After dinner, Amara excused herself to her bedroom. She didn’t wish to be rude, she’d assured Matt, insisting the meal was divine, but she was exhausted and wished to sleep.
An unexpected sense of bereftness hit him in the chest as she walked into her room, shutting the door behind her. Hadn’t he wished for time to himself, to focus on his work? Why, then, did he feel her absence so keenly?
Luckily, sitting down in front of the screen erased all of that, and it was with surprise that he looked at the clock to discover it was past midnight. Standing, he patted Lovey, who’d taken up her usual perch on the edge of the desk, then arched his back to work out the kinks.
“That’s how the evening is supposed to go,” he mumbled to the cat. “Lots accomplished, no distractions, and no confusing mixed signals.”
Because Amara sent him mixed signals, that was for sure. She’d kissed him twice, responding actively each time, then had turned around and played the demure miss. She’d talked with him animatedly at dinner, only to excuse herself shortly thereafter, pleading fatigue. At times, he’d sworn the desire coursing through him reflected back in her eyes, but then she’d move, change, and it was gone.
This was why he didn’t bother with women most of the time. He’d never understood all the subtleties, the signals he was supposed to pick up on. Much easier to just hook up once in a while and leave it at that.
He smoothed his hands over his thighs, ignoring the tightening in his groin at the thought of hooking up with Amara. He’d like to. He’d really, really like to. But the complications that could bring with the Coopers weren’t worth it.
And if Amara were to expect more? A tenured professorship had been his life goal since his first high school computer science class, and nothing and no one, not even a woman as perplexing, as mesmerizing, as Amara Mattersley would pull him from that.
Amara lay in bed, watching lights flicker across the ceiling. She knew they were headlights from passing cars, but if she didn’t focus on them, if she let them be background, she could pretend it was candlelight, someone moving by in the hall, perhaps. Except of course it wasn’t.
She’d fled. She knew it. The whole afternoon, from the time she’d arrived in Matthew Goodson’s office until the minute he’d offered her mint ice cream for dessert, had been nothing but pleasure. Sure, half of her was tied in knots from the newness of it all, but Matthew made it less frightening. So much less frightening. And she didn’t like it. She wasn’t going to be dependent on him, on anyone. She wasn’t.
So she’d fled because the urge to kiss him had grown over the evening while he’d told her about his decision to teach. His eyes lit up as he spoke of computers, of their power, of the amazing things people could do with them. And the scary things, he’d conceded, which is what drove his research, his determination to keep the world a little safer by keeping the Internet safe. Much of the terminology had gone over her head, but his passion for his profession had not.
What was it like to live with such passion for something? Had she ever had anything on which she’d focused so much of her self?
Drake Evers didn’t count. That had been a few very shortsighted years of her very young life, and look what that obsession had got her. Or more likely what it had taken from her—namely everything. Her reputation. Her virtue. She’d still had her family, but the affair had permanently marred her relationship with her mother, and guilt over her sisters’ reduced marriage prospects followed her daily. It was one of the reasons she’d wanted to leave, to come here—to give her sisters back the chances they should have had, without her there to raise eyebrows and draw whispers.
Rolling over, she glanced at the clock. 12:37 a.m. It was strange to have a clock in every room, especially one that glowed in the dark. Electrical power, in fact, still mystified her. Nearly everything here relied on electricity. What would these people do if they lost access to it?
A chair squeaked in the other room. Matthew was awake? Amara turned onto her back, irritation crinkling her brow as her traitorous mind wondered what he was doing.
Why did he have to be so finely formed? Those searing blue eyes, the squareness of his jaw, the stark contrast of his dark hair with his fair skin. He was beautiful. Blast it. A groan escaped her lips as she flopped over a third time, pulling the blanket over her head.
She half-hoped Washington was well tomorrow so she could return to Cat’s. The temptation here was too great. The other half of her dreamed of what might happen if Matthew came down the hallway and instead of entering his own chamber, entered hers.
No one would have to know. Only the two of them were here.
The door next to hers opened and closed. That ended that fantasy; he’d obviously gone to his own room. Thank goodness he had some sense. Some self-control. Because apparently what they’d said about her was true.
She had none.