Merry and Bright (23 page)

“I walked in on her having a fun time in the bathroom,” she said, booting up Belinda’s computer and chewing on a nail while she waited, silent and stewing.

He also loved watching her sizzle, but this was more, there was sadness, too, and he moved closer. “Fun. You mean sex?”

“I just never thought he had it in him—” Computer booted, she began clicking on the keys, but something in her tone had him taking her arm, pulling her up and around to face him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, looking at a spot somewhere over his shoulder.

Cupping her jaw, he waited until her eyes met his. And in them he found his answers. “
Ned
,” he said softly. “That asshole.”

“Yes, well, you’re right about that,” she said in a lofty tone that didn’t fool him one bit. He remembered the night of the party. She’d thought he was Ned. She’d asked him why he never kissed her.

And now she was doubting herself. “You are far too good for him, Cami.”

“Really? Then why does no one else want to date me either? Why do I have to beg men to kiss me? Oh, forget it—Oof—” she said when he tugged her back against his chest.

“I do not want a pity kiss,” she choked out, hands flat on his pecs.

“That’s good, because you’re not getting one.” With one hand anchored low on her spine, the other slid into her hair at her nape. Watching her, he lowered his head. “This is the real thing,” he murmured.

“Matt . . .”

“Shh.” When their mouths connected, he felt it reverberate through him. Like coming home, he thought.

With a surprised murmur, she pressed even closer, tentatively touching her tongue to his. He lost it. Growling low in his throat, he dug in, losing himself in the feel and taste of her, pulling back only when she put her hands against his chest and pushed.

He stared down at her, and she stared right back, not trying to break free, just breathing like a lunatic and blinking those huge, expressive eyes at him, as if coming awake from a long sleep. “I don’t think—”

“Perfect. Don’t think.” And he took her mouth again, savoring her soft little whimper of pleasure and the way she fisted her hands on his shirt, anchoring him close. He had no idea how long they went at it this time before they had to stop again to breathe. He’d pressed her back against the desk, and had one hand on her sweet ass, the other toying with the strap of her tank top, a muscled thigh shoved between her softer, more giving ones. Her nipples were boring holes into his chest, and he was so hard he couldn’t see straight. “God, you look good here.”

“In the mail room?”

“In my arms.”

“I don’t need pretty words, Matt. I’m not the kind of woman a man fusses over.”

“Then you’ve been with the wrong men.”

“Agreed.”

He looked down into her flushed face. Her lips were full, and still wet from his. Her eyes were luminous, and shining with so much emotion she took his breath. “I could be the right man,” he said quietly.

She laughed, then her smile faded when he didn’t laugh back. “You’re . . . not kidding.”

“No.” This wasn’t just play, or just a kiss. This wasn’t just lust, although he felt plenty of that right this very minute.

It was the real thing
.

But she shook her head. She didn’t believe him. Hell, he couldn’t blame her, given his life and the way he’d lived it—one day and one woman at a time. He wouldn’t have believed him either. “I want to be with you,” he said, and though it might have sounded rash, it wasn’t. It’d been building for a long time. “Exclusively.”

“What?”
She shook her head, as if certain she’d heard him wrong. “What does that mean?”

“You might have heard of it. It’s called dating.”

She gave him a long look. “I wasn’t under the impression that you understood the word
exclusive.
”

“I understand more than you think.” He kissed her just beneath her ear, enjoying the way she clutched at him and shivered. “Watch out, I just might convince you to believe in this. In me.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Pushing away now, she turned to the computer. Then, after a moment, she glanced back at him, looking uncertain. “What I’m going to do here is a bit of an invasion of privacy. You might want to go home and pretend you never saw me here tonight.”

“You’re going to look through people’s e-mail files. Specifically, the e-mails sent to the newspaper.”

“Yes.”

“You really think someone is stupid enough not to have deleted the correspondence?”

“I’m banking on it.”

He smiled. “E-mail files here at the city offices are public records. So technically, there’s no invasion of privacy, because there is no privacy. Scoot over.”

She looked surprised. “It might take a while.”

“I realize that, Sherlock.”

“Don’t you have a date or something?”

“Two things, Cami. One, not all men are scum. Two, I just told you I wanted to date
you.
And only you.”

She never took her eyes off him as she absorbed his words, looking so bewildered. And so heart-breakingly unsure, as if no one had ever made her such a promise.

Hell, he’d never made such a promise himself.
He
should be the terrified one. And there was some of that, but also an inexplicable sense of hope. “Scoot over,” he said again, gently.

After a moment’s consideration, she made room for him at her side. Just where he wanted to be.

5

B
y two
A
.
M
.
they’d gotten through half the offices and had found something both shocking and morbidly interesting. There wasn’t just one employee e-mailing information to the newspaper, but a spattering of them, none from the same department, and none who had any obvious connections to each other.

Was everyone in this building losing their minds?

They were missing something big here, Cami knew it, and because she did, she refused to give up.

Oddly enough, so did Matt. He’d benefited from what had happened to the town council more than anyone. He’d become mayor because of it. It would be further to his benefit to leave it all alone.

And yet he stayed, brow furrowed in concentration, fingers clicking across the keyboards as fast as her own, concentrating intently on everything they went through.

He was on her side.

They’d been on the same side before, and they’d been on opposite sides. He was a fierce competitor, she knew this.

And also fiercely loyal.

The combination, the dichotomy of him, fascinated her, when she didn’t want to be fascinated.

And now he’d said he wanted to date her. Imagine that. She and Matt. The problem was, she
couldn’t
imagine it. So she organized her thoughts like she did everything else and put them out of her way for now, to be obsessed about later. Far later.

Matt suggested they wait until they finished going through all the rest of the computers before making their findings known, which would take at least one more night, possibly two. They went to the employee break room for food, and Matt came up with a package of donuts. “Probably stale, but chocolate is chocolate.”

Cami stared at the donuts, mouth watering as she went to war with her old fat self.

Eat them,
that old fat self begged.

You might as well just spread them over your hips,
sneered her new, thinner self.

“Split them with me?” He was already breaking into them, sending the scent of sugary sweet chocolate wafting across the room.

Her stomach growled. “Um . . .”
Get some control, woman.
“No, thanks.”

“Sure?” He shoved one in his mouth and moaned unapologetically. His tongue darted out to catch a crumb off his lip. “Nothing like the rush of sugar at two in the morning.”

He was smiling, his eyes filled with pleasure. He found pleasure in everything he did, whether it was working, laughing, arguing . . . She imagined he’d be like that in bed, too. Her belly tightened.

He caught her looking at him and smiled. “Change your mind?”

Had she? He was cocky, edgy, at times arrogant, and then there was the fact that she couldn’t outwit him like she could most others. Which in effect meant she couldn’t control him, or how she felt about him.

Just like she couldn’t control the urge for donuts.

“Cami?”

“No, I haven’t changed my mind. Not about anything.”

Without looking too disturbed, he popped another donut into his mouth and brushed the sugar off his hands. “Your loss.”

It didn’t matter to him either way, she knew that. He’d probably already forgotten he’d said he wanted to date her.
Exclusively.
Men like him said stuff like that all the time just to get laid.

At least she hadn’t fallen into that trap.

“You have a thing against stuff that’s good for you?” he asked.

“The stuff you’re referring to is
bad
for me.”

“I wasn’t talking about the donuts.”

“Neither was I.”

He laughed softly, and again the sound scraped at a spot low in her belly. “All work and no play . . .” he began.

“Makes me feel worthwhile.”

“Do you ever let up on that self-control?” He looked genuinely curious. “Just to enjoy yourself?”

“I don’t like to deviate from a plan.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said with feeling, reminding her of all the times they’d gone head to head over one of her “plans.”

“If I’m driving you so crazy, why are you here?”
Using words like exclusive?

He stepped close. “Oh, you’re most definitely driving me crazy.”

“Then why—”

He put a finger to her lips, his touch making her heart race, reminding her how much her body craved him. “You’re also making me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time,” he said. “I like you, Cami. A lot, I’m finding. Now, about deviating.” He cupped her face. “Buckle in, because this is a big step off the planned path for the evening.”

“Matt—”

He kissed her. It was another of those soul-deep connections that had her hands lifting of their own accord, anchoring her to him as her fingers dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders. A soft little murmur escaped her, horrifying in its dark neediness, but there it was. Undeniable.

She wanted this more than the donuts, and that was saying something. She held on tightly, purring in pleasure when his hands roamed up and down her back, squeezing her bottom, her hips, up to her breasts. His thumbs made a pass over her nipples, and when he found them hard, he let out a rough sound that rumbled from deep in his throat.

She let out a matching moan when she heard it, and the desperation behind it, and she pushed at him.

He lifted his head, looking hot and bothered and extremely sexy for it.

She staggered back against the refrigerator, feeling drugged. And achy, deliciously so. “That’s . . .” Words failed, so she just fanned the air in front of her hot face.

He wasn’t breathing any more steadily than she was. “I see what you mean about planning.” His voice was husky and aroused. “If we’d planned that, maybe I wouldn’t feel as if I’ve just been hit by a bus.”

“There’s no plan in the world that can prepare you for
that.
”

“Which proves that it’s okay to wing it once in a while.”

“I can’t argue with you when my brain is fried.” She poured herself a large, cold drink of water. It didn’t cool her off. “I need to do something organized right now,” she decided.

“Right now?”

“Right now.”
She opened the drawer by the sink. A mess. Perfect. She began to straighten the forks and spoons and pencils and matches, pulling out a Christmas CD that someone had shoved in and forgotten.

Matt leaned against the counter. “Let me get this straight. You can face the entire town council and argue a point until their eyes cross, but you can’t face me?”

She stilled her fingers, hating her weaknesses. “You’re right. I should do my own office first.” She marched out of the break room and into her office. “Go home,” she said when he followed her so closely she couldn’t get her door shut without taking off his nose. “Get some sleep.”

“I’d rather watch you organize your already perfectly organized office.”

Jaw set, she went to her desk, pulling her top drawer open. Damn if every single thing wasn’t already in place.

“So you’re obsessive-compulsive as well as anal,” he said conversationally.

“I organize when I’m nervous or upset. It’s no big deal. I’m sure you do something for your nerves, too.”

“Sure. Face the problem.”

She whipped up her head, met his gaze.

“Talk to me,” he said softly.

She looked down at the pencils and pens carefully set in their proper slots. She had one for erasers, too. And her tape. Her stapler. Everything was perfectly aligned.

“Cami.”

In spite of his sincerity, she still hesitated. This wasn’t an easy admission. “I used to be fat,” she finally said. There. She said it out loud for the first time. “All throughout my childhood and school years. I was the fat kid in a fit, active, successful family. They were all perfect, and I wasn’t.” He wasn’t running for the hills yet, so she went on. “Then I left home and went to college, out of the reach of my parents and brother and sister. I lost fifty pounds and got control of myself.” She straightened her shoulders. “Being in charge and organized and controlling is who I am, and I realize you might see it as neurotic, but being this way makes me feel good about myself.”

“You
should
feel good about yourself.”

She didn’t dare look at him or absorb his approval. “Once in a while I let myself relax, I let myself cheat. So I am warning you now, the next time you offer me donuts, be prepared to lose your fingers.”

He didn’t laugh or mock her. He didn’t even smile. Instead, he stepped closer, lifting her chin with a finger. “We grew up in the same town, remember? I know how you used to be.”

“You know I used to be fat?”

Now that finger traced her hairline. “I played basketball with your older brother. You came to the games.”