The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ thumped in time with the throb in the air.

      No, she’d never done this before because she had no idea what this was.

      It certainly wasn’t a random hookup. But neither was it safe. The deeper the connection, the deeper the eventual pain.

      She’d taken off the mask in a calculated gamble, and Matt hadn’t recognized her. It should have allowed her to simply revel in this one night where a man couldn’t hurt her because he didn’t really know her. It should have been freeing. Not confusing.

      Desperately, she cast about for a way to eliminate the swirling mass of vulnerability this man evoked by simply looking at her. Through her.

      “Not this way.” She wiggled and he rolled to his side, confusion evident.

      “Too soon?”

      “Too missionary.” Waggling her brows, she knelt on the bed and glanced back at him. “Try this on for size.”

      He grinned and instantly heated her back with his torso, mouth to her neck as he filled her again from behind. Much better. Now she couldn’t see all that depth of emotion. And vice versa. They’d pleasure each other and stave off the loneliness for a night and go on.

      His fingers teased her flesh. Clearly this was not his first rodeo. She let her senses flood with Matt and moaned as he lit her up expertly. His name fell from her lips and too late she realized it didn’t matter if she could see his face. His touch conveyed more depth than she’d dreamed possible.

      Tears pricked her eyelids. She wanted that touch to mean everything she sensed it did. But was terrified to admit it. How could she convince herself this was nothing but a brief divergence if he kept touching her that way?

      The orgasm, quick, powerful and amazing, swallowed her whole long about his second thrust, and he exploded with his third.

      She collapsed, chest to the bed, and he spooned her into his arms, both of them still shuddering. He held her tightly and she curled into him, shocked at how natural it felt, how right, when normally she preferred not to be touched as her body cooled.

      “I have never come so fast in my life,” she gasped. “I think that’s my new favorite position.”

      Though somehow, it hadn’t been quite the cure for her confusion that she’d envisioned. And lying here in his arms with his thumb tenderly stroking the curve of her waist wasn’t helping. The powerful flames of desire he fanned weren’t sexual. She wanted Matt to be different. Special.

      She should get dressed and leave. Right now, before she found out he wasn’t.

      But if she left, what then? Spend the rest of the night alone, huddled in the dark, listening to Vincenzo’s guests party till dawn?

      “It’s definitely my new favorite position.” He cleared his throat. “Though I’m willing to try a couple of others to verify. In a few minutes. I know we have all these condoms, but you’re not an easy woman to recover from.”

      She had to smile at that. Nice to know it had been staggering on both sides.

      A part of her had prepared to be kicked out. Maybe hoped she would be—it was safer that way. Not all men liked a woman hanging around afterward. Finding out Matt didn’t fall in that category thrilled her. Dangerously.

      “What if we just talk?”

      Where had that come from? She never stayed.

      She nearly took it back, but her soul ached, and Matt inexplicably salved it. Morning was soon enough to escape. For now, she wanted one whole night of fantasy, where nothing mattered but being with a man who liked her and wanted her around.

      His lips curved up against her temple. “A continuation of our speed date?”

      The chilly palazzo air raised goose bumps on her arms. “Well, I’m not sure how we could find any more levels of compatibility. But okay.”

      He laughed. “Yeah, we gel. At least in bed, which is fantastic. It’s been a while.”

      “Really? How long?”

      Rolling her gently to the side, he pulled the covers free and nestled her back in his arms underneath them, like he’d read her mind. “A year and a half. Or so.”

      Oh, God. “Are you like, religious or something? Did I make you break vows?”

      “No.” He was quiet for a long time. “That’s when my wife died.”

      Something hot exploded in her chest. His pain—she’d seen it, knew it was there, but never would have guessed its roots went so deep.

      “Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry.”

      She rolled and took his lips with hers in a long kiss of sympathy. Why, she didn’t know. It wasn’t like she could fix anything or erase his agony, not with a million kisses.

      “Thanks,” he whispered against her lips. “It was a long time ago.”

      Her heart hurt for him and furiously demanded she find a way to salve his soul in return. “There’s no statute of limitations on being sorry that someone you loved is gone.”

      “I guess not.” His smile flipped her stomach. “When you said talk, that’s probably not what you meant. But I thought you should know.”

      Because there was something more here than either of them had expected. He felt it, too.

      “That’s why you’re drifting. To find some sort of closure.” His nod confirmed what she’d guessed. “You’re not in Venice on business, are you?”

      “I wish it was that simple. If only there was a way to close the deal on grief, I’d be all set.”

      Matt was a widower. It felt weird. “People our age shouldn’t die.”

      People their age shouldn’t lose a career over botched surgery either, but crappy things happened with no rhyme or reason.

      He smoothed a curl away from her face, his expression unreadable, and she waited for a demand that she slice open a vein in kind, share her personal pain with him. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. And it wasn’t fair to Matt that he’d hooked up with someone nowhere near as willing to be vulnerable.

      But he didn’t hand her a scalpel.

      “Are we the same age? Wait, am I allowed to ask that? Isn’t there a rule about asking women their age?”

      A laugh slipped out. “No rules, remember? I’m twenty-seven.”

      “Thirty-two.” He grinned. “Not nearly old enough to need that long to recover.”

      She let him change the subject by kissing her breathless and rolling on top of her, bracing himself on his strong forearms. He met her gaze, his eyes full of her, not pain. They’d connected over their mutual search for a way to combat the darkness, and it was working.

      For one magical night, they had each other.

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