SIX
“This really isn’t necessary, Mr. Croft.” Callie pressed the elderly man’s handkerchief to the cut on her forehead, hoping the blood had stopped oozing down her face. The E.R. was packed and it was only seven-thirty in the evening. The hour they’d spent in the waiting room so far felt like the tip of the iceberg.
Callie tried again. “It was kind of you to drive me here, but I don’t need to see a doctor.”
A trickle of blood ran down her hand as she applied pressure to her forehead, and she cursed the timing. How could she convince the man she didn’t need medical attention with her arm bringing to mind a horror flick? Served her right for being so distracted.
She’d gone to the costume shop today to rummage around and check out the crucifix she’d spied on the shelf the first day she’d visited the store. Focusing on her work hadn’t come easy, especially with the dressing room in her line of sight. And then, while standing on the shelf, she’d received a call from Matt, asking her to dinner.
No wonder she’d dropped the stupid crucifix on her head.
A drop of blood landed on her thigh, and she swiped the spot with her sleeve before the shop owner noticed. “I’m fine. Really. I can take care of this at home.”
The balding man’s forehead looked permanently creased with concern. “But that crucifix is heavy. You might need a CAT scan.”
That crucifix was heavy, indeed. Hurt like heck on the way down, too. Reaching for the sucker on the top shelf had been a stupid plan. Maybe Matt was right. Maybe she should stick to the cheaper, less authentic, less heavy props from here on out. Unfortunately, that didn’t solve her problem now. She kept hoping to convince the shop owner to leave, so she could leave, too. When she’d agreed to meet Matt for dinner tonight—to discuss the wedding only, she’d stressed to Matt—showing up bleeding wasn’t exactly the professional image she’d wanted to project.
A shout from down the hallway caught the attention of the entire waiting room. A man with handcuffs was kicking and screaming and shouting profanities, being escorted by two policemen. One of the cops sported a pretty impressive bloody nose.
Callie sighed and addressed Mr. Croft. “At least go on home to your wife.”
So that I can leave this E.R.
“Not until you get checked out by a doctor,” Mr. Croft said.
Callie bit back the groan. She hated being forced to go with her last resort but, at this point, she had no choice. She had to call Matt anyway, because making their dinner date looked impossible at this point. And she still hadn’t decided how to tell him she was putting their personal relationship, such as it was, on ice.
Callie pulled out her cell phone and placed the call, and Matt answered on the second ring.
“Hey. It’s Callie.” She turned in her seat to face away from where Mr. Croft was pacing and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need your help.”
“Does it involve another impossible deal involving sex with our clothes on? Because I’m not sure I’m up for torturing myself tonight.”
Despite everything, Callie bit back the smile and went on, “No, nothing like that. I went to Mr. Croft’s shop to check out a crucifix for an Interview with the Vampire wedding I’m planning.”
“Vampires?”
She grinned at the doubtful tone of his voice. “Set to take place at midnight. In a graveyard.”
“That’s just creepy.”
Callie laughed. “Anyway...” She glanced at Mr. Croft, who was now speaking with the clerk again, gesturing anxiously back at Callie.
The poor man was going to have a stroke at the thought of her keeling over from head trauma.
“I reached up to grab the crucifix and managed to knock the thing down on my head.” She purposefully didn’t share exactly why she’d been so distracted. “And it’s, um, a lot heavier than it looks.”
“Are you okay?”
“I have a little cut on my forehead. But Mr. Croft is freaking out. I think he’s afraid I’m going to keel over and die. He refuses to leave until I get checked out by a doctor.”
She could hear the grin in Matt’s voice.
“And you just happen to know one,” he said.
“I hate asking you for a favor like this. But—”
“Which E.R.?”
“St. Mathews.”
“I’m leaving right now.”
The next half hour passed by painfully, and Callie was no closer to deciding how to handle Matt. Not only that, the waiting room looked set to explode, every seat full. A couple was arguing and several kids were crying and Callie thought she was going to lose her mind. When the double doors whooshed open and Matt entered, relief swamped Callie, even as awareness shimmied up her spine.
He strode toward her with the look she remembered from the first night they’d met. Focused and intent on solving a problem.
Matt knelt in front of Callie, and she ignored the ridiculous catch in her chest as he lifted the bandage on her forehead, examining the cut.
“How long ago did it happen?” He ran his finger gently down the edge of her tender skin, and she sucked in a breath. The scent of spicy soap hit her nose, and she took in his hair, damp and curling a bit at the edges. Clearly he’d just gotten out of the shower. And the thought of a naked Matt soaping himself made her squirm in her seat.
She’d had the pleasure of having that hard length pressed along her hip...
Mr. Croft appeared beside Callie. “Two hours ago. The crucifix is heavy. I shouldn’t have kept it on the top shelf.”
Matt sent Callie a conspiratorial wink before assuming a serious face again, looking up at Mr. Croft. “Was there any loss of consciousness?”
“No.”
“Any vomiting or slurred speech? Have you noticed her acting or saying anything odd?”
Mr. Croft visibly relaxed a bit. “No.”
Good thing the man wasn’t privy to her crazy thoughts about Matt.
Matt turned back to Callie. “Feeling dizzy?”
Heck, yeah. Because you’re so close, and you smell so good and—oh, my God—those hands.
The feel of his fingers and that hot hazel gaze bringing back the moment on the dock.
“No,” she said instead. “No dizziness.”
“I don’t see a need for a CAT scan.” Matt stood, keeping a reassuring hand on Callie’s shoulder, and Callie fought the urge to lean into the comforting gesture. “Why don’t you let me take her home, Mr. Croft? I can keep an eye on her tonight. If any concerning symptoms crop up, I can bring her back here.”
Poor Mr. Croft looked incredibly earnest. Callie could tell the older man wanted to leave, but the worry just wouldn’t let him go. “But what about her cut. Shouldn’t she get that sutured?”
“The edges are clean.” Matt pulled out something shaped like a marker from his pocket, with a clear tip. “We have a special kind of glue we use to close these kinds of lacerations. I can take care of this at home.”
“You’re sure?”
Matt’s face adopted that perfect combination of soothing authority and self-assurance that inspired confidence. “Absolutely.”
“Okay. But you’ll call if something happens?”
“Of course.” Matt sent Mr. Croft a smile that said, “I’ve got this.”
Callie watched the shop owner make his way back through the automatic doors, not allowing herself to relax until the man disappeared from sight.
She let out a sigh and turned to Matt. “Thank you. I thought he’d never leave.”
“Guilt.” His lips twisted wryly. “The damn emotion is a powerfully motivating force. And, speaking of the emotion, shouldn’t you be feeling a little of the same?”
When she looked at him stupidly, he went on.
“You promised a night out on the town, showing me the best that New Orleans has to offer. To make up for the nuclear, skin-melting étouffée I had to eat at your aunt’s place. I think I remember something about fine dining. Maybe a little dancing. I believe your condo was mentioned, as well.”
Shoot, she’d forgotten all about that. How was she going to get out of this gracefully?
She licked her lips nervously. “Oh, well—”
“I’m only kidding.” He gently pulled her to her feet. “A hot night out loses a bit of its appeal when your date is actively hemorrhaging.”
“I’m not bleeding anymore.” She touched the sore spot with her fingers. “At least not very much.”
“How about I get you home, close up that cut and we order takeout?” He cupped her elbow, and she tried to ignore the skin-on-skin contact. “And when you start to vomit profusely, slur your words and your left pupil dilates, I’ll call Mr. Croft and tell him I’m dragging you back to the E.R. for a CT scan and emergency brain surgery.”
She sent him a sarcastic look.
Matt simply grinned. “Maybe next time you should wait for the proprietor to retrieve the item on the top shelf for you.”
“Would you want to watch Mr. Croft crawl up a rickety old ladder?”
“Hmm,” he said. “Point taken.”
Another shout came up as a State Trooper hauled in a man that appeared to be flying high on something. Sirens wailed outside as an ambulance pulled up to the side ramp. Callie couldn’t wait to leave the hectic scenario behind. But Matt? Well, Matt was looking around with an expression of...
Good Lord. Was that affection?
“You like the craziness of the E.R., don’t you?” she asked.
The little boy grin he sent was adorable. “Love it.”
Callie tipped her head. “Does your job in Michigan get this crazy?”
Matt’s gaze slid from hers to the overflowing waiting room, the staff bustling about. The chaos in the E.R. appeared to be reaching some sort of zenith. Instead of appearing overwhelmed by the sensory input, Matt looked sorry to be leaving. A nurse came out to announce there was a three-car pileup, with several patients on the way, asking the less urgent patients to please be patient. Matt looked as if he were itching to join in the mayhem and help out.
“Manford E.R. has its moments,” he said. “But never anything like this.”
So if he didn’t stay in Manford for the job, or because he loved the town, why didn’t he move? Before she could ask, he linked his fingers with hers, and the contact did crazy things to her pulse. Ridiculous, really, after everything they’d done in the hammock. The simple feel of palm against palm should not be so stimulating.
Matt squeezed her hand lightly. “Time to take you home.”
The words zipped through Callie’s brain, lighting little fires in their wake. She hesitated. If Matt took her home to fix her cut and keep an eye on her, despite his previous words, the risk of a repeat in the hammock was great.
After informing the clerk to take Callie off the waiting list, they made their way out the door into the night. The air muggy and warm and, after dealing with Mr. Croft for the past hour and a half, Callie had never been so grateful to leave an air-conditioned building. Regrettably, leaving also meant she had to make up her mind how to tell Matt.
And soon.
Thirty minutes later Callie opened the door to her condominium and tried hard not to show just how torn she was by his presence. But she needed to be honest with Matt. No doubt the man expected to finish what they’d started. And, God knows, Callie longed for the same thing.
Just tell him while he cleans up your cut, Callie.
Sure, she’d just wait until he was touching her with those fabulous hands. Nothing wrong with that plan, at all.
Her throat tight, Callie set her purse on the foyer table and then led Matt into her kitchen. Matt came to a stop in the middle of the room, scanning the dark wood cabinets, the marble counters and the top-of-the-line kitchen appliances. Despite the small size, her upscale condo had everything she needed, including being located in the fabulous Arts District.
“Not bad for a former tomboy who used to catch crawdads,” he said.
Callie smiled. “How about a drink before we get started?”
Lord knows she needed one.
“Scotch?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
Hopefully a bit of alcohol would take the edge off, so she poured two, rehearsing her lines for the conversation that was about to take place.
Handing Matt his drink, she said, “I suppose you heard about Colin and Tommy’s big plans to take the DoZ weekend and go public.”
Matt sighed and threaded his fingers through his hair, leaving sandy-colored spikes in his wake. “I’m sorry.”
She let out a soft huff, amused. “Not your fault.”
“You could have said no. Tommy and Penny were already getting what they wanted.”
“Colin asked.”
Matt said nothing in response, so she handed Matt his drink and he simply followed her down the hall of hardwood floors and into the bathroom containing the same dark wood cabinets and marble counters as the kitchen. The mere fact that Matt hadn’t commented meant she had some explaining to do. Callie leaned her hip against the cabinet and watched Matt pull out everything he needed from his bag, totally focused on his task.
She’d experienced firsthand the chaos of the E.R. waiting room. God only knows how much worse the noise and confusion had been in back, which explained a lot about Matt’s ability to focus. Obviously the man had learned to block out unnecessary stimuli, concentrating on the task in front of him. And the memory of having all that attention directed at her sent heat crawling up her back.
“I’m curious what kind of hold Colin has over you,” Matt said.
“I told you before, I owe him.”
“Yeah, but I considered your debt more of an ‘I’m going to organize this weekend party for him’ kind of obligation. Not an ‘I’m going upgrade the whole shindig to a blowout publicity stop’ kind of obligation.”
He’d stopped, a package of gauze in his hand as he watched Callie closely.
“I’m assuming this has something to do with your college blunder,” he went on.
Callie almost laughed at the benign-sounding title he’d given her mistake.
“When I got dragged to the police station, Colin made the long drive to come bail me out. Colin was livid, and I was angry because I hadn’t even asked for his help. He just assumed and came.” Her voice dropped a notch. “And, unfortunately, the trip wound up screwing up his finals. He...” She looked away for a moment. “He almost flunked that semester.”
She took a deep breath, pushing the horrendously shameful memories away. She’d alienated herself from her parents, her boyfriend and most of her friends in one awful day. Not to mention losing the scholarship.
Coming back to New Orleans was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she didn’t regret the move for a moment.
“And now that this weekend has morphed into the party that just won’t stop growing, this is a massive opportunity for Rainstorm Games,” she said. “And, hence, Colin. The added publicity is also good for my business.”
She took a deep breath and met Matt’s gaze again, forcing the words out. “I can’t pull off doing my job and sorting through—” she gestured her hand between the two of them “—this, whatever this is, at the same time.”
A hush descended in her bathroom, and the pause felt big enough to swallow her whole. In fact, she kind of wished it would.
Matt set the gauze on the counter and stepped closer, and her awareness of him increased to distracting levels. “You’re telling me that you’re going to let your guilt keep you from enjoying our time together?”
“It’s not guilt.”
God, she hated that word. She’d spent the first few years back in New Orleans drowning in a murky sea of remorse. She’d promised herself, promised, she’d have nothing more to do with the emotion. But still...
Matt cocked his head and continued to say nothing, and the burn in her belly brought a frown to her mouth.
Damn.
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe I do have some leftover guilt.”
She hated admitting that to herself, much less to Matt. It was bad enough her parents still brought up her moment of shame, reminding her of all she’d done. She’d been struggling for years to prove to her parents she’d successfully moved on. And how disappointing to realize she’d subjected herself to the same treatment, even if unconsciously done.
Callie sighed and rubbed her forehead. There were better ways to spend her time than to engage in endless self-flagellation.
“From what you told me, you’re partially responsible for bringing him and his wife together,” Matt said. “Shouldn’t a happy ending release you from your debt?”
“I can’t screw up this wedding and the promotional event—”
“You won’t,” he said, stepping so close she could see those beautiful flecks in his eyes.
“See?” Heart doing crazy somersaults in her chest, she pressed back against the cabinet. “I can’t think when I’m so distracted.”
He lifted a hand to her face. “First, I’ll be happy to provide lessons on how to remain focused despite distractions. I think the fact that I’m capable of holding this conversation with you...alone...in your condo...a bed just a room away, proves my point. Second, if I promise to let you get plenty of sleep tonight, will that convince you?”
The conflicting desires—the need to prove herself and the need to feel Matt’s hands on her again—went to war in her head again. If she cut out all the bare essentials, she could do this. Her gaze dropped to the T-shirt stretched across Matt’s chest, hugging the lean muscles beneath. How much sleep did one need, anyway?
“I think you sold me when you mentioned the lessons,” she said.
“Good.” The sexy smirk on his face just about did her in, and he stepped back. “Just so we’re clear, I’m going to clean up your cut and take you to bed. So if you still have a problem with that, you need to let me know now.”
How could he say those words so calmly? Especially with her pulse striving to achieve record rates? The man had stated his plans to take care of her injury and take her to bed, both declarations delivered with the same nonchalant tone as if the two activities were somehow on the same par with each other. She envied his ability to pull the coolly collected demeanor off.
She felt the need to throw him off guard, to keep him on his toes.
“Just so we’re clear...” Now that the matter had been decided, she pulled off her bloodstained blouse and tossed the garment aside. “Not only did the corset embellish the goods, the push-up bra I wore that day on the dock made me look bigger than I really am.”
Holding his gaze, she reached around her back to unfasten her bra, heart thumping hard, record rates achieved. But her pulse shot higher when Matt reached around and gripped her hand, stopping her efforts and putting about an inch of space between their torsos. She stared up at Matt, those beautiful hazel eyes boring into hers. Heat radiated from his body. Or maybe the one generating the scorching temperatures was her.
His voice low, Matt said, “There is absolutely no way I’ll be able to take care of that laceration with you bare-chested. So leave the bra on.” A muscle in his jaw ticked, and she had the absurd urge to ease the spot with her tongue. “At least until I’m done.”
This last was delivered with a light in his eye that could melt metal.
“Nice to know I can at least warrant being labeled a distraction,” she said.
“Never fear. You definitely fall into the category of a distraction. A major one. Not only did I bring the necessary equipment to clean and close up the laceration on your forehead, I brought a box of condoms, too, just in case you didn’t have any here.”
Her heart stopped, and then restarted with a stutter. Unfortunately, the faster rate made concentrating on the conversation difficult. She squirmed and he shot her a mock chastising look.
“You’re going to have to be still,” he said. “All that wiggling is...distracting.”
Callie closed her lids. Best not to stare up into those hazel eyes. “Do you always have trouble focusing when closing up a woman’s cut?”
“No, but they are usually dressed in more than a bra.” His voice dropped an octave. “And it’s never been you before.”
His fingers gently traced around the bruised area briefly and she prided herself on her patience. On her ability to keep her eyes closed with that face and those dreamy eyes so close to hers. She felt his breath warm her forehead, and she gripped the counter, fighting the urge to lean up and take that fabulous mouth with hers.
She was too distracted by the memory to worry much about the sound of rustling, as if he were searching for something, but then came a brush of something soft and wet, followed by a sharp sting.
Callie’s lids popped open as she sucked in a breath. “My God.”
“Sorry.”
An antiseptic smell drifted from the cotton ball in his hand, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss close to the wound before pulling his head back.
She stared up at those lips so close. “What are you using to clean the cut? Hydrochloric acid?”
The chuckle that followed brought a wry twist of her lips. “How did you guess?”
Callie studied Matt’s face as he gently pinched the skin around the cut and applied the liquid skin adhesive. She concentrated on breathing, the sound of the air conditioner humming, anything to keep herself from rising up on tiptoe to kiss Matt, which wasn’t easy. She had firsthand knowledge that he kissed like a dream. He hadn’t needed much to bring her to her knees that day on the dock, just his mouth and those fabulous hands.
When he finished, he dropped his hand. “Now, be careful not to open that up until it has time to dry.”
“Is that going to interfere with you taking me to bed?”
“Hell, no,” he said, and then he covered her mouth with his.
At first it was just a damp press of skin against skin, his mouth slotted against hers. The heat in Callie’s belly increased, seeping along her veins, and she rose up on her toes, taking more. With a groan, Matt opened his mouth, forcing Callie’s open and tasting her with his tongue. He tipped his head to the right, and then to left, as if comparing how they best fit together. Heart thumping, Callie was just about to pull back and suggest moving things to the bedroom when Matt leaned down, gripped her behind the thighs and lifted her.
Callie pulled her head back. “Wait,” she said with a gasp that contained both humor and desire, clutching his shoulders for balance. “What’s your plan for providing lessons on how to remain focused despite distractions?”
The crooked smile on Matt’s face sent anticipation and heat curling up in her stomach, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. With one hand against her bottom, he supported her weight as he pulled the box of condoms from his bag.
“No worries.” He exited the bathroom, heading up the hallway and into her bedroom. He placed her on the bed, staring down at her with a heated look that sent her stomach searching for her toes. “I’ll think of something.”
His gaze swept down her body, the hazel eyes growing dark, and goose bumps fanned across her skin. Without a word, he pulled off her sandals and stripped her of her clothes, until all that remained were her panties and bra.
She pushed up on one elbow and reached for his shirt. “Let me help.”
Matt gently pushed her back down, the crooked smile sinfully sexy. “No,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself and pull that head wound back open.”
“Then what am I supposed to—?”
Matt gripped her wrists and raised her hands over her head, curling her fingers around the wooden slats of her headboard. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss next to her cut.
“Your job is just to hold on and not move,” he said.
A stab of desire sliced through her, heating her between the legs. “Not move?” she asked. “But how am I supposed to—”
Matt reached for the button on his shirt, and she watched, mesmerized, as he undid the row of buttons one by one and tossed the shirt aside. His eyes on hers, he reached for the front of his jeans, and Callie’s heart picked up its pace. The muscles in his arms and chest rippled as he flicked open his pants and pushed everything down. Lean hips, well-muscled thighs and a heart-attack-inducing erection left Callie struggling to continue the act of breathing.
“Matt...”
The words died as he knelt at her feet, removing her bra and panties. She waited for him to kiss her. Instead, Matt picked up her leg, pressing openmouthed kisses up her shin, her thigh, and then landing on her hip bone.
“The key to keeping that incision safe,” he murmured against her skin, “is to remain completely still.”
She arched her back, hoping to encourage him to head south. Instead, he trailed higher until his tongue dipped in her navel, sending a skitter of sparks up her spine. He cupped her between the legs and shifted higher, his mouth moving up until it landed on a nipple.
Shock and desire shot through her limbs, and she arched her back, seeking more of that mind-blowing mouth against her skin. Matt circled the tip with his tongue, and Callie sucked in a breath. But just as she was melting at the caress, he ran his tongue down her abdomen, across her hip and landed between her legs.
Heat and pleasure blasted through her. “Oh, my God, Matt,” she said, tipping her head back.
When Matt flicked his tongue against her, Callie whimpered, “Please...”
She wanted to wrap her arms around his back and pull his body down. She wanted his naked skin stretched out across the top of hers. She wanted to reach down and clutch his head, pulling him closer.
Fingers tight around the headboard, she said, “Can I let go yet?”
“Nope,” he said. At least this time his voice sounded harsh, as if he were wound up tight and needed release.
Jeez, she knew how he felt.
“Not yet,” he said.
He sat up on his knees, and Callie’s breath escaped with a protesting sound. Palms damp against the wooden slats of the headboard, she watched Matt apply a condom, her fingernails digging into her palms. Eyes homing in on hers, he swooped up her body and buried himself deep between her legs. His pace relentless, he rocked into her.
Mind spinning, muscles straining, she struggled to keep her hold of the headboard as he moved. The intensity in his gaze and the dark, focused look on his face brought her closer to the edge. His body hard, Matt drove her higher, the muscles in his arms lengthening and bulging from his efforts.
“Matt.”
“Okay.”
His one-word response brought a cry of relief, and Callie wrapped her arms around his back, her legs around his hips, holding him close. Urging him on. Hanging on tight. The heat of pleasure burned hotter, brighter, until Callie was sure she’d burst into flames. Feeling out of control, she gripped his shoulders harder. The orgasm burst outward, shock waves moving through her body, and she closed her eyes, relishing the sensation, barely aware as Matt gave one final thrust, calling out her name.