by Mary Campisi
So he knew. How much had she confided?
“He'd better not hurt her.”
“He won’t.” I mean, I won't.
“If you say that, then you don't know him as well as I do. He never intends to hurt any of his women, but eventually, he tires of them or something about them. Their company, their voice, their choice of shoes. It doesn't matter. When he's had enough, he sends them away, usually with an expensive gift to stop the tears.”
“Sounds like a great guy.” Is that how he sees me? As an arrogant, uncaring, self-centered user?
“Actually, he is, except when it comes to his love life.” Adam sighed. “But you can't blame it all on him. Women use him, too.”
“What about this one?” He knew the answer, but there was some part of him that needed reassurance.
“This one's the only one who could care less if he has a Black Card or that he can walk into any restaurant without a reservation. She cares about him. Period.”
“And he cares about her, so what's the problem?” And why the hell were they still talking in third person, when they both knew they were referring to him?
“She's not a short-timer. This woman's a keeper.”
“I don't think he's making plans to get rid of her.”
“She's the marrying kind.”
Silence.
“We both know he isn't,” Adam said.
More silence. Matt had always told himself he'd never get married, never get boxed in. Better to ride on the outside of commitment, bob and weave in the relationship arena—keep things fresh, fun, fast. Impersonal. Why would he put himself in a situation where another person could peck away at his character, thrust expectations and values on him that were not his? Demean him, as his mother had done to his father. He'd watched the old man withdraw, one year at a time, until he'd erected an armor that shielded him from everything—his wife's dissatisfaction with him, her cruel words. Her separate bed. Even his children's love. He rarely spoke or gave an opinion, even when solicited. The only time the old man came alive was in Three Rivers Stadium watching the Pirates. A few hours a week or month, at best. A sad, pathetic existence. Who needed it? His father had to die to get a little peace. And then came Sara with her husky voice and innocent ways.
She was messing up his frame of reference and making him question his own beliefs.
“She's been hurt before.”
That got his attention. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. She's been hurt before. Bad.”
By a man? The thought of some other man's hands on her body made him sick. “Who?” It was the only word he could push out of his mouth.
Adam didn't answer at first. “Maybe you should ask her.”
“Tell me. Who was it?”
“Her ex-husband.”
“Ex-husband?” If Adam had said an ax murderer or a man with three heads, he wouldn't have been more shocked. “I wasn't aware she had one of those.” Damn right I wasn't aware.
“She does. He left her to move in with his girlfriend the day she lost their baby.”
Baby? Matt plowed a hand through his hair and said, “Are we talking about the same woman?”
“It's Sara.”
“Jesus.” It was just too much to comprehend. He hadn't felt this overwhelmed since he'd lain in a hospital bed, listening to the doctor talk about Seeing Eye dogs. “Why didn't she tell me herself? And why the hell did she tell you?”
“She told me because we're friends. As for why she didn't tell you, I guess you'll have to ask her yourself.”
“Friends.” He couldn't get past the word.
“Yeah, friends.” The challenge hung in the air.
And what was he to Sara? A recreational sport? Her second favorite pastime? What right did she have keeping something like an ex-husband and a dead baby from him? She'd had plenty of opportunities to tell him. He could even recall a few instances where he'd accused her of not knowing real pain and loss. And she'd said nothing to dispute his claim.
Well, she'd sure made him look like a fool, getting him to spill his sad tormented story to her and giving nothing in return. Or very little. But she’d gone and told Adam, because he was her friend. A slow pain wrapped itself around his heart, squeezing, until the hurt was so excruciating, he thought his heart would burst. But it didn't. It kept beating. Damn it all, it just kept beating, one miserable ache at a time.
“Don't be too hard on her.”
Matt ignored his brother, wanting to stay adrift in the pain and anguish of Sara's betrayal. “Are there any other little secrets I should know about?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, I'll consider that a plus.”
“I'm sure she was going to tell you,” Adam said.
“After she told you, of course,” he said, annoyed with the knowledge that left to her own devices she still wouldn't have revealed the truth. “When do you think she might have mentioned that little fact to me?” After we slept together a dozen times? Two dozen?
“I don't know.”
“Neither do I, but I intend to find out.”
***
Sara was already in the study waiting for Matt. She scanned the computer screen, reading the material they'd worked on yesterday. Jack Steele was working his way into her heart. Under that arrogant chauvinistic armor he wore, there was a tender, caring side that showed itself every once in a while. Not often, but on rare occasions, the reader got a glimmer of it. If her instincts were correct and her powers of persuasion forceful enough, this macho, love 'em and leave 'em guy just might realize he'd fallen for the innocent brunette with the big amber-green eyes.
And maybe, just maybe, another macho, love 'em and leave 'em guy, might realize the same thing about her. She hoped. The past five days had been filled with long walks on the beach, visits to the local market, hours of committing Jack Steele's escapades to the hard drive and talking. Real talking—about attitudes, perceptions, ideas. There were also great gaps of silence, when just being together and holding hands was communication enough.
And the nights, well they had their own form of communication, unlike any she'd experienced before. Matt might not be able to identify her by sight, but his hands knew every inch of her body and she was learning every inch of his.
The door opened, interrupting her thoughts. Matt. Sara looked up and smiled.
“Why the hell didn't you tell me you had an ex-husband?” He slammed the door behind him and advanced on her, disbelief etched on his face.
No, not now. She sat there, stunned and staring, unable to formulate a single scrap of plausible explanation.
“Answer me, damn you,” he demanded, towering over her. “Tell me why you could let me explore every inch of you and not tell me you'd been married and lost a baby?”
She swallowed and forced out the truth. “It was too painful.”
“But not too painful to discuss with Adam.” The calmness in his voice didn't hide the hurt and anger in his words.
“It just happened.”
“It just happened,” he repeated, hurling her words back. “And it couldn't just happen with me, could it? Of course not. You don't trust me enough with something as personal as your real feelings. I'm just for sex.” He turned and stalked across the room.
“That's not true. I should have told you,” she managed, her gaze trained on the back of his head. “I was wrong.”
He didn't turn, didn't even acknowledge he'd heard her.
She tried again, stumbling over her words. “I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't want our relationship to be marred with the past. It means too much to me.” She paused and said in a hoarse voice, “You mean too much to me.”
He flinched. “But not enough to trust me with your past. That privilege was reserved for Adam.”
She was losing him... “I don't care about Adam the way I care about you.”
Matt laughed. “Do you care about me, Sara? Really care?” He swung around. “Or have I just proved a convenient c
ase study? Or should I say case stud?”
“Don't.” She swiped at her cheeks. “Don't let your anger diminish what we share.”
“What we share? What do we share, enlighten me. Analyze it please, because I'm way off base.” He took a few steps toward her. “I thought we were building something, based on trust and caring.”
“We were. We are.”
“Then why would you shatter that trust by confiding something to my brother that you should have come to me about?”
“Adam made a few comments that led me to believe he held out hope for a more personal relationship with me. I didn't want to hurt him by telling him I could never care about him that way, because of you, so I told him about my ex-husband. It just kind of came out as an avoidance tactic.” Sara sighed. “It didn't work. It took him about two seconds to figure out there was something going on between you and me.
“You still should have told me.”
He wasn't going to give her a break. “I realize that.”
“You should have realized it before you spilled your heart out to Adam.”
Anger gripped her and spilled out in her next words. “Since when did you become an expert on relationships?”
“I never claimed to be an expert, but I sure as hell know what destroys them.”
“Speaking from experience, I presume.”
He ignored the snide comment. “I never wanted one to work before and I'm starting to think I'm damn crazy for wanting one to work now.”
Had she heard him right? “What did you just say?”
“I said I think I'm damn crazy,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“No. Not that. The part about wanting this to work.”
“Nothing.” He looked in her direction and she wondered once again how a blind man could look into her heart, tear aside the curtains of her soul and peer inside.
“You said something about wanting to make this work. Do you, Matt? Do you want to make this…us…work?”
“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “Even when we're arguing, I want you by my side. I must be crazy.”
She moved to the side of the desk and put her arms around his neck. Leaning up on tiptoe, Sara planted a light kiss on his lips and whispered, “If it's any consolation, I feel the same way.” He smiled and bent his head to deepen the kiss. “If you want to talk about my ex-husband—”
He pulled her to him. “Not now.”
She welcomed him, pressing her body into his.
He brushed his lips over hers. “I want you.”
“What about your book?”
His laugh rolled over her. “Time for research,” he said, cupping her butt in the palm of his hands.
Oh, but she loved his touch. “The bedroom?”
“Too far away.” He took her hand and led her to his leather easy chair. Matt sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “Perfect.” His hands skimmed her bare legs, maneuvering under the thin cotton dress she wore to settle on the triangle of silk between her thighs. “These have got to go,” he said, shifting her hips and working the pale pink material down her legs.
His fingers found her heat, stroked, and made her squirm until she was tugging at his shorts and dipping her hand inside. “Take these off,” she whispered, fingering his briefs. With her still on his lap, Matt lifted his hips and pulled his shorts and briefs down. Just enough to free himself. Sara smiled. Just enough to touch him.
Just enough to drive him wild.
She gave his penis three long strokes. “Wait,” he rasped, reaching over to open the drawer of the small side table next to them. He pulled out a gold foil packet and held it up.
“Do you have these things all over the house?”
He grinned. “Every nook and cranny.”
“You horrible man.”
“Not horrible man. Horny man.”
Sara snatched the foil packet from his fingers. “Glow in the Dark Gold. What if Rosa found one of these? I'd never be able to face her again.”
“Don't kid yourself. If Rosa, the matchmaker, came across one, she'd probably stick it on your lunch tray, right next to your napkin and tell you to ‘Take care of Mister Matt.’”
“You really are horrible.”
“No.” He trailed a finger over the cotton covering her nipple. “I really am horny.”
“I think I've got a cure for that,” she whispered. She ripped open the packet and fit the gold shimmering latex on him. Then she stroked him again.
“I can't wait any longer.” He grabbed her hips and repositioned her body over his. “Not one second longer.” The tip of his penis touched her, teased her. With a low groan, he impaled her, filling her with raw pleasure and wild need. She moved her hips, sliding along his length, slow at first, then faster, giving herself up to pure sensation.
“It's too damn good,” he ground out. Sara felt his need pulsing through his body in quick jerky thrusts, his rapid shallow breathing fanning her ear.
She rode him harder, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons on his tanned skin. “Come with me, Matt,” she pleaded. “Come with me.”
He grasped her hips, pumping into her with long determined strokes, eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth set in a firm line of concentration. Sara closed her eyes and gave herself up to the feel of him possessing her.
“Sara,” he groaned as heat filled her body, sharp and intense, sending her fragmenting into oblivion. She collapsed against him and buried her head in the crook of his neck.
Matt pulled her closer.
This was where she belonged. Here, in his arms, with his breath washing over her, the beat of his heart thumping under her hand. Forever wouldn't be long enough to stay like this. Cradled. Protected.
Loved.
Loved? Did Matt love her? Could he ever love her? Just her? And if he didn't? If he couldn't? The questions pulled at her, gnawing away hope and possibility like buzzards pecking their prey. Foolish, foolish, foolish, they nipped. So foolish to give your love. Again. They ripped a chunk from her heart.
Just like he was going to do.
“Sara?”
Matt's voice touched her, soothed her. Made her ache with the pain of loving him.
“No more secrets,” he said, stroking her hair. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she murmured, knowing even as she made the promise she couldn't keep it. Not until she knew whether Matt would view her love as a blessing or a curse.
Chapter 17
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Matt smiled, thinking that the words Sara had just yelled out in front of twenty-five thousand fans were the same ones she'd used last night. In bed.
“He got a double. Winning run's at the plate.”
“Then I did better than he did,” he whispered in her ear. “I scored a triple last night.”
“Matt. Someone will hear you.” Her throaty voice shot straight to his groin.
He had to stop thinking about last night. About how incredible it had been. Again. But then, with Sara, every time was a new, wonderful, incredible experience. Better than the last.
“Keep your fingers crossed,” she instructed, lacing her fingers with his.
“I have my good luck charm right here,” he said, squeezing her hand.
The radio in his right hand blared the batter's statistics. The crowd cheered.
“Do you think he can pull it out?” Sara asked.
“He's capable, but he's been known to choke.”
“That's what I'm afraid of.” She’d just spoken when the announcer blared, “Strike one.”
“Darn. Come on,” Sara yelled. “Pull it together.”
“Strike two.”
“Let's go, Pirates!”
Matt listened for the crack of wood on leather. He heard it, half a second before Sara jumped from her seat
“Yes!” she yelled.
His gaze shot instinctively to the outfield. Flashes of light assaulted him, shocked him, paralyzed him. He stared, eyes wide open, as hundreds of balls of lig
ht blinked at him, beacons in a sea of darkness. What the hell? He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed his hand over his face and looked again.
Blackness.
He blinked twice, tried again.
More blackness.
What the hell had happened? He hadn't seen anything, not so much as a thin ray of light since the accident. But what he'd just experienced, this bombardment of visuals, had been real. Hadn't it?
“Matt? Can you believe it?” Sara's voice reached him through his confusion. “Wasn't that incredible?”
“Incredible,” he murmured, setting his gaze toward the outfield. “Absolutely incredible.”
***
He was going crazy. What other possible explanation could there be for the events of the past four days? Matt slouched low in his lounge chair, ball cap pushed down on his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun. One. Two. Three. He took a deep breath. Four. Five. Go! He flipped the cap up and turned his gaze to the sun. And darkness.
“Damn.” He'd been playing this little game for the past two hours. Ten times, he'd tried to ‘see’ the sun's light. It had worked on six attempts. Bright rays of light had seared his lids, making him recoil from its brightness.
To say he'd become obsessed with his situation was an understatement. Since the day at the ball game, when he'd looked into the stands and seen balls of light, he'd fostered hope of seeing again. Something was happening. He was certain of it. Something big.
And he was petrified.
What if he did regain his vision? What would happen? His world was different now. He didn't want the glitz and glamour of public life. Not the notoriety or the pressure of insincerity. Or the women. He only wanted one woman and one life. But what if he could regain his sight and have a life with that one woman? Wouldn't he have everything he'd ever wanted? Didn't he owe it to them both to try?
From the first night after the game, he'd been testing himself, experimenting with light and vision. Crazy little schemes, like sitting in the bathroom, flicking lights on and off. Or having Rex take him and Sara for a drive at night, just to stare at the headlights. Sometimes he saw them flashing before him in the breadth of a second only to disappear into darkness. Other times there was nothing but a steady stream of black.
