The answer was, he shouldn’t. But he did. And that made him furious all over again, which was the one thing he was trying to avoid.
Matt hadn’t felt this out of control since that day on the pier. It was like he was the lone rider on a goddamn emotional roller coaster.
A big one, with huge-ass twists and turns and no seatbelt. And he fucking hated it.
Matt had only gone into the kitchen to help her. To use the opportunity to try and rebuild at least some of the trust between them in order to do what his job required.
But when he saw she was physically hurting, a very real and unexpected feeling of sympathy rose to the surface. He remembered how debilitating her headaches could sometimes become, and always hated that he couldn’t do more to ease her pain.
Then, when he caught a glimpse of those fucking stitches, his protective instincts came rushing back to life.
Before he’d even realized he was moving, Matt had found himself standing in front of her. The need to make sure she was okay overruling any sense of objectivity.
As he walked across the dewy ground now, he wondered how he’d let himself get that close. One minute, he couldn’t wait to get away from her. In the next, he was touching her. Had actually consideredkissingher.
After everything Kat had put him through, that thought shouldn’t have been a blip on his fucking radar. And the way she’d looked up at him…
Matt had been with enough women to recognize attraction and arousal. There was no doubt in his mind if he’d started something, she would have been more than willing to finish it.
Hell. No.
There had to be a way to put that particular genie back into its bottle. For several reasons. First and foremost being his personal feelings had no place on a job like this.
A job you shouldn’t be on in the first place.
That didn’t matter. Like it or not, McQueen had chosen him for a reason, so he needed to get his head out of his ass and keep his shit straight.
Feeling more level-headed than he had all day, Matt went back inside, sent an ‘all secure’ text to Jake and the others, and got as comfortable as he could on the couch.
An hour later, after flipping through the few channels the antenna picked up, he turned the TV off and closed his eyes, determined to make tomorrow a better day.
The next morning, things started off a bit more smoothly. Though still a bit awkward, both he and Kat had begun the day on a cordial, almost polite note.
Matt had woken first, and by the time she’d showered and dressed, he’d not only made a full pot of coffee, but a decent breakfast of scramble eggs, bacon, and toast.
Kat’s surprise was obvious when she came out of the bedroom and saw the spread waiting for her on the table.
“Wow. I wasn’t expecting all this.”
Brushing it off, Matt shrugged. “No big deal. Just some bacon and eggs.”
“Still. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked me breakfast.” Kat grabbed a piece of buttered toast from the small saucer on the table and took a bite. “Actually…” she started to talk but stopped when she remembered her mouth was full. She swallowed before continuing on. “I don’t remember the last time Iatebreakfast.”
“You don’t have someone who cooks for you?”
When Kat shot him a look, Matt realized how the question had sounded and quickly tried to recover. “That wasn’t a dig,” he told her truthfully. “I promise. I genuinely assumed you had someone to do that sort of thing.”
Accepting his explanation, Kat pulled out the chair closest to her and sat down. “I did. But when Brian…died, I moved out of that house and got my own place.”
Her slight hesitation made him curious, but the last thing Matt wanted to talk about was her deceased husband. One who, for all he knew, she was still mourning.
On the other hand, he’d already opened the can of worms, so he may as well get whatever information he could. Strictly for the job, of course. Not because he gave a damn.
After filling up his second cup of coffee, Matt took the seat to her right and began filling his plate. “How’d he die?”
“He, uh…” Kat paused before answering, her brows turning inward as she worked her throat. “Brian shot himself six years ago.”
“Damn.” That wasn’t what he expected to hear.
