walls went white. All of them, all at once. It was highly dramatic. And a little scary. “Sam?”
SAM EXITED THE PROGRAM and tucked her phone in her pocket. She hoped that took care of the damn mood sensors. Except now it was totally dark.
Oh, right. She opened the door.
Matt’s bags were still in the foyer. He was standing near the entrance to the kitchen and was staring at her as if he expected her to say something. Only she wasn’t sure what that thing was.
Matt spoke first. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?” She glanced around her, trying to pretend her being in the pantry with the door closed was no big deal.
Matt walked straight past her, stepped inside the pantry, looked around and then came out a minute later carrying a box of gingersnaps.
She should have gone to the bathroom. Obviously. Why had she headed for the pantry, of all places? “It was just work stuff. The wall-color program wasn’t working right.”
“I see,” he said, opening the box of cookies and holding it out to her.
She grabbed a few, knowing she was still blushing. Not a thing she could do about that. Maybe she should just wear blush-colored makeup. Huh. That way he’d never know when she was really blushing. “Anyway,” she said, still chewing the little piece of cookie she’d bitten off.
“Have dinner with me?”
Her mouth stilled along with her brain. “What?”
“Dinner. With me.”
“I have to go back to work. I have a deadline to meet.”
“Okay. How about I get takeout from one of your many menus and bring it to your lab? I’d love to see it. I wouldn’t stay long. Just enough for a quick tour and a quicker dinner.”
“No,” she said, her heart taking it up a notch. “I really have to work.”
“I understand, but you also have to eat.” He captured her hand and pulled her close.
Her hand, the one without the cookies, went right to his chest. For a moment, she froze. Just being this close to him was amazing... Smelling his wonderful scent, parts of her touching parts of him. She leaned back to look at him, to try to figure out what was going on. And met his gaze. His warm brown eyes. The eyes she’d known so well she had seen them in her sleep. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve filled out nicely,” he said, tightening his arm around her, “but I bet you’re still skipping meals. It’s not a good habit, Sammy. And I don’t want to play a part in it. Tonight that means you’re eating with me one way or another.”
Sam’s mouth opened but nothing came out. She felt more confused than anything. Part of her wanted to melt into a puddle. Because he was flirting? Was that what he was doing? That was the problem. She didn’t know. Not with Matt. Any other man who got this close, she would’ve been able to read.
But one thing was for sure—her heart rarely beat this fast. Even if he was just being nice, there was a fair chance she was going to hyperventilate.
Or she might just throw her arms around his neck and hang on forever. Years’ worth of fantasies didn’t just disappear because she’d forced herself to move on.
She pushed against his hard chest. “How come you’re not bothering your family instead of me?”
Matt let her go so quickly she had to take a step back. “Hey, I’m sorry, Sammy. I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop. You didn’t.” Her heart hurt at his wounded look, and she wished she could take the words back. She felt like a fool, a terrible fool, for making him feel bad when she knew better. He was just being nice. “Fine,” she said, knowing it was a mistake. “We’ll eat. Somehow. Together.”
“Wait. Will that mean you’ll have to work until some god-awful hour?”
He had a point.
She looked down and gasped a little when she saw her hand was still on his chest. He’d let her go, but she hadn’t followed suit.
She smiled in what she hoped was a cavalier way, patted said chest and took a few steps back. “When was the last time you went for a run in the Fens?”
“Oh, man,” he said, pushing a hand through his neatly trimmed brown hair. “I can’t even remember.”
Perfect. “How about you get settled here while I go to the lab for a couple of hours? Then we can go for a run. Or walk. Whatever.”
He laughed. Shook his head. “For your information, Miss O’Connel, I’m in excellent shape, which I know you know. You want to run? I’m in. But after that? We eat.”
She didn’t want to discuss dinner. A run was already on her schedule. For her it was a must, no matter how much work piled up. So it was the perfect solution. They could talk and get caught up with each other. Best of all, she’d be less likely to do something humiliating if they were doing something so casual. “Can you do ten miles?”
“I can, but I don’t want to. I’d rather save time for dinner, even if it’s just a quickie.” He paused while she blushed three shades of red and then he continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “If I remember correctly, a lot of unsavory folks hang out at the Fens.”
“It’s different now. It’ll be nice. I go there a lot. Let’s meet at Westland Gate.”
Matt nodded, then said something she didn’t catch. He’d shifted so that the sunlight coming in through the window picked up some gold in his brown hair. The past ten years showed in his handsome face. Fine lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes. His mouth was the same, only now there were long grooves bracketing each side, making him look a little more rugged and very sexy.
“Sam? Did you hear me?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked what time.”
“Time for what?” She remembered as soon as he smiled. And dammit, her cheeks got hot. For the millionth time. Jesus. That makeup idea was sounding better and better.
* * *
IT TOOK HIM no time to unpack. He’d learned all the tricks. Had to, with all the traveling he did for work. But this was different. He hadn’t taken any real time off in so long that he’d forgotten about relaxation brain. It was as if he’d taken a mild anesthetic, so everything was a bit hazy. A strong cup of coffee and a brief nap would solve that. Or a shower.
Coffee first, call his office second, his father third, then shower.
The coffee, it turned out, was simple to make and fantastic. He texted a note to his assistant about the brand, which he’d never heard of, determined to have it stocked in his New York office. There was an extravagant number of treats in the pantry—those gingersnaps turned out to be just the tip of the iceberg. His personal favorite, shortbread, was there—three different types of it. He liked them all. But he had to ration things like that because he still hoped to have dinner with Sam after the run.
He was on the phone for a few minutes with his assistant, Andrew, who’d been busy supervising the work they’d done in Budapest, where Wilkinson was buying land for a new hotel. Nothing new had come up, and they arranged to speak again in a few days.
Matt refilled his coffee before he speed-dialed his father’s private line from his cell phone.
“Matt, I was just thinking about you,” his dad said when he picked up. His old man wasn’t that old. Sixty-two, and he worked out five days a week. Didn’t smoke. Drank in moderation. Was still married to Matt’s mother after almost forty years. “When are you