Matt—The Callahan Brothers (Brazos Bend Book 2) (15 page)

“What?” Lying beside her, he propped himself up on his elbow. “Why?”

“I ... well ... I don’t know. This is awkward. It seemed like the thing to say.”

The wrong thing. He was certain of that. “You can’t go. I owe you a cruise.”

“Actually, you owe me supper, too.”

Matt arched a brow. “Are you trying to claim you didn’t get enough meat?”

“I can’t believe you said something so corny.” Her lips twitched. “Besides, that was cake. Beefcake.”

He snorted and rolled from the bed. “Let me see what I can stir up in the kitchen.”

Matt took a pair of blue swim trunks from the bureau and pulled them on, then padded downstairs barefoot, flipping on light switches along the way because he expected Torie to dress and follow him. Instead, as he yanked open the refrigerator door, he heard the shower come on in the master bathroom.

“Waste of time, that,” he murmured. He had every intention of taking her skinny-dipping at some point during their cruise.

Glad that Les had asked the caretaker to stock the pantry and fridge, Matt set about filling a small cooler with essentials: cheese, fruit, some cold roast beef—the steak would have to wait—a loaf of French bread, that wine he’d promised, and, of course, the chocolate. By the time Torie made her way to the kitchen, he had the cooler and a couple of beach towels in one hand and the keys to his Fountain in the other.

While some men had a thing for cars, for Matt, it was all about boats. He currently owned four of them—a Grady-White he kept on the Texas coast for fishing trips, a Crownline he berthed in DC, and the Formula and Fountain he kept here. Matt had fallen in love with the water as a child and he’d carried that love with him all over the world. He’d dreaded assignments in landlocked countries and reveled in those where he could incorporate boating into his mission. One time he’d even been involved in a boat chase through Venice à la 007. Imagine what Torie would say about that.

He led the way to the boathouse and a short time later, the Fountain slowly cruised from his cove toward the main body of the lake. Torie lay on her back across the aft sun deck staring up at the sky. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Yeah, it is.” Matt smiled, pleased that she could see it. Not everyone did. “It’s not slap-you-in-the-face gorgeous like the Swiss Alps or the Amalfi coast. It’s a subtle beauty that can sometimes take your breath away. The sunsets here can rival any I’ve ever seen.”

“You love it.”

Matt considered that for a moment. “At times, there’s not another place on earth I’d rather be.”

Yet, at other times—usually those that somehow involved his father—Brazos Bend was the last place on earth he could bear to be.

“Because it’s home,” Torie said. “Your childhood home. Being a military brat, that’s something I’ve always envied. We never lived any one place long enough for Helen and me to put down roots. For a long time whenever someone asked me where I was from, I stumbled over the answer.”

“What answer do you give now?”

She hesitated before murmuring, “Oh, what the heck. I tell people I’m from Clearwater, Iowa.”

“Where’s that?”

“In my dreams. It’s a fictional place, the hometown I wish I’d had.”

It was another reminder that Matt couldn’t trust a word the woman said. Nevertheless, he asked, “Tell me about Clearwater, Iowa.”

“It’s relatively small, though there are two high schools in town. My parents owned a home in a middle-class neighborhood next to a city park, and Helen and I walked to elementary school. We were in Girl Scouts and played softball and sang in the Christmas pageant. And, of course, we had a dog.”

“A little rat dog?”

The white glow from the stern light illuminated her disdainful scowl. “You leave Gigi out of this. Actually, Prince was a golden retriever.”

“Aha. So you do prefer real dogs over those little purse pets.”

“We had a big yard in Clearwater that could accommodate a larger dog like Prince,” she protested.

“Give it up, Bradshaw. You could have had any dog you wanted in your fantasy, and you chose Prince. You wanted a good dog.”

She came up on her elbows. “Hey, we had a Pekingese, too, in Clearwater.”

“Oh, now, that’s just pitiful. You’re lying about your fantasy.”

“Yeah, well ...” She plopped back down, lacing her fingers behind her head, a smile playing on her lips. “It’s not lying. It’s editing. I’m the author of the fantasy. I can rewrite it however I wish. You just like to argue with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Now who’s the liar?”

He grinned and bumped up the speed of the boat.

They cruised for a few minutes without conversation while Matt steered away from shore. Upon reaching the middle of the lake, he cut the engine and joined Torie at the stern. “Tell me something, Victoria. If small-town living is your ideal, why do you live in Hollywood?”

“It’s difficult to photograph celebrities in Clearwater, Iowa.”

“So why don’t you do something else?”

A note of defensiveness entered her voice. “I’m good at what I do. I enjoy it. It pays well. I like the freedom of being my own boss. Few jobs out there are perfect, but this one suits me.”

“I wonder.” He set out supper on the small round cockpit table, glad that he’d loaded up the cooler. He was hungry. Good sex did that to him.

Come to think of it, he was starving.

He popped a piece of beef into his mouth before pouring the wine. Handing her a glass, he asked, “So how does an army brat get to be a paparazzo?”

“My college roommate was Jenna Wilson and—”

“The country singer? Where did you go to school?”

“Vanderbilt.”

“Nashville. Makes sense. Jenna is one hot woman. I’ll bet the frat boys wouldn’t leave you two alone.”

“Do you want to hear my story or not?”

He grinned and popped a grape into his mouth, then tended their position. They’d drifted too close to the rocks.

Torie continued. “Jenna sang for tips in a bar on Music Row on the weekends and I was there taking pictures of her the night Clint Holcomb decided to join her for a duet. At the end of the song, he kissed Jenna. It was all very innocent, but I got a shot of it—for her—and there was a record producer in the audience who saw me take the picture. He’s the one who suggested I sell it to the
Enquirer
.”

“I’ll bet he’s the one who signed Jenna to her first record contract, too.”

“The publicity gave her a big boost. It gave us both careers.”

“Hmm.” Matt tapped the throttle just a bit and the boat picked up speed.

Torie held her hand out to catch the cold spray. “What about you? How did a Brazos Bend boy end up a double-naught spy?”

Glancing back over his shoulder, he drawled, “Watched a lot of
The Beverly Hillbillies
growing up, did you?”

She laughed. “Jethro wasn’t very smart, but he sure was pretty to look at. How about you? Was it Jethro envy that brought you to the CIA?”

“I was recruited. I’m good with languages and I was living overseas.”

“When did you leave Texas?”

Matt wasn’t about to go into that whole ugly story. Torie Bradshaw didn’t need to know what a screw-up he’d been, so he gave her a partial truth. “College. I never came home after that.”

“Until you bought the vineyard.”

“I bought a ranch that we’re partially converting into a vineyard.”

“You must have wanted to come home, though, to buy it.”

“No,” he denied automatically. “That’s not ...” His voice trailed off when he realized that she might have a point. “I like having a connection to this place.”

“It’s roots. You have roots here. Brazos Bend is your place, and your roots are real rather than imagined. I envy you that.”

Uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation, Matt sipped his wine and attempted to change the subject. “Have you ever considered working in front of the camera rather than behind it?”

“What?” Now she sat up. “You mean act? Me?”

“You certainly have the looks for it, and you do have some acting experience, what with pretending to be your sister.” He dodged the cracker she threw at him and added, “Or a reporter. You have that nosy quality that comes in handy for reporters.”

“Don’t you need to steer the boat or something?”

Since they were back in the center of the lake, he cut the engine. “We’re drifting.”

“This conversation is drifting into areas I don’t like.”

“Then how about we stop talking?” He set aside his wine and approached her, brushing his mouth over hers once, twice, before laying claim to her lips in a soft, slow, intoxicating kiss.

He laid her back against the cushioned sun deck. Her hair spilled like a waterfall over the red towel she’d spread there earlier, the golden waves appearing silver white in the moonlight. He saw starlight reflected in her eyes.

“I need to have you again,” he told her as he traced the full swell of her breast with his finger. “Let me have you again, Victoria.”

His hand slipped beneath her shirt and skimmed across the silk of her bra, teasing her. She gasped. “You mentioned something earlier about water sex?”

“You like the idea of that, hmm?”

She shrugged. “I admit to a certain curiosity.”

“I was thinking hot-tub sex beneath the stars.”

“
A View to a Kill
. Nice, but what about beach sex? Like in—”

“There’s no beach on this side of the lake.”

“Bummer,” she said on a sigh. “What about here?
Thunderball
, except in the lake rather than the ocean.”

“Would you stop with the stupid Bond business? We could have water sex here if you want. It’s not impossible. Just more difficult. Besides, it’s only April. The water is still cold.”

“Oh. I see.” She paused, made a show of dropping her gaze, and said, “You’re afraid of ... shrinkage.”

It was a clear challenge by a wicked-tongued tease. Matt couldn’t in clear conscience let her get away with it. “No, darlin’. That was just a warning. I didn’t want you to be—” He swooped in and picked her up. Taking two steps to the edge of the boat, he finished, “—surprised.”

He tossed her over the side.

She surfaced, squealing. “It’s freezing!”

He tossed a pair of boat cushions into the water and dived overboard. The cold hit him like a fist. Shrinkage, hell. His balls had drawn up into his belly.

But when his head broke the surface, she was within arm’s reach and laughing. The sight and sound chased the chill right out of his body.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. As they sank into the water and lust heated his blood, he was reminded of their first kiss in the cenote. He should never have let her out of that cave without having her first.

He was getting in over his head with this woman. Literally and figuratively. And he couldn’t seem to find it inside himself to care.

Torie pumped her legs, signaling her need for air, and Matt kicked hard, propelling them to the surface. She drew in a deep breath, then grabbed the cushion floating nearby. She smiled at him and said, “If I’d known then what I know now, I would have had my way with you in that cenote.”

“It’s frightening how alike we think at times.” Treading water, he unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders.

“Don’t lose that,” she cautioned.

“You don’t need it.” He tossed it into the boat.

“I will tomorrow.”

“Let’s forget about tomorrow for now.” As one hand worked the button on her shorts, the other slid inside. They played for a time, teasing and taking it slow, making good use of the wraparound swim platform on the boat. Finally, the mood turned serious and Matt wanted out of the water and into her. He lifted her onto the swim platform, then up onto the sun deck, where she lay shivering from cold. Grabbing a towel, he dried the water from her skin and soon her shivers came from something other than cold.

When she tried to cover herself with the towel, he moved it aside. “Don’t. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re in public.”

“We’re alone, Torie. All alone.” He drank in the sight of her, her skin luminous in the moonlight. Unable to resist, he bent his head to taste her.

She moaned softly, shifting instinctively, the natural eroticism in her movements challenging his desire to continue a slow seduction. He sucked and licked and tugged her, murmuring flattering observations interspersed with earthy words. Craving the feel of her skin against his, he lowered himself to her once more.

“Mmm ... ,” he growled low in his throat when her hot skin quivered against him. What was it about this particular woman that gave rise to such tearing, desperate need within him? Why did Torie Bradshaw, of all women, make him burn?

Then, as she wrapped her arms around him, dug her nails into his back, neither questions nor answers mattered any longer. His lips roamed and his hands caressed the spots where he’d learned she liked to be touched. He smelled her arousal on her skin and groaned with pleasure.