Pregnant by Morning(14)

It flowed from Matthew’s mouth like a prayer. Yes. That fit this angelic, winged woman who had bared herself to him in more ways than one.

He drank in her face, and it jolted something inside, as if his soul had done a double take and said, There you are.

“Angie is a nickname. Evangeline is who I am.”

A nameless emotion tightened his throat. “I’m honored you trusted me with it.”

She’d done far more than simply remove her mask. The significance of it sent a flood of guilt through him. Guilt because he could shed his physical mask—but not his internal one.

And still he drew off his mask and dropped it to the floor. “Allow me to reciprocate.”

For a long while, she fixated on his face. His neck heated. Who would have thought taking off a mask could provoke such intensity?

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Most people call me by my given name, but if you want to address me as God, I won’t argue.”

She laughed, pushing her firm breasts into his chest. “Way to defuse the moment. That’s a rare talent.”

He’d intended to diffuse his own embarrassment at her frank admiration, which even Amber had expressed infrequently. But if Evangeline chose to believe he had superpowers, so much the better.

“Are we finished with the revelations?” he asked.

“Not even close. Now that I’ve seen what’s under that mask, I’m dying to peel away this suit—” she flicked his bow tie “—and get a look at the rest of the goods.”

“I hope it meets with your expectations.” His voice dropped. Nerves. Of all things.

Before fully internalizing the implications, he swept Evangeline into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom.

“Any man who can do that without having to catch his breath most definitely has a body that’ll meet my expectations,” she said as he laid her on the bed. “Oh, wow. That’s quite a fresco.”

Matthew glanced up at the ceiling, where stucco divided sixteen individual paintings last touched by a brush during the Renaissance. “It’s my favorite.”

“I like it, too. I’ll lie here and look at it while you fetch the condoms out of my clutch. Which is downstairs.” She flipped him a cheeky grin as he cursed.

He cursed some more as he tromped back down the narrow stairs in search of the errant bag. It was still attached to her dress, but instead of pulling out a couple of condoms—because who was he to question how many they’d need—he untied it and brought the whole thing.

The bulging sides of Evangeline’s clutch induced a healthy dose of reality. He was about to have sex with a virtual stranger, one whose face he’d seen for the first time less than ten minutes ago. Halfway up the stairs, he paused.

Was he really going to go through with this?

It was one night. One night in which he had an opportunity to turn the tide of his grief and rejoin the living by spending time with a beautiful woman who made him feel ten feet tall—feel being the operative word. One night when he could act recklessly with no one the wiser. He was in the most romantic city in the world, perhaps on purpose, and he wanted all that Venice had to offer.

Evangeline was draped across the cream-colored comforter when he strode through the bedroom door. She studied the ceiling with pursed lips, hair spread out underneath her and breasts freely on display. That lack of inhibition—it staggered him. Excited him.

His body hardened in anticipation, and his fingers tingled as he recalled the smoothness of her bare skin. This one night was a rare offer from the universe, and he was incredibly lucky to get it.

She glanced over with a sultry smile. “You. Come here.”

Only a fool would pass up what was clearly fate.

With one hand, he got rid of his shoes and socks as he crossed the room. He tossed her clutch on a pillow and stared at her gorgeous form, flawless in the lamplight. “Hold on a minute.”

He pulled a book of matches from his bedside drawer and lit the candles lining ornate sconces on each side of the bed, then clicked off the light.

“Nice. You could have gotten me here a lot faster if you’d said that was the first thing you’d do once I’m naked.” She sat up and grasped his lapels, drawing off his jacket with a quick yank. “And you have on too many clothes. I’m feeling self-conscious here.”

He let the jacket fall to the floor. “I can’t imagine why. You’re beautiful.”

Flames flickered over her skin and threw honey highlights into her curls.

Her hands, which had been busy with his tie, rested flat on his chest, and she rose up on her knees to meet his gaze. A hundred emotions poured from her expression, passing between them in silent communication.