Match Made in Court

by Janice Kay Johnson

“You’re pretty,” he told her, struck again by how much she looked like her aunt. He couldn’t see much of Tess in her, which he should regret but somehow didn’t. “So,” he said, “is Aunt Linnie dressing up for us?”

  “Uh-huh.” She gave a big nod.

  He was still smiling when he heard the click of heels on the hardwood floor and looked up. As if he’d taken a fist in his gut, he expelled all the air in his lungs with an audible sound and barely avoided staggering back.

  She was gorgeous. Stunning. Sexy, in a slip of a dress and heels that had to be four inches tall, her hair in a classic do, her eyes somehow mysterious and her lips curving and kissable.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  He intended to kiss her. Ever since he’d realized that he wanted the three of them to be a family, he had allowed himself to think about kissing her, and peeling her clothes from her slender, supple body. He hadn’t acted on the desire because he’d been afraid she wasn’t thinking about him that way at all. Since then, he’d been doing his damnedest to make her aware of him. By God, he’d been patient.

  Watching her walk toward them, her hips swaying, her legs a mile long and perfect for wrapping around a man’s waist, Matt knew his patience had run out.

  Hanna tugged at his hand. “Isn’t Aunt Linnie pretty, Uncle Matt?”

  “Aunt Linnie is more than pretty.” His voice was hoarse. “She’s spectacular.” Seeing those big eyes widen farther and the color heighten on her cheeks, he bent his head and said in a loud whisper, “And you, Hanna Banana, are going to be just as beautiful when you grow up.”

  “Cause I look like her, don’t I?” Her satisfaction was apparent. “Grandma showed me pictures. I look like Aunt Linnie when she was a little girl.”

  “Is that what Grandma said?” Linnea asked.

  Matt’s eyes narrowed at her surprise.

  “Uh-huh. She has a whole album of pictures of you. Even your kindergarten picture. And your grade one. She says she made the dress you were wearing, like she did the one I wore on picture day.”

  “I’d forgotten that dress.” Linnea sounded bemused. “I guess I’d forgotten she had an album dedicated to me.”

  “She showed me Daddy’s, too.” Hanna took her hand and lifted her face to Matt. “Do you have one with pictures of Mommy?”

  “There is one. I thought your mom had it.” But maybe not, he realized. He wasn’t sure she’d ever really looked through the stuff they’d had in storage. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I may have it in a box. There’s still a pile in the garage I haven’t gone through. I’ll find it.”

  “I want to see you when you were in first grade, too,” she declared.

  He groaned. “I was already the class nerd.”

  Hanna giggled and Linnea’s lips quivered with a smile that was as merry.

  “Ladies?” He opened the front door.

  They both donned coats before letting him escort them out.

  For once they left West Seattle. He took them to a restaurant he’d discovered on the shores of Lake Union not far from the Seattle Center and Space Needle. A call this afternoon had secured a table for them at the window, where they could see the cold blue water and boats moored at a marina north of the restaurant.

  Talk about pictures inevitably led to stories about his and Linnea’s childhoods. Both kept them light. He made fun of himself as a kid—serious, smart, taller than most of his classmates. Earnest, wanting to do the right thing, which sometimes made him a misfit. He was too gawky to be athletic until high school, when his social stature had risen with his prowess on the basketball court and football field.

  He was stung by Linnea’s expression of disbelief. Was she having trouble believing he’d been popular in high school, or that he’d ever been unpopular?

  “Your mom,” he told Hanna, “was the social butterfly. Did she ever tell you she was homecoming queen? That was after our parents died, but Dad always said he’d be beating boys off her with a stick. His favorite grumble was about the number of boys calling.”

  “How come I don’t look like Mommy?”

  “I guess you mostly got your looks from your dad’s side. And it’s lucky you don’t quite look like him—” he ignored the flash of warning in Linnea’s eyes “—because your aunt Linnie is lots prettier.”

  Hanna giggled. “That’s ’cause he’s a boy!”

  “Right. And you’re not.”

  Linnea in turn talked about growing up with her head in a book. “I did okay in math in school, but I never liked it. History was my major in college, but I liked English and creative writing, too, even if I can’t write poetry to save my life. That’s the only thing I ever cheated on in school.”

  Hanna’s mouth fell open. “Aunt Linnie!”

  Vastly amused at this tale of unexpected sin, Matt waited for her explanation.

  She made a face at both of them. “I shouldn’t admit that, should I? But I had this creative writing class when I was a junior in high school, and if I hadn’t been able to turn in a decent poem I wouldn’t have gotten an A in the class, and I deserved one!” Her cheeks were flushed with indignation. “So my best friend Jennifer wrote a poem for me. And I felt horribly guilty and had dreams where Mr. Marshall slapped it down on my desk with a big red F on it and told the whole class I was a liar and a cheat.”

  “That would be really scary,” her niece whispered.

  “It was. So scary I would never have had the nerve to do it again, but I didn’t get caught. And, honestly, it was just an okay poem, not so brilliant it would have made him suspicious or he would have entered it in a contest to surprise me.” She shuddered. “Wouldn’t that have been horrible?”

  Night fell as they ate. Strings of lights sparkled on the masts of sailing boats at the marina and bobbed on a few boats out on the lake.

  Hanna had been suspicious of the offerings on the menu, but she seemed to enjoy her spaghetti and dove into the caramel sundae her aunt reluctantly agreed that she could have. Matt didn’t order dessert, knowing he’d be finishing the sundae.

  Walking out after they were done, he felt again that swell of pride, contentment and something sharper edged he’d come to recognize. People smiled at the sight of Hanna in her cute dress and shiny patent leather shoes, then the smiles widened to encompass the beautiful woman they were bound to assume was Hanna’s mother. And then he was wrapped in those approving smiles, too, because the three of them were so obviously a family.

  But the knife’s edge dug into his stomach every time he thought that because they weren’t. He could lose them both; he and Linnea could lose Hanna.

  Matt couldn’t imagine his life without them.

  The drive home was quieter. He sneaked glances in the rearview mirror and saw that Hanna rested her head sleepily against the car window and watched the passing scenery of a city at night. Linnea and he spoke occasionally, their voices soft.

  “It’s almost Christmas. If you don’t want me to take her tomorrow…”

  She shook her head. “I need the time to…you know.”

  Wrap, he presumed.

  “And she’s excited and has to be occupied. Do you have big plans?”

  He shook his head. “A movie, I guess, although I like them better when you’re along.”

  Her chuckle kicked his pulse up a notch. “So I can take her to the bathroom?”

  Going along, he said, “It’s embarrassing to have to ask a mother to take her. I figure she’s too old for the men’s room.”

  “She’s probably old enough to go by herself as long as you’re waiting outside.”

  “Probably, but I’d worry.”

  Linnea laughed again.

  Hanna didn’t fall asleep, and she revived some once they reached home. “Can I watch The Little Mermaid?” she asked.

  The front door still stood open and he hadn’t been invited in.

  Linnea glanced at her watch and said, “Sure. Maybe I’ll come and watch with you in a minute.”

  A minute did
n’t give him long. On the other hand, if Linnea had invited him in, he’d find himself watching Disney’s spritely version of the more tragic Danish tale of the little mermaid before he knew it. Not exactly the end to this evening he’d had in mind.

  Hanna disappeared into the living room. Matt smiled at Linnea. “You really are beautiful tonight.”

  Her shyness returned immediately. “Thank you.”

  “You always look surprised when someone compliments you. I can’t believe you’re not used to hearing them.”

  “I actually don’t, not often.” Her voice was very low, barely above a whisper. “Library patrons aren’t likely to say, ‘Can you help me find a book about writing résumés, and, by the way, you’re beautiful.’ And when I’m petsitting, the dogs lick me when I open cans of food, but they’re not big on verbalizing their feelings.”

  She was trying to make a joke of it, although he heard embarrassment in the tremulous quality of her voice. As though most men were the idiots he’d been and hadn’t had the sense to realize how exquisite she was.

  He was a step lower than her, and with her four-inch heels their faces were about at a level.

  Without letting himself have second thoughts, Matt wrapped a hand around the delicate nape of her neck, tilted his head and laid his mouth to hers.

  THE FIRST TOUCH OF MATT’S lips was as soft as the brush of his thumb when he’d whisked the crumb from her mouth. So little to pierce her with a shaft of longing. Linnea simply stood, frozen, disbelieving…and wanting.

  Matt’s fingers tightened on her neck. He kissed her again, gently tugged on her lower lip. Heat pooled in her belly and made her sway toward him.

  “That’s it,” he muttered, and urged her mouth open with his. Her head would have fallen back out of sheer weakness if his big hand hadn’t moved up to cup it. Linnea reached out and flattened her hands on his chest, then gripped his suit jacket to hold on for dear life.

  His breath was in her mouth; hers in his, warm and mingling. His tongue slid over hers. The sensation was indescribable.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been kissed before. Of course she had. She’d never felt all that much.

  She hadn’t been in the hands of an expert, she thought in shock as one of his arms wrapped around her and flattened her against him. No, not just flattened—lifted her, so that her toes barely touched the ground and her body all but cradled his erection.

  Suddenly the kiss wasn’t gentle at all. His tongue thrust, and hers answered in a duel that felt primitive and utterly essential. His heart slammed beneath her palm, and a groan worked its way from his chest to vibrate in his throat.

  More shockingly she was making sounds, too. Whimpers, or moans, they had to tell him how needy she felt.

  Linnea didn’t care. She flung an arm around his neck and tried to squeeze closer yet, as if she could burrow inside him.

  His next groan was raw, and his lips left hers. “I don’t want to let go of you, but…”

  She went completely still, humiliation spreading like fire over her skin. She was plastered to him. He’d kissed her, and she would have let him lift her skirt and have her right there, on the doorstep. Oh, God! With Hanna a room away.

  Gasping with distress, she tore herself away. “Oh, Lord, I don’t know what…”

  Under the porchlight, she saw the flush on his cheekbones and the heat in his eyes. “It was good—that’s what it was,” he said roughly. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since that first night when I took you and Hanna out for pizza and you were so prim and wary.”

  “I—” Linnea gulped. “Really?” Then she was mad at herself for sounding so pathetic.

  “Oh, yeah.” He reached up and ran his knuckles along the line of her jaw, a caress that nearly buckled her knees again. “I’ve been waiting for you to get on board.”

  She blinked. “On board?”

  He hesitated and visibly regained his usual control. “Can we get together without Hanna and talk about this?”

  This? What was this in his mind? Attraction? If so, he’d done a heck of a job of hiding it until now.

  Yes, a small voice in her mind whispered, but he kissed with conviction. And he was definitely aroused.

  She couldn’t argue with that. And within earshot of a child wasn’t the time to argue with him. But there was no way she could get away from Hanna tomorrow—they still had to finish Matt’s gift tomorrow night.

  “Yes,” she said, with commendable cool, “but probably not until after Christmas.”

  He frowned, calculated, then scowled more deeply. “Damn it. Not tomorrow night?” He saw her expression. “Fine. The day after Christmas? Can you get a babysitter?”

  “I’ll figure something out,” she told him. “We’ll see you tomorrow at ten.”

  “Ten.”

  “Hanna? Lunch? Movie?”

  He swore under his breath. “I haven’t forgotten. Yeah. Okay.”

  Coward that she was, she had already retreated inside and was clutching the door. “Good night,” she said, and shut it.

  She half expected him to hammer on it but knew better. He’d been the one to end the kiss, after all, because despite the evidence of his arousal he’d also had the presence of mind to remember that their niece was only a room away. While she had quit thinking at all.

  “Aunt Linnie?” Hanna’s voice came from the living room. “This is my favorite song. Are you gonna come watch?”

  “Yes,” she called back. “Just let me change. These shoes are killing me.”

  Linnea stripped them off right there, in the small entryway. Even as she sighed in relief, a rare feeling of feminine triumph sang through her. Spike heels and makeup had accomplished something after all. She now knew what it felt like to be kissed by Matt Laughlin. And he was right. It was good. Very, very good.

  She prayed the attraction on his part was real and not part of some scheme to manipulate her. Because tonight she’d given herself in a way that had let him know how utterly vulnerable she was to him.

  With a moan, she rushed to the bedroom to tear off the dress and put on sweats, so she could feel like herself.

  If only Christmas Eve wasn’t the day after tomorrow, she thought miserably. How would she survive the holidays wondering what he wanted to say? What he’d felt.

  What it all meant.

  HE’D NEVER BEEN MORE nervous. Had he pushed too soon? What if he had damaged the fragile trust Linnea had come to feel for him? He wasn’t the only one who’d pay, he knew; Hanna would, as well. She needed her uncle Matt and aunt Linnie to be the foundation she’d lost when her father killed her mother. Where was his self-control? Matt didn’t like knowing that he’d rushed Linnea out of a desire to feel secure himself, to know she and Hanna were his.

  When he picked up and dropped off Hanna the next day, Linnea’s eyes never quite met his even though she sounded much the same as usual. Matt hated knowing he was responsible for making her shy again.

  I should have waited, he thought. It hadn’t even been quite three months since the shocking call from Detective Delaney had changed his life. Three months. And in that time he’d arrogantly told Linnea he was taking Hanna away from her because she wasn’t capable of protecting the little girl they both loved. Really, it had only been in the past six weeks that they’d groped their way toward the delicate state of faith in each other they had found.

  And he’d told himself he was being patient.

  Somehow, Christmas Eve they were able to set aside what that kiss meant, even if he couldn’t forget it for a second, even if his body ached the more for knowing what she tasted like, how she felt in his arms.

  They had dinner, ham and sweet potatoes and homemade apple pie, then opened presents in Linnea’s living room, where a fir tree had been wrapped in colored lights and hung with ornaments. A miscellany, he noted in satisfaction and no surprise, that included some Hanna must have made. Hanna and Linnea had even strung popcorn for the tree. Matt knew damn well his sister would never have a
llowed a string of popcorn on her Christmas tree, decorated for show more than sentiment.

  Troubled by the implicit criticism, he dismissed the thought. Tess hadn’t changed that much from the baby sister of his earliest memories. She’d become sophisticated; she and Finn entertained. That wasn’t so bad.

  But his mom would have loved this tree.

  The thought gave him an odd bump of grief, because Mom and Dad had never known Hanna. Would never know Linnea.

  They would have loved her, too.

  “Uncle Matt! Uncle Matt!” Face shining with delight, his niece held up a package. “This one is for you. It’s from me.”

  She had already opened half a dozen. He’d been afraid Linnea would disapprove of how much he’d bought, but so far her gentle smile hadn’t wavered.

  Hanna bounced at his feet and Linnea watched as he opened the package and found inside two quilted potholders. He recognized the log cabin pattern because it matched the old quilt he had displayed on the sofa in the living room, but these were stitched from calico fabrics in myriad shades of green.

  “Aunt Linnie helped me,” Hanna declared excitedly. “She showed me how to use the sewing machine.”

  “These are beautiful.” He had a lump in his throat.

  “We wanted to make ones like that quilt you said your grandma made. Only green, ’cause we know you like green.”

  He managed a laugh. Yeah, he did like green. He guessed they could tell, after shopping with him for towels and sheets.

  “These are great. Thank you, Hanna.” He grabbed her into a hug, then smiled over her head at Linnea. “And thank you, too.” He could tell from the finely stitched edging and the loops at the corners of the potholders that she’d done most of the work. Hanna had likely sat on her lap in front of the machine and “helped” enough to let pride swell in her chest.

  “You’re very welcome,” Linnea said serenely.

  She’d bought him a book; not an intimate present, but well-chosen. Her exclamations of pleasure at the earrings he’d chosen for her sounded sincere.

  Hanna accompanied him to the door rather than Linnea when it came time for him to leave. When she initiated another big hug, his sinuses burned and his chest hurt.