“For me?” she asked, feeling warm. God, she couldn’t even remember the last time someone had given her a gift for no reason. “Oh, my,” she murmured, picking it up and carefully turning it over. “Oh, my.” She looked up at Matt again in wonder.
His smile had faded; there was a strangely tender look in his gray eyes. He suddenly reached behind him again and handed her a red velvet box. “I, ah . . . I didn’t know if you still had pencils or not,” he said, thrusting them toward her. “The guy said these were the best.”
Rebecca took the box and folded her arms tightly over her gifts, holding them against her chest as a smile lit from a place deep inside her and spread throughout her entire body. She was touched, genuinely and deeply touched. And for someone who walked around so cocksure all the time, Big Pants suddenly seemed so vulnerable, fidgeting around, looking for something to do with his hands.
“Excuse me,” she said softly, “but could you tell me what happened to Matt Parrish? You know, the popinjay?”
“Well,” Matt said, shoving a hand through his hair, “unfortunately, he’s taken complete leave of his senses. He’s gone off to have his testosterone checked, because the fact of the matter is,” he said, sighing a little, “that if you owe him anything, he wants you to draw again.” He dipped his gaze to the box. “At least try, will you? You might be surprised at how good it feels,” he said, lifting his gaze to her again. “I want you to get it back, Rebecca. You deserve to have it back.”
She wanted it back. She wanted it in this moment like she’d never wanted anything in her life. “Matt . . . thank you,” she said. “This is so nice.”
“Yeah, well, please don’t say that too loud—wouldn’t want that going around town, you know.”
She smiled.
Matt paused as if he was searching for something to say. His eyes reflected the same desire she could feel churning inside her, a desire so strong that it frightened her. She could feel that internal dam cracking, and she impulsively leaned across the console, surprising him with the touch of her lips to his cheek.
Startled, he caught her face with his hand. Rebecca slid her lips to the corner of his mouth, landing there for the breadth of a moment, enough to make her heart flutter like a thousand winged birds.
Matt turned a little more, sliding his lips to hers, soft at first, then more demanding, deeply, until he was coming over the console to her. As he deepened the kiss, his hand pressed against the side of her breast, kneading it softly. The sketchbook and pencils slipped, in her clumsy groping about for them, she brushed against his trousers. And her hand lingered there, lightly stroking his erection, marveling at the feel of him, hot and hard beneath his clothing.
Matt groaned into her mouth; he cupped her breast, filled his hand with it as he drew her bottom lip between his teeth. His kiss was electrifying; Rebecca felt wildly out of control again, felt things happening inside her and between her legs that she didn’t want to happen. She knew she was about to slide off into the deep end of that rough, unbridled passion, and the thought of her son and grandparents suddenly flashed into her mind. She pushed Matt up at the same time she slid deeper into the seat, gasping for air. “I have to go,” she said hoarsely.
“You can’t. My testosterone is back and begging for a do-over,” he murmured against her lips, nipping at them. “Forget drawing and art . . .”
“Oh, I’ve forgotten them, trust me,” she said with a coy laugh, and pushed him again. “But my son is in there.”
“Yeah,” he said, and with a heavy sigh, he reluctantly sat up. His tie was crooked, pulled around to his shoulder, and she wondered for a crazy moment if she had done that as she gathered up the sketch pad and pencils.
“Be careful of those blue hairs,” he said, pushing both hands through his hair. “They’re pretty vicious when it comes to bingo.”
“And free brisket,” she added dreamily as she opened the door. She paused, smiled at him once more. “Thanks, Matt.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
She got out, a little shakily, and closed the door. She watched him back out of the parking space. But before he could drive away, a burning question suddenly popped into Rebecca’s mind, and Rebecca waved at him to stop, running to his car as Matt rolled down the window. “What’s your sign?” she blurted breathlessly.
“My what?”
“Your sign. Are you Aries? Taurus?”
He laughed. “Cancer. What’s yours?”
“Umm . . . Pisces,” she muttered.
“Glad we got that out in the open,” he said, and with a final wave, turned the wheel and drove off.
“Ohmigod,” Rebecca whispered as his car turned onto the highway. “Ohmigod.”
Chapter Eighteen
If confusion is the first step to knowledge, I must be a genius . . .
LARRY LEISSNER