Love Me (8 page)

Her brothers approached, and it was almost humorous to watch them.  They could have been polite strangers, and Amy wanted to grab all three and bang their stubborn heads together.

Didn’t they realize how lucky they were to have each other?  Didn’t they understand that they could move beyond the barriers that had been imposed during childhood?

It was a wedding, for pity’s sake.  It was the perfect occasion for everybody to celebrate, for everybody to start over.

“Hey guys,” Brittney said to her brothers.

They murmured greetings in return, but neither hurried over to hug her.  They grinned awkwardly, and it was the first time Amy had ever seen Dustin unsure of himself.

“You must be Andrew.”  Amy spoke to Brittney’s companion.

“Nope,” the man replied.  “I’m Matt Monroe.”

He shook Amy’s hand like a normal person, and he shot her a hot look that would have left her weak in the knees if she hadn’t already managed to latch on to Dustin.

“And you’re with her because…?” Dustin asked, sizing him up.

“He’s my”—Brittney frowned as she searched for the appropriate word to describe him—“my security guard.”

“Okay,” Dustin slowly mused, and he flashed a glance of concern at Lucas.

“Actually,” Brittney explained, “he’s Andrew’s idea.”

“Andrew hired security for you?” Lucas said.  “Why?”

“Long story,” Brittney claimed.

Lucas gaped and glowered, and Amy was afraid he’d say something stupid or insensitive, that he’d pose indelicate questions or press matters that didn’t need to be currently addressed.

The Merriweather siblings had odd issues, and Amy wouldn’t have any sniping, wouldn’t have Brittney put on the defensive as to why she’d arrived with a macho god who wasn’t her fiancé.

With her wedding in full swing, Amy was intent on laughter and cheer and blessings raining down.  She wouldn’t tolerate any friction, wouldn’t permit any discord that might make Brittney wish she hadn’t come. 

Amy was so delighted, she couldn’t contain herself.  She pulled Brittney into the tight hug her brothers should have bestowed but hadn’t.  For a moment, Brittney hesitated, then she hugged Amy back.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Amy whispered.

“So am I,” Brittney responded.

Over Brittney’s shoulder, Amy saw Matt Monroe wink at Brittney.  Then he let himself be swallowed up into the crowd so Amy could have Brittney all to herself.

“I want to introduce you to everybody,” she said.  “They’re all dying to meet you.”

She clasped Brittney’s hand and led her away.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I’m so happy.”

“I can see that you are.”

Brittney twirled across their hotel room, arms outstretched, providing an indication that she’d studied ballet somewhere in her past.  She’d had too much to drink, though, so she stumbled on the third turn, and Matt was there to steady her.

“Whoa, girl.  Slow down.”

“Amy and Faith are so nice,” she said.

“Yes, they are,” he concurred.

“I think they like me.  Don’t you think they like me?”

“I think they love you, kiddo.”  He smirked.  “Told you so.”

“Told me what?”

“That they’d behave like normal people and be very glad you came.”

He eased her down into a nearby chair, and she grinned, giving him a hot, searing look that made his heart race.

“Wasn’t it a beautiful wedding?” she asked.

“We weren’t there for the wedding.”

“Well, reception then.  You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do.  The reception was great.”

And he wasn’t lying.  He’d had a terrific time.

Lucas and Dustin Merriweather had actually managed to find themselves a couple of awesome wives.  How they were able to convince two such marvelously ordinary women to join the dreaded Merriweather clan was a mystery.

Matt had spent the evening, working the crowd, posing innocent questions.  He’d already known that Faith and Amy came from humble backgrounds, but he hadn’t been aware of their rough childhoods or how awfully they had struggled as adults. 

If he hadn’t learned the facts for himself, if he hadn’t met them and seen them interacting with their husbands, he might have wondered if they were the gold-diggers they’d been accused of being in the media. 

From the stories shared by their adoring relatives, it was clear that the two rich, handsome, notorious husbands were the lucky ones.

They had married wisely, had created loving, boisterous families filled with misfits.  Among the guests, there had been a general consensus that Faith and Amy were the primo catches, the Merriweather brothers not so much.  They had been fortunate in latching on to Amy and Faith while the latching on was good.

It was enough to make a man start believing in matrimony. 

Brittney leapt up from her chair, and she grabbed his bad arm.  He winced, but she was tipsy and silly and didn’t notice.  She snuggled herself to him, her breasts pressed to his chest.  She was swaying back and forth, as if they were on a dance floor and moving to the music.

“You didn’t dance with me all night,” she said.

“No, I didn’t.”

“I asked you six times!”

She was in a fine state, rowdy and talkative, her inhibitions completely shattered.  If he wasn’t careful, she was going to end up precisely where he wanted her to be, which was flat on her back on the mattress.

He wasn’t the type of guy to take advantage of a drunken woman, though.  With his hard body and macho attitude, females were always willing to hop into his bed, and he didn’t have to get them intoxicated to lure them there.

Brittney wouldn’t find it funny to wake up naked beside him in the morning.  Somehow, he couldn’t envision her laughing about it when she was sober.

“Are you a lousy dancer?”  She smiled up at him.  “Is that the problem?  Because I’m great at it, and I could have shown you what to do.”

“I like to dance.  It’s just difficult for me.  My arm’s wrecked, so I can’t hold it in certain positions.”

“What’s wrong with your arm?  Did you hurt it?”

“Yes.”

“How.”

“In Iraq.”

“In the
country
…Iraq?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you in Iraq?”

“I was in the army, you goof.  Why would you suppose I was there?”

“You were a soldier?”

“Yes,” he said again.

“That is very, very sexy.”  She raised a brow and nestled herself even closer.  “Do you have any pictures of yourself in your uniform?”

“I could probably dig one up.”

“I want to see what you looked like.”

She grabbed his ass, pulling his groin into hers. 

He knew he should draw away, that he should put some space between them, but he wasn’t that noble.

“Were you wounded?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How.”

“Blown up in an explosion.”

“An explosion!”

“It wasn’t bad,” he fibbed.  “I messed up a couple of bones, had to have some surgeries and stuff.”

She scowled.  “I don’t like it that you were hurt.”

“Came with the territory.”

He never discussed what had happened.  The tale was too depressing, and there wasn’t any point in dissecting the details.

She’d had too many drinks, and he didn’t want her maudlin, didn’t want her feeling sorry for him.  The entire evening had been a grand success, and he only wanted smiles and laughter for the rest of the night.

“Dustin told me I was welcome to visit them anytime.”  She beamed like a kid on Christmas morning.

“I heard.”

“When they get back from their honeymoon”—Dustin and Amy were headed to the Caribbean for a month—“he asked me to stay with them in the mansion.”

“I heard that too.”

“You’ll come with me, right?”

“Right,” he falsely agreed, wondering if he’d ever see her again after next week.

It was sad to consider that he might not.  She was growing on him; he liked her much more than was wise.

“Can you imagine us snooping around in that old place?” she inquired.

“I definitely can.”

“Everything started there for my family.”

The ostentatious mansion had been the first one her ancestor, George Merriweather, had constructed with his new gold fortune.  It was an infamous residence, built for his mistress—not his wife.  Due to Merriweather neglect, it had fallen into terrible disrepair.

Amy and Dustin were planning to restore it.  They were planning to restore the whole darn town.  Matt thought they were crazy, that it would be an enormous amount of work—decades of it—but they were determined. 

“The house will be so beautiful,” she said, “when Dustin is through.”

“Yes, it will.”

“And they want me to help them!  They like me,” she said again.  “They like me!”

She twirled him in several circles, making him dizzy.  Then she spun away, practically skipping with delight as she went into the bathroom.  Momentarily, the shower came on, and he walked over and sat on the bed.

He loosened his boots and belt, unbuttoned his shirt and got more comfortable.  He lay on the pillows, listening to her.

It had been a long time since he’d shared space with a female.  He liked the sounds and smells of being around her, liked the humidity of the hot water, the hint of shampoo and lotion wafting out from under the closed door.

He dozed off, content, exhausted.

When he roused again, she was stretched out on top of him, the brief touch of her lips to his own yanking him to consciousness.  Her glorious blond hair was curled over her shoulders, her big green eyes ablaze with mischief.

“Were you sleeping?”  Her voice was husky, sexy, luring him to his doom.

“No, I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Good, because I’m not ready to go to bed.”

He begged to disagree.  She was absolutely ready.

“I like you,” she stated.  “I don’t
want
to like you, but I do.”

He grinned.  “What’s not to like?”

“You’re different from the other men in my life.  I feel safe with you.”

“I’m glad.”

“You’d never let anything bad happen to me, would you?”

“No,” he lied, “I never would.”

She studied his eyes, but she missed the deceit buried there.  She was too trusting, too naïve.  As she’d mentioned, she’d had no men like Matt in her life, so how could she be expected to understand the deeds of which he was capable? 

“Doesn’t it seem like we’ve met before?” she asked.

“Why would you say that?”

“It seems like we’ve always been connected.”

He’d been suffering from the same sensation.  He could read her mind, could assess and sort out her emotions before she even realized what they were. 

If he’d been a more romantic type, he might have believed in idiotic ideas like soul mates and meant-to-be, but he wasn’t a romantic, and he didn’t really believe in much of anything anymore.

“You’re not much of a drinker, are you?” he said, eager to steer the conversation to lighter topics.

“Not hardly ever.”

“Were you aware that alcohol has a more potent effect at higher altitudes?”

“It does?”

“You should remember that when you visit your brother.  It’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“You’ll be here with me,” she ludicrously said, though he had no intention of ever coming to Gold Creek again, “so I don’t have to keep myself out of trouble.  You can do it for me.”

“I will baby cakes,” he lied again, “whenever I can.”

“I like you when you’re being nice to me.”

She initiated a second kiss.  It was chaste and sweet, another fleeting touch of her lips to his.  She was inviting him to join in, to take them to the next level, and a thousand questions rattled through him. 

Should he?  Shouldn’t he?

From the chemistry they shared, it was obviously only a matter of time before they yielded to it.  Should he proceed?  Should he wait? 

She was about to end up hurt and pissed off—at many, many people.  No doubt, Matt would be one of them.  Or maybe not.  Maybe everything would work out.  Maybe she’d wind up happy for the catastrophe he was about to dump on her.

Yeah, right!
he scoffed. 

No good conclusion was approaching for anyone.  So where did that leave him?

He pulled her nearer, and he was unnerved to discover that she was wearing just a tank top and panties.  Her legs were bare, her arms were bare, and there was no bra in evidence. 

With a few quick maneuvers, he could have her naked beneath him.  Yet instead of escalating the situation, he hesitated, calculating the angles.

His body was urging him to recklessness, his cock hard and heavy, demanding that he get on with it.  It was his head that was the problem.  He couldn’t determine the best course, but then, he wasn’t a saint.

From the first moment they’d met, he’d wanted to kiss her senseless, and now seemed the perfect opportunity.  Like the worst sort of jerk, he decided to take full advantage of her lowered defenses—even though he’d just sworn to himself that he wouldn’t.

He rolled her onto her back so he was hovered over her.  His tongue was in her mouth, his hand in her hair, and he let himself be overwhelmed by the taste of her, by the feel and smell of her.  She was much too thin, light and airy and insubstantial, like a waif or phantom that had no substance. 

She was too slender because she didn’t take care of herself, because she valued all the wrong things.  But he ignored her reduced condition, her longing for friendship and acceptance, and focused on the reality of her and what she was offering.

She was as delicious as he’d imagined she’d be, and he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t hold her near enough.  She was like a disease in his blood, his need driving him to insane heights of desire.

He caressed her small breasts, plucking at the nipples, but he didn’t remove her tank top.  Despite his body’s insistence that he proceed, he couldn’t march them any farther down the road to disaster.

He simply kissed her, then kissed her some more, and she participated with a joy and relish that delighted him beyond measure.  When he noticed his fingers were slithering down her tummy, that he was about to slip them where they shouldn’t be allowed to go, he slowed, then pulled away.