Those Cassabaw Days (26 page)

The empty dock house.

Disappointment washed over her, and she turned and sat down on the bench that ran the length of it.

Soaking wet, and with the storm still raging outside, Emily decided to ride it out—at least until the rain slowed. The thunder grew closer, so it seemed, and lightning began to strike in the distance.

Although unafraid of storms, she thought it best to ride it out in the dock house instead of taking off up the dock. The wind picked up, the rain began to slash sideways and into the dock house. Emily huddled on one side to keep from getting even more soaked. It really didn’t help.

“Well,” she said to herself, and huddled into a ball like she’d done as a kid, “the storm can’t last forever.” She shivered. “Can it?”

* * *

M
ATT
SAT IN
the Nova, in front of Emily’s house.

Maybe he’d overreacted a little.

He hadn’t liked seeing that guy with his mouth all over her.

Who the hell was he, anyway?

As the rain poured down, he studied Emily’s house, and he noticed she didn’t have any lights on. Was she even home?

Was that guy inside with her?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Jesus Christ. He was making himself crazy.

Leaping from the car, he bounded up the steps and knocked hard on the door. So what if the guy was in there? He’d interrupt them.

When Emily didn’t answer, he glanced down at the path leading to the marsh. Then, back to the Jeep. Although splattered with new rain, he could plainly see her tracks leading to the dock.

Glancing at the sky, he knew where she was. And why she was there.

With a deep breath he took off into the pouring rain and hit the dock at a decent lope. Once he rounded the big clump of marsh the dock house came into view, but he didn’t see her inside. Of course, he could barely see anything at all, seeing how the rain was like a steady veil of gray, everywhere he looked. Finally, drenched, he made it to the dock house.

That’s when he saw her. Emily, huddled in a tight ball in the corner.

“Em!” he hollered over the rain.

She unfolded and looked at him, her hair soggy and sticking to her head. “Matt! Get in here!”

Matt ducked inside, where it was barely dryer than outside, in the center of the storm. The wind had picked up, and the breeze mixed with the cool rainwater made her skin turn to goose bumps. He squatted beside her, grasped her chin and looked at her.

“What in the hell are you doing in here?”

She smiled up at him, and her skin was slick with rainwater. “Looking for you, silly. But I got caught by all this liquid sunshine so thought I’d ride it out.”

“You’re soaked.”

Her lips quirked. “So are you.” She pushed out of the ball she’d tucked herself into, and threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking the two of them over. “You are the best, you know that?”

On her knees, and Matt squatting on one of his, Emily pulled back, and her odd-shaped hazel eyes seemed as wet as her skin. Her eyes crinkled in the corners, making them appear twinkly. “No one has ever, ever given me something so wonderful.” She ran her hand over his cheek, smoothed the water drops off his brow and jaw. “I love,
love
the gramophone, Matt Malone! It is the most perfect of treasures ever!”

She hugged him again, and the damp scent of her flowery shampoo rose between them. She moved her mouth close to his ear, and her lips brushed against it.

“Matt Malone, I’ll love you till the day I die,” she whispered, copying one of her favorite quotes from
It’s a Wonderful Life
. Only, of course, she used his name.

Matt’s hands moved over Emily’s back, and he closed his eyes with the sensation of her breath brushing his skin, her words meaning way more to him than she probably meant them to mean. More than he could ever confess to.

The very recent memory of what he’d interrupted in the café between Emily and the stranger came crashing back.

Matt pulled away, hardened his resolve. Tried to ignore the intimate moment they were sharing. Ruining it, he supposed, by jealousy and stupidity.

Both his, of course.

“Who is he, Em?” He frowned, and swear to God, he couldn’t help it. “Who’s the guy you were making out with in the café. You know, not
Jake
. The other guy?”

The hurt in her eyes made him know that all pretense of them just being friends was now completely over.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

E
MILY BLINKED AT
his sudden harsh words. He’d regretted them as soon as he’d said them, but it was too late. They were out and he couldn’t take them back.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked. “Why did you just leave without letting me know you’d left me that perfect gift?”

Matt pushed up onto the bench, propped his forearms against his knees and looked out over the stormy river. “And interrupt a make-out session? Seriously, Em.” He still didn’t look at her. “I do have pride, you know.”

Soaking wet, she sidled next to him. Thunder boomed in the distance, lightning struck right behind it. The storm was right on them.

“Trent Hughes.”

Matt stiffened beside her. “So...he shows up and you’re what? Back together? Making out right off the bat?”

He heard a frustrated sigh escape her lips. “Why? Would it make you angry if I said yes, we were? Why, does it make you angry that Jake has taken me out on a couple of dates?”

Matt met her big, almond-shaped hazel gaze.
Say yes, stupid. Say yes! Tell her it makes me angry as all living hell!

“Why should that make me angry, Em?” He searched her face. “It’s your business. Right? Not mine.” He stood, rubbed his head, the back of his neck. “Seriously, Emily? The guy breaks up with you, you complain that he and his rich political family disrespect you and don’t understand you, yet the second he blows into Cassabaw you’re all over him?” He looked at her, hurt and—hell yeah—angry, and shook his head. “I didn’t think you were like that.” Throwing his hands up, he shoved out of the door and into the rain.

Emily was right behind him. Even through the pouring rain he could feel the anger rise off her in waves. “You know what, Matt Malone? Shame on you! Shame on you for assuming.”

He wasn’t looking at her; instead his gaze remained steady on the river. But Emily wouldn’t have any of that and she ducked in front of him.

“Exactly what do you think I am like, Matt Malone? Go ahead—tell me!”

Matt looked down at Emily, her hair freshly drenched, the blue tank top clinging to her body and her white shorts soaked through. Water ran off her face, down her chin, her throat, and her brows were plunged together in a frown.

“Tell me!” she yelled into the rain.

Her eyes, though—they looked sad. Disappointed. And really, he couldn’t blame her. He was an ass. A jealous, idiotic ass.

Pure, desperate instinct drove his next move, and it occurred without a second thought to consequence, risk or anything else he’d spent hours pondering.

In the pouring rain, both drenched to the bone, Matt grasped Emily’s face between his hands, bent his head and, driven by anger, pent-up desire and something else he didn’t dare try to define, he pressed his mouth hard against hers. Fiercely rigid at first, their lips melded together, neither budging, neither moving. The rain poured, running rivulets between their faces and gathering at their fused mouths.

Emily’s mouth softened beneath his, and her hands found their way between their bodies to his chest. She fisted his shirt in her palms and, unable to help himself, Matt nudged her lips open and swept her tongue with his. A groan, almost a growl, came from deep within him. His fingers delved into her hair, angling her head just right, and he devoured her mouth with his. Unable to stop, the taste of her, blended with the summer rain falling onto their skin and the brine of the marsh clinging to the air, felt...right. Tasted right.

Tasted
perfect
.

Emily pressed her body to his, closer, and her hands found his jaw, gripped the back of his neck and held on. Everywhere they touched Matt felt his skin flame; his hands moved over her back, pressed her closer, and when her tongue swept over his lower lip and then drew it in, caressed it, he all but lost his mind...

Suddenly, Matt grasped Emily’s shoulders and set her away, breaking their kiss. They could do nothing more than stare at each other in the downpour. Disbelief. Shock. Surprise. Turned on.

Crazy turned on.

“Why did you do that?” Emily finally said. She wiped the water from her eyes and flung it with her hands. “Why, Matt?”

Matt looked away from her, unable to make his head wrap around the fact that he and Emily Quinn had just kissed again. And that it’d been more than memorable. More than exceptionally wonderful, or whatever other adjective Emily had described the prospect of it before. Those adjectives had barely scraped the surface of what that kiss actually had been.

Insatiable. That’s the only word Matt could come up with.

“Matt?”

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, and looked at her. “Em, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I saw you with that guy—”

Her eyes widened then, and even in the gray rainstorm, anger flashed in their hazel depths. “You mean you kissed me because you saw Trent kissing me? Is that it? It was your idea to just be friends, Matt. Yours!”

Matt didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He just stared at the dock boards between his feet.

“Matt Malone! Are you kidding me?” she spat, hands on hips. “Well, you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” she said, rising on tiptoes. “And I guess I don’t know you, either. I didn’t think
you
were like
that
!”

And then she placed her small palm against his chest and shoved.

By the time Matt surfaced from the murky, choppy river water, Emily Quinn was already halfway up the dock, headed home.

In two strokes he was at the floating dock, and hoisted himself up. Sitting there, booted feet and fully clothed, he dangled his legs in the water and stared across the river.

She’d been right, after all.

The kiss had once again been amazing.

But he’d been right, too, because now he’d gone and blown it. But the thing Emily didn’t know was, no—the kiss hadn’t only occurred because he’d seen another man had beaten him to it.

It happened because, well, it was Em. His Em. Always had been, no matter how hard he’d tried to fight it. Her scent, the feel of her body next to his, the taste of her lips, all belonged to her. He’d lain awake at night for weeks dreaming of doing exactly what he’d just done, ever since he’d sworn never to do it again.

Rising, he trudged home. Confusion and anger boiled inside of him as he ignored the looks from his dad, brothers and Jep as he jogged, soaking wet, up the stairs.

Just as he entered his room, his cell rang.

Glaring at the floor, he crossed over, grabbed it. Saw the caller.

His heart skipped a few beats.

And he answered it.

He didn’t say a word. Simply listened.

Then Matt hung up.
Shitty, shitty timing.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, then grabbed his duffel and left.

* * *

M
ATT
HAD KISSED
her again.

And, like she’d thought, it’d been perfect. Beyond perfect.

She could just
kill
him
.

She hadn’t seen Matt all day—probably the first since she’d arrived in Cassabaw. It felt...strange, not seeing him, and she wondered where he was. As she waited on the front porch for Trent to be dropped off by Cassabaw’s only cab service, owned and operated by Rabbit Tuten—whose real name was Peter, but everyone called him Rabbit—her thoughts returned to the dock. The rain. The anger that had poured out of Matt had stunned her.

The kiss had stunned her even more.

It’d taken her breath away. Again. Never had she wanted to melt into someone before. She’d wanted to with Matt, wanted to just sink straight into his skin, meld to him, become one. She’d shoved him into the water and stomped off, and even under the pelting cold water from her shower she’d not been able to rid her body, lips or mind of that kiss. Or any of the other kisses they’d shared.

Of Matt.

Stupid Matt Malone.

Of all times to finally show his true feelings, he chose the very moment Trent Hughes blew into town. It took a jealous streak of anger to urge Matt into realizing he might actually want her for more than just a friend. And yes—that angered her.

That he’d kissed her under those circumstances?

How could she be angry about something she’d dreamed about ever since he’d said they couldn’t ever do it again?

She gave the porch swing a push with her sandaled toe, looked at the place on her shin where, weeks ago, Matt had plucked a big splinter of rotted dock wood from her skin and doctored it up. It seemed like aeons ago, not just weeks.

A figure emerged from the path. At first, her heart leaped.
Matt!

The closer the figure grew, though, Emily knew right away it wasn’t.

“Hey, Nathan,” Emily said.

Matt’s brother ambled up to the veranda steps. His face drawn tight, she immediately knew something was up. She didn’t even have to ask.

“Matt’s gone,” he said.

Emily sat, stunned. “What do you mean, gone?”

Nathan climbed the remaining steps and eased onto the swing beside her. “Left sometime during the night, I suppose. His duffel’s gone.” He looked at her then, and his eyes, so much like Matt’s, had saddened. “He’d never unpacked it. Kept it close to the door in his room.”

The breath left her. “Do you know where he went? How long he’ll be gone?”

Nathan shook his head. “Afraid not.” He looked at her. “I’m sorry.”

Emily nodded, breathed and breathed again. “Do you think he’s all right?”

Nathan sighed. “I sure hope so, darlin’.”

Just then, headlights arced the driveway. Emily stood. “My ex-boyfriend came in yesterday,” she said. “I should’ve seen it coming. He’s been calling, sending emails. But I ignored it. He’s here trying to woo me back, so he says.” She leaned over and kissed Nathan on the cheek. “Matt was angry with me for going on a date with Jake. For Trent. Yet he only wants to be friends, Nathan.” She looked at him. “His decision. Not mine.”