The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection - Кэрол Мортимер Mills & Boon e-Book Collections

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Who am I going to be for the rest of my life?”

      Yes. That was the million-dollar question. Evangeline voiced things he could hardly define, let alone articulate. They gelled because she struggled in exactly the same ways he did.

      And perhaps they’d solve it together.

      “Is there no way to keep a hand in music? Do you play an instrument?”

      “Piano.” She sniffed. “I wrote all my songs.”

      An odd sense of pride filled him with the admission. She’d produced something from nothing, using a creative energy he couldn’t fathom.

      “That’s amazing. I thought other people wrote songs for recording artists.”

      A tune filled his head instantly. Hers. She’d written the notes, sang them. He wished he could have heard her live. Wished he could ask her to sing for him, here in the dark.

      His gut split in two over the loss of something he’d never dreamed he’d want.

      “Other people do write songs, when the artist is just a voice. Like Sara Lear.” She growled. “I hate how catty that sounds. But geez, I could trip and fall into a piano and accidentally write a better song than the ones she sings.”

      Was her ability to connect dots broken or was she too close to see the obvious? “Then do it. Write one for her.”

      She shook her head against his shoulder. “I can’t.”

      “Can’t, or don’t want to?” he countered softly.

      “The words...they’ve all dried up.”

      “They’ll come. You’re an artist who isn’t just a voice.” He stroked her hair. “You’ll figure it out. We’ll both figure it out, and in the meantime, we’ll hold each other in the dark and lay it all out there.”

      “Matt?” More snuffling. “I’m glad I stayed. I don’t stay as a rule. No rules is nice for once.”

      Finally, he breathed a little easier. The conversation could have veered into something ugly. But he’d navigated it pretty well—he hoped—despite a distinct lack of experience with damaged souls, his or anyone else’s. His relationship with Amber had been straightforward and undemanding. Safe.

      He’d certainly never experienced quite so many highs and lows when she’d been alive.

      “It can’t last. This thing between us,” he clarified. Evangeline was merely passing time with him until she figured out her next steps. She’d said as much. It shouldn’t hollow him out—wasn’t that what they were both doing here?

      “I know that,” he added, “but I can’t stand to be in the valley alone. Please don’t think less of me for selfishly dragging it out.”

      “I don’t think you’re selfish.”

      She wouldn’t. Evangeline was the single most nonjudgmental person he’d come across. He could tell her anything. Had told her things he’d never said out loud. He didn’t worry about disappointing her with his failures. Ironically, because he’d set out to be someone else with her, his internal censor-switch had shut off. He had the freedom to pour out the angst and fear he’d carried for months.

      He wished he had more to give her in return and was suddenly sorry they’d met while they were both still stuck in the valley.

       Nine

      “Let’s go out,” Evangeline announced late one afternoon as they watched a movie, snuggled together on the couch.

      Convinced he’d misheard, Matthew hit the volume, almost dropping the remote. “Out? As in out in public?”

      Other than an occasional rooftop visit, they hadn’t crossed the threshold of Palazzo D’Inverno since the dinner party a couple of weeks ago. He was on a first name basis with the grocery store delivery guy, who delighted in correcting Matthew’s poor Italian.

      “Yeah.” She shrugged. “Take me on a date tonight.”

      “You hate dating.”

      “But I like you.” She fluttered her lashes, coquettishly. “So I’m willing to make sacrifices. I might even let you talk my clothes off after.”

      “What’s going on? Cabin fever?”

      It was certainly starting to get to him. As much fun as Evangeline was—and really, was there such a thing as too much sex?—a slight sense of restlessness wouldn’t go away, no matter what he did.

      “I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t worn makeup in forever. I’d like you to see me in something other than one of your T-shirts.”

      “I like you in my T-shirts. I like you best in nothing at all,” he threw in. “But I could go for some dinner with a beautiful woman.”

      “Dinner and maybe a show.” She leaped off the couch, suddenly animated. “Ooh, I have the perfect dress. I haven’t worn it yet. I’m going to hog the bathroom. Do you need anything out of it?”

      “Nah.” He grinned at her enthusiasm and flipped the channel to a cable news station since the movie clearly wasn’t of interest any longer. “I’ll be here. Waiting. For a long time, I suspect.”

      An hour later, he’d donned a button-up shirt and ironed some pants, the most effort he’d expended to get dressed in ages. Evangeline still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom so he flopped on the couch to amuse himself by flipping through the channels.

      She called his name from the stairs.

      He glanced at her and his heart locked up.

      Evangeline La Fleur had put on yet another mask. She’d transformed into a fantastical vision in a clingy blue dress, honey-brown curls loose around her shoulders, sultry eyes full of mystery and promise, legs shaped by spiked heels that made his mouth water. And he’d kissed every inch of that gorgeous body.

      How could she still punch him so hard without a word when they had few secrets between them any longer?

      A button-up and kakis were far too casual to have that on his arm. Actually, the man in the clothes left a lot to be desired, as well. The glittery superstar walking down his stairs had nothing in common with Matthew Wheeler.

      “Ready?” she asked, her gravelly voice raw and thrilling. Like always. It jump-started his lungs again as he stood to meet her. She was still the same person underneath the mask.

      “I’m not sure. I think you’ve stolen my ability to walk. You’re...I don’t know what to call you. Beautiful is too simple a word. You’re exquisite.” Flustered, he straightened his belt and smoothed his hair. “Sure you want to be seen with me?”

      She laughed, throatily, with her head thrown back. It was genuine and elemental, and he hardened in an instant.

      “I’ll ask you that same question in a little while, when we’ve drawn a lot of unwanted attention. I thought about playing it down, trying to blend. But it would be pointless. Anyway, I wanted to look nice. For you.”

      “For me?” That pleased him, enormously, and he yanked her into his arms, careful not to muss this gorgeous creature. “Thanks. It is a pretty good hit for my ego. And I will thoroughly enjoy looking at you all evening as I imagine what I’ll say to talk your clothes off.”

      Her fingers walked down his chest and dipped into his pants to lightly graze his swollen flesh. “It’ll have to be good. Maybe with some begging.”

      He groaned. “We’re not going to make it out the door if you keep that up.”

      Withdrawing her hand, she smiled with a mischievous curve to her lips. “I’ll save it for later then.”

      Eyes still crossed, he helped her into a coat and

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