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The appliances were new, all stainless steel and restaurant grade. The cupboards had been sanded and redone in an antique white-wash and he’d added a large island, high bar stools, and smooth dark gray granite complimented the setup. The lighting was unobtrusive—he was all about clean lines and no clutter—small pendants that hung from the ceiling and placed strategically.
A fireplace crackled along the far wall—Travis must have stoked it up before he’d left—and Matt set his hand at Grace’s back, urging her forward.
“Over here,” he said gruffly, nodding to the pen located to the right of the fireplace. He saw her confusion. He knew she’d been expecting pretty much anyone or anything other than…
“Oh,” she said softly, falling to her knees.
Matt watched her for a few seconds, enjoying the play of light on the soft curve of her cheek, and the way her nose scrunched up as she gazed into the pen.
“Matt,” she breathed, glancing up at him. He didn’t look away. He couldn’t. “This is Rosie,” she whispered.
He cleared his throat and moved closer, squatting beside Grace. “This is Rosie.” At the sound of his voice, the small black lab barked, it wasn’t loud—more of a greeting—and attempted to get up.
“You just stay put princess, and take care of your babies,” he murmured, reaching in to scratch behind the dog’s ears. He counted, eyes on the small squirming bundles of fur. “Hey, Momma. You went and had five puppies while I was out. Could have waited.”
The dog relaxed against the heavy blankets and groaned a bit. He watched her nudge one of the small pups and position herself for better feeding. Not an easy task considering the dog had two broken legs, and a couple of cracked ribs.
“What happened to her?” Grace asked, eyes on the puppies as they snuggled into each other and nursed.
“I found her along the side of the road a few weeks back. Someone hit her and left her for dead. So I scooped her up and took her to my buddy Travis’s clinic, and we fixed her up as best as we could.” He shook his head. “It’s a wonder she didn’t lose any of the pups.”
“So she’s not yours?” Grace turned to him.
“No. No one claimed her. I think she’d been on her own for a while. She was underweight, banged up and I, well, I couldn’t leave her at the clinic.” He cleared his throat, stemming the anger inside him. If he ever caught the bastard who’d left her for dead…
“So you brought her back here to have her babies.”
He shrugged and got to his feet. His chest was tight and he didn’t feel like talking anymore. Heading to the other side of the room, he opened the fridge and grabbed a cold beer. He held it up and raised an eyebrow.
“Sure,” Grace said, slowly getting to her feet to join him at the island. “I’ll take one.”
“Sorry. It’s all I got.” He handed her the Bud Light before grabbing one for himself.
Grace took a sip from the bottle and leaned against the counter. Her eyes never left him and he shuffled his feet, a little uncomfortable with the intensity in her gaze. This girl was thinking. She was going to try and figure him. They all did.
He took a swig of beer, letting the silence of the place wash over him. Usually it calmed the frenetic energy inside him. But tonight? With Grace Simon standing in his freaking kitchen?
It did nothing.
The window over the sink rattled as a gust of wind slammed against the panes, and he frowned, walking over for a peek.
“Shit,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong?”
“Storm’s getting worse.”
She joined him at the window and he moved so that she could have a look for herself. She wasn’t exactly short, but then she wasn’t exactly on the tall side either. She had to get up on her tiptoes in order to see properly, and he couldn’t help himself. His eyes moved hungrily over her body, sweeping over the dip in her back, to the curve of her ass to the…
“What are you looking at?” she asked, voice a little breathless as she turned back to him. The sexual tension—it was there. He felt it sink in and take hold, and Matt met her gaze full on.
“I’m looking at you.”
Her eyes widened a bit and dammit, there she went again, licking those pillow-soft lips of hers. How the hell was he supposed to keep his hands off of her when she did that?
Matt took another draw on his longneck and shoved his other hand into the front pocket of his jeans.
“So what’s with Josh Hayden?” he asked, changing the subject and effectively killing the start of whatever the hell was itching to start.
