"I'll see you get settled--how about that."
"That's...good." He would still have preferred a clean break, but that was no longer possible.
Thanks to Heron.
Although...it was no hardship to have an opportunity to be with her a little longer.
Mels idled past all the rolling brass trolleys and the uniformed guys who were humping suitcases out of trunks, and headed down into the parking garage. Through the Toyota's vents, the smell of exhaust bubbled into the car interior, and he cracked a window--but how stupid was that. The air they had entered was the source of the bad smell.
They gave her buddy's car over to a valet, who didn't look too excited to park the POS, and shuffled through a revolving door into a lower-level lobby that was decorated with bloodred carpeting and gold walls. Unfortunately, and in spite of all the flocking--or maybe because of it--the decorations were more bordello than business-class, a grasp for the luxury of a Four Seasons that didn't quite make it.
"I've always thought this place tried to be like the Waldorf," Mels said as she punched the button for the elevator. "But this is Caldwell, not Manhattan."
"Funny, I was just thinking that."
"'Scuse any bitterness, by the way," she said. "I'm a transplant."
"From New York?"
"Well, I was born here, but I belong there. I'm just waiting to go back."
"What's keeping you in Caldwell?"
"Everything. Nothing." She glanced over. "In a weird way, I envy you your amnesia."
"I wouldn't, if I were you."
Yeah, he really didn't want that for her, and not because he was being a gentleman. Standing beside her, he would have killed to know about her, her family, where she grew up, everything that had brought her to this quiet, fragile moment in time.
"Mels..."
Before he could start asking, a family joined them in the wait for the elevator, the daughters running around, the parents looking like they were stuck in a version of hell that smelled like bubble gum, and was populated by short demons in matching fairy princess outfits that asked for ice cream every three minutes.
Ding!
As the doors opened, he put his hand on the small of Mels's back and led her into the elevator. He didn't want to stop touching her, but he dropped his arm, and endured the stares of the children.
Up at the main level's lobby, the hustle and bustle of the porte cochere had invaded the reception area, a line of people snaking out from a bell captain who stood guard at a set of velvet ropes.
"This is a nightmare," Matthias muttered dryly.
"It could be worse. You ever heard of Motel 6?"
"Good point."
When they finally got up to the front desk, he gave his name, and wasn't sure how it was going to work. Typically, you had to present the credit card you made the reservation with to get a room--
"Oh, yes, Mr. Hault, you're already checked in." The woman typed fast on the computer. "I just need your driver's license, please."
Matthias glanced around the lobby. How the hell had Heron managed to get here with his credit card and do the deed? Traffic had been bad, but not that bad on the route he and Mels had come in on--unless of course the guy had pulled a helicopter out of his ass.
And about the credit card, had it been Heron's own? The SOB was supposed to be dead, so you had to wonder how the company was going to send the bill to Pine Grove. Then again, CC numbers were as easy to get as library cards if you knew the right people--and given the look of Heron's roommate, black market access was no doubt a no-brainer.
"Sir? Your license?"
"Yeah, sorry."
As he handed the thing over, the receptionist smiled at him professionally, her expression the equivalent of a facial welcome mat. "Okay, here are your room cards. Just take the elevators over there to the sixth floor. You're in room--"
Not six sixty-six, he thought for no apparent reason.
"--six forty-two. Would you like someone to help you with your bags?"
"No, I'm good. Thanks."
"Enjoy your stay, sir."
As he and Mels headed to the other elevators, he scanned the lobby without moving his head. The people striding around were nothing special...just normals dragging their suitcases behind them, or talking on their cell phones, or arguing with their wives/husbands/boyfriends. No one was paying him any attention, and that was why public venues were sometimes the safest places you could be if you were in hiding.
Still, he was glad he had that gun he'd taken from Jim's.
The wait for their second round with an elevator was longer than the first, and when it arrived, Mels stepped forward as did another couple.
He touched her arm and eased her back. "We'll take the next one."
The doors closed as she glanced over at him. "Claustrophobic?"
"Yeah. That's it."
This time he let his hand linger a little. Standing behind her, he was much taller than she was, even though she wasn't short by any stretch--and he wondered what she would feel like against him.
Odd thought to have for so many reasons.
But it led to an undeniable picture in his head--
"Here's another one," she said, stepping out of his hold. "And we'll be alone this time."
Man, when it came to Mels Carmichael, alone had a nice ring to it, it really did.
The trip up to his room was uneventful--assuming he left out the direction his thoughts had turned. And the other positive newsflash was that six forty-two was not far from an emergency exit. Perfect. Inside, the twenty by twenty stretch of bed-bureau-desk-chair was standard issue, although as the door shut itself behind them, he focused on the king-sized mattress.
Except she wasn't looking for an affair with a stranger, and he couldn't perform anyway.
As he walked over and closed the drapes, Mels turned on the bathroom light and leaned inside. "You've got a nice tub."
Without meaning to, his eyes did an up-and-down on her, and yeah, he really liked the way she filled out those slacks of hers.
Shit. He wanted her--bad. Wanted her naked and underneath him, her legs spread wide, her sex taking him inside as he pounded, hard.
Clearing his throat, he said roughly, "Can I buy you dinner? I know it's a little early, but I'm hungry."
For her. Screw the food.
Straightening, she glanced at him, and he was glad he had those glasses of hers on. Nothing good could come out of what was no doubt in his eyes. Lust wasn't appropriate, not in this circumstance--
Hey, check him out. He might be a casual killer, but at least he had some sense of decency.
"Yeah." She smiled a little. "Sure. I could eat something."
As Matthias went over to the built-in desk and rooted around for the room service menu, he told himself he was just doing what Jim Heron had suggested: As long as he was with her, he knew she was okay.
Because he might not know his past, but he was sure about one thing.
He would die to protect this smart, kind woman...and her perfect ass.
Mels finally got to finish an order of French fries.
They came with a hamburger that was done to a perfect medium, a sliver of a pickle with enough bite in it to make her sinuses hum, and an ice-cold Coke that was right out of a commercial, frosted glass and everything.
Over in the mahogany console, the television was on WCLD, the local NBC affiliate, the five o'clock news anchor just starting his reports.
"I have to say," she murmured, picking up the last fry and dragging it through a smudge of ketchup, "these are much better than the ones at the Riverside."
Over on the bed, Matthias was working on his club sandwich, but she could tell he was looking at her. Even through the sunglasses.
He did that a lot, his eyes staying on her as if he liked the way she moved, even when she was sitting down--and for some reason, that made him even sexier...to the point where she found herself wondering what it would be like to have that without any barriers.
The looking, that was.
Without the Ray-Bans, she meant--
Shoot, she was making herself flustered.
"You know, you can take those off," she said softly. "The sunglasses."
He froze. And then resumed chewing. After he swallowed, he said, "I'm more comfortable with them on."
"Okay, suit yourself."
He hadn't said a thing about his search for Jim Heron, or how he'd found the address they'd met at. He'd just gotten in Tony's car and let her drive him here.
She wasn't about to argue with the change of heart.
"Don't you have someone waiting at home for you," he said casually.
"Ah, not really. Not much of a personal life, I'm afraid."
"I know how that is--" He stopped himself. "Shit, I actually do...know that part."
She waited for him to finish. Instead, he just sat there staring at his plate of half-eaten food like the thing was a TV set.
"Tell me," she said.
He shrugged. "No wife. No kids. No one permanent. Which is why nobody's looking for me--well, at least not in a family sense."
"I'm sorry. What about your parents?"
Matthias winced and then seemed to catch himself.
"No?" she prompted.
"I have nothing on them."
In the silence that followed, she made work out of picking up her tray and putting it out in the hall. Back inside, she knew that it was time to go.
Probably time to let go, too.
Jim Heron was dead--at least according to the not-so-distant archives of the CCJ, if not that damn headstone-on-a-grave routine. She'd found his home address through one of the sources that had commented on the story--but of course, he hadn't been there--
A headache cramped her temples, but the pain didn't last as she switched her thinking to Matthias Hault. He was safe here, and recovering well, and when it came to his memory, he was the only one who could get to the bottom of that. She'd done what she was able to in terms of getting him the basics; other than that...she could pay up if he sued her, although it didn't look like that was in the cards.
Sure, there was something strange about that house that was supposedly "his," and some things that didn't add up, like who exactly had been at that garage, but if she wasn't going to put it in the paper, those particulars really weren't her business.
Mels approached the bed and sat on the foot of it. As he put his tray aside and looked at her, that shaft went through her again.
She was definitely attracted.
Especially here in this room, where they were alone. Except she really wasn't looking for that kind of complication.
"I'd better go," she said, searching his face.
"So go," he whispered, meeting her eye-to-eye through her sunglasses.
Neither of them moved, his long, lean body as still as hers was.
God...she wanted him to kiss her. Which was insane--
"You make me..." Matthias took a deep breath.
"What?"
Easing forward, he reached up and brushed her face. "You make me wish I were different."
The touch stopped her heart; then sped it up. "I think you're a better man than you know."
"And that's what terrifies me."
"The idea that you're okay?"
"No, that you think I am."
Mels looked away briefly and wondered what the hell she was doing in this hotel room with him...feeling like she wanted them both to lose their clothes along with their inhibitions. But damn it, they were both adults, and she was really frickin' tired of living a halfway life, of wanting things she didn't have, of skimping on her dreams and getting little, if anything, in return.
She wanted to be loud, again. The way she'd been before things had changed and she'd come to Caldwell and cut short...herself.
With a frown, she wondered just how long she'd felt this way.
And then...
She wasn't sure what made her act--his voice? His eyes, which she couldn't see but could feel? His ingrained pride mixing with that churning self-doubt?
Her inner cavegirl?
Whatever the motivation, Mels put her lips against his. Briefly, chastely. Powerfully.
When she pulled back, he appeared stunned. "More out of control, huh," she said quietly.
"You have a knack for...yeah."
Well, she had shocked herself, too. But she simply couldn't think of a reason to fight the pull she had toward him. Life was finite...and after the last couple of years, she was more afraid of not taking chances in this moment than of flying for a while and crashing in a fireball to earth--
"Mind if I finish what you started?" he said on a growl.
"Hell...no."
On that ladylike note, Matthias's hand slid around the back of her neck and pulled her forward, taking over, taking control. And in the second before he had her mouth on his, she thought it was amazing how they were relative strangers, and yet his essence was better than context or time: she felt safe with this mystery man of hers, in spite of all his rhetoric to the contrary.
And holy crap, she wanted him.
Seemed like that was mutual.
Matthias kissed her hard and let her go; then came back at her, like that hadn't been nearly enough. As his tongue entered her, he kept the liplock going, holding her against his mouth, tilting his head, tilting hers. With heat pooling where it hadn't been for so long, she was soaring, crazy and wild--and thought, this was exactly what she needed. This was it, right here, with him.
Sex here in this room, on this bed. With him.
Abruptly, Matthias pulled back, like he needed to catch his breath.
"You in a habit of kissing your stories?" he asked in a husky voice.
"You're not a story. We're off the record, remember."
"Good point." His eyes raked down her body. "I want you naked."
Mels smiled slowly. "Not exactly a newsflash considering the way you just kissed me."
With a groan, he came back at her again, maneuvering her down on the mattress, rolling over on top of her. Man, before his "accident," he must have been really physically dominant with women--not in a violating manner; there was no coercion or sense of being trapped for her. Animalistic was the best way to describe it.
Especially as his leg parted hers, and his thigh pushed into her sex.
Mels surged up against the weight of his chest, and put her arms around him--
With a subtle shift, he held her off, and then stopped altogether. As he pulled away, moved away, there was tension in his face and his body--and not the I'm-about-to-jump-you variety.
"What," she said hoarsely. "What's wrong?"
As Matthias shuffled over to the edge of the bed, his lungs were burning and he wanted to put his head through a wall. Goddamn him, but here he was, with this beautiful, vital woman who had all the signs of serious sexual arousal going for her, and he was...willing, but not able.
He wanted her. But there wasn't much he could do about it.
Thinking back to that nurse, to that hand job he hadn't been into, it seemed like some cruel fucking joke that his problem had returned in this circumstance: The distance between him and his reporter was one that no amount of kissing was going to solve. Same with touching or grinding or full-back naked. They were on opposite sides of a grave again; she in the land of the living, he in a cemetery.
For some reason, it made him even more desperate to have her. And with sudden clarity, he knew that in the past, he'd taken whoever he wanted--and had not suffered from a lack of volunteers. But that hadn't meant he had cared about the females.
Mels, on the other hand? This was different. She was different.
Except he could never have her properly, not with the way his body was.
"What's wrong?" she said again.
He didn't want her to know. Even if she found out later, he wanted to preserve the illusion he was a real man for a little longer. Assuming he saw her again.
"I can't believe we're do
ing this," he hedged. Which was the truth. So much of this whole thing--from waking up at the foot of Heron's headstone to the accident with her--didn't feel right. It was almost as if things were being lined up for him, as if his memory had been taken from him for a purpose.
"Neither can I," she replied, focusing on his mouth like she wanted some more.
She didn't strike him as the kind of woman who was into random hookups. She didn't dress like a whore, move like one, act like one. And she was giving off a hesitant but open vibe, like it might have been a while for her, but she really wanted things to happen.
Tell her to go, he thought. Impotence aside, there were so many other reasons they shouldn't be together tonight. Or ever.
Stretching out next to her again, he tucked his hand around her waist and pulled her to him--but not too close. Not against his hips.
God, she smelled good.
And the feelings were all there in his body, the heat coiling at his pelvis, his heartbeat going urgent, his arms and legs seeming even stronger than they had been. His cock was not with the program, however.
But maybe that was better because he needed to tell her--
"Can I make you feel good?" he blurted.
Okay, that was supposed to have come out as "good night."
"You already have."
"I'm damn sure I can do better."
"Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of excellence."
As he went in and kissed her again, he wondered what she would look like with her shirt open and her bra off, her breasts ready for his mouth, the smooth skin of her stomach leading him down to other territory.
This was incredibly good, all of it, and it seemed so new to him--and not just because he'd never been with Mels before. It felt like he'd never been with anyone. Then again, as far as his memory was concerned...there hadn't been anybody before her--
From out of nowhere, an image sliced through his senses. Him and a woman with smooth, dark skin, up against a wall. He had his hand around her throat and her legs around his hips, and he was banging the ever-loving shit out of her--
Matthias jerked back. All at once images flooded his mind, a chronological lineup of every woman he'd been with--young ones, when he'd been young; older, racier ones as he had grown up; then a series of extremely edgy, highly aggressive females.
He saw himself with them all, his body strong and whole, his emotions clear and uncluttered, his heart cold as stone. He saw the women, naked, or half-clothed, armed and unarmed, coming in great bursts of contortion.