“Your brother looks happy.” Ivan slipped his arm around Ainsley and drew her lovingly against his side.
“Mmm.” She nestled into him, while observing Matt with a meditative eye. “Which one?”
“Matt, obviously,” Ivan said. “Since Andrew doesn’t look happy at all.”
She couldn’t quite suppress her giggle. “He looks perfectly miserable, doesn’t he? I imagine Rachel is telling him, at length, about her trip to Africa. She loves to talk about it, and he can’t get away because of his broken ankle.” Ainsley gave a deep and highly dramatic sigh. “You know it’s difficult even for a matchmaker to predict just how an introduction of possibilities will go.”
Ivan kissed the top of her head. “Then why do I get the feeling you’re not at all unhappy about how this particular one is turning out?”
“Maybe because it’s turning out exactly as I hoped it would. With someone as wily as my twin, a matchmaker has to be very careful not to tip her hand.”
“Ah-ha,” Ivan said knowingly. “So your strategy is to mislead your prey…er, I mean, client, not to mention get someone to bore him to tears, and all the while you’re planning to sneak up and shove him off a cliff in the opposite direction.”
She looked up at him, adoring this man who was her husband and best friend. “You’re getting good at this, Doctor,” she said. “You wouldn’t be angling for an apprentice position at IF Enterprises, would you?”
“Oh, no,” he declared firmly. “I have my hands full with the pediatric center.”
“Well, it’s a good thing. You’d probably be better than I am and I wouldn’t like that at all.”
“No one could be better than you, Ainsley.”
She loved him for that…because he believed it…and for a million other reasons. “I want my brothers to be as happy in love as we are, Ivan, as happy as Miranda and Nate are going to be.”
“It certainly appears you’ve been successful with Matt. Look at the way he’s holding Peyton…as if she were made of spun glass.”
Ainsley thought it looked more as if he were holding something he was terrified of breaking. Which was not the same thing at all. Not to her matchmaker’s eye. Peyton was the right woman for her brother. Ainsley had no doubts about that, but their sudden elopement after all these months of pretending they couldn’t be in the same room without an argument…Well, something didn’t seem quite right about that. She just didn’t know what it was.
The music changed and Peyton and Matt separated. She danced off with Nate, he with Miranda. Ainsley considered the nagging feeling that this perfect match didn’t quite live up to its romantic hype. Even if Matt did look happier than he had in a long time.
“Would you care to dance, Mrs. Donovan?” Ivan bent his head to whisper seductively into her ear.
And her knees went weak with longing—a regular occurrence in her marriage. She went up on tiptoe to kiss him full on the lips.
“I should ask you to dance more often,” he said when the kiss ended.
She smiled, so in love she sometimes couldn’t see straight. “I would love to dance with you,” she said. “But you’ll have to hold that thought for a few minutes. There’s something I need to do first. I think Andrew has suffered enough and is overdue for a rescue. Plus, if I read the signs correctly—and I’m sure I do—Rachel’s true match is getting miffed. Just as I planned.”
“Who is he?” he asked, turning around to see if he could spot Rachel’s true match by his disgruntled expression. But no young man anywhere close by seemed to fit the description. “Anyone I know?”
She smiled and patted his cheek. “I have to keep some secrets, even from you, Ivan. Can’t risk information getting out accidentally before its time. Save that dance for me. I’ll be back in a flash. Or two. Three at the most.” With a grin that crinkled her nose and brought out her dimples, she sighed dramatically. “A matchmaker’s work is never done, you know.”
Then she whisked off, to bring the new-and-improved Hayley Sayers out of hiding.
Unless she missed her guess—and she was ninety-nine point nine percent certain that she hadn’t—Andrew would never know Cupid had a dead aim on his heart.
“SO, HOW LONG have you been dating my sister?”
Scarlett O’Reilly wore a dress that was too mature for her and that merely emphasized the innocence she so unknowingly projected. Her hair was long and dark like Peyton’s, but her eyes were a vivid, vibrant green and—in Matt’s opinion—already somewhat jaded. She was a pretty young woman, trying too hard to appear more grown-up than she actually was. Peyton was right to be concerned about her. “Several months,” he answered her question. “Since she began volunteering at the Foundation office.”
Scarlett eyed him suspiciously. “Why’d you keep it such a secret? Were you ashamed to be seen with her?”
“Of course not.” Where had this child—she was, after all, only fifteen—picked up such a defensive attitude? “We’re private people.” He repeated the explanation he’d been offering, in one form or another, all evening. “We’d found something very special…and we simply didn’t want to share it.”
Obviously unconvinced, Scarlett sipped a drink that Matt strongly suspected held more alcohol than his own. “Well, I think the whole deal sounds a little too much like a fairy tale.”
“There are such things as happy endings, Scarlett.”
“There’s also such a thing as a good beginning, and eloping is a shady way to do anything so important. Mom is plenty mad about it, too. She’s been planning mine and Peyton’s weddings for years.”
He’d successfully avoided his maddening mother-in-law so far tonight, and he wasn’t about to get into a discussion about her with her teenage daughter. “Getting married is very personal, Scarlett. Your sister and I did it the way we wanted, which is our prerogative.”
Scarlett’s green-eyed glare nailed him in place. “You’d better make her happy, Matt. Or it’ll be my prerogative to make sure you regret it.”
Her threat was so surprising, he almost laughed, but there was a steely determination in her tone, and his evolving opinion of her shifted slightly. He admired her spunk in challenging him, and he respected her because she cared about her sister’s happiness. Matt decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I believe you might try,” he said with his best hey-we’re-on-the-same-team-here smile.
“I’m a lot tougher than Peyton, you know.”
“I happen to think she’s plenty tough. She can argue me to a standstill—and that’s not easy.”
“Arguing is her way of keeping anyone from suspecting she’s not as tough as she pretends to be. I mean it, Matt. Be careful with her.”
Not so much a threat now as a warning. Surprising, too, in its focus and maturity. But unnecessary, as he felt he was being extremely careful with Peyton. Witness the number of times he’d rescued her just this evening from too-curious guests who were pressing for the details of their romance. He’d taken over the lies, lessened the strain on her and soothed a good deal of rampant inquisitiveness at the same time. He’d played his role convincingly and with a confident smile…the same way he’d played every other role in his life. Inside, he might be a bundle of twitching nerves, but on the outside, he was exactly the happy bridegroom he appeared to be.
And if the script demanded that he charm Scarlett into believing his and Peyton’s was a fairy-tale romance, then that’s exactly what he would do. Setting his glass aside, he reached for hers. “I’m always very careful, Scarlett. And now that we understand each other, would you like to dance with your new brother-in-law?”
She debated momentarily, looking doubtfully from her glass to him, but finally she allowed him to take it from her.
Round one to him, he thought as he set the glass aside and led her onto the dance floor.
PEYTON WATCHED Matt dancing with Scarlett and thought how handsome he was. It almost hurt her heart to look at him. He had a great smile, warm and appealing, and he was clearly charming the socks off her little sister, which was no small accomplishment in itself. He whirled Scarlett around the floor, making her laugh, and proving that he was a wonderful dancer, too. Something Peyton had never felt particularly competent at. But then, Matt had been born to dance in gilded ballrooms in a tuxedo made exclusively for him, while she still felt like an impostor, all dressed up in her mother’s clothes like a child trying to catch a glimpse of herself as a grown-up.
“Congratulations, Peyton,” Connie said, walking up beside her. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Had what?”
“The wiles to get the most eligible bachelor in Newport to marry you.”
Peyton pressed her lips together in a tight frown and reminded herself that in Connie’s view, denial usually equated to guilt. “You’re supposed to congratulate the groom, Mother,” she replied calmly but with effort. “Not the bride. And I’m still very angry with you about this afternoon. Matt didn’t like your being there, either.”
Connie smiled. “He’ll get over it, darling, and so will you. I’m giving you a very generous wedding present and I’m not about to apologize for it. Especially not now that I’ve seen the inside of that house. Frankly, Danfair is a mess.”
“I like it just the way it is. And, more important, so does Matt. It’s his home and I’m not going to start out our marriage by changing things.”
“Of course you are, sweetie. That’s what wives do. We change things. We make them better. Trust me. Husbands appreciate their wives taking the responsibility of creating an attractive environment for them to come home to.”
“No, Mother. Thank you for the thought, but I don’t want the house redecorated as a wedding gift.”
“You’ll change your mind when all that clutter begins to drive you insane,” Connie said with certainty. “But perhaps it was a bit precipitate for me to have been there when you arrived.”
“Being there, with those…people…when we returned from our honeymoon was just plain pushy.”
“It was simply expedient, darling. Those people are very busy, very much in demand. They charge a fortune, you know, because they’re the best and they made a special effort for me by going to Danfair this afternoon. You should be grateful.”
The story of her life. “Don’t do anything like that again, Mother. I don’t appreciate it and I guarantee you that Matt didn’t like it one little bit.”
Connie sipped her drink, unperturbed. “He didn’t act as if it bothered him at all.”
“He was being polite. For my sake. We did just get married, you know.”
“Yes, you did, didn’t you?” Connie smiled—her favorite cat-who-caught-the-canary smile. “And I’m excessively proud of you for it, too, although I must say that this elopement came as something of a shock to me. Getting Matt’s thoughtful note was a surprise, to say the least. I will confess I hoped you’d take a little bit of initiative once we settled in Newport and you became acquainted with a few suitable men, but I never in my wildest dreams suspected you had it in you to land such a big fish.”
Peyton closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried wishing away the unsettled churning in her stomach. “He isn’t a fish, and I didn’t land him. He’s a wonderful man and I married him.”
“Which I find ironic, considering how many times in the past year you’ve told me you planned to marry the poorest redneck you could find simply to aggravate me. I never actually believed you meant it, of course, although I’ll confess I didn’t believe you’d ever, in a million years, choose a man I couldn’t find a single fault with.”
“Keep looking, Mother. I’m sure you’ll find one.”
“Are you kidding?” Connie said with a laugh. “Honey, the Danville name is on every who’s who list in America, every social register in New England, and the whole family are members of a very elite class who can trace their ancestry clear back to the first colonists. Their fortune is staggering. Matthew inherits Danfair and heads up a highly revered foundation worth billions of dollars. I get goose bumps thinking that my grandson will be the first in his generation and the first in line to inherit all that.”
Peyton’s stomach made a painful flop. “You’re being pushy again, Mother.”
Turning, Connie lifted her eyebrows. “Oh, please, Peyton. I’m not completely unaware of what goes on in your life. For the past couple of months, you’ve been pale and quiet, your appetite has been either nonexistent or completely out of control. I know you’ve been sick. I can see the change in your body already. You’re pregnant. Pretend all you want with everyone else, but I’m your mother and I know why Matthew Danville married you.”
And despite herself, Peyton felt a sense of relief. Keeping the secret had made her edgy and nervous, sharing it with Matt had merely amplified her sense of panic. She’d wished she could talk to her mother so many times since she’d suspected and then confirmed the pregnancy, even though she’d realized that Connie would be no help at all.
Connie had hated being pregnant with Scarlett. Peyton well remembered all the complaints during those months, how her mother had resented the time she’d had to be away from the restaurant, how she’d blamed Rick for the accidental pregnancy, how he’d laughed at her charge, refusing to believe she wasn’t as delighted as he. Before that time, Peyton hadn’t even suspected she’d been an accident, too. But Connie had made it clear she’d never intended to have children, never would have had even one child if she’d thought Rick would marry her otherwise. But she’d had two daughters, and discovered—much to her own surprise—that instead of interfering with her ambition, they could be her winning lottery tickets for the status and acceptance she’d always craved.
Peyton hated the fact that she was giving Connie what she wanted, and yet felt a sickening, abysmal pride at having, at last, done something that pleased her mother. “I love Matt,” she said, and for a moment it felt like the truth. “That’s why I married him. Please don’t turn this into some lurid sacrifice I made for your sake.”
Connie laughed. “You’d be a fool not to love him, dear. He’s absolutely perfect. You’re the envy of every single woman—and several married ones—here tonight, including me. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted for you.”
He was everything she’d ever wanted for herself. Her daughters were simply a means to an end. “I didn’t marry Matt for you,” she replied succinctly.
“Oh, I know you didn’t, sweetie. You did it for the baby…and Matt did it because he can’t afford the scandal of having fathered an illegitimate child. In his position, he has to be careful about what others think.” Raising the glass, Connie tipped it in a silent toast. “I don’t care why or how you trapped him into this marriage, Peyton. But don’t mess this up. The Danville connections will give Scarlett all the social advantages your father and I can’t. This is going to be great for her.”
“And it won’t do you any harm either, will it?” Peyton snipped off the words, angry with her mother, Matt, everyone. She wasn’t a calculating manipulator like Connie. She hadn’t set out to get pregnant. She hadn’t trapped Matt into this marriage. She’d never wanted to give Scarlett anything more than the chance to form her own values and make her own choices.
“I’ve never been shy about saying what I want, Peyton. You’ve done a wonderful thing for all of us…providing, of course, that Matt is actually the father of that baby.” She held up a hand. “Don’t. I know you’re outraged by the idea, but it’s a question that will come up, Peyton. People being what they are. You may as well get ready for it.”
She was too angry, too upset to speak, but Connie had no problem filling in the gap with an even more offensive observation. “And, honestly, I doubt it matters, because if he married you to avoid the scandal of illegitimacy, then he’ll do anything to avoid admitting you hoodwinked him into claiming a child that isn’t even his.”
The anger boiled over then, spilling hot and acidic through Peyton’s veins. Her stomach roiled from the stress, and the sickness came in a wave. She couldn’t fight it down, hard as she tried and, spinning on her heel, Peyton raced to the ladies’ room.
“I SEEM to have lost track of my wife,” Matt said.
“Happens to me all the time,” Ivan responded. “Ainsley’s right here one minute, spinning away like a yo-yo without a string the next. I’m just happy she always comes back to me.” He clapped Matt on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Peyton’s around here somewhere. She may even be in on the rescue.”
Matt raised his eyebrows in question. “What rescue?”
“Ainsley has a plan to rescue Andy. It’s some sort of big surprise.”
“With Ainsley, everything is a big surprise.”
“You’re one to talk,” Ivan said. “You managed a major surprise this week, yourself. Even Ainsley didn’t expect an elopement.”
“That was the idea. We wanted a quiet wedding and we’d never have had it if we’d told anyone we were getting married. You know how my sisters are. They’d have been in the big middle of planning a wedding extravaganza before the words were out of my mouth.”
“Good point. Plus, there’s no telling what your new mother-in-law would have planned.”
“She wants to redecorate the house as a wedding present.”
“Danfair? You’re kidding.”
Matt shook his head, still scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Peyton’s dark hair and the shimmer of her blue gown. “I came close to tossing my new mother-in-law out the door this afternoon.”
“You mean she was there when you got home?”
“With a crew of designers. Luckily, Peyton got to her before I did and convinced her they needed to leave. It was all I could do to remain civil.”
This time, Ivan was left shaking his head. “I don’t know how that pushy woman ever managed to produce a sweetheart like Peyton. Ainsley is crazy about her and, I’ll confess that if I wasn’t so full-moon loco about my wife, I might have a bit of a crush on her, myself. She’s definitely worth the aggravation of putting up with a less-than-desirable set of in-laws, don’t you agree? Well, of course you do.” Ivan grinned. “You married her, after all.”
“Yes,” Matt said. “I did.” His gaze skirted the dance floor, searching for a glimpse of blue. Instead, he saw Connie watching him from across the room and, when she caught his eye, she lifted her glass in a salute. He passed right over her, as if he hadn’t noticed, saw Miranda and Nate, his cousin Scott, and his wife, Molly. He saw Bryce and Lara Braddock talking with Bryce’s father, James and his wife, Ilsa…who was actually responsible for all this matchmaking nonsense, but who was such a lovely lady it was hard to find any fault in her. He saw Andrew reaching for his crutches, and George Millston’s daughter—Matt couldn’t remember her name at the moment—trying to help. Andy didn’t look as if he needed help and Matt was certain he didn’t want any. But—Rachel! That was her name—looked determined to help him nonetheless. Matt continued his search for Peyton, but still didn’t see her anywhere and felt a prick of concern.
“Wow!” Ivan muttered beside him. “Would you look at that?”
That was the young woman standing with Ainsley by the entrance. Of course, knowing how crazy in love Ivan was, his wow could have been meant for his wife. But it was the woman with her who actually deserved the attention. Hayley Sayers looked like a movie star—one of the current crop of incredibly cute ones—with her red hair razored into a sassy style, her moss-green gown dipping low enough to reveal that she did, indeed, have breasts, the fabric clinging just tightly enough to show off the rest of her slender but impressive shape—a fact that would have been hard to guess from her usual attire. Matt had seen her only a couple of times in the several months since she’d gone to work as Andy’s assistant. But her customary baggy jeans, T-shirt, no makeup and truly awful hairstyle hadn’t offered a hint that she could look like this. And the way Andrew talked about her, Matt had thought his brother viewed her as an assistant with potential, but little more than background, a shadow when he needed one in a picture, someone to help tote his equipment or hold his camera while he sought the best angle for a shot.
But whatever Andy’s true feelings, everything was about to change.
Courtesy of Ainsley, their own personal matchmaker. She wouldn’t be happy until all her siblings were married, no matter what their own desire might be in the matter. Getting Andrew to recognize an introduction of possibilities was the reason for Hayley’s dramatic transformation. Ainsley had helped create the same kind of stunning makeover with Peter Braddock’s wife, Thea. Except this metamorphosis proved more startling by far.
Matt glanced over at Andrew, who had made his escape from Rachel and didn’t yet realize he was a bull’s-eye and was only seconds away from being struck with the dart of possibilities. The Apprentice Matchmaker does it again, Matt thought, feeling a little sorry for his younger brother. The poor guy didn’t stand a chance.
“Isn’t she something?” Ivan’s voice was thick with pride and, this time, there could be no question who he meant.
“Yes,” Matt agreed. “Your little matchmaker is really something. I don’t think I can stand here and watch Andrew get blindsided, though. I’m going to look for Peyton.”
He circled the dance floor and had just reached the other side, when the deejay announced, “Folks, it’s almost that magic hour. Get your noisemakers ready and your lips puckered. The new year is only minutes away.”
“And you still owe me a dance from this year.”
A light touch on his arm stopped him and Matt turned to look down at Jessica, who laughingly tugged him toward the dance floor.
“I’ll have to give you a rain check,” he said.
“That’s what you said the last time I asked you to dance. The least you can do is make good on that rain check before you go offering me another one. Come on, Matthew. You know you want to.”
He didn’t, but he knew she wouldn’t let it drop. She wanted what she wanted and she didn’t give up without a fight, however genteel her tactics. So he gave in gracefully and danced with her. “You look lovely tonight, as always, Jessica. Where’s Jon?”
“He’s here somewhere,” she answered with a pretty shrug. “Probably flirting like mad with someone. Already over the legal limit.”
“On flirting or alcohol?”
She smiled up at him in a way he knew would beguile most men.
“Both, I imagine. My husband is quite the charmer when he’s drunk. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize until after the wedding that I’d never seen him sober.” She edged closer, her body curving suggestively into his as they made a turn. “I can’t talk about this…problem…with just anyone, Matthew, and I don’t know what I’d have done this past year if you hadn’t been there to listen. I hope Peyton will understand that you and I have a special sort of friendship.”
Under the cover of an extra dance step, he reestablished a respectful distance between his body and hers. He’d actually never considered Jessica a particular friend. She was a co-worker and, by the very nature of their positions, they spent a great deal of time together…much of it social. She had hinted at her husband’s drinking problem, but nothing she’d told him was a big secret. Everyone knew about Jon’s excesses, and Matt had always been careful to maintain a proper distance in his relationship with Jessica. Mostly because he suspected she wanted more than his friendship and he couldn’t afford any hint of scandal. Even groundless gossip about him having an affair with a married woman could have a negative effect on contributions and the Foundation’s mission. “Don’t give it another thought,” he said. “Peyton knows she has no reason to feel threatened by my relationship with anyone else. She’s not the jealous type.”
“Oh, well, of course not,” Jessica amended. “I didn’t mean to suggest she was. I just thought, since she and I have often been at odds, she might say something that would…affect your opinion of me.”
“I can’t see that happening, Jessica.”
The beguiling smile returned. “Good. I won’t worry about it then, and you and I will simply go on as we always have. Marriage doesn’t really change anything, after all.”
But she was wrong. Matt could see the truth in that. He felt the difference in himself already. He didn’t just think he ought to dance with Peyton, he actually wanted to dance with her, wanted to be where she was. No other woman held any interest for him. The feeling surprised him, but it felt pleasant, too. It was almost a new year, almost a new beginning, and he wanted to start it with his wife. Wife. What an extraordinary concept. “Sorry to cut this short, Jessica, but I’d like to find Peyton before—”
“Okay, folks, here we go. Ten…nine…eight…” The deejay started counting down the seconds and the crowd picked up the chant.
The music stopped to accommodate the excitement and Matt stepped away from Jessica to look for Peyton in the crowd…on the edges…near the doors. Where in hell was she?
“…three…two…one…Happy New Year!” Noisemakers, whistles, laughter and dozens yelling, “Happy New Year!” all hit the airwaves at the same moment, and Matt, distracted by his search, was surprised to find himself abruptly pulled into a kiss. A seductive, wanton and very determined kiss. He broke it off immediately, setting Jessica away from him and turning a deaf ear to her “Happy New Year, Matthew.”
He pushed through the merrymakers surrounding them, concerned about Peyton, certain that someone had noted the kiss, certain that Jessica had meant for it to be seen, and very much aware that it was Peyton he wanted to kiss.
PEYTON HAD SEEN THE KISS. Just as she’d left the ladies’ room, she’d heard the horns, whistles and a chorus of “Happy New Year!” “Auld Lang Syne” came blasting over the speakers, surrounding her in the nostalgia that came with the end of one year and the beginning of another. And then there, directly in her line of vision, was her husband kissing another woman.
No, not just another woman. Jessica.
Jealousy tore through her already shaky composure. She wanted to stride onto the dance floor and jerk him away, scream at him for being an idiot, humiliate him…hurt him. As seeing that kiss had hurt her. But making a scene would spoil the illusion they’d both—supposedly—worked all evening to convey. Not that kissing Jessica would do anything to promote the idea that Matt was completely devoted to his wife, but if Peyton behaved like a shrew, it would only make everything worse. She’d give vent to her frustration another time, but for now, she’d just have to pretend she felt so secure in his love, the sight of him kissing someone else was not a threat.
Then, in case she might have missed seeing it, Scarlett was quickly beside her to report. “Matt kissed that woman,” she said. “Why did you let him do that?”
“I was in the ladies’ room,” she replied tersely.
“Oh, so as long as you’re out of the room, he can kiss anyone he wants?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Scarlett, and people kiss perfect strangers at midnight. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“She’s not a perfect stranger and it means something. You should give him hell.”
Peyton agreed. Totally. And it galled her to be put in a position of having to defend him. Especially after the performance they’d put on all evening. But at least she owed Jessica no allegiance whatsoever. “You’re right,” she said tightly. “Jessica isn’t a stranger. She’s an opportunist, and there’s nothing she would enjoy more than to embarrass me tonight. I refuse to give her that satisfaction. Now, this discussion is over.”
“Scarlett,” she said on a sigh, “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“So you’re not jealous that your husband kissed a woman you detest?”
“I’m not jealous.”
“I don’t understand you, Peyton. You should be out there giving him a good hard kick in the—”
“Found you at last. I was beginning to think you’d left without me.” Matt’s voice came from behind her, caressed her with its husky tone, soothed her inner turmoil so easily it should have made her even angrier.
But instead, the heat of her anger transformed with a sizzle into ravenous desire. She wanted him, suddenly and forcefully. She wanted hot, breathless kisses and hungry hands on her body. She wanted to writhe naked beneath him, taste him with long, sweet licks of her tongue. The craving shivered inside her like a dark cloud, stirring warm winds and cold air to create a storm. Great. Just what she needed to make this horrible evening complete. “No,” she said firmly to the desire…but her voice came out shaky and vulnerable.
His hands, warm and strong, took her arms and turned her around. His smile could have melted a polar ice cap…which she wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Oh, no, she was on fire. Burning with the reckless attraction that had taken over her body and made her putty in his hands. Okay, so she wasn’t putty, either. More like molten lava. “Where were you?” he asked. “I was looking everywhere for you.”
“Hmmph,” Scarlett snorted, her voice low enough to carry only as far as Peyton’s ears. “He must have thought you were down Jessica’s throat.”
“Scarlett,” Peyton warned.
“Well, it’s true!” Scarlett flounced away, as offended and furious as Peyton wanted to be.
His glance followed her for an instant. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked.
Peyton sighed. Pretending took a lot out of a person. Especially a pregnant person. “She’s fifteen,” she said, falling back on the old airtight excuse.
“Then let’s not waste time talking about her. Not now that I’ve finally got you where I want you.” Smiling lazily, he pulled her into his arms as if he had nothing to apologize for, and tipped up her chin with one finger. “Happy New Year, wife.” He bent his head and kissed her soundly, thoroughly, tenderly, taking his time and letting the kiss linger in its own pleasure. The noise around them faded into the background, unintrusive and unimportant. The crowd melted from her consciousness. Matt was the only thing left in that heartbeat of a moment. His lips on hers the only reality, the heat of his body all the invitation her body required. She ached for his touch. Her heart cried out for tenderness, a show of respectful care. It had been a tense and stressful evening. She’d take whatever comfort she could find in him, even if he was only pretending. She let go of caring that he’d kissed Jessica. For the moment, she couldn’t care less if he’d kissed every other woman in the room before he came to her. She only cared that he was kissing her now. And that he kept on kissing her until she no longer cared if she could breathe.
But he pulled back, in what she chose to interpret as a fog of reluctance, and she was left feeling weak and clingy, staring up at him, bewitched and bewildered. “Can we get out of here now?” she whispered.
He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, kissed her again. Lightly. Sweetly. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard this year. Let’s go.”
She would have gone with him anywhere.
But she was grateful they were simply going home.