Читать книгу The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 99
ОглавлениеMatthew blinked and it was somehow Saturday already.
Evangeline filled his house, exactly as he’d envisioned, and blinded him to everything else. They didn’t go out, more through his insistence than hers. He’d set up an account at both the local pharmacy and the grocery store so Evangeline could order whatever she needed to be delivered. The creative thank-you she’d given him for his thoughtfulness still ranked as one of the highlights of the week.
And there had been a lot of highlights, especially the gradual lightening of the shadows in her eyes, which he’d only made worse with his meddling. He was gratified she’d stayed long enough to let him undo the hurt he’d caused.
He’d never had a relationship with no promises past breakfast. Certainly never thought he’d have suggested it. Every morning, he expected—braced—to find she’d left in the middle of the night.
It was getting old. But the terms were too necessary to change.
The wanderlust in her eyes was unmistakable. When she talked about performing in Budapest or Moscow, her expression reminded him of when he was inside her. Rapturous. She couldn’t sing, but she still liked roaming. Eventually, she’d move on and leave him behind.
Which was good. This thing between them was amazing, but he couldn’t keep it up, not long term.
He glanced at his phone. With the time difference, Mama should be at one of her Saturday-morning fundraisers right about now. The perfect time to call. He dialed and waited for voice mail to pick up.
“You’ve reached Fran Wheeler. I’m busy saving the world with style and grace. Leave a message.”
His mother’s voice poured alcohol on the exposed wound of guilt in his gut, which was approximately half the size of Texas. “It’s me, Mama. Just checking in to let you know I’m still alive. Talk to you later.”
He wouldn’t, because he never called when she might actually answer.
What would he say? Sorry about taking off. No, still not coming home. Still not capable of being the Wheeler you raised me to be.
He had to go home and pick up his responsibilities with Wheeler Family Partners.
But he’d left because he couldn’t do it any longer, couldn’t see his grandfather’s empty desk every day. Couldn’t attend fundraisers and ribbon cuttings without Amber. Couldn’t watch Lucas and Cia sneak off during the boring parts of events and return with all that love and affection dripping from their faces.
It was too hard.
So he’d live in the present and wring every bit of pleasure out of it.
He sat at the kitchen island and watched Evangeline wash lunch dishes in the sink. He cooked and she washed dishes. Worked for him—the view was very enjoyable from his stool.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked. She flashed a naughty smile over her shoulder. “Twice this morning wasn’t enough for you?”
“Never enough. I like you too much.”
Yeah. He liked her, too. Everything was fun. Showers. Dishes. Long talks in the afternoon. “The weather is supposed to be unseasonably warm today. What if we have dinner on the roof?”
“There’s a rooftop patio?” Her gravelly voice was hopeful as she dried the last dish and put it away.
That voice. It still dug in, sharp and hot inside no matter how many times he heard it. It was the first thing he wanted to hear in the morning and the last thing he wanted to hear before he went to sleep.
“Did I forget to mention that?”
“Never mind dinner. Show it to me right now.”
“Sure.” He took her hand and led her outside.
The breeze from the canal was chilly, but bearable, as they climbed the outside stairs to the roof. Venice unfolded as they walked out onto the patio.
Evangeline gasped. “Oh, Matt. I could live here. Right here in this spot. The view is amazing.”
“I know. It’s one of the reasons I bought this palazzo.”
Several of the plants lined up in clay planters against the railing had withered and died, but a few remained green, fresh against the backdrop of browns, terra-cotta and white from the surrounding buildings.
Millions of dollars of real estate stretched on either side of the canal. Once, he’d have taken in the structures with a critical eye, evaluated the resale value, calculated the square footage. Mapped the location and noted the neighborhood features automatically.
None of that could compare to the gorgeous vision standing next to him. The look on her face—he’d move a mountain with a teaspoon if it put that expression of awe and appreciation there.
“You can see the spires of San Marco. And Santa Maria della Salute. Isn’t it beautiful?” She pointed, but he was busy looking at her. Her loose curls blew against her cheek and her eyes were luminous and his gut tightened. His reaction to her was so physical, so elemental. Would he ever get tired of that?
“Yeah. Beautiful.” His fingers ached to sink into her hair. Among other things.
That was the beauty of their arrangement. They did whatever they wanted, when they wanted to do it. And he wanted her, wanted to make her feel as good as she made him feel. Right now.
“Let’s go back inside.”
“What? Why?” She flicked him a puzzled glance and turned her attention back to Venice.
“Because,” he said hoarsely, and the unexpected catch in his throat swallowed the rest of the words.
With obvious concern, she eyed him. “Are you okay?”
No. Not hardly. He tugged on her hand. “Come back downstairs. Please. I want to be with you.”
“You are with me.” Her gaze traveled over him. Finally, she caught on to his urgency and grinned. Wickedly. “Oh. Well, I’ve got news for you. My girl parts work the same whether I’m inside or outside.”
Attention firmly on him, she leaned in and teased him with a butterfly kiss while her hands wandered underneath his shirt. He was already half-aroused, and her fiery touch drained heat south instantly.
“Evangeline.” He groaned as her fingers dipped into the waistband of his jeans to cup his bare butt. “We’re on the roof.”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured against his mouth. “If you want me, take me, cowboy.”
The kiss turned carnal as her tongue crashed with his and they drank from each other. She stole his reason, transformed his desire into crushing need, drew him out of time and place.
He was totally hooked on it.
Tilting her head, he changed the angle, went deeper, fed his senses with the feast of Evangeline.
Their hips aligned, seeking the heat, the promise of completion just beneath their clothes.
He nearly lost his balance as his shirt came over his head, gripped tight in her fists. She threw it to the concrete. Before he could protest, she had his zipper down and her warm hands stroked his flesh, coaxing him out from behind the fabric of his underwear.
They were on the roof. And he was on display.
Then she knelt. Her mouth closed over his length, and conscious thought escaped him as his knees weakened. Running on pure carnal instinct, he pushed deeper until the licks of fire spread through his blood like an inferno, tightening into a knot at his center. He couldn’t keep from coming another second.
“Hold up, sweetheart.”
He eased from her mouth and in a flash, dropped to the ground and pulled her into his lap. The breeze cooled his fevered skin. Street sounds wafted from below. And he didn’t care. She encouraged him to do new things, things he’d never do under normal circumstances, and somehow it made sense.
In moments, her clothes landed in a heap and her mouth landed on his, legs wrapped around his waist, exactly the way he liked.
Yes. He fed the flames as he slid into her. Eyes closed, he froze, sustaining the perfect pleasure of being inside her sweet body, reveling in the physical, carnal hunger that drove him to join with her.
He’d left Dallas desperate to feel again. She’d burrowed underneath the ice-covered inertia and sensitized him. To the limit.
She moaned his name and rolled her hips, drawing him deeper than should have been possible. The roof, the air, Evangeline—something—heightened the sensations, spiraling him toward oblivion faster, stronger, fiercer than ever before.
Her gaze captured his, and the morning sunlight refracted inside her eyes, brightening them. The ache of near release bled upward, into his chest, his throat.
Lids fluttering, she surrendered to an exceptionally strong climax. It rippled down his length and detonated his own release. The blast echoed in his head, blacking out his vision.
He held her slumped form, dragging oxygen into his lungs. That had been...different. And in a relationship full of different, how could there be so many shades yet undiscovered?
How could he crave still more when they’d delved so deeply already?
When she shifted, resettling in his lap, clarity blew away the awe of the moment.
“Evangeline. We forgot to use a condom.”
“It’s okay,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “It’s the wrong time of the month.”
Women and their bodies—that was a mystery he’d yet to solve even after being with Amber for years. He heaved out a shudder of a breath.
“Sure?”
“Well, either way, too late now.” She smiled up at him. “And it was worth it. I don’t know how you do that to me. It was unbelievable. Even for us.”
“Yeah. It was.”
She’d noticed the difference too, but attributed it to the lack of a barrier. Which he didn’t believe for a second. Sure the sensation was mind-altering. He’d do it again in a heartbeat if given a safe opportunity. But there was more to it than forgetting a condom, and he feared it had everything to do with Evangeline. With who he was around her. Because of her.
“We’ll be extra careful from now on.” She wagged her finger at him. “You have to stop being so adorable and sexy.”
“Me?” That he could never get used to. It was disturbing when she told him how much he turned her on, which she did frequently. Disturbing because he liked it, and didn’t understand what about her was so compelling, when she and Amber were such polar opposites. “You’re the one who was all gorgeous with the hair in your face.”
“You’ve got it bad and you might as well admit it.”
His pulse stuttered. “Got what bad?”
A crush? Feelings? Was she staring down the barrel of their relationship and seeing things that weren’t there?
Or was he making excuses for things he didn’t want to examine too closely?
“An addiction to inventive positions,” she explained with a wicked laugh. “And locations, apparently.”
His muscles relaxed, and he eased her up to help her get dressed, then stepped into his own clothes. “That’s all you, honey. I’m just here for the food.”
Her laugh uncurled across his skin with gravelly teeth and stayed there. She affected him in so many ways. And not all of them were good.
A dose of guilt wormed into his consciousness. He’d found a temporary cure for his ills, but how fair was it to keep using Evangeline?
“Hey.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “You know I don’t have much to offer. Emotionally. Right?”
She nodded, gaze searching his quizzically. “I’m not confused about what’s going on between us. We’re keeping the demons at bay until it doesn’t work any longer. Were you confused?”
“No. Just checking.”
Keeping the demons at bay. Yeah, that was exactly what they were doing. She knew he wasn’t capable of anything more right now.
They meandered downstairs to do absolutely nothing except be together.
It shouldn’t have been so easy. They should get on each other’s nerves. Or complain about socks on the floor, dishes in the sink. Argue about something.
They didn’t.
The longer he spent in Evangeline’s company, the less he recognized himself. He hadn’t put on a suit since the masked ball; he hadn’t ironed a shirt or balanced his checkbook. T-shirts and spending money recklessly felt far too comfortable. As comfortable as Evangeline.
He hadn’t dwelled on Amber in days. Wasn’t that the point of all this? Why did it feel so strange?
Venice provided a much-needed break from real life as he searched for a way to get back to Dallas, to the responsible, centered, married man he’d been. When he’d understood his place in the world and woke up happy every morning.
He didn’t know what would work to turn back time, or if what he sought existed. But he was starting to wonder—if he’d known what to look for, what would he have found instead of glittery, wrong-for-Matthew-Wheeler Evangeline?
And would he recognize it, now that Evangeline had so filled him he couldn’t see around her?
* * *
Late one afternoon, Evangeline’s phone buzzed. She retrieved it and flopped on the couch next to Matt, then glanced up from the text message to catch his gaze.
“Vincenzo’s cousin, Nicola, is throwing a small dinner party,” she said. “Tonight. Do you want to go? It’s casual. He assures me the guest list is well vetted.”
They hadn’t left the house in a week. Self-preservation warred with the gypsy part of her soul that liked parties and people and experiences. All of her parts liked Matt, so it wasn’t a hardship to wake up in his bed every morning.
“Sounds fun. As long as you’re okay with it.”
And that was why. He was amazing and intuitive and never crowded her. Gradually, she’d stopped practicing her exit strategy and just enjoyed hanging out with him. Plus, she’d grown rather fond of starring in Matt’s rodeo. The man shattered her with those eyes alone.
Was she okay with going out? It was dinner at Nicola’s house, not a public flogging. She hesitated.
“Nicola lives on the other end of the Grand Canal. How should we get there?”
With silent, reassuring strength, he covered Evangeline’s hand with his. “Private water taxi. Put on a big hat and a scarf. It’ll be dark. No one will know it’s you.”
“Done.” She accepted the invitation and deleted the other text message she’d received from her half sister, Lisa, without reading it, then spent an hour getting ready. Which gave her plenty of time to get worked up about her sister.
Lisa was seventeen. And her parents had been married. The anger, the sheer resentment was embedded deep. Their father had chosen a life with one daughter over the other—Evangeline would never forgive that. She sent Lisa extravagant Christmas gifts in a petty attempt to show her father there were no hard feelings. And maybe to quietly announce that hey, no dad needed for her to be a huge success.
Evangeline hadn’t spoken to her sister since the botched surgery. How many texts did she have to ignore for Lisa to give up? It wasn’t like they were real family.
Putting it out of her mind, she vowed not to let unpleasant history ruin the fun evening she and Matt had planned.
When Evangeline returned downstairs, Matt was waiting for her, dressed in dark jeans and a sweater. His eyebrows rose.
A floppy hat covered her pinned-up hair, a scarf hid the lower half of her face and giant sunglasses completed the disguise.
“Perfect.” Matt shot her a playful grin. “Except maybe lose the glasses. It is nighttime.”
She slipped them off and returned his smile. “Happy?”
“Always.”
That thrilled her to no end, to be responsible for Matt’s happiness. That was part of the reason she stayed. It was powerful to watch him slowly heal.
The taxi picked them up at Palazzo D’Inverno’s water entrance and motored away from the dock. The driver steered under the Ponte dell’Accademia and up the canal to Vincenzo’s cousin’s house. Twinkling stars competed with the twinkle of Venice, both lit for the night with stunning brilliance.
They arrived a few minutes later. Once inside, Evangeline started to introduce Matt and realized with no small amount of mortification that she didn’t know his last name. It hadn’t seemed important, until now.
With a quick grin that said he’d read Evangeline’s mind, he stuck out his hand to Nicola Mantovani, their hostess. “Matt Wheeler.”
He repeated it to Nicola’s boyfriend, Angelo. Vincenzo shook Matt’s hand and introduced his lady friend for the evening, whose name Evangeline promptly forgot. He never called his dates again anyway.
Nicola lifted an unobtrusive finger toward a uniformed servant, who sprang forward to pass out wineglasses full of deep red Chianti. The tiny, dark-haired Italian raised her glass. “A toast. To new friends.”
Expertly, Nicola finessed everyone to the lushly appointed salon where they took seats and chatted politely.
When Vincenzo launched into an impassioned review of the performance he’d seen at Teatro alla Scala the prior weekend, Evangeline leaned in to whisper in Matt’s ear. “Wheeler. That’s a nice last name.”
Matt grinned. “We haven’t formally introduced ourselves, have we?”
“Evangeline La Fleur.” She stuck her hand out in mock solemnity. “Nice to meet you, Matt Wheeler.”
Vincenzo paused long enough to drain his glass and motioned for a refill.
In the silence, Angelo asked Matt, “What do you do?”
“I’m a partner at a commercial real estate firm in Dallas, Texas.”
No hesitation. No dodging the question. It was clearly how he defined himself or the answer wouldn’t have come so quickly. It put an odd barb in her stomach because she wouldn’t have been so quick with her own answer.
“Oh, do you know J. R. Ewing?” Angelo snickered at his own joke. Evangeline rolled her eyes, but Matt just laughed.
He was such a good guy to spend time with her friends and not call them out for being lame. But here she could relax and just be herself, without the pressure of Eva.
“Real estate.” Nicola wrinkled her nose. “Houses?”
“No, we haven’t delved into residential. We sell office buildings. Downtown high-rises.” When he warmed to the subject, the pang in her stomach poked a little harder. He loved his job. It was all over his expression. “Land for development. That sort of thing.”
We. Not I. An interesting choice of phrasing. Who was the we?
“High-rises. That sounds impressive.” Nicola’s nose unwrinkled and she leaned forward, suddenly a bit more interested in Evangeline’s companion now that she scented money.
“Matt’s very successful,” Evangeline threw in, though she didn’t know much about the ins and outs of the life he’d left behind. Neither last names nor pre-Venice activities had ranked very high on the priority list of their discussions. She’d always assumed it was by design, since Matt’s wife was a taboo piece of that past.
But really, of course he was successful. Look at him.
He squeezed her hand. “Evangeline’s being kind. I’ve been on an extended vacation. Wheeler Family Partners was the top-selling firm in Texas last year, but its current success is due to my brother. Not me.”
“You work for a family business?” Nicola asked, and Matt nodded, explaining how the other partners were his dad and brother and the firm had been in his family for over a hundred years.
No one else seemed to notice the catch in his voice, but it sliced at her.
Family meant nothing to her, was almost a foreign word. But to Matt, it seemed as if it had been the cornerstone of his existence before Venice. He’d communicated far more than the simple logistics of a job—he’d belonged to a unit.
He wandered in search of answers now, but did he eventually want to return to his roots? She didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want it to matter. But the barb in her stomach was also due to realizing they were less alike than she’d assumed.
She waited until after dinner, when they’d settled into the water taxi to return to Matt’s house, to bring it up again. “Tell me more about your life in Dallas.”
With a laugh, he kissed her sweetly. “Why? Do you need to take a nap? That would be so boring you’d nod off in a second.”
Her lips curved. “Boring? You? There’s no way the guy who put his hand under my dress on a balcony could ever be boring.”
“I drove a sports utility vehicle, Evangeline.”
“But you left it all behind.” His wife’s death had turned him into a drifter. Like her. They’d both been honed by tragedy but had yet to recognize their new shape. She desperately wanted to feel that kinship with him again after learning they’d come from such different places. “So it doesn’t matter now, right?”
“It matters. I walked away from a legacy. The name of the firm is Wheeler Family Partners. That pretty much encapsulates it. Family is everything. And I abandoned them.” His voice never wavered as he listed his sins.
Strength. He had it in spades and it pulled at her. The men in her life were weak. Spineless. Matt regretted his actions but took full responsibility for what he’d done.
“I didn’t mean to poke at scars. Armadillo?” she offered.
“Yeah. It’s not a great subject.” He curled her palm against his. “What was your life like when you were singing?”
“Busy. Lonely.” The hand holding hers tightened. Encouraging her to go on. He was so easy to be with—maybe she could open up, just a little. “The guy from Vincenzo’s party, Rory, he was supposed to be the cure for that. We were so similar, both with careers in the industry. Both happy being nomads. He had some bad habits, but I stepped over the empty Jack Daniel’s bottles because I was in love with him. Turns out he wasn’t content to be saddled with a has-been.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. Longevity isn’t one of my gifts.” She’d have tried, for Rory. And probably would have bungled it all up. “That’s what made being an in-demand vocalist so great. I sang all over the world, was constantly on the move.”
She’d loved it, loved having a new destination, new experiences.
And that was the gist of it, wasn’t it? She and Matt had a kinship born of shared pain, but it was tenuous at best. A successful, solid real estate broker who valued family had nothing in common with a music business has-been who sported a giant albatross called Lack of a Career around her neck.
Besides, his heart still belonged to his wife, would always belong to his family. Hers had been cut from her chest by the same blade that destroyed her career. Maybe even before that.
She’d shared this time with Matt because they were both slaying their demons.
How much longer would it take for this refuge to crumble around her?
