The apartment building’s door opened. Thank God it was Matt and not Alyssa Riley, the ground-floor tenant.
No, wait. Something was wrong with that thought. Maybe it would have been better if Alyssa had come to her rescue.
Matt stepped onto the sidewalk looking delish in a golf shirt and jeans. He offered his hand. “Here, let me help.”
She stared at his hand for a long moment, trying to decide what to do next. He had beautiful hands, square fingered, broad palmed. Beautiful, talented hands that knew precisely where to touch, where to stroke. A little inarticulate sound escaped her throat.
“Come on. I’ll walk you up,” he said in that deep voice of his.
“Will you quote poetry?” A warm, intense yearning coursed through her.
“Come on, Courtney. It’s time to go up.”
He sounded so stern, and maybe a little disappointed. She was an idiot. He probably saved his poetry for the women he seduced. She turned back toward her purse, digging deep, and the keys finally made their way into her hand.
She pushed up from the sidewalk, ignoring his hand, and would have been fine if she hadn’t stumbled again. Matt was right there, putting his talented hands on her shoulders.
She looked up at him then, the streetlamp sparking in his espresso eyes. She leaned in, overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him.
But he kept her at bay. He shook his head. “Not like this,” he said.
Damn. She was making an idiot of herself, but just as she decided to pull away from him, he started reciting in that deep, incredible voice.
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:”
So instead of pulling away, she leaned a little closer. “Have I ever told you that your hair is vaguely Byronic?” she asked on a ridiculous sigh.
He barked a laugh. “No. But I’m impressed that you recognized Lord Byron. I didn’t think of you as a romantic, Courtney.”
“Bull. You know I’m a romantic. I’m just a jaded one.” She really should get the hell out of his arms. “I bet you quote that poem to all the girls.”
“No.” He shook his head, and for some reason, the light in his eyes grew sharper or something. She wanted to believe him.
“I think of that poem every time I see you.”
“Really?” She was melting in his arms when she should be freezing him out and running like hell.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and Courtney’s body caught fire. “Really. You have such dark hair and such bright blue eyes.” He cupped her jaw and ran his thumb over her cheek. “I love your eyes. They always make me wonder about what’s going on inside that head of yours.”
Damn, damn, damn. She couldn’t resist. Even if she’d been sober, she would have succumbed. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, another groan escaping from her.
“Come on,” he said in an entirely different tone of voice. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
He took her keys and guided her through the door and up the stairs. He even unlocked her front door for her. And right there the fantasy unraveled. Aramis sat inside the doorway and gave out the feline equivalent of a lovesick howl the moment Matt crossed her threshold.
“Doom, bro, wazzup?” Matt let Courtney go and scooped the kitten into his arms. Damn. Damn. Damn.
She almost accused him of loving the cat more than he loved her, which, on reflection, was the absolute truth, since Matt Lyndon was not the kind of guy who did relationships. Except with cats. And she, on the other hand, sucked at being a spinster cat lady.
Her love triangle could be summed up this way: He loved her cat, she loved him, and the cat was a turncoat. It was enough to make anyone cry. Especially if the person had overindulged in alcohol. Tears overflowed her eyes, and Courtney wasn’t able to stop them. The sudden glimpse of a life lived utterly alone flashed through her brain, and it was more than she could bear. The sob she tried to hold back overwhelmed her, and she fled, utterly humiliated, into the bathroom.
She locked herself in right before she tossed every single one of her cookies.
“Go away,” Courtney said through the locked bathroom door.
Matt sat down on the floor outside the bathroom, settled his back against the wall, and let Doom circle his lap looking for a nice, comfy spot. “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t leave you locked in the bathroom. It goes against my moral code.”
“This is my apartment. Please leave.”
Matt took Courtney’s annoyed tone as a positive sign. He was also glad that she’d stopped coughing and gagging. If that had gone on much longer, he would have broken down the door. As it was, he had to hold himself back. Sometimes a woman needed privacy, but he had never abandoned a woman in distress. He was happy to give Courtney all the privacy she wanted, so long as he could make sure she was all right in the end.
He and Doom settled in, prepared for a long wait.
After five minutes she said, “Are you still there?”
He said nothing. Telling her the truth would only prolong the situation. She was moving around in the bathroom, washing her face, brushing her teeth. When the noises faded, she said, “I know you’re still out there. I can hear you breathing.”
He kept silent, and another few minutes passed.
“Go away.”
Doom, being a young cat with little patience, took matters into his own paws. The cat stood up, gave a sinewy stretch, and then pussyfooted out of Matt’s lap. He sat in front of the bathroom door looking up at the knob and meowed.
“Aramis?”
The cat meowed again and scratched at the door.
“Has he gone, Aramis?”
Matt found this both adorable and amusing even if he hated the name Aramis.
The cat meowed again, right on cue. Matt was going to have to
