And all she could do as they walked away was hope that Matthew stayed sharp. Because otherwise, they were screwed.

*

Matthew managed not to hyperventilate throughout his conversation with Ernest, which, for the most part, was easily navigated. He'd obviously scored major brownie points for knowing Ernest's last name--thank goodness Selma had mentioned that the man was Hannah's stepfather or he never would have thought to run a Google search on the lawyer before Hannah arrived.

Fortunately, Ernest was prominent enough that his first name, town, and his wife's previous last name had been sufficient to track him down. One of Matthew's better attempts at research, actually. If he'd done as well in school, maybe he would have stayed past his sophomore year.

On the whole, the conversation with Ernest was easy. The man talked mostly about himself and very little about Matthew, a fact that seemed strange, but Matthew was grateful anyway.

It was only when Ernest cornered him later--after Matthew and Hannah had finally made it onto the dance floor--that the conversation turned truly odd. "You're in Hannah's room, of course," Ernest had said. "She never lived in it, but Amelia keeps her old things there, and we like knowing she has a place here."

Matthew only nodded, his feet starting to feel a bit leaden at the realization that he and Hannah were sharing a bed. Of course he should have thought of that earlier, but he'd never quite let his imagination go so far.

"To be honest, Amelia's old fashioned and would have preferred you sleep in separate room, but I told her this way was better."

"Oh, I don't want to upset Hannah's mother--"

"Nonsense. You're much less of an upset than the last time she brought ... someone ... with her."

"Sir?"

Ernest patted him on the shoulder. "We men have to stick together."

Matthew supposed they did, although he really didn't know what the man was talking about. Or at least he hadn't known. Later, as he and Hannah walked into the bedroom and he saw the double bed, it hit him.

"The last time you were here was with a woman."

She turned to him, her eyes wide. "So?"

He shook his head. "So, nothing. I just--something Ernest said just clicked with me."

"Oh." The tension that had seemed to fill her with his words fell away. "Yeah, he was less than thrilled about that."

"And your mom?"

"Remember what I said about her losing her identity?" She sat on the foot of the bed, then sighed. "Look, I'm sorry about this. I know sharing a room is super awkward."

He moved to sit next to her. "We'll survive." Hopefully, he sounded confident. The truth was, she was right. Simply sitting next to her was unnerving. He could remember the way she'd felt in his arms when the slow dances had come on. He'd been about to walk her off the floor, but she'd pulled him close, then whispered that her parents were watching. And he'd lost himself in the fantasy that she'd stayed because she wanted to.

"So, um, we should probably crash now." She nodded to a door. "That's the bathroom. You can go first."

He did, and when he came out in a T-shirt and boxers, she looked up, startled from whatever she'd been reading on her phone.

"Oh." She said, and he stood there stupidly as her gaze skimmed over him, finally pausing on his face. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, he felt the warm heat from her attention bubble through him. Then her eyes widened, and she said, "Oh!" again, and a lovely blush crept up her cheeks, painting her pale skin red.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I only--well, holy hell, you know you're good looking."

She couldn't have said anything better if she'd tried. They both burst out laughing, and just like that, the tension evaporated. "I'm going to go change, too," she said when they'd calmed a bit. "Get into bed and feel free to make a pillow wall if you're afraid that I'm going to ravage that body of yours."

"I'll take my chances," he said, forcing himself to think of cold showers so that she wouldn't notice the effect that the threat of being ravaged by her was having on him.

As she'd suggested, he was in bed when she returned, though he hadn't built the pillow fort. He caught a glimpse of her in a tank top and sleep shorts, and all he could think of was how incredible it would feel to have those long, lean thighs wrapped tight around him. Never had he wanted more to make a pass at a woman, but he couldn't do that. Not under these conditions. In bed. Forced to share sleeping quarters. With her warm and soft beside him.

Fuck.

He rolled over, putting his back to her.

"Probably a good plan," she said. "Less awkward and tempting."

Tags: J. Kenner Man of the Month Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net