Staking His Claim (6 page)

Chapter Six

Matt stood outside the Upper West Side brownstone, debating whether or not to actually go inside.
Small get-together
, Brent had told him. Right. It looked like half the city was in attendance. He wasn’t good with crowds and even worse making small talk. This was not his scene, a fact Brent obviously knew well, hence his under-exaggeration. After the sleepless night he’d had after dropping off Sasha, he was even less equipped than usual to handle this many people, closing in on him, making him feel claustrophobic.

Parties had never appealed to him, but since returning from Afghanistan, they made him even more uncomfortable. He couldn’t monitor everything taking place around him, couldn’t see who was standing behind him, didn’t like the constant coming and going of new faces. It made him sweat, made it harder to focus on the questions people inevitably threw at him after a few drinks.
What did you do, exactly, overseas? Did you see action? Is
The Hurt Locker
an accurate portrayal?

It brought the memories he lived with each day even closer to the surface, until they were unavoidable. Until he couldn’t blink without seeing the horror all over again, feel the sun beating down on him as he waited for a target to move into place. Sometimes he could even taste the sand in his mouth, feel it in his eyes. They all paled in comparison to the worst memory of all, the one that felt fresh enough to have occurred yesterday.

Tommy.

The front door of the brownstone burst open, interrupting his thoughts. Brent ducked under the doorframe and walked out onto the top step. “You going to stand out here all night, Matty? We got free food in here. Don’t make me come down there and put you in a headlock.”

Despite his reluctance to go inside, he felt himself relax. He had a love-hate relationship with Brent, but he knew his friends were the only thing keeping him from the total seclusion he craved. Being a sniper condoned his isolation, in a way. Thankfully, they never pried too far into his past, something for which he was grateful. Even so, they’d made it clear that when he felt like talking about it, they would listen.

He’d had people in his life once before like that, though, hadn’t he? Before the rug got pulled out from under him, leaving him flat on his ass.

Brent made an impatient noise. “Come on, sweetheart. I promise I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Matt casually flipped him the bird as he ascended the steps.

“That’s more like it. Let’s get you a cold one.” Brent threw a heavy arm around his shoulder. “There are a bunch of dudes with trays, handing out pink champagne. If I’m not careful I’m going to start liking it. If that ever happens, take my man card, please.”

“You lost your man card when you belted the
Beaches
theme song at City Hall.”

They walked inside, Brent immediately zeroing in on Hayden, who turned and met his eyes on cue. “Yeah. But look what I got in exchange.”

Matt declined a glass of champagne with a shake of his head. “So what happened to this being a small get-together?”

Brent shrugged and took the champagne Matt had declined. “You know how the Winsteads roll. I think I saw Donald Trump around here somewhere.” He downed the drink in one gulp. “Hey, man. Did I thank you yet for getting Lucy here in one piece? That’s no small accomplishment. She usually leaves some form of destruction in her path. I guess she’s like her brother in that way.”

“Lucy?” Matt shook his head “She’s with her boyfriend at his lake house.”

Brent leaned back. “Lucy has a boyfriend?” He set the empty glass down with a decisive
thunk
. “My little
sister
has a boyfriend?”

Hayden walked up and laid a hand on Brent’s arm. “Everything okay here, gents?”

“Where’d Lucy go?” Brent scanned the crowd. “Apparently there’s some guy with a lake house I need to put the fear of God into.”

Matt held up a hand. “Wait. Lucy is here?”

Brent tilted his head. “Have you been stealing pot from the evidence locker again? You dropped her off here last night.”

He opened his mouth to correct Brent when he saw her. The words died on his lips, along with any semblance of rational thought. Sasha. In a strapless green dress, tipping back a glass of champagne as she walked in his direction. His body’s reaction was twice as potent as the day in the coffee shop because this time, he knew. Knew she could turn him inside out with a look, a touch, a sound ripped from her throat. She was danger on two legs and he wanted to immerse himself in it. Her.

These fevered thoughts came and multiplied in strength before she’d even noticed him standing there, but now she slowed to a stop, gaze shooting wide. Steps faltering. As if she’d never expected to see him again. Oh, he didn’t fucking like that at all. Matt allowed the satisfying image of him carrying her from the party over his shoulder to linger in his mind. It made up for her lack of pleasure at discovering him there. He’d thought of her nonstop since last night, worrying for her safety, wondering if he’d hurt her, fantasizing about their too-short hour in the motel, when she’d obviously had no intention of calling him.

“Luce, get over here.” Brent dragged her forward and held her against his side. “You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?”

Matt felt the blood drain from his face. No…no. Please let him have heard wrong. Sasha wasn’t Sasha…she was Lucy? Lucy, as in Brent’s sister. How could it be possible? Seeing her petite form standing beside Brent, such a huge contrast in their appearances, made it seem like a crazy joke. But it so obviously wasn’t. Her guilt was plastered all over her face. Not happening. Jesus. This girl, whom he’d had one of the most honest experiences of his life with, had been lying to him the whole time. It felt like déjà vu.

She’d made him a fool. Again.

Lucy gave a barely perceptible head shake, and what he interpreted as an apology with her eyes, but he was beyond caring. Still, he couldn’t quite bring himself to walk away yet. Worse, far worse, he still wanted her, dammit. That burned most of all.

“Who told you I had a boyfriend?” she asked Brent, still watching him closely.

“Your chauffer, Matt, ratted you out.”

She laughed, a hint of humor making her green eyes twinkle. It was such a Brent-like characteristic, Matt wanted to kick himself for not seeing it before.
You were too focused on the rest of her, though, weren’t you?
“You know Matt. Joke a minute. Halfway here yesterday, I started calling him Chuckles.”

“Damn, I should have thought of that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Matt noticed Hayden scrutinizing him and realized he hadn’t even attempted to hide his reaction to seeing Lucy. Brent seemed a little too high on life to notice, but his shocked silence hadn’t escaped Hayden, obviously. Right now, he had a decision to make. The right thing would be to come clean, tell his best friend what went down, leaving out all of the graphic details. Yet everything inside him rebelled at the notion. He couldn’t look his best friend in the eye and tell him he screwed his little sister on the floor of a cheap motel room.

A wave of dizziness swept through Matt as the magnitude of that hit home. He’d done more than screw her brains out, he’d laid his hands on her. Hard. Left marks.

No, he couldn’t do it. How would he ever look Brent in the face ever again?

“Oh hey, Luce.” Brent nudged his sister, who continued to look pale. “You know what I found in the basement last week?”

“Not a clue.”

“Your accordion.”

She choked on a sip of her drink. “Please tell me you burned it.”

“Ever better.” He winked. “I brought it with me tonight.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Lucy snorted.

“Oh, I think you know why. You’re playing it.”

“When hell freezes over.”

Brent shivered. “Is it getting cold in here?”

…

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

When the crowd had parted and she’d seen Matt, looking gorgeous and uncomfortable all at the same time, she’d thought
this is going to be the worst night of my life.

She’d had no idea.

How her brother had managed to convince her to play an accordion in front of these coolly sophisticated Manhattanites, she would never fully understand. At first, he’d made the request by calling her performance an engagement gift. When she’d still balked, he’d led every guest in the vicinity in chanting her name until she’d had no choice but to take the offered instrument and give in. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of her wanted to escape Matt’s blazing stare.

She couldn’t afford to think about it now. Or the hurt she’d glimpsed just before he put his mask back in place. A hundred pairs of eyes were trained on her. Palms sweating, knees shaking. It was like she’d been transported back to her fourth-grade talent show. She’d practiced for weeks only to be beaten by Becky Kessler’s dance routine, performed to Hanson’s “MmmBop.” When she felt a surge of annoyance over the memory, she realized she’d never really let the defeat go.

Repressed talent show angst. We’ve reached a new low.

Everyone was waiting for her to say something, but she could only look at Matt. He’d gotten past the hurt and confusion. He was angry now. Good. Better to have him angry. At least she could handle that emotion from him. She was well used to people being angry with her.

She cleared her throat into the silence. “Um…something in French?”

A couple guys in suits gave her a golf clap. Brent whooped from the back of the crowd, but when Hayden punched him in the arm it ended in a yelp. Eyes closed, Lucy played a few notes on the piano side of the accordion, hoping like hell she remembered the song she had in mind start to finish.

She didn’t. Halfway through the lively song about a young French maid losing her virtue in a field, the lyrics completely fled her brain. People were smiling and bobbing their heads at her, though. That was a good sign, right? If she could just make it through the end of the song, she might escape this without requiring ten years’ worth of therapy. What were those stupid lyrics? Not a single word came to mind. Praying no one in the room knew French, Lucy started singing about another tragedy, possibly worse than the French maid losing her V-card.

J’ai rencontré un bel homme

Nous sommes allés à l’hôtel

Il a fessé mon cul, notre pizza partit

Et je suis en enfer maintenant. 

Which roughly translated to:

I met a lovely fellow

We went to a motel

He spanked my ass

Our pizza left

And now I am in hell.

Lucy winced when a bald man to her left spit out his champagne. Apparently, there was at least one French speaker in the house. Finally,
finally
the song ended and the room broke out into polite applause. As quickly as possible, she set her accordion down on the nearest table, relieved when everyone went back to their conversations fairly quickly. Her eyes immediately sought Matt where he stood near the door. He was stillness in a room full of movement, gray gaze cutting through the vibrant crowd.

He nodded once, as if he’d made a decision. Then he turned and walked out the front door. Brent and Hayden were having an animated conversation that looked like it would end in them making out, so they didn’t notice his exit.

She should let him go. Definitely shouldn’t follow him. So why were her feet moving? Maybe she would just explain, issue an apology, and get it off her chest. Perhaps it wouldn’t do an ounce of good, possibly could even make things worse, but she couldn’t just let him walk out after shocking him the way she had. The thought that he might leave hating her was a decidedly sour one. At the very least she could get some closure on this situation.

Lucy almost laughed. There wouldn’t be closure any time soon. Not after what they’d shared. Not a moment had passed since last night that she didn’t replay his fervent words against her lips, the hint of torment in his voice. His hands, the way they’d positioned her so commandingly, so he could drive into her with perfect precision.

Decision made, Lucy skirted past a group of women discussing their plan to snag police officers for themselves and darted along the wall, hoping no one saw her. Warm summer breeze greeted her outside, carrying the scent of the Hudson River and a nearby bakery. Descending the steps, she looked right and left, finally catching sight of Matt halfway down the block.

“Matt. Wait.”

His shoulders stiffened and he slowed to a stop, but didn’t turn around. She kept walking until she stood five feet away, staring nervously at his back.

“What is it,
Lucy
?”

The sharp way he said her name sent a jolt through her, but there was also a sense of relief to finally hear him call her by the correct name. And boy, did
that
make her feel like an asshole. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know that’s not even remotely adequate, but I couldn’t let you leave without hearing it.” He turned slowly and she fell back a step at the anger she saw in his expression, yet still he said nothing. “Could you please say something?”

“Why did you do it? Why lie?”

Stupidly, that was the one question she hadn’t anticipated. She’d expected, or
hoped
rather, that he would just shout something awful at her. It would have made her feel better. Absolved her of a tiny bit of her guilt. Instead, he’d caught her off guard, giving her no choice but to answer honestly. “I wanted you. In the coffee shop, before I knew who you were,” she said quietly, watching his jaw clench. “Then I heard you call me a nuisance…and I guess I just wanted to be someone who didn’t inspire irritation. Just for one day. I didn’t want to be your best friend’s little sister. I wanted to be me.”

“Only you weren’t you. You pretended to be someone else.”

“The only thing I lied about was my name. Everything else—”

“In this case, your name was the most important detail.” He pushed a hand through his black hair. “I never would have touched you if I’d known.”