Match Made in Court

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He loved this little girl, and he’d never been so scared of the future.

  Christmas Day was a bitch; other people were alone, too, but nobody he knew was. He thought about calling Hanna and Linnea that evening, but didn’t let himself. He’d had his celebration with them, the most generous of the gifts they’d given him. He wasn’t usually greedy.

  Linnea called late in the evening and said, “Do you still want to get together tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ve arranged for Hanna to go back to her grandparents for the day. She left some of her new toys there.”

  “Fine.” They sounded as if they were setting up a business appointment. “What time?”

  “Eleven?”

  “Fine,” he said again. “Did you two have a good Christmas?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t sound as if she was being entirely honest, but continued, “Hanna wallowed in more presents than I can count, but thanked everyone nicely.”

  Everyone presumably included her dad. Matt didn’t ask.

  He couldn’t think of a reason to prolong the call, and they said their good-nights.

  To distract himself, he prowled the Internet, then tried to read. Neither activity succeeded in turning his mind from Linnea. He scarcely slept.

  When he knocked on her door the next morning, she opened it almost immediately. She wore jeans and a turtleneck, and her hair was bundled back in a scrunchie that might have been Hanna’s since it had—he thought—printed pink elephants on a midnight-blue background. She was back to not quite meeting his eyes.

  “Coffee?” she asked, leading the way into the living room.

  He studied the ponytail more closely. Yeah, definitely pink elephants. “No, thank you.”

  Spooky lay on the back of the sofa. She stared at Matt for a long, thoughtful moment, then hopped down and strolled out of the living room. He recalled Linnea saying she didn’t care for men. Or pretty much anyone at all.

  Linnea sat at one end of the sofa, Matt at the other.

  “What’s this about, Matt? If it’s just the fact that you were tempted to kiss me because we had a fun evening out…”

  She was trying to let him down nicely, he realized with a spurt of annoyance.

  “I told you the truth. I’ve been wanting to kiss you ever since I saw you that first time.”

  “Not the first time.” Her eyes met his squarely now, and he was startled to see a flare of anger, or even hurt, in their blue depths. “We’ve known each other for eight years. You never seemed the tiniest bit interested in kissing me before.”

  “I didn’t really look at you.”

  “I noticed.”

  His back teeth gritted, he said, “You seemed to do your very best to avoid me. Every time I entered a room, you left it.”

  Her cheeks pinkened. “I’m not very good at making polite conversation with someone who clearly dislikes me.”

  “I didn’t dislike you—”

  “You wanted to.”

  After a minute, he rubbed the back of his neck and said heavily, “Yeah. I did. And I’m sorrier than I can say for that.”

  She bit her lip and looked down at her hands, arranged on her lap. “I didn’t think I’d like you, either. Except that you were good with Hanna. I’d see the way she lit up for you. So some part of me knew I was wrong to think you were a brusque, busy man with no…softer side.”

  “And now?” he asked quietly.

  She met his eyes fleetingly. “You’re very good for Hanna.”

  “What about you, Linnea? Am I good for you?” He intentionally echoed the words he’d used after their kiss.

  “I’ve appreciated everything you—”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Color stained her cheeks now, and she sounded mad. “That I enjoyed kissing you? So what if I did? Are you suggesting we have an affair, sneaking around behind Hanna’s back? Don’t you think that would look really bad if Finn doesn’t get convicted and one or the other of us ends up going to court trying to keep custody?”

  He swallowed. “No. That isn’t what I’m suggesting.” Last night, he’d had himself talked out of doing this. Not yet, not so soon. But for a patient, even-tempered man, he had become extraordinarily impatient. Even, he thought in shock, desperate. His voice sounded odd when he said, “Linnea, I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

  Her mouth opened, but nothing emerged. She simply gaped at him, stunned into silence.

  “I know you probably haven’t thought about me that way,” he began stiffly.

  “Marry?” she whispered.

  “It makes sense for a lot of reasons.” Damn it, he sounded as if he was arguing for a business proposition. He tried again. “We feel like a family. I…want to belong.”

  “You want to marry me so you can—” she hesitated “—see Hanna every day? That wouldn’t really give you any more claim on her.”

  “No. I know it wouldn’t. Hanna’s only part of this. I want to marry you. No, damn it, not just to marry you. I want you. The other night, it was all I could do to take my hands off you.”

  She stared at him as if, God, he was trying to sell her a ride-on mower for her pocket-size lawn.

  “Say something.”

  “Oh” was apparently the best she could manage.

  He groaned, stood and moved to her end of the sofa. “Let me kiss you,” he begged, sitting so close he could stroke her face, cup her jaw in his palm.

  For a paralyzing moment she still stared, but finally she gave a tiny nod that wrenched another sound from him, relief and raw hunger. He bent his head and captured her mouth, his demanding. But, damn it, the angle was awkward and he wanted her closer yet.

  Without taking his mouth from hers, he lifted her, drinking in her squeak of surprise, turned her and settled her on his lap facing him. Her knees straddled his hips. Now he could kiss her the way he wanted to, while his hands roved over her.

  The scrunchie went first. He tossed it aside as he let his fingers sink into her hair, as silky and fine-textured as it looked. He thought of elusive winter sunlight. There was that whiff of vanilla again, a scent so redolent of home.

  Then he stroked her neck, the delicate line of her collarbone. She had instinctively lifted her hands to brace herself against his chest, perhaps to hold him off, but if so she’d lost interest. Linnea was responding as deliciously as she had the first time he kissed her, her response shy but honest. If he tugged at her lip, she tugged at his; her tongue met his, stroked. Now her hands in turn began to move, squeezing, seeming to savor the involuntary reaction of his muscles to her touch.

  He covered her generous breasts with his hands, rubbing gently. Her nipples were already hard against his palms. God. He had to see her.

  Matt tore his mouth from hers and began working the turtleneck up.

  “What are you—?” She started to scramble backward, but he wrapped his hands around her waist and held her in place.

  “I want you,” he repeated, his voice ragged. “Marry me, Linnea.”

  She had gone completely rigid in his grip, a wild creature terrified to be confined, her eyes so dilated they were unreadable. But she had to be tempted, too. She couldn’t have kissed him the way she had, made those wanton sounds in the back of her throat, if desire wasn’t raging through her the way it was through him. Please let this not be some kind of experiment for her.

  He said the only other thing he could think of. “Please.”

  She closed her eyes, sank her teeth into her lower lip. Matt didn’t move, waited.

  “Yes,” she finally whispered. “I want you, too.”

  That wasn’t all he’d asked. “You’ll marry me?”

  Her eyes opened, panic darkening the slate blue to something deeper. “I don’t know.”

  Ruthlessly, he said, “You know how happy Hanna will be.”

  “But my parents—Finn—”

  “You’ll let them stop you?”
/>
  “I can’t think.”

  “What do you feel?” He let go of her waist to lift his hands to her breasts again, beneath her shirt. He rotated them gently, coaxingly.

  Linnea’s back arched and a moan escaped her lips.

  “Say yes. Say you’ll marry me.”

  She didn’t protest when he yanked the turtleneck over her head and discarded it, then unhooked her bra even as his eyes feasted on the plump, perfect breasts he’d uncovered. She was as pretty and delicate here as everywhere else, her nipples pink and tight, her skin milk pale. He leaned forward and kissed first one breast, then the other. His tongue circled her nipples, and finally he sucked one into his mouth. Linnea gasped and stiffened again, her hips lifting, pushing against him, as if she couldn’t help it.

  Not until he had suckled both breasts did he lift his head again. “Do you like me?”

  “Like you?” She looked dazed.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She blinked hard, as if struggling to clear her mind. “I—Yes.”

  “Aren’t you happy when I’m here?” He stroked her breasts, swept his hands down to the waistband of her jeans.

  “Yes, but—”

  “But what?” He unbuttoned her jeans, slid down the zipper.

  She stared down, seeming helpless to stop him, shivering in reaction.

  “I don’t know you,” she cried. “Not really.”

  Talking was getting harder and harder. “We’ll have years. A lifetime.” His voice sounded as though his throat was lined with sand from a desert storm.

  “But why?” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Is it just Hanna?”

  “No.” He was telling her the truth, even though Hanna was part of it. Of course she was. They were a family. “I miss you when I’m not with you. You and I…fit. You feel it, too, don’t you?”

  She took a shaky breath. “Yes.”

  “Kiss me,” he muttered. “Then say yes again.”

  “Yes,” she said, even before their mouths met. “Yes.”

  A primitive sense of satisfaction roared through him, headier than a shot of straight whiskey. He shoved his hips up and gloried in the sensation of her riding him. Only the desperate need to divest them both of clothes enabled him to lift her off him for even a minute.

  He’d been half afraid she would stand there like a china doll to let him strip off her jeans, but thank God she participated fully, fighting to pull his shirt over his head, reaching for the waistband of his jeans.

  She was glorious, her slender waist curving into feminine hips. The curls at the juncture of her thighs were as moonlight pale as the silky, straight hair on her head. When he slid his fingers through those curls to her damp center, her hips bucked.

  She stared at his nude body, but he didn’t give her time to get alarmed. He’d been carrying a couple condoms since the day he had realized he wanted her, that they belonged together. He sheathed himself in one and entertained a brief fantasy of there being nothing between them, of them choosing to create life within her.

  Soon, he thought, gritting his teeth against hunger stronger than anything he’d ever felt.

  Then he sprawled back on the sofa and pulled her atop him. He touched her and kissed her and finally positioned her to sink onto him. She was a small woman, the fit snug. Shaken, he knew he was losing it. His big hands gripping her hips, he lifted her, pressed her down again, set an urgent, hard pace.

  She squeezed him with her knees and matched his rhythm with hers. Too quickly, she convulsed, a keening cry of astonishment and wonder escaping her lips. It was sound as much as sensation that shoved him over the edge. The pleasure was almost unbearable, so far from anything he’d ever felt before.

  Linnea slid bonelessly to lie atop him. He wrapped his arms around her, his heart pounding so hard he knew she could feel it against her breast.

  With wrenching relief, he thought, She’s mine.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LINNEA STOOD IN THE KITCHEN, looking at the sofa where they had made love. Her gaze lifted in shock to the big picture window above the sofa and she let out a cry.

  “What’s wrong?” Matt had come up silently behind her.

  “The drapes are open. Anyone could have seen.”

  She’d stood, practically in front of the window, and let him take her shirt off and kiss her breasts. She had faced the window and the street and not given a single thought to who might be able to see in.

  Matt gave a low chuckle. “Don’t worry.” He bent his head and nuzzled her neck. “The window’s not at street level.”

  “No, but if Mrs. Henderson is home, she could have looked straight in.”

  He laughed again and turned her to face him for a kiss.

  Her shock at her own immodesty didn’t keep her from enjoying the feel of his lips. Truthfully, she couldn’t remember ever being happier than she’d been today.

  He had carried her into the bedroom and made love to her again. Eventually they showered together before getting dressed so that they could actually talk.

  “Stop,” she finally murmured against his mouth. “You said you were hungry.”

  “Did I?” He nipped her earlobe.

  “Yes! And we should talk.”

  With obvious reluctance, he lifted his head. “Yeah. I suppose we need to.”

  While she made lunch, Linnea reveled in how amazing her body felt. A little sore, but also relaxed and sexy. Her utter lack of inhibitions astonished her. She’d had crushes a few times and even boyfriends, but she had never been able to get over feeling self-conscious. She’d pretended she wanted good-night kisses and even sex, but she hadn’t really.

  Until today.

  Her hands went still and she stared straight ahead, glad Matt, currently getting drinks out of the refrigerator, couldn’t see her face.

  I’m in love with him, she thought in shock. No wonder she’d lived for the days he was coming over, for his smiles, his casual but proprietary touches. No wonder she’d said “yes” today even as she grappled with the knowledge of how her mother and Finn would react to the news.

  I love him.

  And he hadn’t said a single word about love. He’d told her she was beautiful. He said they fit together. That he and she and Hanna together were a family.

  Bereft of breath, she made herself stir the soup and turn off the burner.

  He did want her. She couldn’t doubt that, not after today. And wasn’t that a miracle in itself?

  He might come to love her. Mightn’t he? He was a kind man, something she wouldn’t have suspected back in the old days. He wouldn’t hurt her if he could help it. She knew he felt intensely protective of Hanna. Once she was his wife, he’d feel the same about her. He took care of the people he cared for.

  She poured the soup into bowls.

  Fact: he wouldn’t want to marry her if it weren’t for Hanna.

  He said he would, she argued with herself. He knows that our marriage is no guarantee we’ll be able to keep Hanna.

  Linnea took a deep breath and carried the bowls to the table, then went back for the bread to join the sandwich makings he’d already taken from the refrigerator.

  His gaze was intent on her face when she sat. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m…dazed,” she admitted.

  He reached across the table and gripped her hand. “In a happy way, I hope.”

  “I think so.” With surprise, she realized that despite all her doubts and fears she still felt as if her blood had turned to champagne, fizzing in her veins. This was her chance to grab at life, not let timidity rule her.

  I’ve changed, she realized again, liking the knowledge. Ever since that night she’d gone to Finn’s house to get Hanna, since she’d seen her brother handcuffed and furious, she had been undergoing a metamorphosis. She’d become fierce in Hanna’s defense. Willing to defy Finn and her mother both, something she’d always shrunk from.

  Matt was part of her change. She’d gained in strength even when she saw hi
m as her enemy. He was good for her.

  “What about you?” she asked. “I still can’t believe you’ve been thinking all this time about something like this.”

  “Making love with you? Marrying you?”

  She nodded.

  His crooked smile lit a face that was nearly harsh when he was angry or brooding. “The marrying part is more recent. Once we started spending so much time together, I started dreading the days I wouldn’t see you. I wasn’t too happy even when I had Hanna, not if I saw you only in passing.”

  So it isn’t just Hanna, Linnea thought with relief. He did mean it.

  “Did you look forward to seeing me?” he asked.

  She wrinkled her nose. “You know I did.”

  His smile had become tender. “Will you marry me? Did you mean it?”

  Linnea felt herself blushing. “You mean, was that what I was saying yes to?”

  “Yeah.”

  She had the feeling he’d never let go of her hand if she didn’t agree. He wasn’t a man used to hearing no or willing to accept it. In fact, he definitely had been manipulating her today, using sex to persuade her to do what he wanted.

  But…she wanted the same thing, even if it scared her, too.

  So she smiled, too, and said tremulously, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

  “God.” His fingers tightened. His smile had died, and something powerful burned in his eyes. “We have to get you an engagement ring. Let’s go shopping this afternoon, before we pick up Hanna.”

  She wouldn’t be able to hide it from her parents. “There’s no hurry,” she began weakly.

  “I want my ring on your finger.” He sounded completely inflexible, but also deeply satisfied.

  Because everyone will know then, Linnea realized. He wants that.

  Didn’t any man who asked a woman to marry him?

  Maybe, she thought, confused. But not necessarily for the same reasons.

  Shaking off her trepidation, she decided she was being silly, her old cowardly self. She couldn’t become engaged and not tell her parents. They wouldn’t be happy—at least, her mother wouldn’t—but so what? It was past time she did what she wanted with her life.