“Can’t.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I’m going up to Hyannis for a couple days. I’ll hang out, do some sketching. Grandpa wheedled.”
“He’s the champ. Is Grandma pining for you?” Cybil asked, leaning back to grin.
“Fretting herself down to skin and bones. Why don’t you come up? Give him a bonus. And that way we can spot each other when he starts on why we’re not settled down and raising a pack of little people.”
“Hmm. Well, he has called here a couple times in the last few weeks—hasn’t given me a chance to call first.” She considered, juggling time and duties in her head. “I’m enough strips ahead to take a couple of days. I do have a meeting day after tomorrow, though, that I shouldn’t break.”
“Come up afterward.” He angled his head when he saw her mull it over, hesitate. “You can ask your canasta partner to drive up with you. We’ll have a tournament.”
“He might enjoy that,” she murmured. “I’ll check with him. Either way, I’ll come.”
“Good.” And, Matthew thought, he hoped Preston accepted the invitation. He would love to see Daniel MacGregor work him over.
* * *
Since it was after midnight when Matthew went off to his hotel, Cybil told herself to go upstairs to bed. She hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before—and neither had Preston. The reasonable, practical thing to do was climb into bed, shut off the light and get some much-needed rest.
So she walked across the hall and pushed his buzzer.
She was beginning to think he’d gone to bed, or down to the club, when she heard the rattle of locks.
“Hi. I never offered you a nightcap.”
He glanced over her shoulder, back at her face. “Where’s your brother?”
“On his way to his hotel. I opened some brandy, and—”
She didn’t manage the rest, or even much of a squeak of surprise as he yanked her inside, kicked the door closed and shoved her against it. Her mouth was much too busy being assaulted by his.
When he switched to her neck, she managed to suck in a breath. “I guess you don’t want any brandy.” Since he was already dragging off her shirt, she returned the favor. “Or after-dinner mints.”
The force of need that had slammed into him the moment he’d seen her was outrageous. He couldn’t stem it, even with his hands rushing over her to take. Greedy, his mouth crushed back on hers while he pulled her head back to dive yet deeper.
And she strained against him, just as urgently, just as desperately, groaning in pleasure as he tugged her trousers down her hips.
Whatever she had was his.
He filled his hands with her breasts, then his mouth descended, sucking, nipping while her nails bit, arousing points of pain, into his back. Her skin, like warmed silk, drove him to possess. Desire, a freshly whetted blade, twisted as he moved down her until her hands vised on his shoulders and her breath was only gasping sobs.
Not possible, not possible to feel so much and survive, was her last coherent thought. Then he used his mouth on her, his fingernails raking lightly down her body as with lips and teeth and tongue he drove her beyond reason.
She heard her own cry of shocked release dimly, struggling for air as her system rocked from the hot explosion of pleasure. Destroyed, she sagged against the door, utterly open to him.
Surrender only fanned the flames.
His hands slipped, slid, over her damp skin. His mouth continued its relentless assault, demanding more, still more, until her body began to quiver again. Until he felt her begin to heat and move and stretch toward the next peak.
He left her groaning, traveling back up her body, slicking his tongue over flesh that tasted erotically of salt and woman. His hands were rougher than he intended as he dragged her to the chair, pulled her down on him, lifted her hips.
His eyes met hers, watching, watching as that soft, clouded green darkened and blurred, watching as those long lids flickered, watching still as he lowered her.
Now, as she closed around him, surrounded him in hot, slippery heat, their groans mixed. Her head fell back, exposing that lovely white arch of throat where a pulse beat