"What happened?" he asked softly.
Haltingly Bonnie's story emerged. But it wasn't only Bonnie's story. It was Angie's, Angie's and countless others'. Matt offered no solutions; he offered no advice. He was simply there, and that was enough.
There was no question the incident had affected Angie profoundly. Matt was stunned at the raw emotion in her voice. When she had finished, time had slipped quietly by.
"If I had known how much this was going to upset you, I wouldn't have arranged for you to go." There was an edge of self-disgust in his voice. "I'm sorry, Angie."
"Matt!" She twisted around so that she could see him. Without realizing it, she laid her fingers along his jawline, wanting only to ease the tight lines around his mouth. "Don't be sorry," she pleaded urgently. "If anything, it's only made me that much more determined to establish a shelter here in Westridge."
His eyes held hers for an endless moment, then a slow smile claimed his mouth. "And if ever a woman could take on city hall and win, it's you."
"Let's hope so." She found herself teasing back. He looked so different when he smiled, she marveled silently, so unlike the harsh stranger who had walked into her office only a few short weeks ago—and turned her life upside down.
Slowly, suddenly, she became aware of the position that they were in. Matt was tucked into a corner of the sofa, and she was wedged between his hard thighs, her hip nestled intimately against the most masculine part of him.
Her breath came jerkily. Her hand began to fall away from his face, only to be stopped by Matt midway.
"Don't," he whispered. "Don't be afraid to touch me. And don't be afraid to let me touch you."
Did his voice tremble? That Matt might be vulnerable, too, had never really occurred to her. Yet when it did, she felt something come undone inside her. If it wasn't for that vulnerability, she could have resisted.
But she couldn't. Dear God, she couldn't. She could only watch in wonder and fear as he slowly lifted her hand and replaced it on his cheek.
"Touch me, Angie. Touch me..."
She was helpless against such gentle encouragement. Her eyes drifted closed, and with a tiny moan her fingers moved. Tentatively, slowly, she discovered the chiseled hardness of his cheekbone, the lean hollow below, the tiny lines that faded outward from his eyes. The abrasive feel of his night-shadowed beard sent a cramping feeling of excitement racing through her.
Her lids snapped open. She stared directly into eyes that burned with a warm silver glow, a glow that beckoned, enticed.
Her lips parted. His name emerged as a husky sigh. "Matt..." It was a plea, but whether it was for him to stop or continue this strange spell of awareness he had cast over her, she didn't know.
But Matt did. He only prayed that this was the right thing to do... and the right time to do it.
He felt her tense when his lips settled over hers. He didn't draw away, he just continued to graze his mouth lightly against hers, the contact so feather light it was almost nonexistent. Soon the hands that had knotted into fists at his shoulders slowly uncurled. He hesitated, then savored her breath misting warmly, intimately with his, before deepening the kiss.
A heady sensation engulfed Angie when his lips fully encompassed her own, trapping her mouth under his with tender temperance. In some distant part of her mind, she sensed that she and Matt had been heading inevitably toward this moment since the night he'd driven her home.
It seemed just as inevitable that her body was responding with a wild, sweet will of its own. A thousand tingly sensations rained over her as his tongue dipped sensually into the moist warmth of her mouth, sweetly tempting with a delicious artistry that stole her breath away.
Her hands, no longer content to lie passively against his shoulders, slid around to explore the tautened muscles of his back. She yearned to feel his bare skin and paused only a moment before slipping her hands under his shirt.
His skin was smooth and hard. She thrilled to the feel of muscle and bone beneath her questing fingertips. Her hands wavered between shy and bold as she discovered the supple length of his back. Then, as if savoring the exquisite sensation of warm skin and sinewed muscle, she slowly traced a lingering pathway downward, stopping only when she encountered the waistband of his jeans.
Her breasts ached where they rested against his shirt. Her nipples, already beaded with desire, grew harder still. Suddenly she longed to thread her fingers through the mat of hair on his chest and discover for herself whether it was as soft as it looked.
Her fingers began to trace an outward line along his belt, delighting in the lean strength of his body. It wasn't until her fingers encountered an alien hardness, the cold smoothness of metal, that a numbing realization set in.
Matt was wearing a gun.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Matt wasn't prepared for her withdrawal. The depth of her response took him by surprise, but pleasure at her reaction soon overrode all else. He had dreamed of this, of her body soft and pliable against his, her hands running wild over his skin. He'd longed for it so much it almost seemed too good to be true. And it was.
One moment she was warm and willing, the next, still and unresponsive in his arms. His mind still spinning with the most potent desire he had ever experienced, it took a few seconds before he realized something was wrong. She was trembling, but not in pleasure or anticipation.
"Angie?" Slowly he lifted his head to stare down at her questioningly. He kept her firmly within the circle of his arms. "Did I hurt you?"
Angie wet her lips. The feel of smooth, deadly metal still lingered against her skin. It had been cold... so cold.
Matt felt her quiver. He let her go, his eyes puzzled as she wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward off a chill. She was staring straight at him, yet he had the unnerving sensation it wasn't him she was seeing at all but someone else. Watching her stare at him, her lovely blue eyes filled with anguish and pain, kindled that fierce protectiveness that she alone evoked in him. Yet he sensed he didn't dare touch her.
"Angie?" he repeated. His voice was calm, but there was an edge of authority in it.
She started at the sound. She swallowed deeply, and her eyes seemed to refocus on his face. "You...you're wearing a gun." Her voice, thin as it was, carried the ring of accusation.
"I always do," he returned quietly. Up until that moment he'd forgotten the small caliber weapon tucked into a holster at his hip; He realized she must have felt it. But there was more to her reaction than just being startled. Much more. At the same time he was aware once again that there was a lot he didn't know about Angie. No. No, that wasn't right. There was a great deal that she refused to share with him.
Their knees still touched where she sat huddled beside him; he had only to reach out a hand to touch the softness of her cheek. But at this moment he felt as if they were eons apart.
"Does it scare you?" he asked. "My wearing a gun?"
The words fell into a hollow silence. Angie closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushions. It was apparent that she was fighting some silent inner battle.
"It doesn't scare me exactly," she finally admitted, then gestured vaguely. "It just..." She stopped, gnawing at her lower lip with her teeth.
"Bothers you?" he supplied. "It's not unusual for cops to wear off-duty weapons, you know."
"No, I don't suppose it is." She paused. "I just never really thought about your wearing one, though," she added in a low voice.
"I try not to advertise it." He deliberately reached out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't flinch or move away. Encouraged, he asked softly, "Why are you so afraid of guns?"
"I'm not," she said quickly. Angie realized by Matt's knowing half smile that he would challenge her denial. Angie sighed dispiritedly. Matt wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than the truth. And what did it matter if he knew?
She didn't look at him as she said tonelessly, "Evan was killed by a rifle. He was on a hunting trip, and it went off one night when he was cleani
ng it."
For the longest time Matt didn't say anything. Angie began to wonder if he'd even heard her. Then she felt his touch, so tender, so achingly sweet, it made her throat swell with emotion.
A lone forefinger turned her face to his. At the same time he reached for her hand, threading their fingers together, his thumb stroking a reassuring pattern on her flesh.
"Evan was your husband?" he asked quietly.
She nodded wordlessly.
"Do you know," he said very softly, his lips hovering a mere breath away from hers, "that's the first time you've ever said his name to me? No, don't pull away." His fingers exerted the necessary pressure to keep her hand where it was. He seemed to hesitate. "Does it really hurt so much after all this time?"
She almost hated herself for the flicker of pain she heard in his voice. Matt believed she still loved Evan. She regretted deceiving him like this, but it was easier. So much easier.
"Please, Matt." Her eyes pleaded with him. "I don't want to talk about him. Please."
Matt was tempted to hold her tight and never let her go, to demand that she talk to him once and for all. Instead, he dropped her hand and got to his feet, his expression both grim and regretful.
"We've been tap-dancing around your husband's ghost too long already," he said quietly. "Dammit, Angie, anyone can see you're holding too much inside. I think you need to talk about him."
Long, tension-filled seconds reigned as he confronted her. Her delicately sculpted features were almost colorless. The dark anguish in her eyes was like a dagger to his heart. He despised himself for the torment he was putting her through, but at the same time he felt she left him with no other choice.
Angie shook her head helplessly. It was one thing to talk about a marriage gone sour, but quite another to divulge the hell Evan had put her through. There were some truths far too painful to reveal.
"I can't, Matt. I just can't." Her voice caught raggedly.
A minute slipped quietly by. Then another.
"Is it always going to be like this with us?" His voice cut through the tense, waiting silence. "One step forward, two steps back?"
She couldn't face his demanding, accusatory stare. Her gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap to still their trembling. Why couldn't he just let her go? she wondered despairingly. Couldn't he see what this was doing to her?
Conversely, she realized he meant well. Because he cared. And so did she. But she didn't want to feel this way about Matt, or any man. She had suffered a betrayal of the worst kind, and while the sane, sensible part of her said it wasn't logical that her feelings should carry over to another man, another part of her wasn't listening.
"I told you once I wasn't ready for this."
When she finally looked up at him, her smile was so sad, so bittersweet, he felt a gnawing ache begin deep inside his chest. "And I told you we can get through this." His chest expanded with a deep, unsteady breath. "We, Angie. Not just you. And not just me, but us."
Together, he meant. The word resounded in her mind. "I wish I could believe that." Her voice was almost whimsical, but her deep blue eyes seemed haunted.
Matt stood and advanced toward the door. There he turned. "I want you, Angie, and I'm prepared to wait," he said very quietly. "Because someday there won't be any secrets between us." His eyes found hers across the width of the room. "Someday soon."
The door closed softly behind him.
That day would never come, she thought sadly, her heart filled with an inexplicable emptiness. She had let Matt come far too close already. Even though she had seen the gentle, caring side of him, she knew he could be as strong and forceful as Evan had been, and that made her wary of him. Matt was so determined. But so was she.
No, that day would never come. She would see to it. Somehow...
***
Spirits at the Hall household on Sunday, although not at an all-time low, certainly could have been improved upon. Angie had tossed and turned the night before and woke bleary-eyed with a nagging headache. The girls reacted to the news of Spooky's disappearance exactly the way she'd said they would. They were crushed. As for her own blue mood, she refused to examine the source, though she told herself firmly it had nothing to do with Matt Richardson! The three of them moped around the house, and even a trip to McDonald's that evening failed to cheer up the two youngsters.
More from a sense of duty than any real hope, on Monday she placed an ad in the lost and found column of the newspaper, just in case Spooky turned up. Then she spent the day buried under a mountain of paperwork, though one reprieve came when the council ratified the city's budget that evening. By Wednesday, what with trying to muster support for the city hall renovations and the women's shelter, she felt as if she'd stepped onto a merry-go-round.
Her work had always served as a way of getting her mind off any personal problems she faced, allowing her to put things in perspective. But as the week wore on, she felt the tight rein she usually kept on her emotions slipping further and further from her grasp.
She heard nothing from Matt. During Thursday's staff meeting he was polite, courteous but, above all, so damn businesslike she could have screamed with frustration. The moments she'd spent in his arms, his lips coaxing a warm response from hers, might never have happened.
Perhaps he'd finally decided to take her at her word. She'd said she wasn't ready for a man in her life, and, at long last, he must have realized she meant it.
In the cold light of day, she told herself that was what she wanted. She couldn't risk any kind of relationship with Matt, and if she'd let him believe otherwise, she'd have been guilty of leading him on. But in the dark hours of the night, when loneliness ran high and her defenses ebbed low, she missed him. She missed his late-night phone calls, his smile that eased the harshness of his features, the oddly tender light in his eyes, his gentle humor.
Matt, on the other hand, was feeling just as uncertain. He was at a total loss over how to proceed with her. Already he felt as if he'd been dragging his feet forever. Patience and understanding had gotten him nowhere, but at the same time he knew a woman like Angie would rebel just as fiercely if he decided to come on strong and determined. In fact, he thought grimly, nothing would send her running in the opposite direction more quickly than a few caveman tactics. If it hadn't been for the times he glimpsed a certain wistfulness in her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking, he might indeed have given up on her.
By Friday Matt was miserable, and Angie wasn't any closer to understanding what was in her heart.
Even Todd, showing an unusual sensitivity, noticed her blue mood. "Is something bothering you?" he asked point-blank in her office early that afternoon.
Other than the fact my life has been turned upside down lately, not a thing. She bit back the uncharacteristic sarcasm and forced herself to lean back in her chair. "Not a thing," she said briefly. Todd hadn't made any more overtures toward her, but the friendly companionship they had once shared was gone. They had even disagreed over some city-related matters, something that had rarely happened before.
"Is it that incident with your cat?" he asked suddenly. "Or the vandalism in your yard?" He shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. Probably just some rowdy kid in the neighborhood."
"Matt Richardson thinks the two incidents are connected." The words were no sooner out than she was annoyed with herself once more. He had already dominated her thoughts to the nth degree, and here she was talking about him!
Todd's smile was skeptical. "Coming from Chicago, he probably thinks there's a mugger lurking around every corner, too."
Angie said nothing. Not only did she have no desire to discuss either the two incidents or Matt, but she had the vague feeling that Todd disliked Matt.
The next second her hand was on the intercom. "Georgia, would you see if Steve Jackson is free for lunch next Monday?"
"Sure thing, boss," came the disembodied reply.
Todd lifted an eyebrow. "Still trying to woo h
im over to your side of the fence on the city hall issue?"
For some reason his tone rankled. "Something wrong with that?" she asked coolly.
There was a thoughtful expression on his face. "Steve seems pretty adamant in his support of a new building—"
"And so are John Curtis and Mike Matthews." She gave him a long, hard look. "It isn't going to stop me from trying."
"I don't know, Angie," he said with a shrug. "Hard to believe, but the money's there. A lot of people think a new building is the way to go." He smiled and added mildly, "Since it's not an election year, you don't have to be overly concerned about the voters rallying against you."
Angie couldn't believe what she was hearing. "That doesn't even enter into it, and you know it! We've had public feedback that proves there are just as many people who think a new building is a frivolous expense," she countered hotly. "And there are other services that will go up in smoke unless we renovate and use the excess monies elsewhere. It's a question of priorities, Todd!"
He frowned across at her. "Don't be so defensive, Angie. I'm on your side, you know."
"It doesn't sound like it," she retorted. He had the grace to look a little sheepish, and she found her anger dwindling. She pushed herself to her feet and rose to stare pensively out the window. The bright blue sky was cloudless, providing a colorful background for the lush green forests carpeting the ridges of the foothills to the east. The quiet serenity of the scene before her reminded her only too clearly of the tumultuous state of her emotions lately.
"I'm sorry, Todd," she said after a moment. "I haven't been in the best of moods all week." She turned slightly and offered a weary smile. "Maybe I've been cooped up inside too long. Summertime blue, I suppose."
"Maybe what you need is a day off," he suggested warmly. "Or better yet, a night out."
Angie began to shake her head, but suddenly the door burst open and Georgia rushed in.
"Will you look at this!" she announced. "Of all the nerve! Why, if I knew who did this I'd..."
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