vehicles, including Matt’s truck.
“Miss Simon?” The driver looked over his shoulder. “This is the address. I’ll grab your bag.”
Slowly, Grace slipped out of the car, accepted her weekender bag, and after offering a tip and a thank-you, she turned to the house. It took her more than a few minutes to get up enough nerve to walk up to the porch, but she managed. And sure she stood there for at least another five before gently opening the door to let herself in—but she did it in spite of her nerves.
She was immediately hit with a blast of laughter, music, and excited squeals. The noise came from the back of the house, most likely the kitchen area, and she set down her bag and hung up her coat.
The butterflies. Oh they were having a heyday in her stomach. She exhaled, tried to smooth her hair and before she lost her nerve, quickly turned around.
It was pretty much then that time did a wonky number on her and froze. Her vision blurred and for a scary moment, she thought she was going to pass out.
Matt stood a few feet away.
Blinking rapidly, she wiped her suddenly damp palms against her jean-clad thighs, and wished like hell the lump in her throat would disappear. She couldn’t speak because she knew she’d sound like a complete moron, so Grace attempted a smile.
“Are you okay?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say, wishing her cheeks would un-freeze from what had to be the most painful smile in the history of smiles.
He stood before her, dressed in those damn jeans that fit him exactly the way a pair of jeans were meant to fit a guy. Loose enough so they weren’t obscene, but hugging his thighs and ass in a way that made her mouth water. A plain white T-shirt underneath a gray and white plaid shirt, along with his dark hair and devilish eyes, gave him an edge that made her knees weak.
And good God, but the man smelled amazing.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice low and intimate. Matt took the last few steps needed in order to bring him close enough for her touch. And it was more than touching that Grace was thinking about.
She licked her bottom lip—a nervous gesture—and jumped a little when he bent toward her. His mouth came to rest near her ear, and shivers rolled over her body as his warm breath caressed her.
“Keep doing that, Bluebell, and we won’t make it to dinner.”
Heart beating a mile a minute, she pressed her hands flat against his chest, and smiled—a soft, slow smile—because his heart was racing as fast as hers. There was a time when she’d hated the name Bluebell. Yet, Matt could call her that until the cows came home.
“That would be rude,” she managed to say.
“Incredibly rude, but so damn hot.” His mouth nuzzled her neck and everything inside Grace went molten. She sagged against him and the ache between her legs surged when she felt his hardness.
“Keep doing that,” she breathed into him. “And I won’t make it through the next five minutes.”
He chuckled, and nipped at her jaw before, sliding his arms around her in a big hug. The gesture was so normal, so genuine and easy , that it brought tears to her eyes and Grace buried her head in his shoulder.
“This feels so…” She didn’t realize that she’d spoken aloud until he spoke.
“So?”
She paused for a moment, searching for the right words—the rights words to explain the jumble of emotion inside her. “I feel like I’ve come home. Like this is where I belong.”
Her eyes slammed shut, because all of a sudden she was mortified. Had she just said that out loud? Out loud to a man she barely knew?
Who did that?
“Shit,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I mean I….” What the hell is wrong with me? “I don’t know what I mean.”
She’d just handed Matt the best excuse ever to run away from her as fast as he could. He didn’t do relationships. He didn’t commit. Hell, he didn’t even do baby
“Miss Simon?” The driver looked over his shoulder. “This is the address. I’ll grab your bag.”
Slowly, Grace slipped out of the car, accepted her weekender bag, and after offering a tip and a thank-you, she turned to the house. It took her more than a few minutes to get up enough nerve to walk up to the porch, but she managed. And sure she stood there for at least another five before gently opening the door to let herself in—but she did it in spite of her nerves.
She was immediately hit with a blast of laughter, music, and excited squeals. The noise came from the back of the house, most likely the kitchen area, and she set down her bag and hung up her coat.
The butterflies. Oh they were having a heyday in her stomach. She exhaled, tried to smooth her hair and before she lost her nerve, quickly turned around.
It was pretty much then that time did a wonky number on her and froze. Her vision blurred and for a scary moment, she thought she was going to pass out.
Matt stood a few feet away.
Blinking rapidly, she wiped her suddenly damp palms against her jean-clad thighs, and wished like hell the lump in her throat would disappear. She couldn’t speak because she knew she’d sound like a complete moron, so Grace attempted a smile.
“Are you okay?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say, wishing her cheeks would un-freeze from what had to be the most painful smile in the history of smiles.
He stood before her, dressed in those damn jeans that fit him exactly the way a pair of jeans were meant to fit a guy. Loose enough so they weren’t obscene, but hugging his thighs and ass in a way that made her mouth water. A plain white T-shirt underneath a gray and white plaid shirt, along with his dark hair and devilish eyes, gave him an edge that made her knees weak.
And good God, but the man smelled amazing.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice low and intimate. Matt took the last few steps needed in order to bring him close enough for her touch. And it was more than touching that Grace was thinking about.
She licked her bottom lip—a nervous gesture—and jumped a little when he bent toward her. His mouth came to rest near her ear, and shivers rolled over her body as his warm breath caressed her.
“Keep doing that, Bluebell, and we won’t make it to dinner.”
Heart beating a mile a minute, she pressed her hands flat against his chest, and smiled—a soft, slow smile—because his heart was racing as fast as hers. There was a time when she’d hated the name Bluebell. Yet, Matt could call her that until the cows came home.
“That would be rude,” she managed to say.
“Incredibly rude, but so damn hot.” His mouth nuzzled her neck and everything inside Grace went molten. She sagged against him and the ache between her legs surged when she felt his hardness.
“Keep doing that,” she breathed into him. “And I won’t make it through the next five minutes.”
He chuckled, and nipped at her jaw before, sliding his arms around her in a big hug. The gesture was so normal, so genuine and easy , that it brought tears to her eyes and Grace buried her head in his shoulder.
“This feels so…” She didn’t realize that she’d spoken aloud until he spoke.
“So?”
She paused for a moment, searching for the right words—the rights words to explain the jumble of emotion inside her. “I feel like I’ve come home. Like this is where I belong.”
Her eyes slammed shut, because all of a sudden she was mortified. Had she just said that out loud? Out loud to a man she barely knew?
Who did that?
“Shit,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I mean I….” What the hell is wrong with me? “I don’t know what I mean.”
She’d just handed Matt the best excuse ever to run away from her as fast as he could. He didn’t do relationships. He didn’t commit. Hell, he didn’t even do baby
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