He shrugged. “I’ve had my moments.”
“So your mom…?”
“Lives in Chicago with my dad, tending to the three grandkids my brother’s given them. We talk every week, and they ask me when I’m going to give them a few as well.”
“When are you?”
He shook his head. “Not anytime soon.”
“Why?” she asked, fascinated in a way she couldn’t explain even to herself. “Kids not for you?”
He shrugged. “My ex seemed to think I don’t do love, at least not the kind of love a family requires. Said I wasn’t good with people.”
“You were married?” She was surprised, though she shouldn’t have been. Matthew Bowers was a catch.
“For about twenty minutes,” he said. “Just after I got out of the military.”
“When you were a cop,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Is that why she thought you weren’t family material?” she asked. “Because of your job?”
“Partly. And partly because I failed her. But mostly because she was pissed off at me.”
Amy wanted to ask how he’d failed, but that felt too intimate, especially given that she was lying in his arms with his ice pack on her ass. But his ex’s words didn’t make sense. He wasn’t the sort of guy to fail a stranger, much less someone he cared about. What he’d done for her today proved that. His job might have brought him here to check on her, but it hadn’t been his job or responsibility to stay the night with her and keep her safe.
And yet he’d stuck.
She’d had people in her life who
His wordless response vibrated through his chest to hers, and he turned his head so that his face was in her hair, inhaling as he rubbed her back.
“I think you’re pretty good with people,” she said softly.
She could feel him smile against her. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Now tell me about you.”
“Nothing as interesting as you.”
“Try me,” he said.
That was the
“How about a mom? Dad? Siblings?”
“A mom. We’re not close.” An understatement, of course. Her mom had gotten pregnant as a teen and hadn’t been mom material. “I was raised by my grandma, but she’s gone now. She died when I was twelve.”
“Any other family?”
No one she wanted to talk about. “No.”
He tightened his arms around her, a small, protective, even slightly possessive gesture. It should have made her claustrophobic.
It didn’t.
They fell quiet after that, and Amy wouldn’t have imagined it possible since she was snuggled up against a very solid, very sexy man, but she actually fell asleep.
She woke up what must have been hours later, as dawn crept in, poking at the backs of her eyelids. For a moment, she stayed utterly still, struck by several things. One, she was no longer cold. In fact, she was quite warm, and the reason for that was because she’d wrapped herself like a pretzel around her heat source.
Matt.
She cracked open an eye and found him watching her from his own heavy-lidded gaze. He was looking pretty amused at the both of them. “Hey,” he said, and to go along with that bedroom gaze he also had a raspy early morning voice. Both were extremely distracting. He wasn’t looking like a forest ranger right now. He was looking sleepy, rumpled, and sexy as hell.
“Are you taking this anywhere?” he asked.
Not exactly a morning person, it took her brain a moment to process what he meant. And then she realized that by “this,” he was referring to the fact that her hand had drifted disturbingly low on his abs. If she moved her fingers even a fraction of an inch south… “Sorry!” Face hot, she pulled back and closed her eyes. “This is all Mallory’s fault.”
“Actually,” he said, looking down at his obvious erection. “It’s not.”
“No, I mean-” She broke off at his low, teasing laugh and felt her face flame again. “She sent you out here because she thinks something’s going on with us.”
“
She didn’t want to touch that with a ten-foot pole. Or an eight-inch one. “It has nothing to do with us. It’s payback for how I set her up with Ty at the auction a few weeks back.”
“What if it’s not?”
She met his warm gaze. “Not what?”
“Payback,” he said.
Their legs were entwined. At some point in the night, the sleeping bag had fallen away so that there was no barrier between them. He was warm and hard.
Everywhere.
She felt herself soften as the heat of arousal built within her. Worse, her fingers itched with the need to touch him.
“Amy.” Matt’s voice was pure sin, not a warning so much as a statement, and her hands reacted without permission, migrating to his chest.
“Mm,” rumbled from his chest as he slid a hand into her hair, tilting her head up to his. He searched her gaze. “You’re all the way awake, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just making sure,” he said, then rolled her beneath him.
Matt had given distance his best shot but it hadn’t worked out. As he pressed Amy into the sleeping bag, her teeth bit into that plump curve of her lower lip again. Her breathing went erratic, and her pulse raced at the base of her throat. Her gaze darkened with the same thing turning him inside out.
She wanted him.
That was only fair since he’d wanted her for months. Ever since he’d first caught sight of her in the diner working her ass off, the tough, wounded, beautiful woman with the heartbreaking smile that didn’t quite meet her amazing eyes.
At the moment, she looked softer than usual. Her long, side-swept bangs were sticking up a little in one spot, falling across her forehead in another. Her mascara had smudged. She’d been driving him bat-shit crazy all night, her and those mile-long legs, which were tangled up in his. He’d always been a confirmed ass man, but Amy seemed to be expanding his horizons.
She was still wearing his sweatshirt and now it smelled like her. He wanted to shove it up to her chin and nuzzle every inch of her. And then kiss. And lick… All the erotic possibilities played in his mind, and he lowered his head until his mouth was only a breath from hers, giving her a moment to think about what was going to happen between them.
She stared up at him, her fingers in his hair. “Yes,” she breathed, barely audible.
He kissed her then, and the soft, little sound that escaped her went straight through him like fire. Her hands tightened on him as if to hold him to her. Not that he was going anywhere. Hell, no. For months, he’d wondered how she’d taste, if the reality would be as good as the dreams. They were.
