Robert smiled and threw an arm around Matt, giving him a big bear hug. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, son.” He picked up the duffel as if it weighed nothing. He was six foot three and two hundred twenty pounds; a puny bag was easy for him to hoist around.
“Come on,” he urged him with a grin, “everyone can hardly wait to see you. Alexa is flying in tomorrow afternoon. Your mother and I will pick her up at Regan International and bring her to her condo in Alexandria.” He led the way across the parking area to the assembled, excitedly waiting group.
For the next fifteen minutes, Matt was hugged and kissed, had his cheeks pinched, and was squeezed to death and fussed over. He looked for Dara, who was supposed to be with his family, but she wasn’t there. Matt didn’t know why. His big sister, Tal, stood on the edge of the milling family gathering and gave him a radiant smile of welcome. When the Turkish, Greek, and American sides of the family got together, it was a nonstop party. And his three uncles and aunts from Turkey would barely let him catch his breath. His cousin Angelo and Angelo’s wife, Maria, from Greece, crowded in and got to give him ongoing kisses on both cheeks several times in a row, as well, never to be outdone by the Turkish contingent.
Matt knew Tal would wait until the family had taken their turns with him. Then she would step forward and welcome him home. At her side was the man she was going to marry next June over in Kuşadası, Turkey: Wyatt Lockwood. He stood calmly watching the celebration and smiling. Wyatt, a former Navy SEAL, looked relieved, as if he was glad he wasn’t the center of all this attention. Matt loved the effusive welcome because his relatives lived life with an ongoing, daily passion. And every summer, as children, they had been treated like royalty in Turkey. Matt didn’t think anyone spoiled children as well as his Turkish aunts and uncles did.
As his father led the procession to several black vans and waiting drivers, Matt kept his arm around his mother. At fifty years old, Dilara could have passed for her late thirties. Maybe it was the Turkish genes that kept her looking so young, but she was vital, always ablaze with life, accomplishing more than five people combined could every day.
It began to rain, and everyone hurried to the waiting vans, climbing in. Tal and Wyatt squeezed into the seat with Matt. His parents sat in the middle seat ahead of them.
He twisted around, smiling back at his sister. “You look really good,” he told her.
“I’m great.” Tal reached out, squeezing her brother’s hand. “You look whipped.”
“Yeah,” Matt admitted, “it’s been a little crazy getting out of Bagram. Two days sleeping in a hammock strung between cargo pallets wasn’t ideal, either.”
“Been there, done that,” Tal said. She reached forward. “Hey, I got a last-second call from Dara. I know she was supposed to meet you here, but she got pulled unexpectedly for another eight-hour shift at the hospital. That’s why she didn’t show up and she didn’t have time to text you.”
Matt tried to keep his disappointment at bay, but damn, he was eager to see her. Two weeks without Dara in his life had shown him just how important she really was to him.
“She said to come over to her condo if you felt like it tonight, but she thought it might be too late. She’s off that shift at eleven p.m. and won’t be home until around midnight.”
“I’ll try to call her when we get home.” Matt would be dropped off at his condo in Alexandria, about five miles from his parents’ huge, two-story brick Federal-style home. He was sure his parents’ home would be rocking and rolling with the relatives, each having a bedroom suite there. Matt loved that the house became a little UN, with Greek being spoken, then Turkish, and a smattering of English. That’s how all the children had grown up, knowing three languages. Matt was looking forward to a little peace and quiet after being in C-5s for two days straight.
The van eased forward, and soon the three vehicles were snaking their way out of the parking lot area and onto a nearby freeway in the soft rain. Dilara turned around and gripped his hand, squeezing it.
“Why don’t we give you two or three days to revive?” she asked him.
“Good idea,” Matt said tiredly, wiping his burning eyes. “And I need to see Dara, too.”
“I’m so sorry she couldn’t be here,” Dilara said, patting his hand. “I got to meet her just last week, and she is such a beautiful, heart-centered person.” She gave him an incisive look. “She loves you, you know.”
That woke him up. “What?” He searched his mother’s face. “Did she say that, Mom?”
Waving her elegant hand with several rings on it, she said, “Oh, no … no … nothing that she said. It was what she didn’t say, Matt.”
He grunted. His mother was world-famous for hearing what wasn’t said. As a kid, he swore his mother could read their minds. On top of that, she was well-known as a world-class matchmaker.
“Do you love her?” Dilara prodded.
Matt knew better than to hedge. “Yes, I do, but she doesn’t know it yet, Mom. I was hoping to get some quality time with her while I was on leave to broach the topic.”
“Hmm,” Dilara said, rubbing her strong chin, the same chin that Matt and Alexa had. “You do know Dara is very worried about her sister, Callie?”
“Yes,” Matt said, frowning. “I was glad Callie decided to leave Kabul and go home to her family ranch in Butte, Montana. How is Dara taking it?”
“Very hard. She’s a big kettle of worry, Matt. That is the only thing I can see that works against her. Otherwise, she is so sweet and unassuming, and a passionate pediatrician.”
Laughing a little, Matt nodded. “Yep, that’s my Dara: the worrywart.” He became somber. “Is she in touch with Callie?”
“Yes. I feel in my heart”—Dilara pressed her hand against her black wool coat—“that if you were not here, Matt, she would fly to Montana to be with her family and Callie for Christmas.”
“Maybe she should,” Matt said, his brows drawing down. He’d already thought long and hard about that.
“You could go with her after Christmas and divide your time between here and there. Perhaps remain to celebrate New Year’s with her family? A compromise?”
Matt leaned forward, kissing her cheek. “You’re a very, very wise woman, Mom. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Tal leaned around the seat. “I’ve told Mom she should run the UN; she’s so much smarter than anyone in there presently.” She gripped Matt’s shoulder, squeezing it gently and giving him a teasing look.
Matt could always count on Tal to help him come down off that adrenaline he lived on in Afghanistan. She had a way of knowing when he was strung too tight and always did something playful to pull him out of it. He gave her a warm, loving look.
“Did it earn you Brownie points?” He chuckled, giving Tal an evil look. As children, they were constantly playing jokes on one another. Not cruel ones, but funny ones. And he could see by the glint in Tal’s eyes that she was in teasing mode.
“I always earned more points with Mom than you and Alexa combined,” she said smugly, hitting him playfully on the upper arm.
“That’s because you’re the oldest and most favored child,” Matt told her dryly, his smile broadening. God, he missed being home, missed having Tal in his life. Alexa was like a perennial lightbulb: always on. And she lifted everyone’s spirit when she came into a room. Alexa was sunlight. Tal was moonlight. And him?
Hell, he didn’t know. He just knew his two sisters were the world to him and they all loved one another. That in itself was amazing, since there were so many families where that didn’t happen.
Tal gave him a pleased look. “That’s why I’m the CEO of Artemis and you work for me, little brother.”
A chortle erupted out of Matt. “Hey, there has to be a leader in every family.” And then his voice grew amused. “Believe me, Alexa and I are gonna give you a run for your money, big sis. We’ll just see how well you wear those CEO pants.”
Now it was Tal’s turn to laugh as she pounded him o
n the shoulder, delighted by his shot across her bow. “Dream on, little brother.”
He gripped her hand, placed a kiss on the back of it, and then released it. “I love you anyway.”
Tal leaned up and kissed his bearded cheek. “And you are my favorite guy … well … except for Wyatt here, of course.”
Matt looked over the seat at Wyatt. “Got anything to say, cowboy?”
“Oh,” Wyatt drawled, holding up both his hands, “I’m staying out of this sibling rivalry. You two are on your own. Have at it.” And he gave both of them a big Texas grin.
Matt raised an eyebrow at Tal. “This guy you’re marrying? He’s got a lot of maturity and wisdom. Does Mom like him?” Matt delighted in goading Tal.
“Of course I do!” Dilara spoke up, aghast at his question. She shook her finger in Matt’s face. “Now, you stop this! You’re such a troublemaker! I want peace between all of us, so put your stirring stick away, Matthew Culver.”
Properly chastised, Matt saw Tal give him a triumphant look. “This time,” he warned, “you’re getting off easy, Tal.”
*
Dara yawned as she took the concrete steps up to her second-floor apartment. It had stopped raining but was turning colder by the minute. Soon, it would snow. Weary from working two eight-hour shifts back-to-back, she forced herself up the gleaming, wet steps. As she took the last one, she looked down the long concrete aisle toward the door to her apartment. There was a man standing in front of it, expectantly looking her way.
Gasping with joy, she whispered, “Matt!”
He moved soundlessly toward her.
Her heart bounded with joy, and Dara practically ran to him. The lights from above revealed him without his scraggly beard. His once-longish hair was now cut military short, glinting with gold and brown highlights. He wore a black leather jacket, a dark blue muffler, and jeans that outlined his beautiful, hard body. And there was that feral smile of his, that burning look he gave her as she approached him, his eyes narrowed with hunterlike intensity.
“Welcome home,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion, throwing her arms around him.
Matt hauled her tightly against him, burying his face into her thick blond hair around her shoulders. Dara clung to him, feeling how warm and solid he was against her curves. Whispering his name, she turned, meeting Matt’s hungry, descending mouth. This time, he was without a beard. Her nostrils flared, taking in the scent of his lime soap, the way his sandpapery face rubbed against hers. His mouth consumed hers with such desire that her knees went weak as she leaned into him, utterly supported.
Matt was reliable. Dara knew he would always be there for her. He’d never let her fall. Their breathing changed, becoming ragged, and she moaned, moving against him, rubbing her hips against his erection beneath his jeans. Oh! He felt so good to her!
Dara didn’t want to stop kissing Matt hello, but she did. They were standing out in the cold when they could have been inside her warm, cozy apartment. Smiling up into his deeply shadowed eyes, she whispered, “You are so handsome! I never realized it with your beard on.” She watched his well-shaped mouth move, a hint of pride in his gleaming gaze. Despite the change, he looked like a lion in human form with those shadowed and narrowed gold eyes trained only on her. She could feel the primal, animal part of Matt. It lingered just below the surface of him. As if—if she scratched his skin—she would find fine gold fur beneath it. Even his face was more exotic-looking than she’d realized when the beard was hiding it. It made Matt even more sensual to her, more aware of his blatant primal charisma, which had always drawn her. Now, without the beard to hide his face, she could easily visualize man and lion as one. She’d never lacked for creativity and it was particularly keen when it came to Matt. He inspired her imagination in the most wild and natural ways.
“So? I didn’t scare you to death? You really did know it was me waiting for you instead of some stranger?” he teased, releasing her, allowing her to walk to the door. He had texted her earlier as she’d left the hospital. Matt had wanted to pick her up, but she insisted that he meet her here at her apartment.
Her hand trembled slightly as she slid the key into the lock. “No, you didn’t scare me, Matt,” she whispered, her voice low with emotion. She opened the door, pushing it wide. “Are you staying with me tonight?”
“Want me to?”
“Yes.” She walked in and dropped her keys in a small pink glass bowl that sat on a slender antique Queen Anne desk made of maple in the foyer. Turning, she unbuttoned her wool coat, which fell nearly to her ankles. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to welcome you home,” she said, hanging up her coat in the nearby closet. Dara held her hand out for his leather coat, which he’d taken off.
“Did someone call in sick at the last moment?” Matt asked after she hung up his jacket. He rested his hands on her shoulders, smoothing her hair aside and nibbling on the nape of her neck. He felt her react and then give a delicious sigh, pulling away. He opened his arms, drawing Dara up against him, their hips meeting as they melted against one another.
“Yes. You can’t leave Pediatrics without a doctor on call. I took Dr. Spinner’s place. She came down with the flu, and there was no way we wanted her anywhere around the hospital feeling like that.”
He slid his fingers through her hair, watching her eyes grow drowsy, knowing she enjoyed the pleasure of his touch. “What can I do to help you?”
She rested her hands on his face. “I need a shower. I’m not hungry, just bone-tired.”
“How about I make you some hot chocolate after you come out of the shower? We’ll sit in the living room while you drink it and talk a little.”
“Mmm, a man who makes hot chocolate. This I have to see.”
One corner of Matt’s mouth arced. “My mother taught me the Turkish way to make it.”
“I’ll bet it’s good.” Dara didn’t want to leave his arms, but she could feel herself beginning to dissolve into exhaustion. “Let me go get that shower. I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”
“And the spices,” he said, walking down the teakwood hall. “They’re what makes Turkish hot chocolate so tasty.”
Dara gave Matt a swift kiss on the mouth. Touching his cheek, she whispered, “I’ve missed your crazy sense of humor so much.”
He captured her hand, opening her palm, licking the center and then kissing it as he looked up toward her. “Did you miss me, too?”
Her lips parted. “Do you have to ask? More than anything …”
When Dara came out forty minutes later, she was in a long pink, fuzzy robe that brushed her feet. Matt turned, stirring the hot chocolate in a pan over the stove, looking her up and down.
“Not exactly a belly-dancing outfit, is it?” he chuckled. Dara had wrapped and knotted her hair on top of her head with two combs, giving her a decidedly girlish look. On her feet was a pair of very old, worn elk moccasins. She also wore a pair of bright red socks.
“No,” she sighed, walking over and bending down, smelling the scent of the steam coming from the pan. “Mmm, that smells wonderful,” she murmured, straightening. “What’s in it?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Bursting into laughter, Dara moved to his side, sliding her arm around his waist as he stirred the contents. “Well, we can’t have that. I’ll bet your Turkish mother swore you to secrecy, right?”
“Yes, she did.” Matt scooped some of the warming chocolate onto the spoon and tasted it. “This recipe has been in the family for three hundred years.” He slipped the spoon into the pot again, blowing on it to cool it a little. Then he offered it to her, sliding it between her parted lips. “Can you imagine? A recipe that’s three hundred years old? The United States didn’t even exist yet.”
“Tastes delicious, very spicy, but almost like eating apple pie without the apples and crust.” Dara licked her lips, seeing his eyes shutter a little, feeling that male heat rolling off him like it always did. She had missed having Matt
around. “And no, I can’t imagine a three-hundred-year old recipe.”
“Well, you’ve just tasted it. What do you think? Worth trying?” Matt took the pan and poured the mixture into two waiting mugs on the counter.
“I love it,” Dara admitted, sliding around behind him, her fingers grazing his hips. “Marshmallows?”
“I couldn’t find any.”
She bent, opening a lower drawer nearby. “I hide them from myself.” She grinned, placing the bag on the counter.
Soon, Matt had the cups ready. “Come on. Follow me to the couch?” He liked her small apartment. It had a mix of eclectic furniture in it; he was sure that it reflected the many facets of Dara. It reminded him mostly of the early 1900s. There was a gray, black, and red Navajo rug beneath the heavy oak coffee table. It was bordered by two leather wing chairs and a dark brown leather couch.
He set their cups on the oak table and sat down in the corner of the sofa, guiding Dara down beside him. She curved her legs beneath her body and lay against him, his arm around her shoulders. Reaching out, Matt handed her a cup and then took one for himself. Leaning back, he murmured, “This is the good life.”
Hearing that rumble in his chest, feeling his emotions, which were mirrored in his eyes, Dara nodded and held the cup between her hands, sipping the rich, warm liquid. “This is yummy. I love all the spices in it, Matt.”
“Good,” he murmured, moving his hand to her topknot and loosening it so that her hair tumbled freely around her shoulders. “I like you in your pink robe. Who knew a woman could be so damned sexy-looking in something like that?”
“Don’t make fun of my winter gear, Matthew Culver.”
“Never would I make fun of you.” He met and held her glistening blue eyes. Her love for him was shining in them. Matt nearly said the words “I love you.” But something cautioned him to wait a little longer.
Forged in Fire (Delos Series Book 3) Page 29
