I follow him up to the next level and my mouth drops open as soon as we hit the last step. It’s gorgeous. The walls are painted in a muted green, complemented by cream leather couches laid out with chocolate brown pillows, black accent tables, and a selection of abstract art covering the walls. When I look to the left, there’s a full kitchen with granite counters, top of the line stainless steel appliances, and a center island. I catch a glimpse of Matt who’s staring at me. “This place is amazing. And it completely holds up to your tight-ass reputation.”
He laughs and heads into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine from the fridge. “What, because there aren’t any clothes lying around or beer bottles on the floor?”
“Pretty much,” I state blandly, taking a closer look at some of the artwork.
“I wasn’t always like this,” he begins, removing two long-stemmed glasses from a cabinet in the center island. “I was actually kind of a slob growing up…dropping clothes wherever they landed, leaving candy wrappers around my room. My mom always got on my case about it.” He holds up the bottle of wine. “Is white wine okay?”
I nod in response before spotting some photos on a side table and making my way over to them. There are five different pictures and all except one include Matt.
“That’s my mom and dad, and Clara. Of course you recognize Brad.” He continues milling about the kitchen, placing an assortment of peppers and broccoli on the countertop.
“Wow. You and Clara looked so much alike, and your mom…she was pretty.” I hold up the picture and examine it more closely. “Where was this? It looks like Martha’s Vineyard.”
“Yeah, it was, actually. We took that trip after my mom was diagnosed with cancer.”
I put the picture back in its place and prance into the kitchen, planting myself on a silver stool at the center island, kicking my legs underneath me. “So your mom taught you to cook?”
“Let’s put it this way. I always spent time with my mom in the kitchen when I was younger and she encouraged us to be independent and to do things for ourselves. I remember one time, I’m not sure how old I was, but I told her I wanted an apple, and she said ‘get it yourself, sweetie,’ and when I asked her to wash it, she walked out of the kitchen, brought a stepstool in and pointed at it. So yeah, I cook and pretty soon you’ll find out just how good of a cook I am.”
I swirl the wine in the glass and take a sip, the sweet flavor rolling around my tongue before gliding down my throat.
“Would you like to know what’s on the menu?” he asks with an air of confidence, reaching over and pulling various spices from one of the cupboards.
“I’m all ears,” I answer, realizing I’ve already drained the entire glass on an empty stomach, which won’t bode well for my head.
“Okay, so I’m making sautéed eggplant with capellini, broccoli and peppers, you like?”
“Yes,” I reply, my belly agreeing with a slight rumble. “Can I help?”
“Nope, just make yourself comfortable. Do you want some cheese and crackers?”
He must’ve heard the earth-shattering grumble of my belly.
“I thought you’d never ask. Yes…I’m staaaarrrving.”
Matt opens the fridge, grabbing a hunk of cheese and handing me a box of crackers to set on a plate. I take the box, and as I do, his fingers skim mine, our eyes locking momentarily before we both go back to occupying our hands.
“So do you cook?” Matt asks over his shoulder as he fills a large pot with water. He places it on the stove and adds a dash of salt.
“Well, let’s see. Does boiling water and scooping Cheerios into a bowl qualify?” I say with lighthearted sarcasm.
He cuts the eggplant into thin slices and tosses them into a sauté pan. “Your mom didn’t cook growing up?”
“My mom worked two jobs and wasn’t home a lot, so I usually ate at a neighbor’s house or had some sort of frozen food that could be heated in the microwave.” I press a slab of cheese onto a cracker and quickly devour it.
“What about your dad?”
“So, are you sure you don’t want me to help you do anything? I can slice some peppers. I’m decent at slicing,” I answer, as my stomach tightens, anxious to get away from the unpleasant subject of my father, not wanting to waste any more breath on him. He’s stolen enough of my ability to breathe over the years.
Matt’s hand stops mid-stir and he looks back at me with another question in his eyes, but when he sees my gaze darting back and forth and the amount of cheese I’m currently inhaling, he decides to end the inquisition. “Sure. The water is just about ready, could you add the pasta?” I nod in response and, with the utmost finesse, dump the capellini into the pot.
A half hour later, Matt and I are at the table in the large dining room adjacent to the kitchen. He takes a seat across from me and proceeds to serve the food, but stops short of sitting down. “I forgot something, hang on.”
He comes back a minute later with two candles encased in glass and sets them on the table.
“This looks really great, Matt. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ve actually been eating a lot of takeout lately, so this is a welcome change,” he says, taking a forkful of pasta and grinning. “This is really good.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I retort, twirling the pasta on my fork and lifting it to my mouth, a combination of sweet and spicy hitting my tongue. “Wow, this is delicious. I’m impressed.” I take a bite of the eggplant, closing my eyes briefly and savoring the taste. “So…how many women have sat here before me eating sautéed eggplant?”
“None.”
I swallow another bite of pasta and raise the glass to my lips, eyeing Matt with a speculative glare. “None? Why is that?”
“Because I don’t typically bring women here,” he says after taking a sip of wine. “This is my private space and I like to keep it that way.”
I nibble on my bottom lip, my mind swimming with a variety of thoughts, none of which make any sense.
Matt puts his fork down, rubbing the light stubble on his chin, regarding me thoughtfully. “Listen,” he says, his eyes radiating warmth and crinkling with sincerity, “about today at the lagoon. I’ve been there and if you ever want to talk about what happened, you can trust me with it. I’ll keep it safe for you.”
The strange thing is, I do sense that I can trust him. But what can I tell him that won’t sound selfish? I miss Kyle, but it’s how he made me feel—that someone so broken inside could still be deserving of love.
I puff out a breath, wiping my mouth on a napkin and pushing my plate forward. “Remember when I was telling you that I lost someone special? Well, he just made me feel—” I swallow, forcing the words past the blockage in my throat as I fiddle with the tablecloth “—special in a way that no one else has before.”
Matt leans forward, resting his chin on his fist, studying me. “It’s hard to believe, Fran, that no one else has noticed how special you are. If anything, it’s kind of hard not to notice.”
My eyes fly up to his and for a split second, time stands still as we stare at one another, my chest expanding, my heart filling at his words. “Thank you,” I manage to squeak out, breaking our connection to drink more wine.
There’s a deafening silence that follows our moment, because I do feel like we had one, although I have no idea what it means. Matt stands to clear the table and I help him bring the dishes to the sink, grabbing a towel from a nearby rack.
“What are you doing?” he asks, finally crashing through the quiet.
“I’m going to help you wash and load the dishes.” I reach over him to turn on the water and he shuts it off.
“Sit down and relax. This is just going to take a sec,” he says, scrubbing food off of one of the plates into a nearby garbage can.
“I want to help.”
“Fran.” He turns around with the sink sprayer aimed at me and my mouth gapes open.
“You wouldn’t dare!” I shout, my pulse racing
, my flight instinct kicking in.
“Did you just dare me, Fran? Because I think you did,” he taunts, resting his finger on the handle with a wicked gleam in his eye.
I freeze with my hands on my hips, green eyes blazing into his, until he lets me have it, spraying water all over my tank top. “I can’t believe you just did that!” I shriek, while he just stands there with a smug grin on his face. “Gah!” I raise my hands in the air. “That’s it!”
I stomp off down the first hallway I see, not knowing where the heck I’m going, while Matt’s laughter rings out behind me.
“Where are you going?” he asks, barely able to speak through his howling.
There are various rooms on each side of the hall and I keep opening doors until I find what I’m looking for—the bathroom. I march in there, determination fueling me, and dig around for something that can hold water. The bathroom is huge with both a shower and a Jacuzzi-tub, and there’s a picturesque window with a spectacular view of LA. There are a multitude of drawers near the double sink and when I pull one open, I notice Matt wasn’t kidding. Every single item in there is alphabetized, from the razors, to the soap, to the deodorant. Another cabinet stands next to it and I’m able to find a small bucket filled with cleaning supplies that I immediately dump out and rinse thoroughly. That’ll do. I fill it with water, armed and ready for battle, when I catch a glimpse of my t-shirt in the mirror, mortified that my nipples are also poised and ready. There’s a towel on the rack so I loop it around my neck, hoping to hide my obvious excitement.
When I come back out, Matt is standing in the same spot and hasn’t dropped the sprayer.
“Whatcha got there, Fran?” he asks, his eyes wandering and landing first on the bucket and then on my nipples, and I lower the towel to cover them.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He pauses for a second to cough and that’s when I make my move, adrenaline coursing through my system as I throw the entire bucket of water on his shirt, but I miss and some ends up on his face and in his hair. I have to say, the wet look definitely suits him. He points at me again, his blue eyes alight with fire, and I take off running. I hear his footsteps following close, but continue down the hall until he catches up and grabs me around my waist, hauling me off the ground.
“Matt!” I laugh, breathing heavy and barely able to speak. “Let me go!”
“Make me.”
I try to free my arms but his grip is too strong. Eventually, he releases me slowly, my back sliding down his front, feeling the planes of his muscles and his apparent erection, making my nipples even more pronounced. I cross my arms over my chest to hide my arousal and glance back at him over my shoulder. “So, what now? We’re kind of wet.”
“I like you wet,” he says, his brows rising under a fringe of hair, a smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Let me get you a t-shirt.”
He walks down the hall, stripping off his shirt on the way, and I nearly melt into a puddle of lust. I can’t stop staring. Those jeans hang low on his hips exposing a slim waist, and the muscles of his back ripple as he moves. The edge of his boxer briefs are visible and my mind starts drifting to what’s underneath them when he emerges from a room at the far end of the hall, still shirtless. Holy crap. Broad shoulders and full pecs lead down to that V shape near his abdomen. My eyes linger on the tiny dusting of hair just below his belly button and desire threatens my ability to continue to stand or even form a coherent thought.
He finally covers his chest with a shirt, thank God, before tossing one to me. I head off to the bathroom to change, immediately locking the door and falling back against it. My heart rate is skyrocketing while my body is on fire. A minute later, when I can finally move without keeling over, I walk to the sink and catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are bright, my cheeks a soft shade of pink, my hair a wild mess. I can’t help the smile spreading across my face.
I breathe in the scent of his shirt, clean and masculine mixed with detergent that sends a frisson of excitement coursing through me. With a quick tug, I pull off my tank and slide his shirt over my head before taking a deep breath. I come back out to find Matt reclining against the wall, staring in my direction.
“My shirt looks good on you,” he says, his eyes roving, his voice a deep timbre. He pushes off the wall and strolls back out to the living room.
“Thanks, and thanks for the lend.” My cell phone chirps in the distance and I get to it on the fourth ring to find Peyton on the other end. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey,” she answers, her voice low. She doesn’t sound like herself and it makes me nervous.
“What’s going on? You sound weird.”
“Where are you?” she asks, sniffling and blowing her nose into the phone.
“I’m at Matt’s. Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better. When you come back will you swing by my room?” she asks quietly, and now I’m concerned.
“Absolutely. We’ll head out now, okay?” I glance over at Matt, who sees the look on my face and grabs his keys.
“Thanks, Fran. See you soon,” she says before hanging up, and I hear relief in her voice.
“What’s going on?” Matt questions as soon as I click the phone off.
“I don’t know. Peyton sounds really upset so we should definitely get back.” I follow him down the stairs and out through the basement.
The drive back to the hotel is quiet, but my head is anything but…flipping back and forth between Peyton and my day with Matt. Every now and then I chance a glimpse at him, one strong hand clutching the wheel, the other resting lightly on the gear shift. There’s a part of me that wants to go to him, curl up next to the warmth of his chest and feel him, breathe him in, but I can’t.
It’s about six when we finally arrive back at the hotel and I’m completely exhausted. After I check on Peyton, I’m definitely calling it a night. Matt walks me to the door and for some reason my stomach is a jumble, twisting with nerves.
“Thanks for the adventure today. You’re pretty decent company.” I lean back, bringing a knee up, my foot resting against the door.
“Decent company, huh?” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.
“So…I think I’ll take the stairs in the morning,” I say with a hint of laughter, “wouldn’t want to get stuck on the elevator again.”
Matt digs a fist in his pocket as he glances down at the carpet. “Oh, I don’t know, it wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No,” I reply, smiling, “it wasn’t bad at all.” On my last word, Matt’s eyes climb to mine and he inches closer. I falter at his sudden proximity.
I watch his hand heading toward my face and my breathing picks up as he smoothes a finger over the arch of my brow, the angle of my cheek, and finally my bottom lip, sending my pulse racing and my stomach into an unfamiliar dance. I realize in this moment that I want him to kiss me…but not because I’m trying to forget, simply because I want to remember.
His nose glides down my cheek and his lips follow, a dance across my skin, and my heart skitters in my chest. Warm breath prickles my flesh, little bubbles of happy rising to the surface. “Goodnight, sunshine,” he whispers, his lips brushing my skin, before he backs away all too soon and pins me with a gaze that’s so unnerving, mostly because I can’t figure it out. It isn’t hungry the way other men look at me, it’s like he’s searching. I wish I knew what he was searching for, because suddenly, I want him to find it.
“Goodnight, Matt,” I call softly, touching my cheek, but he’s already gone.
After I manage to get my head out of the clouds, I make a quick stop to change into something more comfy, stride down the hall to Peyton’s room, and knock loudly on the door. She opens it with a face full of runny black mascara, a red nose, and puffy eyes, not a state I’m used to seeing her in.
“What’s going on? You look dreadful,” I say, trying to lighten the grim atmosphere.
“Gee, thanks a lot,” she repl
ies, putting a bunch of tissues to her nose and blowing it. She perches at the edge of the bed, throwing the used tissues into a pile she’s accumulating on the carpet.
I sit down next to her and hook my arm over her shoulder. “That’s really gross, you know.”
“I know,” she says with a snort, “but I don’t care.”
“So what’s going on? I’ve never seen you this upset. Ever.”
“Well, first off, my sister called earlier today. She said she was so hurt that I didn’t come to celebrate her promotion. I don’t know, I know I was doing it to spite my mom but I didn’t really think about how it would affect her. I didn’t even think she cared that much. I guess I was wrong and now I feel horrible.”
“Okay, so when you get back, you can make it up to her. Take her out to dinner. I’m sure she’d really appreciate that, you know?” I squeeze her arm, pulling her closer to me. “But, what else is bothering you?”
She escapes my grasp and lands back on the bed with a thud, a fresh batch of tears brewing in her eyes. “It’s Caleb. We…we slept together this afternoon,” she mutters through her sobs, hiding her face with both arms.
“Wow, was it that bad?” I joke, lying down next to her.
“HA!” she laughs, a tear sliding down her neck. “It was beyond amazing. The guy’s got mad skills. The way he touched me, the way he held me, I swear I didn’t want to leave his bed.”
“So why did you?”
“Because.…” She releases a harsh breath. “I panicked. He’s got one of those personalities that kind of grows on you…like a weed.” She giggles slightly. “He’s addictive.”
I yawn, the drain of the day finally getting to me. “So what, Peyton? So be addicted for the next couple of days. You’re thinking with your brain. Stop thinking with your brain and just have fun.”
“Listen to you, Dr. Phil.” She turns on her side to face me. “I didn’t realize you were such an expert on relationships.”
Scarred Beautiful Page 10
