Paradise Found (16 page)

“Sara.” Matt's breathing was hard and heavy as he thrust into her. Deep. Deeper. Her body still pulsed with the aftermath of her climax when a fresh wave of sensation rolled over her. The feeling…the fullness… Matt thrust one last time, let out a groan and joined her.

This is heaven. Now I know. I've seen it, touched it, tasted it…

Several minutes passed before Matt said, “Tell me about the condom.”

“What?” She'd been hoping he wouldn't notice, or at least not comment if he did. But she should have known he'd want to scrutinize the situation, investigate the details. “It's been a long time.” A marriage and a pregnancy ago…

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

His mouth flattened into a thin line. “Well, we'll just have to see that you get more practice, now won't we?”

She wanted to tell him he had nothing to be jealous of, but it would show her extreme inexperience against a man who'd probably be able to use every one of the twenty-something foil packets littering the bed and floor on his lovers.

At a limit of one per woman.

Sara didn't want to be just another statistic, didn't want to think about the others before her, or the possibility of others after her. But with a man like Matt, who had women sticking to him like bubble gum on a hot sidewalk, it was hard not to imagine those things, especially when she herself was the sugar-free nonstick kind who wouldn't dream of clinging to a man.

“What are you thinking?” His deep voice broke into her thoughts.

About you. Losing you
. “Nothing really.”

“You got quiet all of a sudden.” He reached out to touch her hair. “You're not regretting this, are you?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

He shrugged his big shoulders. “I don't know. Maybe because more than anything, I don't want you to regret it.”

“I don't,” she whispered, snuggling against his chest.

A slow smile curved his lips. “Then why don't we try out Blast Me Away Blue?”

Sara giggled. “I think it's on the floor beside Orgasmic Orange.”

“Better yet. Let's try them both.”

A long while later, they slept in each other's arms, three discarded foil packets at the foot of the bed. Blast Me Away Blue, Orgasmic Orange, and Say Yes Silver.

Matt walked into the kitchen and tossed a workout towel around his shoulders. “Hey, Rosa, when Adam gets here, will you tell him I'm in the weight room?”

“I will tell him.”

“Thanks.” He flashed her a grin. “What's that I smell? Spaghetti with chiles? Frijoles in sauce? Pork Lo Mein?”

Her laughter tinkled around him. “No, no. Is Miss Sara’s favorite. Spanish rice with cornbread.”

“Hmm. Any meat tucked away in there?”

“Chicken with pork.”

“Good job, Rosa. I might just have to marry you yet,” he teased.

She
tsk-tsked
him. “Not me, but perhaps it is time you settle down, find nice wife, have few babies ...” Her singsong voice trailed off, leaving a range of possibilities dangling in her unspoken words.

He sighed. The woman was relentless. She'd been dropping discreet little hints regarding his marital status for the last five days. Rex was no better. He'd offered to drive him and Sara anywhere, even suggested Las Vegas as a nice starting point. According to Rex, a person could play a couple hands of Black Jack, eat a lobster dinner, get married, and be back in the casino by seven o'clock. His delivery was so smooth Matt almost missed the marriage part.

The only one who hadn't joined in on the
Marry Matt and Sara
campaign was Adam. Maybe because he just plain hadn’t been around. He'd said something about business in San Diego. Or was it Seattle? Damn if he could remember.

Sara was doing it to him again. Witch. She had her claws in him but good and she hadn't even been trying. They'd made love the past five nights and it had been incredible. More than incredible. Almost ethereal. When they were together, she gave everything—her heart, her soul, her delectable body. It was that total selflessness that made him want to give back—made him want to keep giving. He'd never known that feeling with any other woman, but Sara wasn’t just any other woman—she was Sara. His Sara.

The back door clicked open, saving Matt from further contemplation on his feelings for Sara.

“Anybody home?”

“Hey, Adam,” he called out. “In here.”

“Hi, Rosa,” Adam said. “What's for dinner? No. Don't tell me. Let me guess.” There was a long pause. “I think it's one of my very favorite meals. Turkey with stuffing and mashed potatoes.”

She laughed. “You are silly man.”

“Okay,” he teased. “Then it must be pork and sauerkraut.”

That made her
tsk tsk
again. “Silly, silly boys. Is Miss Sara's favorite. Spanish rice with cornbread.”

“Oh.” Pause. “I see.” Another pause. “It smells wonderful.” Matt didn't miss the way Adam’s voice slid downhill at the mention of Sara.

“Dinner's a long way off,” Matt said. “We've got some weights to lift.”

“Right behind you,” Adam said, more like his old cheerful self.

The first hour went as usual. Free weights first, followed by universal. Neither spoke much, which wasn't unusual. They preferred to focus on the workout and save the talk for later. Forty-five minutes into the second hour, Matt finished his cool down and dragged his legs from the treadmill to the weight bench. He plopped down, ran a towel over his sweaty face, and waited for Adam to finish with the rowing machine.

“Almost done,” Adam huffed.

“Take your time.” It would give him a few more minutes to decide how he wanted to approach the subject. There was only one thing that needed said —
Don't waste your time brooding over Sara, because she's mine
. Of course, he couldn't be so blunt about it and risk damaging their relationship. In all of their years together, through all of their women, they'd never let one come between them and it was not going to happen now.

“Done.”

Matt swiped the towel over his face and neck and said, “Not bad, for an old man.”

Adam laughed. “Right.”

No sense stalling any longer. “Where were you these last few days? I know you must have told me, but I can't remember.”

“Working.”

“Out of town?”

“No.”

“Oh.”
So they were back to monosyllables again.

“Yeah.”

Something was definitely wrong.
“Okay.”

“Look, Matt, I've been staying here since your accident. You're doing fine. It's time I got back to my own place.”

“Right.”
Is that the real reason?

“I thought I'd pack up my stuff this afternoon.”

“No rush. The room's yours. For whenever.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you. I know I wasn't the easiest person to be around these past several months. I appreciate you sticking by me.”

“We're family,” he said.

“That's right.”
And family talks to one another. And asks questions. Uncomfortable questions.
He drew in a deep breath. “What's going on between you and Sara?”

“Nothing.”

Let's try again
. “She said you were good friends.”

“We are.”

Okay. Time to toss out a feeler.
“But you'd like more.”

“I didn't say that.”

“We're not in a courtroom or a boardroom. Can't you just answer the damn question?”

“It wasn't a question. It was a statement.”

“Thank you, Attorney Brandon. Let me rephrase my statement. Would you like it to be more?”

“It doesn't matter what I want,” he answered, sidestepping the question. “Sara isn't interested.”

“No?”

“She's interested in someone else.”

So he knew. How much had she confided?

“He'd better not hurt her.”

“He won’t.”
I mean, I won't.

“If you say that, then you don't know him as well as I do. He never intends to hurt any of his women, but eventually, he tires of them or something about them. Their company, their voice, their choice of shoes. It doesn't matter. When he's had enough, he sends them away, usually with an expensive gift to stop the tears.”

“Sounds like a great guy.”
Is that how he sees me? As an arrogant, uncaring, self-centered user?

“Actually, he is, except when it comes to his love life.” Adam sighed. “But you can't blame it all on him. Women use him, too.”

“What about this one?” He knew the answer, but there was some part of him that needed reassurance.

“This one's the only one who could care less if he has a Black Card or that he can walk into any restaurant without a reservation. She cares about him. Period.”

“And he cares about her, so what's the problem?” And why the hell were they still talking in third person, when they both knew they were referring to him?

“She's not a short-timer. This woman's a keeper.”

“I don't think he's making plans to get rid of her.”

“She's the marrying kind.”

Silence.

“We both know he isn't,” Adam said.

More silence. Matt had always told himself he'd never get married, never get boxed in. Better to ride on the outside of commitment, bob and weave in the relationship arena—keep things fresh, fun, fast. Impersonal. Why would he put himself in a situation where another person could peck away at his character, thrust expectations and values on him that were not his? Demean him, as his mother had done to his father. He'd watched the old man withdraw, one year at a time, until he'd erected an armor that shielded him from everything—his wife's dissatisfaction with him, her cruel words. Her separate bed. Even his children's love. He rarely spoke or gave an opinion, even when solicited. The only time the old man came alive was in Three Rivers Stadium watching the Pirates. A few hours a week or month, at best. A sad, pathetic existence. Who needed it? His father had to die to get a little peace. And then came Sara with her husky voice and innocent ways.

She was messing up his frame of reference and making him question his own beliefs.

“She's been hurt before.”

That got his attention. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. She's been hurt before. Bad.”

By a man?
The thought of some other man's hands on her body made him sick. “Who?” It was the only word he could push out of his mouth.

Adam didn't answer at first. “Maybe you should ask her.”

“Tell me. Who was it?”

“Her ex-husband.”

“Ex-husband?” If Adam had said an ax murderer or a man with three heads, he wouldn't have been more shocked. “I wasn't aware she had one of those.”
Damn right I wasn't aware.

“She does. He left her to move in with his girlfriend the day she lost their baby.”

Baby?
Matt plowed a hand through his hair and said, “Are we talking about the same woman?”

“It's Sara.”

“Jesus.” It was just too much to comprehend. He hadn't felt this overwhelmed since he'd lain in a hospital bed, listening to the doctor talk about Seeing Eye dogs. “Why didn't she tell me herself? And why the hell did she tell you?”

“She told me because we're friends. As for why she didn't tell you, I guess you'll have to ask her yourself.”

“Friends.” He couldn't get past the word.

“Yeah, friends.” The challenge hung in the air.

And what was he to Sara? A recreational sport? Her second favorite pastime? What right did she have keeping something like an ex-husband and a dead baby from him? She'd had plenty of opportunities to tell him. He could even recall a few instances where he'd accused her of not knowing real pain and loss. And she'd said nothing to dispute his claim.

Well, she'd sure made him look like a fool, getting him to spill his sad tormented story to her and giving nothing in return. Or very little. But she’d gone and told Adam, because he was her
friend.
A slow pain wrapped itself around his heart, squeezing, until the hurt was so excruciating, he thought his heart would burst. But it didn't. It kept beating. Damn it all, it just kept beating, one miserable ache at a time.

“Don't be too hard on her.”

Matt ignored his brother, wanting to stay adrift in the pain and anguish of Sara's betrayal. “Are there any other little secrets I should know about?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, I'll consider that a plus.”

“I'm sure she was going to tell you,” Adam said.

“After she told you, of course,” he said, annoyed with the knowledge that left to her own devices she still wouldn't have revealed the truth. “When do you think she might have mentioned that little fact to me
?” After we slept together a dozen times? Two dozen?

“I don't know.”

“Neither do I, but I intend to find out.”

***

Sara was already in the study waiting for Matt. She scanned the computer screen, reading the material they'd worked on yesterday. Jack Steele was working his way into her heart. Under that arrogant chauvinistic armor he wore, there was a tender, caring side that showed itself every once in a while. Not often, but on rare occasions, the reader got a glimmer of it. If her instincts were correct and her powers of persuasion forceful enough, this macho, love 'em and leave 'em guy just might realize he'd fallen for the innocent brunette with the big amber-green eyes.

And maybe, just maybe, another macho, love 'em and leave 'em guy, might realize the same thing about her. She hoped. The past five days had been filled with long walks on the beach, visits to the local market, hours of committing Jack Steele's escapades to the hard drive and talking. Real talking—about attitudes, perceptions, ideas. There were also great gaps of silence, when just being together and holding hands was communication enough.

And the nights, well they had their own form of communication, unlike any she'd experienced before. Matt might not be able to identify her by sight, but his hands knew every inch of her body and she was learning every inch of his.

The door opened, interrupting her thoughts
. Matt
. Sara looked up and smiled.

“Why the hell didn't you tell me you had an ex-husband?” He slammed the door behind him and advanced on her, disbelief etched on his face.

No, not now.
She sat there, stunned and staring, unable to formulate a single scrap of plausible explanation.

“Answer me, damn you,” he demanded, towering over her. “Tell me why you could let me explore every inch of you and not tell me you'd been married and lost a baby?”

She swallowed and forced out the truth. “It was too painful.”

“But not too painful to discuss with Adam.” The calmness in his voice didn't hide the hurt and anger in his words.

“It just happened.”

“It just happened,” he repeated, hurling her words back. “And it couldn't just happen with me, could it? Of course not. You don't trust me enough with something as personal as your real feelings. I'm just for sex.” He turned and stalked across the room.

“That's not true. I should have told you,” she managed, her gaze trained on the back of his head. “I was wrong.”

He didn't turn, didn't even acknowledge he'd heard her.

She tried again, stumbling over her words. “I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't want our relationship to be marred with the past. It means too much to me.” She paused and said in a hoarse voice, “You mean too much to me.”

He flinched. “But not enough to trust me with your past. That privilege was reserved for Adam.”

She was losing him...
“I don't care about Adam the way I care about you.”

Matt laughed. “Do you care about me, Sara? Really care?” He swung around. “Or have I just proved a convenient case study? Or should I say case stud?”

“Don't.” She swiped at her cheeks. “Don't let your anger diminish what we share.”

“What we share? What do we share, enlighten me. Analyze it please, because I'm way off base.” He took a few steps toward her. “I thought we were building something, based on trust and caring.”

“We were. We are.”

“Then why would you shatter that trust by confiding something to my brother that you should have come to me about?”