She sat up, her eyes as gritty as sandpaper. A gibbous moon spilled a ghostly, silver light through the French doors and revealed the blanket thief. Matt sprawled on the other side of the bed, also fully clothed but sleeping on top of the bedspread, pinning it down.
He looked peaceful in sleep, and so incredibly handsome. Like a Michelangelo statue, with the moonlight turning his skin to pale marble. But he was warmer than stone. And it seemed almost miraculous that he was here, in her bed.
Memories of the evening’s events spilled through her mind. Heat crawled up her cheeks. She’d lost it last night and in so many ways: her cookies, her dignity, her cool, and her mind. Why was he still here? Hook-up Artists always ran from drama. And hadn’t she been the quintessential drama queen last night?
And now what? She’d fallen asleep on his story. Damn. He’d been talking about his dorky past—also unusual for a Hook-up Artist. In fact, staring down at his gorgeous face and killer body, Courtney could only conclude that she’d been wrong about Matthew Lyndon.
He was not a Hook-up Artist. She ran through her list of man types, jettisoning each one as she tried to apply it to the man snoring softly in her bed. He wasn’t a Man Baby, or a Nice Guy Not, or a Space Invader. He wasn’t Clueless. He’d never belittled or shamed her. He wasn’t Too Selfless to Be True, and while he did work hard, he didn’t strike her as a Workaholic. And finally he was not an Ogler. The few times she’d been out with him, he’d never once even looked at another woman. In fact, Matt had a way of focusing in on her that made her feel special and beautiful and wanted.
Last night, he’d even tried to talk about something deeply emotional. Something that had probably scarred him early. As a high school ugly duckling herself, she could totally understand the pain of being fourteen and overweight. Negative body images were hard to overcome, and any man willing to open himself up to talk about those painful times simply couldn’t be Emotionally Unavailable.
So the question was: If he wasn’t any of the standard man types, then what the hell was he?
An emotion, tender and warm, spilled through her. A woman needed to be careful, but a woman also needed to see the truth when it knocked on her door. Matt was a man worth risking everything for.
She leaned over him and brushed his hair back from his brow before placing a small, heartfelt kiss on his forehead. He voiced a sweet, inarticulate noise that arrowed through Courtney. She truly wanted this man, on any terms.
She pressed against his chest and continued her assault on his face, linking tiny kisses from his temple down across his cheeks and jaw to the sweet spot under his earlobe. He responded by snaking his arms around her waist and giving her a small upward flex of his hips.
Yes. That was more like it. Fully clothed or not, there was no mistaking the fact that Matt was waking up, and with consciousness came that coiled male energy that had always turned Courtney on. He flexed his hips again while his hand ran across her butt in a sleepy exploration, right before he pulled her a little closer.
This time Courtney let go of a deep, throaty noise as Matt’s hands worked their magic. He echoed her then, with a gruff noise halfway between a purr and a growl, which told her he had awakened. She scrambled up onto his body, settling more firmly against him.
She took heart and courage from the fact that he didn’t stop her from exploring his neck with her mouth and tongue and teeth. Maybe he was too sleepy. Or maybe, like her, he’d gotten tired of waiting for this. Whatever the reason, her first tentative touches and kisses morphed into something more carnal, involving arms and legs and hands and hampered by clothing.
“I need to feel you,” she finally said, frustrated by his clothes. She sat up, straddling his hips. She looked long and deep into his eyes, which managed to twinkle even in the fading rays of moonlight. She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.
He stacked his hands behind his head and watched as she freed him. But his watchfulness disappeared when she went down on him. She reveled in the taste and smell of him and in the way he enjoyed this pleasure-filled moment. But he didn’t allow it to go on for too long.
Courtney found the tables reversed as he rolled her over, pinned her to the bed, and kissed her senseless right before he efficiently stripped both of them of their clothes.
And after that, Matthew Lyndon showed Courtney Wallace just how incredible sex with Mr. Right can be.
The scent of coffee and frying bacon awakened Matt. He cracked his eye, suddenly alarmed by the angle of the sunlight pouring through Courtney’s French doors. He checked his watch: 7:45 a.m.—late for a weekday if you worked at a law firm.
He sat up and stopped himself from reacting to the time flashing on the clock. Instead, he took a big breath and let himself enjoy the combined scents of bacon, coffee, and Courtney that filled his head. It would be nice to wake up to this every morning.
The thought engendered no panic. Courtney was not Allison Chapman. She wasn’t cruel or selfish. Of course, she’d jacked him around at first, but that was because she’d known about his bet with Brandon. That bet was way in the past now. Trust had somehow grown between them despite everything.
So racing off to work would be the wrong move.
Besides, what was he racing off to do? Every day, Matt sat alone for hours at a time in his little cubbyhole office, working on divorces and trusts and wills. Every day David and Dad found ways to remind him of his inexperience. No one at
