Redemption (40 page)

And now, when she was most vulnerable, what she needed wasn’t a superhero taking a bullet for her. She needed a man, willing to love her through thick and thin, no matter the consequences.

And that was a role only he could fill.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed. “Ladies, I’ve got nothing on underneath this contraption. Unless you want an eyeful, you better hit the door. Now,” he barked.

Laura squealed and made a beeline for the exit, but Joyce stood her ground, lingering long enough to issue a warning.

“There’s a whole herd of reporters gathered at the front entrance. If you want to get out of here, especially dressed like that, you’d better take a different route. I’ll have Mark meet you at the back entrance.”

She turned, then added over her shoulder. “And there’s a jewelry shop just across the street. I bet you could find something nice there.”

When Mark dropped him off at Kaslow’s, Matt went straight to the freight entrance. He had borrowed Mark’s jacket. Underneath, he wore nothing but a bandage and the pair of Levi’s he’d found hanging in the closet.

He had to ask where her new office was, but finally he found the corner office that used to be Bernard Kaslow’s.

Her secretary escorted him to the inner office door, where she hesitated. In a worried voice, she informed him, “She’s just not herself. I tried to make her go home, but she insisted she had work to do.”

“Yeah, she gets like that sometimes. Hardheaded as that damn statue in your fountain there, but I love her anyway.”

He didn’t care if she quoted him to the media hounds that were clamoring for a tidbit. He had caught just enough of the morning news to know he’d be a hunted man for the next few days at least.

He opened the door and quietly slipped inside. He shut the door behind him, then saw her. Her head was wedged between her hands, dark hair cascading over her face, and she was crying. This time, it wasn’t the great, throat-clearing sobs that had possessed her last night, but dainty little tears. They rolled down her cheeks and dropped to her desk, and he realized why they called it a desk blotter.

He approached her desk, but she didn’t look up.

“I guess taking a bullet isn’t enough these days to convince a woman you love her,” he said in a lazy drawl that barely hid the emotion he felt. “So I thought maybe this would do the trick.” He held out the ring he had bought on the way over. A three-carat diamond, set in platinum. Not too fancy, but nice. Classy. A lifetime investment, the guy at the shop had told him.

She lifted her head and looked up at him, love and tears in her eyes. “Oh God, Matt, I’m so stupid! You were right. I’m the most insecure woman on earth! I—I’ve been looking in the phone book, trying to find a therapist.” She pointed to the open phone book in front of her, and then she caught sight of the ring he held in his outstretched hand, the one that wasn’t in a sling.

Slowly, she reached out and took the tiny box from his hand. “You—you’re serious?”

“Hell, yes, I’m serious. What do you think I’ve been after all this time?”

“Not sex?”

“Of course n—Well, yeah, that was part of it,” he agreed. “But only with you. From now on. Ever since I came here, there’s been no one else. There never will be. You believe that, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I believe you. But Matt, we’re so different.”

“Yeah, I noticed. In fact, I kinda like that about you.”

She gave him a weak smile, but there was still a question in her eyes. He realized, analytical thing that she was, she needed to hear the facts. Why he loved her, in a four-point plan with all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed.

“You see, it’s like this. The first moment I saw you, all those years ago, I knew right then you were different from all the women I had known. I thought you were perfect: funny, smart, sexy. I wanted to get to know you better, see if my instincts were right, ’cause they were screaming this was the real thing between us.

“But unfortunately, we didn’t get that opportunity. Things happened, too fast for either of us, and when it all blew up, I just chalked it up to bad timing. But I was wrong. We
were
meant to be together.” He sighed. “Hell, I don’t know, some cosmic force or something must have preordained it, because when I’m around you I feel like I’ve found the other half of my heart, the other half of my soul.” His voice became a little clogged, but he didn’t pause.

“I love you Claire, so much it hurts sometimes. I know there’re a few problems we need to work on—we both have careers, we both have scars—” He glanced at the one at her hairline and swallowed the emotion that rose in his throat. “But all I want in this world is to be with you, spend the rest of my life taking care of you. Making you happy.”

With a little cry, Claire slipped off her shoes and jacket and in seconds had climbed across the desk to him. His uninjured arm stretched to come around her in a protective hold.

“But there’s so much I have to learn. About—about love. I n-never knew.” She lifted her gaze to his, and the shadows Matt had become used to seeing in her gray eyes were gone. In their place was something he knew was love, shining like dawn slipping over the mountains.

“Just answer one thing: Do you love me, Claire?” He needed to hear her say it, finally.

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I love you. I always have. I thought it was silly, all those years ago.”

“Then let’s nail this down: Will you marry me?”

She drew his head down and kissed him, a soul-shaking kiss that scuttled the last of the drugs from his system. And then she murmured, against his mouth, “Yes, I’ll marry you. Let me get out my calendar…”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

L
ATER
T
HAT
E
VENING
, Claire found herself alone in the upstairs bedroom at Matt’s ranch. It hadn’t taken much for him to convince her to come out for a few days while he recovered, though until now, they’d had little time to themselves. His family had all hovered solicitously upon their arrival in Great Falls, but this time, Claire was included in the protective wrap of their love and support.

They would soon be her family, too, she realized, wondering how on earth she would know how to be part of a family—a normal family.

But for Tripper’s sake, she would learn. During the plane ride out, he had been full of eager questions, though the news of their engagement hadn’t surprised him a bit. He simply lifted his shoulder in an unconcerned shrug, as if he had known all along his parents would one day get married.

Claire still had some doubts. She wouldn’t give up her job, she had told Matt, but he had replied that he didn’t expect her to. “I’m gone a good bit on location, and though I’d love to have you join me, I know you’d hate it. The store means a lot to you—I know that better than anyone, and believe me, no one was prouder than I was when you were appointed president.”

“And what if we have more children?”

He shrugged. “We’ll find a good nanny. And I’ve got a flexible schedule, remember. I can take a year or two off, play Dad full time.” And he had looked almost eager at the prospect, though she couldn’t imagine him giving up his promising new career as a director.

It was almost too perfect.

But now, as she got ready for bed, she acknowledged another problem. Her ignorance in the bedroom was a worry she couldn’t ignore. She was a neophyte compared to him. Despite his insistence that things had been perfect before, she was very much afraid she would disappoint him.

Maybe she could find a book on the topic…Were there journals published? On sexual technique, perhaps?

Downstairs, she heard him whistle for Sadie. Claire’s things had been brought to the room where she had slept the last time she was here, but tonight, she didn’t want to sleep alone under his grandmother’s log-cabin quilt.

She wanted to be with Matt, but the thought of walking down those stairs and into his big bedroom terrified her.

Claire sighed, impatient with her timidity. After all, didn’t she regularly gobble up ornery executives for breakfast?

Then she frowned at the sturdy cotton pajamas she had laid out on her bed. She didn’t even have the proper outfit. Matt was probably more accustomed to women in silk negligees, like the ones she had admired in Kaslow’s lingerie department the other day. If only she had thought to have one wrapped up and charged to her account.

Claire sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating her options. She could walk into his bedroom, announce she was ready for sex, and hope he took his cue. Then another objection occurred to her. He was recovering from an injury. The last thing on his mind would be physical exertion.

But that, she realized, was perfect—she could be with him, with no expectations on either part, nothing but their feelings for each other. They could just snuggle and talk.

Before she could lose her nerve, she threw on her pajamas and hurried down the stairs. Outside his bedroom, she paused, the closed door momentarily daunting.

She knocked lightly, and when she didn’t hear an answer, she assumed he must be asleep. She opened the door, intending to slip into bed beside him, but the sight that greeted her almost took her breath away. Matt was just coming out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but jeans and a stark-white bandage, a contrasting appliqué against his tanned skin.

Her throat went dry. She tried not to stare at the exposed skin where his stomach curved inward, at the hard, carved expanse of his chest. His hair was damp, as if he had just washed behind his ears. A wave of tenderness washed over her, mixed with a sexual desire that almost made her knees buckle.

“I—I thought I’d check and see if you needed anything.”

For a long moment he didn’t say a word, just gazed at her with a starved look in his eyes. Finally he spoke, his voice ragged. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, there’s one thing I could use.”

She waited, but he said nothing, just continued to stare at her, his eyes luminous in the dim light. Silently, he held out his arm, inviting her to the very place she wanted to be.

Her feet flew across the carpet, and in seconds, his arm was wrapped around her, holding her tight against him. “I had a feeling you’d be too shy to come down,” he murmured against her hair. “I thought I’d have to come and get you, and I wasn’t sure I could manage the Rhett Butler routine.”

“I
did
almost chicken out,” she admitted, breathing in the sweet-sharp male smell of him. “But then I thought…” She swallowed. “I thought you might be too tired for any strenuous activity. So I decided to just come and…and…” She smiled against his chest. “Provide some company.”

He nuzzled her head. “Company? I could’ve had Sadie for that. I want you for more than company—and for more than sex, too.”

She lifted an eyebrow, then smiled, just a bit wickedly. “That’s too bad, because I was hoping…there’s a problem I need to work on, right away, if you don’t mind.”

“What’s that?”

“Will you show me how to make love to you?”

He gave her a look that was equal parts love and desire and said softly, “I’d like nothing better.”

Claire sighed. Her fears floated away, like clouds chased by the sun. But there was still one…

“Your arm—I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m tougher than I look.”

Glad that he was confident enough for both of them, she took his hand and led him to the bed.

She sat on the edge, then looked up at him as he stood in front of her. Slowly, she began unbuttoning her pajama top, gauging him for reaction. When she got to the end, he swallowed, his eyes lingering on the gap she’d created.

“God, Claire, flannel pajamas could only look sexy on you.”

“I thought it might be cold—I wasn’t sure you’d have the fire lit.” Her voice came out strangely husky—hormones? “It’s getting a bit…too warm.” She shrugged the pajama top off her shoulders, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.

Then she started on his Levi’s, slowly managing the buttons, her fingers brushing the denim.

He groaned. “I don’t think you need any lessons.”

A satisfied smile curved her lips. “You seem to be…in some pain.” She slid her hands over his hard length, caressing, cherishing.

“I’m in a great deal of pain now. I’d better lie down.”

She leaned back on the bed, inviting him with her eyes.

He didn’t need a second invitation. He stretched out on the bed beside her—they were sideways on the huge bed, but Claire decided geometry didn’t matter.

“Your arm…”

“That’s not the part that hurts, Claire.”

She helped him pull off his jeans, then slipped off her pajamas and slid against him. Their mouths met, tongues dancing, teasing. Then her tongue went on an exploration—she kissed his neck, licked the salty moisture, tested her teeth against his earlobe.

His hand, and then his mouth, focused on her breasts—a heavenly feeling, she decided, momentarily distracted.

Somehow, she found herself on top of him, arcing over him, imitating the goddess of Fortune who, she reminded herself, she still needed to thank.