The Perfect Someday (A standalone novel ~ Book three in The Mathews Family) (23 page)

“I could get undressed if it would make you feel better.”
His eyes glinted with amusement.

She considered saying Yes, but grumbled,
“I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
One brow lifted raking an appreciative gaze down her body, followed by a heart-stopping smile. “Sei molto bella.”

She didn’t f
eel very beautiful, stretched out face down on her bed, weeping into the towel as Vincent plucked gravel from her butt, one pebble at a time. He assisted her back into the shower. Standing nearly naked, she used only a hand towel to cover her breasts. Facing the wall, she leaned against the cold marble as he gently scrubbed the last bit of embedded dirt and grim from her cheek.

Tracy found something more than tears and pain and embarrassment, under the cascade of water.
Inhaling the scent of him, a clean masculine sweat, wet from the spray of water, triggered something. A new sensation. A sensual responsiveness to Vincent. A desire she thought was lost to a star-filled night in Greece so long ago, ripped through her heart with each touch of his hand.

Being so close to him in suc
h an intimate, nurturing manner sparked an internal strength, a subtle confidence. The barrier she built around her heart, a security system she implemented after a thief snuck in and stole her heart, lifted in the veil of steam.

She
had vowed never to be weak again. However that promise also kept her from finding the one true thing she hoped to find in life. Love. There was something about Vincent that compelled her to trust him. She wanted to find the courage to trust him, but she feared getting her heart broken again.

He turned off the water and held open the towel
. They both remained silent avoiding each other’s glance. Tracy was nervous. He nodded toward the tube of healing ointment and strips of breathable dressing, indicating without words for her to bend over.

She grimaced, mumbling anxiously, “This puts me in a precarious position.”

Vincent sat on a bench. His eyes widened in agreement holding back a grin. “Si`, very precarious.”

Filled with embarrassed discomfort, she squirmed
wordlessly under the bright lights. He blessed her with a warm smile of reassurance. Tracy leaned over, her body fully exposed from the back. Her breathing came in short raspy gasps of air and she rested her elbows on the marble countertop. The ripping sound of the package being opened, filled the quietness.

The carnal tension was thick between them.
She needed to break the growing silence. Two things hung around her neck like a twenty-five pound barbell, the fact she was practically naked with only mere inches between his gorgeous mouth and the throbbing pulse in her inner thighs, and the thought of him touching another woman that had stabbed at her for the last few days.

“
So, how did your date go?” Tracy dared to ask. She intended on saying it casually, but the words spouted from her mouth in an abrupt stutter.

Their gaze
s locked in the mirror.

“My
date
went exactly as I expected.”

A cold painful ache of jealousy slipped itsel
f around her heart and squeezed. Any blood that was left in her face, drained. His reply hurt far worse than chunks of missing flesh ripped from her butt. Tracy shifted her gaze, attempting to hide the torment of emotions stuck in her throat. Vincent tilted his head, acutely watching her every move as she struggled to swallow.

“We didn’t fit together ye
ars ago—“ His tone gentled, resigned as though responding to something hidden in her eyes, “and we still don’t. We are entirely different people.”

Her shoulder
s slumped in relief, releasing the big breath of air she’d been holding. Tracy moistened her lips nervously. Heat gathered in his eyes tracking the movement of her tongue in the mirror as it slipped over her lips.

“T
hat’s unfortunate.” The pitch of her body swayed, adjusting her balance. Vincent’s fingers clasped to her bare hip, steadying her movement as he applied a strip of medical tape over the wound.

“Not really.
Life is too precious to spend your time with someone you know isn’t right for you.” A small sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And it wasn’t a
date
. If you wouldn’t have bolted out the door so quickly, I would’ve asked you to join us.”

“Oh.
I thought...” Her words trailed off. Between her irrational behavior and frazzled emotions, a glowing hue of bright pink dusted her cheeks.

“I would’
ve welcomed your good conversation. Guilia and I have known each other since we were young. She stops by to see me, in between marriages. To be fair, her mamma probably berates her to try again.” The touch of his hand slowed, into a gentle caress, brushing over her calf. A sexy grin blazed full. “She asked me about you.”

He ripped off another piece of tape
and laid it over the last section of shredded skin, and lowered the towel over her butt. Tracy turned to face him. She was going to ask what he told Guilia, but lost all train of thought staring into his pale grey eyes, drowsy with lust.

Longing
tingled over the surface of her skin like a fine shower of mist, overpowering her common-sense. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you for helping me.”

He held her carefully
, stroking her back reassuringly, as if he understood the risk she took in that very moment of vulnerability. Vincent pressed his lips to her forehead. “You’re welcome.”

She relaxed against him, laying the side of her face to his chest. His heartbeat turned unruly beneath her cheek. The
rigid strain in his limbs, fell slack. Tracy’s fingers inched up the dense muscles on each side of his spine. Weak with need, she molded herself closer to the hard planes of his entire body. They stayed that way for minutes, compressed together, swaying slightly. Tracy took comfort in the feelings of pleasure stealing over her.

Vincent gripped lightly, coasting his hands up her arms and neck,
cupping her jaw in his palms. Humor washed from his face. “Maybe you should get dressed. I don’t know how much more of the towel I can take.”

The tips of his fi
ngers ran along the edge of her plush towel, laying a trail of sparks where their skin touched.

She closed her hands over his. “I can take it off, if you’d like.”

His eyes rolled back as he pressed a long kiss to the back of her hand. “The doctor said no vigorous activities.”

Pushing through the dull pain in her muscles, s
he ventured to her toes, placing a soft kiss near the hallow at his throat. Unable to stop herself, she flattened herself against his strong powerful form. Her hips hitched upward reveling in the pressure and hardness.

Licking the salt residue from her lips, she whispered, “I would be gentle.”

“I will not be able to be gentle.” His lashes, thick and dark, cast shadows on the thin skin beneath his eye. He murmured an Italian curse word. Vincent curled his fingers around the tips of her shoulders, squeezing with the flawless amount of pressure, drawing a small whimper of pleasure from her throat. “Not gentle enough to keep from causing you pain.”

Tracy’s lip twitched, shocked by her own unbearable craving to take him.

“Your body is in shock. You need to heal first.”

A frown worked across her forehead.
Frustration and embarrassment flooded over her. Hurt feelings pooled in her eyes and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

“
Tracy, you are torturing me.” His voice low and hoarse. The heel of his palms clutched the sides of her neck, tilting her face upward with his thumbs. “I want you, probably more than anything I have ever desired in my life, but I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

Looking at his handsome face only intensified her need. Once she gave herself the green light to trust Vincent, to enjoy him, she
couldn’t stop the honest emotions from spilling out. “I haven’t let myself get close to anyone in a very long time. I like you. A lot. I’m not sure why.”

He chortled
raising one brow.

“I mean, of course I know why. I meant I don’t know why it’s taken so long.
That’s not true. I know why I haven’t dated in so long. It’s just…” She paused irritated by her own confused state of rambling. “I really want to kiss you.”

“
Shhh stop thinking so hard. You’re going to hurt the lump on your head.”

H
is hot sweet breath tickled her ear. Her heart jumped and a tremor of nerves shivered down her neck. His fingers swept beneath her jaw, lowering his mouth over her hers. Vincent kissed her, tenderly shifting from one lip then to the other. Her lips parted, tasting him, breathing in the soft taste of his kiss, rich and drugging. Their breath mingled as he cradled her face, caressing with utter sweetness, the silken stoke of her tongue maddening.

The g
entleness of his kiss disarmed her and she wanted more. Her fingers stole to the dips and contours of his taunt obliques, falling lower onto his hips. Vincent broke the kiss, dragging his mouth, placing soft kisses to her nose, eyes and forehead.

Tracy
heard a murmur in Italian above her head, something about being able to ravish her properly.

“That i
s all I can offer you until I take a very long cold shower.”

****

Tracy nearly praised God the moment Vincent put his clothes back on. She had tossed his things in the washing machine while he showered, forced to endure his towel clad body for the next hour and a half. His torso cut into bricks of well-defined muscle, tapering into a trim V-cut waist. She likened it to visiting a world class bakery, cases of glass filled with yummy Italian cookies, and then remembering she was on a strict diet. Or worse, the kind of starvation you were made to suffer prior to surgery or there would be stiff repercussions.

If that wasn’t
tortuous enough, the man loved to cook. Tracy’s skill set in the kitchen started with making coffee and maxed out at baking cookies. Vincent made himself at home retrieving a bottle of Sangiovese from the cellar, rummaging through the pantry and refrigerator for ingredients to make soup. She observed quietly from the high counter, watching in fascination as he prepared a sashay of herbs wrapped in cheesecloth, garlic sauce, and a puree of beans. A light dusting of dark hair covered his forearms, dense muscles flexed as he used the knife chopping onions and garlic.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” she croaked, sifting through lust-filled images triggered by each small movement. The pounding in the back of her head didn’t compare to the beating of her heart.

“My mamma, she was never blessed with a girl.
It is relaxing for me.” He continued conversationally, “It gives me something, other than wine, to put my love into.”

I’ve got something you can put your love into
. She damn near said out loud merely watching him chop vegetables. She could feel heat rising on her face. Tracy officially wanted to fuck his brains out. She’d never really noticed a man in such a lustful regard, so completely enamored she would’ve laid out right there on the counter and done anything he asked of her.

The soup
didn’t take long to cook. She couldn’t find the bravery to move from her seat, fearing her knees would buckle. A tug-of-war loomed inside her, exhaustion, pain and hunger pitted themselves against ravenous gritty desire of a whole new magnitude. Sitting lopsided on a barstool in nothing but black leggings and a coral colored oversized sweatshirt, Tracy squeezed her thighs together fighting off the pleasant clenches in her lower abs.

Rest
ing her elbows on the granite counter, she buried her face in her hands. The tips of her fingers rolled over her eyelids in a circular motion, breathing shallow through her nose.

“Headache come back? Do you need some more Ibuprofen?”

Tracy buried her brazen grin.

“No.” she said
softly, barely shaking her head. “Just trying not to hurdle the counter, throw myself at you, make a complete fool of myself.”

A deep throaty chuckle s
immered at her side. “Take a taste.”

Butterflies fluttered in her belly, spinning his words in
filth.

Tracy
swiveled the chair to face him, blowing gently on a spoonful of steamy broth. Sounds of appreciation hummed in her throat. “This is delicious.”

“I’ve got to get you all better.”
His fingers brushed over her upper arm fixing the placement of her sweatshirt.

“So you can ravish me properly.”
Breathless, she sat there turning crimson red repeating the words he muttered a few hours earlier.

A slow burn of a smile l
ifted at one end of his mouth into a wry grin. Vincent sipped his wine, his eyes never faltered from her face.

“You speak
far more Italian than you let on,” he remarked eventually.