One Blazing Night (3 page)

The technical stuff was utterly lost on him. But this was Sammy, the girl he remembered. The heels were unexpected, though. He knew she hated them. In fact, he could only remember her wearing them twice, and both times she'd taken them off at inappropriate times. Once, she'd been in the dean's office with some big-money alumni. Matt hadn't been there, but she'd told him that halfway through explaining her thesis, her feet had started killing her, so she'd taken off her heels and put them on the dean's desk. She'd shrugged and wondered why he'd been bent out of shape about it. The alumni had handed over a major check, which was what she had been there for...

Now she was walking him to the bedroom, and the walls were turning from violet to something much darker. When they entered the bedroom itself, the colors started climbing the wall, swirling as if there were smoke in the paint, or whatever it was.

“Oh, crap,” Sam said. “I forgot something.” She turned around and walked past him as if the apartment were on fire.

He followed her back down the hall. “What's going on?”

“Nothing. Everything's fine. You can take your bags to your room if you want. I'll just be a minute.”

“Should I be worried?”

The walls in the hallway had turned scarlet, and there was something about them that made him kind of...aroused. Not what he wanted to be. The two of them weren't like that. If she caught him with a pup tent, he was not going to be happy.

“You don't need to follow me,” she muttered over her shoulder.

“Just hold on a second, will you? Tell me what's going on.”

“Your bag. In your room,” she said. “Now would be good.”

Completely baffled, he stopped and watched her enter the kitchen and walk to the pantry. She opened the door, stepped inside, then closed the door behind her.

“What, you need a cookie?”

“Go put your bag away,” she said, her muffled voice sounding stressed.

“Are you sick? You can tell me.”

“Matthew. Go. Away.”

“Fine,” he said as he wandered into the living room and waited by a glass table that sat in front of the couch. It was the perfect vantage point, putting the pantry door in his line of sight without his crowding her. There was a small fountain trickling away somewhere, which was very pleasant, but he only had eyes for the pantry. He noticed, as he stared, that the room smelled really good. Was that what was making him horny? He was pretty damn controlled about these things, but after a few minutes of deep focus, he started to wilt.

Maybe it wasn't the smell. The color of the walls, then? But why would she want him to get worked up? The idea didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have, but it still made no sense.

The minutes ticked by and he considered getting his bags and putting them in the bedroom, but no. He was going to wait for her. If she was sick, he wanted to be available. Although a person about to be sick would usually head to the bathroom, but then, Sammy had always walked her own unique path.

The walls went white. All of them, all at once. It was highly dramatic. And a little scary. “Sam?”

3

S
AM
EXITED
THE
PROGRAM
and tucked her phone in her pocket. She hoped that took care of the damn mood sensors. Except now it was totally dark.

Oh, right. She opened the door.

Matt's bags were still in the foyer. He was standing near the entrance to the kitchen and was staring at her as if he expected her to say something. Only she wasn't sure what that thing was.

Matt spoke first. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Why wouldn't it be?” She glanced around her, trying to pretend her being in the pantry with the door closed was no big deal.

Matt walked straight past her, stepped inside the pantry, looked around and then came out a minute later carrying a box of gingersnaps.

She should have gone to the bathroom. Obviously. Why had she headed for the
pantry
,
of all places? “It was just work stuff. The wall-color program wasn't working right.”

“I see,” he said, opening the box of cookies and holding it out to her.

She grabbed a few, knowing she was still blushing. Not a thing she could do about that. Maybe she should just wear blush-colored makeup. Huh. That way he'd never know when she was really blushing. “Anyway,” she said, still chewing the little piece of cookie she'd bitten off.

“Have dinner with me?”

Her mouth stilled along with her brain. “What?”

“Dinner. With me.”

“I have to go back to work. I have a deadline to meet.”

“Okay. How about I get takeout from one of your many menus and bring it to your lab? I'd love to see it. I wouldn't stay long. Just enough for a quick tour and a quicker dinner.”

“No,” she said, her heart taking it up a notch. “I really have to work.”

“I understand, but you also have to eat.” He captured her hand and pulled her close.

Her hand, the one without the cookies, went right to his chest. For a moment, she froze. Just being this close to him was amazing... Smelling his wonderful scent, parts of her touching parts of him. She leaned back to look at him, to try to figure out what was going on. And met his gaze. His warm brown eyes. The eyes she'd known so well she had seen them in her sleep. “What are you doing?”

“You've filled out nicely,” he said, tightening his arm around her, “but I bet you're still skipping meals. It's not a good habit, Sammy. And I don't want to play a part in it. Tonight that means you're eating with me one way or another.”

Sam's mouth opened but nothing came out. She felt more confused than anything. Part of her wanted to melt into a puddle. Because he was flirting? Was that what he was doing? That was the problem. She didn't know. Not with Matt. Any other man who got this close, she would've been able to read.

But one thing was for sure—her heart rarely beat this fast. Even if he was just being nice, there was a fair chance she was going to hyperventilate.

Or she might just throw her arms around his neck and hang on forever. Years' worth of fantasies didn't just disappear because she'd forced herself to move on.

She pushed against his hard chest. “How come you're not bothering your family instead of me?”

Matt let her go so quickly she had to take a step back. “Hey, I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't mean to—”

“Stop. You didn't.” Her heart hurt at his wounded look, and she wished she could take the words back. She felt like a fool, a terrible fool, for making him feel bad when she knew better. He was just being nice. “Fine,” she said, knowing it was a mistake. “We'll eat. Somehow. Together.”

“Wait. Will that mean you'll have to work until some god-awful hour?”

He had a point.

She looked down and gasped a little when she saw her hand was still on his chest. He'd let her go, but she hadn't followed suit.

She smiled in what she hoped was a cavalier way, patted said chest and took a few steps back. “When was the last time you went for a run in the Fens?”

“Oh, man,” he said, pushing a hand through his neatly trimmed brown hair. “I can't even remember.”

Perfect. “How about you get settled here while I go to the lab for a couple of hours? Then we can go for a run. Or walk. Whatever.”

He laughed. Shook his head. “For your information, Miss O'Connel, I'm in excellent shape, which I know you know. You want to run? I'm in. But after that? We eat.”

She didn't want to discuss dinner. A run was already on her schedule. For her it was a must, no matter how much work piled up. So it was the perfect solution. They could talk and get caught up with each other. Best of all, she'd be less likely to do something humiliating if they were doing something so casual. “Can you do ten miles?”

“I can, but I don't want to. I'd rather save time for dinner, even if it's just a quickie.” He paused while she blushed three shades of red and then he continued as if he hadn't noticed. “If I remember correctly, a lot of unsavory folks hang out at the Fens.”

“It's different now. It'll be nice. I go there a lot. Let's meet at Westland Gate.”

Matt nodded, then said something she didn't catch. He'd shifted so that the sunlight coming in through the window picked up some gold in his brown hair. The past ten years showed in his handsome face. Fine lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes. His mouth was the same, only now there were long grooves bracketing each side, making him look a little more rugged and very sexy.

“Sam? Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked what time.”

“Time for what?” She remembered as soon as he smiled. And dammit, her cheeks got hot. For the millionth time. Jesus. That makeup idea was sounding better and better.

* * *

I
T
TOOK
HIM
no time to unpack. He'd learned all the tricks. Had to, with all the traveling he did for work. But this was different. He hadn't taken any real time off in so long that he'd forgotten about relaxation brain. It was as if he'd taken a mild anesthetic, so everything was a bit hazy. A strong cup of coffee and a brief nap would solve that. Or a shower.

Coffee first, call his office second, his father third, then shower.

The coffee, it turned out, was simple to make and fantastic. He texted a note to his assistant about the brand, which he'd never heard of, determined to have it stocked in his New York office. There was an extravagant number of treats in the pantry—those gingersnaps turned out to be just the tip of the iceberg. His personal favorite, shortbread, was there—three different types of it. He liked them all. But he had to ration things like that because he still hoped to have dinner with Sam after the run.

He was on the phone for a few minutes with his assistant, Andrew, who'd been busy supervising the work they'd done in Budapest, where Wilkinson was buying land for a new hotel. Nothing new had come up, and they arranged to speak again in a few days.

Matt refilled his coffee before he speed-dialed his father's private line from his cell phone.

“Matt, I was just thinking about you,” his dad said when he picked up. His old man wasn't that old. Sixty-two, and he worked out five days a week. Didn't smoke. Drank in moderation. Was still married to Matt's mother after almost forty years. “When are you coming to Boston?”

“I don't know. I'm taking some downtime before all the hoopla starts.”

“Good for you. I told you about that new resort upstate, right?”

“Yeah, you did. It sounds great, but mostly I just want to sleep. You know how it is coming back from Asia.”

“The work you did on the Tokyo job was top-notch. I've sent a report to the board. It'll help.”

“Thanks. But we still have to get Bannister, Truit and Lee over to our side. Or at least one of them.”

“It'll happen.” His father sounded so sure. “Let me know when you're coming in. Will you be staying in the hotel?”

“I don't know yet. I'll give you a call.”

His father made a sound, which was his way of saying goodbye, and Matt hung up the phone. Matt didn't make it a habit to lie to his father. He just didn't want to face work yet. The fund-raising gala was coming up, then the board meeting two days later, which would determine his future. Jesus, he hated that his life was out of his direct control.

For now, though, his most pressing concern was getting in the shower.

He pressed the remote that controlled the many, many jets in the shower proper, but he didn't explore their permutations, because he was too busy checking out all the creams and lotions. Sam hadn't skimped on anything. The body creams alone were worth several grand in total. La Mer, La Prairie, Guerlain. There were also sea-salt scrubs, high-end body washes and ridiculously expensive shaving gel. The Wilkinson Hotels were known for their luxurious accommodations, but even their finest suites didn't boast the cornucopia of indulgence that Sam had supplied. She'd even stocked his particular favorites. Had to be pure coincidence since there was no way she could've known.

Her paying guests were never going to want to leave after staying here. He hoped she realized she'd be asked to customize the homes of private individuals. If he ever built a home, he was calling Sam first.

Thinking of Sam while his body was being massaged by water from neck to toe, he couldn't help imagining how much fun it would be to experiment on her. He'd use the La Mer, of course, and the Creed body wash. But that Acqua di Parma Magnolia Nobile shower gel was too sweet for him—perfect for her. Especially if he got to be the one to slather it on.

Oh, shit.

He wasn't allowed to masturbate to thoughts of Sam. Nohow, noway. He focused on other images. Like Sam in running— No. Even his tried-and-true go-to for nights when all he really wanted was to go to sleep wasn't cutting it. At last, after he turned the temperature on the jets way down, his libido calmed down, and he finished showering as quickly as he could.

By the time he got his towel, he was cold and angry that he didn't have better control over his thoughts. This was Sam. Jesus.

The only thing that might explain his traitorous brain was the contrast between the teenage Sam he'd known and the Sam he'd met today.

Regardless, he had to get a grip on his impulses. He shaved at the sink and tried out the Armani aftershave. After putting on his running gear, he had time to search Yelp for takeout by the Fens, in case she didn't want to come back to the apartment. They could just eat at Bravo if they finished running by seven thirty, but that didn't sound likely. Or they could grab a pizza or some burgers at one of the nearby take-out joints. Whatever was the quickest. He didn't want her forced to work half the night in order to squeeze in a meal with him. But it was just so damn good to see her that he'd selfishly snatch whatever time she'd make for him.

A quick look at his watch told him he had a half hour to kill before he left. So he called and ordered a taxi, then watched her awesome smart TV, where some nice person had left a recorded Manchester United game from earlier in the year. Another thing his travels had addicted him to: football. The soccer kind.

When his phone alarm went off, he flicked off the TV with a voice command, checked his wallet and key, got a bottle of water from the store that was Sam's kitchen, and went outside to wait for his cab. His heart was beating a little too quickly for a man his age. He should probably look into that.