Night Owl(33)

"Your, um—" I cleared my throat. "Your hair is awesome right now."

Matt eyed me a moment longer, then reached to touch his hair. A few pieces stuck straight up. The rest was matted.

"This is the new style," he murmured.

A cautious smile spread on his lips. I laughed too readily. Geez, what was that all about? Mr. Frostypants in the morning? Or did he think I was snooping?

I glanced guiltily at the book in my hand. Okay, maybe I was snooping.


Matt slipped the book from my hand and returned it to the shelf.

"Mm, Willa Cather. A brilliant author. And this is her best, hands down. It's the one she was meant to write."

Matt smiled as he studied the shelf. I stared at his handsome profile. Now he was warm and enthusiastic; a moment ago he'd looked ill and nearly violent. I had to admit, his changeable moods excited me, but they worried me too.

"Do you know what I mean?" he said. "An author writes book after book, throwing darts at the board. Many stick, but one hits the bull's-eye. The one they were meant to write. Nice shirt." He squeezed my ass as his eyes travelled the shelves. "I read to find the bull's-eye. The Sound and the Fury, Never Cry Wolf, Franny and Zooey, Four Quartets—"

"The Silver Cord," I blurted.

Matt snorted.

"Oh please, not again with the M. Pierce fan girl routine."

"Okay, if I'm such a fan girl, then why do you—" My voice quavered. I was staring at Matt's copy of My ántonia and debating the wisdom of calling him out. Calling him out for what, though? He obviously despised M. Pierce. My evidence to the contrary was convoluted and conspiratorial, and it made me look Matt-obsessed more than anything, like I memorized and picked over his every word.

"Why do I what?" Matt demanded.

"Why do you... know... about the Granite Wing rumor?" I cringed. Lame.

Matt's eyes were hard as emeralds.

"As you can see," he said, gesturing to his books, "I'm decently well read. I like to stay abreast of literary trends. That means I may read shitty online zines like Fit to Print once in a blue moon, and I can't really be blamed for their chronic hard-on for that second-rate author. I happened to glimpse their article with all the alleged Pierce facts, including that Granite Wing gossip. Fit to Print indeed." Matt scoffed. "In a tabloid."

I flattened my hands against Matt's chest. His expression softened.

"It's like you have an ax to grind with that poor author," I said. I nuzzled my face into his skin and he folded his arms around me.

"I doubt she's poor. And I don't have an ax to grind, alright? I just don't think she's any Cather. Not even close."

"Well I do." I kissed his nipple and he twitched. God, I loved that. "And I studied literature, so that's that Mr. Businessman."

Matt gave me a swift smack on the ass.

We showered together and had a morning quickie, which involved Matt rubbing my clit with a soapy finger until it stung. Maybe he was depraved after all. And damn, did I enjoy it.

We took our time getting dressed. Matt watched everything I did with those smoldering green eyes of his, and when I caught him staring he didn't look away. God, he looked delicious with a towel around his hips.

I didn't think I could ever get tired of his body.

When he pulled off my towel in the living room, I bent and gripped the arm of his couch. I smiled over my shoulder at him. The hunger in his eyes thrilled and frightened me, and I yelped as he entered me all at once. His powerful thrusts slapped our bodies together. I felt his balls hitting my sex.

Like I said, we took our time getting dressed.

Finally, around noon, we got into our clothes and kept them on. Unhappiness settled over me as we stood together in the kitchen. Matt would drive me home soon, and I hadn't gotten enough of him.

I picked at his shirt. It was a soft white t-shirt that he'd paired with loose brown linen shorts. I was in my wrinkled sundress.

I had an internal debate going over whether Matt looked better in formal dress or casual dress. I also had an internal debate going over whether Matt was real. He didn't add up. Sexy well-read guy with a god's body, the cutest pet ever, ridiculous influence, lots of spare change, and an interest in me? No way.

"Happy Fourth," he said quietly, breaking into my thoughts.

"Oh, yeah. I totally forgot." I frowned and tousled my wet curls. Right, it was a Thursday and Matt wasn't working. He was here f*cking me all over his apartment. Thank you America. "Yeah, happy Fourth Matt."

I smiled up at him. He grinned back at me.

"Can't imagine why you might have forgotten."

"Pfft. It's not a big deal holiday anyway. You've been weirdly aware of it, though." I squinted at him. "Maybe you're like, special ops. Or a CIA agent."

Matt smirked.

"Do I strike you as a patriot?"

"You don't strike me as anything yet."

He leaned down and his husky voice tickled my ear.

"Oh, but I do strike you Hannah."

I shivered. He pulled back. Good on him, because I was about to provoke him into bending me over the counter again.

"No, but seriously," he said, "if I seem very aware of the holiday, it's only because it'll take you away from me."