Читать книгу The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 97
ОглавлениеWhen Evangeline awoke, Matt was watching her, cheek to his pillow. The drapes were flung apart, and sunlight spilled into the room, across the bed. With strong features and those amazing blue eyes, he was more gorgeous by morning light than he was by candlelight.
“Hey there.” He smiled and laced their fingers, bringing hers to his lips.
She smiled back. “If you’re always this cheerful in the morning, you might want to keep sharp objects under lock and key.”
With a laugh, he tucked a curl of her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m not this cheerful ever. You have the unique effect of being a good influence.”
Or the unique effect of breaking his dry spell with women. The sunlight had returned her cynicism, apparently.
“Are you watching me for a reason or auditioning to be my stalker once the boyfriend job is over?”
“For a reason. But you’ll think it’s weird.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Weirder than watching me while I sleep?”
“I like your face.” He shrugged. “It was covered most of the night, and I haven’t seen it nearly enough yet.”
“There’s nothing special about my face.” Other than how famous it was. She sat up and threw off the covers, intending to flee before the discussion went in a direction she didn’t like.
Besides, it was morning. She’d stayed long enough.
His hand shot out from under the sheet to grab her wrist and tug her back. “I could look at you for hours.”
“I’m naked. Of course you could.” Men. But his eyes weren’t on her uncovered body.
She was trying so hard to assign typical male qualities to Matt, and he wasn’t letting her.
“You still have feathers in your hair.”
“I do?” Her hand flew to her hair and sure enough, a mess of pins still held part of her headpiece in place. Wonderful. Her hair must resemble a bird’s nest after a monsoon.
“Let me.”
He rose up from the cocoon of sheets, which fell from his body in a slow waterfall, and her belly contracted. There was very little typical about Matt, and his prime physique was no exception.
He scooted up behind her, but not close enough to touch. It didn’t matter. His heat radiated outward, stroking her skin with delicious fingers of warmth. With aching gentleness, he plucked a pin from her hair, then another, his breath fanning her scalp as he worked.
Awareness prickled her skin and ignited a slow burn in her center.
“That was the last pin.”
But his fingers stayed in her hair, combing it lightly, patiently untangling the snarls. Then his fingers drifted to her shoulders in a caress. He lifted her curls and touched the back of her neck with his warm, talented lips, unleashing an unexpected shiver.
She shouldn’t stay. Her one magical night was over, and morning light put a damper of reality over everything. In fact, she should have left before he woke up. Why hadn’t she?
“Matt.”
The lips paused in their trek across her nape. “Are you about to tell me you have somewhere to be? Nice knowing you, but party’s over?”
Was she that easy to read? “I don’t have anywhere to be.”
Well, that was a stupid thing to admit. Now she had no exit strategy if she decided she needed one.
“Then don’t go.”
His hands gripped her arms, drawing her backward into him, supporting her with his chest as he ravished whatever he could reach with his mouth. Her insides erupted.
She wasn’t going anywhere, not yet. But she also wasn’t doing this backward. Not this time.
She spun in his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. The delight playing with the corners of his mouth sent a shaft of heat through her. “Just try and get rid of me, cowboy.”
His laugh rumbled against her flesh. “Not everyone from Texas rides horses.”
“Who’s talking about riding horses?” She shoved his chest and knocked him back against the comforter, moving onto her knees over him. “Giddyap.”
Now there was a sight. Gorgeous, masculine magnificence spread underneath her thighs. Matt was hard all over, had a nicely defined torso and a wicked smile. She’d won the man sweepstakes and had been daft enough to miss out on watching him last night.
Eyes stormy with dark desire, he lifted his chin. “Your turn to fetch the condoms.”
She stretched to pull one off the bedside table and ripped it open with her teeth. “Done.”
“Then saddle up, sweetheart.” He shoved his hands under his head with a mischievous wink. “You don’t have to tie me up this time.”
Which she’d only done to ratchet down the emotion of the moment. It had failed miserably.
“Liked that, did you?”
The flippant response almost caught in her throat. Because she didn’t want to be flippant. Didn’t want fun and games. She wanted the tender, profound Matt of last night who made her feel cherished.
When had she turned into such a girl? Five minutes ago, she was halfway out the door—mentally, at least—and here she was wishing for the opposite. Matt had her completely messed up.
“I have yet to discover something about you I don’t like,” he said.
“I’ve got you good and fooled then.”
He pierced her with the force of all that depth behind his eyes. “I don’t think so.”
She looked away, letting the condom fall to the bed. “You don’t know me. Not really.”
No one did—by design. How much worse would rejection hurt if someone dug through all the protective layers and exposed her core? Well, she already knew. It would feel an awful lot like when her dad hadn’t wanted her.
“That’s not true.” He sat up, resettled her against his thighs and cupped her chin. “I recognized you as soon as you took off your mask.”
Her heart plunged to the floor and tried to keep going. “You did?”
Why hadn’t he said anything? Duh. He hadn’t because he’d wanted to score with Eva. Of course. Disappointment nearly wrenched a sob from her frozen chest. He wasn’t special. Big surprise.
“Something inside me did, as if I’d always known you.” He shook his head with a half laugh. “Sorry. I’m no good at this, and to top it off I sound like a starry-eyed teenager. They must put romance in the water here.”
“What are you saying?”
He huffed out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. I mean, it wasn’t like, hey didn’t we go to the same high school? It was an elemental recognition. Inside. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.” Matt’s fathomless eyes begged her to understand, but she couldn’t sort through the panic in her abdomen to put definition around his words. “I thought you felt it, too.”
He meant that indefinable swirl between them. The connection.
Cautiously, slowly, her heart started beating again.
“The first time I kissed you. It didn’t feel like the first time. Is that what you mean?”
He lit up, zinging her in the stomach. “Yes. That’s it exactly. Everything between us...it’s just right. We’re sitting here naked having a conversation, and it’s not strange.”
The smile cracked before she registered that he’d pulled it from her. “Feels pretty good to me.”
“Me, too. I know as much about you as I need to. You’re my butterfly.”
His lips claimed hers in a kiss full of promise. And like that, he turned the tables on her again, making her yearn for things she shouldn’t, such as another night of absolving her loneliness in the arms of a man who wasn’t eager to get rid of her. A man who made her feel valued.
If she stayed, how long could that possibly last?
The sooner she left, the sooner that yearning could dry up and blow away. But the second she walked out the door, she’d be back in the real world, lost and alone, with only the thin layer of Eva for protection—and that didn’t go very far anymore.
Rock. Hard place.
With Matt, she was simply an anonymous woman enjoying the uncomplicated company of a man, and it gave her room to breathe she hadn’t known she needed. One night hadn’t been enough. But if she stayed, it was like giving Matt permission to get closer. That couldn’t go well.
She stared into the depths of those almost-colorless-blue eyes.
A small voice in the back of her mind insisted she was selling this completely atypical man short.
* * *
Matthew palmed Evangeline’s chin and kissed her until his brain sizzled. She was naked in his lap, legs around his waist, and the position was so sensually erotic, he was one rub of her flesh away from going off like a bottle rocket.
Last night had been a fantasy. This morning—still pretty unreal. He’d awoken with a start, afraid Evangeline had evaporated like so much mist in the sunlight. But there she was, hair draped over the pillow, breathing deeply in sleep, beautiful against his sheets. The way she filled his bed was so very nice.
Their one night was over. It wasn’t enough, and he wasn’t ready to say ciao.
Her hands cupped his butt, urging him closer and he was already almost inside her. One quick thrust and he would be. His thighs strained. He groaned against her mouth, blindly seeking the condom wrapper with clumsy fingers before it was too late.
His fingers closed around it, and he eased back a bit to roll it on, still kissing her because he couldn’t stop.
Finally, it was in place. He lifted her bottom and slid in, all the way, and she breathed his name as he situated her flush against him.
His eyelids slammed closed as Evangeline washed through him, blasting away all the cobwebs until that incredible light of hers flooded the darkness inside. They moved together, heightening the pleasure, heightening the sense of completion until they both exploded simultaneously.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against his torso as the ripples went on and on. As they faded away, they left the warmest glow in their wake. His lips rested on her temple, and he couldn’t have moved if his life depended on it.
“I like that position pretty well, too,” she murmured, and he grinned.
“It has its merits.” Her cheek rubbed his, bristling his morning stubble. As decadent as it was to still be in bed, they had to get up sometime. “Are you hungry? I’ll make you breakfast.”
It probably sounded as much like a stall tactic to her as it did to him. He didn’t care. Too many things in his life had ended prematurely, and if she left, he’d probably never see her again. That would be a true shame.
“Do you mind if I take a shower first?” She made a noise. “I forgot, I don’t have any of my stuff. Does the offer of a T-shirt still stand?”
“Sure. Give me a minute in the bathroom and then it’s all yours.” He eased her off his thighs and took shameless delight in watching his uninhibited butterfly roll onto her back, still breathing heavily.
Matthew pulled a T-shirt from the dresser and tossed it next to her on the bed. He bent down to kiss her thoroughly because he could, then whistled as he dressed and went downstairs to scare up some breakfast.
Whistled.
He’d be shocked, except his ability to be shocked had disappeared right around the time Evangeline had presented her naked backside and told him to hop on board. She was the most exciting woman he’d ever met, and under normal circumstances, real-estate mogul Matthew Wheeler would bore her instantly.
But this was Venice, and he was a guy who could keep up with Evangeline and talk about spiritual connections without flinching because there were no rules. Being Matt was liberating.
The updated plumbing in Palazzo D’Inverno only went so far, and when Evangeline turned on the shower upstairs, pipes rattled inside the kitchen walls. It was like music. His cold, lonely house was filled with Evangeline, and he liked it. A lot.
When she came downstairs clad in only his T-shirt, bare legs on display and wet hair dark against her shoulders, every drop of saliva in his mouth dried up.
“How do you make cotton look so good?”
He handed her a glass of orange juice.
“One of my natural talents.”
She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him as if they were a couple comfortable in the kitchen dance from having performed it so many times. Sipping the juice, she perched on one of two stools at the center island and watched him at the stove.
“I hope eggs and toast are okay.” He glanced over his shoulder and nearly dropped the spatula at the sight of such a tousled, stunning woman in his kitchen. “I guess I should have asked.”
“It’s fine. I don’t do whacked-out diets or lament about animal rights. I just eat.”
“I like that in a woman.”
“I like a man who cooks.”
They traded scorching hot glances until the scent of toast filled the air. He pulled it from the toaster and plated everything, then sat next to her at the island.
This was the first time he’d eaten a meal with a woman in...too long to recall. He’d missed the simple pleasure of awaking to warm female, of sharing a bathroom. Laughing and making love whenever the mood struck.
He missed being married, more than he’d realized. No amount of wishing, cursing, grieving or wandering could bring Amber back, though he’d irrationally tried it all. He could only embrace what was possible.
“So,” he said after swallowing a bite of toast. “Do you have plans for the weekend?”
“It’s Wednesday. The weekend is a long way off.”
At home, his calendar filled months in advance and he lived by his schedule. In Venice, he’d learned calendars were a dirty word, which he still hadn’t adjusted to. “I’d like to see you again. Maybe go on a date.”
He definitely wasn’t done with what Evangeline made him feel.
She put her fork down with all the fanfare of a royal announcement. “I’m not so big on dating.”
“Oh.” The brush-off. Apparently he was rustier at this than he’d realized, because he’d have sworn they had something going on here. “What are you big on?”
Her gravelly laugh surprised him. “You.”
“Uh, okay.” To stall, he shoveled food into his mouth and chewed slowly. His wits did not gather. “Can I assume you are that into me then?”
“Matt.” She sighed, and it didn’t reassure him. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time. But—”
“Why does there have to be a but? I’m the best thing. Roll with that.” He encouraged her with a finger twirl, unable to keep the grin off his face.
Negotiation time—his best skill. She was in for a surprise if she thought there was a chance in hell he was letting her get away.
Shoulders slumped, she stared at her plate for a long time. “What if I said I’d like to see you again too, but here? At your house?”
Her body language told him volumes about the importance of his answer.
He shrugged. “The last time I dated, dinosaurs roamed the earth. I’m not so big on it, either. I just want to see you. When? Pick a day that works for your life.”
A firm commitment would settle the uneasiness prickling his spine quite well.
When she looked up from her plate, tears had gathered and one slid down her face. A giant fist clenched his gut as she wiped away the tear.
“I don’t have a life,” she whispered.
“Evangeline...” What was he supposed to do? Say? Feel?
Instinctively, he slid from the stool, gathered her into his arms and held her, mystified, but happy to be doing something. She melted into him, her hands clutching his shoulders as if she couldn’t get close enough, and he ached over her unidentified agony.
“I’m sorry. I don’t usually fall apart in the middle of being asked out on a date.” Her watery chuckle gave him hope things hadn’t gone entirely to hell.
“I’m not asking you out on a date. No, ma’am. I have it on good authority you aren’t big on dates. I’m asking you to my house for...dinner?” he offered, praying that would get a thumbs-up. “I’ll cook.”
“Dinner would be nice,” she said into his shoulder. “Tonight. Tomorrow night. Any night.”
“Tonight. In fact, just stay,” he said, voicing the invitation he should have issued from the outset. This place needed her light. He needed it. “Unless you’re sick of me or need to go hang out with Vincenzo since you’re his guest.”
“Vincenzo is probably sleeping off his hangover and won’t notice if I’m there or not.”
The forlorn note clinched it. Unless he’d completely lost his marbles, she wasn’t ready to say ciao, either.
“I’ll definitely notice if you’re here or not. Italian TV leaves a lot to be desired, and I’d rather be with you. Spend another night, or better yet, through the weekend.” The words rushed out before he’d hardly formed the thought, but the relevance of it, the weight of what he asked, was already there, inside him. He’d finally woken up from an eighteen-month stupor, and there was no way he’d let it end. “Will you stay?”
She hesitated, lids closed in apparent indecision. When she opened her eyes, the flicker in their depths warned him something he might not like was about to happen.
“Why haven’t you asked me about my voice?”
He blinked. “Was I supposed to?”
“It’s damaged. Aren’t you curious? You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
Damaged? It hadn’t always been that way? “You noticed my hands and I noticed your voice. I love your voice. It’s one of the sexiest things about you.”
“It’s not sexy. It’s horrific, like a sixty-year old with a four-pack-a-day habit.”
He laughed, but it didn’t sound like he was amused. Because he wasn’t. “That’s ridiculous. Your voice is unusual. That’s what makes it special. When you say my name, it latches onto me, right here.” He grasped her hand and slapped it to his stomach. “I love that. I love that you can affect me by speaking.”
She pulled her hand free. “You’re being deliberately obtuse.”
Frustrated, he shoved fingers through his hair. He’d invited her to draw out their one night, not solve world hunger—couldn’t it be a simple yes or no?
“Fine. Evangeline, what happened to your voice?”
“When you sing a lot, polyps grow on your vocal cords. Sometimes they rupture. It requires a special expertise to perform the surgery to fix it. Adele had a good doctor. I didn’t.”
His brain nearly curdled at the lightning-fast subject change. “What’s a lot? Like you sang professionally, you mean?”
“Yeah. Professionally. A lot.” Her eyes searched his, hesitating, evaluating, and he got the impression she was feeling him out. They were still very much in the throes of negotiation, and he couldn’t stumble now.
“No false pretenses,” she said. “If I stay, I need you to know. When I sang, it was by another name. Eva.”
“Eva.”
The name flashed an image in his mind of the woman before him, but transformed into a lush, heavily made-up singer on stage in a tiny gold dress, with a hundred dancers weaving around behind her.
“Eva-who-performed-at-the-Super Bowl-Eva?”
She nodded, expression graveyard still as she waited for his reaction.
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“I don’t know what it’s supposed to do. I just couldn’t stand it being between us.”
Matthew went cold. “Are you disappointed I didn’t recognize you?”
When she’d removed her mask, he’d thought the jolt of recognition was uncanny. Had his subconscious simply remembered her from a halftime show?
The disappointment sharpened and stuck in his gut. Then faded abruptly. He’d felt something between them long before he saw her face.
“No, relieved.” She clutched his hand. “My fame doesn’t bother you? I have a lot of money. Does it change anything?”
“Not in the slightest.”
She wasn’t just wrong for Matthew Wheeler; she was in a whole other stratosphere of incompatibility, with a life full of limos, designer drugs and glittery celebrities. Hell, she was a glittery celebrity and glittery didn’t gel with the blue bloods in his circles. But he’d realized they were wrong for each other five minutes after meeting, and though he desperately wanted to find a way to get back home, that wasn’t happening today.
This was a finite Venetian affair, and Matt didn’t care who she was. She made him feel alive for the first time in eighteen months, and that made her perfect for right this minute.
“Since we’re going full bore on disclosures, I have money, too. I bought this palazzo as a wedding gift to Amber, my wife. In Dallas, I was a partner in a multimillion dollar real estate firm and drove an Escalade. Then I dumped all my responsibilities and jumped on a plane. I have little to offer anyone right now. Should I have told you that before we got involved? Does it change things for you?”
If it did, he wouldn’t blame her. He was a bad bet emotionally.
“Is that what we are? Involved?” Some snap crept back into her eyes.
“Yeah. Wasn’t looking for it, wasn’t planning on it. I left Dallas to regain my sanity after my wife died, and I finally feel like that’s possible, thanks to you.” He slid a thumb down her jaw. “Stay.”
“Matt,” she whispered, and her palms came up to frame his face. “This is crazy. We just met.”
“Tell me you’re ready to walk away and I’ll show you to the door.”
She shook her head. Hard. “But you don’t want to be seen in public with me. Someone always recognizes me. Then the harassment starts, rehashing how my career is over.” Her eyes filled again. “It’s not a lot of fun.”
There was the source of all that anguish he’d sensed. This amazing, beautiful butterfly had been damaged beyond repair, and the public refused to let her forget. A fierce, protective instinct tightened his arms around her, filling him with a heavy impulse to do something to fix it for her, to help her.
They’d both lost something, and perhaps she needed him as much as he needed her, though she seemed much less willing to admit it.
In order to get her to stay—to give them both the peace they desperately sought—the terms might have to be less structured than he would like.
“Good. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to share you.” He gestured toward the room at large. “Inside these walls, we can block out the rest of the world and just be together. I need that. If you do too, then go to Vincenzo’s, get your stuff and stay here for as long as that’s true. When it’s not, leave. No rules. No expectations.”
It was crazy. And rash. So unlike a guy who missed his wife and valued commitment. That was the reason it worked, why he and Evangeline gelled, because he wasn’t that guy right now.
Crazy was what made it great.
