Free Out of Exile by Carla Cassidy Page A

moment, then he nodded. “Okay, deal.” Abruptly he stood. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to call it a night. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me in the next couple of days.”
    She was disappointed that he was retreating. She would have enjoyed sitting out here in the pleasant evening and talking more, trying to learn more about him as a man. But it seemed for every little piece of information he gave her about himself, he retreated further into a shell of isolation.
    It was becoming a habit, this running away that he did from her. It was as if he was afraid she might see too deeply into him.
    â€œAnd maybe you’re reading far too much intoit,” she mumbled to herself. It was possible the man just didn’t find her company particularly enjoyable.
    Deciding she might as well go to bed too, she went upstairs to her room. As she undressed, she thought of that kiss they’d shared the night before and had to admit to herself that she wanted to repeat the experience. In fact, she wanted to make love with Matthew Delaney.
    She was thirty-five years old, certainly no blushing virgin. She had no illusions about commitment or happily-ever-after and would expect no promises of such from Matthew.
    What she did want was to see him lose control, feel the moment when his control snapped and the seething energy she always felt in him exploded. She had a feeling making love to Matthew would be an intense, unforgettable experience.
    Clad in her cotton nightgown, she walked over to the window and cracked it open, allowing in the night air. She thought of what Aunt Clara had said, about her staying here and getting a job in Inferno.
    There had been times in the darkest hours of the night when she wondered if she even could return to her job at the school in Dallas. Or would she remain too haunted by the thought of a promising young man she had been unable to help?
    And why was it that whenever she thought of Danny, her thoughts invariably turned to Matthew? Turning away from the window, she shut off the overhead light and got into bed. Within minutes she was asleep.
    She awakened the next morning just after dawn.She showered quickly and dressed, then went downstairs to the kitchen. Apparently Matthew was already up and out. The coffee had been made but there was no sign of him.
    She drank a quick cup of coffee, then left the house and walked to the guest cottages. She found Matthew there, already at work painting with a roller.
    For a moment she simply stood in the doorway and watched him work, enjoying the play of his muscles across his broad back as he rolled the paint along the wall.
    â€œIf you give me a paintbrush, I’m a good trim man,” she said.
    He jumped and turned to face her. “You’re up early,” he said.
    She grinned. “I could say the same about you.”
    â€œI wanted to get a head start,” he replied.
    â€œThen give me a brush. Two painters are definitely a better start than one.”
    He set his roller down and got her a paintbrush. “Knock yourself out,” he said, then turned back to his work.
    For a few minutes they painted in silence. “We could speculate on what kind of person would do something like this,” she finally said to break the silence.
    He turned and cast her a painful glance. “Must we?”
    She laughed. “Okay, then we can talk about what your favorite foods are so I’ll know what to cook each evening.”
    â€œAre you a good cook?” he asked curiously.
    â€œI’ve never killed anyone with my cooking,” she replied.
    He laughed. “That’s certainly a good recommendation if ever I heard one.”
    As easily as that they fell into a conversation much like the ones they had once enjoyed. They argued about politics, talked of places they’d visited, sights they had seen.
    She told him about the summers she’d spent working at a youth camp, where she’d not