Love on the Outskirts of Town Page 24

  “Well, your behaviour has indicated otherwise. I want you to take a week off, see how that treats you.”

  Matt stared at his boss. An entire week? His chest was now tight enough to make him actually worried. He pressed his hand to his sternum. “That’s not necessary.”

  Owen gave him a tight, intense look. “Why do you not want time off?”

  “I like to work.”

  “Like to stay busy? Like to be needed?”

  He swallowed hard. “Yeah. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Maybe not. But if you can’t handle downtime—”

  “I can.” He’d find a way. Help Natasha with her renovations.

  “I think you’re already trying to fill your time in your head.”

  This time, Matt’s curse was out loud.

  And Owen laughed at him. Gently, but still. “See?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “We are the worst fucking patients, I swear to God,” Owen muttered. He leaned to the side and picked something up. A thick paperback book. He handed it over. “I want you to take a week off and read this.”

  The title was fitting. I Don’t Want to Talk About It. Yeah, Matt didn’t. Especially not if it was a book about male depression, as the subtitle promised.

  “Read this. It’s hard, but good. You’re going to see yourself in the pages and it’s going to hurt.”

  “Your pep talks suck ass.”

  “I’m still new in this supervisor gig, cut me some slack.” Owen gave him a serious look. “I also want you to talk to Sean and tell him about the day Fred died. I think that day rocked you more than you’ve ever let on, and I’m sorry for not saying something sooner.”

  Jesus. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” It came out in a broken whisper. “I’m…fine.” Really, he was. “I can see how I’ve been dealing with that kind of clumsily. Sure. But I don’t need to burden my brother with anything. He’s back on his feet and things are going well for him. And I’ve met someone, and it’s getting serious.”

  Owen held up his hand. “Your personal life is none of my business, but you are not fine, Matt. You snapped at a patient. You may have some good stuff going on, but do not use it as a band-aid to cover up a festering wound.”

  Matt’s stomach rolled over. Natasha was not a bandage.

  He didn’t have a festering wound.

  He held up the book. “I’ll take a couple of days and read this. But don’t make this a bigger deal than it is. Okay?”

  Owen gave him a wary look. “Keep in touch. I want daily texts.”

  “Sure thing, Mom.”

  “And get some sleep.”

  Sleep was not what he needed.

  Natasha was working on her numbers, trying to figure out how to make the studio apartment kitchenettes look slick and modern and hipster and fun, all on a nothing budget.

  There wasn’t really any way for that to happen, so the next step was that she needed to find a job. She had a few more weekend shifts at Bailey’s, but it was time to find something more local.

  Which meant looking into pre-school for Emily.

  She grabbed a red marker and stomped to the to-do list part of her planning wall. They wouldn’t get done unless she literally scrawled them on the task sheet.

  * * *

  Find a job - fifteen hours a week

  Find pre-school or part-time daycare for Emily

  * * *

  Hmm. Now that she was looking at them written down, they weren’t that upsetting. Em might like to have friends to play with, especially now that she was having to say goodbye to her beloved cousins.

  She took a deep, restorative breath. Okay. This was going to be just fine.

  As a smile settled on her face, she heard a knock at the door. She did a cursory check to see that the entranceway looked tidy before opening it, but it wasn’t a new neighbour.

  Matt was standing on her front step.

  “Hi,” she said softly. “I thought you were working today.”

  He nodded and stepped inside, glancing past her and moving right into her space at the same time.

  “Em’s upstairs,” she whispered.

  He pulled her into his arms. The kiss was hot and demanding, almost ruthless, and it took her breath away. With a little whimper, she fisted her hand in the front of his jacket and tugged him backwards, away from the bottom of the stairs and into the living room and onto the couch.

  She’d missed him too, but they needed some privacy.

  She didn’t buy the sofa so they’d have a place to make out, or least she hadn’t thought that was why, but now that he was pressing her back against the pillows, it seemed right.

  And very, very wrong. “Shh,” she reminded him.

  “Right.” He glanced up, cocking his ear toward the top floor. “I hear a tea party.”

  “She’s playing.”

  “We should play, too. That’s an excellent idea,” he whispered as he brushed his lips against hers. “Doctor, for example. I’ll be the patient, you can be the very thorough GP. Or we can play naughty schoolboy and the stern principal with the secret sweet side.”

  What had gotten into him?

  Not that she was complaining.

  “What if I want to be the naughty school girl?” she asked breathlessly, which was exactly the wrong thing to say when she should be putting distance between them, but this was a whole new side to Matt, and she liked it.

  “I’m game for that. Detention every night.” His lips bruised hers roughly as he kissed her again.

  She really did want to play with him. She closed her eyes and squeezed her hands around his biceps, big and solid as he braced himself over her. “Stay for dinner,” she said without looking at him. “And once Emily’s asleep…”

  “Yes.” He pressed his mouth against hers. “Yes, yes, whatever you want to do, yes.”

  “Maybe you can stay over if you leave early enough. If you want.”

  He grabbed her ankle and stretched her leg into the air, teasing the sole of her foot with his fingers. A shiver raced down her calf and up her thigh as he gave her a hot, focused look. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to stay,” she whispered.

  He dropped her leg and fell on top of her, his kiss ravenous. He kissed her until there was no more room in her head for anything but hungry, helpless wanting.

  Which would have to wait until bedtime.

  “Matt.” She pushed against his chest and he hauled himself upright. His chest was heaving and his eyes were a little wild.

  “Sorry.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s…we both wanted that.” She crawled onto her knees and kissed the corner of his mouth sweetly. “Maybe we both needed that, eh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I had a rough shift. I’m okay. Got done early, and wanted to see you, that’s all.”

  “Well, we have the finest sandwiches to offer for dinner—again—and I even have beer if you’re interested.”

  He shook his head. “Not tonight. But a sandwich sounds amazing. And I want to be put to work if there’s stuff to be done. Can I paint? Build something?”

  “I was planning kitchenettes for the studios when you arrived.” She picked up the notebook from where she’d discarded it. “We could grab Emily and go around back to do some measurements.”

  He gave her a happy, contented nod. “That would be fun.” Lifting his voice, he called out. “Miss Monkey, I’ve come to see you!”

  Emily flew down the stairs, tiny footsteps thumping quickly in his direction. “Matt!”

  “I’m going to help your mom measure stuff. Want to come with?”

  She slid her hand into his and tugged him toward the back door that separated their part of the house from the apartments. “Come on!”

  Natasha grabbed her measuring tape, notebook, and pencil, and followed along.

  It turned out, as a serial apartment renter w
ho didn’t like to cook as much as she did, Matt had more perspective on what people’s minimum requirements for a kitchen space was. “You don’t really need a ton of cabinetry,” he said as she showed him her sketches. “If someone is staying here for a weekend while they explore the peninsula, how much cooking are they going to do? And really, how much cooking do you want them to do? Look at you and your minimal use of your kitchen right now. You’re surviving just fine, and you like to cook. I bet most people want a kettle, a single hot plate, and counter space to prep ready-bought food.”

  She tapped her pen against her chin as she thought through what he was suggesting. “So…more like a counter-height table or an island? Butcher block on legs?”

  “Yeah. If you do it as butcher block, it would look like a kitchen space, but function as a table, too.”

  “With stools…” She scribbled that down on her notebook.

  “I like it.”

  “I do, too.” She grinned. “Hey, this is good! You’ve just saved me some money.”

  Which she could spend on the bathrooms, upgrading the tile in there. Everyone liked a fancy bathroom on these short-term rental sites. Made for nice pictures.

  The discussion of what she wanted to do with the apartments continued as they made dinner together, with Emily standing on a chair between them. Natasha didn’t miss that she asked for lettuce on her sandwich after watching Matt put some on his—although the hero worship didn’t extend to tomato slices, which she wrinkled her nose at.

  More for the grown-ups.

  “My Daddy doesn’t like tomatoes,” Emily said.

  Or not.

  Matt nodded. “Neither does my best friend, Tom.”

  “My best friend is Nollie.”

  “And what does Nollie like?”

  “Cheese.”

  He picked an extra piece off the plate and took a bite as he winked at her. “Me, too.”

  Natasha could watch the two of them talk for ages. The mix of patience and genuine interest Matt had in her daughter felt like a rare treasure.

  The two of them traded bits of information back and forth as they ate, which gave Tasha time to let her imagination wander about the rental units. Tomorrow, she was going to source butcher block countertops. She knew she could order them from a big box store for a reasonable price, but she’d like to find a local contractor if possible.

  After dinner, Natasha gave Emily a quick bath while Matt tidied up the kitchen. It was a slice of domesticity she’d never had before, and once again, Natasha said a silent prayer of thanks that she could now tuck her daughter into bed every night.

  When Em was out of the tub, Matt came upstairs for stories and what felt like endless extra questions from the three-year-old bedtime star, who didn’t want their visit cut short in any way.

  Finally her daughter’s eyes drifted shut and they were alone again.

  Matt looked exhausted, so instead of going back downstairs for a drink, she took his hand and led him to her bed. “How tired are you?”

  “If you want to take advantage of me, I’m game.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of taking care of you tonight.”

  He laughed. “That’s going to definitely go both ways, but be my guest.”

  He watched through hooded eyes as she stripped him down. Under his jeans she found bright red briefs. “A little bit of colour for a gloomy winter night?”

  “I bought them for Christmas, but after my shift I was like, fuck it, a bonus night to see you is better than any holiday.”

  “Aww,” she whispered as she crawled up his body, her fingers lingering over the thick bulge beneath the tight cotton. “I love my present, thank you.”

  Under her inspection, his cock flexed, tenting the fabric.

  “I want your hands on me,” he said, his voice husky and low. “Or your body against me. I want to feel you and touch you and hold you. I want this, and I want it with you. Get naked.”

  Her hands shook as she took off her shirt. She could feel his gaze on her breasts. He’d touched her before. Felt the weight of her flesh, the response of her skin. But today felt different, like he was really seeing her without the heady rush of it being their first time.

  “We have to be quiet,” she said, just as much to herself as him, then she made quick work of her jeans and jumped onto the bed. There weren’t any nerves that couldn’t be quelled by a kiss, or at least that was the solid bet she was about to make.

  “Got it.” He hauled her up against him. Slowly, thoroughly, and very quietly, he led her in a sweet, slow tangle of limbs as they made out.

  And then, with a tug of her bra strap, making out shifted into serious foreplay. Someone-is-going-to-orgasm-and-its-going-to-be-Tasha kind of foreplay. So much for this being something she was going to do for him.

  His fingers teased her, not just exploring like the last few times he’d cupped her flesh, but testing and pushing at her limits until she was shamelessly grinding on him. She might even come like this. And she wanted to ensure he came with her.

  Watching his face, she reached between them and slipped her fingers under the waistband of his underwear. She found his flesh, hard and hot and straining for her touch.

  They jockeyed for position as she stroked his length and he bared her breasts. His mouth dipped to her collarbone, then her swollen skin, her tight nipples. As her back arched, she lost her hold on him and twisted again to find it.

  “Okay, you win,” he panted as she lined them up, legs to legs, chest to chest. She loved the feel of the hair on his body, light and crisp. And his hands, which seemed to be everywhere, were quickly figuring out all the erogenous zones in her body, from the small of her back to the underside of her boobs, and then higher, along her neck.

  She’d never known her neck to be that sensitive, but the way his tongue curled and teased at her skin made her shake and whimper and need unspeakable things.

  His fingers tangled in her hair. He cradled the back of her head as he kissed her again, his cock rubbing between their bare bellies, then he sighed and tipped his head back. Oh, the sounds he made—quiet but barely restrained, choked but raw—lit her up.

  He bucked into her touch as she tightened her grip. He lifted his head enough to give her a sloppy, lusty smile, then he rolled his neck back again. She pressed against him and kissed that long stretch of muscles and tendons, tight beneath his skin. His pre-come slicked the inside of her hand and he moved faster, whispering her name and groaning over and over again. She watched his face as he came undone for her, then she turned her attention to her hand, covered in his release.

  “Wow,” he said on a rough exhale. “That was…”

  “Yeah.” She grinned. So hot.

  And because she was a mom, she had a package of baby wipes handy. “They’re cold,” she whispered as she handed him one of the damp cloths.

  “It’s all good.” He hissed at the first touch, then quickly cleaned up his belly before setting the wipe aside and taking her in her arms again. “Now it’s your turn.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with that. He kissed her neck, and her legs fell open. God, she wanted him so much. His hands, his body—

  “I want to taste you, and I want you to come on my tongue,” he whispered against her lips as his fingers grazed the tops of her thighs. Back and forth, back and forth. Gentle touches, making her sizzle. “Is that okay? If I lick you until you come?”

  “Is that okay?” She laughed. “Uh, yeah.”

  “How do you like it? Fast or slow?” he asked huskily as he palmed her ass, pulling her on top of him.

  She shivered under the hot weight of his perusal. He caught her wrists in his hands and tugged them over his head, planting them against the wall.

  Oh.

  “Like this?” she asked breathlessly, looking down at him.

  “Yeah, I want you on top.” He licked his lips, giving her another slow, lusty look. “But you gotta tell me what you want first.”

  “Slow, long licks,�
�� she breathed, adjusting her hands higher on the wall. She needed a headboard for this, but Matt seemed to have a firm hold on her.

  “Here?” He swiped around her navel, then down the soft swell of her lower abdomen.

  “Mmm. Lower.” She rocked her hips as her legs scrambled on either side of him, trying to get purchase on the mattress.

  “Closer?” He brushed his lips against her mound.

  “Yep, definitely—ahhh…” Her fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue slid against her slit. “That’s the spot.”

  “Secret. Soft. Spot.” He licked her until her legs shook, slow, luxurious swipes that scrambled her brain cells and turned her into a quivering mess of need.

  “Suck,” she whispered. “My clit.”

  He did that slowly, too, only speeding up once she began babbling words too filthy to properly recognize. She was shameless in her desire for him, and she didn’t care.

  When her orgasm began to build, it was her favourite kind. Slow and steady in its rise, a heady tug from her clit to her womb that grew tighter and more demanding until—boom—the feeling exploded inside her and she tumbled down.

  Literally and figuratively, because Matt had her. He held her so tight as she curled against him, his arms bands of steel, and it was so tempting to fall asleep like that. Naked, wanton, and smelling like sex.

  But she had a daughter just down the hall.

  Alarms had to be set.

  Clothes had to be rectified.

  Real life intruded far too fast as the bliss receded.

  “No rush,” Matt murmured into her hair, but there was, of course.

  She couldn’t forget herself for too long. “Did you set an alarm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because—”

  He caught her wrist and tugged to get her attention. His eyes were warm and steady. “Ninja alarm set. It’s okay. I’ll be gone before she wakes up in the morning.”

  “You don’t need to be gone.” Maybe just downstairs on the couch. Did three-year-olds even think about stuff like that?

  “Let’s take this one hot sleepover at a time,” he said with a little laugh. “Next time I can be sitting at the kitchen table nonchalantly drinking coffee.”