In Too Deep Read online

  Her brows rose a bit, then she grinned. "I am, yeah," she said as moved to straddle him, the feel of her naked body firing his senses. "Want me to prove it?"

  And then, before he could even think about protesting, she leaned forward, her breasts soft against his chest, and kissed him.

  *

  Hannah wasn't sure how she pulled it off, but through some miracle of time management and stubbornness, she managed to not only blow through a significant amount of work at the office, but also to see Matthew each and every day well into the next week.

  They'd checked out food truck fare in the evenings, taken long walks around the river, and watched the entire Liam Neeson action movie collection.

  They'd also spent a ridiculously disproportionate time in bed at both her condo and at his house. And not in a relaxing way. Although she had to admit that their energetic sessions were definitely restorative.

  And she couldn't remember ever mixing so many orgasms with so much laughter and heat. Because Matthew could go from making her giggle to making her fall completely, gloriously apart with more skill and humor than anybody she'd ever been with. He owned her completely, and she happily surrendered.

  On Wednesday, she and Easton both cut out of work early to go meet Selma and Matthew at a small baseball field behind one of the schools in South Austin. "It's the final game in a tournament among foster kids," Matthew had explained. "Selma and I are both involved in an organization that sets up various activities for the kids and their foster families."

  She hadn't realized that Matthew actually coached one of the teams, though considering how involved in fitness he was, she probably should have guessed. She ended up in the stands with Selma, cheering the team on.

  "This is a great cause you guys are involved in," she told Selma as Matthew's team took the field.

  "Well, it's important to us. We were in the system, so..." She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes. "You and my brother seem to be getting along."

  "We are," Hannah said, but the words sounded flat and not nearly honest enough. She turned sideways to face Selma straight on, then leaned forward. "Actually, no. It's not just getting along."

  Selma held her eyes, her expression unreadable.

  Hannah drew a breath. In for a penny...

  "The truth is," she said, "I've completely fallen for your brother."

  For a moment, Selma only stared. Then a slow, easy grin spread across her face. "That's great news," she said. "Because he's head over heels for you, too."

  Chapter Twelve

  Hannah hid a yawn behind her hand, then reached for the pitcher of Pinot Punch.

  "Are we boring you?" Megan asked with a grin. They were at The Fix, waiting for the Man of the Month Contest to begin. Hannah and Megan were sharing one of the round tables with Selma, Easton, and Shelby, although Megan would be leaving soon to go do whatever it was she did during the actual contest.

  Right now, she'd come over to tell Hannah that Matthew was in the back staging area and had wanted to send her a message. He'd sent her a scrawled note that said Only you, and it was now safely tucked in her back pocket. She figured she could use it to beat off any other women who might try to claim Matthew after he won.

  Because, of course he was going to win. And that really wasn't just personal loyalty speaking.

  "She's had a long day," Selma said, referring to Hannah's yawn. "We spent the afternoon in the sun at a softball game, and before that I'm pretty sure they wore each other out having wild sex. But I could be wrong."

  Megan's face went beet red with suppressed laughter, and Easton patted Selma's hand. "That's my girl," he said. "No filter whatsoever."

  Selma shrugged, completely unfazed. "Just telling it like it is."

  And since she happened to be exactly right, Hannah didn't even try to deny it.

  "Are you guys staying after for the premiere of The Business Plan?" Megan asked, probably trying to change the subject.

  "That's the reality show about the contest and the bar, right?" Selma asked.

  Megan nodded. "Brooke and Spencer finished the renovations a few weeks ago, but they're still shooting the contest through to the end. But the first episode airs tonight and then it'll run weekly up to the end of the contest and a little beyond."

  "I would love to see that," Hannah said sincerely. "But we're meeting with my parents after the contest. They're in town for some charity thing, and that's the only time they have to see us." It made her nervous waiting so late to get the check, but so long as she had it safe in her hands by tomorrow, all would be well.

  "Too bad," Megan said. "By the way, how's your dad?" she asked Selma.

  Hannah knew she was referring to Mr. Herrington, who Matthew had told her had suffered a heart attack while traveling.

  "Doing incredibly well. They're taking a cruise back with lots of ports of call, and they've actually added time to it. He went to see a specialist in Prague and everything looks great."

  Matthew had told her the same thing, and while Hannah was thrilled his father was fine, she wished his parents would return sooner, as she would love to meet both of them.

  "That's terrific," Megan said. She was about to say something else, but the music started and Beverly Martin, an indie film star who was making a splash, took the stage to emcee the show. "Oops," Megan said. "Gotta run."

  "Pretty cool watching this with Mr. September," Hannah teased Easton. "I wonder who would have won if you were up against my guy."

  "It would have been a tie," Selma said, being loyal to both brother and boyfriend.

  "Hell no," Hannah said, "Matthew would have whooped Easton's ass."

  "Careful," Easton retorted. "Or I'll put you down for all of next month's court appearances and I'll stay in the office and write the briefs."

  "I take it back. Your utter hotness would have decimated Matthew." She met Selma's eyes and shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a lawyer. I know how to lie."

  Easton tossed a tortilla chip at her, but then the contest started in full, and they all fell silent.

  One by one, the men paraded across the stage. Matthew was fifth, and as far as Hannah was concerned, he looked like sin personified. The crowd seemed to agree, because when he dramatically peeled off his shirt--then tossed it to a nearby table of screaming women--the whole place went wild. He smiled at the women, then searched the crowd, found Hannah, and winked.

  "Oh, yeah," Hannah said, blowing him a kiss. "He's totally gonna win."

  Later, as contestant number nine started down the red carpet, she shifted in her seat, trying to catch a server's attention. She didn't get that far. Because there, standing in the doorway and looking as cold as the tundra, was Ernest.

  "Um, I'll be right back."

  She hurried to him, certain he was overwhelmed by the raucous crowd. Honestly, who wouldn't be? The place was packed, and if you just wandered in...

  She frowned, remembering that there was a doorman and tickets. "How did you get in?"

  "We need to talk. Outside. Where I can speak without damaging my vocal cords."

  She nodded, fear creeping up her body. She told herself not to worry. There was nothing to be afraid of.

  How wrong she was.

  "That man," Ernest began, his voice tight, "is not for you. Bad enough that he has no education whatsoever, but to strip on stage? What the devil are you thinking?"

  "No education? He made himself. What the hell happened between our dinner and now?"

  "I did more research," Ernest said. "Saw his picture on advertisements for this ridiculous meat market."

  "What? This contest is for a good cause."

  "Cancer research is a good cause. Saving a bar is an excuse to get drunk."

  "That is so not true. And what does it matter, anyway? It's not as if he works for you. And he's in fitness. Showing off how fit he is actually makes good business sense."

  "But you being with him doesn't. I'm sorry, Hannah, but we need you to show better sense if you're going to take tha
t money. Your father would want you to do better. So do your mother and I."

  Fury spewed from her. "My father was a cop. He had a high school education and was dedicated to helping people. Do you even know anything about Matthew? My father would have adored him."

  His steady gaze bore straight through her. "But he's dead, Hannah. And so we'll never know that for sure, will we?"

  "Ernest--"

  "Your mother and I talked it over. Find another man, and you can have the money. That's final."

  He turned away, and she stood frozen to the spot as he disappeared in the evening crowd.

  She didn't even realize she'd pulled out her phone and was dialing until she heard her mother's voice mail message announcing that she was away from her phone.

  Dammit.

  She sent a text instead.

  No answer.

  She waited.

  Still no answer.

  Her mother--her own mother--was ghosting her.

  Easton found her standing frozen on the sidewalk. "Hey, you okay? He won. He was coming to look for you and got surrounded."

  She licked her lips. "Told you."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I feel horrible. I--I already told my parents that we can't see them tonight. Can you tell Matthew for me? And congratulations. Just tell him I have to go home. I--I feel too sick to stay."

  He studied her, his expression giving nothing away. Then he nodded and said simply, "I'll tell him."

  As Easton went back inside, Hannah started walking home, hoping that she could make it there before the tears began to flow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Matthew didn't have time to bask in his Mr. October title since he was too busy searching for Hannah in the crowd. But with the congratulatory handshakes and requests from women to sign various parts of their bodies with Sharpies, he was having a hell of a time finding her.

  Twenty minutes later, he'd still had no luck, but he did find Easton. Or, rather, Easton found him.

  "Welcome to the club, buddy," Easton said, making Matthew laugh.

  "If it keeps this place open, I'm happy to parade around without my shirt." He glanced around. "By the way, have you seen Hannah?"

  "That's what I came to tell you. She wasn't feeling well. Asked me to tell you she was heading home."

  What the hell?

  That wasn't like Hannah at all, a fact that made Matthew's worry rocket into the stratosphere. She'd be here for him tonight if she could. Which meant that she must feel worse than death.

  "Did she go to an ER?"

  "Just home," Easton said.

  "Thanks. I'm going to go check on her." He clapped Easton on the shoulder as he passed, then kept his head down as he threaded his way to the front door, trying not to be rude, but at the same time working his way out of the bar as fast as he could.

  It took another five minutes, but finally he was outside. He started to turn left, then remembered a nearby cafe that surely had chicken soup. Since Hannah probably needed something easy on her stomach, he turned right--and almost plowed straight into Ernest Pierpont.

  "Ernest! Sorry. I didn't see you there."

  "Obviously." The older man thrust out his hand, and Matthew took it automatically, only belatedly realizing that the handshake wasn't congratulatory.

  It was a farewell.

  "Sorry it didn't work out," Ernest said, pulling his hand free. "You may not understand that sometimes matches are about more than just attraction. There are other considerations."

  "Other considerations?" Matthew repeated, as warning klaxons blared in his head.

  "I don't want you thinking that I don't like you, son," Ernest said, ignoring the question. "For some other woman, I think you'd be quite the catch."

  Matthew's head was spinning, and nothing seemed to quite make sense. "You're saying that you're not going to give her the money for the lease?"

  "It's like I told Hannah. It's just not the right decision at this point. The girl needs to stand on her own two feet."

  "You goddamn prick," Matthew said. "You steal her money and you pretend like it's all about her?"

  "Now you watch it."

  "No." Matthew took a step toward the man, all of his energy going to contain his fury. "You may be right. Maybe I'm not good enough for her. But that is her money that you've kept from her, making her jump through hoops and all sorts of other bullshit. You can delude yourself all you want, but this isn't about her. It's about you controlling her. Controlling Amelia. I know it. You know it. And most of all, Hannah knows it."

  Ernest glanced down, and Matthew realized that he'd made a fist. "So you're going to hit me?"

  "It crossed my mind," Matthew said.

  Then he did the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life. He turned around and walked the other direction, his fist thrumming with the unfulfilled desire to smash in the smug son-of-a-bitch's nose.

  *

  Hannah was on her third glass of wine when she heard the knock at the door. She cringed, afraid it was her mother. Or, worse, Ernest.

  But when she looked through the peephole, relief swept over her, and she pulled open the door to reveal Matthew.

  "Hey, sorry I bailed. I think I'm coming down with something." She glanced at the clock. "I'm surprised you were able to get out of there so quickly."

  "I was motivated," he said, his smile thin. "I wanted to see you."

  She frowned at him, certain something was off. Then again, maybe it was just her. She definitely wasn't having one of her best days.

  He reached forward and felt her forehead, and the mere sensation of his skin against hers made her feel better. As if she could survive anything so long as he was beside her. As if Ernest and the money didn't matter a whit.

  "You're not warm," he said.

  "It's mostly my stomach." Not really a lie, since that's where all her angst was gathered, in her belly. She turned away, mostly so he wouldn't see the truth on her face, and he followed her into the living room. The half-empty bottle of wine was on the coffee table, and she mentally winced, hoping he wouldn't notice.

  "I'm not sure wine is the best cure for stomach troubles," he said. "Do you want to tell me what's really going on?"

  She sighed, then sat on the couch. "It's only--well, I've been thinking."

  His face went blank as he sat on the edge of the coffee table facing her. "I'm listening."

  "I've decided not to open the firm with Easton. He can find someone else to step in as a partner. He won't have any trouble at all."

  She searched his face for a reaction, but he was obviously good at poker. The only clue that he was processing any of this was the way he tilted his head to one side, as if he knew that she was leaving something important out. He just didn't know what.

  And if she had her way, he never would.

  So she didn't have the money--that was fine. She could get another regular job. She could save up again. And she'd happily do that if it meant that Matthew could stay in her life.

  But that meant that in no way could she tell him that her parents backed out--or that he was the reason.

  "Why?" That was all he asked.

  She swallowed. This whole moment was far too surreal. "I was thinking about your decision not to franchise. And I think what you said makes sense for me, too. If I'd started this firm when I was younger, I'd be all in. But I'm in my thirties. I should be thinking about other things, not about spending all that energy building a business. Does that make sense?"

  "Baby, it makes perfect sense." He leaned forward to take her hands, and relief swelled through her. "It's also a complete lie."

  She pulled back, or tried to. He kept a tight hold on her hands.

  "You're sweet," he said. "But I'm not screwing this up for you. Talk to Brent. He's about as upstanding and stable as they come. Maybe he'll be a guy who'll impress your father."

  "He talked to you." The words came out dull and heavy, as if she was in quicksand.

  "I managed not to break
his face. On the whole, I call that a win."

  "Matthew--"

  He rose. "No. You deserve your firm. I've watched you. Listened to you. I see how much you love the work. You deserve that life. And," he added, "I think Ernest is right. You deserve better than me."

  In two long strides he was past the couch, heading straight for the door. She bolted upright then sprinted across the room, getting there before he did. "What the hell, Matthew?" The words spewed from her, thrust out from the emotion she'd been holding in all evening. "My stepfather decides I don't get the money. You decide I don't get you? Well, screw that."

  "It's for the best," he said, then reached around her and opened the door. "I really am sorry." His words were like ice, frozen and hard.

  And then he stepped over the threshold, and she felt her insides explode. "Fuck you, Matthew," she cried, trying to scream but only sobbing the words instead. "Fuck you," she whispered, then did the only thing that could give her any satisfaction at all--she slammed the door in his anguished, pain-filled face.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She stayed up all night, but she didn't find a solution. How could she convince a man to love her? To stay with her? To support her?

  She didn't know, and there was nothing tangible that she could do to make Matthew come back to her.

  There was something tangible she could do about the money.

  It was only five in the morning, but she showered, then pulled on her favorite pair of ripped weekend jeans and a Baylor Law School shirt that had been washed so many times that the Res Ipsa Loquiter transfer had mostly rubbed off, leaving only a few pale green splotches and the letters ps.

  She slipped on her Birkenstock sandals, then headed out the door toward the office. It was Thursday, and the few people already on the street were mostly in suits or business casual. Didn't matter. As far as Hannah was concerned, it was the dead end of the week. Not to mention the dead end of her career.

  It only took about five minutes to reach the corner of Sixth and Congress, and she was in the office by ten after six. Not surprisingly, Easton was already there.

  "Hey," he called. "Is that you?"

  "Who else?" They'd hired a receptionist and legal assistant, but since their official start time was nine, it would be a minor miracle if they had just traipsed into the office.