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

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ