Paradise Found (9 page)

“I think this is probably not a good idea,” he whispered as his lips brushed the back of her neck.

Tiny shivers ran through her. “No. Probably not.” Even as she mouthed the words, she leaned forward to grant him better access.

Matt graced tiny kisses behind her left earlobe, trailing his mouth to her collarbone. He pushed the sundress strap aside. “So soft. So silky,” he murmured. “Good thing I'm not into buttoned-up psychologists from Pittsburgh. That could be dangerous.”

“Very dangerous,” she sighed. Logic crumbled with each of his touches, transforming itself into raw emotion where nothing existed beyond his touches. She reached back and ran her hands down his waist. The low rumble of approval spurred her to boldness and she let her fingers roam his thighs, feel the muscles beneath them.

“Sara.” Matt groaned and grabbed her hands. “Too fast.” He turned her around, circling her with his strong arms. “Too good.” He took a deep breath, smiled down at her. “Too damn good.”

She smiled back into unseeing silver eyes and wound her arms around his waist, anxious to be closer. He nudged her into the edge of the table, his legs on either side of hers. Their bodies melted together, flowing over and through each other, heat into light, strength into softness.

“Sara,” he said, pulling her to him. “Sweet Sara.” His head dipped low, stopping mere inches from her lips. “I've got to taste you.”

Oh, and she wanted him to taste her. Her eyes drifted slowly shut as their lips met in a promise of passion and desire. He coaxed her mouth open. She touched her tongue to his, stroking, probing, gently sucking. She wanted him with an intensity she'd never felt before.

He broke the kiss and buried his head between her breasts. “Sara,” he rasped, running his hands under her dress and up her bare legs. “If you don't stop me soon, it'll be too late.”

His hands teased the waistband of her silk panties. “I think it's already too late,” she said, tugging his polo shirt from his jean shorts.

“It was too late the day you walked through the door,” he said, grabbing both sides of her panties and pushing them down her legs with one quick jerk.

She stepped out of them, anxious to feel his hands on her naked body. His fingers worked their way to her sex. When he touched her, she grabbed his shoulders and moaned as heat and need poured through her. Nothing existed but those fingers doing incredibly wonderful things to the most private part of her body.

“Ah, Sara,” he murmured, working his magic with his finger and thumb. His free hand slipped the sundress straps off her shoulders, teasing her breasts through the silken fabric until her nipples ached.

His touch, his voice, his scent, all drove her to the edge, threatening to make her explode into hundreds of fragmented emotions. She wanted to touch him, wanted to run her hand along the bulge in his shorts and make him as crazy as he was making her. She slid her hand along his chest, hovered on his belt buckle, moved low to cup him. He groaned deep in his throat, thrusting himself into her palm as he stroked her and sought her mouth. It was too much, too intense for her to hold on and she exploded, her body pulsing with a hundred tiny convulsions that would not stop.

Matt was the first to speak. “Was that a mistake?”

She leaned her forehead against his chest and he pulled her close, stroking her hair. “I'm sure it was.”

“Do you care?” he asked, his voice as soft as the caresses he'd given her a few minutes ago.

This was not the time to be untruthful. “No.”

He pulled her closer. “Good. Neither do I.”

She sighed and turned her head to rest on his chest, the thump of his heart beating against her ear. “Rosa's usually gone for a few hours on shopping day. Why don't we go back to my room and finish this?”

And then what? she wanted to ask. But she didn't, because right now it didn't matter. She wanted to be with him. Needed to be with him. And for once in her very practical, extremely organized life, she was going to listen to her heart and not her head.

“Sara,” he asked, “will you come back to my room and make love with me?”

Yes
, her heart answered.

“Hey, anybody. I’m home!”

It was Adam!

“Shit.” Matt jerked back and pulled her sundress straps into place and ran a quick hand down her dress.

“My panties,” she said, unable to move.

He knelt and swiped them up just as Adam entered the kitchen.

“Hi, you two,” he said, a big smile on his tanned face.

“Hey,” Matt said.

Such casual nonchalance. Was he always this smooth in these circumstances? And how often
was
he in these circumstances? Maybe she was just the flavor of the month—Triple Dipped Stupid. She honed in on the swatch of balled-up pink in his right hand.

“Sara,” Adam said. “What's the matter? You look pale. Are you sick?”

Sick? She was sick all right. In the head. “I’m—”

“She's fine. Just stayed up too late last night watching the ball game. As a matter of fact, she came to tell me she was thinking about going back to bed.” His silver gaze settled on her. “Isn't that right, Sara?”

She stared at him, amazed at the finesse he employed as he twisted the truth, making it sound so believable. She'd been thinking about going back to bed, all right, but it hadn't been to sleep.

“Sara?” he repeated, tightening his hand around her panties.

“Yes,” she said, dragging her gaze from his right hand. From the corner of her eye, she saw him stuff the panties into his jean's pocket.

“You two and your ball games,” Adam said, shaking his head. “I don't understand how grown people can get excited about watching a guy hit a ball with a stick and run around.”

Matt shrugged. “It's in our blood.”

“Is it terminal?”

“Hard to tell yet,” he said, digging his hand partway into his right pocket. “We both seem to be equally hooked.”

A rush of heat splashed across Sara’s face. She wasn't good at playing relationship games or throwing around double entendres. And she certainly hadn't considered what they'd been doing a game. Had he?

“Well, I guess that makes me odd man out,” Adam said.

There was such truth in his words.

“Guess it does,” Matt agreed.

“How was New York?” Sara asked, eager to change the subject. Adam might be clueless to the double meaning of the conversation, but Matt knew exactly what he was saying. He was probably even enjoying himself.

“Very productive. Looks like the merger is a go.” His gaze lingered on Sara. “But the company just wasn't the same.”

Matt cleared his throat. “It's good to see you again, too.”

Adam threw him an annoyed look. “I wasn't referring to your company.”

“I gathered your target was Sara.”

Had she detected a bit of jealousy in his tone? Ridiculous. She doubted he’d ever been jealous in his life.

“You are so astute,” Adam said, chuckling. He headed for the coffee pot, pulled a mug from the cupboard, and poured himself a cup. “I really did miss you, Sara. Watching the sunset on Dana Point, sharing a double fudge brownie sundae. Even the trips to those God-awful boutiques,” he said, his smile deepening to reveal a pair of dimples and a flash of very white teeth.

Matt frowned. “Did I miss something here? Is there something going on between you two?”

“No!” Sara's denial filled the kitchen. “We're friends. Just friends.”

Adam seemed undisturbed by her vehement denial of a more involved relationship. “Of course, we're just friends,” he said, in a soothing voice. “That's how all great relationships start. As friends.”

She managed a weak smile. How could she tell him they would never be more than friends? She glanced at Matt who had his eyes fixed on her, stone-faced.

“I've got something for you,” Adam said, rising from his chair and walking toward the suitcase he'd deposited in the corner. He unzipped it and pulled out a square box wrapped in silver with an elaborate gold bow. With a huge smile on his face, he moved toward her and extended the gift. “For you. A little token from New York.”

“I…can't accept this.”
Because you think there's still hope for something other than friendship between us. You don't know what your brother and I were doing in this kitchen a few minutes ago and you certainly don’t know what I wanted to do.

“Open it,” he coaxed.

Sara hesitated a second longer, but the little-boy expression on Adam's face settled her decision. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matt tense—as though he had wanted her to refuse it. She eased the gold ribbon over the package, her fingers lingering on the fine satin. Saks or Bloomingdale quality, another small but potent reminder of the different world she lived in—a world far removed from Matthew Brandon and his family. She slipped a finger beneath the crisp, metallic folds of the paper and lifted up on the tape. The wrapping fell away, revealing a plain white box.

“You don't get many gifts, do you?” Adam asked, his voice thoughtful.

Her head shot up. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Just by the way you're opening it.”

“I like to savor my gifts,” she said, brushing aside his question. He was too much the gentleman to push her. Matt, on the other hand, was just the type to pry and probe until he dug out every last scrap of dirt. She hoped he wouldn't. How could she tell either of them that Jeff was the only one who had ever remembered her birthday? And that Christmas was a sad, lonely affair with nothing under her Charlie Brown tree but a few small tokens from clients, and Jeff and Jessie?

“Just open the damned thing,” Matt said, frowning.

She ignored him. He was getting into one of his moods. Again. Flipping the box up, she fished around puffs of white and gold tissue paper, uncovering a glass ball the size of a large grapefruit. It was painted in crimson, jade, and violet hues. She held it up to the light and watched the colors blend into one another, creating a muted kaleidoscope of design. “It's beautiful,” she breathed, fingering the violet cord attached to the ball.

“Hand blown by one of those artsy types you seem to like so much,” Adam said. “You can hang it up and ‘contemplate the iridescence that envelops you.’” He laughed. “That's what the clerk told me.”

Matt walked up to the table. “Mind if I take a look?” He held out a hand and Sara placed it in his grasp, her fingers brushing against his. She watched as he closed his hands around the ball, moved it between his palms and traced his fingers over the textured work. His brows met over the bridge of his nose as he concentrated on the glass ball. “What color is it?”

“It's a blend of crimson, jade, and violet,” she answered, watching his fingers run the length of the cord. “And the cord is violet.”

He nodded. “And the pattern? Is there one?”

“Yes,” she said, her gaze darting from the intense expression on his face to his fingertips trailing over the ball. “But it's very abstract. There's a mix of crimson, jade, and violet that repeats itself in soft swirls around the ball. That's about as uniform as it gets.”

He smoothed his hand over the ball. Like a caress. “I can picture it,” he said. “Almost as though I can see it.”

“You are seeing it, in your own way.” She couldn't hide her excitement. “You're piecing together the bits of information we've given you and mixing it with the history stored in your memory to formulate a picture. Adam, isn't that wonderful?”

“Yeah, it is pretty amazing,” he agreed. “Maybe I should have brought one back for my big brother, too.”

They all laughed and Matt handed the glass ball back to Sara. She was careful not to touch him this time. She placed the gift back in its box and said to Adam, “Thank you so much. I'll treasure it always.” On impulse she rose from her chair and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Keep doing that and I'll bring you something every night,” he teased.

“You'll have to do it on your own time,” Matt interrupted. “She's mine from nine to five.”

Adam laughed.

“Every day.”

Sara's smile faded.

“You're kidding, right?” Adam asked.

“Saturday and Sunday, too,” Matt said, his lips flattening.

“Matt?” What was he up to? Why the demands?

“What?” he snapped, turning toward her.

“Aren’t you being a little …extreme?”

“I don't think so. Don't you want to provide me with every opportunity to adapt to my condition?” he challenged. “After all, we've only got a few days left.”

Now she knew he was up to something. The man hadn't been interested in adapting to anything, let alone his blindness. Why the sudden change of heart? “What's going on, Matt?”

“I'm just seeing if the doctor is as dedicated as she says she is.”

“I thought I wasn't a doctor to you.” She remembered his words well. “No pads, no paper, no questions. Remember?”

His eyes narrowed. “I changed my mind.”

Adam shot him a disgusted look. “Fine. Don't worry about it, Sara. Jeff should be here in less than a week. Why don't you think about staying on a little longer? In an unofficial capacity?”

“As what?” The chill in Matt's voice surprised her.

“As my friend.”

Matt snorted.

“Oh, I forgot. You've never known a woman who was just a friend.” Adam's normal, easygoing demeanor vanished beneath his sarcasm.

She had to stop this verbal sparring before it escalated into something nasty. “Thank you, Adam, but I've really got to get back home.”

“Don't say anything yet,” he coaxed. “Just wait and see how things turn out.”

Matt stood with his feet planted wide apart, jaw clenched, his silver stare fixed on her. “You heard her.” His lips barely moved. “She's got to get back home.”

Was that sarcasm? Is so, why?

Adam ignored his brother's words. “We'll discuss it later.”

“Good,” Matt said. “Anytime after five.” He stepped forward and took hold of her arm. “Right now, we've got work to do.”

Sara threw Adam a helpless look and turned to follow Matt, but not before she swiped the tickets from the counter. If Adam thought his brother was being difficult now, just wait a few minutes. Once she told Matt about the ball game, there would be real fireworks—maybe strong enough to blast her back to Pittsburgh.

Matt practically dragged her down the hallway, his long strides eating up the distance twice as fast as her smaller ones. He surprised her by stopping in front of his study. “In here.” She stepped inside, wondering why he'd chosen the study. Adam had told her he hadn't been there for months. Why now? The door clicked shut. “I want you to leave Adam alone.”

Sara whirled around and stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

He advanced on her. “He's falling for you. Big time. I don't want you to encourage him.”

She wanted to hit him with something to knock some sense into his thick skull. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything big enough to do a half-decent job. “You think I was encouraging him?”

“Possibly,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Or maybe it was just a ploy to make me jealous.”

“You think I would do that?”

He shrugged. “You tell me.”

His words hurt. She wanted to make him feel this same pain, but a person had to care to hurt like that. His casual accusations told her he didn't—unfortunately, her reaction to his torture told her she did.

How had this happened? Hadn't she vowed never to open up to another man again? How had this one gotten through her defenses? More importantly, how could she get him back on the other side?

“Answer me,” Matt said. “Would you use my brother to make me jealous?”

She stared at him, thinking him more a stranger now than the first day they'd met. “No.” He let out a slow breath. “You're not worth it.”

His silver gaze narrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” she repeated with years of practiced calm, “that you aren't worth lowering myself to such base behavior.”

His lips pulled into a cold smile. “I see. And did you lower yourself to such base behavior with me a little while ago?”

“That was a mistake.”

“We've already established that fact.” He moved toward her and crossed his arms over his chest. “What I want to know is how the hell did you step off your pedestal long enough to experience some real base emotions?”

She didn't like his probing questions. “Can't we just forget about it?”

“I hate to admit it, but I'm finding it a little hard to just forget about it.” He took another step and clasped her wrists. “Before I only wondered what you tasted and felt like. Now I know.” His smile faded. “And it's the knowing that I think is going to kill me.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. When she shivered, he said, “Now tell me you can forget about it.”

“No,” she said, strength seeping into her words. “This is wrong. I'm leaving in a few days, a week at most. I can't just have a little fling and then catch my flight back to Pittsburgh like nothing happened. I thought I could, but I can't.”

“What about the electricity that's been flowing between us since the day we met? What do you plan to do about that?”

“Nothing.” She didn't deny her attraction for him.

“What are you afraid of, Sara? Why are you running away?”

“I'm not running. It's called self-preservation.”

“Self-preservation?” He spat out the word. “You make me sound like some kind of beast.”

Her heart swelled with sadness. “It's not you. It's me. I don't go in for casual flings. Never have. I couldn't just shake your hand and walk away when it was over, as though we'd shared nothing more than a cup of coffee.”

“I don't make promises.” The brackets around his mouth deepened. “Or commitments.”

“I know.” Her voice was whisper-soft. “But I do.”

He swore under his breath. “Fine,” he said in a tone that told her it was anything but fine. “If that's the way you want it, then fine. But don't tempt me.”

“Tempt you?” She almost laughed. “How would I do that?”

“Even someone like you knows about tempting a man.” His words were bitter, cutting. “Don't use that low, throaty voice on me.”

“It's the way I talk.”

“Change it. And stop using that lemon-orange perfume.”

“Okay.” Maybe she could find some skunk juice for him.

“And don't be so damned agreeable,” he bit out.