"How."
"Blown up in an explosion."
"An explosion!"
"It wasn't bad," he fibbed. "I messed up a couple of bones, had to have some surgeries and stuff."
She scowled. "I don't like it that you were hurt."
"Came with the territory."
He never discussed what had happened. The tale was too depressing, and there wasn't any point in dissecting the details.
She'd had too many drinks, and he didn't want her maudlin, didn't want her feeling sorry for him. The entire evening had been a grand success, and he only wanted smiles and laughter for the rest of the night.
"Dustin told me I was welcome to visit them anytime." She beamed like a kid on Christmas morning.
"I heard."
"When they get back from their honeymoon"—Dustin and Amy were headed to the Caribbean for a month—"he asked me to stay with them in the mansion."
"I heard that too."
"You'll come with me, right?"
"Right," he falsely agreed, wondering if he'd ever see her again after next week.
It was sad to consider that he might not. She was growing on him; he liked her much more than was wise.
"Can you imagine us snooping around in that old place?" she inquired.
"I definitely can."
"Everything started there for my family."
The ostentatious mansion had been the first one her ancestor, George Merriweather, had constructed with his new gold fortune. It was an infamous residence, built for his mistress—not his wife. Due to Merriweather neglect, it had fallen into terrible disrepair.
Amy and Dustin were planning to restore it. They were planning to restore the whole darn town. Matt thought they were crazy, that it would be an enormous amount of work—decades of it—but they were determined.
"The house will be so beautiful," she said, "when Dustin is through."
"Yes, it will."
"And they want me to help them! They like me," she said again. "They like me!"
She twirled him in several circles, making him dizzy. Then she spun away, practically skipping with delight as she went into the bathroom. Momentarily, the shower came on, and he walked over and sat on the bed.
He loosened his boots and belt, unbuttoned his shirt and got more comfortable. He lay on the pillows, listening to her.
It had been a long time since he'd shared space with a female. He liked the sounds and smells of being around her, liked the humidity of the hot water, the hint of shampoo and lotion wafting out from under the closed door.
He dozed off, content, exhausted.
When he roused again, she was stretched out on top of him, the brief touch of her lips to his own yanking him to consciousness. Her glorious blond hair was curled over her shoulders, her big green eyes ablaze with mischief.
"Were you sleeping?" Her voice was husky, sexy, luring him to his doom.
"No, I wasn't sleeping."
"Good, because I'm not ready to go to bed."
He begged to disagree. She was absolutely ready.
"I like you," she stated. "I don't
want
to like you, but I do."
He grinned. "What's not to like?"
"You're different from the other men in my life. I feel safe with you."
"I'm glad."
"You'd never let anything bad happen to me, would you?"
"No," he lied, "I never would."
She studied his eyes, but she missed the deceit buried there. She was too trusting, too naïve. As she'd mentioned, she'd had no men like Matt in her life, so how could she be expected to understand the deeds of which he was capable?
"Doesn't it seem like we've met before?" she asked.
"Why would you say that?"
"It seems like we've always been connected."
He'd been suffering from the same sensation. He could read her mind, could assess and sort out her emotions before she even realized what they were.
If he'd been a more romantic type, he might have believed in idiotic ideas like soul mates and meant-to-be, but he wasn't a romantic, and he didn't really believe in much of anything anymore.
"You're not much of a drinker, are you?" he said, eager to steer the conversation to lighter topics.
"Not hardly ever."
"Were you aware that alcohol has a more potent effect at higher altitudes?"
"It does?"
"You should remember that when you visit your brother. It'll keep you out of trouble."
"You'll be here with me," she ludicrously said, though he had no intention of ever coming to Gold Creek again, "so I don't have to keep myself out of trouble. You can do it for me."
"I will baby cakes," he lied again, "whenever I can."
"I like you when you're being nice to me."
She initiated a second kiss. It was chaste and sweet, another fleeting touch of her lips to his. She was inviting him to join in, to take them to the next level, and a thousand questions rattled through him.
Should he? Shouldn't he?
From the chemistry they shared, it was obviously only a matter of time before they yielded to it. Should he proceed? Should he wait?
She was about to end up hurt and pissed off—at many, many people. No doubt, Matt would be one of them. Or maybe not. Maybe everything would work out. Maybe she'd wind up happy for the catastrophe he was about to dump on her.
Yeah, right!
he scoffed.
No good conclusion was approaching for anyone. So where did that leave him?
He pulled her nearer, and he was unnerved to discover that she was wearing just a tank top and panties. Her legs were bare, her arms were bare, and there was no bra in evidence.
With a few quick maneuvers, he could have her naked beneath him. Yet instead of escalating the situation, he hesitated, calculating the angles.
His body was urging him to recklessness, his cock hard and heavy, demanding that he get on with it. It was his head that was the problem. He couldn't determine the best course, but then, he wasn't a saint.
From the first moment they'd met, he'd wanted to kiss her senseless, and now seemed the perfect opportunity. Like the worst sort of jerk, he decided to take full advantage of her lowered defenses—even though he'd just sworn to himself that he wouldn't.
He rolled her onto her back so he was hovered over her. His tongue was in her mouth, his hand in her hair, and he let himself be overwhelmed by the taste of her, by the feel and smell of her. She was much too thin, light and airy and insubstantial, like a waif or phantom that had no substance.
She was too slender because she didn't take care of herself, because she valued all the wrong things. But he ignored her reduced condition, her longing for friendship and acceptance, and focused on the reality of her and what she was offering.
She was as delicious as he'd imagined she'd be, and he couldn't get close enough, couldn't hold her near enough. She was like a disease in his blood, his need driving him to insane heights of desire.
He caressed her small breasts, plucking at the nipples, but he didn't remove her tank top. Despite his body's insistence that he proceed, he couldn't march them any farther down the road to disaster.
He simply kissed her, then kissed her some more, and she participated with a joy and relish that delighted him beyond measure. When he noticed his fingers were slithering down her tummy, that he was about to slip them where they shouldn't be allowed to go, he slowed, then pulled away.
She smiled at him, looking rumpled and adorable. How was he supposed to behave, how was he supposed to resist, when she looked like that?
She rested a palm on his cheek, the gesture poignant and comforting in a way that upset him.
Over the years, he'd had scant positive feminine attention, and sometimes, he was starved for it. With any female—but especially her—he had to be cautious. Should a woman actually give him what he often thought he desperately craved, he'd have no idea how to take what was provided.
He was an unapologetic liar and fraud. He'd never lived up to anyone's expectations, had never tried harder than was necessary. Wherever he went, he caused trouble and wreaked havoc.
A woman like Brittney—with so much of her own baggage—might need a man in her life, but she didn't need a man like Matt.
"Aren't we going to have sex?" she asked.
"No."
"Don't you want to?"
"Oh, I want to, but we're not going to."
"How come?"
"You know why."
"You're a good kisser," she said, and he chuckled.
"So are you."
"I've been wondering what it would be like."
"I have been too."
"It was nice."
"Yes, it was."
"I shouldn't have."
"You loose little floozy, you."
He was smiling too. She was so pretty, so lonely and alone, and he couldn't bear to gaze into her beautiful eyes. There was too much sadness in them, and it ignited his masculine tendencies, made him anxious to offer her things he could never supply.
He rolled her onto her side and spooned himself to her back. For a long while, he was very still, listening to her breathe as he ran a hand up and down her hip and thigh. He was inundated in ways he hadn't realized he would be, and he was disgusted to find himself trying to imprint every facet of the encounter into his memory bank so that he never forgot any of it.
He didn't want the night to end. He wanted to kiss her again and again and again. He wanted her in his bed and in his life and wasn't that the craziest notion?
She yawned and snuggled nearer.
"I'm engaged," she said, her words slurred.
"You certainly are."
"I'm marrying Andrew in July."
The alcohol finally worked its magic, and she slumped into slumber.
"We'll see, honey," he murmured to her sleeping form. "We'll see if you marry your precious Andrew."
Gradually, he dozed too, and when he woke, she was gone, and there wasn't the slightest hint anywhere in the room that she'd ever been there at all.
* * *
"I'm sorry about this."
"Don't be sorry. I'm the one who should be apologizing to you. Matt and I are old friends. I'm aware of how difficult he can be."
Brittney pressed the phone to her ear, feeling stupidly close to tears. Brandon Talbot, the owner of Talbot Security, was being just as understanding as she'd hoped he would be.
"I don't want to get him in trouble or cost him his job," she said.
"You haven't."
"He wasn't right for my situation, but he'd be terrific somewhere else."
"I have plenty of other spots where I can send Matt. Don't worry about him; he always lands on his feet."
"How do you know him so well?" She could have kicked herself for her curiosity. She did
not
care about Matt, did not care about his relationships outside the weird bubble where he'd existed for her.
It was just that—in her usual self-centered, egocentric way—she'd spent several days with him and hadn't learned a single, relevant personal detail. He'd claimed to have been a soldier, but she had no idea if the story was true.
"He and I served together in Iraq," Mr. Talbot said.
"He really was in the army?"
"Yes, and he's an extremely brave and tough individual."
"I could tell that he is." She was absurdly proud of the information, as if Matt was hers, as if he was her kid and his teacher had offered effusive praise.
"I think," Talbot continued, "he comes across a bit strong. He hasn't been back in the U.S. all that long, and with his being in the hospital all those months—"
"Months!"
"He was gravely wounded; it was a lengthy recovery."
"I didn't realize the extent of his injuries."
"He's still adjusting. So again, if he upset or distressed you, let me apologize."
"He didn't upset me," she lied. "I'd simply be better off with a guy who's less…conspicuous."
"I totally agree. I'll send someone over right away."
"Thank you." Brittney stared at the floor, feeling awful, feeling like a traitor. "And would you please make sure he knows he shouldn't come back?"
"Absolutely."
"Tell him that I specifically requested he be reassigned."
"I will."
"I'm just worried that he might not take kindly to my decision. I wouldn't want him storming over here."
"He won't. You have my word on it."
She hung up the phone, but she glared at it, as if it might ring and she'd give Talbot different instructions.
She was in Denver—at the mansion. The sun was low in the western sky, the afternoon waning. Colors seemed too bright, noises too loud, and she was wearing her sunglasses, needing to block out her surroundings, the world, the universe.