Sloan rewarded her with a slow smile. “Do you make a habit of presumptions?”
“Sometimes, I suppose.”
Sloan raised the glass and swallowed down the last bit, holding it out for Matty to finally take.
“Thank you,” Sloan said. She checked her watch—almost nine. Time to go.
Chapter seven
Sleep didn’t come easily for Matty. She’d got home around three; the short, uneventful roller skate from the bar offering little relief from the buzz in her chest and the chaos in her mind.
“I didn’t say you could leave.”
Those six words looped in her head. Whether they’d been just words or a command, she still wasn’t sure. Theyhadbeen the catalyst to an orgasm, and she wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t just arousal, but something deeper—a heat that curled at the base of her spine and settled into her skin like an ache.
She’d thought about Sloan. Her physical presence was captivating. Yes, she was attractive—striking, even—but it was mainly her eyes. They held something else entirely. Something magnetic. Not the gentle kind of pull, but an industrial-grade force field that locked Matty in place the moment those eyes landed on her.
It was nearly six in the morning and she still hadn’t really slept. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and the early signs of a hot summer had begun to creep in. Light crept around the edges of the window frame.
At least it was Saturday. She had an extra mid-morning shift at Compton’s, and she wasn’t due at Art until eight. If she could just get her brain to shut up, maybe she could catch a lie-in.
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, repeating the cadence a few more times. Stillness usually helped when she felt overwhelmed.
But this wasn’t overwhelm. Not really.
She was excited.
Somewhere beneath all the questions was a feeling, a sense that if she could just crack the code for whatever Sloan was doing to her, she might unlock something.
Something she wanted.
She rolled over, thumped the pillow into submission, and then stared at it as though it were the cause of her sleep deprivation.
Times like these were when Amelie would have soothed her, reaching out, resting a hand on her back, or brushing fingers through her hair until her mind stilled enough to drift off. It had been nice at first—that early connection, and the unspoken knowing that no matter what, Amelie was there.
Until she wasn’t.
Matty let the thought of her ex-wife settle beside the image of Sloan, and without meaning to, compared them.
There was no comparison.
Sloan Slater’s presence, with her calm, unshakeable authority, made Amelie’s old protectiveness suddenly feel small and inadequate.
How could that even be? She didn’t know Sloan beyond the coffee drop-off, making her a drink at the bar, and then...that moment.
The way Sloan had caught her wrist.
It had been intentional.
Swift.
Like she knew Matty was going to reach for the glass before Matty knew it herself. And that look, unyielding and deliberate as it had been, would have probably unsettled most people.
But not Matty.
No. It wasn’t intimidation. It was a message.
One that felt as though it had been meant only for her.
