slightly
to take in the figure next to her, but the sight that she met
didn't ease the tight knot of awareness in her chest. The knee
nudging her own was connected to a long, tautly muscled thigh. She
felt both hot and cold, but she couldn't stop her gaze from
journeying slowly upward. His hips were lean and trim; his jacket
parted to reveal a broad expanse of chest.
It was almost a shock to realize that this
man—infuriating as he was—touched an awareness inside her that she
hadn't felt in a long, long time. She hadn't looked at a man—really
looked at a man--since before her marriage. Certainly not
after.
She snatched her hand from his and stood up
abruptly. "Chief Richardson—" she began.
"Matt. Please call me Matt." He flashed an
engaging grin. "Try to forget, just once, our differing stations
in life."
He was baiting her. She knew it and she also
knew she shouldn't let it disturb her. At the same instant she
recalled exactly how thorough her own inspection of his blatant
masculinity had been. And oddly, that thought angered her more than
any of his roundabout suggestiveness.
"Chief Richardson," she stated with a calm
she definitely didn't feel, "let me make one thing perfectly
clear. You may be free, but I'm not interested."
With that she turned on her heel and left him
sitting in the dark.
Matt watched as she stalked inside the hotel,
her head held regally high. It occurred to him then that he'd been
trying to get more than just a cool, passive response from her—a
response of any other kind would suffice. Experience had taught him
to be wary of her type, but again he found himself admitting she
was one damn attractive woman. And he couldn't deny that she made
him feel more alive than he'd felt in years.
Looks like you got what you wanted, old
man, he thought with a smile. She's just as human as you
are.
He got to his feet, and as he glanced idly
down, his smile was transformed into a full-blown laugh.
Cinderella had left her slippers.
CHAPTER FOUR
Matt found he was still smiling when he
stepped onto the porch of a white two-story house a short time
later, Angie's shoes tucked under one arm. As his eyes traveled
quickly around the darkened property, he experienced a swell of
pride. Through the darkness he could just make out the shape of the
huge rhododendrons that bordered the house on all sides. When Matt
had bought the house a month earlier, he'd been totally entranced
with the fragile pink blossoms that displayed frilly ruffles and
pale blushes against a background of leathery green leaves. Coming
from a man like himself, he'd found his reaction rather amusing,
but it hadn't stopped him from vowing to plant a vegetable
garden—for the first time in his life.
Inside the living room, sparsely but
comfortably furnished, he eased himself into a recliner in front of
the fireplace, not bothering to switch on a light. Stretching his
long legs out in front of him, it suddenly occurred to him that he
was encountering quite a few "firsts."
Buying this house had been a first, for
instance. The first fifteen years of his life had been spent cooped
up with his mother and his brother in a run-down apartment that
wasn't much bigger than this room. Life with Linda had certainly
been easier; although the financial rewards of his job had offered
security and stability, living fifty floors up in the sterile
surroundings she'd called home had been stifling. He had been on a
perpetual merry-go-round, and the hell of it was he hadn't even
realized it. Only lately had he finally found the way to stop and
let himself off.
He wasn't a kid with a whole lifetime of
dreams stretching before him. But for the first time in longer than
he could remember, he felt free, unfettered by demands on his time,
on his person.
And what he really craved, what he had longed
for all his life, was the security of knowing that he belonged,
that he was needed by someone.
Matt's smile retained just a touch of
cynicism. For a man
to take in the figure next to her, but the sight that she met
didn't ease the tight knot of awareness in her chest. The knee
nudging her own was connected to a long, tautly muscled thigh. She
felt both hot and cold, but she couldn't stop her gaze from
journeying slowly upward. His hips were lean and trim; his jacket
parted to reveal a broad expanse of chest.
It was almost a shock to realize that this
man—infuriating as he was—touched an awareness inside her that she
hadn't felt in a long, long time. She hadn't looked at a man—really
looked at a man--since before her marriage. Certainly not
after.
She snatched her hand from his and stood up
abruptly. "Chief Richardson—" she began.
"Matt. Please call me Matt." He flashed an
engaging grin. "Try to forget, just once, our differing stations
in life."
He was baiting her. She knew it and she also
knew she shouldn't let it disturb her. At the same instant she
recalled exactly how thorough her own inspection of his blatant
masculinity had been. And oddly, that thought angered her more than
any of his roundabout suggestiveness.
"Chief Richardson," she stated with a calm
she definitely didn't feel, "let me make one thing perfectly
clear. You may be free, but I'm not interested."
With that she turned on her heel and left him
sitting in the dark.
Matt watched as she stalked inside the hotel,
her head held regally high. It occurred to him then that he'd been
trying to get more than just a cool, passive response from her—a
response of any other kind would suffice. Experience had taught him
to be wary of her type, but again he found himself admitting she
was one damn attractive woman. And he couldn't deny that she made
him feel more alive than he'd felt in years.
Looks like you got what you wanted, old
man, he thought with a smile. She's just as human as you
are.
He got to his feet, and as he glanced idly
down, his smile was transformed into a full-blown laugh.
Cinderella had left her slippers.
CHAPTER FOUR
Matt found he was still smiling when he
stepped onto the porch of a white two-story house a short time
later, Angie's shoes tucked under one arm. As his eyes traveled
quickly around the darkened property, he experienced a swell of
pride. Through the darkness he could just make out the shape of the
huge rhododendrons that bordered the house on all sides. When Matt
had bought the house a month earlier, he'd been totally entranced
with the fragile pink blossoms that displayed frilly ruffles and
pale blushes against a background of leathery green leaves. Coming
from a man like himself, he'd found his reaction rather amusing,
but it hadn't stopped him from vowing to plant a vegetable
garden—for the first time in his life.
Inside the living room, sparsely but
comfortably furnished, he eased himself into a recliner in front of
the fireplace, not bothering to switch on a light. Stretching his
long legs out in front of him, it suddenly occurred to him that he
was encountering quite a few "firsts."
Buying this house had been a first, for
instance. The first fifteen years of his life had been spent cooped
up with his mother and his brother in a run-down apartment that
wasn't much bigger than this room. Life with Linda had certainly
been easier; although the financial rewards of his job had offered
security and stability, living fifty floors up in the sterile
surroundings she'd called home had been stifling. He had been on a
perpetual merry-go-round, and the hell of it was he hadn't even
realized it. Only lately had he finally found the way to stop and
let himself off.
He wasn't a kid with a whole lifetime of
dreams stretching before him. But for the first time in longer than
he could remember, he felt free, unfettered by demands on his time,
on his person.
And what he really craved, what he had longed
for all his life, was the security of knowing that he belonged,
that he was needed by someone.
Matt's smile retained just a touch of
cynicism. For a man
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