Grace (The Family Simon Book 5) (13 page)

“I’ve got my bag. I’m good.”

And that was it. Neither one of them spoke on the drive out to his place. And the closer they got, the more insecure Grace became. By the time they pulled up to his house, she was in a state, biting her lower lip so hard that she tasted blood.

Matt cut the engine and for a few moments they sat in the truck, staring up at his house.

“We should talk,” Matt said, breaking the silence.

She glanced over to him. “Do you really want me here or were you just being polite because I forced the issue in front of Betty?”

He looked at her, those intense eyes of his not letting go. “If I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have brought you back.” He paused and his words sank in. “I’ve never wanted a woman the way that I want you. That’s something new for me. Something I’ve got to wrap my head around. So I might screw up now and again because I don’t know how to do this. But I want to try.”

Her heart was pounding so hard that it was hard for her to hear him and she exhaled a long, shaky breath.

He opened his door. “So let’s do this. Let’s get to know each other.”

“Okay,” she breathed and followed him inside. After doffing her winter coat and boots, Grace and Matt headed to the back of the house where she immediately scooped up the smallest puppy and nuzzled him while Matt helped Rosie outside. The dog was still in casts and the poor thing was totally dependent on human help.

“Why don’t you shower and I’ll throw some dinner together.” Matt leaned against the counter. “Towels are in the cabinet in the hall.”

Grace grabbed her bag and headed up to his room. She had a long, hot shower and took her time getting ready. As anxious as she was to see him, the nerves had a way of making everything so much harder. Dammit, she was no better than an infatuated teenager.

She had to stop and take a moment. She glanced in the mirror, noting the pink cheeks and shiny eyes. The butterflies in her stomach were something else, and as her phone pinged for what had to be the tenth time since she’d been up here, the damn butterflies decided to have a party all over again, making her nauseous.

“Leave me alone,” she muttered, grabbing her phone off of Matt’s bed. Two voicemails from Tucker, and one from her mother. She’d deal with them later.

Grace tossed the phone back into her bag and smoothed the front of her fitted, white Calvin Klein button shirt. A favorite, it dressed up her faded, comfy jeans—and paired with a wide leather belt and black combat boots, her look had a bit of edge.

She’d left her hair in long, loose, waves, but had taken some extra time with her makeup. A bit of dark gray shadow and liner made her eyes pop, and she dug out a favorite soft pink gloss for her lips. She applied a few squirts from her body spray and she was good to go.

By the time she made it to the kitchen, it was alive with some incredible smells and Grace was impressed.

Matt had music playing softly, an old classic by Lynard Skynard, and she hummed along to it as she made her way over to the island. A glass of red wine had been poured, and Grace slid onto one of the barstools, content to just watch Matt at work.

Was there anything sexier than a man in the kitchen?

Matt glanced over to her and smiled, though it slowly faded as she held his gaze—as she licked her lips suggestively—and took a sip of wine. In that moment she glimpsed the real, unfiltered, Matt Hawkins—there was no barrier, no mask to hide his feelings.

He
wanted
her and she wanted him. The man literally took her breath away.

She couldn’t speak if she wanted to and held the glass aloft, her fingers circling the rim as Skynard continued to sing about a
Simple Kind of Man
.

When she thought she could manage it she asked Matt what he was cooking. His answer surprised her and added yet another layer to the most complex man she’d ever met.

“I’ve got two steaks on the grill out back, just searing bacon wrapped scallops right now and we’ve got baked potato and a garden salad to go with it.”

Wow. Just. Wow. Grace slid from her seat and walked over to him so that she could see what he was doing. She stood an inch or so behind him, fighting the urge to slip her arms through his, and peered around Matt into the skillet.

“What are you cooking the scallops in?”

“Butter and garlic.”

“They smell amazing,” she murmured, though her eyes weren’t on the scallops—they were on the play of muscles across his back as he cooked the shellfish. “How on earth did you learn to cook like this?”

“When you’re on your own at sixteen, you’d be surprised at the skills you pick up in order to survive.”

Sixteen? Alone? Grace didn’t know how to reply to that and thankfully, Matt rescued her.

“You could maybe set the table?”

“Sure.” Glad to have something to do, Grace set her glass down and spent the next five minutes getting two place settings ready. By the time she was done, Matt was fetching the steaks from outside and she grabbed the potatoes from the oven. She filled his wine glass, did the same for herself and then the two of them sat down to eat.

They made small talk and eventually Grace relaxed. They covered the likes of Dory—who’d made it to Florida. Rosie—who should get her casts off in a few weeks. And Betty Jo—yes, Matt had known her since he was a teenager.

Matt Hawkins was intelligent, funny, smart and loyal. And those qualities didn’t begin to scratch the surface.

There were a lot of long lingering looks and the air was heavy, filled with sexual tension and something that was stronger. It was the something stronger that was scary and maybe it was the wine that made Grace ask the question, but in the end it didn’t matter. The words just fell out.

She was hot, on edge and totally and unequivocally one hundred and fifty percent into the man across the table from her. She set her wine glass down on the table and pushed her plate away.

“Do you feel this? This thing between us?”

Matt sat back in his chair, his dark eyes glittering in that way that told her he was just as worked up as she was. His chest rose and fell, a little faster than normal, and her gaze dropped to his long, masculine fingers as they caressed the stem of his glass.

She wanted those hands on her body. Right now.

“I do,” he replied, his voice a little rough and hesitant.

Her gaze shot back to his and her heart jumped at the unrestricted look of want and need in their depths. Her breathing quickened and thank goodness the table hid how desperately she squeezed her legs together, hoping to alleviate the ache deep inside her sex.

Somewhere in the house a phone rang, it’s shrill alarm cutting through their silence but not their need. Grace continued to watch Matt, even as Betty’s voice rang out.

“You guys coming or what? We’re here and uh, okay...well, don’t be doing anything I wouldn’t do. Which, shit, that’s not a lot so.” She said something unintelligible and Grace thought she heard her brother Beau. “Okay, well, hope to see you soon.”

“Do we have to go?” Grace whispered, holding her breath on his answer.

“I think we should.”

Trying not to show her disappointment, she nodded and reached for her wine glass. Crap. It was empty.

“But let’s have a code word.”

“Code word?”

Matt nodded slowly. “For when it’s time to leave and head back here.”

“Okay,” she breathed, smiling to herself and looking away from him because if she didn’t, she was going to jump across the table and have her way with him
right now.
“What’s the code word?”

He cleared his throat, a wicked grin sweeping across his handsome face making him look younger and more vulnerable. “Bluebell.”

Grace laughed, a full-on belly laugh that had Matt sliding from his chair and coming around the table before she could say a thing. He bent low and pressed a heated, hot kiss to her mouth.

“Give me ten minutes to shower and we’ll head out.”

She didn’t answer because she couldn’t. She watched him walk away, sank back into her chair and thought that maybe, just maybe, her world was about to change forever.

16

M
att Hawkins had been attending these kinds of fundraisers for years. Like most small communities, New Waterford didn’t have a lot of corporate dollars to go around, so when money was needed for something a fundraiser was the quickest way to get the job done.

New roof for the arena.

New seats for the football stadium.

New dugouts for the ball diamonds.

Monies for their senior support programs.

You name it, there was a fundraiser in there somewhere, and like most of them, there was usually a social function that involved three things that used to make Matt halfway happy. Music, women, and booze. He’d supported the community the best way he knew how, by going all in and usually being the last to leave (that’s if he didn’t get into it with someone and get his ass kicked out)

Tonight, for the first time in as long as he could remember, Matt couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the dance. He stood in the dark near the stage and leaned against the wall, content to watch Grace on the dance floor with Betty and her sisters, Bobbi and Billie. The girl could move and, damn, but the four of them were attracting their fair share of male attention.

“You hiding from the Simon clan?”

Matt glanced up as Logan Forest walked up to him and flashed a smile. “Nope. Just playing it low key.” He’d said goodbye to Eden, and Noah, Grace’s father. Surprisingly the older woman had given him a hug—a real hug before leaving with her husband. He wasn’t sure where it had come from, but he’d take it.

“So what’s going on between you and Grace?”

“Not sure yet.” It was a simple answer, and about all he was willing to share. Forest was a good guy—he’d given Matt a chance when no one else in this town would, and if not for Logan he doubted he’d be earning a decent living doing something that he loved. Hell, he’d probably be in jail or worse.

He’d offered Matt a job when the booze and drugs had pretty much taken over and made him a detriment not only to himself, but to others. Probably as a favor to Betty, but still...

Matt was damn sure that he owed the man his life.

Logan offered Matt a beer but he declined. He planned on leaving soon and nothing was going to stop him from getting behind the wheel.

“Shit, brother. You turning over a new leaf?” Logan shook his head and grinning, raised his beverage in a mock toast.

“Something like that.”

Logan settled in beside him, back against the wall and long legs spread out in front. His wife, hockey girl Billie Jo, smiled their way and then all four of the girls started to giggle. Grace’s hair swung all over the place as she showed them some kind of dance move—something that Matt had never seen, but something he’d be willing to see again…in his bedroom.

“Glad things went well today,” Logan said. “The girls and the committee did good. Raised a lot of money and I know that it made Herschel proud. Would have made their father proud too.”

“You been up to see Trent lately?” Betty’s father had never been a fan of Matt’s. Not that he could blame the man. Up until a few years ago, he had been nothing but trouble. Still, it killed Matt to see the sadness in Betty’s eyes when she talked about her father.

Alzheimer’s or dementia or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, sucked.

“Billie and I took Abel to see him a few days ago. He has no idea who we are and his health is failing.”

Logan fingered the label on his beer. “Whatever happened to your old man? Last I heard, he moved to Arizona? He still alive?”

Matt’s face darkened at the mention of his father. He was someone he didn’t talk much about. “That son-of-a-bitch will probably outlive us all.”

He knew that Logan didn’t get the hostility. No one did. To the community at large, Dale Benjamin Hawkins—known as Ben to everyone—had been a salt-of-the-earth type. A standout cop. A guy who volunteered his time to coach hockey and baseball—and a man whose wife left him saddled with a young son when she’d taken off for parts unknown.

None of them knew the truth, because Matt had never told a soul.

“You want another?” he asked Logan, pointing to his beer.

“Nah, I’m good.” Logan smiled. “Here come the girls.”

Grace was laughing at something Betty said as they came up to the men. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair still a wild mess around her shoulders, and that delectable mouth of hers tempted him like no tomorrow.

He was done here. They had things to do.

“Bluebell.” He didn’t say it loud, but she sure as hell heard it.

Her laughter slowly faded and he saw her catch her breath when she met his gaze. Something about that, and the small sound she made, was enough to make him crazy, and his jeans more than a little uncomfortable.

She pushed a big chunk of hair from her neck and tucked it behind her ears. “Guys, I’m just going to say goodbye to my brothers.”

“Goodbye?” Betty looked confused. “You’re going already? But it’s early and the band hasn’t even played their best set.” Her voice trailed off and then she made a face. “Oh. Okay. I get it.” She leveled a look at Grace. “I take it you’re not sleeping in my old bed?”

“Betty!” Her sister Bobbi looked painfully embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Grace replied, taking a step back. “I’ve known Betty for a few years now, and I know her filter gets clogged sometimes.”

Matt had to agree with her there.

It took Grace all of five minutes to say goodbye to her brothers and, surprisingly, Tucker walked them both to the door and shook Matt’s hand.

“Drive safe and take care of her,” Tucker said gruffly. Matt knew the guy was just looking out for his sister—that’s what families did—so he took no offence when Tucker asked Grace to call him when she got to Matt’s place.

She snuggled up alongside him in the truck. And man, it felt as if she belonged there—as if she’d always belonged there. His mood was light and he whistled to whatever song was on the radio, something from the eighties, and that led to an intense conversation about whistling.