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He nodded, shut off the stove, and put the coffee pot on a back burner.
"No damage done," he said, "just a bit of a mess... Kathryn? What is it?"
She shook her head fiercely. Then, with no warning, she gave a hiccupping sob and tears began coursing down her cheeks.
"Sweetheart, don't cry. It's only coffee."
"I know," she said, her voice wobbling, and cried even harder.
Matthew pulled her into his arms and silently called himself every kind of fool. Why had he told her about Waring? It had been stupid of him, and thoughtless. Gently, he held her at arm's length and smiled down into her tear-stained face.
"If you knew how often in my life I've drunk burned coffee, you wouldn't be so upset."
Kathryn wiped the back of her hand across her nose. "Don't try and make me feel better, Matthew. God, that stuff smells like burning rubber!"
"Like burning what?"
Despite herself, and despite the tears that were still escaping down her cheeks, she laughed.
"We're going to have to do something about introducing you to the new world."
"Here." Matthew reached past her and tore a paper towel off the roll hanging over the sink. "This should do," he said holding it to her nose. "Blow."
She did, noisily. "Thank you."
He smiled, his fingers moving lightly across her cheeks, tracing the elegant arch of bone that lay beneath her silken skin.
"You're welcome. And I meant what I said about the coffee. I'm sure it's drinkable."
"Oh sure."
"You forget how long it is since I have had coffee to drink, Kathryn."
He sounded so serious. But when she looked into his eyes, she could see that they were filled with teasing laughter. A giggle broke from her throat, and then another, until she was laughing and crying all at once.
"Oh, Matthew," she said, "I was so furious at you when I drove back here from the airport."
"From what?"
"Never mind that. What I'm trying to tell you is that I'm not angry anymore."
"You're not?"
"No. I just wish I could say something that would make everything better. This must be so awful for you, being trapped inside this miserable house because of something that happened so long ago."
"Are your tears for me, then, you foolish woman?"
"Of course not," she said fiercely. "Why would I cry for a ghost?"
Matthew looked at her face. Her eyes were puffy and the tip of her nose was red. Her hair, which she'd been wearing in a ladylike knot, was coming undone and curling from the heat. There was a dark coffee stain on her white cotton shirt. She looked disheveled and unglamorous, and infinitely more beautiful than he'd ever imagined a woman could look... and he wanted her. He knew it was wrong, straight down into the marrow of his bones. He knew, too, that he could no more keep from wanting her than he could keep from drawing breath.
"There is no need to weep," he said softly. He took her face between his hands and tilted it up to his. "I regret nothing, sweetheart, for whatever has happened, it has brought you to me."
His words brought another glitter of dampness to her eyes. He smiled, looked deep into their shining depths for a long moment, and then, slowly, he lowered his head to hers and kissed her.
Kathryn sighed into his mouth as his lips touched hers. She rose on her toes, her hands clasping his wrists. He had never kissed her this way before, not just with fire and passion but with an almost indescribable tenderness, and she gave herself up to the magic of it.
It was Matthew who broke the kiss. He drew her head to his chest and struggled for self-control.
