Saints and Sinners (A Classic Romance) (12 page)

"Since I can't quit thinking about them every time you're on my mind. Which is close to constant."

Dee fumbled for her handbag. Memories of what they'd shared and the impossibility of more collided.

"I'd better go." She wasn't certain she'd stood and reached the door until Matthew's hand flattened against it, barring her escape. "Let me out, Matt. It's past time I left."

"I disagree." His free hand clamped around her wrist and stroked the soft pulse point. Frantic, she jiggled the knob, then gave up. Running was futile. Unlike Vince, who controlled by power and favors owed, Matthew asserted another kind of authority. An invisible power that made Vince's quell in comparison. "We're not finished with our negotiations, Dee. Did I forget to mention I can drive a hard bargain?"

"Please, Matt, dinner is probably burning."

"Let it." Pulling her hand from the knob, he pressed his lips into her palm. "We can be friends, but I want more. How do you feel about kisses?
My
kisses."

"This isn't the time or place for that kind of discussion. Someone—Mrs. Henderson could come in."

He locked the door, silently assuring her that wouldn't happen.

"I want kisses included in the deal."

"What kind of kissing?" she asked quickly.

"All kinds. Nice kisses. Good-night kisses. Soft ones, deep ones. And in case you didn't notice, I like to French. Wet and hot, but not too messy."

The man was dangerous. If he didn't let her out now, she would surely succumb to his sensual persuasion. He'd exchanged his hand-kissing for a slow exploration of her temple. She felt the flick of his tongue before he moved to the front of her forehead.

"Just kisses, nothing else?"

"I'll stick with kisses until we're ready for more."

"Then what happened last week—"

"Won't happen again. Not for a while anyway. We'll take it slow. Okay?"

"If I agree, will you let me go?"

"Anxious, Dee?" His thumb stroked over her throat before settling against the pounding hollow. "Good thing my self-esteem's in decent working order. A man could get his ego bruised if he thought a woman agreed to let him kiss her just to get away."

"All right, then, you can have kisses. Friends and picnics and—and kisses. That's it. Kisses and... the roast is burning."

His chuckle was intimate. So was the way he turned her in his arms and looked at her with a mixture of desire and affection and something else she couldn't define.

"You're not living up to your bad reputation. Something tells me certain people would be disappointed. I'm not." His fingertip crooked under her chin and raised her face. "You can go. Just one minor detail needs taking care of first." His head lowered. "Sealing our bargain with... a...
kiss."

She was lost. At the first touch of his lips to hers, she was lost. Her arms went around his neck and he gathered her to him. His chest was heavy against her breasts, his hands roved gently against her back. And his belt buckle was pressed against her. She felt the whole of him as she absorbed all he had to give.

Her mouth didn't need coaxing to open and his made no apology for getting down to business, His tongue was fleet and sure; her own had trouble keeping up with his clever mastery of her mouth. When he took his tongue back, she murmured a protest.

"Sorry, but that's all for today." He kissed her forehead once, then unlocked the door. "You'd better go check on that roast before it burns."

To hell with the roast.
She
burned. "What do you mean, that's all for today?"

"Guess I forgot to mention one last, crucial detail." He smiled a very smug, unministerlike smile. "Just to make sure what happened last week doesn't happen again until it should, we're relegated to only one kiss per meeting. You might keep that in mind, since next time's your turn."

"One kiss! My turn!" Was the man insane? Sadistic? He had to be kidding, surely. "Are you playing with me?"

"Don't I wish." The way he looked her over left no doubt about that. "Unfortunately, those are the rules. Enjoy your dinner and I'll see you Tuesday. Eleven sharp."

"I don't suppose meal deliveries count as meetings," she quipped, sufficiently thwarted to be peevish.

"Hmmm... let me think about that. In the meantime, you give some thought to kissing me back."

"You mean—"

"I went first so you'd get an idea of what kind of kissing I'd like in return."

"Are you sure there aren't some time limitations you failed to mention too?"

Matthew's brow furrowed as if he were pondering world peace. "Hadn't thought about that. But it's probably a good idea. How does five minutes max hit you?"

"Ten," she countered.

"Seven and a half."

"Deal."

* * *

The roast did burn. As Dee scraped the meat from the pan, she found herself humming.

She stopped.

She was happy, she realized. The roast she couldn't afford was burned and she was walking on air. Happiness wasn't a state she'd been familiar with for a good while. It felt wonderful, sublime. Addictive.

And, therefore, dangerous. A trap she could easily fall into and be incapable of giving up. But she needed happiness. She deserved at least a little, didn't she? She'd lost so much. Everything she'd ever loved or worked for gone, except for Jason and Loren.

For them, if not for her, she had to be careful. Yet what could a little happiness hurt? She couldn't let herself fall in love. She couldn't even consider a commitment.

But picnics were okay.

And so were seven-and-a-half-minute kisses.

Chapter 8

Dee pounded a fist into her pillow for the umpteenth time. She tossed. She turned. She gave up and flicked on her bedside lamp.

She groaned aloud. "I should have taken it while the taking was good. Him and his kisses. Two months of swapping spit, and I'm ready to scream."

Dee sighed wearily. Then she smiled and impulsively hugged herself tight, pretending it was Matthew's arms holding her in the aloneness of her bed. Well, she told herself, at least he'd increased the time limit. And, except for the one week per month he left town to work with the homeless, their meetings were frequent.

Picnics. Sunday drives. Tuesday meal deliveries to shut-ins. They even attended PTA meetings together. Matthew was everything his adopted family had never had. He was unstinting support and a barrel of laughs. He was hell behind the pulpit yet he never pounded, only speaking wisely and with conviction.

He was a damn good kisser. And an incredible lover. That is, when she could forget her frustrations long enough to fall asleep and make love with him in her dreams.

She heard a squeaking overhead, the same sound her bed made in her dreams.

A minute later Loren tapped at her open door. "Dee? Can I come in?"

"Sure, princess." Dee glanced at her bedside clock while Loren perched on the mattress's end and tucked up her legs. "It's eleven o'clock. Did you have another bad dream?"

"I haven't gone to sleep yet. There's something I wanted to ask you about but I kind of hate to."

"You can talk to me." Talking with Loren had become vastly easier of late. Matt had asked for a hand with the kids, and he'd gotten it. Firm but fair, he had a special gift for enforcing discipline and commanding respect. They were all reaping the benefits of his influence—an influence that had him taking some heat from his congregation, she was sure, though he avoided the topic.

"What's wrong, Loren? Has someone been harassing you again at school about your 'bad mama screwing the what-a-babe preacher'?"

Dee repeated the remarks Loren had come home with since Matt's courtship had ensued without apology and openly enough for anyone with eyes to see. Jason had borne the brunt too, sporting more than one black eye for defending his "parents." The black eyes hadn't been very frequent since Matt had given him lessons in verbal defense, followed by a more direct approach—avoiding an on-target slug with a slide of the foot behind an opponent's. And if that didn't work, a stomach punch ended things quick.

"It's not that," Loren said. "It's about a Christmas program the junior high's having. I want to go to the party after the play, but it's pretty fancy. I mean, the girls in my class are talking about what to wear. They all want to get dressed up in prom stuff, and I don't have anything like that. I know we don't have tons of money, Dee."

Dee's heart contracted. She herself hadn't grown up rich, but an appropriate dress had never been too much to ask for. Loren
had
grown up rich, and now she was worried about dollars and cents. With good cause. Dee's modest savings were being depleted by the day, and even with her increasing enrollment of piano students, there wasn't enough money to make ends meet. In less than half a year they could be asking for the food bank's help she'd refused unless things picked up or she got a part-time job.

But that was
her
problem, not those of a teenager who deserved the joy of being young before she became an adult.

"We can swing it, Loren. Two new students start this week and we're getting by fine." She squeezed Loren's hand. "Now, quit worrying about it. We'll take a long drive soon and get you something really cool from Des Moines. It'll be fun, just us girls."

"I'd really like that."

"Me too. I'm proud of you, Loren. Your grades are good and no detentions."

"Mama's proud," Loren said quietly.

"Yes, your mama is proud of you, princess—" A sudden light tapping against the window caused them both to stiffen.

"Dee—"

"Shhh." Her heart pounding, she turned off the light and got out of bed, slowly inching toward the window.

"Maybe we should call Matthew."

"No," Dee whispered sharply. "Just be quiet." The drapes trembled in her grasp. Should she peek from the side or use the element of surprise and jerk them open? She should have gotten the gun she'd bought and hidden beneath the mattress. Without it, covertness was her best choice.

She peered outside. "It's okay," she said with a rush of relief. Dee stared at the branch tapping against the glass. "It's just a tree. You can relax."

The fear that had filled up the room was replaced by the palpable resentment emanating from the girl huddled beneath the covers.

"I hate Vince. I really hate him, Dee. He's not even here and he's still scaring us."

"And that's exactly why we have to be careful about everything we say or do. Not even Matthew can know, understand? If you're ever alone and something like this happens and you can't find me, then call him. But whatever you do, don't tell him about Vince."

"Or Nick? He's as bad as Vince, even if he is a lawyer and my uncle."

"How do you know?" Dee turned on the lamp, wanting the security of light and a better look at Loren's face. "I never talked to you about my relationship with him."

"Aw, c'mon. I might've been young, but I saw you kissing him and him trying to feel you up when you thought I wasn't looking. And he was around the house so much. Major barf." A mischievous smile sparked her lips. "Bet he wasn't as good a kisser as Matthew."

"Young lady, my love life isn't any of your business." Despite her resolve to be firm, Dee couldn't suppress a girlish giggle. "But you're right. Matthew's the best kisser. The best everything."

"Are you in love with him?"

Was she? Could a woman be in love and still keep so many invisible walls between herself and the man she craved to bond with completely?

"I do love Matthew."

"Well, of course you love him. Everyone loves Matthew. Even me and Jason. What I mean is—"

"I know what you mean." The phone on the nightstand rang. Dee glanced at the clock. Eleven twenty-two. A call this late was odd. "Saved by the bell," she said, trying to hide her apprehension before she answered cautiously, "Hello?"

"Did I wake you up?"

"Matt, it's you." Her heart immediately flip-flopped at the sound of his vibrant, rich voice.

"It'd better be me." He chuckled. "You know how I get when I'm jealous. Not a pretty sight."