What little was left of the evening seemed to drag, as far as Rita was concerned. Well, except for those few occasions when she turned to look at Matthew and caught him studying her with a burning gaze that scorched her from her head to her toes and all points in between. Then again, how could anything so mundane as a glittering high-society party possibly be appealing after that single, perfect kiss she and Matthew had shared out on the terrace?
She could no longer tell herself it had been an innocent little peck to prove a point. Rita knew better. She had kissed Matthew because she had been attracted to him. More than attracted. She had been moved by him. Enchanted by him. And not just this evening, either, but for some time. Only now was she beginning to realize that she had been attracted to him probably since the day she’d begun working in CCU.
Yes, he had been gruff at times, and often standoffish. But she had always detected something beneath his surface that was almost…vulnerable somehow. Now she knew she had been right to sense such a thing. And now she knew why. He had suffered a horrible experience when he was a child. The physical wounds alone must have been unbearable for him. How must it have felt to grow up looking the way he did, and harbor memories of such a harrowing encounter? It was no wonder he acted the way he did around other people. He’d probably never had the chance to interact with them on a normal, everyday sort of level.
Tonight, hearing him speak the way he had about what had happened to him, she had begun to understand that there was still a wounded little boy inside him who was motivated by fear. And she had wanted to show him that she wasn’t scared of him. On the contrary, knowing what had happened to him had only drawn her to him that much more completely. And she’d wanted to show him, too, that he shouldn’t be afraid of her.
By mutual and unspoken consent, neither of them mentioned the kiss once they returned to the party. Of course, neither seemed to feel comfortable with the other anymore, either, and neither seemed able to meet the other’s gaze—well, except for those few accidental scorching ones Rita had caught from Matthew. And those, she decided, she’d just as soon not mention, either.
She tried to reassure herself that by the time the two of them returned to work Monday morning, the whole thing would be forgotten. They were both bound to spend the weekend convincing themselves that nothing had happened out on the terrace—nothing save a chaste, innocent little peck—and by Monday, surely, they would have succeeded. Because, really, she told herself nothing had happened out on the terrace save a chaste, innocent little peck…and an earth-shattering awareness of each other that Rita was certain wouldn’t pass anytime soon.
They were doomed.
There was no way either of them would ever feel comfortable around the other at work again. Not that they’d ever felt comfortable around each other at work before, she reminded herself. But she quickly abandoned that train of thought. She was afraid she’d admit how she’d always been attracted to Matthew Grayson—she might even go so far as to say she’d had a crush on him since the day she’d met him. And how that was the real reason she’d kissed him tonight.
She knew better than to think her memories of a kiss like that would fizzle out and be forgotten. No, her memories were bound to multiply and intensify until she had no choice but to seek him out and relive the experience. Over and over and over again.
Oh, yeah. They were definitely doomed.
“We should probably go,” Rita told him at midnight, when she realized everyone else seemed to be leaving, too. Well, everyone except her family, who would doubtless party until the wee hours. She scanned the room for Maria, but was surprised to see that her sister seemed to have already left. More surprising was the recollection that after badgering Rita so mercilessly about needing a date, Maria hadn’t brought anyone to the party tonight.
“I can take a cab home,” Matthew offered, obviously still uncomfortable with what had happened out on the terrace and wanting to be free of Rita as soon as was polite.
“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” she assured him anyway. Mostly, she supposed, because she didn’t want him to think there was any reason for them to alter their plans. “The driver is paid for the night,” she added, “and he’s expecting to take us both home. We might as well take advantage of him.”
The moment that final sentence was out of her mouth, she wished she hadn’t said it. It made her want to think about taking advantage of someone else, too.
Matthew seemed to be thinking the same thing, she realized when she braved a glance in his direction, because his cheeks had grown ruddy, and his eyes had darkened dangerously. But he said nothing, only swept his hand toward the exit in a silent indication that Rita should precede him. As she strode past him, he extended his arm to her, crooking his elbow, as if he wanted her to take it. Fearing he might think her a big chicken if she didn’t—and also because she yearned to touch him, however superficially— Rita complied, threading her arm through his to walk side-by-side with him to the door.
Although they remained arm-in-arm, they spoke not a word as they descended in the elevator, both of them fixing their gazes on the illuminated, decreasing numbers above the doors. When they exited, they silently crossed the lobby and strode through the big glass front doors, then toward the bank of limos waiting for the various Barones they were to escort home. When they found theirs, the driver hustled out to open the back door for them, and Rita entered with Matthew right behind her. The moment their chauffeur closed the door behind them, however, she tensed.
For the first time since that kiss, she and Matthew were alone. Utterly and completely alone, thanks to a pane of smoked privacy glass that cut off their view of the driver and, Rita knew, the driver’s view of them. They were in a much more isolated—and much more intimate—setting now than the public display on the top-floor terrace where anyone might have stumbled upon them at any time. This was a much quieter, much cozier—much darker—environment than the one they had shared before. And it immediately made Rita think about doing things that hadn’t occurred to her on the way to the party earlier.
Well, okay, maybe doing those things had occurred to her then, back in some dark, recessed, feverish, sexually deprived part of her brain. Maybe, once or twice, during the drive to the party, she had entertained a quick fantasy of what it would be like to make love with Matthew Grayson on the wide back seat of this very car. He’d just looked so incredibly handsome and sexy in his dark suit, she hadn’t been able to help herself. But she’d only thought about it once or twice, only for a few seconds, and certainly not realistically. Now, though, after their kiss, she thought about it for more than a few seconds—and in much more graphic terms.
Oh, good heavens, what was wrong with her? she wondered. This was Matthew Grayson she was fantasizing about. The Beast from Boston General. In spite of all her earlier softening toward him and romanticizing about him, she tried to make herself be realistic. Yes, there were reasons for why he acted the way he did around people. But the fact remained that he did act that way. For all she knew, he might not even be capable of falling in love with a woman.
Then again, she chastised herself, what did love have to do with anything? She certainly wasn’t in love with him. How had she gotten from hot sex in the back of a limo to hearts and flowers and happily-ever-afters? The two weren’t necessarily connected at all.
“Are you going to bring it up, or should I?”
Matthew’s deep, resonant voice knifed through the darkness with all the finesse of a finely edged blade, but the question itself hit Rita with the hacking impact of a dull meat cleaver.
“Bring what up?” she asked innocently, hoping that if she pretended she had no idea what he was talking about, Matthew would go along with the ruse.
She should have known better.
“Guess I’ll be the one to bring it up then,” he said dryly.
“Bring what up?” she tried again. Futilely, she soon learned.
“What happened out on the terrace tonight,” he said plainly. “You…kissing me.”
Rita started to deny it, started to insist that they had both been the ones involved in that kiss, but she knew she would be lying. Because in spite of his having done nothing to stop it, it had been she who’d kissed him, and she who had ended it. She alone must take responsibility for what had happened. She had kissed Matthew. She only wished she could tell him why.
“I’m not sure what happened,” she told him honestly. “I just…” She gave a halfhearted shrug. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
He said nothing in response to that, and when she looked at him, his face was cast in shadow, so she had no way to gauge what he might be thinking. Then the limo passed beneath a street lamp, and for one brief second, she caught a glimpse of his face, and she saw that he looked…
Puzzled.
Of all the things she might have expected him to be, puzzled was one that would never have occurred to her. Matthew Grayson had always struck her as someone who would have an answer for every question, an explanation for every mystery. Yet he looked puzzled by what had happened between the two of them earlier that evening.
The realization heartened Rita. It meant they were on equal footing.
Until he said, “So if I kissed you this time, what would happen?”
And then, suddenly, things were totally out of whack. A splash of heat spilled through Rita’s midsection, not just because of the question itself, but because of the way he uttered it—as if he fully intended to find out.
She swallowed with some difficulty. “Why, um, why would you want to do that?”
Thanks to the darkness, she sensed more than saw him shrug. But even in the darkness, she could tell there was nothing casual in the gesture.
“It just seems like the right thing to do,” he told her. She could sense him drawing nearer as he said it.
And then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and a swirl of tempestuous hunger was eddying up inside her. He lifted a hand to the back of her neck and curved his fingers over her nape, his touch warm and insistent and absolute. Her stomach seared with heat at the way his fingers pressed into the tender flesh of her neck, her heart humming with anticipation of what would come next.
Oh, dear heaven, she thought. What was happening? And why couldn’t she make it stop? Why didn’t she want it to stop?
There was none of the tentativeness or uncertainty in Matthew’s kiss that had been present in Rita’s earlier. No, when Matthew covered her mouth with his, it was with confident determination. He kissed her the way a man must kiss a woman when he knows that he wants her, and when he knows that he can have her. Rita had never been kissed that way before. Not because no man had ever wanted her, but because she had never wanted any man enough to allow him to kiss her that way. With Matthew, though…
She wanted. Oh, how she wanted.
Instinctively, she tilted her head to the side a bit, a gesture he used to his advantage to deepen the kiss. The hand at her nape moved to her jaw, and he splayed his fingers wide over her cheek and chin, silently urging her to open her mouth for him. Rita complied willingly, groaning with desire at the surging entrance of his tongue as he tasted her. A wild heat exploded in her belly at the intimate invasion, spreading its fever outward, flooding into her breasts and between her legs. Impulsively, she pressed her hands to his chest, driving one beneath his jacket and up to clutch his shoulder. When she did, Matthew looped his other arm around her waist to pull her closer still.
Her body flush with his now, Rita felt his heat and his hardness permeating his clothing, joining with her own warmth and softness as she touched him. Something inside her went a little wild at the recognition of how their bodies’ differences complemented each other so perfectly. She couldn’t help wondering in what other ways their bodies could correlate. So she pushed herself against him more urgently, one hand moving now to his hair, her fingers threading through its silky thickness. He seemed to like it when she did that, because a low moan emerged from some dark place deep inside him in response.
The realization that she pleased him made Rita feel bolder, and she tilted her head to the side again. But she used the motion to her own advantage, slipping her tongue into his mouth this time. The sensation of damp heat surrounding her was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Matthew tasted of champagne and caviar, and something dark and masculine and bittersweet. And all Rita could think was that she wanted to experience more of him.
She wasn’t sure whether she was responsible for what happened next, or Matthew. But somehow, she ended up sitting in his lap, her legs stretching out across the wide back seat of the limo. She lost a shoe, but she didn’t care, and in fact kicked off the other in what she could only think in her agitated state was a wanton effort to free herself from her clothing. Because suddenly, she wanted very much to be free of her clothing. Even more than that, she wanted Matthew to be free of his. Then they would be able to explore each other more completely. And in that heady, feverish moment, as the two of them volleyed for possession of their kiss, Rita realized she wanted very badly to explore as much of Matthew as she could.
He seemed to share her desire, because just as the thought was forming in her brain, she felt his hand glide slowly from her waist, over her hip and along her thigh, to settle at the hem of her dress. As he continued to kiss her, he began to push the fabric higher, inch by subtle inch, over her thighs. Bit by bit, her little black dress grew smaller still, until his fingers cleared the smoky silk of her stockings and met bare flesh. The moment Matthew realized what his fingers had already discovered, he jerked his head back from hers and, panting, gazed down into her face.
“Are you actually wearing what I think you’re wearing?” he gasped.
Not trusting herself to speak—or perhaps unable to— Rita could only nod her response.
He studied her in silence for a moment longer, then began stroking the pad of his thumb gently over the bare flesh of her thigh. Every mellow touch set off tiny explosions in its wake, until Rita feared she would spontaneously combust if he didn’t stop it. When he skimmed a finger beneath one of the silky garters, she bit back a groan of need.
“It’s always been my understanding,” he said roughly as he gave the garter a gentle tug, “that women only wear these for a…sexual encounter.”
Did they? Rita wondered feverishly. How very interesting. Maybe she should start doing more reading. Who knew what else she might learn? All she was able to manage by way of a response, though, was a breathless, honestly offered, “It’s the first time I’ve worn one.”
“Really?” he asked with much interest.
Now she was only able to nod in response.
“I’ve never known a woman who wore one,” he said.
Somehow, that surprised Rita. In spite of his scarred face and distant disposition, he seemed like the kind of man who would be well versed in the ways of women. Then he kissed her again, in a way that let her know he was indeed. And then she ceased thinking at all when he began tasting her deeply once more, and the fingers at her thigh began strumming over her sensitive flesh again. All Rita could do then was cup his face in her hands, turn her head to the side and kiss him back for all she was worth.
As she kissed him, she registered the movement of his hand along her thigh again, pushing the fabric of her dress higher still, until his fingers made contact with the edge of her black lacy panties. He halted there for a moment, as if he weren’t sure she would allow him any further liberties, so Rita shoved her fingers into his hair again and deepened their kiss, fairly devouring him this time. He seemed to understand her eagerness, because he pushed up her dress farther, until he could cup his whole hand possessively over the right side of her lace-covered derriere.
That was when he tore his mouth from hers and pressed his face into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, murmuring something incoherent against her hot flesh before nipping it lightly with his teeth. Rita did groan this time, needfully, brazenly, then turned herself on his lap to give him freer access to her. In doing so, she felt him surge to life beneath her, swelling hard and heavy and ready for her. The hand on her bottom clenched tight at her movement, and she bit back another feral sound. Then she dipped her head to his again, ravaging his mouth this time in a kiss full of demand.
By now he had pushed her dress up around her waist, so Rita turned her entire body to straddle his lap. She was thankful for the smoky, one-way glass between them and their driver and the outside world. Still, the fact that they were cruising through downtown Boston as they lost control only made it that much more exciting for her. Now as she faced Matthew fully, as her eyes met his in the dim light, she realized he looked like a man who was about to come undone. So, to help him along, she leaned forward. Instead of taking his mouth in a hungry kiss this time, she only brushed her lips lightly over his, once, twice, three times. Then, having no idea what possessed her to do it, she pulled back again, reaching behind herself to slowly, so slowly, draw down the zipper on her dress.
At first, he seemed not to realize what she was doing. But when she tugged the dress down over her arms, pushing it down around her waist, he had no choice but to notice. Without a word, his gaze never leaving hers, he lifted both hands and covered each of her black-lace-covered breasts. With one deft move, he bared a breast so that he could fill his hand with her naked flesh. He palmed the soft globe first in slow, gentle circles, his hand warm on her skin, confident, almost courtly.
Rita closed her eyes as he touched her, to better enjoy the sensation. And when she felt his mouth open over the tumid peak, she sighed eloquently and tangled her fingers in his hair. For long moments he sucked at her, pushing her breast higher with his hand, pulling her deep into his mouth, the damp pressure tugging at something too-long buried inside her. He laved her with the flat of his tongue, then teased her with its tip, then sucked harder still. Never in her life had she felt such an extraordinary sensation. And the pleasure winding through her was something she never wanted to have end.
“Take me home with you tonight,” she said breathlessly as he traced the lower curve of her breast with his tongue.
She had no idea what made her utter the command, nor, really, what she was asking him to do. She only knew that she couldn’t leave him yet, not after the things he had just introduced her to. She only knew that she wanted, needed, to be with him. Needed to know what else he could make her feel.
“Please, Matthew,” she said again, her fingers convulsing in his hair as he dragged his open mouth up over her breast again. “Please take me home with you tonight. I want…”
But truly, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. She only knew that, in that moment, she could not leave him. Not feeling as unsatisfied as she did.
Matthew drew back at her breathlessly offered request, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that he was gazing at her. But she couldn’t discern his reaction.
“Are you sure?” he asked softly.
She nodded eagerly, even though she felt anything but certain. She reminded herself ruthlessly of the promise she had made to herself, that the first time she made love with a man would be because he would be someone special. But then she realized she had never felt more special than she did at that moment. Matthew made her feel special. He was special, too. He was… Well, he was everything. Everything she had always wanted in a man. Handsome, smart, sexy and kind. And he made her feel things… Oh, how he made her feel.
He would be an attentive lover, she thought further, considering the ways he had touched and pleasured her so far. She tried not to think about how much practice he must have had over the years, and focused instead on how he was here with her now. He had been gentle with her so far, and she sensed he would be gentle throughout. And that was what she wanted—and needed—for her first time. Most of all, though, she cared for Matthew, maybe more than she was willing to admit.
Of course, she’d always sworn she would be in love with the man her first time. But she was twenty-five years old, she reflected, and had yet to fall in love. Maybe love, she thought, was asking too much. Maybe for her first time it would be enough to admire and respect and care for her partner.
Matthew, she told herself in that moment, would be perfect.
“If I take you home, Rita,” he said, his voice still soft, but now steeled with intent, “there won’t be any turning back. Do you understand?”
She nodded again.
He lifted a hand to her face, framing her jaw in his palm before moving his fingers to her hair and brushing it back from her face. “Once we’re inside, I’m going to lock the door and spend the entire night making love to you. And once I make love to you…”
He said nothing more after that, only met her gaze levelly in the darkness, with an unmistakable intent. She wasn’t sure if he was telling her that after they made love nothing would change between them, or if everything would change. Somehow, though, in that moment, Rita didn’t care. She only knew she wanted Matthew. More than she had ever wanted anything in her life. And she knew, too, that she would have him.
“I understand,” she said.
Deep down, though, she wasn’t sure she understood at all.