Vivian Arend - Rocky Mountain Desire

Matt glanced at the table, covered with piles of organized material. “You eating in the living room?”

“Planned on it, and watching The Sound of Music. Tradition, you know.”

The microwave pinged, but he caught her wrist before she could open it. “Hope, why did you let me help you with the quilt without arguing with me?”

She leaned back and crossed her arms in front of her as she looked him up and down. A slow smile snuck out and she laughed. “Because you were honestly interested. And I’m never going to say no if you really want to do something. I don’t like charity, Matt, but I have no problem with a friend giving me a hand because they want to.”

Something in her logic hit him hard enough his knees nearly buckled. His heart pounded as if he’d just run a gold-medal sprint, and the satisfaction filling him reminded him of the sheer excitement of Christmas morning when he was young.

Delight, unexpected but fresh and new in how it arrived.

Heading back to the house was impossible. Not because there was anything there he wanted to avoid, but because there was something here he didn’t want to leave.

Even if he wasn’t sure what it was, other than a…friend.

He cleared his throat. “Then, if I ask if I can stay and watch the movie with you, because I’d really like to just hang out with you for a while longer, what would you say?”

Hope didn’t hesitate. She pointed to the fridge. “If that’s what you’d like to do, and why you’d like to do it, then I’d say, ‘Could you pour me a glass of iced tea and bring it with you when you come to the living room?’ Because my hands are full.”

Hope kept her eyes glued to the television, snuggled into the couch a little deeper and fought an epic battle. Hypocrisy didn’t feel good, no matter who delivered it. She’d promised herself Matt was off the serving shelf. But the sensation stealing over her as she sat next to him and watched singing goatherds for what had to be the millionth time in her life—well, she liked Christopher Plummer plenty, but it wasn’t the sight of him on the screen making her heart race.

And she was not going to muck this up. Hurting Matt? God, she’d cut off her own arm before letting that happen. He obviously wanted to spend time with her. Wasn’t his fault he couldn’t possibly want it to be for the same reason that teased her on a daily basis.

Not to mention during the nights.

Matt stretched and yawned, his left arm slipping farther into the space she’d mentally tagged “hers”. The safe-zone line had been crossed—that was her cue to bounce up and go for more drinks. Or popcorn, or…or something.

“Okay if I pause it?” Matt waved the remote control.

She grinned as she hit her feet. “No problem.”

He smiled back suspiciously. “What’s that look for?”

“I just want to point out you took all of fifteen minutes to assume ownership of that thing.”

“I’m a guy, it’s genetically built into us to cling to the controls.”

Hope laughed as she grabbed their empty glasses. “I’ve heard that. I’ve also heard shock therapy can help deal with it.”

Matt headed down the hall toward the washroom. She watched, enjoying seeing his ass flex before mentally slapping some sense into herself.

It wasn’t going to work, but maybe if she kept telling the lies they’d become true.

She had both hands full when the phone rang a couple minutes later.

“You want me to get that?” Matt called.

“Please.” It was probably her friend Donna making a post-eggnog holiday shout-out.

Hope finished topping up their glasses and turned, nearly tipping both full loads over his broad chest, he stood so close behind her. “Shit, warn a girl, will you?”

“It’s for you.” He held out the phone like it was a snake. “I gotta go.”

What? She scrambled to put down the glasses. “Oh. Okay.”

He was already gathering his coat and slipping on his shoes. His face was white, body stiff. My God, what was wrong? Whoever was on the line could wait a few minutes while she discovered what was going on. She spoke into the phone. “Hang on a second.”

“Hey, no problem, sis.”

Hope froze, her sister’s voice echoing in her ear loud enough he must have heard. Hope slapped a hand over the mouthpiece. “Shit, Matt. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, digging in his pocket, looking for something. “Nothing to apologize for.”

Hope snapped the phone to her mouth. “Helen? I’ll call you back.” She hung up and tossed it onto the counter, grabbed hold of his jacket and yanked him to a halt in the process of actually stepping through the exterior door. “Wait.”

Matt’s broad shoulders filled the doorframe, the thick layers of his winter coat like armor facing her. “Hope, I just…”

“Damn it, don’t you leave right now.”

Matt spun. “You’re swearing at me? Fuck that. If I want to leave, I’ll leave. That’s what you said, isn’t it? That if it’s something I really want to do, then I can do it. And right now I want to go. In fact I want to go and get a stiff drink, and since I’m too fucking responsible to get shit-faced except when I’m safely at home, I’m gone.”

She grabbed his collar, one side in each hand. “Fine. Go drink yourself into a bloody stupor. But this goes two ways. There’s something I want before you run.”

Logic flew out the window. It was the last thing she should do and yet it had to be done. She yanked him forward.

He was an unmovable wall, but she was strong enough the frantic jerk brought her to the mountain of his body. She lifted her chin and slammed her mouth against his, kissing fiercely. His hands hovered in midair for a moment, visible in her peripheral vision before she closed her eyes and simply took what she wanted.

His hands didn’t stay unoccupied for long. She was lifted off her feet. The bulk of his muscular body shoved her backward as his tongue thrust between her lips. Her back hit the wall the same moment he switched from accepting her kisses to consuming her. She couldn’t groan, couldn’t let out anything but a brief gasp when he ripped his lips from hers and bit her neck, the entire front of his body rammed against hers, pinning her in place.

Hope raised her legs and wrapped them around his hips, squeezing as tight as she could with her still relatively strong dancer’s muscles. If she didn’t get her point across one way, he was going to hear it loud and clear another.

Oh God, he thrust his hips forward, making contact with her core, and his name burst from her, exploding like a cry for help. She clutched his head, jerking his hair to drag his mouth back into range so she could kiss him again. Excitement simmered in her core, tingles of pleasure radiating out from where he rubbed insistently against her, the solid ridge in the front of his jeans a magnet she was determined to stay connected with.

And his kisses? She melted under his assault. Heated, wicked, violent even. Burning and stripping away some of the pain, some of her lingering frustrations.

He slowed as she did, one hand cradling her head, lifting her chin higher to allow him to cover her mouth more easily. His tongue swept smoothly over her lips, hot breath flashing over her cheek and neck as his left hand cupped her ass and pulsed her against his groin slower and slower.

He eased away until her feet reluctantly hit the floor. Hope savoured the last touches of his mouth against hers, the smooth slide of their tongues as she withdrew, sucking in air. The final squeeze of his hand on her ass, the fleeting brush of her fingers escaping from his hair. Matt backed up, leaving her leaning on the wall for support.

His eyes were open wide, hands dropping to his chest as if checking to see if he was still in one piece.

She didn’t want to hurt him, but damn if she’d let him hurt her either. And there was no way on earth she was going to let her sister drag them both through the barbed-wire pain all over.

Hope lifted her chin.

“You’ve gotten blasted by a painful reminder—but running away? That’s not you, Matt. You’re bigger than that. If you want to leave now, yes, you leave. Not to escape, not because you want to get piss-drunk over past hurts. Go because while we’ve had a great afternoon, we both think it’s time to say good night.”

The haunted expression in his eyes faded, though a darkness still hovered near. Now his expression looked more like unresolved desire than the urge to kill someone. Matt stepped back without another word. He left, the door clicking firmly behind him.

Hope lifted her fingers to her mouth to trap the lingering heat from his kisses. All her good intentions had been tossed away in a moment, but she couldn’t regret it.

Whatever she had done—they’d both have to live with the consequences. But for now? She was going to hide away for a while.

He didn’t want to go home. The temptation to hit the bottle and wipe away the confusion by fading into oblivion was too high. The previous year when Helen had left he’d spent a couple solid weeks drinking himself into a stupor every night before his brothers had intervened and talked him out of that stupidity.

The cheerful chaos of his parents—definitely not what he needed right now either. Not with the simmering undertones of sexual need still buzzing through him.

What the hell had she kissed him for? Matt drove the mostly deserted main street of town, shifting through everything he’d seen and felt that day.

He headed down the road toward one of the residential subdivisions, just on the off-chance. Lights glowed through the windows of Daniel and Beth’s house, and Matt hesitated only for a minute before turning into the driveway and parking in the back beside the garage.