Dating the Guy Next Door (4 page)

“No, thank you,” Matt said as he took a bite of the bagel she'd bought for him. “I was starving. I guess selling paintings takes it out of you.”

Kate immediately forgot about her mother. “Y-you sold a painting?”

“Yes, a couple came in about an hour ago and fell in love with the one that had an owl, some pink trees and what looked like three pineapples.”

“
Tropical Paradise
?” Kate glanced over to where the quirky take of Seattle in summer had once been, but all that was there was an empty wall space. So that's what had been different about the place. “You sold
Tropical Paradise
?”

For a moment she wondered if he was pulling her leg. But as she studied the way his strong, tapered hands were casually leaning against her small counter, she realized he was telling the truth.

Perhaps it was from living with Harry that Kate had finally learned how to sniff out a lie at ten paces. Though, she admitted, it sure had taken a lot of practice. She'd finally discovered that whenever her ex-husband had been lying, he gripped his fingers tightly onto whatever was within reach.

Not that she should really be comparing hands. Matt's long fingers were tanned with carefully clipped nails while Harry's had resembled a sausage factory. Funny she'd never noticed it when she'd first married him.

“Yes, I did. Though why are you so surprised? You must know that you're an exceptional artist.” Matt stood up and
neatly put the empty bagel bag into the trash can before walking around her small studio.

“T-thank you,” Kate said in surprise as she realized he was serious. Though she loved painting more than just about anything in the world, she still tended to get tongue-tied when she talked about her own work. Also, thanks to being married to Harry, who only liked to talk about one artist—himself—it wasn't something she had spent much time doing. It also might explain why her business was doing so badly.

“You're welcome. Oh, and before I forget, here's the check,” he said as he passed it over to her, his dark eyes never leaving her face. She reached for it, but as her fingers grazed his, a sizzle ran down the length of her body like an old-fashioned pinball machine.

In fact, Kate was almost certain that her heart was making the same noise the machine flippers did when they tried to belt the silver ball back up to the other end. Any minute her eyes would start spinning around in their sockets to indicate a high score.

“Is everything okay, Kate? You look pale.”

“Fine.” She managed to drag her gaze away from his face. “But I really need to get back to work. I—I need to finish some sketches.”

“Sure,” he said in an understanding voice. “But I was just wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“You mean apart from letting you hide out in my studio for the day?” she said dubiously as she edged away toward the door. If his favor included standing within a five-foot radius of him, then she was going to have to decline on the grounds of saving her heart rate from further wear and tear.

“I need some clothes and my laptop from next door.”

Kate sucked in a lungful of air. Clothes sounded dangerous. Especially since to put on new ones, he had to take off old ones, and it was that stage in between that sent another silver ball off and spinning throughout her body. Then she realized that if he needed clothes he wasn't planning to go home at all, which meant that he was intending to increase his stay. Kate froze.

“Look, Matt, about this whole arrangement. The thing is that I have a really small apartment, and no spare blankets, and I still have a lot of work to do.”

“It's okay.” A small half smile hovered around his lips. “Thanks for the offer, but I hadn't planned to invade your bedroom as well.”

“That's not what I meant.” She imagined that her cheeks were turning the same shade of burnt crimson she'd used in her
Little-Dog-Jumping
painting.

“I know what you meant. And thanks for even thinking you had to extend your hospitality. You're very kind but I won't impose quite that much. If they don't leave by the time we've finished eating, I'll try and go out under the cover of night and stay at my sister's house.”

“Emma.” Kate slowly felt her senses returning to something bordering on normal.

“Emma,” he agreed. “And her family.”

“Right.” Kate nodded. “Who you babysit for.”

“Correct. I'm sure the twins will be delighted to know they can continue chasing me around the playroom.”

Kate raised an eyebrow in surprise. She hadn't really pictured Matt as the playing-around-with-children type of guy. Perhaps it was the neat clothing?

But then, looks could be deceiving, she decided as she admired his legs. She wondered what he'd be like out of his pressed pants and shiny shoes. Would he fold everything or would he let the heat of the moment overtake him?

Stop. She hauled her imagination to a screeching halt. But despite herself, she could feel her pulse flutter at the very idea. Especially when she pictured messing up his neat person with some of the body paint Jenny had given her as a joke present last year.

“So, will you do it?

“Huh?” Kate blinked, wondering if the man in front of her was reading her thoughts.

“Go and get me some things?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” she managed to croak as she felt a trickle of sweat drip down in between her breasts. Why weren't any of the windows opened? Was it hot in here or what?

She waited until he walked back through to the studio to get his list of things and his house keys before she started to fan herself with the first thing that came to hand. The old paint-covered magazine seemed to do the trick and she slowly felt her heart rate return to normal.

As the cool breeze caressed her face, she thought guiltily about her half-finished sketches. She'd been right. Matt Hunter was a complication. He was already affecting her work, not to mention her breathing. But then, he also managed to sell one of her paintings. Which was probably why her body was having such a powerful reaction to him. Gratitude.

“Oh, and, Kate.” Matt's head suddenly reappeared in the doorway and she quickly shoved the magazine back down under the counter. “Did you know you have a hole in one of your walls and your floorboards are creaky?”

Kate took a deep breath as she pushed through the throng of women who were still buzzing around Matt's door. No wonder he'd run. Fortunately, she'd come prepared with her MP3 player, and her favorite band was now pounding away in her ears. Some of the women were waving pictures of Matt in the air with the radio station logo underneath it and suddenly Kate realized just how stuck he was in her gallery. There was no chance that they wouldn't recognize him.

She considered explaining to them that the competition had been called off, but after one of them grabbed her arm and demanded to know what she was doing, Kate decided that speed and silence were the best policies. As she tackled her way past them, she thrashed away to the music, pleased that it helped keep up her adrenaline. She finally made it to the door and groped around in her back pocket for the key.

It didn't take her long to put it in the lock, but as she did so, she started to feel the crowds pressing in on her like she was in the front row of a Metallica concert. She anxiously jiggled it around just as someone started to jab into her back. But before they could unsheathe their nails, Kate felt the lock click and she shoved open the door, quickly stumbling into the safety of Matt's office.

“Whoa,” she panted before slamming it shut and leaning heavily against it. Those women out there were crazy. Had they really been stood up on so many dates that they weren't going to take no for an answer anymore? Or was it true when they said there were no good single men around? Kate wasn't sure, but she was grateful she didn't share their need to line up on a bachelor's doorstep for three-quarters of the day.

It was definitely one of the more positive advantages of not wanting to be in a relationship.

She stayed leaning against the back of the door for a few more seconds before she started to take a curious look around. The office was minimal to the point of empty and at first she thought it was because he hadn't finished unpacking. But as she inspected it, she realized that, no, he really was just very organized. Not that she was disorganized. It was just that she liked to have a lot of things around her. Often in no particular order.

Jenny had suggested a therapist would conclude Kate's love of collecting clutter was to compensate for her lack of traditional family life. But Kate knew it was more than that. Her things and her cat were her family. They'd been there when no one else had been.

“Besides,” she always reminded Jenny, “it may look chaotic, but at least I know where everything is.”

“Right,” Jenny would snort. “That's what my husband always says just before he asks me where his socks are.”

Something she could never imagine Matt asking. In fact, as she looked around in wonder at the neat little piles of pencils, pens and folders she had the funniest feeling that if she picked anything up, there would be a nice little line ruled underneath each pile. X marks the spot. Still, judging by the numerous gold plaques hanging from his wall, he must be good at what he did.

She was just about to shake the paper clips out of color coordination when the phone rang. She automatically went to answer it before recalling that it wasn't her phone, and so she waited until the ringing stopped before fumbling around in her back pocket, this time for his neatly written list.

She frowned as she studied his small, well-rounded handwriting. “Jacob file, is on the desk under the window, next to the answering machine, but closer to the computer than the house plant,” she read aloud as she followed the trail, which, amazingly enough, lead her straight to the Jacob file. She then packed it up along with his laptop before heading up the stairs.

Unlike her own apartment, which had been badly converted by Bob the bicycle store owner, Matt's living area was an oasis of smooth white walls and a redone ceiling with slick designer lights hanging down to add style and ambience for anyone sitting on one of the two long leather sofas. The rest of the room was decorated in upmarket minimalist style that would probably make Jenny smile with pleasure. It was also completely different from Kate's eclectic collection of junk shop treasures, bright cushions and the few pieces of antique furniture Harry had insisted she take.

Kate cruised through to his bedroom, under instruction from the note to collect one pairs of jeans and a navy shirt, and as she walked into the room, she nodded her head in approval.

The rest of his apartment might look like a display unit for a classy home magazine, but his bedroom felt more personal with loads of family photographs in a mish-mash of frames covering a retro-style dresser as well as an assortment of river stones sitting in a glass bowl. The walls were a soft gray and the bed was topped with a crisp white comforter and four large pillows. For a moment she thought about how much fun Socrates would have playing hide-the-toy-mouse.

Then she wondered how much fun she could have in the bed, but she quickly squashed the idea. She'd been thinking far too much about this man during the last six hours and was relieved that it would soon be over, because the way her body had been acting today, she certainly didn't trust herself anywhere near him.

She detoured around the bed and picked up a silver framed photo. It was of Matt with a pair of children, which she presumed must be Emma's.

Kate looked at the way the two pixies were hanging off his shoulders like he was a monkey bar. The next photo was of Matt surrounded by hordes of people; all sharing the same dimples and Russian caramel hair. Boy, there sure were a lot of them. And they were all laughing and smiling as if they actually liked one another.

Suddenly Kate turned away. Happy families weren't something she was very familiar with. Though, there'd been a small window when it felt like she'd had a family. When she and Julia had actually been close. Had actually resembled other families. But then Andy had died, Julia had gotten sick and there went any hope of the stable life that Kate had so often longed for.

Then she frowned. Why was she even thinking about this stuff? It had all happened a long time ago. She quickly thrust the picture back down onto the dresser and grabbed the rest of the things on Matt's list before heading back to her studio. Whenever she felt like this, the best thing to do was get back to her studio and paint until the pain went away.

***

“You won't believe the day that I've had,” Matt's sister said as he put his cell phone on speaker so that he could continue chopping the onions while he waited for the water to boil.

“Oh, I don't know. My definition of strange days has undergone a slight change lately,” Matt replied as he took a sip of wine and carefully transferred the onions to the heavy fry pan that he'd found in Kate's kitchen. Considering the state of her downstairs studio, he'd half been expecting to find a disastrous kitchen, but the entire upstairs apartment had a sparse but quirky feel to it, with bold paintings on the wall, a comfortable couch covered in scatter pillows and a well-loved book collection. Food-wise there wasn't much apart from a collection of sushi menus and some pickled ginger, but on closer inspection, he just about found enough to make a meal. Then he realized that his sister hadn't laughed and he snatched his cell phone back up and frowned. “Are you okay?”

“No, I'm not okay. The twins have the chicken pox.”

For a moment Matt was stunned into silence. “But that's impossible,” he finally managed to say. “I was with them last night and they were fine.”

“What can I say? They're not fine now. They're irritable and itchy and scratchy and they're driving me crazy,” Emma wailed, and Matt winced with sympathy. The twins, at four years of age, were full of mischief and it took both Emma and her husband, Sam, all their energy to contain them. Except that Sam was away on a business trip, which was why he'd been helping her last night and had ended up crashing over there.

“How are you coping?”

“I'm getting through it. Mom said she can help tonight and Jo's going to come and stay tomorrow. That's why I'm calling you.”

“You want me to help?” Matt pushed his lips together. Normally he was the first in line to play uncle with the frisky twins, but right now it was the farthest thing from his mind. He tried to tell himself that it was because he didn't want to risk leaving the gallery in case his newly developed fan club spotted him, but he suspected it was more likely due to the promise of spending some more time with Kate.

“No, the opposite. I'm calling to let you know that you might've caught them,” Emma informed him, her voice apologetic. “I checked with Mom this morning and you never had chicken pox as a kid, which means you're going to need to get vaccinated tomorrow.”

“Oh, is that all?” Matt let out the breath he didn't know he was holding and stirred the onions before adding in the garlic.

“Um, I just told you that you might be getting an itchy and embarrassing childhood disease. You don't seem bothered. What's going on?”

“Nothing,” he quickly replied. “Well, not nothing. Let's just say that you're not the only one who's had a strange day.”

“Do tell,” Emma, who was the matriarch of gossip, immediately demanded. But before Matt could say anything there
was a beeping noise and his sister let out a relieved sigh. “That's Sam. I need to give him an update on what's happening, but we'll resume this conversation tomorrow. And don't forget about the vaccination.”

“I won't,” he promised. “Give those monkeys my love.”

“Will do,” Emma promised and finished the call while Matt turned his attention back to the onions, which had now gone the perfect color. He smiled as he added in the mushrooms that he'd found in the fridge. Cooking was like life; it just required a bit of planning and organization. His nose twitched in appreciation. Of course, a meal was always enhanced by the company, and his smile increased as he put the pasta on before he searched for some cutlery to set the table.

Finally it was ready, and even Socrates, who'd been eyeing him from a nearby chair, sniffed the air with interest. Matt gave the ginger cat a quick pat on the head as he made his way back downstairs to let Kate know.

He hadn't actually seen her since she'd led him upstairs two hours earlier and told him to make himself at home, but it didn't take him long to find her. She was hunched over her sketch pad, oblivious to his presence. He watched in appreciation as she worked, taking in the way her bottom lip was tight with concentration, and suddenly he understood why the studio was such a mess. She obviously got so wrapped up in her work that she didn't notice anything around her.

It was the exact opposite of how he worked, and he continued to stare at her in fascination. Her wild curls were swept over one shoulder, leaving the other one exposed, and the rise and fall of her shoulder and arm as her hand flew across the page was something of an erotic experience.

Kate Mitchell, he decided, had great arms: long and slender but with the hint of muscle underneath. It was a tantalizing sight and his mind filled up with images of her lying back on a chaise lounge, her voluptuous body only barely concealed by a flimsy sheet, making her look like something out of a modern day Goya.

“Problem?” She glanced up from her work and looked at him strangely.

“Oh.” The heat rose to his cheeks as he realized he'd been caught thinking about her.
Fantasizing
would be a better word. His embarrassment increased. “Er, no problem. I just wanted to let you know that dinner's ready. Also, I need to ask if you've had chicken pox before.”

“I think I had them when I was eight.” Kate's brown eyes clouded in confusion and Matt watched in fascination as she pressed her mouth together so that it formed a perfect rosebud. “Why? Is that what we're having for dinner?”

“What?” He blinked before realizing that for the second time in just minutes he'd been sidetracked. For someone who prided themselves on their organizational skills, he was doing a lousy job. He coughed and fiddled with his shirt collar. “I mean, no, we're not having chicken pox for dinner. I just spoke to Emma and the twins have just come down with them. I haven't had them before so there's a slim chance that I might get them and I would've hated to pass them on to you. Not exactly a nice way to thank you.”

“Oh, right, well you can set your mind at ease.”

“Good.” Matt turned before she could see the color in his face, while trying to remember the last time he'd acted like a teenager around a gorgeous girl. He suspected that it hadn't been since he was a teenager. “So, I hope you're hungry.”

“Starving,” Kate said as she shut her sketchbook and followed him upstairs. Her eyes widened when she saw the steaming bowls of pasta covered in the delicate sauce, lightly sprinkled with the hard Parmesan that he'd found at the back of the fridge. “Where did all this come from? I swear this morning there was only bread and milk in there.”

“You'd be amazed what I can do when I put my mind to it.” He held out the chair so she could sit down. “Though it was a close call between this and soy-sauce soup. You have a lot of sushi condiments in your fridge.”

“I like it,” she defended. “It covers all the food groups plus they have fun with it. The other night I got panda-shaped sushi.”

“Hey, I'm a big fan of fun food,” Matt quickly assured her before holding up a glass. “Now, would you like a glass of wine? I found a bottle in the cupboard. I hope you don't mind. I'll replace it tomorrow.”

For a moment Kate's face was the picture of indecision, as if she was going through some internal battle. Then she sucked in a lungful of air and held out her glass.

“Okay, I'll have a glass of wine. It's been that kind of day.”

“It surely has,” Matt agreed, feeling ridiculously pleased that she'd said yes. Despite finding himself locked out of his home thanks to a horde of baby-seeking women and discovering that he might have chicken pox, he was starting to think that it was all a blessing in disguise.