Love and Other Surprises (15 page)

Matt jerked back, his hand on the injury. “What the devil was that?”

“Flipper.”

Matt stared down at the dog, who was chasing a small blue ball across the plastic-covered carpet. The little beast grabbed it in his tiny teeth, turned his head and hurled it. This time, Matt caught it in midair. Flipper barked and performed a back flip.

Ali laughed. “He wants to play catch. He throws and you catch.”

“With normal dogs, it’s the other way around.”

“There’s nothing normal about Flipper,” she said proudly.

Matt rolled his eyes. “You can say that again.”

Ali smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He must really like you, Matt. He doesn’t play with just anyone.”

“Lucky me,” Matt said dryly, rubbing the spot the ball had struck.

Ali stepped toward the kitchen. “If you’ll put the lid on the paint, I’ll get lunch ready.”

Matt eyed the dog as he tended to the task. The mongrel’s timing was either terrible or brilliant—he wasn’t sure which.

He found Ali in the kitchen a moment later pulling a ceramic bowl from the refrigerator. He took it from her and lifted the lid. “Mmm… potato salad. One of my favorites,” he said appreciatively.

Ali gave him a warm smile as she handed him platters of cold fried chicken and three-bean salad. “I figured the least I could do was provide you with a homecooked meal in exchange for your help.” She closed the refrigerator and pulled some serving spoons from a drawer. “Why don’t we eat outside? It’s the first warm day of spring and it’s a shame to spend all of it inside.”

“Sounds good to me,” Matt agreed. “What can I do to help?”

“There’s an old quilt in the trunk at the foot of my bed. Would you mind getting it and finding us a sunny spot in the backyard?”

Matt set off down the hall, stopping short the moment he entered her bedroom. It was dominated by a large, four-poster bed covered with a beautiful pastel quilt. Plump pillows of all sizes nestled invitingly against the headboard, and an eyelet dust ruffle peeked out the bottom like a petticoat. Beside the bed, a lace-draped table held a romance novel, an alarm clock and a pair of graceful crystal candlesticks.

The vision of Ali stretched out on the bed, her face bathed in candlelight, her hair flowing on one of the pillows, hit him like a physical blow, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. What would she look like dressed in something as sheer as the lace curtains that hung at the windows—or less?

His body responded to the thought. Muttering an oath, he strode to the trunk, yanked out a quilt and slammed down the lid.

She was getting to him. He’d been attracted to her from that first day in the bridal shop, and he’d thought he could subjugate the attraction. He’d tried a brotherly approach, but that had been impossible. He’d tried avoiding her, but that had proved impractical. And now, the more time he spent with her, the more time he
wanted
to spend with her.

Clutching the quilt, he turned and fled her bedroom as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

Ali dawdled in the kitchen, gathering up napkins, paper plates and flatware. Through the window, she could see Matt spreading the blanket on a sunny patch of ground in the center of the backyard.

Stop stalling,
she reprimanded herself.
You’ve got to go out there and face him sooner or later.

The encounter by the stepladder had shaken her to the core. The flash of desire had been so unexpected and strong that she’d felt defenseless against it. If Flipper hadn’t interrupted, she was certain she would have abandoned all her good intentions.

Being alone with Matt was like playing with fire; she’d have to be careful if she didn’t want to get burned.

As the food disappeared and the sunshine warmed Ali’s back, however, she felt the tension fade from her shoulders. The conversation rambled over a wide range of topics and an easy, companionable rapport grew between them.

“This is great,” Matt said as he spooned another helping of beans onto his plate, then reached for his third piece of chicken. “I didn’t know you could cook. From the way Robert talked, I thought you were a disaster in the kitchen.” His hand suddenly froze on a drumstick. “Are you sure we’re not going to get ptomaine or something?”

Ali stuck out her tongue and gave him a playful swat on the arm. “For your information, Robert’s stories about my cooking were all a little dated. I’ve improved quite a bit since the tenth grade—and I’m practically an expert on preventing food poisoning.”

Matt’s eyes gleamed playfully. “Oh, yeah? How many people did you have to kill to earn that status?”

“Since you’re so worried about it, I guess you won’t want any of my chocolate chip cookies,” Ali retorted.

Matt gave her a grin. “Did I mention I like to live on the edge?”

Ali laughed and passed him a cookie. He took a bite and stretched out on the blanket, his muscles bulging through the cotton of his striped rugby shirt as he propped himself on an elbow. He reminded Ali of a lion basking in the sun.

She took a sip of iced tea, trying to ignore the effect his pose was having on her pulse rate, and searched her mind for a distracting topic. “You seem to know about all the flubs and foibles of my youth. What about yours?”

“None of my mistakes were very funny.”

She leaned back on her arms and stretched her legs out in front of her. “Tell me anyway.”

Matt rolled over and lay on his back, gazing up at the sky. “The worst was my third grade science project. My father promised to help me build a model of the solar system. I bragged to my friends about how cool it was going to be, how it was going to have motorized planets that revolved around the sun.”

Matt fell silent as he studied a large puffy cloud moving slowly through the blue sky. “But of course, Dad never found the time to do it. At the last minute, Mom tried to help me fashion something out of Styrofoam sheets and wire, but it was nothing like the razzmatazz invention I’d described to my buddies. I ditched it on the way to school and told everyone my project had short-circuited and caught on fire.”

“Oh, Matt,” Ali sympathized.

“No one believed me,” Matt continued. “My teacher called my mother, and Mom’s feelings were hurt. The whole situation was a mess. But I learned some valuable lessons from the experience. Not to lie. Not to brag. Not to rely on anyone else to do something that’s my responsibility. And it really taught me the value of planning and time management.”

“It’s good you got something positive out of it,” Ali said softly.

Matt placed his hands under his head. “It wasn’t all positive. It wasn’t easy learning I wasn’t a very important part of my father’s life, that I couldn’t trust him, that someone I loved and looked up to could let me down like that.”

Before she stopped to think what she was doing, Ali reached out a hand to Matt. Her heart was filled with a mixture of emotions that she’d never simultaneously experienced before—empathy and concern and admiration and something more, something stronger, something she didn’t dare try to name.

Her hand landed on the warm, solid plane of his chest. Matt started at the contact, then turned his face toward her, placing his own hand over hers. She could feel his heartbeat accelerate under her palm, and her own picked up speed to match it.

“I’ve never told that story to anyone,” he said, rolling onto his side to look at her, his hand still holding hers against his chest.

The confession sent an odd thrill through Ali, touching a tender part of her heart. The idea that he would confide something so revealing to her—and only her—made her feel privileged and trusted and humble and…

Scared. In a way that she couldn’t quite define, it changed things.

Ali pulled her hand away and sat up suddenly, feigning an interest in Flipper’s antics at the far side of the yard. Shaken and shaky, she was dangerously close to losing all sense of perspective.

She began gathering up the leftovers. “I’d better take these inside before you have real reason to worry about food poisoning.”

“I’ll help,” Matt offered. He sat up and began stacking soggy paper plates and napkins.

“No!” In her eagerness to have some time alone to compose her emotions, the word came out harsher than she’d intended. She forced a note of lightness into her voice. “It’ll just take me a moment to put these things away. Why don’t you make a small dog happy and play catch with him like he wants?”

“Okay,” Matt said, hoisting himself to his feet. “But if you’re not done in five minutes, I’m coming in to help you.”

Ali watched him carry the paper plates across the lawn and deposit them in the garbage can. The small, thoughtful gesture made her chest constrict.

As she fastened the lid on the container of potato salad, she watched him toss the ball across the lawn, his shoulder muscles rippling. Flipper barked, Matt laughed, and Ali’s heart pounded wildly. She wasn’t sure what moved her more—-the fact he was here helping her paint, the way he’d opened up and shared himself with her, or the smooth, masculine grace of his movements.

For heaven’s sake, get a grip on yourself.

But the only things she seemed able to grip at the moment were the beans and the potato salad. Hugging the bowls to her chest, she lowered her head and beat a retreat indoors.

Later that afternoon, Ali took a final, flourishing swipe at the wall with a paint roller. “Ta dah!” Ali turned and smiled down from the ladder at Matt. “All done. How does it look?”

Matt looked around the room and rubbed his chin. The soft, rosy shade of terracotta Ali had selected didn’t look bad. In fact, he thought with surprise, it looked downright nice.

“It looks a lot better than I thought it was going to look when we first started,” he remarked.

“Don’t go overboard with the compliments—it might go to my head,” Ali said with a wry grin.

Matt shifted his stance and jabbed his hands into his pockets. “That didn’t come out quite right. What I meant to say is, when we started painting, I thought it was going to look too girlish. But it doesn’t. It looks great.”

And so do you,
Matt thought as she beamed down at him, her face paint-smeared and wreathed in a mass of unruly curls. He’d never realized a woman could look so adorable when she was so disheveled. He’d always gone for the perfectly groomed, every-hair-in-place type, but the idea of a woman who wasn’t afraid to get messed up had a sudden, new appeal.

“Thanks, Matt,” Ali replied with an impish grin. “Although I’d like to point out that girlish decor wouldn’t be entirely inappropriate. In case you hadn’t noticed, it just so happens I
am
a girl.”

Matt’s gaze scanned her form. “Oh, I noticed,” he murmured. “I definitely noticed.”

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it abruptly and began making her way down the ladder. Her slender hips swayed as she descended, and her sweatshirt rode up above her waist, revealing a tempting flash of skin. Matt reached up to help her down, deliberately placing his hand on her bare midriff. Her skin was warm and soft and the texture of silk, and touching it sent a jolt of desire vibrating through him.

The look in his eyes made Ali’s pulse quicken as she turned toward him. She self-consciously took a step back and brushed a stray curl from her eyes, unknowingly adding a new smudge of paint to her forehead.

She drew a deep breath, trying to quell her body’s response to his fingers on her naked skin.
Don’t let this attraction thing sidetrack you,
she warned herself. He’d just given her an opening to talk about her decorating philosophy, and she needed to take advantage of it. If she could convince him that they were on the same wavelength, it might make a difference in whether or not he approved her designs.

Ali took another step back and gave him an uncertain smile. “Actually, I understand what you mean about a living room being too feminine,” she said, bending to place the paint roller in the tray. “A lot of women take the concept of adding a woman’s touch too far. Men don’t feel at home in rooms that are too frilly, just like women don’t feel comfortable in rooms that are overly masculine.”

Matt began cleaning off the other painting tools. “So what’s the solution—keep everything gender neutral?”

Ali shook her head. “The most inviting rooms have elements of both sexes. The secret is to let masculine and feminine objects play off each other.”

Matt’s eyes darkened as he regarded her. “You make it sound very… sensual.” His voice was low and husky.

Ali’s pulse tripped like a snare drum. Tension arced between them, and she crossed her arms defensively across her chest, determined not to get off track. “Well, good interior design
is
sensual. It’s made up of textures and colors and shapes—even smells and sounds. All those things can influence the quality of your life. For example, did you know that people are more apt to have an argument in a yellow room? Or that people have better appetites in red dining rooms?”

A playful glint lit his eyes. “And what is this particular color supposed to do to you?”

She could tell what it was doing to him. Ali took a protective step back and decided to sidestep the whole issue. “At the moment, it’s making me thirsty. Would you like a soft drink?”

Matt laughed and glanced at his watch. “I would, but I’m afraid I’ll have to drink mine on the road. I promised to stop by the job site and talk to the roofing contractor before he knocked off for the day.” He gave Ali a curious look. “Where are you planning to stay tonight?”

A blush scalded Ali’s face.
Surely he wasn’t asking… Was he?
She turned away, vigorously wiping a brush with a rag, and feigned nonchalance. “Right here. Why?”

“What about the paint fumes?”

Ali exhaled slowly, thankful she had played it cool. “I’ll leave the windows open in here and close the door to my bedroom. It’s far enough away that it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Matt frowned. “That’s not a good idea, Ali. You can’t turn on the burglar alarm with the windows open.”

A wave of irritation surged through her. He sounded just like Robert—doubting her judgment, treating her as if she had no common sense, disapproving of her decisions, telling her what to do. Just when she’d thought she’d misjudged Matt, he reverted to form.