But maybe in a cave?
I don’t say if, of course. I just shake my head and climb inside, not sure what to make of this, this… change. Is he just faking it, or is the real Matt peeking through the layers of defenses he’s erected between himself and the world?
And how deep do these defenses go? Because despite opening the door for me, coming to pick me up and all that, he’s still a caveman in the way he talks, the way he acts… the way he makes love.
Not sure I want him to change the way he makes love. The way he fucks.
And why am I thinking of this now, as I sit beside him in the truck with the scent of pine, leather and Matt’s spicy sweat? My face burns, and when he turns to look at me, running his gaze over my cleavage, over my boobs and then back up to my face…
He licks his lips and my breath catches as if his gaze were a physical touch that I swear I feel right between my legs.
Jesus, this guy.
“Tati!” The kids grab at my shoulders and arms from behind, giggling like crazy. “We’re going for a ride!”
I pat their little hands and make agreeing noises.
Matt releases the parking brake and rolls away from the curb. His gaze keeps flicking toward me, heavy-lidded. “Damn, you look hot,” he says.
And I’m still blushing. “Then why did you tell me not to wear dresses?”
It rankled. It hurt. It made me feel ugly. Unwanted. I’m still getting over the fact I ditched my braces and I’m not the ugly duckling anymore—but on some days my confidence isn’t at its peak.
He rubs at his beard one-handed. I watch the way his other hand clenches on the wheel, so big and strong, the nails blunt and slightly stained with engine oil.
“Thing is, Tay…” he says, one side of his mouth quirking. “You look way too good in a dress. And…”
“And what?” Now my ears are burning, too.
“Nothing.”
But his half-smile has faded, his eyes gone distant. He glances in the rear-view mirror at the kids.
I’ll ask him about this later.
But God… If there are more complicated men in the world than Matt, I sure haven’t met any. And that’s the truth.
The cops are polite, taking the knife and paper from me, asking me questions. Matt is not far, seated in a chair and talking to his kids, glancing at me from time to time. Checking in on me. Offering his silent support.
And I appreciate it. I’ve never had anything to do with the police, and this message, so crude and insulting being passed around has opened a pit in my stomach.
Especially when the cop at the desk in front of me, a nice middle-aged lady, asks, “And who might that be?” Tapping a red fingernail on the paper. On the question asking who I’m fucking.
I press my lips together, pissed and mortified. “I can’t—”
“This will stay between us,” she tells me. “I swear I won’t tell anyone. We need a motive for these messages. It sounds like it’s someone you know, someone close to you.”
“There’s nobody close to me who would do anything as crass as this,” I mutter. “I don’t see how it helps—”
“It’s me,” Matt says, approaching us, towering over us.
My mouth falls open. “Jesus, Matt.”
The woman’s eyes widen, and I catch her giving him a once-over. Now she’s wearing a blush that matches mine, visible even under her make-up.
“Look, I have also been getting messages, same thing, stuck to my door with a knife,” he says. “Detective John Elba knows about my case. It’s possible she’s targeted because she works for me.”
Yes, I think, and now this woman knows I’m sleeping with my boss.
Frigging awesome.
She nods, picks up the phone and makes a call to this John Elba. Listens for a while, nodding and doodling on the paper where she’s been writing down the information about me.
Then she hangs up and folds her hands on the desk. “Are you sure there’s nobody who knows you both and has a thing against you? What about the messages you received, Mr. Hansen? Were you able to figure out who they were referring to? Detective Elba says you didn’t seem to know when you two talked.”
“I still don’t,” Matt says, glancing at his kids. “Except for the last one.”
“What was the last one?”
“It said, ‘What is most precious to you?’ And that’s my kids, zero fucking doubt about that.”
The woman opens her mouth, probably to tell him not to swear in a police station, with his precious kids within earshot, but in the end, she just nods.
“Fair enough. Please let us know if you manage to find the answer to the previous messages as well, Mr. Hansen. Ms. Watson.” She nods at me, too. “Try not to wander alone in deserted places, lock your doors and windows, and let us know if any new messages come up.”
Now I’m starting to see why Matt is so frustrated. The police can’t help, not with this. You strip yourself bare, give up secrets no stranger should have a right to know, and there’s nothing they can do.
Even though it’s not their fault, it stings.
We thank the woman, and Matt heads back to his kids who have been playing with his phone.
Both the cop and I turn to look at his tight ass, snug in his jeans.
“Well, I’ll be.” She sighs. “He seems like a handful.”
She figured that out, how?
Or is she talking about his ass? Good God.
And yet I can’t help but grin as I follow Matt out. He sure is sexy, and walking through the station with him and his kids, in my black dress and heels, after the hot sex we had together last night… For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like a kid anymore, but like a real woman.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matt
Girl is silent on the ride back to town. There’s a scent of sadness about her, a melancholy aura as she stares out the window of my truck, her dark hair pulled back, her dark dress so prim and proper.
That dress is driving me up the wall. I’ve been hard since the moment I saw her this morning, and this isn’t the time, but goddammit, I wanna stop the truck and fuck her right here, against the steering wheel, or have her go down on me as I hold her hair in my fist.
But… the kids.
Plus, she’s unhappy.
Fucking shit. Of course she’s unhappy with that message stuck to her door, and having to go through the whole thing at the station.
And she seemed uncomfortable when I told the woman that the message was referring to me…
I’m guessing it was referring to me. If we assume this asshole has been watching us, like the perv he is.
Christ. Watching us. Watching Octavia. My kids. What the fuck?
I tighten my hands on the wheel, fighting the urge to curse out loud and smash my fist into the window for good measure.
What the hell is wrong with Ross? What does he want from us? From me? What’s up with the mysterious messages about who the fuck I left behind?