Belonging (20 page)

Surprisingly, she did relax, almost as soon
as his hand began a soothing motion with his fingertips, running
lightly across the nape of her neck.

"God, you're tense," he murmured with a
frown. "Turn around, okay?"

Reluctantly she complied. His left hand
joined its mate at the base of her neck, and his thumbs began to
slowly ease the tension from her muscles.

"It's not only Spooky bothering you, is
it?"

Perhaps it was his quiet voice, the kneading
motion of his fingers that made her feel oddly secure. Or perhaps
it was the fact that there was nothing sexual in his touch, only a
desire to ease her pain. Had Evan ever exhibited such tender
concern? she wondered poignantly.

Whatever the reason, she found herself
responding. "No," she admitted. "It's not just Spooky, although the
girls will be heartbroken if we don't find her."

The gentle assault on her muscles stopped for
a moment, then resumed. "It's the shelter, then, isn't it?" It was
more a statement than a question.

Again she grew rigid beneath his hands, and
he thought she would draw away. Then he felt her take a deep breath
and he sensed the sudden turmoil inside her.

"It was awful, Matt." Her voice, no more than
a whisper, held a depth of emotion he'd never heard before.
"Awful," she repeated again, then shuddered.

Strong arms immediately closed around her
from behind. For once Angie didn't question the move as her back
connected with the solid strength of a warm male body. Held tightly
against Matt's chest, his arms wrapped securely around her waist,
his heartbeat echoing steadily beneath her shoulder, she only knew
that she felt safe and warm and sheltered. And surely it wouldn't
hurt to lean on someone else's shoulder. . .just for a while.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

Haltingly Bonnie's story emerged. But it
wasn't only Bonnie's story. It was Angie's, Angie's and countless
others'. Matt offered no solutions; he offered no advice. He was
simply there, and that was enough.

There was no question the incident had
affected Angie profoundly. Matt was stunned at the raw emotion in
her voice. When she had finished, time had slipped quietly by.

"If I had known how much this was going to
upset you, I wouldn't have arranged for you to go." There was an
edge of self-disgust in his voice. "I'm sorry, Angie."

"Matt!" She twisted around so that she could
see him. Without realizing it, she laid her fingers along his
jawline, wanting only to ease the tight lines around his mouth.
"Don't be sorry," she pleaded urgently. "If anything, it's only
made me that much more determined to establish a shelter here in
Westridge."

His eyes held hers for an endless moment,
then a slow smile claimed his mouth. "And if ever a woman could
take on city hall and win, it's you."

"Let's hope so." She found herself teasing
back. He looked so different when he smiled, she marveled
silently, so unlike the harsh stranger who had walked into her
office only a few short weeks ago—and turned her life upside
down.

Slowly, suddenly, she became aware of the
position that they were in. Matt was tucked into a corner of the
sofa, and she was wedged between his hard thighs, her hip nestled
intimately against the most masculine part of him.

Her breath came jerkily. Her hand began to
fall away from his face, only to be stopped by Matt midway.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't be afraid to
touch me. And don't be afraid to let me touch you."

Did his voice tremble? That Matt might be
vulnerable, too, had never really occurred to her. Yet when it
did, she felt something come undone inside her. If it wasn't for
that vulnerability, she could have resisted.

But she couldn't. Dear God, she couldn't. She
could only watch in wonder and fear as he slowly lifted her hand
and replaced it on his cheek.

"Touch me, Angie. Touch me..."

She was helpless against such gentle
encouragement. Her eyes drifted closed, and with a tiny moan her
fingers moved. Tentatively, slowly, she discovered the chiseled
hardness of his cheekbone, the lean hollow below, the tiny lines
that faded outward from his eyes. The abrasive feel of his
night-shadowed beard sent a cramping feeling of excitement racing
through her.

Her lids snapped open. She stared directly
into eyes that burned with a warm silver glow, a glow that
beckoned, enticed.

Her lips parted. His name emerged as a husky
sigh. "Matt..." It was a plea, but whether it was for him to stop
or continue this strange spell of awareness he had cast over her,
she didn't know.

But Matt did. He only prayed that this was
the right thing to do... and the right time to do it.

He felt her tense when his lips settled over
hers. He didn't draw away, he just continued to graze his mouth
lightly against hers, the contact so feather light it was almost
nonexistent. Soon the hands that had knotted into fists at his
shoulders slowly uncurled. He hesitated, then savored her breath
misting warmly, intimately with his, before deepening the
kiss.

A heady sensation engulfed Angie when his
lips fully encompassed her own, trapping her mouth under his with
tender temperance. In some distant part of her mind, she sensed
that she and Matt had been heading inevitably toward this moment
since the night he'd driven her home.

It seemed just as inevitable that her body
was responding with a wild, sweet will of its own. A thousand
tingly sensations rained over her as his tongue dipped sensually
into the moist warmth of her mouth, sweetly tempting with a
delicious artistry that stole her breath away.

Her hands, no longer content to lie passively
against his shoulders, slid around to explore the tautened muscles
of his back. She yearned to feel his bare skin and paused only a
moment before slipping her hands under his shirt.

His skin was smooth and hard. She thrilled to
the feel of muscle and bone beneath her questing fingertips. Her
hands wavered between shy and bold as she discovered the supple
length of his back. Then, as if savoring the exquisite sensation of
warm skin and sinewed muscle, she slowly traced a lingering
pathway downward, stopping only when she encountered the waistband
of his jeans.

Her breasts ached where they rested against
his shirt. Her nipples, already beaded with desire, grew harder
still. Suddenly she longed to thread her fingers through the mat of
hair on his chest and discover for herself whether it was as soft
as it looked.

Her fingers began to trace an outward line
along his belt, delighting in the lean strength of his body. It
wasn't until her fingers encountered an alien hardness, the cold
smoothness of metal, that a numbing realization set in.

Matt was wearing a gun.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Matt wasn't prepared for her withdrawal. The
depth of her response took him by surprise, but pleasure at her
reaction soon overrode all else. He had dreamed of this, of her
body soft and pliable against his, her hands running wild over his
skin. He'd longed for it so much it almost seemed too good to be
true. And it was.

One moment she was warm and willing, the
next, still and unresponsive in his arms. His mind still spinning
with the most potent desire he had ever experienced, it took a few
seconds before he realized something was wrong. She was trembling,
but not in pleasure or anticipation.

"Angie?" Slowly he lifted his head to stare
down at her questioningly. He kept her firmly within the circle of
his arms. "Did I hurt you?"

Angie wet her lips. The feel of smooth,
deadly metal still lingered against her skin. It had been cold...
so cold.

Matt felt her quiver. He let her go, his eyes
puzzled as she wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward off a
chill. She was staring straight at him, yet he had the unnerving
sensation it wasn't him she was seeing at all but someone else.
Watching her stare at him, her lovely blue eyes filled with anguish
and pain, kindled that fierce protectiveness that she alone evoked
in him. Yet he sensed he didn't dare touch her.

"Angie?" he repeated. His voice was calm, but
there was an edge of authority in it.

She started at the sound. She swallowed
deeply, and her eyes seemed to refocus on his face. "You...you're
wearing a gun." Her voice, thin as it was, carried the ring of
accusation.

"I always do," he returned quietly. Up until
that moment he'd forgotten the small caliber weapon tucked into a
holster at his hip; He realized she must have felt it. But there
was more to her reaction than just being startled. Much more. At
the same time he was aware once again that there was a lot he
didn't know about Angie. No. No, that wasn't right. There was a
great deal that she refused to share with him.

Their knees still touched where she sat
huddled beside him; he had only to reach out a hand to touch the
softness of her cheek. But at this moment he felt as if they were
eons apart.

"Does it scare you?" he asked. "My wearing a
gun?"

The words fell into a hollow silence. Angie
closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushions. It was
apparent that she was fighting some silent inner battle.

"It doesn't scare me exactly," she finally
admitted, then gestured vaguely. "It just..." She stopped, gnawing
at her lower lip with her teeth.

"Bothers you?" he supplied. "It's not unusual
for cops to wear off-duty weapons, you know."

"No, I don't suppose it is." She paused. "I
just never really thought about your wearing one, though," she
added in a low voice.

"I try not to advertise it." He deliberately
reached out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. She
didn't flinch or move away. Encouraged, he asked softly, "Why are
you so afraid of guns?"

"I'm not," she said quickly. Angie realized
by Matt's knowing half smile that he would challenge her denial.
Angie sighed dispiritedly. Matt wouldn't be satisfied with anything
less than the truth. And what did it matter if he knew?

She didn't look at him as she said
tonelessly, "Evan was killed by a rifle. He was on a hunting trip,
and it went off one night when he was cleaning it."

For the longest time Matt didn't say
anything. Angie began to wonder if he'd even heard her. Then she
felt his touch, so tender, so achingly sweet, it made her throat
swell with emotion.

A lone forefinger turned her face to his. At
the same time he reached for her hand, threading their fingers
together, his thumb stroking a reassuring pattern on her flesh.

"Evan was your husband?" he asked
quietly.

She nodded wordlessly.

"Do you know," he said very softly, his lips
hovering a mere breath away from hers, "that's the first time
you've ever said his name to me? No, don't pull away." His fingers
exerted the necessary pressure to keep her hand where it was. He
seemed to hesitate. "Does it really hurt so much after all this
time?"

She almost hated herself for the flicker of
pain she heard in his voice. Matt believed she still loved Evan.
She regretted deceiving him like this, but it was easier. So much
easier.

"Please, Matt." Her eyes pleaded with him. "I
don't want to talk about him. Please."

Matt was tempted to hold her tight and never
let her go, to demand that she talk to him once and for all.
Instead, he dropped her hand and got to his feet, his expression
both grim and regretful.

"We've been tap-dancing around your husband's
ghost too long already," he said quietly. "Dammit, Angie, anyone
can see you're holding too much inside. I think you need to talk
about him."

Long, tension-filled seconds reigned as he
confronted her. Her delicately sculpted features were almost
colorless. The dark anguish in her eyes was like a dagger to his
heart. He despised himself for the torment he was putting her
through, but at the same time he felt she left him with no other
choice.

Angie shook her head helplessly. It was one
thing to talk about a marriage gone sour, but quite another to
divulge the hell Evan had put her through. There were some truths
far too painful to reveal.

"I can't, Matt. I just can't." Her voice
caught raggedly.

A minute slipped quietly by. Then
another.

"Is it always going to be like this with us?"
His voice cut through the tense, waiting silence. "One step
forward, two steps back?"

She couldn't face his demanding, accusatory
stare. Her gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap to
still their trembling. Why couldn't he just let her go? she
wondered despairingly. Couldn't he see what this was doing to
her?

Conversely, she realized he meant well.
Because he cared. And so did she. But she didn't want to feel this
way about Matt, or any man. She had suffered a betrayal of the
worst kind, and while the sane, sensible part of her said it wasn't
logical that her feelings should carry over to another man, another
part of her wasn't listening.

"I told you once I wasn't ready for
this."

When she finally looked up at him, her smile
was so sad, so bittersweet, he felt a gnawing ache begin deep
inside his chest. "And I told you we can get through this." His
chest expanded with a deep, unsteady breath. "We, Angie. Not just
you. And not just me, but us."

Together
, he meant. The word resounded
in her mind. "I wish I could believe that." Her voice was almost
whimsical, but her deep blue eyes seemed haunted.

Matt stood and advanced toward the door.
There he turned. "I want you, Angie, and I'm prepared to wait," he
said very quietly. "Because someday there won't be any secrets
between us." His eyes found hers across the width of the room.
"Someday soon."

The door closed softly behind him.