The Rebound Girl (Getting Physical) (25 page)

But she eventually pulled back, gasping. Her skin flushed pink and tempting. “I think I can get used to that one. Any other rules of yours I should know about?”

He couldn’t help but smile. Always business, his woman. “Just one. I’m even going to make you meet my sister.”

Laughter lit her face, and Matt realized it was his favorite sight in the world, seeing her glow just for him. “Why, Matt Fuller—I think that’s the least sexy thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Does that turn you off?” he asked, kissing her along her neck, taking his time with the delicate curves where her pulse beat hot and strong. “Should I tell you about how Hilly likes to trim her husband’s nose hairs for him?”

She angled her head, giving him better access to the soft, sloping skin of her shoulders. All this unexplored territory.
His
territory
.

“I’m practically thrumming with anticipation.”

“Or maybe we can talk about rashes,” he murmured. “Those are sexy. Once, when I was a kid, we went swimming in a pond over by the quarry and got swimmer’s itch. We had big, scabby sores all over. Oozing pustules.”

“You forget that I’m a doctor,” Whitney said with a low chuckle, playing along. She grabbed his belt loop and pulled their bodies closer together. “Parasites get me really hot.”

“Is that so?” He lifted her shirt roughly over her head. Her bra, a soft, worn, white cotton thing, had to be the least lingerie-like item in her closet. He loved it. He loved the comfortable ordinariness of it, the fact that she wasn’t out to impress him for once. He moved lower, kissing the swell of each breast.

“Tapeworm.” He left the bra in place and fixated on the soft curve of her belly. “Scabies.” Moving lower, his tongue dipped into her belly button. “Lice.” He was down to the band of her skirt now, a man with nowhere left to go. He peeked up and grinned. “Um...botfly?”

Whitney let out a low moan. “This is my kind of dirty talk. Don’t stop.”

“I think you might have to pick up from here,” he said, giving up the fight. He straightened and brought his head close to hers, brushing her lips so softly it could barely be registered as a kiss. “I’m running out of organisms to name.”

“You’re doing fantastic,” she whispered.

Both of them stopped, a cavern of things still to say. It was one thing to turn lovemaking into playtime—that was something Whitney did incredibly well. Joking, laughter, fun. But those kinds of words were easy. It was the not-so-funny ones that seemed to stick on Matt’s tongue.

“I feel too much,” he confessed, his eyes searching hers. Difficult as it was, the conversation had to happen. “I always have. For life, for you, for what it will mean to make love to you the way you deserve—long and slow and giving myself to you one hundred percent.”

Whitney’s eyes flared with surprise. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she hadn’t remembered that part of the deal.

“Don’t ask me to be your boyfriend unless you mean it, Whitney. Don’t ask me because you want to prove a point or because it’s what you think I want to hear. Don’t ask me because you fear my encroaching ex-wife. Ask me because you can’t imagine spending tomorrow without me.”

Her hands wound around his neck, pulling him close. He thought she was going to kiss him, but instead of bringing their lips together, her mouth moved to the side, grazing his earlobe.

Bodies taut with anticipation, so much tension in the air it sealed them into their embrace, she whispered, “I can’t imagine spending tomorrow without you, Matt. Or any of the tomorrows after that.”

His heart roared, the rest of him not too far behind. Taking her firmly by the hand, he pulled her toward the back of the condo. There was no joke on her lips, no laughter in her eyes when they reached her bedroom, messy and unkempt and quite possibly his favorite place on earth.

He laid her gently on the bed and held himself suspended above her.

Matt intended to take his time. Even though Whitney was all urgency, her hands everywhere at once—in his hair, at his shirt buttons, tugging at his fly—he stilled her with a kiss, deep and determined.

“I’ve been looking forward to this for two and a half very long months. You’re going to have to be patient.” He traced a finger down her sternum, past her stomach, not stopping until he reached her waistband. Carefully, he pulled the fabric down over her hips and past her legs, taking the time to kiss her calves, sleek and smooth, on the way back up.

That was when he noticed she wore sweet, white cotton panties to match the bra—yet another pleasant surprise. He hadn’t even known she owned such practical underthings.

He traced his finger over every stitch of the fabric, where it curved over her thighs and dipped between her legs, showing his appreciation as a caress.

“I don’t think I can be patient.” Whitney undulated against the bed, arching her back so that her whole body strained toward him. “You have no idea how much I want you right now.”

He nudged her legs apart with his knee and slipped a hand farther between them. Hot and wet before he even got past the fabric. “I have an inkling,” he said, tugging the panties down.

Matt knew Whitney’s body intimately—much more than he thought possible for a woman he had yet to have actual sex with. She loved it when he thrust his fingers inside her and kissed her deeply at the same time. A long, hard suck at her nipple had her hips jerking from the bed almost as though her body parts were attached by taut, electrified wire. Her favorite was when he gripped her ass and held it firm while he buried his face between her legs.

In return, she knew that a wet fingertip pressed firmly to the head of his erection reduced him to a monosyllabic beast, and that he could only take her hands cupping his balls for about sixty seconds before they grew too sensitive and she needed to move on.

But there was so much still to explore—and he wasn’t the only one looking to stake a claim. Whitney sat up and whisked her bra up with a flick of her fingers, motioning for him to take her place on the bed.

He sat, but only after she reached down and slowly unzipped his jeans, her fingers lingering over the task. He shrugged out of his shirt as she splayed a hand over the flat of his abdomen and ran her fingers through the smattering of hair there.

“I feel like I could write a poem about your abs.” Whitney sighed. “A happy ode to a happy trail.”

He chuckled. “Don’t let me stop you. But odes tend to be really long. You’re better off with a haiku.” He turned her so that she stood facing away from him, his head level with where her back sloped into her glorious rounded bottom. Pressing a series of soft kisses to the curve of her spine, he basked in the feeling of so much softness within his reach.
Mine
.
All
mine
.

She purred and arched against him. “I’m a doctor. I don’t do haiku.”

“Kiss falling softly.” He pressed a deep, warm kiss to each dimple of her back.

“The world spins until it stops.” He whirled her around so that she faced him.

“And I stop with it.” He stopped.

Whitney sat astride him, her sex brushing against his erection but not taking it in. She lifted his face in her hands and kissed him softly. Her hair blanketed them both, smelling sweet and spicy at the same time. He breathed deep, looking forward to the time when he could wake up next to the splay of that hair on his pillow.

“No one has ever written me a poem before,” she teased.

“Someday, Whitney. I will write you the whole damn ode.”

Gripping her ass in his hands, he finally guided her onto his cock. It had been his intention to take her slowly, to savor the overwhelming rightness of her body wrapped around his, but as she opened her legs to take him in, moaning with each movement bringing them closer together, he found himself powerless to stop. Himself or her.
Especially
her
.

“Please don’t hold back.” She thrust her hips against his, finalizing the fit, proving that the complete fusing of two bodies was a shared effort. “You feel amazing. You are amazing.”

He gripped her ass, lifting her up and bringing her down, feeling the fit of her all over again. Amazing didn’t even begin to cover it.

“I meant to woo you with kisses and sweet nothings,” he said, his voice coming out raspy as he strained to slow down. All the blood pumping through him commanded that he move rougher, faster, harder. And Whitney, rocking against him, her body a perfect blur of sensation, wasn’t helping matters any.

“And I mean for you to lose control.” She ground her hips against him, drawing him deeper, and the last of his resolve fled. “Let it go, Matt. Take what you want and worry about the sweet nothings later.”

“You. I want you.” He captured her mouth in a kiss, pumping against her with an untamed intensity he didn’t know he possessed. And she pushed right back against him, hips and tongue, her teeth clamping down on his lower lip.

As their bodies continued to move as one, Matt realized just how right they’d been to wait for this. He was inside Whitney, yes, but this was so much more than a physical penetration. Whitney’s body was pure, hot silk as it moved over his, and no man could ever tire of her passion—but it was more than that. She’d finally let him in.

Him
, an ordinary man with noting special to say or offer.
Him
, a quiet nobody who could only offer her his heart in return.

He slowed his pace, an agonizing feat of restraint, but it seemed important to kiss her one last time before she came. Without leaving the embracing depth of her body, he brought his lips to hers, a soft promise that was the only thing he had to give. Before he could do more than sweep his tongue gently against hers, she bucked her hips and cried out in release.

The tight compressions of her body around his erection brought his own orgasm to a roaring head, and she collapsed against him just as he was sure he’d never be able to breathe again.

But breath came, as it always did.

So, too, did their heartbeats resume a normal pattern against one another. Still, neither of them moved beyond the physical demands of bodies that intended to continue living. Hopefully for a very long time.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to walk again,” Whitney finally said, lifting herself off and falling to the bed.

“See how much fun it is being my girlfriend?” he asked, falling next to her. His hand trailed a lazy pattern over her stomach before settling, firmly entwined in her own. He rolled his head to the side. “Don’t you wish we’d done this weeks ago?”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to bribe me into loving you with sexual favors.”

Matt jerked back, her words taking him by surprise. He’d long since fallen in love with her—he’d been doing that since the day they first met—but he hardly expected to hear the words come out of her mouth without being forcefully pried.

“Loving me? Is that what you’re doing?”

She smiled and pulled him tight. It wasn’t an answer, but Matt realized that words didn’t mean anything as long as their momentum was moving in the right direction. As she nestled firmly in the crook of his arm, burying her face in his neck, he decided her direction was perfect.

She was moving toward him. And he was waiting to catch her when she finally arrived.

Chapter Twenty

The spa opened with an impressive fanfare, given their inauspicious beginning.

For a while there, Whitney had been beset with visions of an empty waiting room, of hundreds of pounds of paraffin wax sitting in untouched bricks that would someday comprise all their worldly goods. In every one of these visions, John and Kendra smiled and nodded and reassured her that it wasn’t her fault.

Even though they knew it was.

“Well, it’s not the line out the door we were hoping for, but I scheduled two facials and a Brazilian this morning.” Kendra nodded like that was all it would take to begin them on their path to riches. “How’s your appointment book look, John?”

“Unlike the two of you, I’ve been helping old ladies all over town cross the street, extolling the virtues of massage for circulation and joints. I’ve got three patients coming in for evaluations today. And a hot stone therapy at three.” He turned, continuing the chain around the table. “Whitney?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Whitney studied the plate in front of her with renewed interest, rolling a melon ball in circles. She’d hung the sign outside offering free Botox to ten lucky winners. What more did they want from her?

“Morning staff meetings to share our client lists were your idea, Whit,” Kendra pointed out, her voice gentle but firm. “How bad can it possibly be? I thought you were finally getting a little interest.”

“May I?” Jared didn’t wait for a reply. He grabbed the delicate green fruit in front of her and popped it in his mouth. “I’m happy to report that Dr. Vidra and I are booked solid. For the entire week.”

If smug had a smell, Jared would be reeking of it right now. And Kendra and John would be bottling it up to sell out front.

“Solid is a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” she scoffed. “Most of our appointments are for consultations only—which are free.”

Jared leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. It was a gesture she remembered well—arrogant and sophisticated and probably the reason three quarters of the female population were willing to drop trouser the moment he drew near. “Are you telling me you don’t have enough confidence in your own abilities to turn at least half of those consults into appointments?” He tsked gently. “You disappoint me.”

Whitney knew she was being baited, but as was usually the case with this man, she wasn’t strong enough to resist the challenge. “Oh, I can close the deal. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“Okay, so that’s good,” Kendra said brightly, shutting the manila folder in front of her. “Why don’t we—”

“Unless you want me to take them all.” Jared ignored Kendra and locked eyes with Whitney. “I bet I can close every last one.”

Ugh
. The only way he could be any cockier was if he carried a big stick between his legs and pulled it out to play croquet. “Let’s just see how the day goes, shall we?” she asked, striving for calm. She pushed back from the table, but Jared’s hand, warm and insistent on her shoulder, stopped her from getting very far.

“What happened to the Whitney Vidra I used to know?” he asked, searching her. “She wasn’t scared of anything.”

“Funny how a person changes over time.” That was the understatement of the decade. “The Jared Fine I used to know would have never groveled his way home to beg for his old life back. Yet here we are.”

She heard Kendra and John suck in sharp breaths in the background.

Crap
. She’d done it again, opened her mouth and let the anger out before she even realized it was there. Of course there was going to be workplace tension and friction and all those other physics lessons that accompanied a once-crushed heart, but she’d agreed to this, which meant she needed to put her big-girl pants on for once.

She could always ask Matt to rip them off with his teeth later.

“I’m sorry.” She turned to face Jared, thoughts of Matt taking away the last ebb of irritation. “That was way out of line. I’ve become so accustomed to using your face as a dartboard I sometimes forget there’s a real person in there.”

“At the risk of another rake down, I have to say you really
have
changed.” Jared looked like he wanted to put a hand on her forehead and check for signs of disease. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you willingly apologize before.”

“You better get used to it,” Whitney said wryly. “That won’t be the last time I yell at you without provocation. In fact, if you don’t stop smirking in the next sixty seconds, I’ll do it again.”

Jared surveyed the three of them, his smirk transforming into a genuine smile. “I’ve really missed you guys.”

Kendra snorted. “You miss Whitney overreacting and me ordering people around? You must have had a harder time of it out there playing God than we thought.”

Jared’s smile disappeared. “You have no idea.”

Damn
. Now not only did she feel guilty, but she felt pity for the poor jerk. The mighty must have fallen when her back was turned.

“You know what, Jared?” Whitney stuck out her hand in a gesture of conciliation, though she was careful to keep an entire arm’s length distance between them. “You’re on for that wager. Fifty bucks says I book more appointments than you today.”

“Make it dinner and you’re on.”

“Nice try, but I think you’re forgetting one small thing.” Whitney dropped her hand. “My boyfriend.”

If she’d been afraid that the word would stick in her throat the first time she said it out loud for real, she was happy to report that no such fears existed now. Matt was her boyfriend. He wasn’t exactly a boy, but he was definitely her friend...a
very
good friend. The sooner Jared accepted that, the better it would be for all of them. She shot him a triumphant look.

But Jared deflected it with a laugh. “I’m not asking you to sleep with me, Whitney. It’s a meal between colleagues. Two people and forks and maybe that conversation we’re way overdue for. You are allowed to eat with other people, aren’t you?”

Did he seriously just ask her that? “Of course I am.”

Yes, she and Matt had made things official. And yes, she was still very new at this being a good girlfriend stuff. But the one thing Matt promised her was that she didn’t have to change for him. The old Whitney wouldn’t have hesitated to rise to the challenge, to accept Jared’s taunt and show him who called the shots.

A gnawing doubt nipped at the edges of her stomach. The old Whitney was also someone who thought about herself first and thought about herself often.
Did
you
forget
the
part
where
Matt
came
inside
you
—
shared
a
part
of
himself
he
doesn’t
give
to
just
anyone
?

“So we’re on, Dr. Vidra? Loser buys dinner? And works the first volunteer hospital shift?”

She was painfully aware of Kendra and John staring at her, waiting to see what she’d say. It felt like a kind of test, two warriors circling to see who came out on top.

She stuck out her hand, happy to find it didn’t waver as Jared gave it a hefty shake. “I accept.”

If there was one good thing about having a liberal-minded boyfriend who respected women and forgave his ex-wife for adultery, it was this.

Matt wouldn’t care about one tiny dinner with Jared.

Even if she did.

* * *

“Why do I smell delicious food?”

Matt heard the rattle of Whitney’s keys as they hit the counter. The sound was followed almost instantly by a pair of arms winding around his waist, the softness of Whitney’s body as she pressed against him.

“More important,” she murmured into his neck. “Why do I smell delicious food in my very own kitchen? Are you making me dinner?”

Matt held up a glass of red wine and felt it being plucked from his hand. A pause long enough for her to drink filled the air, and her soft moan of appreciation came soon after. “You have no idea how much I needed that.” She dropped a wet kiss on his neck and seated herself at one of the island stools. “If you tell me you cleaned too, I’m making you quit your job to become my barefoot housewife.”

Matt grabbed the wine bottle and poured a liberal amount into the pasta sauce he was stirring. “It’s a compelling offer, but there is no way I’m tackling the hoarder’s nightmare that is your living room.”

“You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“I don’t blame the girl for anything.” He held up the bottle in a toast. “Happy first day of medical spa ownership, Whitney. I want to hear all about it over dinner. You have no idea how hard it was for me not to call you about twenty times today to see how it was going. I’ve never been a stalker before. It’s exhausting.”

Whitney’s smile dimmed, and she buried her face in her wineglass. Matt knew it was going to be a stretch—setting this scene for her to come home to—but this was supposed to be what she wanted. The relationship, the domesticity...
him
.

Well, this was what it looked like on the inside. This was who he was.

“Don’t look so sad.” He waved a spoon at her. “I only called and hung up twice. I thought I showed admirable restraint.”

All he got in return for his attempt at a joke was a small half smile and a request to refill her empty glass.

“It smells absolutely wonderful,” she said. “And I can’t tell you how much it means that you would go to such lengths to make my first official day at work special.”

He stirred harder, splashing marinara sauce along the tiled backsplash. “But?”

She came up behind him again, this time pressing a deep kiss just below his earlobe. “But I made dinner arrangements already. Work stuff.”

Matt relaxed a little. She wasn’t freaking out about the insipidity of an evening spent at home—she simply had plans.

“Invite Kendra and John over.” He turned to accept her kiss and got caught in the dizzying distraction of her lips for a full minute before he realized he was dripping sauce from the spoon onto her hair. “I made more than enough for everyone, and I can make myself scarce if you guys need to talk. I should be getting ready for conferences next week anyway.”

“You’d do that? You’d drop your whole fancy seduction routine just so I can get some work done?”

“You think this is a fancy seduction routine?” And here he’d thought it was dinner. Curious, he added, “Is it working?”

She let out a soft snuff of laughter, her breath warm against his neck. “Like you wouldn’t believe. Nothing gets me hotter than a man in a frilly apron making me pasta.”

“Mmm,” he murmured. “There’s garlic bread too. I expect quivering loins for that.”

Whitney placed her hands on Matt’s shoulders and spun him, bringing them face to face. He had a smudge of something that looked like flour on one cheek, and he was, in fact, wearing a frilly pink-checked apron that looked to be about two sizes too small. In a word, he was gorgeous—and he was planning on feeding her. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, that one-dimpled grin indicated they might go ahead and skip dessert.

Coming home to a man was something she could definitely get used to.

“I wish it were that simple.” She dropped her hands and backed away, trying not to notice the way his smile faltered. “Jared already made reservations.”

“Jared is going.” Neither question nor statement, it lingered somewhere in an uncomfortable place in between.

Lying would be such an easy way out of this—an easy way to spare feelings Whitney had no desire to harm. She knew, without a doubt, that Matt was the last man on earth who would check up on her, ask nosy questions afterwards, send his brother in to spy—any of those tricks that might catch her in the act. But if she was supposed to be doing this whole grown-up relationship thing, she’d do it right.

“Just Jared,” she amended. “I sort of lost a bet at work today—just barely, mind you—and he wants to talk. This seems like as good a time as any.”

“No.”

She took a step back, recoiling against the sharpness of his tone. Matt
never
spoke to her like that. He never spoke to anyone like that. “I beg your pardon?”

Matt tossed the spoon into the pan and walked away from the oven, gripping his hands on the edge of the kitchen counter. He didn’t look up as he repeated, “No.”

“No, as in...you think it’s going to rain so I better stay in tonight?”

“No, as in you aren’t going to dinner alone with that man.”

“I don’t recall asking your permission.” Her hackles were definitely up now—hackles and something else, something that felt a lot like what John might be inclined to call a lady boner. She wanted nothing more than to rip that apron off Matt and ride him until he knew who was in charge here.

Good God, what kind of a woman had she turned into? How could the sight of two white knuckles holding onto the counter for dear life, of a man so angry he wouldn’t even look at her, be such a turn-on? Wasn’t that how all her favorite Lifetime movies started?

“I see the way that man stares at you, Whitney. It’s not the look of a guy who wants to chitchat about old times while he dines on steak. Not unless you’re the steak.” Matt finally looked up, and she could tell he was barely holding on to his self-control. “I accept that he’s your colleague and you need him for your business. I’m happy to be nice to him when we meet. But I don’t trust that man, and I don’t want you going out with him.”

Whitney laughed. Granted, it wasn’t the most appropriate reaction to the conversation, what with Matt on the edge of some sort of personal crisis and the smell of burning bread filling the air, but she couldn’t help it. Matt was forbidding her from seeing her ex. Matt, of all the men in the world.

“I’m glad this is so funny to you,” Matt said coldly.

“Please tell me you see the big, fat irony sitting in the middle of this kitchen. You’re telling me to stay away from my cheating ex-boyfriend? You, who probably stopped by Laura’s house this afternoon with some tea and a big hug? You don’t see me getting up in arms every time you break bread with that woman. In fact, I’d say I’ve been the most understanding girlfriend on the face of the planet.”