“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“I don’t know what it’s supposed to do. I just couldn’t stand it being between us.”
Matthew went cold. “Are you disappointed I didn’t recognize you?”
When she’d removed her mask, he’d thought the jolt of recognition was uncanny. Had his subconscious simply remembered her from a halftime show?
The disappointment sharpened and stuck in his gut. Then faded abruptly. He’d felt something between them long before he saw her face.
“No, relieved.” She clutched his hand. “My fame doesn’t bother you? I have a lot of money. Does it change anything?”
“Not in the slightest.”
She wasn’t just wrong for Matthew Wheeler; she was in a whole other stratosphere of incompatibility, with a life full of limos, designer drugs and glittery celebrities. Hell, she was a glittery celebrity and glittery didn’t gel with the blue bloods in his circles. But he’d realized they were wrong for each other five minutes after meeting, and though he desperately wanted to find a way to get back home, that wasn’t happening today.
This was a finite Venetian affair, and Matt didn’t care who she was. She made him feel alive for the first time in eighteen months, and that made her perfect for right this minute.
“Since we’re going full bore on disclosures, I have money, too. I bought this palazzo as a wedding gift to Amber, my wife. In Dallas, I was a partner in a multimillion dollar real estate firm and drove an Escalade. Then I dumped all my responsibilities and jumped on a plane. I have little to offer anyone right now. Should I have told you that before we got involved? Does it change things for you?”
If it did, he wouldn’t blame her. He was a bad bet emotionally.
“Is that what we are? Involved?” Some snap crept back into her eyes.
“Yeah. Wasn’t looking for it, wasn’t planning on it. I left Dallas to regain my sanity after my wife died, and I finally feel like that’s possible, thanks to you.” He slid a thumb down her jaw. “Stay.”
“Matt,” she whispered, and her palms came up to frame his face. “This is crazy. We just met.”
“Tell me you’re ready to walk away and I’ll show you to the door.”
She shook her head. Hard. “But you don’t want to be seen in public with me. Someone always recognizes me. Then the harassment starts, rehashing how my career is over.” Her eyes filled again. “It’s not a lot of fun.”
There was the source of all that anguish he’d sensed. This amazing, beautiful butterfly had been damaged beyond repair, and the public refused to let her forget. A fierce, protective instinct tightened his arms around her, filling him with a heavy impulse to do something to fix it for her, to help her.
They’d both lost something, and perhaps she needed him as much as he needed her, though she seemed much less willing to admit it.
In order to get her to stay—to give them both the peace they desperately sought—the terms might have to be less structured than he would like.
“Good. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to share you.” He gestured toward the room at large. “Inside these walls, we can block out the rest of the world and just be together. I need that. If you do too, then go to Vincenzo’s, get your stuff and stay here for as long as that’s true. When it’s not, leave. No rules. No expectations.”
It was crazy. And rash. So unlike a guy who missed his wife and valued commitment. That was the reason it worked, why he and Evangeline gelled, because he wasn’t that guy right now.
Crazy was what made it great.
Six
Evangeline sneaked into Vincenzo’s without stumbling over any passed-out revelers.
Once in her room, she threw on a sweater over Matt’s T-shirt and stabbed her legs into jeans. Then she packed her suitcases in preparation for either the biggest mistake of her life or the smartest thing she’d ever done.
Jury was still out on which one Matt was. But she was willing to see what unfolded as they blocked out the world for a few days, especially with the caveat of his consent to leave whenever things got too stifling.
Roots weren’t possible for someone like her, who fed from new experiences and new destinations. Who knew the dangers of staying in one place too long and allowing someone to matter. Being with a man who got that was huge.
So was the fact that he wasn’t in a hurry to get rid of her.
When he’d asked her to stay, he still had no idea who she was—she could tell. And somehow, that had been the clincher. Eva ceased to have any relevance. Actually, it hadn’t been a factor between them all along and she’d never had that. What started as a short-term anonymous encounter had accidentally turned into something else.