“That sounds like Nat,” she said wryly.
“What did you want her to see?” he asked with a nod at the gold-dipped skyline.
“The future,” she said. “A long way off, but coming.”
Matt surveyed the dust-covered rubble. “You did good, boss.”
“So did you,” she said. “We did this together.”
“I know.” He extended the box to her. “This is for you.”
“You didn’t have to get me a present,” she demurred even as she automatically accepted the offered box.
“I wanted … I wanted to.”
She gave him a startled glance, this time seeing the nerves under the calm. “You did?”
“I did.” He nodded at the box. “Open it.”
Turning so her back rested against the doorframe, she slid her finger under the tape securing the end of the carefully wrapped paper, then continued the motion across the top of the box. The paper dropped away to reveal a Bose SoundDock, the latest version of the one Lyle’s flunky destroyed that fateful night.
Hope flickered to life. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I missed this. I missed you.”
A really sweet flush stood high on his cheekbones as the cool fa?ade melted even more. He’s nervous. Not under control. He feels nervous. He feels.
“I … ah … haven’t been around lately, so maybe you already replaced it. If you did, I hear the Backstreet Boys are touring again.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “This is perfect, because I put a new sound dock on my Christmas list and spent the money on a wrecking ball.”
That laugh seemed to rumble from his chest a little more easily now, and lingered as a smile on his mouth. He looked at the pile of concrete, shook his head, looked back at her. Then he pulled two sheets of folded paper from his inner suit pocket, unfolded them so she could see the bar codes. The concert tickets. She’d thought he would take Luke, never dared to hope he’d want to take her.
Matt straightened away from the door, squared his shoulders, and held out his hand. Alexi Murdoch’s “Orange Sky” played quietly in the background. “I’m Matt Dorchester,” he said. “I’m a detective with the Lancaster Police Department.”
She’d heard a million lines in her time, but that one … that one took the cake.
She set the sound dock on the counter, slipped her hand into his. “Hi, Matt,” she said and gave his hand a firm shake. “I’m Eve Webber and I’m not fronting for a psychopath drug dealer.”
“Nice to meet you, Eve,” he said, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “I’ve got two tickets to the Maud Ward concert. Want to go with me?”
“I hoped you’d ask me,” she said. “But really, you can take Luke, or—”
Still gripping her hand, he stepped right into her personal space, and stopped her babble with a soft, thorough kiss. “Go to the concert with me, Eve. Please.”
“Okay,” she said breathlessly, propriety forgotten in the desire hanging over them like the afternoon sky.
Matt’s thumb stroked over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. “It’s Monday night. Are you having dinner with your parents?”
“Dad still gets tired easily, so Mom’s taking him home to fuss over him. We’re getting together later in the week.”
“Do you want to go get dinner?”
“I’d love that,” she replied. “If you want to.”
“I want to,” he said softly.
The words lingered in the air like the dust motes in the setting sun. She waited for him to release her hand, but he held onto it, his thumb now slowly stroking her palm. “You’re going to have to let go of my hand.”
“I don’t want to let go,” he said. In the background Alexi Murdoch sang about love and salvation. “I need to not let go.”
Eve tilted her head and looked at him. Happiness, relief, reassurance lingered on the surface of his expression, while the depths held a possessiveness that was pure Matt Dorchester. Energy poured from him in waves, but the guarded look in his eyes, the sense of iron walls under muscle and skin, was gone.
“So don’t,” she said simply. “Don’t let go.”
He dropped her hand, wrapped that arm around her waist, and cupped the back of her head with his other hand to hold her close. “I missed you. God, I missed you.”
Absolutely astonished, a heartbeat passed before a bubble of emotion—joy, surprise, tears—expanded in her throat, but joy rose to the top. She slid her arms into his suit coat, above all the gear on his belt, and curved them up to flatten against his shoulder blades and pull him closer.