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I shifted so I could see his face. His eyes were closed tight and his mouth was slightly ajar.
Matty was a snorer, but not an obnoxious one.
In the quiet of the morning, the house was silent and I took my time studying his profile.
Matty was the embodiment of Byronic poetry. His dark hair was a messy crown above smooth, tan skin that begged to be touched. It was shocking he didn’t have more freckles. His eyebrows were thick and full of expression when he spoke, laughed, or frowned. My fingertip itched to trace his perfect Grecian nose and his full, sensual lips. Matty’s scruffy jaw was masculine, too. He even had a cleft chin, like Superman.
My first impression was still accurate: Matthias Vaulteneau was so good-looking, he could be a model.
I knew that once he opened his eyes, those warm brown orbs would focus on me and come alive. He’d probably say something funny or sarcastic. If I thought back to the beginning, his eyes were always following me the same way mine followed him. We weren’t fooling anyone except each other and ourselves.
Had our parents suspected? Probably not, I thought, since they left only hours after our meeting. Mom and Stefon would be back in a few days.
A knot of worry threaded through my mind. How would they react? I felt certain Mom would accept everything. And if Matty’s behavior toward me gave any indication, maybe Stefon wouldn’t give a shit. Matty didn’t seem worried. Or, if he was, he didn’t voice it out loud.
Why invite worry ahead of time?
Shifting again, I escaped from Matty’s deadweight leg. Propping on an elbow, I started making lazy circles in his chest hair. Nonsensical mumbles escaped his lips as he slept on.
Hmm. Time for a firmer touch.
I kissed his chin, then his nose, and finally I placed a gentle kiss on his lips.
His eyes flew open. His immediate grin did something dangerous to my heart.
Matty’s hands snaked up around me. He rolled us over, pinning me beneath him. “Well, this is a delicious way to wake up.” His voice was rumbly as he nuzzled my neck, his scruff scratching my skin. “Good morning, Ciaran.”
He dipped to kiss my collarbone before making his way to my ear, my jaw, and then my lips. It was a soft, unhurried kiss and it curled my toes. His morning half-erection was thick against my inner thigh, but he made no effort to rock into me or thrust his hips.
“Good morning,” I replied in between kisses. I spotted several telltale dark red spots on his neck. I wondered if I was just as marked.
I heard rustling come from the guesthouse’s front door.
“That will be Franky,” Matty said casually. “She won’t come upstairs. She goes straight to the kitchen to get things in order.”
I smiled. “So what are you saying?”
With a husky voice, he answered, “I’m saying I want to keep kissing you.” His mouth was soft against mine and things were beginning to heat back up between us. “And then I want to feed you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmm hmm.” He kissed my neck as one hand skimmed down my side, to my hip, then to my outer thigh. Hot need coursed through my veins. He pulled my leg up, then my other leg, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, anchoring him into me. He gave me a groan of approval. “And then I am going to put you in a wetsuit.”
“Not the direction I thought you were going, but I’m intrigued.”
Matty gave me a lopsided grin. He licked my neck where it met my shoulder. When he started kissing my other shoulder, he said, “And then I am going to put you on a surfboard and teach you how to surf so you don’t smack your forehead ever again.”
I laughed at that, remembering my first attempt at surfing. Matty hadn’t witnessed the surfboard hitting me in the head, but my forehead had boasted a knot for several days.
“No lie,” I said, “none of that should have turned me on, but it did.”
Without warning, there was a tap at the bedroom door before it was thrust open.
“Oh—” The voice abruptly cut off. Matty and I both jerked our heads to face the door.
“Miss Paulina,” Matty said with some surprise. He climbed out of my embrace with embarrassing quickness. “Why didn’t you wait for us to say something?”
I observed the older housekeeper. It was my first time seeing her. Wearing a starched skirt and matching gray top, Miss Paulina was a plump woman in her sixties. Her thick black and silver hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She reminded me of a strict Sunday school teacher.
