Last Kiss Goodbye. Rita Herron
would say she was a sucker.
That erotic dream floated back. Matt Mahoney kissing her. Stripping off her clothes. Touching her in secret places. Eliciting feelings she’d never felt before. Making her come alive.
A bold and sexy look flared in his eyes. Hunger. Lust. The urgent need of a man to take what he wanted.
She backed away, frightened by the potency of that desire. Half wanting it, half terrified of the desperate need that accompanied it.
He chuckled sardonically. “Don’t worry, Ivy, I’m not going to attack you.” Still, he moved closer again, until he was only a breath away, until his masculine scent trapped her like honey did a fly. With a soft sigh, he traced a finger down the side of her cheek, and her skin tingled.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for us to meet face-to-face, so you could explain why you didn’t tell everyone what happened that night,” he said in a husky voice. “Why you let them throw me in a cell to rot for the rest of my life when you knew I was innocent?”
MATT STEELED HIMSELF AGAINST the pain that flashed on Ivy’s face. He had every right to be angry. To confront her. After all, he’d waited fifteen damn years to do so. Half a lifetime, during which his life had disintegrated, where he’d been shunned and cast aside. But he hadn’t banked on the fact that frightening Ivy would carve a pit of guilt in his belly. Make him feel like the low-down criminal everyone thought him to be.
Or that the sudden attraction he felt for her might be reflected in her own expressive eyes.
No, he’d imagined her reaction. Been so desperate for a woman that he’d twisted fear into desire. Ivy was too young, too beautiful, too innocent for a man like him.
She licked her lips and his throat went dry.
“I…I’m sorry, Matt.”
“Sorry?” he hissed. “Sorry doesn’t make up for prison, Ivy.”
“I know.” Her eyes flickered with regret, and he silently cursed, wishing he could drag his gaze away from her soft, luscious-looking mouth. The other half of him wanted to kiss her. Taste those sweet pink lips. Swirl his tongue inside and watch her fall apart in his arms.
Damn. Ivy was not a little girl anymore. And he wanted her with a vengeance.
Yet, just as they had fifteen years ago, emotions moved inside him, careening around like he was on a free fall ride. A gut instinct to protect her rifled through him. Even if it meant protecting her from him.
Only Ivy did that to him. Made him think. Feel. Want things he couldn’t have. Dreams he couldn’t afford to acknowledge.
“I don’t remember what happened that night, Matt,” she said in a low, strained voice. “I…that’s the reason I came back here. I need to remember.”
He flattened his mouth in a thin line. Wanted to tell her he didn’t believe her. But the truth radiated in her tortured eyes.
Disturbed by his reaction to her, he dragged his gaze away. Scanned the room. Saw a dingy-looking, cloth Santa perched on top of the faded wooden dresser. Memories crashed back. Ivy clinging to a Santa doll that night. Dropping it in the mud. Him picking it up and carrying her, trying to shield her against the rain.
His gut clenched as another memory followed. One he’d forgotten. Ivy in town, stopping to give half of her peanut butter sandwich to a homeless blind man begging on the street. Her clothes had been hanging off of her, her shoes ratty. She’d barely had enough to eat herself. But she’d been kind to the old man.
A siren wailed from outside, and Matt swallowed, every nerve in his body bunched tight. She’d seen him looking at the Santa, and her face had turned ashen. Had she really blocked out memories of that night?
The siren grew louder. His first instinct urged him to flee as fast as he could. But running would only make him look guilty, just as hiding out the night of the Stantons’ slaying had.
Good God. How had he landed himself into this mess his first night back in Kudzu Hollow?
A pounding on the door brought reality back, and Ivy rushed to answer it.
A.J. Boles, his teenage buddy, stood in the doorway, wearing a sheriff’s uniform, rain dripping off the brim of his hat. Matt couldn’t have been more surprised if his own sorry-assed daddy had returned to welcome him home.
A.J. had been a hellion in their day, had liked vandalizing cars, playing with fire, drinking and women. Yeah, he’d especially liked women. He’d even bragged about screwing the married ones, choosing who to bang just because he hated their rich husbands. A.J.’s own daddy had been pretty well-off, was some big shot real estate developer. Matt had never understood their relationship, only known that A.J. and his old man hadn’t gotten along.
Like he and his own old man hadn’t, but for different reasons.
“Sheriff Boles. You’re Ann Ivy?”
Ivy nodded, glanced sideways and met Matt’s gaze, silently asking if he’d reveal her real identity.
But Matt remained silent, hidden by the shadows studying his former friend. The cocky attitude remained as A.J. skimmed his eyes over Ivy, mentally undressing her.
Matt clenched his fists, that protective instinct swelling inside him again.
No, A.J. hadn’t changed. He still liked women. Was a taker. Then again, all the women had liked him, and had given it up pretty easily.
But the idea of him taking anything from Ivy roused Matt’s anger.
Reining in the control he’d mastered in prison, he forced himself to tamp down his temper. A.J.’s sandy-blond hair had gotten darker. His lean body had filled out, and he’d grown an inch or two, putting him around five-eleven.
“What’s the problem, ma’am?” A.J. asked.
Ivy waved him in. “Come on inside, and I’ll show you.”
Three steps in, A.J. finally noticed Matt. He froze, thumbs in his belt loops, feet spread wide.
“Holy hell, if it isn’t Matt Mahoney. I heard you got released.”
“Word spreads fast.”
A.J.’s gaze shot toward the wall, and his eyes widened as he spotted the blood-smeared writing and dead animal. “Shit.” He turned to Ivy. “When did this happen?”
“It was like that when I arrived here tonight.”
A.J. quickly glanced at Matt, his eyebrows raised as if waiting on an explanation. Matt squared his shoulders, searched for the old familiar connection between him and his buddy, felt tension knot his neck at A.J.’s assessment. He’d had fifteen years of being stared at with suspicion, as if he was a rabid dog that preyed on children. As if he deserved to die.
He hadn’t expected it from A.J.
“Mahoney?” A.J. finally asked.
Disappointment assaulted Matt at the silent implication. He’d hoped that his friend would remember old alliances. After all, they’d fished together. Set off stink bombs in the girls’ locker room so they could watch them run outside in their underwear. Hidden in the closet with nude girlie magazines and laughed at the raunchy jokes. And they’d taken their first trip to Red Row together, another bonding of sorts.
Then Matt had ended up in jail, and A.J. had wound up sheriff.
Strange how the world went around.
“Matt’s staying next door. I screamed and he came to check on me,” Ivy answered for him.
“You two are here together?” A.J. asked in an incredulous voice.
“No,” Matt cut in before Ivy could bother. A.J. scowled. “We don’t want trouble around here, Mahoney.”
Matt shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Who says I’m here to cause trouble?”