sorry,” he said softly as his thumb brushed over my cheek. “I know I shouldn’t. But every time I look at you, I can’t help thinking, this might be my last chance. One day soon, you’ll be gone forever, and the truth is, it fuckin’ guts me.” He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “I kiss you because I have to, Nina. I kiss you because I might never have the chance again, and if I don’t take it, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Suddenly, he was kissing me again, with tongue and lips and his hand slipped up to wrap around my throat just tight enough that I felt secure, but not squeezed. Just as quickly, it turned into devouring.
And then, in the middle of it, he pulled away on a sharp gasp. “Fuck. Fuck.”
“What is it?” I asked, though my voice was somewhat hoarse from the effect of his fingers. “Matthew, p-please talk to me.” I could hardly speak, I wanted him so badly.
He stared at my lips like a tiger premeditating an attack.
Do it, I found myself thinking. Just pounce.
But instead, his hand dropped, and he turned away. “I’m going for a walk.”
I stood up. “Are you serious? You’re going out now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to cool the fuck down!”
Before I could argue further, he had clapped his hat back on, swept his jacket over his shoulder, and was striding for the gate.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he called over his shoulder. “I told Skylar we’d be home for dinner. And I’m not a damn liar.”
And with that, he left me standing in the driveway, hand to my mouth, lips throbbing, wondering just what exactly he meant by that last remark.
Chapter Thirty
At first, I thought that Matthew might miss dinner after all, but he slipped in just as Skylar was setting large, utilitarian platters of spaghetti and meatballs on the oversized farmhouse table just off the kitchen. Despite the fact that three of the five children had left for school, it was still a boisterous affair that became a reunion of sorts when Eric showed up to surprise Jane, along with Kieran Beckford and her wife, Pushpa. Kieran was another of Skylar’s (and once Eric’s) law partners and apparently an old friend of Brandon’s too.
I, for one, mostly listened as the raucous, joyful conversation embraced the party like a merry hug. Eric in particular was fascinating to me as I witnessed a genial comfort in my cousin’s bright smile and open laughter that I’d never known anyone in my family to possess. Now I could see just why he had stayed away from New York for so long, and why he and Jane continued traveling back and forth from Boston so frequently. Their friends were special. The warmth in this home was special. These were the types of people who made their family rather than accepted the lot they had been given, and the difference shined through.
So, I thought. Money didn’t have to equal propriety. Manipulation. Chill. Theoretically, I’d always known these things to be true, but I’d never really seen it. Not up close. Not like this.
At the far end of the table, I caught Matthew watching me over his wineglass while his thumb circled the edge, again and again. Most of the time, he was right in the middle of the conversation, having known nearly all of these people for years himself. But every so often, just like now, he would catch my eye and fall back into a pensive silence to match mine.
I wanted to ask him why he had run off so suddenly. Why his mood had shifted almost as soon as we had turned down my block in Newton. I wanted to ask him if that last kiss still burned on his lips the same way it did on mine.
But every time I was about to gesture that he meet me outside, he looked away or made some joke that set everyone laughing once more, and I was pushed further back into my own thoughts.
“What do you think?” Skylar asked as she returned from putting the smaller children down for bed. “It’s a nice night. Nightcaps around the orchard fire?”
“Only if you can get Brandon to tell the story again over brandy,” Pushpa said as everyone rose from the table. “Every time, he slithers out of it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Brandon muttered from the kitchen sink, where he was making a mess of his shirt trying to do the dishes. “Not that shit again, Pushpa.”
“What?”