Matched(24)

Lindsey blinked at him.

He winked, and then something even more terrifying than meeting her Queen General happened.

She tipped her head back, put a hand to that delicate neck, and she laughed.

It was a little peal of laughter, but the music in it filtered into his soul and made his heart beat out a stronger rhythm, sending electric shocks through his veins.

He wanted to bottle that laugh, that happy twinkle, that bright smile, and put it in a song.

This was the girl he'd fallen for in Colorado. Part insecure, part confident, but bright and happy and shining beneath it all. He had a notion she didn't laugh like that for just anybody.

Darned if that wasn't a better feeling than the first time one of his albums went double platinum.

"At least she's not Southern too," Lindsey said.

Will inclined his head in agreement. Couldn't find his voice to say anything.

Not when that honest smile of hers was making him wonder again why she'd pegged him for a bad match for her all those years ago. What he could see, they got along fine.

And when she went to work untying her coat and slid it off her shoulders, his gut tightened.

So did his groin.

Now that-that, a man could get behind.

Bad, bad idea, his brain said.

But everything else about him was jumping onboard.                       
       
           



       

This was the girl he missed.

She was still in there. Tucked under layers and layers of stiff, uptight lawyer lady, that girl he'd met-the one he'd laughed with, the one he'd gotten drunk with, the one he'd gotten matching tattoos with-that girl was still in there.

But she was more too. More than he'd known. Fifteen years ago, she hadn't mentioned the psychic matchmaker thing until the minute she broke up with him. What wasn't she telling him now?

More important, why did he care?

She set her coat over the chair, then reached for the buttons on her stiff suit jacket. "The better news for you," she said, "is that she doesn't enter the lair of evil divorce attorneys like me. So you're safe for now."

"Not so sure I'd agree, so long as you keep taking your clothes off."

Her hands froze, and the happy slid right off her face. Wary curiosity took its place, her soft brown eyes watchful, lips tugging down, upper body subtly leaning back.

Will liked the happy better. He wanted the happy. He needed the happy.

Her gaze dipped to his lips.

She wanted to kiss him. Whatever she thought about being a good or bad match for Will-and it hadn't escaped his attention that she hadn't come right out and said one way or another lately-he knew she wanted to kiss him.

He knew she wanted to be that carefree girl who danced while the snow fell down. Who would dance in the rain too.

"My apologies," she said softly. She took a step back. Then another.

It wasn't a retreat-her stubborn side was coming out, all those barriers slamming up to block out the girl she was hiding underneath that frigid lawyer lady exterior.

"You seeing somebody?" It was the dumbest question he could ask her, but he had to know.

"That's none of your business."

He hitched a corner of his mouth. "So that's a no."

"It's a none of your business."

He didn't move, didn't follow her while she made her way to the steps, but he knew how to keep a woman's attention even when he knew she was right about that very bad idea thing. "I ain't pretty enough for you?"

I'm still a bad match for you?

"Your ego doesn't need my stroking."

He tilted an eyebrow.

Let her think about what else she could stroke if she had half a mind.

The way her brows slammed down over her pinkening cheeks-she was thinking it. Getting agitated by it too.

Good agitated, he guessed. Unless he was losing his touch.

"Anybody ever tell you you're pretty when you smile?" he murmured.

"Once. But he doesn't exist anymore."

That one hit him in the heart.

She was wrong about that. Probably should've done the I remember you thing different. Maybe she'd open up if he said the words.

Maybe they could do some forgiving, some healing. Looked to him like they could both use it. Or maybe once they stopped doing the not-talking-about-it thing, she'd tell him he still wasn't a good match for her.

That she was good for inspiring music, but she wasn't his to keep.

She looked at him once more, like they might've been sharing some thoughts, but then her gaze slid past him, went wide, and all the shrieking floodgates opened.

"What the hell is that?"

Ah.

That.

What with her distracting him, that had slipped his mind.

Wrigley scooted himself into the doorway right next to Will.

"What's what?" he said to Lindsey.

"That dog."

Will scratched the whiskers on his chin, made a show of looking right, left, up, and down. Winked at Wrigley. "I don't see no dog."

He slid a glance at Lindsey. Yep, looks could kill, and he was dying about fifty deaths here.

She marched up to him, bringing a whiff of flowery shampoo, fried egg rolls, and something innately Lindsey, and went straight to where Wrigley was sighing a sad, lonely dog-sigh on her kitchen floor. His brown eyes tracked her movement, all full of I need somebody to love me.

"This dog," Lindsey said, pointing between them at Wrigley.

She was close enough for him to touch her cheek. To kiss those pink lips. To taste. "Him? He ain't a dog. He's my friend."

Her jaw stretched open, as though she were winding up to give him a good ol' what-for.

Will couldn't hide his grin. This one looked to be even better than last night's what-for. She was fixin' to toss him out on his rump. And he was fixin' to enjoy it.

Before Lindsey could utter a word, Wrigley scrambled to his feet and nudged her hand. She jumped, looked at the pup's big, brown, silent love me, lady plea, and then the funniest thing happened.                       
       
           



       

That stiff, uptight, gonna-give-you-a-talkin'-to melted away, and danged if it didn't look like the girl fell in love.

Her shoulders softened. So did those brown cowboy-killers. Her jaws of doom closed, leaving lips slightly parted, and she touched hesitant fingers to Wrigley's fur. Wrigley arched into her touch, some love me more? going on there. She stroked his head, and his tail wagged.

"He doesn't bite," Will said. "Likes a good scratch behind his ears."

"How do you know?"

"Most dogs do. Not so complicated. Not like people."

"Nat's allergic," she said softly, more to Wrigley than to Will. "We never had dogs."

Her fingers skimmed his fur like she couldn't figure out where his ears were, but the simple gesture sent blood surging to Will's groin.

He wouldn't have minded having her fingers on him like that.

He tucked his hands in his pockets and stepped into the sunroom, watching. A girl without a dog, and a dog without a home.

He blinked quickly. Swallowed.

Right special sight there.

"If it makes any messes on my rug, you're cleaning it," she said.

"He's a he, and he ain't so fond of baths."

She sent him a laser death eye. "If he makes any messes anywhere, you're cleaning everything," she said.

Wrigley nosed her hand, looking for more love. She squatted, met him at eye level. "We can be friends," she said, "because it's not your fault you're here."

Wrigley licked her cheek.

Dang dog hadn't licked Will's cheek yet.

"And stay off my furniture," she said to Wrigley.

He thumped his tail.

Lindsey gave him one last long look, then stood. She turned, and her words were soft, but he heard her all the same. "Gonna have to try harder than that, country boy."

"To piss you off, or to win you over?" He was right smart like that.

"Depends on how bad you want to hurt."

The girl always had been the smarter of the two of them. Would've been nice if she hadn't had to prove it.

Mikey had nailed it. Will was looking to join the Dumbass Hall of Fame.

Because he was staying here in Lindsey's house. Dog and all.

He didn't trust her all the way yet, but she still held a piece of him no one else had ever come close to touching.





WHEN LINDSEY GOT her job after law school and moved to Willow Glen, she'd bought a cute bungalow in a modest neighborhood where everyone knew everyone else. She hadn't had much time to socialize outside work, but she'd still met most of her neighbors. She'd learned their kids' names, and she recognized their pets.

But four years ago, a flood had completely wiped out her street, among other places here in Willow Glen and over in Bliss.

Some of her old neighbors had stayed, salvaging what they could. Some had torn down their homes and rebuilt on the same land. And some, like Lindsey, had moved to higher ground. She liked her house well enough-it was functional and modern, and since it was new construction, she didn't have to worry about maintenance on her appliances for a few years. There were enough bedrooms for Noah to have his own and for Lindsey to keep a home office.

As a house, it was everything she needed.

She called it home because that was what people called the house they claimed as their own. But having Will in it made it feel homier.