A Misty Harbor Wedding (23 page)

“Nah.” Tyler looked unimpressed. The little boy turned around and walked out of the garage.

Matt shrugged.

She cringed and glared at Matt when she heard Tyler yell, “You're fibbing, Uncle Paul. They weren't kissing.”

 

 

Matt held the door open as Sierra climbed into his truck. His gaze admired the view of her jean-clad bottom while his mind was conjuring up all kinds of scenarios on how this evening was going to end. He felt eighteen all over again.

“Thanks.” Sierra gave him a wide smile as she snapped her seat belt.

“No problem.” He closed her door and walked around to the front of his truck. It was close to nine o'clock, and his brothers were packing up their kids. He could hear Tyler giving his father an argument about something. Baby Amanda, who had been a real sweetheart all night long, had chosen this moment to voice her objections. He climbed behind the wheel and closed his door. He and Sierra both watched as his brother John tried to reason with his daughter about something.

“Is she always that stubborn?” Sierra chuckled as Morgan crossed her arms and shook her head.

“From the day she was born.” Matt was enjoying himself watching his brothers trying to corral their kids. It was like herding kittens. Hunter was doing somersaults on the grass while Paul and Jill were passing baby Amanda back and forth trying to calm her down enough to get her into the car seat.

Sierra frowned at her hands and swiped at a lock of her hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I need a shower. I've got paint everywhere.”

He wasn't about to tell her that next time she shouldn't invite a five-year-old to help her paint. Tyler was more a Picasso than a Renoir. Thankfully she had put plastic down on the driveway before painting, and no one was going to see the back of the bar but the bartenders. “I don't know, I think the white goes well with your tan.” He didn't want to think about her in a shower.

“I still need a shower, Matt.”

“So do I.” He had finished up a job at an inn in Southwest Harbor around three. He had gone directly to his parents' house and started working on the bar. First thing tomorrow morning he was putting the final coat of paint on the bar, and then Joanna was putting on some fancier finishing touches. He was dirty, tired, and practically sitting on the edge of his seat in anticipation.

Sierra had been sending him signals all evening. Strong, unmistakable signals. Neither of them would be sleeping alone tonight.

He watched as Ned and Norah pulled away. Then John and his family. Paul and his family were the last to disappear down the street. He turned the key in the ignition but didn't put the truck in gear. “So whose place do we go to first? Yours or mine?”

“Yours.” Sierra pulled her tote-size pocketbook onto her lap and started to search through it. A moment later she pulled out her cell phone and checked for messages.

“Okay.” He started to drive as she punched a couple numbers into the phone. His place wasn't too bad. If he remembered correctly his breakfast dishes were still in the sink and the bed was unmade, but everything else was pretty neat and clean.

“Hi, Jean. Can I speak to Austin?” Sierra smiled at him as she waited a moment. “Hi, sweetie. How are you doing?”

He couldn't hear Austin's comments, but from Sierra's replies he guessed her son was telling her all about his day. In minute detail.

“Really? Yuck.” Sierra scrunched up her face. “Who cleaned it up?” Sierra laughed. “That I would've loved to have seen.”

He made a mental note to ask about that one later.

“Austin, you knew your daddy was there on business, so that means he has to attend meetings.” Sierra rolled her eyes. “Well, you should have eaten the squash anyway.”

Matt bit his lip to keep from laughing. He wouldn't have touched the squash either.

“If it was yellow and gooey, I'm just guessing it was squash. Now if it had chunks in it, my guess would have been creamed corn.”

He definitely didn't want to go there. What were they feeding that poor kid if he didn't even know what it was?

“So Aunt Jean gave you your bath and helped you get into your pajamas?” Sierra was silent for a moment. “No, you may not have another snack. One slice of chocolate cake before bed is enough. So you go hop into bed and be a good boy for your daddy and Aunt Jean.” Sierra made kissy sounds into the phone. “Now give your dad the phone and get to bed. I'll call you in the morning.”

So Jake was there. Why didn't he give his son his bath? Probably didn't want to get all wet. Sissy. He knew Sierra had said she and Jake were friends, but in his opinion Jake had to be a jerk. No sane man would divorce Sierra. The guy had to have more than a couple screws loose, but Matt was eternally grateful to him for setting Sierra free.

“Hi, Jake. So how's Austin behaving? Having any problems?” Sierra flashed Matt a killer smile. “Of course he wanted two slices of cake—he's four, Jake.

“I know it's hard to say no, but if you would have given in, he would have been up all night with a tummy ache.” She chuckled. “Meaning you would have been up all night too.”

Sierra's smile grew. “Yes, I have plans for the next several days.”

His foot pressed the accelerator a little harder. By the tone of her voice, there was no doubt what those plans were.

“Of course I'm behaving. When have you known me not to?” Sierra laughed. “That didn't count.”

Okay, he was not going to ask, no matter how much it bugged him. Sierra had been married, and she was a mother, for goodness' sake. Austin hadn't appeared under a cabbage leaf.

“Yes, you can reach me anytime, day or night. I always have my phone on. Bye.”

Sierra clicked the phone closed. “Austin's fine.”

“So I heard.” Jake sounded fine too. Where was this streak of jealousy coming from? He shook his head as he turned onto his street. “You won't mind waiting for me while I clean up?”

“I won't mind.” Sierra looked off into the night. “It's so peaceful here. I like that.”

“I wouldn't live anywhere else.” He turned in to his parking lot. “If you think it's quiet now, you should see the winter months. There's nothing quite like it.”

“I can imagine.” Sierra unfastened her seat belt and opened the door.

Matt met her at the front of the truck and took her hand. “Be careful on the steps. I forgot to leave the light on.”

Sierra's hand felt small and soft within his. “Well, if I fall”—her hand squeezed his—“I'm taking you with me.”

He held tighter. “There's no way I'm letting you go.” He wasn't just talking about climbing the stairs either. He wanted Sierra in Misty Harbor. Somehow. Some way.

He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. “You'll have to excuse the mess. I usually don't have company.”

Sierra glanced around the kitchen. “Is that what I am, company?”

Matt closed the door and backed her up against it. The tip of his finger traced a smudge of white paint on her cheek. “You're more than company. Much more.”

Sierra's eyes darkened to a deep gray with a touch of green. They were the same color as the sea during a storm. “I'm glad.” Sierra turned her head and captured his fingertip with her lips.

He groaned as he watched her lips close around his finger. He'd never seen a more erotic sight. The tip of her tongue lightly stroked his skin before she released him.

Sierra's eyes reminded him of the sea, but there was a fire burning in them. A fire that matched his own. “Matt, I want you.”

A shudder racked his body. If he kissed her now, they would never make it out of his kitchen. He didn't want to make love to Sierra smelling of paint and sawdust. He wanted it perfect. She deserved for it to be perfect. With a step back he gained his control. “Can you keep that thought for five minutes?”

A small chuckle escaped her tempting lips as Sierra glanced down at herself. “I think we might have to wait more than five minutes.”

Matt took another few steps back and dug deep for some more control. “I'll hurry.” He could do this. He was thirty years old. He sprinted for the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head as he ran.

Sierra watched as Matt disappeared into his bedroom. The tempting display of his bare back was enough to make her drool.
Saints have mercy!
All those muscles she had been thinking about were real. Here she stood with her tongue hanging out of her mouth while the man whose bones she wanted to pounce on was getting naked in the next room.

A refined lady would sit her butt in a kitchen chair, demurely cross her legs, and wait until Matt was ready to do the ravaging. She glanced at the paint smear on her forearm and decided she wasn't a refined lady tonight. She didn't want to wait. And whoever said that men had to do all the ravaging?

She heard the shower start as she locked the front door and headed for his bedroom. Matt had a thing for the color brown. The living room had beige carpeting, a brown leather couch and chair, and wood tables. The huge television was the main focus of the room, but there were crowded bookshelves on either side of it.

His bedroom was just as colorless. The room had beige carpeting and a dark rustic bedroom set that would have been more at home in a cabin in the woods than an apartment on the coast. A huge framed photo of a moose was above the bed. She frowned at the picture and wondered who had been crazy enough to get that close to the animal. The moose wasn't smiling.

She dropped her tote on the unmade bed. The tan sheets were rumpled, the brown plaid comforter was kicked to the bottom of the bed, and a pillow was on the floor. Either Matt was a slob, or he had spent the same restless time in bed last night as she had. Before she lost her nerve, she kicked off her sneakers and started to undress.

Two minutes later she pulled back the shower curtain and joined Matt in the shower. By Matt's startled expression she wasn't sure if she'd just committed a major faux pas. “Need any help washing your back?”

His wicked smile eliminated her fear. Shampoo was running down the side of Matt's face and he was semi-aroused. His gaze was skimming every inch of her body. “Only if I can return the favor.”

Matt's voice was deep, unsteady, and threaded with a roughness that caused her nipples to harden. Or maybe that was the heat of his gaze. “It's been awhile since anyone has washed my back.” She hoped Matt would get her meaning and know she didn't make a habit of joining men in the shower. They hadn't known each other for three weeks, and here she was standing before him naked and willing.

Matt's gaze softened as he pulled her under the warm water with him. “I figured that one out a long time ago.” He ducked his head back under the spray and rinsed the rest of the shampoo out of his hair.

When he was done, she went under the water and soaked her hair. She hadn't bothered to look into a mirror, but she knew there was paint in it. “Could I use your shampoo?”

“Sure.” Matt put a bottle into her hand and started to wash himself. “I'm sure it's not what you're used to, but it will get the paint out.”

She closed her eyes and lathered it up. “Thanks.” A moment later she was rinsing the suds from her hair when she felt Matt's work-roughened hands start to rub her back. She leaned into his hands.

When she thought all the suds were rinsed from her hair she turned to face him. There was nothing “semi” about his arousal now. It was strong and thick, and nudging her stomach. She smiled as Matt's hands never missed a stroke.

“You wear an awfully small bathing suit.” Matt's voice was a low growl as his hands cupped her breasts.

She swiped at some bubbles that were on her belly and smeared them onto his chest. Dark hair teased her fingertips. “You work outside without your shirt a lot.” His chest was as tan as his arms and face.

“Sierra,” Matt's voice broke, “you're killing me here.”

“No, I'm not.” She backed up under the spray and smiled as the bubbles slid down her body and into the drain. She tugged him closer. “I still have paint on my arms.” The areas Matt had been soaping had never had paint on to begin with. She took the soap out of Matt's hands and started to scrub her face and arms. Hopefully she would get most if not all of the white paint off. Making love to Matt while looking like a reject from the Ringling Bros. circus wasn't what she had in mind.

She had just finished rinsing the suds from her arms when Matt grabbed the bar of soap and put it in the dish. “That's it. You're clean enough.” He turned off the water and pushed open the shower curtain and grabbed for a towel.

She chuckled as she reached for the other towel. “Is ‘you're clean enough' considered foreplay?” She bent over and wrapped the towel around her soaking-wet hair.

A shrill yell escaped her as Matt lightly smacked her on the bottom and then threw her over his damp shoulder. “I'll show you foreplay.”

Her hair was still wrapped in the towel, but the rest of her was still wet. “Matthew Porter, if you throw me onto that bed wet, I'm not sleeping in it.” She tried to sound stern and not giggle. There was no way in hell she would be spending an entire night in a damp bed.

Matt grabbed another towel off a shelf on his way out of the bathroom. He lowered her to her feet next to the bed and started to slowly, and quite thoroughly, dry every inch of her skin.

She grabbed his shoulder with her hand as the soft towel caressed her inner thigh for the third time. “I think you dried that part”—her voice hitched when the towel disappeared and warm fingers took its place—“already.”