Rocky Mountain Desire

Chapter Twelve

“It all looked backward until the final minute.” Marion Coleman peered closer at the sample swatch. “That is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it. Sometimes it’s more complicated describing the technique than doing it.” Hope handed the square back to Marion, then moved around the table to the next quilter.

There was warmth in the room that didn’t just come from the fireplace. Hope smiled contentedly as she calculated the number of women who’d joined the new quilters club.

“Are you planning on holding the group classes here all the time?” one of them asked.

Marion spoke before Hope could respond. “I don’t mind if you ladies are fine with it. The shop in town is lovely to visit, but there’s only room for a few people to work at a time.”

Hope nodded. “I’ve always got a workstation set up if you want to drop by the shop. But for these sampler classes? Mrs. Coleman has been kind enough to offer to host here. And if you know anyone who lives south of Rocky who doesn’t want to drive this far, you can tell them I’ll be out at the Macmillans’ once a month as well.”

She got them all working on the next step of their paper-piecing projects before having time to congratulate herself on having organized this brainwave. Every one of the women in the room had paid up front for a year’s worth of sample materials and monthly lessons. This project alone was enough to get her through the lean months of the start of the year, and that was before any of them came in to spend money on extra material for more projects. After she got people hooked on a new technique, she always had a flurry of sales.

“Psst.”

Hope glanced over her shoulder to spot Matt’s handsome face peeking from behind the kitchen door. A quick perusal confirmed all the quilters were busy working at their machines, happily chatting with their neighbors at the folding tables arranged around the room. She snuck past him into the muted lighting of the kitchen.

“Hey, you. I thought you were going to be busy all night in the barns.”

“I got the lambs cleaned up and tucked in, and then, hallelujah, the last ewe finally dropped. Which means I’m free for a bit. Well, as free as it gets around here.”

She leaned in as close as possible without making her actions too noticeable. A deep breath let her soak in the scent of his freshly washed body. The soapy fragrance clinging to him made her want to eat him alive.

It also reminded her of his very blatant display in the shower the other day.

Three weeks and counting. They’d made it this far without falling into bed, but it was getting tougher to remember why she’d insisted they wait in the first place. Not counting all the times he’d dropped in at the shop or she’d been around the ranch, they’d also gone to a movie and had a couple of game nights with his family. Each activity confirmed how much she enjoyed his company, but now that pleasure seemed to highlight their rising sexual frustration.

“Did you just sniff me?”

Hope looked up guiltily. “Maybe?”

Matt laughed softly. “Come here.”

He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in, not stopping until she was flush with the front of his body. He lowered his head slowly, giving her tons of time to retreat.

Like that was going to happen.

That first brush of his lips against hers made a shiver race over her entire body. The teasing rub of his whiskers against her lips made her hungry for more. She grabbed his belt loops, twining her fingers through them to resist sliding her fingers farther back to clutch his ass and grind them together.

Sweet kisses followed, accompanied by not-so-sweet mental images. Even as his tongue slipped between her lips, she was imagining his lips and tongue on other parts of her anatomy. The fine scratch of his facial hair dragging over sensitive skin.

“Hmm.” He pulled back, dark eyes staring down. “So, what you playing at with my mom and the ladies tonight?”

She dragged her mind back into gear. “Paper piecing. The ultimate in chopping up defenseless scraps of material.”

He grinned. “What time you working until? Because Jaxi offered for us to drop in over there and have a drink with them, if that’s not going to make you too late.”

“I’d…like that, I guess.”

One brow rose. “Like? You guess?”

God. She bit her lip for a second then continued her policy of honesty as the best policy. “What I really want to do is go back to your trailer, but that would lead to more fooling around, and so yes, visiting with Jaxi and Blake is far safer, but I ain’t going to lie and tell you it’s my first choice.”

Matt closed his eyes for a second, his throat moving as he swallowed hard. Where their bodies touched, his erection had expanded in girth, the hardness very clear as he pressed into her belly, as if refusing to hide. “You’re killing me.”

“Yup, and doing myself in as well.”

“Why aren’t we going to my trailer and getting ourselves over this crazy lust between us?”

“Because…” She had no idea anymore why.

He grabbed her hips and lifted her onto the countertop of the island, batted her legs apart and stepped between her thighs. Instant full-torso contact dragged a gasp from her as he returned to kissing her, his hands delicately cupping her cheeks as he worked his way across her lips methodically, thoroughly.

Hope widened her legs, clutched his shoulders and held on tight. Wrapping her legs around his hips increased the pressure on all the sensitive spots that were aching—again—for him to do more than simply kiss her.

He pulled away from her mouth and dropped a series of kisses along her jaw, moving up to play with the dangling lobe of her ear. His chin whiskers scratched, and she turned her head, letting him tease her further, scraping his teeth along her neck.

She had the top buttons of his shirt undone before she realized what she was doing.

He bit lightly and rocked his hips, and she shuddered. “Oh yeah.”

His lips were warm against her skin, his voice deep and low as he whispered. “I’m thinking we need—”

The door swung open behind them, the glow from the living room hitting them like a spotlight.

“Oh dear.” Gramma Martin, no relation but one of the local matriarchs whom Hope had known for all her life, jerked to a stop.

“Evening, Mrs. Martin. Sorry…” Matt stepped back slightly, holding Hope as she twisted her way to a less provocative position then off the countertop.

Gramma Martin waved off his excuses. “You never mind apologizing, only I need that young lady of yours for a minute. My twos and threes are getting mixed up on the pattern.”

“Right, sorry for abandoning you. I was just…” There was nothing Hope could say. She was as tongue-tied as Matt.

The older lady smiled. “I understand.”

Matt squeezed Hope’s hand. “I’ll talk to you in a bit. Sorry for disrupting your class.”

Hope hurried back into the main room, cheeks flushed with embarrassment that she’d completely lost her head with Matt right next door to a room full of customers.

Everyone was still busy at their machines, although the chatter in the room was suspiciously lacking. Hope checked Gramma Martin’s work and explained the problem.

“Wonderful. I knew I was getting myself turned around somehow.”

“You’re doing very well.” Hope checked the next quilter and conversation slowly resumed. Still, from all the half-hidden smiles, she figured the fact she’d been lip-locked with Matt Coleman was no secret. She glanced at Marion, but Matt’s mom only gave her a full-out smile and nod.

Nothing wrong there. Nothing but a lingering uneasiness—like someone was talking about her behind her back.

Hope mentally shrugged it off and concentrated on doing the best job possible in spite of the sexual distraction simmering through her veins.

Tonight? She was going to give Matt a rain check on doing anything after the class was over. But tomorrow?

All she knew for sure was that waiting any longer was beginning to seem like a real bad idea.

Matt shoved the gas nozzle into place and turned to lean on his truck as the tank filled. He wondered how pathetic it would look if he casually dropped in at the quilt shop. Again.

Poor Hope had to be either getting sick of his face or be nearly at the breaking point. He was willing to stop the no-sex rule any time now—he considered coordinating his arrival with her closing the shop down. That way he could work on convincing her that testing her bed’s mattress springs was of vital importance to both their safety.

Or forget the mattress, her couch had awesome support. Or the floor. Or the fucking wall—he wasn’t going to be picky. Three days ago, if they hadn’t been interrupted, he would have had her in his parents’ kitchen.

In spite of the icy wind blasting past, his cock reacted with interest. His need to get her into bed had grown beyond stupid. He’d been waking up hard, stroking himself off while still half-asleep. Spending time with her was fun, but they weren’t children. The attraction between them was real.

And the whole waiting until she said it was time for them to move this into something physical? He had no idea why it had ever seemed like a good idea. In fact—

A horn blared from not four feet away and he jerked from his musings. Clay Thompson’s monster truck swung past, the ass grinning as he hopped out, shoved a credit card in the gas pump and began filling his oversized four-by-four.

Matt turned his back. There was no need to give the bastard any attention.

“Hey, Coleman.”

Ah, fuck. Matt glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“You Six Pack boys are bigger wimps than I thought.”

Jesus. “You think you got something worthwhile saying, then say it.”

Clay raised his brows and whistled, checking out the gas register as this time he turned his back to deliberately ignore Matt.

Matt knew he should drop it. There was no reason to get into anything with Clay. Call it male pride. Or stubborn, foolish curiosity. He managed to wait all of twenty seconds before responding. “You swinging your jaw for a reason?”

“I didn’t see your name on the list of teams working on the raffle that Hope is organizing.” Clay shrugged. “Too bad the Colemans aren’t as giving to the community as they’ve always made out to be.”

Clay couldn’t be serious. “A raffle? What the hell you talking about? I have no idea about any raffles. Hope never said a word to me.”

The other man laughed out loud. “I guess that means you’re not talking? As well as not fucking?”

Matt’s anger flared. “Eat shit, Clay.”

His opponent leaned on the gas pump, a derisive smirk across his face. “Not able to get it up? Maybe that was your problem with Helen. It takes more than a pretty face to keep a woman satisfied.”

An instant roar of blood through Matt’s brain made his vision go white, and he was around the pumps before his brain fully engaged. He grabbed hold of the front of Clay’s jacket, cocking back an arm to throw a punch. The next thing he knew they were on the ground, the hard snow on the concrete below them not enough to cushion the impact. Clay responded with blows of his own, and Matt’s head snapped back, pain ricocheting through his jaw and cheek.

Hands pulled at them, others from the lineup jerking them apart with loud shouts and concerned questions.

Matt panted as he and Clay squared off. “Stay away from Hope.”

Clay raised a hand to his lips, wiping away blood. “She’s a grown woman. Can make up her own mind. If she wants me, she knows she only has to call.”

Matt spat at Clay’s feet, shaking off the people holding him. He thrust away the gas nozzle, climbed into his truck and pulled out from the service station, careful not to spin the tires or do anything that would be enough to get the authorities alerted.

Then he turned and headed down Main Street, slipped into the parking space at the back of Hope’s shop and steadied himself with a few calming breaths.

What the hell difference did it make that Clay handed him a line or two? The taunting was deliberate, like schoolkids prodding each other. There was nothing in it. He and Hope were only just starting to date—there was no way they could have talked about everything. And fighting over the mention of a raffle? What the fuck was he thinking?

Matt grabbed a few wet wipes from the glove box and cleaned up, grimacing in the mirror. He was going to have a swollen cheek at the least. He stared at himself, remorse and uncertainty in his eyes.

This wasn’t about any bloody raffle. Clay seemed determined to grind against the rawest parts of his soul. Matt hated that it was true—he hadn’t been able to hold Helen. No matter how hard he’d tried. Damn if he’d make the same mistakes with Hope. But…

The trouble was he didn’t know what mistakes he’d made that had caused Helen to leave. He had no idea what mistakes he was making this time that would break him and Hope apart. And yet here he was, unable to stop himself from following after her like some lost little puppy.

She was at the sewing machine when he made it into the shop. Her happy greeting slipped into dismay as she rose and came over to gently touch his face. “Matt, what happened? Did one of the horses kick you?”

Not even close. He’d like to think Clay was more comparable to the asses they owned. “It’s nothing. I just have a couple minutes. Wanted to say hi.”

All his earlier plans for an extended seduction would have to wait. He didn’t want that to be the first thing he did after getting into a fight with Clay.

“Well, hi, I guess. I’d say it’s good to see you, but you look like shit. You going to be okay?”

He nodded. Then, casual-like, slipped out the question. “So…what’s up with the raffle?”

She frowned for a second. “The raffle? Why? How did you hear about it?”

Matt stepped closer. “Is this something you’ve been working on? Something I can help with?”

“Well, I guess so. I didn’t think you’d be interested.” Hope shrugged. “Frankly, I didn’t mention it since I knew the timing is bad. And it would mean you and your brothers—”

“Is Clay doing it?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this another one of your cock-fight things?”

If he’d been ten, Matt would have kicked at the ground and hidden his hands behind his back, the instant guilt that hit was that strong. But now at thirty, he’d learned to fake it a bit better.

“Not really.”

She glared.

“Kind of?”

When she laughed, he figured he’d dodged a bullet.

Hope shook her head. “Fine. The Six Pack Colemans can be added to the list. I’ll get you the details, and you can decide if you want to officially go ahead with it or not.”

She stroked his cheek again, and he caught her hand and adjusted it until he could kiss her palm. “Thank you.”

Those expressive brows rose. “You can save the thanks for after you’ve explained to Travis and Blake exactly what you’ve gotten them into.”