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What the…
Slowly her eyes opened and she groaned, reaching around to rub at the kink in her neck. She frowned as the iconic clanging of bells kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing.
It took a few moments for the fog to lift but eventually she realized that in fact it was her cell phone, and the damn thing was on the other side of the room.
The room. Funny. She was sleeping in Matt’s bed. In his bedroom. Her body snuggled in his sheets. She buried her head in his pillow. God, she could still smell him. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished that the dull ache in her chest would go away. But it was there. Had been since the night before when Matt had shut down and basically told her to go away.
How ‘effing embarrassing.
AC/DC agreed and “Hell’s Bells” rang out once more.
Grace rolled out of bed and stumbled to her jacket, grabbing up the phone as she pushed a tangled mess of hair from her eyes and walked to the window. Cold. It was so damn cold. Shivering, she gazed out at impressive snowdrifts that clung to everything in sight. Gray skies accented the dull pallet, and a strong wind rattled the window.
She glanced at the missed calls and frowned. Tucker. Not in the mood to talk to anyone just yet, she decided to call him back later. There were also two text messages from Josh. The first one wondered where the hell she was, obviously sent before she’d messaged him the night before, and the second—she smiled and scrolled over the message—the second was a promise to behave himself, but only if she got lucky.
“Fat chance of that,” she muttered, cheeks heating up at how she’d been dismissed. She tossed her cell back at her jacket and glanced around the room, getting her first good look at Matt’s private space. When she’d come up the night before, the light had flickered and then went out.
The hardwood floors had obviously been redone, and the walls were painted a tasteful cream. His furniture was simple, an oak sleigh bed, with a matching armoire, and a deep leather chair next to a fireplace in the corner. A chest of drawers was tucked beneath a second window and other than a few area rugs, there was not much else. Nothing to show her what Matt Hawkins was all about. No personal effects, no pictures…nothing.
She crossed the room and after a quick glance around, mostly because she was being sneaky and that’s what sneaky people did, she opened his armoire. Sweaters, jeans, and T-shirts were arranged in neatly folded piles but again, nothing personal could be seen.
Carefully, she closed the door and turned in a full circle, spying another door to her right. She crossed the room and opened it, happy to find a bathroom where she could clean up. It hadn’t been updated as of yet and the linoleum was curling in the corners, while peeling wallpaper adorned the walls. The pattern, small rosettes and sprigs of greenery, didn’t exactly scream masculinity, and she smiled a bit, picturing Matt in here going about his business.
A large bathtub stood in the corner, its claw legs a throwback to a much earlier time. There was no shower, although she supposed he must use the long showerhead that hung from the wall.
She glanced in the mirror and sighed. Her hair was a mess and after a quick search through her jeans pockets, she found an elastic. She secured the wild waves in a loose knot at her neck and then splashed water on her face. There was only one toothbrush so she was forced to use her fingers to clean her teeth.
That should do it, she thought, satisfied that she didn’t look like she’d just rolled out of bed. (If you didn’t count the rat’s nest at the back of her head and her wrinkled clothes.) After hesitating for a second or two, she grabbed Matt’s deodorant. It wasn’t overly masculine, sporting a clean, crisp scent that suited him. With one last glance in the mirror Grace headed for the stairs, though she paused at the top. The house was silent and, suddenly nervous, she hesitated. She had no idea which Matt would greet her. The charming hot guy, the brooding hot guy, or the closed-off hot guy.
“God, don’t be such a baby,” she whispered.
On sock feet, Grace crept down the stairs and made her way to the back of the house. It was on the dark side—no lights were lit—but her eyes adjusted and, well, thank the Lord for that.
Matt was shirtless with bare feet, his jeans riding so low on his hips that she was pretty sure they were undone. Mouth dry she couldn’t take her eyes from him, and her cheeks heated as she fought the images she had tucked away. Images of him naked. Behind her. Inside her. Muscles straining. Skin glistening.
He stood near Rosie’s pen, cradling one of her pups in his arms, and though she couldn’t hear him, he was talking real low. The tone was intimate and the sight of him practically naked, those impressive shoulders of his hunched protectively over a fragile puppy made her heart pick up. Her chest tightened, a lump formed, and the yearning that washed over her wasn’t simple or small or anything that didn’t scream complicated.
She wanted him. Plain and simple. But how much rejection could she take?
Determined to start the day over with a clean slate, Grace exhaled and decided to concentrate on something other than the very sexy and very complicated Mr. Matt Hawkins.
Puppies. Concentrate on the puppies.
The little bundle in his arms squirmed and made the sweetest noises. She remembered this particular pup from the night before. Rosie’s babies were all black except the smallest, which sported white spots along the back end and a pure white nose to offset a midnight face.
Matt nuzzled the little guy and Grace’s heart filled up watching him. She thought of how swiftly he’d turned to stone the night before. Of how he was so desperately trying to push her away when all along she knew he felt the pull as strongly as she did.
Bad guy my ass, she thought taking a step forward and whacking her knee against a small side table.
Matt glanced over his shoulder and she offered a tentative smile and a small wave. “How did Rosie make out?” she asked, moving closer so that she could have a look herself. The dog was asleep, as were all of her babies, nestled up against her body for comfort and warmth.
“She did good,” Matt replied, placing the puppy among its littermates. “How did you sleep?”
“Your bed is…well, there’s a lot of room and the mattress is firm and…” Darn she was mumbling like an idiot. “I slept like a baby.”
Matt was silent for a few moments, though his eyes never left hers. “The storm isn’t letting up until Monday. Looks like we’re stuck here at least until then.”
Grace glanced out the window. She knew it looked bad out there but…
