Last Light by M. Pierce Page A

It hugged everything and covered nothing. My nipples showed plainly through the sheer cups. The ruffled hem flared around my hips.
    I spun before the standing mirror.
    I thought of Matt’s gaze and curled my toes.
    I don’t know when I decided to drive up to the cabin in nothing but lingerie and a coat, but the idea excited me. Maybe I saw it in a movie: a sexy woman shrugging off her coat, nothing beneath but skin and lace.
    Besides, knowing Matt, I’d be lucky if he didn’t fuck me against the car. So why not give him a treat on our way to bliss? I rolled up my black thigh-highs and clipped on the garter straps. I grinned as I slid my feet into pumps. There.
    I pulled on my coat, collected my purse, and hoisted Laurence’s portable cage.
    He thumped his displeasure.
    “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Tell it to someone else. I could be leaving you with Jamie again.”
    I locked the condo and headed out to my car.
    Cold air whooshed under my coat. Oof, what a draft …
    I giggled as I arranged Laurence’s cage on the backseat and got behind the wheel. I was being quite bad. Matt would love it.
    *   *   *
    Though I’d left work early, I hit Friday night traffic on I-25. I sighed as the string of cars slowed, smiled when it picked up, and groaned when it came to a standstill.
    What should have been a one-and-a-half-hour drive stretched into two.
    The sky darkened as I cruised west toward the mountains. Shivers raced through me.
    I sipped a Red Bull and plugged in my iPhone to play music.
    With a jolt, I remembered Seth.
    DJ, will ya?
    Matt’s memorial felt a lifetime away, but the memory of Seth was so fresh that he might have been in the car with me.
    I get it, Hannah. “Love is as strong as death,” right?
    I highly doubted Seth would “get it” if he knew the truth. Death wasn’t in the picture here, just deception.
    My mind trailed over the Goldengrove gig, and I frowned when I remembered I’d deleted all their songs. Yeesh, overreact much? I started a song by Broken Bells.
    It was, I realized, very possible that I overreacted to all of it—Shapiro’s interrogation, the looks the other memorial guests gave me, even Seth’s request for a kiss.
    I was hypersensitive, crazy with guilt. Maybe there was no harm in any of it …
    I turned onto the narrow road leading out to the cabin. My palms began to sweat. God, why was I nervous? I wiped my hands on the seat.
    The road steepened and my Civic labored over the snow. My wheels spun. The car pitched forward and slid back.
    I found the driveway and veered onto it. Matt had shoveled the dirt drive as well as he could. I slowed the car as I neared the cabin. My headlights swung across the snow.
    Matt.
    He jogged through a drift. Jesus, he was barefoot! And his hair was … black? But it was Matt. My Matt. My night owl.
    As the last light of day peeled off the snow, he closed the distance between us. I lunged out of the car. He caught me in a hug and crushed my body to his.
    “Hannah. Goddamn.” He lifted me off my feet. His hands were in my hair, against my neck, on my back and arms. He touched me all over as if to make sure I was real. And maybe I wasn’t. This felt like the best dream.
    “Matt. Baby. Hi. Hey…” I stroked his face. I scrubbed away the beginnings of tears from my eyes. “Your hair.” I ruffled it.
    “Black,” he said, his voice muffled as he kissed my neck.
    I couldn’t stop laughing. “Yes, black.”
    Matt came up for air long enough to look me in the eye. “You like it?”
    “I love it. You look great. Beautiful. My beautiful night owl.” I fit my hand to the contour of his cheek. His eyes shone with happiness … and something a little darker.
    He resumed kissing my neck, sucking hungrily on my bare throat. I moaned into the night. I was so right, I thought—I was going to get fucked against my car. But Matt was barefoot. And Laurence was in the car. And there was food, and—
    “Your skin tastes so fucking good,” Matt