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She made a sound of disgust. “I’m glad we didn’t get that far.” She paused, her eyes narrowed. “You do know what they say right? What everyone says about the very hot, but very unstable Matt Hawkins?”
Normally at this point in the conversation, Matt would have told Sasha off and left. What the hell did he care what people thought?
“They say that you’re the biggest man-whore in the state of Michigan. They say that you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. That you’re all about your buddies and having a good time. That you have sex with women and then throw them away like trash. I just thought…” She shook her head angrily. “I just thought that maybe they got it wrong. I thought that maybe you’d changed.”
The smokers edged past them and slipped inside the Grill, but by their backward glances, Matt knew they’d heard the entire conversation.
Matt had been called out before. Hell, it was usually how each and every hookup he’d ever engaged in, ended. He’d heard it all and been called much worse than asshole. To him, it was all part of the game. He slept with a woman—sometimes more than once. He slept with her until he either lost interest or she expected more. When that happened he broke it off, and that usually led to an exchange of words that never painted Matt in a good light.
It had never bothered him before—he’d always been upfront. Not once had he ever indicated to any woman that he was interested in more than a few rounds in the bedroom. But right now, in this moment, Sasha’s words bothered him. He gazed up into the night sky and wondered about that. What the hell was happening to him?
“I feel sorry for her.”
Matt’s head snapped back to her. “Who?”
“Grace Simon,” she replied frostily. “Everybody’s talking about how she’s shacked up with you at your place. Which I guess for you is a first. But you and I both know you haven’t changed. You’re still a cold snake and she’s not from around here. She doesn’t know about you. About how you are.” Sasha turned away. “That girl doesn’t stand a chance. Good thing she’s loaded and can afford therapy. After you’re done with her, she’s going to need it.”
Sasha disappeared back into the pub and left Matt alone in the dark and cold. He stared into nothing for a long, long time. So long that his leg muscles cramped and he had to force himself to move.
He didn’t head back inside. He fired up his truck and pointed it toward home. A heaviness settled over him as he drove the dark country roads that led to his place. It was a heaviness that was hard for him to decipher. It was a heaviness weighed down with something dark—something black that twisted inside him. Something familiar.
The thought of spiraling back to where he’d been only a few years ago had him jumping from the truck before it had come to a halt, and taking the stairs two at a time. He didn’t stop running until he got to his bedroom.
And there she was, twisted in his sheets, all that glorious hair a tangled mess around her creamy shoulders.
Grace rolled over and sat up. She made no move to cover her bare breasts, and her sleep-filled eyes were round and luminous. She was silent, her gaze fixed on him, her mouth slightly parted, her breathing suddenly rapid.
For a few moments Matt just took the time to drink her in. And then that part of him he’d thought was dead, that part of him he’d buried years ago, swelled until his chest hurt.
He didn’t say a word. He tore off his clothes, tossed them on the floor, and
made his way to the bed. By the time he got there, she was on her knees and damn, but she was a sight. Naked and soft and so feminine. Matt knelt in front of her and claimed her mouth. He kissed her hard—a kiss full of passion and anger and something more. Something gentle and soft—something he thought was lost to him.
He kissed Grace until he couldn’t breathe, until that darkness in him evaporated. As he laid her down and positioned himself between her legs—as he lost himself inside of her—he realized that she was his salvation.
If he lost her, he would lose himself again. And if that happened, Matt knew he’d never find his way back.
19
Grace woke up alone. She had no idea where Matt was, but she could smell him on the sheets. She lingered there for a moment, sliding her cheek across the pillows, not wanting to leave the warmth of the blankets. Not wanting to give up any piece of him, no matter how small.
Okay. I’m officially a goofball.
With a groan she rolled over, pushed a chunk of hair from her eyes and gazed around the room. A soft smile curved her lips when she spied Matt’s clothes in piles around the bed. The man had been insatiable the night before, and the aches and pains in her body attested to the fact that their lovemaking had been strenuous, aggressive and—she sighed—wholly satisfying.
Good God. The things he’d done with his tongue. And that thing he did with his fingers when he pulled her onto her side and then…. She blushed.
“Whew,” she murmured, sliding from the bed. It was after nine and she quickly got dressed, throwing on a pair of sweats, a T-shirt and the cheap slippers she’d bought in town.
Not bothering with her hair, Grace made her way downstairs, wondering why it was so quiet. She heard the puppies nursing, their sweet sounds comforting, and spied a plate on the island, along with a note. She padded across the tiles and snatched up the paper, along with a slice of apple before sliding onto the barstool.
Matt’s penmanship was just like him. Bold. Direct. Neat.
Enjoy breakfast, Bluebell. I had to head over to Dory’s to turn on her heat. Apparently she and her sister got in a fight, so she’s back from Florida. Not sure when I’ll be back but looking forward to continuing our night. Matt.
She read the note over again, smiling at Bluebell, and then twirled a pirouette that would make any dance coach proud. Okay. She was beyond goofball now and heading into seriously insane territory.
Restless, Grace picked at a few more slices of fruit but pushed the plate away. She should have been starving after all the hot sex she’d had, but the few slices of apple were enough to satisfy whatever hunger she felt.
