Page 19

"Honesty," he says simply. "Start with that."

Honesty. Such a small word for such a monumental request.

I take a deep breath. "Fine. Yes, I'm attracted to you. Yes, yesterday was... intense. But that doesn't change the fact that getting involved would be complicated and messy and potentially disastrous for my professional reputation."

He nods, accepting this. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"Are we? Because it feels like we're going in circles."

"Not circles." His mouth curves into a smile that makes my stomach flip and my clit vibrate with need. "Just taking the scenic route."

Before I can respond, he starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. We drive in silence for several minutes.

"So what happens now?" I finally ask, unable to bear the tension.

"Now," he says, turning onto a quiet residential street that's definitely not the route to the church, "we figure out what we both want."

I glance around, confused. "Where are we going? The rehearsal is at St. Thomas."

"We'll get there." He pulls into the driveway of a modern-looking townhouse.

"This is your place?" I ask as he parks.

"Yes. I rent it. It’s home when I'm not on the road." He unbuckles his seatbelt. "Come in for a minute."

Every warning bell in my head is clanging now. Going into his home is crossing a line I'm not sure I'm ready to cross.

"The rehearsal—" I begin.

"Will still be there in twenty minutes," he finishes. "Come inside, Jackie. Just to talk."

I shouldn't. I really, really shouldn't.

But I find myself unbuckling my seatbelt and following him up the short walkway to his front door.

The interior of Matt's rental is surprisingly comfortable. It looks lived-in, despite his nomadic lifestyle.

"Drink?" he offers, heading toward the kitchen.

"Water," I say, still hovering near the door. "Just water."

He fills two glasses from the refrigerator dispenser, hands me one, then leans against the counter, watching me.

"You can sit down," he says, nodding toward the living room. "I don't bite." A pause, then with a slight curve of his lips, "Unless you want me to."

Heat rushes to my face. "Very funny."

I perch on the edge of his sofa, sipping my water and trying to look more composed than I feel. He remains in the kitchen, giving me space, which I appreciate.

"So," I say, when the silence stretches too long, "you wanted to talk. Let's talk."

He sets his glass down and moves into the living room, taking the armchair across from me rather than sitting beside me on the sofa.

"I know about your book club," he says without preamble.

I blink, thrown by this unexpected turn. "I’m sorry, my what?"

"Your book club. The Naughty Girls Book Club. I overheard you on a call last night."