Paradise Found (13 page)

He didn't miss the sharpness in her voice. “Jack's not good with relationships.”

“Hmm.”

He hated it when she did that, as if she had a lot to say on the subject and mere words would never suffice. “Can we continue? Or do you need to dissect Jack Steele's motives first?”

She sniffed. “I know exactly what his motives are.”

“Good,” he said, annoyed by her snide comment. He was edgy this morning, and it had little to do with Sara bashing his hero's character and more to do with the time she strolled in last night—with Adam. One o'clock, if Rosa hadn't fooled with the chimes again.

What the hell was she doing with his brother for all those hours? Matt was dying to know, but damned if he'd ask. He shifted in his chair, crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back, trying to get his mind on Jack Steele and the brunette. The innocent, tantalizing brunette with rose-tinted lips, long legs, and eyes the color of…
Christ!
Matt shot up from his chair. “Describe your eyes to me.”

“My eyes?”

“Yeah. What color are they? What shape?”

She didn't answer at first, as though she were weighing the options of fight or flight. When she did speak, there was a hesitancy he didn't understand. Was she embarrassed? Uncomfortable? Self-conscious? What? What was making her so skittish?

“I guess they're kind of a mix between green and amber.”

He remembered Adam's words.
And I can't forget her eyes. You can get lost in them when she looks at you….amber green…kind of tilted at the corners… When she's passionate about something, they turn this rich amber color… like old whiskey…

“Which is dominant?” Matt asked, wondering if she agreed with Adam's observations.

“Green, I guess. How do I know? I don't stand in front of the mirror and stare at myself all day.”

“Don't get testy. I was just curious. It's the writer in me working overtime.”

“Well, the writer needs to take a break.”

“What shape are they?”
Kind of tilted at the corners…

She made a disgusted sound. “Matt, stop—”

“Okay, no more questions. Truth is, I thought the least I could do to show my appreciation for your assistance would be to write in a character with your eyes.”

“Let me guess. The big-busted blonde with the come-hither look is going to have my eyes.”

“Would I do that to you?”

“Yes. You would,” she said, her voice short and huffy. “Especially when you know I can't stand a woman throwing herself at a man.”

He decided to string her along a few more seconds. “Even if he wants her to?”

“Even then,” she said, with a primness that was downright annoying.

Sara Hamilton was a flesh-and-blood woman with enough heat to burn him and half of Laguna Beach. “Actually, I thought I'd use your eyes for the mystery woman.”

“Oh.”

“She seems more your type. Elusive. Compelling. Unaware of her own sensuality.”

He paused, waiting for a response. Nothing.

“You are, aren't you?” he prompted. Delving into the psyche of this woman was becoming his greatest challenge.

“What?”

“You're good. And elusive. Or maybe, evasive is a better word.” Matt rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, evasive would be my pick. You dance around most questions about yourself, and I'm starting to think there's a big dark secret hiding under that soft skin.”

“I'm not evasive. Or elusive. There's just not much to say when compared to a celebrity like you.”

Something in her tone didn't ring true. She was hiding something, he'd bet his favorite Pirates cap on it. But what would a hometown ‘I believe in God and country’ girl be hiding? “I don't suppose you consider yourself compelling either?”

“Compelling? As compared to what? Saturday night reruns or fried baloney sandwiches? I'm just ordinary. No frills, no extras. Just plain old ordinary.”

“I like fried baloney sandwiches. And you're anything but ordinary.”

“I've driven the same way to work for the last three years.”

“So you like the scenery.”

“And I've eaten at the same restaurant.” She paused. “In the same booth.”

“Must be good food with a good view.”

“At the same time every day.”

“Hmm. And the food? Is that the same too?”

“I usually pick the special of the day.”

“How daring of you.”

“I told you. Just plain old ordinary.”

“That's not plain old ordinary, Sara. That's plain old weird.”

She laughed, a light trickling sound that heated his blood and made him realize once again how far from ordinary she was—at least compared to the women who usually occupied his time. They all came with agendas and expectations, their words calculated down to the smallest preposition. They were hunters, armed with insincere praise and bright red smiles, aimed directly at him—the hunted. He knew the game, knew how to play it, even got a certain amount of perverse pleasure twisting their psyches into knots.

Sara was different. Her open honesty and sincere words bore no signs of entrapment. She made him relax, feel comfortable with her and with himself, despite his blindness. He'd spent half of last night plotting his book and his life, something he wouldn't have considered possible a month ago. A month ago, he'd had no life. Sara had given it back to him. She'd led him through anger and despair to the other side, where hope and new beginnings dwelt.

She'd pierced his heart with her genuineness. No facades. No gimmicks. No ploys. Just Sara. Intoxicating. Fresh. Unique. Brimming with sensuality, yet refusing to acknowledge the word.

“Matt?” She broke through his thoughts. “Are you stuck on my weirdness or is Jack Steele running through his come-on lines?”

He laughed. Add sense of humor to her attributes. “Relax. You're a cute weird. And as for Jack”—he rubbed his chin—“he's about to get the shock of his life.”

“Let me guess. His former conquests close in on him, red nails poised and ready for clawing.”

“Better.” He grinned. “The brunette turns around and he finds himself staring at the most arresting pair of amber-green eyes he's ever seen. His mouth opens, but the words won't come.”

“Jack Steele left speechless? Now that's a first.”

“Oh, yeah. This little lady's gonna give him a lot of firsts.”

“My heroine.” Humor coated her voice. “Does this wonder have a name?”

“Of course.”

“Well? Shall I start with A and work my way through the alphabet or do you just want to make it a little easier and tell me?”

Matt crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading over his lips. He'd give just about anything to see her face right now. “Well,” he began, his voice low and soft, “considering the fact that this woman is going to challenge him at every turn, test every bone in his body, and drive him absolutely wild”—he paused—“I thought I'd call her Sara.”

“No, Jeff, I don't mind staying.” Sara clutched the phone and tried to ignore the anxiety spreading through her at the mention of returning to Pittsburgh. She couldn't think about leaving. Not yet.

She forced out the next words, careful to keep her tone bland. “Yes, we're working quite well together. Uh-huh.” She blinked. “Yes. He's a pretty special guy. Another month? Sure. That would be fine.” How about another two months? Two years? Two lifetimes? Maybe that would be enough, but probably not. “I'm so happy Nina's doing well. Just a little while longer and you'll be holding a baby in your arms.”

Jeff spent the next several minutes informing her of the baby's preferences. He or she, as it were, kicked harder when Bach was playing as opposed to Beethoven, but Mozart seemed a soothing second choice. Pasta Primavera won over Fettuccine Alfredo every time and Beatrix Potter was more relaxing than the Brothers Grimm.

Sara pictured Jeff reciting the tale of Squirrel Nutkin. “I'm so happy for both of you. Give Nina my best and let her know she's in my prayers.”

“Hey, California girl, how's it going?” Jessie's voice boomed into the receiver, a sharp contrast to Jeff’s.

“Hi, Jessie. How are you?”

“Great. Things are really moving here, Sara. You'd be proud of me. Guess what? April got the job!” Jessie's words bubbled over the phone, her enthusiasm spilling through the line. “She can't believe it. Administrative Assistant to the V.P. of Marketing at Alltron!”

“That's wonderful,” Sara said, thinking of the meek little horn-rimmed woman, who, six months before couldn't maintain three seconds of eye contact, let alone promote herself or her capabilities for employment. Six months before, April Pearson didn't know she possessed worthwhile, marketable qualities. She was the latest success story of determination winning over degradation. Perseverance championing humiliation. April had stripped away the cloak of inferiority bestowed on her by a bitter abusive mate and armed herself with a shield of positive affirmations that repelled doubt and self-recrimination. She had won. “And Heather?” she ventured, hoping for the same uplifting news. “How is she?”

There was a pause at the other end of the line, followed by a long sigh. “No good. She's back with that jerk.”

“I was really hoping she'd make the break this time.”

“Not with the way this guy's been after her. He's been giving her the works. Flowers, dinner, love notes. The whole bit.” Jesse's next words dripped with disgust. “Said he'd never look at another woman again.”

“And she believed him,” Sara said, sickened by the string of meaningless words slapped together like a day-old Band-Aid on an open wound. There just wasn't any stick.

“Of course.”

“Of course,” Sara echoed, fast forwarding to the inevitable pain awaiting Heather the next time her husband cheated. And there would be a next time. There always was.

“I'm sitting tight, waiting for her world to come crashing down, like it does every six months or so,” Jessie said.

“That's all you can do. Maybe one of these days, she'll realize she can't build her future in the path of a tornado that levels everything twice a year.”

“I'd like to level him. Jerk.”

“I know.” They spent the next several minutes discussing other clients. Most were on the right path or at least getting off the wrong one.

“So tell me,” Jessie asked, when the last client's method of care had been strategized, “how's Matt?”

“Fine.”

“I'll bet.” There was unmistakable female interest in her voice. “Did he lose the glasses yet?”

“He did, as a matter of fact,” Sara said, trying to downplay her answer.

“And?”

“He has very nice eyes.”

“Nice eyes?” Jessie squeaked. “Either you're the one who's blind or you need to take a better look. He's got incredible eyes.”

Like a sliver of moon on a black night.
“I have to admit I've never seen anyone with that shade of silver-gray.” She tried to make her voice sound matter-of-fact. “I wonder if he gets it from his mother or father.”

Laughter tinkled through the line. “Oh, Sara. Only you would be thinking about genealogy when you looked at him. The rest of the female population would be oohing and ahhing over the man, studying every delectable inch of him.”

“For heaven's sake, you make him sound like a dessert.”

“Hmm. And I'll bet he'd be quite a tasty one, too. Kind of like a big piece of chocolate cake with sprinkles on top.”

“Well, I wouldn't know.”
Liar. You know exactly what he tastes like. And he's much more tantalizing than plain old chocolate cake. More like a double fudge brownie, smothered in chocolate sauce with globs of whipped cream.

Jessie sighed. “That's why it's a good thing you're there and I'm not.”

“What do you mean?” Sometimes Jessie made no sense at all.

“You're so unaffected by him. You can look at him every day and not get lost in the pure magnetism of the man, like I would.”

Right.

“I mean, if it were me, I'd be head over heels for him.”

Sara cleared her throat. “You don't know that.”

“Oh, but I do.” She spoke with the confidence of one who's spent long hours contemplating the matter. “I couldn't resist him, not like you. You can be so intellectual about everything, remain so detached.”

If you only knew.

“That's one of the reasons why you're so perfect for him.”

Perfect? “I don't know about that.”

“Yes, you are. It's so obvious. And then”—she paused a second—“there's the big reason.”

“Which is?” What else was there?

“You'd never be foolish enough to fall in love with him.”

“Right.”

“Hey, do you think you could get me an autographed copy of one of Mr. Beautiful’s books?”

“Which one?”

“
Dangerous Secrets
is my favorite.” She sighed. “It's got the best picture of him.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Those lips are something else. Full. Firm. Sensual. If I close my eyes I can almost feel them on mine.”

Sara touched her lips, remembering the feel of Matt’s mouth on hers. “You're crazy.”

“I know. See why it's a good thing I'm not there? He needs someone like you. Steady. Strong. Immune.”

“Sounds like a new vaccine.”

Jessie laughed. “You know what I mean. Well, gotta run. April's stopping by to fill me in on her first week at Alltron.”

“Give her my best.”

“Will do. Toodles.”

Sara ended the call and sank back in the leather chair. Was she crazy? Getting involved with a man like Matt Brandon was not something she’d ever planned to let happen. Men had their uses. In small defined doses. And at designated distances. They provided pleasant companionship at infrequent intervals, occasional dinner conversation when desired, and rare accompaniment to necessary functions. As long as they stayed within those parameters, she felt comfortable. In control. Almost relaxed.

But Matt played like a pinch hitter with a full count in the ninth inning of a tied game. He went for broke, slamming the bat against the ball, sending it careening into the stands. He played to win. Word had it he usually did.

So, how did she fit in? If she scraped away the ten-dollar words and pawed through the soft articulation that made most women swoon, what was left? Was there truth and depth of feeling underneath or was it just more empty calories on an already too-sweet confection?

And if the words were sincere, then what? Could she risk opening herself up to the hurt and the pain of loving again, risk having her self-respect torn to shreds if he tired of her? Love carried no guarantees. She'd learned that harsh lesson when Brian had stuffed a piece of paper in her hand and walked out of the hospital room and out of her life. It had been his new phone number—to be used only in case of extreme emergency. She'd torn it into tiny pieces and threw it in the air like confetti. Was she capable of even thinking about that kind of pain again?

Getting involved with Matt would expose her to that same kind of brutal heartache. Did she really want to do that? Or was it already too late? She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. Why couldn't she be like the millions of people who engaged in casual sex? Why did she have to care about the other person? Lots of women dabbled in recreational sex without regret. Why couldn't she be one of them?

She knew the answer, even if her brain didn't want to register it. No sense imagining herself any different, because her reality existed in the strong, steady, committed relationship between two people. There had been no men since Brian. But now, Matt Brandon invaded not only her sleep, but great pieces of her waking moments, in both thought and human form.

And she was getting used to, even looking forward to their time together, and wanted more. He'd told her five days ago she would set the pace and he'd been true to his word. There had been no overt caresses, no insinuations. He'd been polite, courteous, proper.

It was driving her absolutely mad.

She wanted to feel his fingers on her skin, taste his mouth on hers. But that wasn't all. There was a longing for the welcoming strength of his body beneath her fingertips as she pulled him to her. Closer. Closer. Until he blanketed her, covering every inch of her. She wanted him to make love to her.

For the first time since her husband, she wanted a man in a very physical way and it scared her to death. Giving her body to Matt was a pledge, a promise on her part that went much deeper than the flesh. But would he share those sentiments? Would he consider her anything more than a willing, convenient pastime?

Of course, he wanted her now. But what about tomorrow? And after that? Could she have a relationship with him that held no boundaries? No commitments? And what of other women? Gabrielle was long gone, shooed away five days ago on her stilettos with Rex toting her Louis Vuitton bags behind her. Not a pleasant sight, but a most gratifying one. A small smile crept to Sara's lips. It lasted a space of about three seconds as she recalled the appraising female looks that followed Matt wherever he went. Since the ball game, they'd been to Dana Point twice, taken a walk on the beach and eaten lunch in an open-air cafe. Each time, women poured over him.

There would always be women, of that she was certain. But would there come a time when the smile he gave them would turn from polite to inviting? When he would reach for the plastic-shaped, silicone-stuffed, Barbie dolls of his past? And if that time came, then what? Sara leaned forward and buried her head in her hands.

Then she would die.

***

“I can't wait to see you,” Adam said. “Have you missed me as much as I've missed you?”

Sara gripped her cell as she struggled between a lie and the truth. She settled for a half-truth. “I'm looking forward to seeing you, too.”

“Great. My flight's getting in around four. Be ready to go at six.”

“What?”

His laugh filled the receiver. “I'm taking you out. We're celebrating the completion of the merger. And,” he added, his voice lowering, “the end of my time away.”

Great. “Great.” She decided to play dumb. “I'll make sure Matt's ready by then.”

“Matt? He's not invited. It's just you and me.”

Time to hedge. “I don't think he'd like the idea too much. You know he's very territorial with his time.”

“He's just being a pain, as usual. Besides, it's after five. Free time, remember?”

Somehow, she didn't think Matt would look at it that way. “I don't know.”

“Come on, Sara,” he coaxed. “It's not like he has any claim on you after hours. You're free to do whatever you want.”

Am I?

“Say yes.”

Maybe she should go out with Adam and give him the news in private. They were friends—good friends—but it could never be more than that. Not when she might be half in love with his older brother. “Okay,” she found herself saying. “I'll be ready.”

“Great. See you soon.”

***

“Absolutely not.”

“I wasn't asking for your permission. I was informing you I wouldn't be here for dinner.”

Damn her
! How could she sit there and spout off her plans when she knew damned well what his reaction would be? He'd warned her not to encourage Adam. For Christ's sake, the guy had been falling all over himself trying to get her attention from the day she walked through the door.

But had she listened? Of course not. And why? Hell if he knew. Maybe she was going to play him and Adam against each other, watch them duke it out, and see who came out on top. Sara didn't seem like the type, but life was full of surprises. She could do worse than end up with one of them. Maybe she was getting tired of life in Pittsburgh and wanted to coast along the sunny shores of California for a while.

Of course, there was always the second possibility, the one that made him furious. She might be trying to make him jealous by using Adam. Little Red Riding Hood from Pittsburgh had no idea what she was up against if she was trying to hoodwink him. He'd make the Big Bad Wolf look like a kitten. More skilled women had tried, using much more sophisticated tactics and failed. But this one had him on the ropes and it annoyed the hell out of him. “Why do you want to make a fool of him?”

“I'd never do that.”

Matt rubbed his jaw, settled his gaze in the direction of her voice. “If you're trying to make me jealous, it won't work.”

“Jealous?” She moved toward him in quick even steps. He guessed she was less than a foot from his bent knees. Her citrus scent swirled around him. Dammit, hadn't he told her not to wear that perfume again? “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“Why, indeed? Maybe you're looking for some kind of commitment from me, before we”—he paused to emphasize his next words—“intensify our relationship.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Is it?” The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. “We both know we've been dying to get into each other's pants, almost from the beginning. You, because of some uptight morality, want it tied up nice and sweet in the name of pledge or commitment or whatever in the hell else will let you sleep with me and not feel guilty about it.”