It took Grace all of five minutes to say goodbye to her brothers and, surprisingly, Tucker walked them both to the door and shook Matt’s hand.
“Drive safe and take care of her,” Tucker said gruffly. Matt knew the guy was just looking out for his sister—that’s what families did—so he took no offence when Tucker asked Grace to call him when she got to Matt’s place.
She snuggled up alongside him in the truck. And man, it felt as if she belonged there—as if she’d always belonged there. His mood was light and he whistled to whatever song was on the radio, something from the eighties, and that led to an intense conversation about whistling.
Turned out Grace couldn’t get the knack of it, no matter how hard she tried, and by the time they reached his place, she was laughing uncontrollably while trying to whistle along to the radio.
She stumbled getting out of the truck, but Matt was there and he grabbed her up close. “I think you’ve had more than your fair share to drink tonight, Bluebell.”
She nodded. “Yep. I’m drunk.” And then she giggled. “I’m drunk on you, Matt Hawkins.”
He stared down into her eyes and swept that stubborn long curl that was always falling over her forehead. She was so damn sweet. So damn soft.
He groaned and slid his mouth along her jawline, smiling to himself when she sagged against him.
Snowflakes fell from above, little intricate pieces of art that drifted onto their heads, and tickled their skin. He kissed several large flakes from her cheek and then captured her mouth again, this time settling her between his legs and holding her head steady with his hands.
She tasted like peppermint and felt like heaven in his arms, and as he kissed her there underneath a perfect winter night, something inside him broke open and filled his chest with heat. Everything inside him tightened and he froze for a moment, unsure of what exactly it was he was feeling.
“Matt, let’s go inside,” she murmured against his mouth. “I need you naked right now.”
He kissed her once more, his mouth moving over hers as his hunger grew. When he felt so damn tight he couldn’t stand it, Matt grabbed her hand and led her up to his porch and into his house.
There was still music playing somewhere and he’d barely managed to get the door closed when she slammed against him and pushed him back against the wall. Her hands were everywhere. His chest. His ass. His crotch.
“Dammit, Grace. You gotta hold on or I’m not going to—“
She held her finger against her mouth and he froze because the look in her eyes, the desire and need, was something to behold and he ached knowing it was all for him.
Grace tossed her coat and fell to her knees.
“Grace,” he croaked. Sweat beaded his forehead and sprouted along his top lip. There was no way he could last. Not with his dark haired angel on her knees in front of him.
“Grace,” he managed to say again.
“Shut up, Hawkins.” Her hands were inside his jeans.
“And let me…” She pulled down his zipper and his cock sprang free.
“Put my mouth on you.”
Holy. Shit.
As soon as her wet, warm, mouth enveloped him, Matt saw stars. His nostrils flared and he banged his head against the wall. She was aggressive, and she grabbed his shaft with her hands, stroking him in a perfect way that had his balls tightening. He was losing control and fuck if he cared.
His hands sank into all those dark waves and he held her there against him, swearing like a sailor when she licked her way down his dick and took one of his balls into her mouth.
“You’re killing me, Grace,” he said hoarsely, gritting his teeth when she took him whole once more.
There were no more words. He gazed down at this woman on her knees, at the sweet curve of her cheek, and the small upturned nose that he freaking adored, and he let her love him. She sucked and tugged and massaged him until he knew he couldn’t hold back. When he tried to move her away, she held on and soaked up every last bit of him as he came.
“That was…” But he couldn’t finish his sentence because Matt didn’t think he had the right words.
She gazed up at him, her hands caressing his thighs, and smiled. “I know.”
Carefully, Matt helped her up and slid his arms around her, wanting to feel her body and her warmth. He kissed the top of her head and grabbed her hand.
“It’s early yet.” His throat felt thick and his voice was a little rough. “Let’s see if I can top that.”
Grace licked her lips and let him lead her up the stairs to his bedroom. They pushed open the door and clothes started flying.
“Game on,” Grace giggled, flashing her perfect ass at him before diving into his bed. With a huge grin, Matt joined her and spent the next several hours doing his very best.
17
A week went by and Grace was still in New Waterford.
She and Matt didn’t discuss the fact that she’d never returned to Nashville. Or that she had her friend Nicola courier out her laptop so she could work on the gala for the foundation. He didn’t blink an eye when she went to town one day and spent a small fortune on clothing and toiletries. Not even when said toiletries ended up on his bathroom sink.
The two of them just sort of fell into a routine and if their silence somehow kept whatever it was they were doing together, working, then so be it. Of course, others were talking and the rumor mill was going crazy.
Hawkins had gotten the Simon girl pregnant. Hawkins had somehow brainwashed her. They were both into kinky sex.
Lou at the hardware store told Missy from Jensen’s boutique that a Simon was too good for riff raff the likes of Matt Hawkins, and he declared her family would put an end to it sooner rather than later. Of course when Missy repeated Lou’s take on things to her boyfriend, a guy who worked for Logan Forest, Logan’s wife Billie was in earshot and told the girl in no uncertain terms to keep her mouth shut unless she knew what the hell she was talking about.
Grace knew about the gossip, of course she knew, but she’d grown up a Simon and having people talk about her or her family was familiar. It was almost normal. To be expected. As for Matt, well, she had no idea if he knew and whether he cared or not if he did. You know, on account of the no talking thing.
Sure it bothered her—the no talking thing. But she didn’t want to force the issue because she was afraid Matt would push back. Some would call that a cowardly move, but for Grace it was all about keeping things even keel.
At the moment life was good. Such as it was.
So here she was a week after basically moving in to Matt’s home, and she had no idea what she was doing—what they were doing. So when her mother called out of the blue, she found it hard to answer her questions. To be fair, her mother didn’t say one thing about the fact that her daughter was still in Michigan—and for that Grace was grateful. But still, to be discussing Thanksgiving when she had no clue what her plans were, was not exactly a comfortable conversation.
“The entire family will be up north, Grace. Even your cousin Cooper is gracing us with his presence.”
“Coop?” Grace smiled at the mention of his name. “What’s he done now?” It was a known fact that Cooper Atticus Simon only came up north to escape something or someone.
Her mother sighed and Grace settled onto the large round seat in the family room. Rosie’s smallest pup was on her lap and she stroked the little guy’s head, eyes on the large floor-to-ceiling window where she could see Matt outside chatting with a potential client.
The sight of him still had the power to send her body for a loop, and Grace’s chest tightened while her heart took off like a rocket. Dressed casually in jeans, boots, and a thick, navy blue turtleneck sweater, Matt took her breath away. He was just so big and masculine and…
He smiled at something the potential client said, and even from in here, nearly twenty feet away. she felt its potency.
“Grace!” Her mother’s voice was sharp and she snapped her eyes back to the pupp
y.
“Sorry? What was that?”
There was a long pause and she knew that her mother was annoyed. “We were discussing your cousin.”
“Right. What did he do this time?”
“I don’t know and I’m pretty sure that I don’t want to know, although no doubt it involves a woman. His mother is in a state and that’s enough for me.”
There was a pause, a long uncomfortable pause, in which time Grace searched her mind for something intelligent or entertaining to say. Kind of hard to do when all she really wanted was for Matt to march his butt into the house and have his way with her.
“So about Thanksgiving.” Her mother really was like a dog after a bone. “I need an answer so that I can plan accordingly.”
That was bull and Grace knew it. Their lake house in Canada could accommodate a small army, and besides, her brother Teague lived up there in a big house with lots of room.
“I’m just not sure yet,” she finally admitted, wincing as she awaited her mother’s response. Thanksgiving was a big deal in the Simon family and anyone missing it better have a damn good excuse.
Another pause.
“Are you planning on spending the holidays with Matt?” Her mother’s voice was sugar sweet, but Grace wasn’t fooled. And hearing her ask the question, the same one she’d been asking herself for the last few days—the same one she couldn’t bring herself to ask Matt—did nothing for Grace’s state of mind.
“Why are you grilling me?” she snapped. “Jesus, I’m a grown woman, not a child. And really, Mom, it’s just a turkey dinner. What does it matter if I’m there or not?”
Shit. Grace clapped her hand over her mouth, instantly filled with regret. She was just about to apologize when her mother spoke and this time Eden Simon didn’t bother to hide her displeasure. It was enough to make Grace feel like a naughty child, and rightly so.
“First of all, you will not use that kind of language or that tone when speaking to me.”
“Mom, I—“
“You also will not interrupt me, Grace Bluebell Simon.”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut and held the puppy close. How had she managed to screw up a simple conversation?
“Will you or will you not be spending the holidays with your family? That’s all I want to know, Grace. That’s not grilling. That’s a mother wanting to know if she’ll see her children.”
Okay. The guilt was pretty bad. It clogged her throat and made for another uncomfortable silence. What did she say to that?
“I’m sorry,” Grace whispered. “I…I just…”
“I take it you and Mathew haven’t discussed Thanksgiving as of yet.” Of course her mother would get to the heart of the matter.
“No,” she replied slowly. “We haven’t really talked about anything like that.”
“Grace, I’m going to give you some advice and what you choose to do with it is entirely up to you. As you’ve already stated, you’re a grown woman.”
“Mom, I didn’t mean—“
“You’re interrupting, Grace.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ve been married to your father for almost forty years, and in that time I’ve learned a thing or two about what sustains a relationship. Passion isn’t enough. Love isn’t enough. Neither is respect or compatibility or friendship. It’s a combination of all of those things, and the glue that holds those things together is communication. If this man means as much to you as I think he does, then you need to talk to him. You need to communicate. Or there’s no point going forward. You’ll only get hurt.”
Grace’s eyes were drawn to the window once more and she watched Matt wave goodbye to the tall burly man he’d been chatting with. He sank his hands into his jacket and hunched his shoulders against the cold. He hadn’t shaved in a few days because Grace liked the scruffy look, and with his dark hair curling over his collar, a small smile on his face as he glanced back at the house, she was hit in the chest. Seriously. It felt as if someone had just punched her.
Matt Hawkin was perfect for her. Absolutely perfect.
I love him, she thought. Holy. Shit. I love him.
“Grace? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here. And you’re right, Mom,” she whispered into the phone.
“Just promise me something, will you?”
“I’ll try.” She barely got the words out because her throat was so damn tight from trying to stop the tears from coming.
“Promise me that you won’t be afraid to ask the questions that you want to ask, even if you’re afraid of the answer. Promise me that you won’t ever let a man dictate your tongue or stifle your voice. Because in the end, to truly love someone successfully, you have to love yourself first and sometimes that means guarding your heart. It means knowing when to stay, but more importantly it means knowing when to walk away.”
Grace couldn’t reply because she totally failed to stop the tears from slipping down her face. She wiped her hand across her face, and grabbed up the hem of her T-shirt to take care of her damp cheeks.
“Grace?”
“Uh huh?” She hoped her mother couldn’t hear her sniffling.
“I hope we see you for the holidays. And please know the invitation is for Mathew as well. If that’s what you want.”
“Okay,” she managed to say, placing the puppy back in the pen. Grace snatched a Kleenex from the table beside the sofa and dabbed the corners if her eyes.
“We’ll talk in a few days?” her mother asked.
“We will. Tell Dad I said hello and that I’ve finally convinced the chef to use the menu that I want.”
“Okay. I love you peanut.”
Grace tossed her cellphone onto the island, her thoughts jumbled. Thanksgiving was less than a week away. She needed to nail down plans. She needed to ask the questions.
“I’ll do it over dinner,” she murmured.
It got dark early this time of year and already the sun was disappearing. Matt would be in soon—he rarely worked past five. They were having leftovers—she’d pulled out one of his containers of beef stew and the fresh buns she’d bought at the bakery in town were ready to go.
Grace got busy heating up the stew and grabbed a bottle of wine from the cupboard, smiling a little when she remembered what they’d done the night before after downing only half a bottle.
It was now nearly six and she was just about to set the table when she heard the front door open. Matt strode into house and headed for the utility room off of the main floor bathroom. Grace walked out to the hallway and leaned against the wall, her body thrumming at the thought of seeing him. Pathetic? Probably. But she didn’t care.
He tossed a bag into the hall, followed by three hockey sticks, and then stepped over the mess.
“Hey,” he said, walking over to her and planting a heated kiss on her mouth.
“Hey yourself,” she replied, breathlessly.
“I’m just heading out. Not sure when I’ll be back.”
Wait. What?
He must have noticed the confusion on her face, because he dropped one more kiss on her mouth and nuzzled her neck. “It’s my Friday night men’s league. Hockey.”
“Oh, I guess I forgot.” How could she forget something she didn’t know? And why was that exactly? Dumb rhetorical question. Because of the no-talking thing.
He stared down at her, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. “I can stay if you want me to. Might hear it from the guys—Lord knows they like to chirp—but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“No.” She shook her head and patted his chest, before reaching up and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. She wasn’t going to be that girl. The clingy, insecure, needy girl.
“Go. Have fun with your team. I’ll just…watch a movie or something.”
“You sure?”
“Go.”
He scooped up his hockey gear and, with a lopsided smile, left her alone in his house.
She listened to the rumble of his truck until it died and the
n Grace wandered back to the kitchen. She stared at the stew on the stove, at the basket of buns on the table, and at the two wine glasses along with the open bottle of red. Wow. When had she gotten so domesticated?
She stared at them for a long time—long enough for her eyes to smart once more from hot, unshed tears.
“It’s just a hockey game,” she muttered.
But he could have asked me to come watch. He could have taken me along, introduced me to his friends.
He could have. But he didn’t.
18
Matt rolled into the Roadside Grill along with several of his teammates. It was nearly ten and the boys were raring to go—but not Matt. He was here out of habit really, just going through the motions. He sidled up to the bar and ordered a draft.
“Heard you boys lost bad,” Duke said with a grin. His long, handlebar moustache quivered as he slid a mug over to Matt.
“Yeah well, that’s what happens when one of your best forwards doesn’t have his head in the game.”
Matt glared at Seth Longwood. The guy might be an idiot, but he was right. Matt had been distracted for most of the game. He’d drawn penalties that had hurt his team, and then he’d gone and got himself kicked out after he nailed Jamie Dollar from behind. It was a stupid thing to do—the guy had chirped him and Matt’s temper had gotten the best of him.
“It’s just one game,” Duke said, tossing his towel over his shoulder before moving down the bar to fill orders.
Matt stared down at the mug of beer. He grabbed it up and then set it down on the counter. Hell, he didn’t feel like beer. He didn’t feel like this place or the damn music that was blaring either.
He frowned and settled back onto the barstool, drawing out his cellphone and scrolling through his messages. There were two from Betty, both scolding him for not getting back to her previous messages from the day before. She’d flown back to New Orleans with Beau after the fundraiser, and he hadn’t talked to her since.
He wasn’t winning any friend-of-the-year awards, that’s for sure. But Betty never shied away from the tough questions and the last time they’d talked, she was all up in his business—and it was all about Grace.
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