He couldn’t do it.
Looking at her now, head down, trying to choke down a steak sandwich, he could not believe that of all the women he had ever known in his life (and had lost count of way back there), this wacko ex-beauty queen could unhinge him so completely with one, single, breathtaking question. Her whole body had lit up, had pulsed beneath his hands and his mouth. And that smile of hers, that little smile she had on her face when he was . . . well, doing her. Christ.
At the moment, he was wishing pretty hard that the passionate, free Rebecca would wake up, take a peek outside, say hi, say something—but instead of receiving the message telepathically like he hoped, she pushed her plate aside, leaving the better half of a delicious steak sandwich (even if he did say so himself). “Go on, eat it,” he said, wolfing down the last of his. “You could stand to put on a little weight.”
“Oh, thanks,” Rebecca said, and with a groan, put her head in her hands. “Will you please take me to my car now?”
Great. Now he felt like some guy she might have picked up at a bar, when, at the same time, he was feeling all warm and fuzzy about her. “Sure. Okay.” He tossed the dish towel onto the countertop. “Just give me a minute,” he said, and walked out of the kitchen, to the master bedroom. As he banged around looking for shoes, his mind was racing and he was, incredibly, pissed off. After all, he was the one who was usually doing the morning-after regret thing. And furthermore, she had started it, not him, and she had jumped right in with both feet, lighting up like the University of Texas Tower from the moment he touched her. Hell, he’d just hung on for the ride. One would think Miss Four Years would appreciate all his efforts for her sake.
How could she not?
Alien. That was how.
Frankly, her everyday I’m-above-this attitude was really starting to grate. He didn’t want her. Well, okay, yes he did—but only in a very base man-level way. He damn sure wasn’t going to do anything about it. And if the earth should ever stop revolving, which it would have to do before he would even consider touching her again, no matter how long she’d been without, she just might have to crawl and beg. Ha. That would teach her.
Matt found loafers, shoved his feet into them, and went marching out of his bedroom to get rid of her.
But when he entered the living room, Rebecca was standing at the windows, wearing a very gentle smile that slowed him down a step or two. “You know what?” she asked immediately. “You were right.”
Damn straight he was right. She had started this whole thing, not him.
“I feel so much better after that sandwich. I really can’t thank you enough, Matt. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I mean, I never drink too much—I’m usually very careful about that.”
Usually very tightly wound was more like it.
“I really appreciate your help,” she said with a grateful smile.
All right. Well okay then. This was more like it. “It wasn’t anything,” he lied, and picked up his keys. “Ready?” He gestured toward the door and followed her, pausing to pick up a couple of baseball caps.
“What’s this for?” Rebecca asked as he handed her one.
“We ride with the top down.” He opened the door. “After you, Mork.”
She gave him an inquisitive look, shook her head, and walked out.
Matt had every intention of taking her directly to her car, do not pass Go . . . but in spite of her lack of attachment after last night’s activities, she looked sort of cute with the baseball cap on, and it was a glorious early-spring day, with temps hovering around seventy.
The kicker was his mom’s birthday, which he didn’t really remember was next week until he saw the West Lynn Art Festival, a tony little two-street art show. His mom loved crap like that, filled her whole house with it. And then, a gift from heaven—a Chevy half-ton had pulled away from the curb right in front of him and opened up the greatest parking space in the history of mankind.
Matt instantly jerked his car into it.
“What are you doing?” Rebecca asked, gripping the door to keep from being tossed onto the sidewalk.
“My mom’s birthday is next week.”
Rebecca leaned forward, looked down the little street where the art festival was in full swing. “Won’t you take me to my car first?”
“No way,” he said, slapping the gear into park. “I will never get a parking space this good again in my lifetime and you owe me at least that much.” That left her speechless. “I’m just going to pop in and find my mom something nice for her birthday. I won’t be a minute. You can come with or you can sit, makes no difference to me.”