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

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.

       Five

      When 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.”