His truck stops at the front gate ten minutes late, and I see him from the porch where I’m standing. He’s twisted in his seat, turned toward the back, saying something to the kids.
Then he straightens and glances at me, his hands on the wheel.
My mouth goes dry like every time I see him. Something in the wide set of his shoulders and those bulging biceps, in the intensity of his every movement… It draws me in.
I catch myself wondering what he’d look like without the beard.
One thing’s for sure: he’s more dangerous than a wolf. A hazard to my sanity.
Stop staring at him.
As I walk down the steps and approach his pick-up truck, Mary sticks her face to the window, mashing her lips to the glass like a frog. Cole appears beside her, licking the glass.
I snicker.
Matt opens his door and jumps out, goes around and opens the door for me, like a real gentleman.
I gape at him.
“What?” he grumbles. “I wasn’t born in a barn.”
But maybe in a cave?
I don’t say if, of course. I just shake my head and climb inside, not sure what to make of this, this… change. Is he just faking it, or is the real Matt peeking through the layers of defenses he’s erected between himself and the world?
And how deep do these defenses go? Because despite opening the door for me, coming to pick me up and all that, he’s still a caveman in the way he talks, the way he acts… the way he makes love.
Not sure I want him to change the way he makes love. The way he fucks.
And why am I thinking of this now, as I sit beside him in the truck with the scent of pine, leather and Matt’s spicy sweat? My face burns, and when he turns to look at me, running his gaze over my cleavage, over my boobs and then back up to my face…
He licks his lips and my breath catches as if his gaze were a physical touch that I swear I feel right between my legs.
Jesus, this guy.
“Tati!” The kids grab at my shoulders and arms from behind, giggling like crazy. “We’re going for a ride!”
I pat their little hands and make agreeing noises.
Matt releases the parking brake and rolls away from the curb. His gaze keeps flicking toward me, heavy-lidded. “Damn, you look hot,” he says.
And I’m still blushing. “Then why did you tell me not to wear dresses?”
It rankled. It hurt. It made me feel ugly. Unwanted. I’m still getting over the fact I ditched my braces and I’m not the ugly duckling anymore—but on some days my confidence isn’t at its peak.
He rubs at his beard one-handed. I watch the way his other hand clenches on the wheel, so big and strong, the nails blunt and slightly stained with engine oil.
“Thing is, Tay…” he says, one side of his mouth quirking. “You look way too good in a dress. And…”
“And what?” Now my ears are burning, too.
“Nothing.”
But his half-smile has faded, his eyes gone distant. He glances in the rear-view mirror at the kids.
I’ll ask him about this later.
But God… If there are more complicated men in the world than Matt, I sure haven’t met any. And that’s the truth.