Last Light (13 page)

“Lee Child?” I grinned down at Matt.

Even after hours of fucking, my breath hitched at the sight of Matt naked. He sprawled on his back, hair wild and lids at half-mast. His lean, muscled limbs lay gracefully over the sheets. One arm bent above his head. And my eyes kept straying to his beautiful cock, which lay against his thigh. Good Lord … I felt like I was getting a full frontal from a male model.

He smiled lazily at me and I wanted to jump his bones. Again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Jack Reacher. He’s a badass.”

I finger combed a knot from my hair. “I wouldn’t know. I’m just surprised to see genre fiction on your bedside table.”

“Are you?” Matt sat up and moved behind me. He lowered my hands and began to carefully untangle my curls. “Well, for one thing…” He kissed my shoulder. “I write genre fiction, remember?
The Surrogate
is sci-fi. And then there’s
Night Owl
 … which is romance.”

My shoulders stiffened and I dug my fingers into the bed.

“You okay, little bird?”

I bit my lip. How could I explain to Matt that my defenses flew up at the mention of
Night Owl
? He would feel guilty, and it wasn’t his fault.

“It’s nothing,” I said.

Matt’s hands stilled.

“Is it horrible for you, Hannah? The book being out there. Are people bothering you?”

“No. It’s fine, really.”

“Are you sure? Babe, I know how it is … when your private life becomes public knowledge. I know how terrible that feels.”

“Matt, it’s no big deal.” I reached back and rubbed his thigh. What was he getting at? “People don’t know
Night Owl
is true, and no one is really harassing me about it. I’m not famous like you, remember? Nobody cares.” I smiled.

Okay, so I was lying. I
did
feel uncomfortable with
Night Owl
out in the public. The book was so raunchy … so detailed. And even my boss had read it. Mortifying.

I cleared my throat. “Nate’s obsession is a little worrying, but other than that…”

“He’ll drop it.” Matt sounded vaguely disappointed. “Trust me. He has no case.”

“Yeah, I hope so…”

Matt loosened another tangle from my hair. “Anyway … I like genre fiction, Hannah. Literary fiction teaches you how to write. Genre fiction teaches you how to plot.”

“You and your surprises.”

“You and your bird ways. You want some hot chocolate?”

“That sounds good. And I want to open my presents.”

I dressed in Matt’s shirt and he pulled on flannel pants. The cabin was delightfully warm.

Matt watched me as he filled the kettle. I loved it; he couldn’t take his eyes off me.

“You sure you don’t want me to boil the water?” I grinned.

“Ha. Stand back and watch a pro.”

I touched my lips as Matt struggled to get the burner lit.
Do not laugh, do not laugh …

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“This one burner requires some finessing,” he murmured.

“Fortunately you’re good with your hands.”

“Don’t you know it…” The flame burst out and Matt flinched. So did I. My poor adorable lover. How was he surviving?

He lit a fire and we sat on the couch with our cocoa. He brought my presents to the coffee table, piling them around Laurence’s cage.

“Sorry, Laurence, nothing for you. I didn’t know you were coming.” When Matt leaned toward the cage, Laurence pressed himself to the bars and sniffled at Matt’s nose.

Okay, that was the cutest fucking thing …

“Oh! Wait.” I dragged over my suitcase and retrieved the presents I packed, one for me and one for Matt. “From the condo, remember?”

Matt tilted his head. “Huh, you’re right. How the hell did we forget to open those?”

“It wasn’t Christmas. And we had a lot on our minds.” I smiled and leaned against Matt. His hand strayed up and down my bare thigh. “But this…” I moved my gift for Matt away from the pile. “Let’s open this one tomorrow.”

Matt was smiling roguishly. “No problem,” he murmured. “You sure that’s a gift for me, or is it a gift for you?”

“Both of us?” I grabbed one of my presents. My cheeks burned.

Matt had wrapped my gifts with plain red paper. He kept up a running commentary as I opened them. “I only go to one little grocery store,” he said. I hugged the stuffed rabbit and kissed Matt’s frown. “They only had Valentine’s stuffed animals.” Lube. “Not sure if you like that type.” Massage oil. “That was the best one I could find.” Chocolate. “You don’t have to eat it.” Three books—a new biography of Elliott Smith, Patti Smith’s memoir, and a romance novel.

“This is brilliant.” Matt tapped the memoir. “And this, I don’t know, it’s new and acclaimed. I know you like Elliott Smith.”

“And this?” I giggled, displaying the romance.

“Ah, that … I thought it would be funny.”

I read aloud from the back cover. “‘Destiny’s powerful new employer’”—I whipped my hair dramatically—“‘becomes a dark horse in the race for her heart.’”

We laughed.

I thanked Matt for my gifts and he went on apologizing. I gave him a long, languid kiss—and that silenced him.

“Matt, really,” I whispered against his mouth, “I’m so touched. I didn’t expect any of this.” I sat on his lap while I opened the present from the condo. “Did you wrap this?” The gold paper was creased like origami; the black ribbon wound around the box just so.

“Nah, I had it wrapped. I wrapped those—” He nodded toward my other gifts. “Which is why they looked like lumpy pillows.”

I laughed and kissed his chin. Lumpy pillows was putting it nicely.

“What can I say? I’m domestically challenged.” Matt lifted my shirt and stroked my bottom while I opened the box. I shivered. Absence doesn’t make the heart go yonder
or
grow fonder. Absence makes people horny as fuck.

Nestled in the box on a little satin cushion were a pair of silver earrings and a matching bracelet and ring. Delicate owl-shaped charms accented the jewelry. Rhinestones winked in the silver. I traced a finger over them. My night owl …

I kissed Matt’s chest. “They’re beautiful.”

“So you don’t forget about me.”

“Oh, please. I’ll never forget about you. Never.”

We kissed again and got tangled up. Matt’s hands drifted under my shirt. He caressed my back and sides, gently at first and then with growing urgency.

I didn’t know if I could go another round, but Matt wasn’t pushing it. In fact, he only seemed to want to touch me.

I savored our kiss and moaned as he touched my stomach, my breasts, my thighs.

“So beautiful,” he sighed against my neck. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re mine.”

I pushed my fingers through his thick black hair. “I feel the same way. I want to know you, Matt. I want to know you better.”

He sat back and his hands settled on my thighs. He gazed at me evenly.

“I hope you mean that in the biblical sense.”

I thwapped his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“What is this lately? You … feeling like you don’t know me.”

I tucked my head under his chin, avoiding his eyes. “Your memorial. Everyone at your memorial knew you better than I do.”

“Everyone at my memorial thought I was dead. I think you know more than they do.”

“Come on, I’m serious. You never talk about your parents, your brothers, your faith.”

Matt tensed beneath me. He slid me off his lap and stood. He began to pace beside the coffee table, watching the fire.

“What faith?” he said. “And what exactly do you want to know about my family?”

“Nate said you’re religious.” I fidgeted with my new earrings.

“Oh, you know me, a regular churchgoer.” Matt scowled. “Nate has a lot to say lately.”

“He said you believe in God.”

“So what if I do?”

“Matt, I’m not attacking you.”

Matt ranged over to the fire and I watched his back.
Hmmm,
I loved the way his spine disappeared into his low-slung pants.

“What do you want to know about Nate? Nate is Nate. Beautiful home, beautiful wife, beautiful kids. And he’s the only doctor. Our parents would be proud.”

“He seems happy. With the kids and all…”

Matt glanced over his shoulder at me. I dropped my gaze.

“Kids, huh? Is that what you’re driving at?”

“I’m not
driving
at anything. Chill. God.” I held up my hands and Matt frowned. “You’re being way feistier than this conversation warrants, do you realize that?”

He glared at the fire.

“I don’t remember my parents,” he said.

I knew that was a lie—or I had a hunch it was—but I let Matt keep rambling.

“Seth, there’s no love lost between us.” He waved a hand. “When I went through all my bullshit, you know, drinking and partying and … rehabbing … Seth wanted nothing to do with me. He saw the toll my behavior took on our aunt and uncle. He thought I’d be the death of them. Hell, I was almost the death of myself, but he didn’t seem to give a fuck.”

I began to crumple wrapping paper. I scanned the cabin for a trash can. Wow, had I ever dispatched the happy mood. Here I was, wanting to “talk” and get to know Matt, and now I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Matt was brusque. The conversation was morbid.

“Your inheritance,” I hedged. “How—”

“Not billions.” Matt collected the wrapping paper from my hands. He carried it to the trash can in the kitchen. “Millions. And since I know you’ll ask, my grandfather and his brother made their money opening factories in South America. All kinds of factories—tiles, bottles, energy plants. When a company was doing well, they sold it and moved on to something new. They were brilliant businessmen, worked all their lives, stayed ahead of the trends.”

Matt sounded bored. I cringed as I listened.

“The money’s been passed down. Mine is tied up in IRAs and investments, a little property in Montana, an offshore account. And of course there will be royalties.”

I closed the jewelry box and went to Matt. I hugged him from behind. His skin felt hot, firm and yet smooth. I laid my cheek against his shoulder blade.

“Is it so terrible, that I want to know this stuff about you?”

“No, Hannah.” He turned and tucked my body against his chest. “It’s not. But like this, it feels forced. I don’t want my phony memorial and a bunch of people who don’t even get me to be the reason you want to know me better, you know?” Matt cupped my face and lifted it. He watched me intently. “I want things to be natural between us. Let’s not live like other people. Let’s not be like other couples.”

Matt brushed a fingertip over my lips and I kissed it.

“I’m pretty sure we’re not like other couples,” I said.

He chuckled and a weight slid off my shoulders.
Whew.
Matt’s bad moods were steep and unpredictable, but they passed quickly.

We went back to bed and chatted about nothing serious. We fought sleep as long as we could, but around two we drifted off, Matt still mumbling as he slipped into dreams.

Chapter 20

MATT

I woke to the smell of coffee.

It’s Saturday.
The realization hit me in the gut. My only whole day with Hannah.

I splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth, and then I went to find her.

She sat on the kitchen counter with her iPad on her thigh. She wore a black lace baby doll and nothing else. When she saw me, she smiled and slid off the counter.

“Coffee?”

“Hm, maybe.” I nuzzled my nose into her hair. “Maybe you, then coffee.”

Hannah hugged me tight. I pinned her body against mine and ran my fingers over her ass, which her attire did nothing to hide.

“What time is it?” I murmured.

“Nine. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m usually up earlier.” I gazed down the back of Hannah’s body, trying to get a look at her legs.

“I think I wore you out last night. Do you want to write? I can entertain myself.”

“You seriously think I’d do that—with you here?” I drew back.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to mess with your … writing routine.”

I glanced in the direction of my desk. Before Hannah arrived, I’d stowed my notebook in the drawer and unplugged my laptop. I wanted no distractions. I also didn’t want to discuss my new story, because my new story was still our story. A continuation. A continued fixation with Hannah, or a new chapter in my obsession.

“What did you think of
Night Owl,
anyway?” I set her down on the counter and nudged my hips between her knees. She hooked her legs around my waist. “I mean, apart from the crazy online leak. What do you think of the book itself?”

Hannah frowned.

“Come on,” I said. I stroked her neck. “Let’s see those literary knives. I hope Pam’s rubbing off on you a little.”

“All right.” Hannah licked her lips. “I’ll be Hannah the almost literary agent and not Hannah your lover, is that what you want?”

“Yes, that’s what I want. You know I think of you as an equal.”

A shock of surprise passed over Hannah’s face. I frowned at that.

“Well. Okay.
Night Owl.
” She drew circles on my chest as she thought. “It’s different, of course, from your other stuff. So different. Even the language, the style.”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“It’s much simpler. Not … dumbed down, but faster. No philosophy, no cultural commentary. And the characters…” She laughed shakily.

“Go on,” I said.

“You—Matt, whoever—he feels very authentic. My character…” Hannah’s nose wrinkled. I kissed it. “Okay, my character feels a little 2-D at points. Sort of cliché.”

I laughed and backed out of Hannah’s legs.

“Thank you. Mm, I know. I know you don’t always ring true in that book. It’s hard to get in your head, Hannah.” I flashed a smile at her. I wanted to reassure her, to let her know that I wasn’t upset. Criticism from Hannah I could handle. And, from what I’d seen of her work at the agency, her editorial instincts were spot-on. “You see, I want us to be able to talk like this.”

“Me, too.” She smiled. “I loved it, by the way. For what it was, it worked. It succeeded.”

“Do you want to know how I feel about my books?”