Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (25 page)

Nope, Matthew absolutely was not her type.

But there was something about those eyes. She smiled languidly as she summoned the image of those clear blue eyes.

The fact of the matter was, entirely too much about the man looked right. Too right, she decided, as her breasts tightened with the tingle that shivered through her body.

Allowing the inner warmth his image evoked to spread, Abby came to a decision. She could enjoy the way the man looked without becoming involved with him.

There was absolutely no harm in admiring chocolate cheese cake—as long as you didn’t eat it. The thought of having any part of Matthew close to her mouth—

Three quick, loud raps against the locked door snapped Abby out from her off-limits fantasizing. Automatically covering her breasts, she snapped to an upright position. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub.

“Yes?” she demanded, annoyed.

“We’re late!”

Abby crinkled her forehead in irritation. “Late for what?”

“Sunday dinner at Jenny’s,” he answered through the door. “It’s kind of a tradition. I’d forgotten all about it. She’ll kill me if I don’t show.”

Abby arched a dubious brow. “And you would be telling
me
this because...?”

A beat passed. “If I don’t bring you along, Jenny will never forgive me.” There was another moment of hesitation. “Besides, what kind of host would I be if I skipped out on you on a Sunday afternoon? My mother would turn over in her grave.”

Jenny’s smiling face flitted across Abby’s mind, stalling the “no” that sprang immediately to her lips. She weighed the desire to indulge the woman with whom she’d felt an instant kinship against spending time in the presence of her twins. Abby gnawed her lower lip and added up a few good reasons for going. Jenny and her husband would no doubt make sure their offspring were on their best behavior. And the invitation would give Abby the chance to redeem herself in Jenny’s eyes after this morning’s fiasco.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she heard herself say, already mentally inventorying the wardrobe she’d brought with her. She smiled. Her green dress would do fine.

Matthew muttered something that sounded vaguely like thanks. Abby remained in her water’s warm embrace until his footfalls against the hardwood floor faded in the distance.

She heaved a long suffering sigh and reminded herself of her goal. To capture the real Matthew Stone. To give
Up Close
readers a story to remember.

It was only Sunday dinner at Matthew’s sister’s house.

How bad could it be?

~*~

“Oh, my, aren’t you just the prettiest little thing I’ve ever laid eyes on?”

A smile plastered on her face, Abby struggled for her next breath as another of Matthew’s exuberant relatives wrapped her in what seemed to be a traditional southern bear hug. No doubt she would sport bruises from their enthusiasm.

“And look at those teeth,” Aunt Martha crooned as she clamped her fingers around Abby’s chin, then thrust it toward her husband. “Henry, did you see these pearly whites?”

“Uh huh.” The balding Henry leaned forward and closely inspected Abby’s clenched smile through the thick lenses of his bifocals. “Yep. I’ll bet those big-city dentists charge an arm and a leg to keep those beauties in shape, Are they all yours, or do ya have a few caps in place?”

“Henry’s a dentist, ya know,” Martha said proudly as she released Abby to smooth both hands over her jet-black bouffant do. “The only one in town.”

“That’s nice,” Abby managed politely. And to her credit, without staring at Martha’s lacquered-to-the-max, tornado-proof do. Hair that black just couldn’t be natural, Abby thought as she flexed her jaw just to be sure it still worked properly. And those matching lashes. She struggled not to look. Too long and thick—they couldn’t be real either.

Glancing covertly from right to left, Martha leaned in cheek-to-cheek with Abby. “You can tell me, dearie.” Martha checked once more to make sure no one was listening. “Are those coppery curls natural?”

Before Abby could respond, she quickly added, “Richard down at the Clips and Curls in an absolute master colorist. He could touch up those roots in a flash.”

Roots?
Abby’s hair had been this color since birth! Still, she manufactured a patient smile. “I’ll—ah—keep that in mind,” she promised, as she backed up first one step and then another, only to bump into yet another invitee to Jenny’s Sunday dinner. “Oh, excuse me.” Abby whirled to face the victim of her latest hasty retreat.

“So, you’re staying with Matthew for a few days.”

From the Bible clutched in this man’s right hand to the fire and brimstone in his dark eyes, Abby knew she was in trouble. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“I didn’t see you in church this morning, missy.”

Dread welled in Abby’s throat. She had the sudden urge to flee or at the very least to cross herself. Memories of the semester she’d spent at the Virgin Mary’s School for Girls flooded her mind. “I... we...”

“Don’t folks in New York City go to meeting on Sunday morning? It’s no wonder they have so much crime up there. Why, this very morning our service focused on the evils that thrive in the big cities of our great country.
Greed and lust
.” Between his thunderous baritone and the accusation in his gaze, Abby knew she was about to receive her own personal rendition of the morning sermon.

She nodded dumbly. “That’s nice.” How many times had she said that in the last twenty minutes? Where the hell had Matthew disappeared to? Why had he abandoned her to...to these people? Abby was vaguely aware of the reverend dramatically replaying his Sunday morning sermon.

“Hell’s bells, Reverend, cut the girl some slack.”

Abby whipped around and found herself face to face with an older, but every bit as handsome, version of Matthew.

“That sermon bored me stiff the first time I heard it thirty years ago.” Her rescuer winked, then pulled Abby into one of those enthusiastic hugs. Behind her, she heard the reverend’s indignant protests.

“I’m Matt Hugh.” The elder Stone drew back and gave Abby a once over. “Matt was right, you are a mighty pretty lady. Hope that boy’s treating you right.”

Abby was speechless for a long moment. Matthew thought she was pretty? A soft, warm glow heated her insides. “He’s treating me just fine, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stone.”

He grinned. A devilish, heart-stopping kind, just like his son’s. “Call me Matt Hugh, honey, everybody does.”

Charmed, Abby smiled.

“Come on, Abby, let’s find that errant son of mine. He can’t have gotten far.” Matt Hugh draped Abby’s arm over his own. “I know I raised that boy better than to neglect a pretty young thing like you.”

Mercy, Abby pressed a hand to her chest, the man was Rhett Butler incarnate. All she needed was a hoopskirt to complete the time warp she’d entered.

“I built this house with my very own hands almost fifty years ago,” Matt Hugh explained as they walked slowly down the long hall that cut straight through the middle of the first floor. “My Virginia, God rest her soul, loved this house. But when she passed on, I found myself lost in this big old rambling place. Built that vacation place down by the lake Virginia and I always talked about.” He smiled as if remembering something special. “Jenny and her brood are filling this old house with laughter again.”

A lifetime of memories twinkled in his faded blue eyes. Abby’s lips eased into a genuine smile. “It’s lovely.”

At the end of the hall above a fragile antique table, a framed charcoal drawing of the twins caught Abby’s eye. Matt Hugh didn’t slow long enough for her to admire it fully, but even the brief look she’d gotten sparked her interest. She’d have to take a better look later.

They found Matthew in the kitchen, having what appeared to be an intense conversation with his sister. Matthew’s gaze connected with Abby’s in a way that made her heart lurch. There was just something about the man. It wasn’t the way his crisp white shirt enhanced the deep tan of his skin, or the fact that faded denim encased his muscular thighs so sinfully. It wasn’t even those amazing blue eyes or that masterfully chiseled face. It was something beyond all that, something Abby couldn’t put her finger on. Something that shook her more than anything the good reverend could have ever said.

Something basic, primal, and totally beyond her power to reason or control.

“Matthew, stop dilly-dallying in this kitchen and show Abby here around. She didn’t come all this way to hobnob with your Aunt Martha and the like.”

A smile as charming as his father’s slid into place. Matthew extended his hand. “Come on then, I’ll show you around.”

“The drawing of the children,” Abby began, hesitant to take the hand he offered. She turned her attention to Jenny. “It’s a very good portrait. Did you draw it?”

“Ah...no.” Jenny’s gaze shifted quickly to her father, then to Matthew. “Not me. I can’t draw a square without screwing it up. It...ah...”

“I’d best give Ed a hand in the parlor.” Matt Hugh disappeared practically before he finished his sentence.

Bewildered, Abby didn’t miss the pointed look Matthew shot in Jenny’s direction.

“Well,” Abby broke the tense standoff, “it’s a beautiful drawing, whoever the artist.”

“You still want that tour?” Matthew’s smile had dimmed measurably, but the offer of his hand came again.

Abby reluctantly accepted the strong hand he’d extended. Her heart leapt at the roughened feel of his calloused palm. And when those long fingers closed around hers, Abby felt lightheaded.

For one fleeting second, she considered opting for the reverend’s sermon as she found herself being led away from the crowd, away from the pleasant aromas of the safe kitchen and into Matthew Stone’s past.

~*~

“So you were the captain of the football team.” Abby fingered one of the old football trophies collecting dust on Matthew’s childhood armoire.

He leaned back in the window seat, trying not to show his discomfort at talking about himself. “That’s a fact. I don’t know why Jenny doesn’t get rid of all this old stuff.”

He looked around at the room he’d grown up in and tried to see it from her eyes. It was a typical boy’s retreat. Heavy wood furniture, blue plaid bedspread and draperies. Banners, trophies, football and baseball memorabilia filled every nook and corner. The house had five bedrooms, and as long as she had room, Jenny adamantly refused to dismantle her big brother’s old room.

He watched as Abby made another slow circle of the space. Desire hit him low in the gut. He’d already admitted to himself that she was one hell of a good-looking woman, but in that dress she looked amazing. The way the clingy jade-colored material caressed her gorgeous form, there ought to be a law against looking that good. How in the hell was he ever going to survive spending a whole week in this woman’s presence without making a total fool of himself?

Why had he ever agreed to this anyway? Allowing her to observe him at work for that long was above and beyond the call of duty, but he’d said yes.

He simply couldn’t imagine saying no to the woman—not now. Not after seeing her, spending time with her.

Abby almost sat down on the bed, then quickly changed her mind and joined him in the window seat. He wondered if maybe she felt uncomfortable being alone in a bedroom with him. After all, the twins had been in the room with them the night before. Her soft, sweet scent hit his nostrils and Matthew almost flinched. She couldn’t possibly be any more uncomfortable than he was, he decided, as his jeans became too tight in the wrong place.

“Tell me about the fire,” she suggested as she withdrew that tiny tape recorder he’d instantly loathed from her purse.

He let go a breath and dredged up the memories he’d just as soon forget. But he had to do this, didn’t he? The image of Jenny suddenly reminded him of his promise to her. Yeah, he had to do this. He loved his sister and he wanted to make her happy.

“It was a Memorial Day weekend and a lot of the guys were out of town visiting relatives,” he began, images and sensations flickering too quickly and too real in his mind’s eye. “The call came in at two in the morning. Five of us rolled within minutes of the call, but the fire was”—he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat—“raging. Roger called for back-up as the rest of us went in.”

“There were six children in the house?” Abby prodded when he hesitated too long.

He nodded. “And Miss Corine, their foster mother. We found her first. The fire had started in the kitchen where a stove burner had been accidentally left on. The smoke detector roused Miss Corine, but when she came back down the stairs and saw the fire she suffered a heart attack. It took her a while, but she finally managed to drag herself close enough to reach the telephone and call for help.

“When we got there she was in full cardiac arrest. Roger and Tom carried her outside and began CPR. Ray started spraying the place down, but saving the house didn’t appear likely. After checking the two other rooms downstairs, Luke and I rushed upstairs to find the children,” The memory of the heat, the sound of shattering glass and the deadly pall of smoke assaulted Matthew with the same overwhelming force as it had that night.

“What happened next?”

He studied Abby’s face for a moment or two before continuing. Her green eyes were wide with empathy. He liked her eyes. “When we reached the second-story landing we separated. I went left and Luke went right. We couldn’t find the children anywhere.” Matthew shook his head. “It was like they’d vanished. The smoke was getting thicker and the floor would’ve burned our feet if we hadn’t been wearing protective gear. We knew we didn’t have much time. Then I heard a crash.

“A wall had collapsed and Luke was down. He was conscious, but he couldn’t walk. His legs were broken. I got him down the stairs and outside. The second floor above the kitchen started to give way and I knew we were out of time. If Roger and Tom had stopped the CPR, Miss Corine would’ve died. Ray had to keep trying to put the damned flames out... and somebody had to go back inside and find those kids.” Matthew’s throat felt dry even now, and his voice sounded husky to his own ears.