Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) (13 page)

The corners of her mouth tilted up as she watched him. "I believe you. But Mia wants to be a princess, so I'm going to make her a princess."

"That's what you do? I mean, besides taking the pictures."

"Yeah. It's not much, but it makes the kids happy. And it's something I enjoy doing so…" Her voice drifted off and she shrugged, like what she was doing was no big deal.

"So you're going to make Mia a princess and give her fireworks at the same time. That's pretty cool."

Nicole laughed and ducked her head. Was it his imagination, or was the lightest blush fanning across her cheeks? She looked over at him and he felt her eyes on him. A few seconds went by then she reached up and pushed her sunglasses up, anchoring them in her hair. Light sparkled in her eyes, something more than just the reflection of the sun.

"She also wanted pictures of you but I told her no."

"Me?" Mat sat back, surprised. "Why would she want pictures of me?"

Nicole looked away. And this time, there was no doubt she was blushing. "Oh. Uh, nothing. It was silly. She, uh, just thought you were my boyfriend and wanted pictures. I, uh, I told her you weren't—"

"I could be." And Christ, now he sounded like he was fucking twelve years old. He looked away, cringing at the words, and ran a hand over his heated face. Was there no end to the sheer stupidity that would fall from his mouth?

It didn't help that Nicole wasn't saying anything. Yeah, she probably thought he was a moron. Should he apologize? It would probably be better if he just pretended he never said it. Even better if he changed the subject.

"You can take it if you want."

"What?"

Mat glanced over at Nicole then looked back at his hands, studying them, wondering what to do with them. Wondering if he should just shut the hell up again. "My picture. You can take it if you want, I don't mind."

"Oh. That…" Her voice drifted off again, like she wasn't sure what to say. Of course she wasn't. Hell, even he didn't know what to say, not anymore.

"Maybe you could make me a prince, since Mia's the princess." And maybe, just once, he'd learn to keep his big mouth shut. For not knowing what to say, his mouth was certainly having a field day with the verbal diarrhea. He shook his head, thinking he should apologize—again—when Nicole shook her head, her brows lowering in a frown.

"No. A dragon is much better than a prince."

Mat thought about sticking his finger in his ear and cleaning it out, knowing there was no way he could have heard her right. A dragon? But now it was Nicole who was looking away, her face turning a cute shade of pink. "A dragon?"

"Uh, yeah." She bit down on her lower lip then faced him, still frowning. Her expression finally cleared and a small smile teased her mouth. "Sorry. It's your eyes. A dragon was the first thing that came to mind when I first saw you. I mean, your eyes. They're such a gorgeous shade of deep green."

She'd said something very similar to him, back in New Orleans. In fact, those were the first words she had said to him. Did she remember? Maybe, if the look in her eyes meant anything.

"A dragon, hm? Don't they usually get killed by the knights or princes or whatever?"

"Oh, only the bad ones. You're a good dragon." Nicole's eyes widened and she lowered her head, bringing both hands up to cover her face. "Oh my God, I did not just say that."

Mat laughed. A real one this time, one that lifted some of the doubt and tension he'd been feeling. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who does that."

Nicole lowered her hands, just enough so she was peaking at him through her fingers. Her amber eyes glowed in the sun, warming him from the inside out. "Does what?"

"Say things that don't always come out the right way."

"Oh." She lowered her hands to her lap, her left one brushing the skin of his thigh. "No, I guess not. Um, for what it's worth, that was a good thing."

"What was?"

"The, uh, good dragon part. Good dragons are better than superheroes." She ducked her head, no longer watching him. Mat smiled then leaned forward, capturing her chin with his hand to tilt her head back. Her eyes flared then darkened, filling with awareness as he lowered his mouth to hers. He caught her small gasp, felt her lean toward him as he swept his tongue inside. God, she tasted so sweet. Sweet and spicy, like hot cinnamon mixed with honey. He could get drunk on her kisses.

She leaned even closer and wrapped one hand around his neck, her touch warm, her body soft. Mat deepened the kiss, losing himself in her taste, her touch. He shifted, just the tiniest bit, to get even closer. He brought his hand up, dragging it along her arm, thinking to pull her even closer, maybe shift to the side and pull her down on top of him. But she flinched and pulled away, a hiss of pain escaping her. Mat sat back, his brows lowered in concern.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—did I hurt you?" He wasn't sure how he could have but maybe he grabbed her too hard without meaning to, without realizing it. Maybe he—

"No. No, I'm fine. It wasn't you." But she wouldn't look at him as she rubbed the side of her arm where he'd grabbed her.

"Nicole, are you sure? Let me look—"

"No, I'm fine. Really." She slid away, putting some distance between them. Mat frowned, not sure if he should push the issue or not.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Really, it wasn't you. I, uh, I just hurt my arm. At work. That's all." But she was looking away from him, not meeting his eyes, and he wondered if she was telling the truth—wondered why she would lie.

He shifted, leaning a little closer, and placed his hand on her shoulder. If he could get her to look at him, if he could see her eyes, maybe he'd be able to tell what was going on. "Nicole—"

She stiffened, her body language speaking volumes. And maybe he wasn't that great at talking, at saying the right things, but he could certainly hear—both what she was saying, and what she wasn't. He dropped his hand and inched away, just enough so he wasn't encroaching on her personal space.

"So I take it you have a thing for dragons?" She turned her head, her eyes widening in surprise. He motioned toward her left arm. "Your tattoos. The dragons and fairies and everything. The one on your, uh, thigh, has dragons and a castle. I just figured you might have a thing for dragons."

Her hand came up and closed around the pendant hanging from her neck. Another dragon, this one wrapped around a milky-colored piece of glass. She must have noticed him watching because she let go of the pendant and folded her hand in her lap.

"Yeah, I guess." She smiled and laughed a little. "Okay, I do. Ever since I was a kid. I don't even remember how it started. I've just always liked them."

"Even if they're supposed to be bad?" He meant it as a joke, as a reference to her earlier comment. But a shadow crossed in front of her eyes, her expression turning sad for just a fleeting second as she looked away. And he felt it, a blast of despair that made him want to fold her in his arms and hold her, protect her, chase away the bad things until the sadness left her.

"No, it's not the dragons who are bad." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and Mat somehow knew that she was lost in a memory or hope or dream. She shook herself and whatever had been there, whatever it was he thought he'd seen and felt, floated away on the small breeze that lifted the hair from her neck. She looked back at him, her eyes clear now, and laughed. "Dragons are just misunderstood, that's all."

"Misunderstood, huh?"

"Absolutely." She laughed again then shifted, moving closer. Mat hesitated then wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her against him. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, soft and gentle, coaxing, afraid of pushing. She sighed, opening her mouth under his, her hand coming up to rest in the center of his chest, just above his heart.

Could she feel it? The steady pounding, beating faster with each passing second. Did she know that it was because of her? That she had the power to do this to him? To make him want, need, burn—

"Is this the best spot you could grab?"

Mat jumped back as something heavy landed beside him. He looked up, squinting as two shadows moved in front of him, finally coming into focus.

Leave it to Derek to interrupt at the worst possible time.

He pushed to his feet and leaned forward, pulling Bridget into a quick hug. Then he turned and frowned at Derek. "I thought you guys were coming later."

"We changed our minds." He pushed his sunglasses up to his forehead and glanced over Mat's shoulder, squinting. "Hey. Nicole, right? Nice seeing you again."

Mat was going to kill him. Did Derek have to be so forward and abrupt? Did he have to say 'again'? Mat wanted to believe it hadn't been a deliberate reminder of New Orleans but knowing Derek, anything was possible. He glanced over at Nicole, worrying that she might take it the wrong way, or take Derek the wrong way. Or both. She was looking up at them, a small smile on her face. Mat couldn't see her eyes because she had pulled her sunglasses back down but he got the feeling that the smile was forced. And he wondered if Nicole would relax again for the rest of the night or if those few moments were gone for good.

Yeah, he was really going to kill Derek.

Magical.

That was the one word that kept going through Nicole's mind as she felt herself falling, spiraling. Down and down in a dizzying whirlwind that left her heart racing, that left her breathless.

Mat was magical. His whispered words. His soft touch. His kisses, sometimes gentle, sometimes demanding, always seeking, searching, reassuring.

How could she have been so wrong? Mat wasn't a dragon. He was a wizard. A sorcerer. Weaving his magic until she fell completely under his spell.

Nicole didn't want him to stop. She didn't want the night to end.

Mat pulled away, his breathing shallow and harsh as he rested his forehead against hers. Even this close, in the dark interior of his car, she could see light flaring in his eyes. Passion. Desire. Need. She wanted it all. She wanted to give him it all.

Her hand curled around his neck, her fingers teasing the dark strands of hair that brushed his collar. So soft, softer than she remembered. She wanted to rip his shirt off, to run her hands along his sculpted chest, to feel the springy curl of the hair on his chest under her palm. To follow that thin line of hair down his hard abs, lower to where it disappeared below the waistband of his shorts.

She wanted all of that and more. So much more. And she was pretty sure Mat wanted the same.

Just like she was pretty sure that he wouldn't ask, wouldn't push her. If she wanted it, she'd have to initiate it. At least, initiate it more. Because there was no doubt in her mind that the next move would have to be hers, that Mat was somehow waiting for her to decide how much further to go.

But he was leaving the decision up to her. All she had to do was tell him what she wanted, that she wanted more than just making out in the front seat of his sports car after one of the best days—the best nights—she'd ever had.

She had been hesitant at first, not sure what to expect on their date. Uncertain of herself, especially when she learned they wouldn't be alone. Tension had vibrated through her, leftover tension from her encounter with Donnie, tension from being so hesitant and unsure. But Mat had put her at ease. So had Derek and Bridget after they arrived. It didn't take her long to relax, to loosen up, to finally enjoy herself.

To experience something new and wonderful with people who were truly happy. With people who knew how to laugh and have fun, whether it was tossing a Frisbee back and forth or just sitting there, talking.

Just sitting there with Mat's arms wrapped around her from behind as she leaned against him, listening to music from a real symphony orchestra as fireworks danced overhead. She'd never experienced anything like that before.

And she didn't want it to end.

Mat reached up and gently cupped her face, the heat from his callused palm warming her. So gentle. Reassuring. He traced her bottom lip with his thumb and a thousand different sensations ripped through her, leaving her tingling and aching and hungry and feverish. Then he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his once more, sweeping his tongue inside. Slow, so slow. Nicole moaned, the tiny sound lost in their breathing, and she tried to get closer, to press her body against his, to lose herself in his touch.

But he pulled away again, much too soon, and exhaled. One corner of his mouth lifted in a small grin and he shifted in the leather seat. "I should probably get you inside."

She should say yes. She should let him walk her to the door and say goodnight. But that wasn't what she wanted. Not even close. She wanted him. Wanted another night like they had in New Orleans. Wanted to feel his body pressed against her, inside her, filling her.

God, she wanted that more than anything. To fall asleep in his arms, safe and secure. Protected. But she couldn't invite him in. Not to her mother's house—and not just because it was her mother's, not just because of what her mother had said, of what she might say.

She didn't want him to see where she lived. How she lived. The peeling paint and dented walls of aging plaster, the worn and tattered furnishings with their underlying odor of stale cigarette smoke. Her small room, hot and stifling, barely large enough for the single bed and make-shift desk.

No, she couldn't invite him in.
Wouldn't
invite him. But maybe, just maybe, she could suggest he take her home—to his place.

"I—" All her doubts and insecurities bubbled to the surface and she snapped her mouth shut before anything else could come out. Maybe he didn't want to take her home. Maybe he just wanted the night to end. Maybe he—

"You what?"

"I—" She took a deep breath, willing the words to come. "I had fun tonight."

No, that wasn't what she wanted to say. Why couldn't she get the words out? Why couldn't she tell him what she wanted, like she had the other night? This wasn't like her, not really. Hesitant, uncertain, doubting herself. Questioning herself. She thought she'd gotten over that, had finally gotten rid of that last influence from her disastrous marriage, her disastrous past. Hadn't that been part of the reason for the trip to New Orleans? Not just to celebrate her new life, but to prove to herself that she had moved on. That her old self—her strong, self-assured self—was finally coming back.

But it wasn't. Not if she couldn't even get the words she wanted to speak to come out.

Mat was watching her, the corners of his eyes crinkling just the tiniest bit as he smiled. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose. "I had fun, too. But I should probably get you inside now."

He kissed her once more then shifted in the seat, his hand grabbing the door handle. It would only be another second, maybe two, before he opened the door. Before he got out and walked around to open hers.

Before their night would truly end.

"No!" The word came out so loud, so rushed, that even she jumped. Mat stopped, startled, then turned back to her. His brows were lowered in confusion, the same confusion that was reflected in his deep green eyes. Nicole took a deep breath to steady her nerves, searching for courage. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm, wishing her fingers weren't trembling quite so much.

"I—I don't want to go inside. Not yet." She licked her lips, saw Mat's gaze follow the swipe of her tongue. The muscles of his arm tightened, flexed for just a second, and that gave her hope.

She glanced over her shoulder, at the dark shadows of the buildings lining the street. Even at night, without the harsh glare of the sun, the buildings looked tired, worn. Like they had given up on life, the same way their occupants had given up.

Nicole didn't want that. She'd never wanted that. But that's what she was doing. If she couldn't find the courage to fight, couldn't find the courage to go for what she wanted, she'd be no different than everyone else.

No different than her mother.

She'd thought it had been enough, getting away from Donnie, breaking free from the toxic hold he had on her, but she'd only been fooling herself. The only thing she was doing was coasting along, waiting for life to happen to her, watching it unfold from a distance as life happened for everyone else. She could try to convince herself she was doing something about it but that would be nothing but a lie. Tonight had taught her that. Just a few hours in the sunshine, in the open air surrounded by sprawling countryside. A few hours surrounded by people who were genuinely nice. Who laughed and smiled and actually listened when someone spoke. People who enjoyed each other's company with no strings attached. People who talked to her, smiled at her, and expected nothing in return.

She turned back to Mat, not quite able to meet his eyes. What if she was making a mistake? What if he was only being nice and didn't really want her?

How would she ever know if she kept making excuses instead of taking chances?

"I want to invite you in but I can't. But I don't—" She swallowed, the sound a small gulp that seemed too loud to her own ears. "I don't want the night to end, though."

Mat stilled, his arm tensing under her hand again. Was it her imagination or did something flare in his eyes? He settled back in the seat and rested his hand on the steering wheel, like he wasn't sure what he should do with it. But he wasn't reaching for the door handle. Nicole hoped that was a good sign.

He looked away, his jaw clenching for a brief second, then looked back at her. His chest rose on a deep breath then fell, slowly, like he was forcing himself not to breathe too fast. When he spoke, the words were quiet, almost a whisper in a husky voice that sent shivers racing across her skin, pebbling it.

"Was there somewhere else you wanted to go?"

This was it, now or never. Nicole took a deep breath of her own and forced herself to meet his penetrating gaze. "We could go back to your place. If you want to."