Page 58 of Wicked Fortune

My head rests on his lap, the sheet soft against my cheek as he gently strokes my hair.

“What happened to you being a noisy thinker?” he whispers. “I can’t hear a damn thing.”

I laugh. “So sorry.”

“How can I tell if you enjoyed our movie night if I can’t get into that head of yours?”

I twist around, then resettle on my side with my head on a pillow. He does the same so that we’re facing each other, the giant bed spread out like an ocean around us.

I reach out and stroke his hair, smiling at the touch of gray at his temples. It really is so damn sexy. “Will you believe me if I say that I was thinking about how incredible you are? And how amazing you made me feel.”

I slide my hand along his side, taking the sheet with me until he’s just as naked and exposed as I am. “I like you better this way,” I say, resting my palm on his bare hip. “And I definitely like the view.”

His brow rises. “You’re breaking the rules, Ms. Parker. We agreed there’d be no more touching.”

“Because we need sleep,” I say, parroting our agreement. “And because touching leads to activities that are a tad more energetic than shut-eye.”

“Exactly,” he says.

I expel an intentionally dramatic sigh. “That’s what I get for dating old men. I guess it’s time to just settle in and head off to sleepy-town.”

He shakes his head, then clicks his tongue. “Honestly, babe. I don’t know that this is going to work. I need a woman who can keep up.” He makes a show of looking me up and down. “Someone a bit younger. With more stamina.”

“Oh, you’re in trouble now.” I laugh, then roll on top of him. “You want stamina? I’ll show you stamina.” But he counters by flipping me onto my back, then straddling me.

He kisses me, long and hard and deep, and when he pulls back, my body is once again tingling with need.

“That’s to keep you craving the next time,” he says, pulling me close and spooning against me, his cock half-hard against the curve of my ass. “But if we still want to fuck tonight, we can do that in our dreams.”

“I like the sound of that,” I murmur as I snuggle my backside against him. But even as I do, I’m glad he can’t see my face. I’m thinking about what he said. If we still want to fuck. And I can’t help but wonder if that’s all this is to him. A good time. A fast fuck.

For better or for worse, this night has pushed me fully over the threshold into Matthew Land. That crush I’ve had since the day I saw him on the Starks’ patio—it wasn’t just about the sensual fantasies that grew and bloomed for years. No. It was about him.

It was a crush that grew deeper and wider with everything I learned about him, whether from an article, a casual mention by a friend, a radio interview, or even overhearing a wannabe actor/waiter talking about Holt’s many, many accomplishments.

That first moment of lust I’d felt upon seeing the man had taken root and grown into something deeper and truer. And now here I am, head over heels for the whole of who he is. A talented, vibrant man who seems to check every box in the What I Want list that has been growing in my brain since junior high. His talent. His mind. His ambition.

Plus, he’s gorgeous, and that’s definitely icing on the Matthew Cake.

Now that I seem to have him, though, I can’t help but wonder if I can keep him. What could a guy like that see in a woman like me? A woman who’s almost thirty and still hasn’t settled into a career. A woman who would actually take a job where sex is so obviously part of the equation.

Of course he only wants to fuck me.

And that, I tell myself, is all I should want, too. I’m here on a mission, after all. And I should know better than to let good sex and a crush mess with my head.

I should … but apparently, I don’t.

With a sigh, I roll over, putting my back to him, then using a corner of the sheet to dry my tears. I draw a breath and tell myself it doesn’t matter if he’s only here for a few good fucks. This is all about Jenny. And the less there is between Holt and me, the easier it will be to take him down.

But when he rolls over in his sleep and puts his arms around me, I have to wonder if that’s really true. I can tell myself a hundred lies, but the truth is that I want this man. I have for a very long time.

So am I really here to help my dead friend, or did I take on this challenge to get close to Holt?

And if it’s the latter, what kind of shitty friend does that make me?

The aroma of bacon rouses me from a dream involving a naked Matthew, a convertible Porsche, and a three-ring circus going full steam in the parking lot behind Vons.

I almost register a complaint when I reach the kitchen—I really, really wanted to know where that dream was going to land—but all thoughts of fast cars and circuses evaporate when I see the man standing by the stove, showered and dressed and looking ironically sexy in nothing but sweatpants that sit low on his hips and a floral print apron tied behind his neck and back.