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

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СКАЧАТЬ and nestled into his arms. “You need a glass of warm milk?”

      He kissed her temple. “Did I wake you up? Sorry.”

      “You didn’t.”

      But maybe on some level, he had.

      That instantaneous spiritual bond hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. Sometimes, he finished her sentences, and sometimes, she didn’t have to speak at all. It was more than gelling and she puzzled over the indescribable, powerful nature of their relationship.

      It should feel weird. Suffocating. It didn’t.

      “I’ll go downstairs so you can sleep.”

      Something was bothering him. Matt’s ghosts continually haunted him and lots of great sex hadn’t produced quite the exorcism she’d have wished.

      She snaked an arm over his chest to hold him in place. “Don’t you dare. Talk to me.”

      “It’s not a middle-of-the-night subject. But thanks.” His hand wandered over to stroke her breast and as lovely as that was, his touch carried a hint of preoccupation.

      “Anything is a middle-of-the-night subject. It’s dark. Sleepy. What better environment is there to lay it all out?” Unless he was about to call it off. That froze her pulse. She didn’t want it to be over.

      She’d thought they were both happy to live in the here and now. Both happy to see what unfolded. The lack of boundaries made it easier for her to stay but also made it easier—for either of them—to walk away.

      Should she have checked in with him before now?

      The hand on her breast stilled, but didn’t move away. “You wouldn’t rather go back to sleep?”

      “I’d rather you weren’t upset. Tell me, and let me make it all better. That’s what I’m here for, right? To beat back the demons.” Which was a two-way street, and he did his part well. “But unlike other forms of self-medication, I don’t come with a hangover.”

      “You don’t pull any punches, do you?” A deep breath lifted his chest. “I was thinking I should be over Amber by now.”

      “What? Why would you think that?”

      Oh, that was such a better subject than calling it off. He hardly ever mentioned his wife, and she respected his privacy. But curiosity pricked at her, naturally. What had Amber been like? What was so special about her to have shattered Matt into so many pieces?

      “It’s been a year and a half. How can I still be so messed up?”

      “You can’t put a time frame to grief. Life doesn’t have checklists.”

      “We weren’t married a whole year. She’s been dead longer than the length of our marriage.”

      “So? You loved her.” Obviously a lot, more than Evangeline had ever loved anyone, or could even imagine. She could, however, easily imagine how it would feel to be the object of such unending devotion.

      Especially Matt’s.

      That put a hitch in her lungs. She suddenly, unreasonably wished for something impossible—the hope that she might one day take Amber’s place in his heart. Impossible, because she’d have to open herself up in return and trust Matt with her deepest layer. Impossible, because he was still hung up on his wife. That was the biggest obstacle of all.

      Apparently dark-and-sleepy was a good environment for her conscience to spill confessions, as well. As long as she didn’t start doing it out loud...

      Matt shifted restlessly. “Am I doomed to suffer for the rest of my life because I fell in love with someone? It’s not fair.”

      He was destroyed. No one should have to bear that much of a burden without relief.

      “I don’t have all the answers.” She rested her palm on his heart, which beat strongly despite her suspicion it was badly broken. “The only thing I know for sure is life sucks and then it gets better until it gets worse again. Sometimes I think God likes to see what happens when the carpet is pulled out from under you.”

      After a long minute of silence, he said, “It doesn’t bother you that I’m moping around over another woman?”

      Well, now that you mention it...

      “I didn’t say that.” Boy, he’d taken her no-subject-off-limits-in-the-middle-of-the-night seriously, hadn’t he? Despite asking, she didn’t think he’d actually appreciate knowing about the burning-in-the-gut jealousy of Amber she’d just discovered. “But we’re cool. I understand. Of all people, trust me. I understand.”

      Probably too much. Other women wouldn’t put up with being a form of self-medication. But Matt wasn’t presenting her with a buffet of choices. What would she pick if he did?

      The question bounced around inside her with no answer.

      “The pastor at Amber’s funeral said something that’s stuck with me. The valleys of life are impartial and temporary. If that’s true, I should get over it already, right?”

      “Is that why you’re beating yourself up? That’s total crap!” Evangeline’s vision grayed for a furious moment. Pastors should soothe people in their time of grief—not spew lies. “The valleys of life are anything but impartial. Or temporary. Both of us had the center of our existence ripped from our fingers. No warning. That’s as personal as it gets, and I refuse to accept that we don’t have the right to be pissed off about it because it’s gone forever.”

      His arms tightened around her, holding her close, calming her. He was calming her. “Is that what happened? You had the center of your existence ripped away?”

      “Yeah. I did.” Her chin trembled.

      “You don’t talk about it.”

      Just like he didn’t talk about Amber. “No voice. It kind of puts a crimp in the talking thing.”

      “That’s a cop-out. Especially with me. Should I tell you again how sexy I think your voice is?”

      She sighed. Transparency was one of the many things she couldn’t avoid with Matt. It went hand in hand with the vibe between them. And it went both ways. He’d veered away from Amber on purpose, maybe to avoid talking about her. Or maybe to find some straw he could grasp from her own experiences. They were both fighting their way out of the valley.

      He was so compassionate and decent and didn’t want anything from her but her company. She should honor that.

      “I lost everything.” She shut her eyes. “Not just my career. I sang my whole life, from as early as I can remember. Back then, my voice was the one thing that belonged to me and no one else. Singing was a coping mechanism.”

      “What were you coping with?” he asked gently.

      “You know, stuff. My home life.” She hadn’t thought about it in years. But that had been the genesis of using her voice to express all the things going on inside.

      “My dad, he was a hockey player for Detroit. A СКАЧАТЬ