“Don’t sweat it,” he said easily. “I figured out that day on the capitol grounds that you were dangerous.”
“I’m really not,” she said, and looked at the curve of his mouth, felt a sudden shiver as she remembered, with surprisingly clarity, everything that mouth had done to her last night. “God,” she muttered helplessly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ah, well . . . as much as I, ah . . . enjoyed our . . . encounter,” she stammered, avoiding his gaze and the couch where IT had happened, “I’m really not the type to come on to a guy like that.”
“Somehow, I knew that,” he said amicably as he walked around to her side of the bar, which she was gripping with all her might. He moved closer—very close. Rebecca risked a glance at him, saw the warm light in his gray eyes, and remembered those same eyes looking down at her last night with compassion. Even now, he was smiling sympathetically. Remembering him as he had been before her just a few hours before, she couldn’t help herself—she dared let go of the bar to touch his bare chest, tracing a line down the center to the top of his pajama pants and back again. “I had too much to drink. I’m really sorry.”
Matt covered her hand with his own; the warmth of his fingers spread up her arm, to her heart. “One apology is okay. Two could give a guy a complex,” he said softly. “But don’t worry about it, Rebecca. I’m not the kind of guy to take advantage of a sot. We messed around a little, okay? I mean, look at it—a drunk, sexually repressed woman sees her opening and—”
“I am not sexually repressed!”
“No? Well, that was one helluva it’s-been-four-years kiss you laid on me last night. And I believe all that wailing was you, too—not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he added with a wolfish wink.
Her alter ego, who was, apparently, as hungover as she was, was dying to ask him if there were really no complaints, but she laughed sheepishly and muttered, “I didn’t wail that loud.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” she said, her smile broadening.
Matt didn’t say anything, just looked at her, then murmured, “It was great.” He bent his head, tenderly kissed the corner of her mouth. “We had fun. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”
“Oh, thank God,” she said with relief. “I hoped you didn’t think that I . . . that I am wanting anything.”
Matt let go of her hand and stepped away. “Who, me? Nah. Listen, why don’t you grab a shower? You’ll feel a lot better. I’m sure I’ve got something you can wear,” he said, and indicated she should follow him.
“You’re going to make me wear girlfriend clothes?” she whined as she grabbed her boots, her bag, and followed him back to the room she had slept in.
“Sister clothes,” he corrected her as they walked into the room. “My sister lives almost to the middle of nowhere like you, and she crashes here sometimes when she is in town.” At the closet, Matt pulled out a T-shirt and pair of tennis shoes. “Here, try these on.” At the sight of her frown, he put them in her hand. “Try them.”
Rebecca donned tennis shoes a size too big, and a T-shirt that said Stubbs Bar-B-Q across the front. As she checked herself in the mirror, Matt opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of panties.
“Oh no,” Rebecca said. “I have to draw the line somewhere. Which, ah, reminds me . . .”
“You know, I’m not really sure,” he calmly answered.
“Oh. Well.” She could feel her face go full throttle red. “That’s okay—you can keep those.”
“Then—?”
“Don’t worry,” she muttered.
Something passed over Matt’s nonchalant expression. “Oh, I’m not going to worry. But I’m damn sure going to think about it.” He walked to the door again. “Shower’s in there. You’ll find all the stuff you need in the medicine cabinet or the linen closet.” And he flashed a smile and walked out so collected that Rebecca could imagine he had done this very thing a thousand times before. Nevertheless, she fell back onto the bed for a moment and closed her eyes, wanting to remember it all just one more time.
In Los Angeles, Bonnie Lear had just emerged from the shower herself when the phone started to ring again. She padded across the carpet to look at the caller ID. Dammit! Aaron again.
She stood there, debating. If she answered it, she’d be drawn back into his bullshit, and she was so sick of his bullshit. But if she ignored it, he’d just keep calling because the man had the tenacity of a deranged goat. Bonnie irritably snatched the phone up. “Yes, Aaron?” she snapped. “What do you want?”
“Christ! Have you moved? Been out of the country? Lose your phone?”
“Aaron!” she said sharply. “Are you stalking me?”
“Of course not!” he said angrily, then sighed. “Ah, Bonnie, what you must think of me. I’m sorry.”