Behind her, Matt spoke in a flat, calm voice. "Meredith?"
She turned and saw him still standing in the doorway of his room, his shoulder propped against the door frame, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. "Yes?"
"Do you know what my least favorite thing is?"
His implacable tone told her the question wasn't casual, and she shook her head, wary at whatever he was getting at. He didn't keep her in doubt. "It's sleeping alone when there's someone down the hall who I know damned well should be sleeping with me." Matt had meant that to be more an invitation than a curt observation, and his lack of tact with her surprised him. A dozen expressions chased themselves across her lovely face— embarrassment, unease, doubt, uncertainty—and then she gave him a small smile, hesitated, and said firmly, "Good night."
Matt watched her walk into Julie's room and close the door behind her, and he stood for a long moment, knowing perfectly well that if he went after her and tried tender persuasion he could very likely convince her to come to bed with him. And yet, for some reason, he was suddenly, adamantly, unwilling to do it. Turning, he went into his room, but he left his door open, still convinced that she wanted to be with him, and that if she did, she'd come back here when she had gotten ready for bed.
Clad in pajama bottoms that he'd had to search through his drawers to find, he stood at the window, looking out at the moonlit lawn. He heard Meredith leave the bathroom after her shower, and he tensed, listening to her footsteps. They retreated down the hall into Julie's room and then a door closed. She'd made her decision, he realized with equal parts of surprise, annoyance, and disappointment. And yet, none of those three emotions had as much to do with unrequited sexual desire as they did with something deeper and more general. He had wanted some sign from her that she was ready for an actual relationship with him; as much as he hoped for that, he wasn't willing to do anything to try to persuade her that she was. It had to be her decision, her choice, freely made. She'd made that choice when she walked away from him and down the hall. If she'd had any doubts about what he wanted her to do, what he'd said to her in the hall would have removed them.
Turning away from the window, he breathed a sigh of frustrated irritation, and faced the fact that he was probably expecting far too much from an eighteen-year-old. The thing was, it was damned hard to remember how young Meredith actually was. Pulling back the sheet, he got into bed and linked his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her. Tonight she'd told him about Lisa Pontini and how they'd become friends, and he'd realized from what she said that Meredith was not only at ease in country clubs and mansions, she was also totally at home with the Pontini family as well. She was utterly without artifice or affectation, Matt thought, and yet there was an unmistakable gentility in her, an inherent elegance that was as appealing to him as her intoxicating face and entrancing smile.
Weariness finally nudged him and he closed his eyes. Unfortunately, none of those attributes were going to help her or make the idea of going off to South America with him seem the slightest bit enticing, unless she felt something for him. And she obviously didn't, or she'd have been with him now. The idea of trying to persuade a reluctant, pampered eighteen-year-old to go to Venezuela with him when she didn't have the courage or the conviction to walk down a hall to him was not only repugnant, it was futile.
With her head bent, Meredith stood beside Julie's bed, torn apart with yearnings and misgivings she couldn't seem to control or predict. Her pregnancy wasn't having any physical effects yet, but it was evidently playing havoc with her emotions. Less than an hour ago she hadn't wanted to be in bed with Matt, and now she did. Common sense warned her that her future was already terrifyingly uncertain, and that giving in to her growing attraction to him would only make things more complicated. At twenty-six he was much older than she and far more experienced in every facet of life—a life that was completely alien to her. Six weeks ago, when he was wearing a tuxedo and she was in familiar surroundings, he'd seemed almost like other men she'd known. But here, clad in jeans and a shirt, there was an earthiness about him that both attracted her and alarmed her. He'd wanted her to come to bed tonight, and he'd made that emphatically clear. When it pertained to women and sex, Matt was obviously so sure of himself that he could stand there and baldly tell her what he wanted her to do. Not ask her or try to persuade her, but tell her! No doubt he was considered quite a stud around Edmunton, and why not—the night she'd met him, he'd been able to make her writhe with passion even though she was scared sick. He knew just where to touch and how to move to make her lose her mind, and all that sexual expertise hadn't been gotten from books! He'd probably made love hundreds of times in hundreds of ways with hundreds of women.
And even while she thought it, her mind rebelled at believing Matt had no feeling for her other than sexual. True, he hadn't called her in the six weeks since he'd left Chicago; equally true, she'd been so upset that night, she couldn't have given him the idea she wanted him to call her. His claim that he'd intended to call her when he got back from South America in two years had seemed ludicrous when he said it. Now, in the silent darkness, after listening to him talk tonight about his plans for the future, she had the feeling he'd wanted to be somebody when he called her the next time. She thought of what he'd told her about his mother's death; surely that boy who'd grieved and raged couldn't have grown into a shallow, irresponsible man whose only real interest in women was—Meredith brought herself up short. Matt was far from being irresponsible. Not once since she'd gotten there had he tried to evade any responsibility for the baby. Furthermore, based on things he'd said and some remarks of Julie's, Matt had been shouldering much of the responsibility for the entire family for years.
If sex was all he had on his mind tonight, why hadn't he tried to persuade her to come to bed with him, when he'd made it eloquently clear he wanted her there? She remembered the tender look in his eyes when he'd asked if she was as sweet as he thought she was. That same look had warmed those gray eyes repeatedly while they sat on the porch.
Why hadn't he tried to talk her into going to bed with him?
The answer hit her, and it made her feel weak with relief and strangely terrified. He'd definitely wanted to make love, and he certainly knew how to convince her they should, but he'd refused to do that. He wanted something even more tonight from her than her body. She knew it without knowing how she did.
Or, perhaps, she was just being as overemotional now as she'd been for days.
She turned and saw him still standing in the doorway of his room, his shoulder propped against the door frame, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. "Yes?"
"Do you know what my least favorite thing is?"
His implacable tone told her the question wasn't casual, and she shook her head, wary at whatever he was getting at. He didn't keep her in doubt. "It's sleeping alone when there's someone down the hall who I know damned well should be sleeping with me." Matt had meant that to be more an invitation than a curt observation, and his lack of tact with her surprised him. A dozen expressions chased themselves across her lovely face— embarrassment, unease, doubt, uncertainty—and then she gave him a small smile, hesitated, and said firmly, "Good night."
Matt watched her walk into Julie's room and close the door behind her, and he stood for a long moment, knowing perfectly well that if he went after her and tried tender persuasion he could very likely convince her to come to bed with him. And yet, for some reason, he was suddenly, adamantly, unwilling to do it. Turning, he went into his room, but he left his door open, still convinced that she wanted to be with him, and that if she did, she'd come back here when she had gotten ready for bed.
Clad in pajama bottoms that he'd had to search through his drawers to find, he stood at the window, looking out at the moonlit lawn. He heard Meredith leave the bathroom after her shower, and he tensed, listening to her footsteps. They retreated down the hall into Julie's room and then a door closed. She'd made her decision, he realized with equal parts of surprise, annoyance, and disappointment. And yet, none of those three emotions had as much to do with unrequited sexual desire as they did with something deeper and more general. He had wanted some sign from her that she was ready for an actual relationship with him; as much as he hoped for that, he wasn't willing to do anything to try to persuade her that she was. It had to be her decision, her choice, freely made. She'd made that choice when she walked away from him and down the hall. If she'd had any doubts about what he wanted her to do, what he'd said to her in the hall would have removed them.
Turning away from the window, he breathed a sigh of frustrated irritation, and faced the fact that he was probably expecting far too much from an eighteen-year-old. The thing was, it was damned hard to remember how young Meredith actually was. Pulling back the sheet, he got into bed and linked his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her. Tonight she'd told him about Lisa Pontini and how they'd become friends, and he'd realized from what she said that Meredith was not only at ease in country clubs and mansions, she was also totally at home with the Pontini family as well. She was utterly without artifice or affectation, Matt thought, and yet there was an unmistakable gentility in her, an inherent elegance that was as appealing to him as her intoxicating face and entrancing smile.
Weariness finally nudged him and he closed his eyes. Unfortunately, none of those attributes were going to help her or make the idea of going off to South America with him seem the slightest bit enticing, unless she felt something for him. And she obviously didn't, or she'd have been with him now. The idea of trying to persuade a reluctant, pampered eighteen-year-old to go to Venezuela with him when she didn't have the courage or the conviction to walk down a hall to him was not only repugnant, it was futile.
With her head bent, Meredith stood beside Julie's bed, torn apart with yearnings and misgivings she couldn't seem to control or predict. Her pregnancy wasn't having any physical effects yet, but it was evidently playing havoc with her emotions. Less than an hour ago she hadn't wanted to be in bed with Matt, and now she did. Common sense warned her that her future was already terrifyingly uncertain, and that giving in to her growing attraction to him would only make things more complicated. At twenty-six he was much older than she and far more experienced in every facet of life—a life that was completely alien to her. Six weeks ago, when he was wearing a tuxedo and she was in familiar surroundings, he'd seemed almost like other men she'd known. But here, clad in jeans and a shirt, there was an earthiness about him that both attracted her and alarmed her. He'd wanted her to come to bed tonight, and he'd made that emphatically clear. When it pertained to women and sex, Matt was obviously so sure of himself that he could stand there and baldly tell her what he wanted her to do. Not ask her or try to persuade her, but tell her! No doubt he was considered quite a stud around Edmunton, and why not—the night she'd met him, he'd been able to make her writhe with passion even though she was scared sick. He knew just where to touch and how to move to make her lose her mind, and all that sexual expertise hadn't been gotten from books! He'd probably made love hundreds of times in hundreds of ways with hundreds of women.
And even while she thought it, her mind rebelled at believing Matt had no feeling for her other than sexual. True, he hadn't called her in the six weeks since he'd left Chicago; equally true, she'd been so upset that night, she couldn't have given him the idea she wanted him to call her. His claim that he'd intended to call her when he got back from South America in two years had seemed ludicrous when he said it. Now, in the silent darkness, after listening to him talk tonight about his plans for the future, she had the feeling he'd wanted to be somebody when he called her the next time. She thought of what he'd told her about his mother's death; surely that boy who'd grieved and raged couldn't have grown into a shallow, irresponsible man whose only real interest in women was—Meredith brought herself up short. Matt was far from being irresponsible. Not once since she'd gotten there had he tried to evade any responsibility for the baby. Furthermore, based on things he'd said and some remarks of Julie's, Matt had been shouldering much of the responsibility for the entire family for years.
If sex was all he had on his mind tonight, why hadn't he tried to persuade her to come to bed with him, when he'd made it eloquently clear he wanted her there? She remembered the tender look in his eyes when he'd asked if she was as sweet as he thought she was. That same look had warmed those gray eyes repeatedly while they sat on the porch.
Why hadn't he tried to talk her into going to bed with him?
The answer hit her, and it made her feel weak with relief and strangely terrified. He'd definitely wanted to make love, and he certainly knew how to convince her they should, but he'd refused to do that. He wanted something even more tonight from her than her body. She knew it without knowing how she did.
Or, perhaps, she was just being as overemotional now as she'd been for days.
