A New Hope (Thunder Point #8)(53)

“I’ll never forgive her. I hate her. That was underhanded and selfish and cruel.”

She smiled at him. “It was, I agree. I love you, Matt,” she said. “I’ve been honest with you. I swear.” She couldn’t resist—she reached out and ran her fingers through that glorious hair.

“How could you forgive him?” he asked.

“Oh, he can still make me furious—for about twenty minutes. When he called me I was outraged by his self-centered idiocy. And then I just laughed at how predictable he is. I don’t have room in my life for hate. I tried it for a while. It didn’t work. And now I want to be with you and I don’t want hate to be part of what we have.”

“Then it isn’t going to drive you away knowing I’m still a little f*cked up over my failed marriage?”

“You’d hardly be the first. It takes time to heal. And I think you’re going to figure it out real soon. At least you can finally talk about it.”

“I’m not sure talking about it got rid of the headache,” he said. “Might’ve been something else,” he said, grinning playfully, pulling down the sheet to expose her. He fondled her breast.

“Done talking, Matt?” she asked, humor in her voice.

“For now, I think. Are you? Done talking?”

“Depends. What’s the alternative?”

He took the beer from her hand and put it aside. He grabbed her around the waist and said, “Come over here and find out.” He pulled her close and just held her tight, held her like he was afraid to let go. After a little while he covered her body with his and smothered her with hungry kisses.

* * *

Ginger wasn’t sure what time it was, but she heard the back door open and close and smelled coffee brewing. Matt came into the bedroom with a small satchel in one hand, his phone in the other. “Your reputation is completely ruined,” he said.

“Is that so?”

“I went to my truck to get my phone and this bag. I went in my shorts, barefoot. There was a gray-haired woman a few doors down tossing trash in the Dumpster and she eyeballed me. I gave her a wave.”

“Carrie,” Ginger said. “She owns the deli. She’s close with Ray Anne.”

“So, that means she’ll call Ray Anne? Will that get Ray Anne upset, that I spent the night?”

“Are you kidding? Ray Anne thinks getting laid is a cure for almost anything.”

“I knew I liked her,” Matt said, dropping the bag and putting the phone down. He shed his boxers and climbed in. “Let’s cure a few things while the coffee perks.”

“You’re insatiable...” she murmured, acquiescing immediately.

“I’m not the one who keeps saying more!”

“It turns out you’re up to the job. Are we going to get up?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I am up. Can you get in the mood again?”

“Maybe. How long are you planning to stay?”

“Until the last possible moment. God, why didn’t I think of this weeks ago...?”

He finally stopped talking, and Ginger just relaxed and enjoyed him. He was a powerful lover, but also sweet and sensitive. His hands were a little rough and he apologized for them, but the roughness that came from hard work felt good on her skin. He couldn’t be quiet, always whispering sweet things, always asking her how she felt and serving her needs. His one goal seemed to be making her happy, pleasing her. And when she said more! he laughed and seemed thrilled by it.

Ginger hadn’t had a lot of partners in her life. There were a couple of men before Mick when she was right around twenty, guys she knew immediately weren’t right for her. Then there was Mick who, to his credit, was very romantic when he felt like it, but their time together wasn’t a priority for him. And while it wouldn’t be ladylike to say so, Matt’s skill made Mick look like a bumbling lad.

She didn’t even want to know where he came by all this experience and skill. She was a little afraid of the answer.

Limp and satisfied once more, she lay in the bed while he went to get them coffee.

“I have to go to work,” she said. “We don’t open early on Saturdays and there’s no wedding today, but I’m needed in the shop.”

“When do you open it?”

“We’re open ten till four on Saturdays, unless it’s the day before a holiday like Valentine’s or Mother’s Day—then we stay open till six. Today is a short day. I might be able to sneak away early. But I really should shower and get down there. Will you go back to the farm? Is this the last possible moment now?”

“Hell, no, sweetheart! I’m hanging around unless you want me to leave. If I’d known your work schedule I’d have taken you out for breakfast.”

“I’ll grab a bowl of cereal or power bar.”

“Maybe you should have both. How about we plan a nice dinner out tonight,” he asked. “Maybe we’ll drive over to Bandon or Coos Bay. Just tell me what you’d like and I’ll find a nice restaurant for us.”

“If I let you stay, let you sleep with me, is there any chance something is going to go all wonky in your head and you’ll turn into Mad Matt again?”

“God, I hope not,” he said. “Here’s what I think we should do. We should talk, like we already do. We should spend time together. We should take it easy and slow and make sure we understand each other. Right? If there are things about me you don’t like, don’t want to be stuck with, you have to promise to speak up. And vice versa. I’m not going to try to change you, but I want to really know you. So far, you’d have trouble convincing me you’re not perfect.”