What Chris Wants
Page 4
With Matt, it was so much more.
After a yawn Matt opened his eyes—and caught Chris’s smile.
Which, of course, made the smile disappear. “I made coffee,” Chris told him, trying not to stare too hard when Matt sat up—and pushed the sheet away.
“You don’t drink coffee.”
No, he didn’t. But Matt did. “You probably have time for one cup, but I have to get to work.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “That’s your way of telling me to hit the road?”
Jesus, he did not want to have this argument, not now. “You don’t need to get to work?”
An arrested expression came over Matt’s face. He twisted to see the clock on the nightstand, and then relaxed. “I have an hour, damn it. Don’t scare me like that.”
Glad for a change in topic, Chris asked, “Important client coming in?”
“Wealthy client.” Matt grinned. “I make her beautiful, and she tips me really well.”
And of course that made her important, yet Matt refused to see the importance in what Chris did.
Because he doesn’t know what you do.
Biting off a groan, Chris turned away. “I’ll call you later.”
He heard Matt leave the bed, but he didn’t slow down. He just kept walking, away from Matt, away from his conflicted feelings, and away from the need for immediate decisions.
Stepping through the front door of his small home, Chris started up the path to the main house. The morning sun crept up from behind the hills, sending light to dance across the surface of the placid lake. Mornings were always so peaceful, filled with mist from the lake, birdcalls from the trees and air so fresh Chris couldn’t help but breathe deeply.
Dare was probably already out for a morning jog, otherwise the dogs would have greeted him. Feet now damp from the morning dew, Chris opened the kitchen door and stepped inside. Molly was at the counter pouring coffee. More rumpled and puffy-eyed than usual, she glanced up, gave a sleepy, “Good morning,” and shuffled over to a bar stool, cup of caffeine in her grip.
“Morning.” Chris opened the fridge, got out the orange juice and filled a glass. “Late night?”
She nodded. “My brain would not stop plotting.” She covered a yawn. “At least I got some good notes out of it.”
As a bestselling author, Molly often lost sleep when in the middle of writing a book. “Want me to fix you some breakfast?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not yet. Dare said he’d cook when he got back.”
There were many things that Chris did well, but cooking wasn’t one of them. When compared to Dare’s culinary skill, he ranked no more than mediocre.
Propping her head on a fist, Molly asked, “Where’s Matt?”
With the juice halfway to his mouth, Chris froze. Never before had she asked him that. Not once. What was up with everyone suddenly butting into his life?
Just then, the intercom buzzed, indicating that a car needed him to open the gate. Always cautious, Chris checked the monitors first.
Molly came to stand beside him and saw Matt in the driver’s seat of his car.
“He looks…disgruntled.”
“Maybe like you, he’s not a morning person.” Chris pushed the buzzer to let him pass.
Molly didn’t move away. “You could have invited him to join us.”
Putting space between them, Chris went back to the counter. He meant to keep his mouth shut, but heard himself say, “There’s no point.”
Thoughtful, all too introspective, Molly eased back into her own seat. “No? How come?”
“Matt doesn’t know what I do.” He downed the juice in one long gulp, and then went to the sink to rinse the glass. “He thinks I’m an errand boy.” Smirking, Chris said, “And I suppose that’s the simplest explanation.”
“You’re so much more than that!”
“Yeah, I know.” He wasn’t insecure in the least about his value. But that wasn’t the point.
“So tell Matt,” she insisted.
Hands braced on either side of the sink, Chris dropped his head forward with a laugh. “That’d mean also telling him what Dare does.”
“Oh.”
He turned to face her. “And what Trace, Jackson and Spencer do.”
Molly frowned. “But doesn’t he already know some of it?”
Yeah, Matt knew enough to be cautious, and to play deaf, dumb and blind when necessary. Out of necessity, Matt had been brought to Dare’s house to give Priss a makeover—by order of a scumbag human trafficker. Both Priss and Trace had been undercover at the same time, Priss as the trafficker’s long-lost daughter, Trace as his number-one bodyguard. To maintain their cover, they’d had to follow directions to polish Priss up…for a sale.
Trace couldn’t risk taking her to the usual sources for that, and Chris trusted Matt—as far as it went. Matt had been to the house before that, but only to swim, hang out.
And visit Chris.
Matt wasn’t a dummy. He’d met Dare, and he’d been through the complicated and detailed process of gaining entrance to the property. He had to know that secretive shit went on, but he had enough sense not to dig.
Unfortunately, the more he was around, the more he’d see and hear. The more he’d understand.
The more he’d want to know.
Chris leaned back on the counter. Unlike Priss and Arizona, who’d demanded active roles in the organization, Molly and Alani could both be endearingly nonchalant about the inherent danger involved.
After a yawn Matt opened his eyes—and caught Chris’s smile.
Which, of course, made the smile disappear. “I made coffee,” Chris told him, trying not to stare too hard when Matt sat up—and pushed the sheet away.
“You don’t drink coffee.”
No, he didn’t. But Matt did. “You probably have time for one cup, but I have to get to work.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “That’s your way of telling me to hit the road?”
Jesus, he did not want to have this argument, not now. “You don’t need to get to work?”
An arrested expression came over Matt’s face. He twisted to see the clock on the nightstand, and then relaxed. “I have an hour, damn it. Don’t scare me like that.”
Glad for a change in topic, Chris asked, “Important client coming in?”
“Wealthy client.” Matt grinned. “I make her beautiful, and she tips me really well.”
And of course that made her important, yet Matt refused to see the importance in what Chris did.
Because he doesn’t know what you do.
Biting off a groan, Chris turned away. “I’ll call you later.”
He heard Matt leave the bed, but he didn’t slow down. He just kept walking, away from Matt, away from his conflicted feelings, and away from the need for immediate decisions.
Stepping through the front door of his small home, Chris started up the path to the main house. The morning sun crept up from behind the hills, sending light to dance across the surface of the placid lake. Mornings were always so peaceful, filled with mist from the lake, birdcalls from the trees and air so fresh Chris couldn’t help but breathe deeply.
Dare was probably already out for a morning jog, otherwise the dogs would have greeted him. Feet now damp from the morning dew, Chris opened the kitchen door and stepped inside. Molly was at the counter pouring coffee. More rumpled and puffy-eyed than usual, she glanced up, gave a sleepy, “Good morning,” and shuffled over to a bar stool, cup of caffeine in her grip.
“Morning.” Chris opened the fridge, got out the orange juice and filled a glass. “Late night?”
She nodded. “My brain would not stop plotting.” She covered a yawn. “At least I got some good notes out of it.”
As a bestselling author, Molly often lost sleep when in the middle of writing a book. “Want me to fix you some breakfast?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not yet. Dare said he’d cook when he got back.”
There were many things that Chris did well, but cooking wasn’t one of them. When compared to Dare’s culinary skill, he ranked no more than mediocre.
Propping her head on a fist, Molly asked, “Where’s Matt?”
With the juice halfway to his mouth, Chris froze. Never before had she asked him that. Not once. What was up with everyone suddenly butting into his life?
Just then, the intercom buzzed, indicating that a car needed him to open the gate. Always cautious, Chris checked the monitors first.
Molly came to stand beside him and saw Matt in the driver’s seat of his car.
“He looks…disgruntled.”
“Maybe like you, he’s not a morning person.” Chris pushed the buzzer to let him pass.
Molly didn’t move away. “You could have invited him to join us.”
Putting space between them, Chris went back to the counter. He meant to keep his mouth shut, but heard himself say, “There’s no point.”
Thoughtful, all too introspective, Molly eased back into her own seat. “No? How come?”
“Matt doesn’t know what I do.” He downed the juice in one long gulp, and then went to the sink to rinse the glass. “He thinks I’m an errand boy.” Smirking, Chris said, “And I suppose that’s the simplest explanation.”
“You’re so much more than that!”
“Yeah, I know.” He wasn’t insecure in the least about his value. But that wasn’t the point.
“So tell Matt,” she insisted.
Hands braced on either side of the sink, Chris dropped his head forward with a laugh. “That’d mean also telling him what Dare does.”
“Oh.”
He turned to face her. “And what Trace, Jackson and Spencer do.”
Molly frowned. “But doesn’t he already know some of it?”
Yeah, Matt knew enough to be cautious, and to play deaf, dumb and blind when necessary. Out of necessity, Matt had been brought to Dare’s house to give Priss a makeover—by order of a scumbag human trafficker. Both Priss and Trace had been undercover at the same time, Priss as the trafficker’s long-lost daughter, Trace as his number-one bodyguard. To maintain their cover, they’d had to follow directions to polish Priss up…for a sale.
Trace couldn’t risk taking her to the usual sources for that, and Chris trusted Matt—as far as it went. Matt had been to the house before that, but only to swim, hang out.
And visit Chris.
Matt wasn’t a dummy. He’d met Dare, and he’d been through the complicated and detailed process of gaining entrance to the property. He had to know that secretive shit went on, but he had enough sense not to dig.
Unfortunately, the more he was around, the more he’d see and hear. The more he’d understand.
The more he’d want to know.
Chris leaned back on the counter. Unlike Priss and Arizona, who’d demanded active roles in the organization, Molly and Alani could both be endearingly nonchalant about the inherent danger involved.
