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

blinding Matthew with the flash.

      “You want to get that camera out of our faces before I do it for you?” Matthew blinked hard in an attempt to clear the white starburst from his retinas.

      “Are you threatening me, pretty boy?”

      “Obviously not well enough if you have to ask. So I’ll be clearer.” Matthew nodded to both men curtly, tamping down his fury. “Stop harassing us or you’ll be examining the ceiling of an Italian jail cell shortly. Or the ceiling of a hospital room. Your choice.”

      The men glanced at each other, smiling cruelly. “You gonna take on both of us? Over her?”

      Her. As if she was worthless because she’d lost her voice. The fury welled up again, traveling through his veins, curling his hands into fists.

      Walk away. Now. Before you do something you’ll regret.

      He pivoted and grabbed Evangeline’s hand to escape in the opposite direction. They’d only taken a couple of steps when the men skirted them, blocking their path again.

      “Hey, what’s your hurry?” the short one asked and leered at Evangeline, his gaze on her legs. “We’re just doing our job.”

      If the smarmy little rat didn’t get his dirty mind out of the gutter, Matthew would remove it from his skull. Through his nose. “Insulting people who are trying to walk down the street is not your job.”

      “No, satisfying the public’s curiosity is. And we’re all curious. What’s Eva up to now? Who’s the mysterious man escorting her around Venice?” The taller one shoved a small recorder at Matthew, nearly chipping a tooth. “You tell us. We leave. Easy.”

      “We already said—” Matthew backhanded the recorder away “—no comment.”

      He shrugged. “Then we’ll write our own story. Eva does Venice with an American schoolteacher on holiday. Eva’s new beau—disinherited playboy after her money? Eva sleeps her way into a modeling contra—”

      Matthew’s fist connected with the reporter’s smug mouth. He reeled backward, smashing into the other reporter.

      God, that had felt good. He shook out his throbbing knuckles.

      The man regained his balance, touched his bleeding lip and glanced at his fingers. “I’m pressing charges.”

      “See you in court. Until then, stay away from us.”

      He spun and herded Evangeline through the throng of wide-eyed onlookers and down a side street free of people. They didn’t talk, but she grasped his tingling hand tightly.

      His heart rate still in the upper stratosphere, he paused in a dark alcove. “You okay?”

      “Are you?” She touched his face, tentatively. “I’ve never seen you like that.”

      “Never been like that.” He’d never punched anyone in his life. Not even Lucas, though his brother had surely asked for it on many an occasion. Matthew handled conflict with his brain. Usually. Nothing with Evangeline worked like usual. “The things they were saying were hurtful. No one has the right to treat you that way.”

      She melted into his arms. “Thank you,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I can’t tell you what that meant to me.”

      It had been pure reaction. No thought to consequences. No reason involved. Just a ferocious drive to protect Evangeline from being hurt.

      He held her close and his pulse shuddered anew. Amber would have been horrified. Not grateful. Amber didn’t let much affect her and would have blown off reporters with some practiced sound bite. He’d never had a reason to protect her. A reason to be jealous. A reason to feel like he was dancing across a high wire with no net and not only craved the danger but kept asking for more.

      Amber was gone.

      And if he didn’t disentangle himself from Evangeline soon, the man Amber had married would be gone, too. Then who would he be?

      * * *

      The next afternoon, Evangeline stretched out on the couch with Matt’s iPad and downloaded a fluffy beach-read novel to entertain her while he took a shower. She needed a distraction from the slimy swirl those reporters had put in her stomach. The media had been a part of her life for a long time, and they’d never bothered her until after the surgery.

      Now they just made her sick—physically, deep inside.

      When Matt came downstairs, hair still a little damp and darkly golden, she forgot about the story on the page and watched him cross the room. Delicious. He still made her shiver despite the fact that she knew exactly what was underneath that waffle-print shirt and jeans. Maybe because she knew.

      But it wasn’t the body that got her going.

      Matt had jarred something loose the moment he smashed that reporter in the face. It was far more than what he’d done with Milano Sera’s people. That had been simply an extraction. The incident with the reporters—something else entirely. She’d never felt anything like it, the rush of release, the empowerment of knowing he valued her enough to stand up to the evils of the world.

      He had her back. No one ever had before.

      “Busy?” he asked.

      “Nope.” She laid the tablet on the coffee table.

      What could possibly compete with his attention? She loved being his focal point, morning, noon and night. Sure these were extraordinary circumstances, but no doubt he operated the same in real life, with his full commitment on whatever was in front of him. Matt did everything wholeheartedly.

      “Do you know if Vincenzo is home today?”

      She shrugged. “I think so. I saw him come home early this morning when I was washing the breakfast dishes. I doubt he’s even awake yet. Why?”

      “I’m having something delivered. A surprise. Call him and ask if you can hang out over there for an hour. No peeking, either.” With a mischievous smile, he snagged her hand and crossed her heart for her.

      The area under her fingertip lurched sweetly. “A surprise? For me? What is it?”

      He shook his head and mimed zipping his lips. “You’ll see soon enough. Call.”

      Mystified and with no small amount of curiosity, she woke Vincenzo from his postdebauchery sleep and announced she was coming over.

      Vincenzo answered the door with a bad case of bedhead and a worse attitude. She flounced past him into the living room and perched on the sofa. “You don’t have to entertain me. Go back to bed.”

      Their friendship went back a couple of years, hinging on a mutual love of parties and a glittering social scene, but it had never been deep and meaningful. Like most of her relationships. Except one.

      He eyed her. “Trouble in paradise, cara?”

      “What, you mean between me and Matt?” She flicked off his concern with a wave. “He’s surprising me with something.”

      She’d told Vincenzo very little about her relationship with Matt. On purpose. It didn’t have the same transcendence when explained to an outsider.

      Vincenzo jiggled his dark brows. “An engagement ring?”

      Automatically, she started to deny it. But what if it was? No. Surely not. Venice was a temporary arrangement.

      “He’d stick that in his pocket. Wouldn’t he?”

      She glanced at her hand, bare of jewelry since she’d ripped off Rory’s ring and flushed it. Matt wasn’t proposing. No way. He was looking for a way home, not a new wife. There were too many ghosts flitting through his heart for that.

      “I am not an expert in matters of marriage.” Vincenzo lifted one shoulder and shuffled in the direction of the marble staircase to the second floor, calling out, “Lock the door