment that wasn't much bigger than this room. Life with Linda had certainly been easier; although the financial rewards of his job had offered security and stability, living fifty floors up in the sterile surroundings she'd called home had been stifling. He had been on a perpetual merry-go-round, and the hell of it was he hadn't even realized it. Only lately had he finally found the way to stop and let himself off.
He wasn't a kid with a whole lifetime of dreams stretching before him. But for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt free, unfettered by demands on his time, on his person.
And what he really craved, what he had longed for all his life, was the security of knowing that he belonged, that he was needed by someone.
Matt's smile retained just a touch of cynicism. For a man who'd been something of a loner since he was a child, it was an odd thing to want out of life. After all the years of emptiness and loneliness, of telling himself that it didn't really matter, was he going all soft and sentimental? Maybe. Yet, he sensed that it was all a part of the change he was going through.
It was odd. Very odd. Here he was, sitting in a darkened room steeped in solitude, but he didn't feel nearly as alone as he had all those years in Chicago.
Yes, he was glad he'd made the move here to Washington. And as his eyes lit on the pair of heels he'd dropped on the couch, he found himself admitting that Angie Hall was only one of the reasons.
But certainly not the least.
Filmy streamers of light found their way into Angie's bedroom the next morning, first in a pale gray haze that chased away the purple shadows of dawn, then in errant shafts of gold that filled the room with brightness.
Angie awoke slowly, savoring the sensation of waking on her own instead of to the insistent blare of the clock radio. Sleeping in an hour late on weekends was a luxury she'd indulged in only over the past year or so. The girls had been too young to supervise themselves before that time, but now Kim was usually able to entertain Casey by switching on Saturday morning cartoons. When Evan was alive, he had been the one allowed to sleep in.
Evan. Angie closed her eyes and steeled herself against an unwelcome surge of emotion. Then, realizing the futility of doing battle with the ghosts of her past, she took a deep breath and let the feelings sweep over her, wondering hopelessly if she could ever make peace with herself... and with him.
After all this time she still felt so many things when she thought of Evan. Pain. Despair. Bitterness. But love? She had entered their marriage with her heart so full of happiness she thought it would burst. At the last the fabric of their love had been so torn and tattered that not even the slightest thread of hope remained. No, there was no love left in her heart for Evan, just as there had been no tears shed when she had learned of his death.
Then there had been only a deep-seated sense of relief that at least she had been spared his anger. Evan had died not knowing that she intended to leave him— for good. And Angie still struggled with a guilt-ridden conscience. Not because she'd planned to divorce him but because she felt such relief that she hadn't been forced to tell him.
With a heavy sigh she rolled over, and it was then that last night's episode with Matt Richardson flooded her consciousness. His rugged face appeared before her, and she experienced a tingly sensation, not pleasant but not entirely unpleasant, either.
The smile that emerged surprised her. She had encountered Chuck Harris, the city's personnel director, the minute she'd marched back into the banquet room. She'd completely forgotten her shoeless state; Chuck's aghast expression had served as a rude reminder. With the aplomb that had served her so well, she'd directed a beaming smile at him but made haste to the nearest exit, thankfully only a few steps away.
Chuckling, she started to throw off the covers, then became aware of Kim snuggled into the space next to her. A warm feeling of pride washed over her but mingled with it was a prickly sense of unease. It wasn't unusual for Kim to steal into bed with her mother at some point during the night. It happened perhaps once a month. Angie quietly studied the peacefully sleeping child. Kim had often been plagued by nightmares following Evan's death, but they had tapered off during the past year. Had they started once more?
Kim stirred beneath her mother's thoughtful gaze. Then, opening her big brown eyes, she rubbed them sleepily.
"Hi, precious." Tenderly she brushed a tumbled curl from Kim's flushed cheek. "Have another bad dream?" Deliberately Angie tried not to sound too worried.
Kim shook her head.
"Was your sister kicking you again?" Angie forced a teasing note into her voice.
Again the little girl shook her head. "I didn't hear you come home last night," she finally admitted in a small voice. "I worry about you when you're late."
Angie's smile was bittersweet. Kim's concern for her was both touching and pathetic. "I wasn't late, sweetheart," she told her gently. "You and Casey were both asleep when I got home, and I did come in and kiss you good-night."
It saddened her that, for Kim, darkness brought with it the shadow of fear. For Angie, the fear had ended, but her daughter's had only begun. She supposed Kim's anxiety stemmed from the fear of finding herself alone. After all, she had alr
eady lost one parent, and it was understandable that she would be afraid of losing the other. It was for that reason that Angie had decided to put Kim and Casey in the same bed.
As if on cue, Casey came racing into the room, her eyes bright and sparkling as though she'd been up and around for hours. "Are you awake, Mommy? I'm hungry and Kim's not downstairs."
Angie felt her spirits rise. "That's because she's right here with me." Reaching out, she lifted her youngest onto the bed and proceeded to tickle both her and her sister until they shrieked with laughter.
"I'm hungry, Mom," Casey piped again when she slid off the bed a few minutes later. "Will you fix breakfast?"
"Sure, hon." Angie reached for the robe draped over the end of the bed and slipped into it. "What would you like?"
"Ice cream!" Casey immediately chortled.
Angie laughed and began to straighten the pale but- tercup-printed comforter. "When was the last time you had ice cream for breakfast?" When the two girls exchanged conspiratorial glances, she groaned. "Now I know why you don't mind if I sleep late on Saturday!"
They settled for French toast dripping with syrup, then Angie spent the remainder of the morning doing household chores.
"Mommy!" Kim wore a frantic look as she ran into the dining room shortly after lunch. "I can't find my jersey and my shorts!"
Hiding a smile, Angie wordlessly handed her a neatly folded blue-and-white jersey and matching blue shorts from the pile of laundry she'd been folding. Kim's game didn't start until two-thirty, so they wouldn't be leaving until shortly before two, but Kim started getting anxious several hours ahead of time.
Ten minutes later she ran back into the room. "Mom, you're not even dressed yet!" she cried distressfully.
Angie shook her head, knowing that Kim wouldn't relax until she'd done so. "I'm going, I'm going," she told the child good-naturedly, abandoning the remainder of the laundry still lying in a heap on the dining room table.
"Can I call Nancy and see if they're ready?" Kim's voice followed her as she headed for the stairs.
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