Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (30 page)

But it hadn’t been. It had been a slow drip in Mr. Johnson’s outside spigot.

Abby now knew more about plumbing than she cared to. She had also learned the names and shapes of several hand tools. She even knew how many tabs a typical roofing shingle had. Gee, wouldn’t all that come in handy back at the
Up Close
office?

She groaned as she climbed the stairs. The week’s activities had left their mark in every muscle of her body. How did Matthew do it? She considered herself physically fit, but obviously not fit enough. She had muscles protesting that she didn’t even know existed.

Quietly she padded down the hall to Matthew’s door. It was open several inches, so she peeked inside. Located on the west side of the house, shadows still lingered in the large room. The covers were thrown back in the bed, the sheets twisted from a night’s sleep, but no Matthew.

The huge, inviting four-poster bed graced one side of the room. Other massive, masculine pieces of antique furniture were tastefully arranged about the rest of the room. A large braided rug dressed the wide expanse of wood floor. Her fear of being caught forgotten, she stepped into his room.

His private domain.

Matthew’s unique scent immediately cloaked her. Abby closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Need swept through her with such swiftness that she staggered in its wake.

Her eyes popped open and reality kicked in. Recognizing that lingering in his bedroom was not a smart move—especially considering her state of dress, or undress rather—Abby scurried back into the hall. About to step into the shower when she’d heard the telephone’s persistent ring, she’d only taken the time to pull on her robe. Though it was long and covered everything from shoulder to ankle, the fabric was thin.

Before she reached her own room, she paused and slowly turned back around. A door at the end of the hall was ajar. A door she hadn’t noticed before. Curious, she backtracked, passing Matthew’s room in the process. When she reached the door, she pulled it open a tad further and found a narrow, winding staircase.

Did the house have a third floor? An attic, she decided. The roof looked steep from the ground. There could be an attic up there. As silent as a mouse, and feeling every bit as sneaky as one, she climbed the crooked stairs. The quiet roared deafeningly in her ears as she rounded the last bend before reaching the top.

Big and bright, the room was much larger than she’d imagined and so bright that it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. Recessed windows on both the long walls allowed light to stream into the room. Huge diamond-shaped windows on each end allowed even more light inside. Like polished glass, the hardwood floor gleamed and reflected the bright morning sun. An old, comfortable-looking couch sat at an angle in the middle of the space, and beyond that stood...

Matthew.

His back turned to her, leaving him unaware of her presence, Abby took her time analyzing the scene before her. There was a long table and shelves beyond where he stood. Objects she couldn’t really identify from her position lined the shelves. Sketch pads opened to drawings in various stages of completion were propped along the walls, as if awaiting the artist’s attention.

The artist.

His entire attention focused on the task of stroking paint onto the canvas, he appeared to be the artist in question.

Why hadn’t he told her about this?

She’d had no idea that he had a hobby, much less one of this caliber. Abby quietly padded to the nearest drawing, picked it up and studied it. The man was good.

Recognition sparked. The charcoal drawing of the twins... Matthew had done that. Disappointment flowed through her. He hadn’t wanted her to know. She remembered the look he’d given Jenny when Abby had asked who the artist was.

When she looked up from the drawing in her hand, he was watching her, his gaze measured, uncertain. She carefully set the drawing down and moved in his direction. Awareness shivered through her.

Abby hesitated a few feet away, and allowed her gaze to meet his once more. “May I?” She gestured toward the painting.

Without answering, he stepped aside. She moved closer then. A landscape. She glanced from the canvas to the nearest window and recognized the scene. Matthew was painting the lovely mountains that reached skyward beyond the rolling pastures that surrounded his home.

“You’re very good.”

“It’s just something I do to unwind.”

Abby scanned the other drawings, walked to one in particular that sat near a window. It was Jenny, with an infant at her breast. A pang of want twisted inside Abby and for one brief moment she regretted her decision to steer clear of domesticity. She replaced the drawing, but her gaze lingered on the vivid rendering, done with such love, of mother and child.

“Don’t move.”

Abby glanced up. Matthew was scrutinizing her from head to toe. “What is it?”

“I want to draw you,” he murmured, distracted. “Don’t move,” he said again when she would have turned to face him more fully. “I want you just like that.”

If she wanted him to open up, she needed to be cooperative, she supposed. She stood in front of a long window, her profile under his intense scrutiny. The sun pouring from the glass warmed the silk covering her body. Her robe had slipped off her left shoulder. Quickly she reached to pull it up and Matthew shook his head.

“Leave it like that.”

He reached for a sketchpad and Abby’s throat parched. There was something incredibly attractive about the way the faded denim moved with his body. Muscle flexed and contracted beneath the soft material.

And then there was the way he looked at her, with such intensity. As if he could see deep inside, and touch her there. It was at that precise instant she knew she could never be impartial where Matthew was concerned. No way would she be able to maintain the professional distance as she’d promised herself the entire week.

Imprisoned by feelings she couldn’t begin to label, she couldn’t move... she could scarcely even breathe. She could only stand perfectly still while Matthew’s gaze caressed her as intimately as the hand of a longtime lover. Never taking his gaze off her, he seated himself on the arm of the sofa, sketchpad and pencil in hand, and began to draw.

~*~

Abby stood absolutely still and watched Matthew’s slow, sensual movements as his hand progressed over the sketchpad. She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, or how the drawing was coming along. She only knew she couldn’t take her eyes off him. All week she’d watched those talented, capable hands repair and restore. She’d imagined a thousand times over how they would feel against her skin, his fingers tracing every outline of her body. Her breath became shallow and heat poled between her thighs as desire sang through her veins. She wanted to categorize and memorize each and every part of him. Even his scent was already permanently imprinted in her memory, made her ache to taste him.

He stood finally, smiled down at his work, then lifted his gaze to her. “You want to take a break? I’m almost finished.”

Abby couldn’t slow the renewed desire rushing though her body at his coming nearer. How could he not know the effect he was having on her at this very moment?

“Would you like to see?” He stopped, mere inches from her, and displayed his work.

She accepted the pad, but immediately set it on the nearby table. “It’s wonderful,” she whispered.

He frowned. “You didn’t even look at it.”

“Later,” she managed in spite of the emotions paralyzing her ability to reason. She was too far gone to pretend any longer. With trembling hands, she reached out to touch his chest. Touching his bare skin sent another wave of white hot heat washing over her.

Matthew stood stock-still while she explored the amazing contours of his torso, the rounds of his arms, the ridges of his taut stomach.

She heard him whisper her name as he lowered his head. Gently he brushed his lips against hers, sending an explosion of sensations shattering through her. Then he drew back, leaving her lips empty, longing for more of him.

His gaze moved slowly from her lips to her eyes. “We shouldn’t do this.” His warm, coffee-scented breath whispered across her sensitized lips. “You can’t stay... I can’t go. There’s no future in whatever this is.”

Abby tiptoed and nipped at his lower lip, then smiled. “But we do have right now.”

He groaned as her arms slid around his lean waist. “I don’t think—”

“Don’t think, Matthew,” Abby whispered against the pulse throbbing at the base of his throat. “Make love to me.”

He pulled her against him then. The feel of his chest tantalizing her breasts through the thin silk, making her body ache to feel all of him against her—flesh to flesh. He held her tightly, his hands tracing her shape. Abby could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could hear the unevenness of his breath. His fingers fumbled with the sash of her robe. When it was at last loosened, he eased back a step, tugging the robe off of her shoulders so that it flowed down to puddle around her ankles.

“You’re so beautiful, Abby.” His gaze swept over her nude body and up to her face. A smile of approval touched his lips. He lowered his head to hers then and traced her lips with his tongue. “I want you so much.”

Leaving her mouth to burn for more, he moved down to caress her neck... her shoulders... leaving a trail of flames. With each kiss he whispered words of need and desire, while his skilled hands acquainted themselves with every part of her. He pulled her into his arms again, crushing her to him with the force of his rising need. Then claiming her mouth with his own, he kissed her long and deep.

Abby savored his special taste, the feel of his hard body against hers, the thrill of his kiss, slow, thorough. Matthew lifted and carried her the few steps to the sofa. Gently he eased her down, all the while showering her with more kisses.

Frantic to touch him more intimately, Abby stroked his arousal through the faded denim. Matthew groaned harshly, the sound echoing inside her mouth. She wanted to touch him all over, to feel his weight on her, but he resisted, hesitating to do what she wanted him to. His hand closed around her breast. His lips trailed over her skin, leaving a path of erotic sensation, until his mouth closed over her erect nipple. He sucked long and hard.

Abby held back a moan. Pure passion throbbed within her now, as her fingers found his zipper and fumbled with it. She could feel his erection straining against the denim.

“Wait,” he murmured against the shell of her ear, his breath ragged. “We need to slow down or this is going to be over before it starts.”

But she couldn’t wait. A need too long denied was spiraling out of control inside of her. She needed him now. “I can’t wait,” she urged, pushing her hands inside his jeans. Abby moaned at the feel of him in her hands. Matthew’s eyes closed with the pleasure-pain she knew her touch evoked. He was a big man, hard and pulsing. Her feminine muscles clenched in response.

Frantic now, she pushed his jeans over his hips and arched to meet him. In a move designed to drive her crazy, he rubbed his full arousal against her, once, twice, then a third time. Another wave of need seized her.

“Hurry, Matthew,” she demanded, unable to tolerate a moment more of this torture.

Wrapping her legs around his, Abby opened to him, and in one long, slow thrust he pushed inside her and started to move. Abby clutched his strong shoulders, her nails digging into his hot flesh. Climax came hard and fast, wrenching a cry from her that sent him over that same edge. He rolled to his side and pulled her against him. He held her that way for long minutes, as if he couldn’t risk letting go.

She caressed his strong, sweat-dampened back. Holding him closer to her heart than she’d ever held anyone before, feeling him pulse inside her in the aftermath of his powerful climax, reality hit Abby with a sudden clarity. She’d just given herself to this man, body and soul. A man with whom she could never allow herself to fall in love.

Never.

As if she had somehow telegraphed her thoughts, Matthew drew back and looked into her eyes.

“How will I ever let you go, Abby Wade?”

How would she ever go?

Chapter Eight

Abby watched Matthew play touch football with his firehouse buddies, and considered the situation. Was it possible that she was in love? Or was it...

Just sex, that’s all it could possibly be. Going without physical release for too long wasn’t healthy. And, of course, if the sex was really good then that was all the better for both parties.

But
good
didn’t begin to describe sex with Matthew. A pay raise was good; having an umbrella in a rain storm was good. Sex with Matthew was out of this world.

But that didn’t change anything. She would be on her way back to New York soon enough, and Matthew would stay here in Salem, enjoying everything a small town had to offer—which would never be enough for her.

By the end of the year she would be promoted at
Up Close
. She had a great apartment overlooking Central Park. The apartment had been a graduation gift from her father, but it still counted as an asset. She had an IRA that would make anyone green with envy, thanks to him, and she made pretty good money for an up and coming magazine reporter.

She had a great life.

In a great city.

What did these people have? Salem, population—not nearly enough. Not that Abby had anything in particular against small towns; they just weren’t busy enough. She loved activity. The rush of noise-filled air from the subway stations. The almost harmonious beeping and honking of car horns during rush-hour traffic. Even blaring sirens and urban crowds made her feel like she was a part of something alive and vibrant.

She thrived on the stress and energy that others complained about while lying on the couch in their psychiatrists’ offices. High powered meetings, impossible deadlines, designer caffeinated beverages—those were the things that gave her a high.

She didn’t need kids, and she sure didn’t need a husband.