Isabel Sharpe - Back in Service

After that, Jameson had—

“Mattingly?”

Matty’s head jerked up. Only one person outside her family ever called her by her full name.

Her eyes met a pair of deep brown ones under a shock of wheat-colored hair that had gone slightly gray at the temples. Somehow she managed to stifle a gasp.

“Chris.” Calm. Stay very calm. As if she’d just bumped into him a week ago, not wrenched herself away from him back...how long had it been now? Years. She’d been a senior at Pomona College. He’d been an associate professor. Bad choices had happened. Drama. Pain. Deep love, and the best sex she’d ever had. Not that she was comparing. “What a surprise to see you.”

Surprise was putting it mildly. If she didn’t make sure to keep breathing, she’d pass out on the sidewalk.

Luckily, being raised by Jeremiah and Katherine Cartwright had taught her how to suppress every vestige of human emotion. Not a good technique on stage, but it could come in damn handy during real life.

“I saw the show.” He seemed calm, too. But then, he always did. Except when he was laughing or about to come. “You were great.”

Matty accepted his compliment with a polite nod. She had a few solo lines and part of one song—no bragging rights, but she took pride in having been chosen for that much, and in doing her role well. God knew she never took any theater job for granted. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“It was...” He was looking at her too intently, with eyes that were too warm. “It was a shock to see you, Matty, I admit.”

“A good one, I hope.” She was appalled at the automatic response. Do not flirt, Matty.

“Best one I had all week.” He smiled down at her and boom, too many memories came rushing back—the nights of passion, the blissful stolen hours together.

What the hell? Had she learned nothing?

“Chri-i-is?” A woman’s voice behind them, fake sweet. “There you are.”

And there she was, slim and elegant in some high-fashion drapey tunic thing she pulled off to perfection. Exactly the type Chris should be with.

“Zoe, this is a former student, Matty Cartwright. Matty, this is Zoe Savannah.”

Matty nearly snickered. Zoe Savannah? She was perfect. Right down to the leopard-print pants.

Smiling with as much warmth as she could muster, Matty chided herself. Zoe had every right to date Chris. She was closer to his age, for one thing—meow. And she was probably a lovely person. Or maybe she wasn’t and they deserved each other. Either worked. “Nice to meet you, Zoe.”

“Oh, me, too! I loved the show.” She whacked Chris playfully on the arm with her program and went into gales of laughter for no apparent reason. “And now I see why Chris was staring at you all night. He knows you! I was afraid it was love at first sight.”

Actually, it had been.

“No, no, nothing like that.” He glanced uncomfortably at Matty, who refused to look uncomfortable.

“You look great, Chris.” She wasn’t lying, unfortunately. He looked incredible, hair still thick, that new sexy touch of frost at the temple. He’d always reminded her of a cross between Ben Affleck and Russell Crowe: boy-next-door handsome but with powerful masculinity backing it up. “Still teaching at Pomona?”

“They haven’t fired me yet.”

They should have when she was there.

“Silly.” Zoe whacked him again. “You’re tenured.”

Matty smiled again, for real this time. She was happy for him. He’d wanted that very badly. “Congratulations. A great accomplishment.”

“Thank you, Matty.” He really needed to stop looking at her like that, half amused, half hungry. It was horrendously unsettling.

“Well!” She glanced pointedly at her watch and lifted a hand in cheery farewell. “I’m due to meet someone for a drink. Great to see you, Chris, and to meet you, Zoe.”

Not waiting for answers, she turned and headed for her red Kia Sportage parked in the lot behind the theater, her cheeks hot, mind whirling. So. Finally, it had happened. She’d seen Chris Hamilton.

For the first couple of years after graduation she’d imagined bumping into him, fantasized about it, actually. How after one glance into her eyes, he’d tell her he’d made a terrible mistake letting her go, that he couldn’t live without her, that he loved her desperately and always would and blah blah blah blah.

More years had gone by, six in total by now, and she’d stopped worrying about seeing him. Stopped worrying she’d fall apart, beg him to take her back, stopped worrying about the pain she was sure only he could bring. Because she was over it, thank you very much. There’d been other men since, and no, she was not comparing.

The only really awful part was that after all her efforts, after she’d reached a real understanding of the forces that drove their passion, analyzed that passion to death and accepted not only that it was over, but that its being over was for the best, tonight it turned out Chris Hamilton in the flesh was still dangerously attractive to her. Whatever had pulled them together, in spite of the utter stupidity of professor and student hooking up, that power was still there.

“Matty.”

Crap. Matty closed her eyes, considered pretending she hadn’t heard him, but he wouldn’t buy it. Probably because it was ridiculous.

She whirled to face him. He stopped short, watching her warily. Damn him, why hadn’t he put on weight or wrinkled or just turned ugly, for heaven’s sake? He looked fabulous. Six feet of good-looking that knew how to do the sheet tango better than anyone she—

No, she was not comparing.

“What do you want, Chris?” Matty bit her lip, shocked at how bitter and angry she sounded. So much for putting her feelings safely behind her.

“I want to see you. I want— I just want to see you.”

“Ha!” The syllable came out without her permission, a mixture of shock, horror and a tiny explosion of pleasure. “How does Zoe feel about that?”

He put his hands on his hips, pushing back his jacket. Stomach still flat. Thighs still long and muscular under casual pants. Darn him.

“Zoe is a colleague.”

“Oh, so you’re doing those now, too?”

“Low, Matty.” The bastard spoke calmly. She could not get to him with insults.

Matty checked herself. She should not want to get to him at all.

“Sorry. You know me. If it’s in my brain, it comes out my mouth.” She inhaled slowly to settle herself. “I just don’t think getting together is a good idea.”

“But...how is that possible?” He looked genuinely confused. “I only have good ideas.”

Her laughter was reluctant. Charm as well as sex appeal. Chris had it all, the slime bucket. “No, thank you.”

He took a step toward her.

Turn around. Turn around and walk away now.

“You look great, Matty.” His gentleness enveloped her. Too much intimacy. “I like your hair long.”

“Yeah, thanks.” She was not going to tell him how fabulous he looked.

“You doing okay?”

“Yes! Fine! Great!” Her voice cracked. He’d notice. He was good at that. And what woman wasn’t a sucker for a man who noticed? It’s just that she hadn’t noticed six years ago, that while she had fallen madly in love with him, he was only interested in what lay between her legs. “I’m getting theater work pretty regularly, and I have a side business in real estate that’s picking up.”

“Good. Good for you.” His brows drew down. He pursed his lips, the way he did when he had something uncomfortable to say. “I’ve thought about you a lot over the years.”

Me, too. She stood silent, hands in her jacket pocket clutching her car keys.

“Well.” He touched his forehead as if he were tipping his hat and turned away, a gesture at once so familiar and dear to her that tears threatened. Six years ago, Matty. For God’s sake.