Almost Naked, Inc.

by Karen Anders

  A long week. He resented the need even as he felt it. He wasn’t the kind of man to have fanciful notions and romantic needs, but with Bridget all his carefully crafted thoughts seemed to dry up and blow away, so much ash.

  His work had always sustained him. If he had to examine his feelings for Bridget, it would take him a century. All tied up in knots and teetering on the edge of madness, he picked up the Cosmo and headed through her mother’s ostentatious house to find the woman who was driving him to complete and utter distraction.

  As for Emily’s dire warning, Matt just couldn’t be that concerned about MIT finding out that he was the brains behind the sexy lingerie fabric. A disaster to be sure, but it was the thought of losing Bridget to a life that caused her so much anxiety, a life that he just couldn’t imagine himself fitting into that really worried him.

  Yet he wanted her in his life. The need to tell her…everything pressed against his brain and his heart.

  “EXCUSE ME?”

  Bridget turned away from the conversation that she’d been embroiled in for the last ten minutes by two of her mother’s dearest friends, who were pumping her for information about the latest fashions from Paris. An elegantly dressed woman waited expectantly to catch her attention.Bridget kept her society smile in place. “Yes,” she answered, steering the woman away from her mother’s friends, who closed ranks and continued to talk.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I just had to know where you got that dress.”

  “I made it, actually.”

  “Did you really? I own Clarice’s Unique Boutique downtown.” She stuck out her hand. “Clarice Wentworth.”

  Bridget took it and shook. “Bridget Cole.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I would love one in each size if you could manage it.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really…” The woman looked so eager Bridget couldn’t say no. “All right.”

  “Wonderful. Here’s my card. Please call me when they’re ready and tell me what you’d charge for each.”

  Bridget took the card and smiled. “Charge? Right. Charge. I’ll call tomorrow.”

  “Wonderful. My young clients are going to fight over these dresses.”

  “I told you that your designs were to die for, honey.”

  Bridget’s head jerked up at the sound of Danny’s voice, but her greeting died in her throat. Danny was dressed in a lavender and yellow summer dress with a short knit sweater in a lemon-yellow. He had a large straw sun hat on his head with violet sprigs gracing the brim. With his face made up and his long dark hair out of the ponytail he usually wore, he looked stunning.

  Reaching out, he put his finger beneath her chin and closed her mouth. “Speechless?”

  “To say the least. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a member of your mother’s society club.”

  Bridget covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Isn’t it delicious? She doesn’t even suspect a thing.”

  “How long have you been a member?”

  “About six months. So Clarice wants to buy your dress. How does that feel?”

  “Crazy, since I’ve never considered my sewing worth cold hard cash. I didn’t go to school for designing.”

  “You have natural talent. Who’s to say you’re not a designer. If someone wants the goods, you deliver, sister. You ever need anything from the BQU, you let us know. We’re here for you. Ta ta.”

  With a wave, he moved across the lawn with a sexy hip swing. She really would have to catch his show in Boston. He was something else.

  “Hey there,” Matt said, and she turned around to find him holding the Cosmopolitan. He handed it to her and she took it, taking a sip.

  “Thanks, I needed this.”

  “Tough crowd?”

  “You have no idea.”

  He took her hand and led her toward some box hedges that shielded them from the other guests. “Matt, what are you doing?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” She sipped her Cosmo, met his eyes and everything inside her froze. She fell into his intense eyes and her heart did a slow barrel roll in her chest.

  “Matt don’t…”

  “There you are,” her mother said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You need to attend to your social obligations. Come now. I’d like to introduce you to Sylvia Moore. She’s dying to know all about your life in New York.”

  Dragging Bridget away from Matt, the rest of her Cosmopolitan sloshed out of the glass. Bridget mourned its loss.

  “Wait a damn minute.”

  Bridget had never heard Matt use that tone of voice. It seemed to come from some tortured place inside him.

  Experiencing a flurry of emotions, Bridget tried to get her mother to release her, but the woman had a death grip on her wrist.

  Finally, her mother stopped in the middle of the lawn, Matt close on her heels. “What is it? Can’t it wait?”

  “No. It can’t wait. Damn, but you are a selfish woman. Don’t you understand anything? I want to talk to your daughter in private.”

  “What could you possibly have to say that is so important?”

  “I love her, dammit!”

  His loud proclamation carried across the lawn and everyone within shouting distance turned their heads. Some smiled, others nodded, the silence deafening.

  Her mother dropped her wrist and looked at him with horror. Feeling suddenly shaky inside, Bridget met his eyes. “What did you just say?”

  “I love you. It’s not exactly the way I wanted to tell you, but I can’t hold it back any longer.”

  Bridget grabbed his wrist and dragged him from the lawn, up the stairs of the patio and through the French doors into the living room. Thinking frantically where they could go in her mother’s overrun house, the answer came to her.

  She dragged him into the library, closing the ornate mahogany doors firmly behind her. Her insides a tangle of uncertainty, she pulled him into the English greenhouse and stood there staring.

  Her chest filled up with all kinds of emotions too overwhelming to define and suddenly her vision blurred. God, but she loved him.

  A confused frown appeared on Matt’s forehead. “Bridget?”

  She tried to smile as she stroked his cheek with her thumb, wonder unfolding in her.

  She stared at him for an instant longer, and then she closed her eyes and came into his arms, holding on to him with a desperate strength. Matt turned his face against her neck, locking his arms around her.

  “I think I’ve loved you forever,” he whispered, his breath sending chills across her skin. Stepping away, he cupped her chin and turned her face up to his. “I don’t have a childhood memory without you in it. These last weeks have been great.” He slid his hand under her hair and caressed her neck.

  Inhaling raggedly, the air perfumed with flowers, she tightened her hold on him, an agony of relief rushing through her. She released a soft sob.

  He leaned down and brushed her lips with a soft, undemanding kiss. Bridget closed her eyes and opened her mouth beneath his, not wanting to let go of him ever, not sure if she could make good on that desire. Matt held her head still as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moist and warm as he leisurely worked it back and forth against hers. She grasped his arm to steady herself, a tingling weakness traveling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he increased the pressure, and the kiss turned deep and carnal.

  Releasing a shaky sigh, Matt eased away, then swore softly and gathered her up in a snug, comforting embrace. Rubbing his jaw along the top of her head, he locked his arms around her hips. “Bridget, please say something. I’m dying here.”

  Bridget slid her arms around his neck. “I love you, too.”

  “Thank God,” he whispered raggedly. Brushing his mouth softly against hers, he felt something change, escalate into something more.

  Feeling almost desperate, she tightened her arms around his neck. “Oh, Matt…”


  Her face wet with tears, she cradled his head with both arms, unbearable tenderness filling her to the very brim. God, but she loved him. Right down to her soul.

  Matt didn’t move for the longest time, and then he exhaled with a shudder and shifted his hold. “I’m going to have to sit down,” he whispered unevenly. “Just don’t let go.”

  Bridget couldn’t have let go if her life depended on it, and she nodded and stroked the back of his head. Tightening his grip around her, he turned using a table full of gardenias as a back brace as he lowered them both to the ground.

  The greenhouse floor was tiled, and cold on Bridget’s legs as she tucked them back, straddling his hips. Still cradling his head against her breast, she pressed a soft kiss against his hair, the dim light inside the greenhouse making her even more acutely aware of him.

  Running his hands up her arms, he turned his head and kissed her just under her ear, then spoke, a faint trace of amusement in his voice, “This is the very first time in my life that I’ve ever drawn attention to myself like that. It’s your fault.”

  Smiling, Bridget bracketed his face with her hands, resting her forehead against his. “No, it most certainly isn’t my fault.”

  He chuckled. “Whose fault is it?”

  “My mother’s.”

  At the surprised look on his face, she laughed, sliding her arms around his neck.

  “You’re right. If she’d only given me some privacy.” She felt him smile, and he tightened his hold and gave her a firm hug. “Then again, we might never have said what we said.”

  “You’re an opportunist, Fox.”

  “Open the henhouse and I’m there, baby. I never turn down a plump chicken.”

  She laughed against his face, hugging him back hard.

  “We’d better go,” he murmured, his voice soft. “With our luck, your mother will come out here on the pretense of picking up an orchid.”

  Hooking his thumb under her chin, he angled her head, giving her a soft, sweet kiss, and then he released another sigh. Grasping her by the waist, he supported her as she eased off him. The dimness affected her sense of balance, and Matt held her arm until she steadied herself, then he got up, brushing against her. “It’s my new favorite fragrance.”

  He left the greenhouse and Bridget followed, clamping her hand across her mouth to stifle her mirth until she got it under control.

  “Geez, woman,” he whispered, his voice quivering with his own suppressed laughter. “Be quiet. I don’t know about you, but I’ve made enough of a spectacle of myself for one day.”

  Fighting to contain herself, she nodded, her shoulders starting to shake. Matt put his finger to his lips as he eased the library door open. Miraculously, no one was there.

  “Where did everyone go?”

  “They’re probably at the lecture.”

  “What lecture?”

  “My mother has a speaker come for almost all her functions.”

  “What’s the topic?”

  “Dirt, I think.”

  That started off another round of giggles. “Damn,” Matt said jumping away from the door and closing it. “Everyone’s coming back in. We can’t get out that way.”

  “How about we go through the greenhouse?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Except when they got to the outside door, it was padlocked.

  Bridget swore under her breath and looked around. She saw the window at the same time Matt did. Bridget shook her head, held her hands up and backed away, nearly overcome by a fit of silent giggles. If he thought she was going to climb through that window—in a dress—he was out of his mind.

  Giving her a sidelong glance, he grinned. “Piece of cake.”

  She shook her head again, but he totally ignored her. Grasping the ledge, he hoisted himself up and popped out the screen, then jumped down, dusting his hands off on the seat of his now-dirty pants. Turning to her, he grinned and locked his hands together, a clear indication he wanted to boost her up.

  “You would want me to go first.”

  “Hey, I can get up there by myself. You, on the other hand, need help.”

  “Oh, all right.” She pulled off her sandals, grumbling. She stepped on his cupped hands and he thrust her up to the windowsill. She grasped the ledge, bracing her chest and pulling herself up and over the sill, dropping down onto the ground below.

  Matt soon followed. They hightailed it for Matt’s Porsche, laughing like schoolchildren who’d just gotten away with a silly prank on the stern principal.

  Once in the car, stifling another fit of laughter, she slid her arm around him and turned her face into his damp neck. “My hero.”

  She felt him smile. “Heroes get good perks.” He brushed her hair back with both hands, then, tightening his hold on her face, leaned down and kissed her, his mouth warm and moist and unbearably tender. Bridget experienced a rush of emotion so intense that it made her lungs clog up. Suddenly the laughter was gone, replaced by something very painful. She wondered how long it would be before the bubble would burst and reality would sweep in. When would all this magic disappear from her life forever?

  Tightening his hold on her face, Matt released his breath and drew away. His expression sober, he stared down at her, the sun shining brightly on his hair. His eyes fixed on hers, he said quietly, “What’s up, Bridget?”

  Trying to smile, she shook her head. “Nothing.”

  He pressed his thumb against her mouth, his gaze unwavering, as if he was assessing her. There wasn’t a trace of amusement in his voice when he spoke again. “It’ll work out.”

  There was something in his tone that made her heart roll over, and for a minute, she was afraid her eyes were going to fill up. She nodded. “It will,” she whispered.

  His expression very somber, he drew his thumb across her bottom lip, then he met her gaze again. “This isn’t some game I’m playing, Bridget.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  He continued to watch her, his expression still thoughtful, then he spoke. “It’ll work out. It has to.”

  Feeling as if he’d pulled the ground out from under her, she stared at him. It was as if he’d peeled away some protective layer, leaving her without any defenses, and blood rushed to her ears.

  He stared a second longer, then gave her a small twisted smile and put the car in gear.

  She closed her eyes; the only words that came to her were, If it’s too good to be true…

  12

  HIS WHOLE BODY trembling, Matt clenched his jaw, his heart still slamming in his chest, the intensity of his release leaving him totally spent. It was the sense of smell that returned to him first. The musky scent of sex, sweat and hot skin. And the feel of her tight around him, gripping him, anchoring him deep inside her. It felt so good. So damned good.

  Drained dry by the thick, wringing climax, Matt inhaled unevenly and turned his face against her sweat-dampened neck, the rush of blood still pounding through his head. He lay unmoving until his pulse rate quieted, then he stirred, his body heavy, his muscles slow to respond. Dredging up what little strength he had left, he braced his weight on his forearms, his chest contracting when he realized how desperately Bridget was hanging on to him.Sensation wrenched loose in his chest, and he closed his eyes and rested his head against hers, his throat suddenly contracting.

  Not wanting to think, he drenched his senses with the heated scent of her, trying not to think at all.

  Finally getting it together, he inhaled unevenly and lifted his head. Murmuring her name, he reached behind him, loosening her hold around his back, and then pressing her down against the bed. She lay with her eyes clenched shut, and he could feel her trembling beneath him. Smoothing her damp hair back from her face, he leaned down and softly kissed her mouth, then lifted his head and gazed down at her. “Bridget?”

  She drew a deep, sated breath, and then opened her eyes. Matt felt his expression soften as he caressed the line of her jaw.

  “Don’t even
think about asking me to move,” she warned.

  He laughed. “Not even for sustenance as in ‘I’m starving and if you want any more mind-blowing sex, I need to get me some food.’”

  “Food,” she breathed softly, opening one blue eye. “As long as I don’t have to move.”

  “I don’t think food is going to make itself,” he said, tweaking her nose. Her response was to slap his hand away.

  She rolled her eyes. “Sure it is. It’s called takeout.” This time she opened both eyes and gave him a cheeky smirk.

  He grinned stupidly, getting lost in her sleepy gaze. “Takeout.”

  “You know.” She pantomimed picking up the phone and dialing. “You use the phone, talk into it and food appears like magic on your doorstep,” she said with a laugh. “Simple.”

  He grinned and rolled off her. “Okay, smarty-pants. What do you want?”

  “Chinese would be heavenly—egg roll, chicken fried rice, crab Rangoon and egg drop soup.”

  “Yowza, someone is hungry.”

  “Your fault. You have had your way with me since we got back from the garden party—” she raised herself on her elbow and looked at the clock “—four hours ago. Now get on that phone and order us some food. I’m eating for two.”

  “Huh?”

  She chuckled. “That’s what I say as a joke.” She moved and slapped her butt. “You know,” she said, pointing to the globes of her ass. “One and two.”

  “Right, a joke from the sleeping woman,” he said, striving to keep it light, because suddenly it all felt a bit too earth-shattering and very terrifying, so he figured she was feeling the same way and wanted to change the subject.

  “Hey, I’m awake enough to know that you haven’t picked up that phone.”

  “Bitch, bitch, nag, nag,” he grumbled with a smile and snatched up his bedside phone. He quickly placed the order, feeling the bed move. Setting the receiver in the cradle, he crowed while hunching back into the pillows. “She’s alive!”

  Bridget’s response was to growl and throw a pillow at him.

  He watched her naked form cross his bedroom, appreciating the rear view, watching the lazy, loose-hipped way she moved. After a few minutes, Matt called out. “It’s pretty quiet in there.”