Merry and Bright(62)

Yes, she remembered. She’d stand at the concession stand and eat.

And eat.

“I don’t care what you used to look like,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Come on, Matt. Look at you. Your reflection probably sighs in bliss every morning. You’re telling me appearances don’t matter to you?”

“I’m telling you life experiences matter. Listen, my brother and I grew up with a teenaged mom who didn’t know the first thing about being on her own, much less about raising two boys. We had no rules, no authority. Hell, we had no roof over our heads half the time. I worked damn hard to be who I am now, and I want someone who understands that, who has her own experiences to draw on. I want a woman who can talk to me, who can understand my world, who can be both serious and fun-loving. And if she just happens to be easy on the eyes, and believe me, you are extremely easy on the eyes, Cami, well then . . . lucky me.”

She stared at him for signs of deception and saw nothing but open honesty in his gaze. “I don’t know what to say to you. I think I should go home now.” She turned off the lights.

Her office settled into darkness, but it wasn’t complete. From the windows came the glow of the seasonal lights, twinkling merrily, casting shadows across the desk and floor.

Matt put his hands on her. She didn’t protest as he drew her in. The soft night fell over them—hypnotic, lulling, sweetly silent—and when he touched his mouth to hers, she settled into the soft, gentle kiss.

“Night,” he whispered, and stepping back, he slipped his hands into his pockets, leaving her wanting more, damn him.

The man was smart, she’d give him that, knowing when to push and when not to. If he’d kissed her senseless and then asked her to go home with him, would she have gone?

Of course not.

Oh, crap. She’d have gone in a heartbeat, and not because he kissed like heaven, but because he’d seen her at her compulsively organizing worst and hadn’t gone running. Grabbing her purse, she made the mistake of turning back to him.

There was passion and heat swimming in his eyes, and something more—affection.

Oh, God, but that got her. How often did a man look at her like that? Never. How often did she feel this way, sort of quivery and . . . desperately horny?

Double never.

Maybe . . . maybe she needed a New Year’s resolution—live life to its fullest, even if that means occasionally deviating off the known path. She could mark the deviating on her calendar for, say, once a month.

Starting now. She dropped her purse on her desk. “Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you carry condoms?”

He blinked. “What?”

“I assume a man like you carries.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve never made the first move before—”

“Cami—”

“Not because I’m a prude or anything, but because there’s never been anyone I wanted badly enough to risk the rejection.”

His eyes went dark, so very dark, as his hands came up to her waist. “I want to be clear, very clear,” he said. “This is you coming onto me, right?”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “It’s a New Year’s resolution sort of thing, a week early. Be kind, okay?”

“Cami, I plan on being everything you ever wanted.” He lifted her against him and set her on the desk.

“Here?” she asked breathlessly, her heart in her throat, her body on high alert, beginning with her nipples and ending with a dampness between her thighs.

“Oh, yeah, here.” His big, warm hands settled on her thighs, pushing them open, and before she could decide how she felt about that, he stepped between them.

“Wait,” she gasped.

He went still. “Really?”

Do it. Do him. “It’s okay. It’s a good kind of wait.” Twisting around, she swept an arm across her meticulously neat desk, knocking everything to the floor in one fell swoop—her phone, her desk pad, her notes.

“Nicely done,” he said approvingly.

She stared at the mess on the floor, chewing on her lower lip. The urge to pick it all back up nearly overpowered her.

Matt’s mouth was solemn, but his eyes full of humor. “You want to take a moment and clean it up?”

That he’d read her mind so easily was a little disconcerting. “No, I’m . . . good.”

He tipped up her chin, away from the mess. “Sure?”

“I want to be in the moment, damn it! Just once!”

“In the moment is just where I want you.” His other hand slid down her spine to her bottom, tugging her closer.

Pressed up flush against him, she could feel every inch of him. He was hard, and it made her heart beat faster, heavier.

“Yeah, right here,” he said softly, his mouth only a fraction of an inch from hers. “Just tell me if you need to stop to obsess about anything.”

“No, I’m fine.” Sort of. Pretty much. Oh, my God, he was big.

His smile was slow and warm and sexy. “Yeah, you’re fine.” And this time when he kissed her, she sank her fingers into his hair and kissed him back, thrilling to his firm, quietly demanding mouth, which stirred instincts long suppressed. Living life to the fullest. In the moment. God, in the moment tasted good. But there were too many barriers between them—his clothes, hers . . . Impatient, she pulled his shirt from his waistband, sliding her hands beneath to touch his heated skin, stroking up his smooth, sleek back, loving the feel of his muscles, bunched and tight. Letting out a little sigh of pleasure, she shifted to touch his flat abs, feeling him tremble. For her.