Pregnant by Morning(20)

“I like that position pretty well, too,” she murmured, and he grinned.

“It has its merits.” Her cheek rubbed his, bristling his morning stubble. As decadent as it was to still be in bed, they had to get up sometime. “Are you hungry? I’ll make you breakfast.”

It probably sounded as much like a stall tactic to her as it did to him. He didn’t care. Too many things in his life had ended prematurely, and if she left, he’d probably never see her again. That would be a true shame.

“Do you mind if I take a shower first?” She made a noise. “I forgot, I don’t have any of my stuff. Does the offer of a T-shirt still stand?”

“Sure. Give me a minute in the bathroom and then it’s all yours.” He eased her off his thighs and took shameless delight in watching his uninhibited butterfly roll onto her back, still breathing heavily.

Matthew pulled a T-shirt from the dresser and tossed it next to her on the bed. He bent down to kiss her thoroughly because he could, then whistled as he dressed and went downstairs to scare up some breakfast.

Whistled.

He’d be shocked, except his ability to be shocked had disappeared right around the time Evangeline had presented her naked backside and told him to hop on board. She was the most exciting woman he’d ever met, and under normal circumstances, real-estate mogul Matthew Wheeler would bore her instantly.

But this was Venice, and he was a guy who could keep up with Evangeline and talk about spiritual connections without flinching because there were no rules. Being Matt was liberating.

The updated plumbing in Palazzo D’Inverno only went so far, and when Evangeline turned on the shower upstairs, pipes rattled inside the kitchen walls. It was like music. His cold, lonely house was filled with Evangeline, and he liked it. A lot.

When she came downstairs clad in only his T-shirt, bare legs on display and wet hair dark against her shoulders, every drop of saliva in his mouth dried up.

“How do you make cotton look so good?”

He handed her a glass of orange juice.

“One of my natural talents.”

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him as if they were a couple comfortable in the kitchen dance from having performed it so many times. Sipping the juice, she perched on one of two stools at the center island and watched him at the stove.

“I hope eggs and toast are okay.” He glanced over his shoulder and nearly dropped the spatula at the sight of such a tousled, stunning woman in his kitchen. “I guess I should have asked.”

“It’s fine. I don’t do whacked-out diets or lament about animal rights. I just eat.”

“I like that in a woman.”

“I like a man who cooks.”

They traded scorching hot glances until the scent of toast filled the air. He pulled it from the toaster and plated everything, then sat next to her at the island.

This was the first time he’d eaten a meal with a woman in...too long to recall. He’d missed the simple pleasure of awaking to warm female, of sharing a bathroom. Laughing and making love whenever the mood struck.

He missed being married, more than he’d realized. No amount of wishing, cursing, grieving or wandering could bring Amber back, though he’d irrationally tried it all. He could only embrace what was possible.

“So,” he said after swallowing a bite of toast. “Do you have plans for the weekend?”

“It’s Wednesday. The weekend is a long way off.”

At home, his calendar filled months in advance and he lived by his schedule. In Venice, he’d learned calendars were a dirty word, which he still hadn’t adjusted to. “I’d like to see you again. Maybe go on a date.”

He definitely wasn’t done with what Evangeline made him feel.

She put her fork down with all the fanfare of a royal announcement. “I’m not so big on dating.”

“Oh.” The brush-off. Apparently he was rustier at this than he’d realized, because he’d have sworn they had something going on here. “What are you big on?”

Her gravelly laugh surprised him. “You.”

“Uh, okay.” To stall, he shoveled food into his mouth and chewed slowly. His wits did not gather. “Can I assume you are that into me then?”

“Matt.” She sighed, and it didn’t reassure him. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time. But—”

“Why does there have to be a but? I’m the best thing. Roll with that.” He encouraged her with a finger twirl, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Negotiation time—his best skill. She was in for a surprise if she thought there was a chance in hell he was letting her get away.