she glanced behind her, then faced him again. Her soft brown eyes bored into his, luminous with appreciation. “He’s over there, on the couch with the little blonde.”
Matthew located what had to be the couple she meant. They were locked in a torrid embrace, and the guy’s hands were down the blonde’s dress. Ouch. Not only was her ex at the same party but also not much for public decency.
“They didn’t get the memo? This is a masked ball.”
“I like you,” she said with a decisive nod.
He grinned. “I like you, too.”
“That’s good, because I intend to thoroughly use you. I hope you won’t be offended.”
Matthew’s eyebrow shot up. “That depends, I suppose, on what you plan to use me for. And I really hope it’s in the same vein as kissing me to hide from lover boy over there.”
Apparently Matt knew how to flirt, too. There was no other explanation for such blatant come-ons.
Her tongue wet her lips, and the way she did it—while eyeing his lips at the same time—clamped down hard on his lower half. “You just became my new boyfriend.”
“Excellent. I didn’t realize I’d applied, but I’m gratified to have survived the rigorous selection process.”
She laughed, and that gravelly timbre sliced through his gut anew. “Just for tonight. I can’t stand the thought of anyone feeling sorry for me because I’m here alone. Pretend we’re together, and I’ll buy you breakfast.”
Breakfast? He might be in for an evening with a little more action than he’d envisioned.
Was that what he wanted?
“I’m not the slightest bit offended. Unless I’m the backup choice. Is your real boyfriend otherwise engaged?”
“Very nicely done. But unnecessary. You don’t have to be all casual-like if you want to know whether I’m available. Just ask.”
Dang, he was out of practice. But dating had felt like such a betrayal. For so long, he couldn’t, and when he finally deemed himself ready, no one appealed to him. Even if he’d dated every one of the sophisticated, demure women in Dallas angling for an invitation to dinner, none of them had wings.
He swallowed and dived in. “Angie, are you seeing anyone?”
“Yeah, this guy named Matt.” She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, like she’d done in the hall when they first met. It was becoming something he enjoyed thoroughly. “And he’s really hot, too.”
“Really?” No one had ever referred to him as hot. At least not to his face. The notion buzzed through his heightened senses and settled in nicely. “I must know more about this guy.”
“I’d like to, as well. Vincenzo’s got a great balcony on the second floor. Grab a couple of glasses of champagne and meet me there.”
She turned and threw a saucy glance over her shoulder as she swayed in the direction of the stone staircase beyond the roulette tables.
He couldn’t comply fast enough. Lucas would definitely see what this sexy little butterfly had in mind, and Matt was pretty curious, too. This was one night where anything might happen, and for once, he was looking forward to the possibilities.
* * *
The balcony overlooked a closed-off side courtyard that had fallen into disrepair. The small space above was poorly lit and cold, but had the bonus of being Rory and Sara free.
Evangeline was confident Matt wouldn’t recognize Rory, as her new friend didn’t seem the type to listen to punk rock, but her ex-fiancé’s picture did end up next to hers with alarming frequency, even six months later. She couldn’t be too careful.
Vincenzo’s entertainment system vibrated the stone below her feet. In the distance, the revelry at San Marco drifted along the streets, wrapping the city in festive noise. Singing, instruments, the pop of what might be fireworks, all of it blended into the mystique that was Carnevale. And, for a moment, she was by herself at the world’s largest party.
She didn’t have to wait long for Matt. Her masked companion came through the unlocked French door with two champagne flutes balanced expertly in one capable hand. It was February in Venice, but the shiver that twisted her back had nothing to do with the temperature.
Thank God she hadn’t ditched him. If she had, she’d have run smack into Rory and missed the single most perfect kiss in the history of time. As stand-in boyfriends went, Matt had it going on. And he’d kissed her headache away, too.
She could find worse company to stave off the perpetual loneliness. Especially among Vincenzo’s friends.
Matt handed her a glass and clinked the rims in an echo of their first toast. “This balcony is very difficult to find. How did you know it was here?”
Without the muddle of loud music, his voice was nice—clear, with a hint of the South running through it.
“I’m staying with Vincenzo. My room is down the hall.”
“Oh? How do you know Vincenzo, Angie?”
Only her mother called her Angie, so it had seemed safe enough to use the name, though she regretted the necessity. Matt was a genuinely nice human being, someone she’d probably never have connected with under normal circumstances.
“Friend of a friend. You?”
As he was well-spoken and had far more class than Vincenzo’s typical wealthy, spoiled buddies, she’d pegged him as a casual acquaintance.
“I’m staying next door.”
Well, that made sense. Here on business and renting for the duration, most likely.
“Will you be in Venice long?”
Below the mask, his mouth turned down. “I’m not sure.”
As she knew exactly the tone one used to say back off, she didn’t press him, though now she was curious what his business in Venice might be. Shipping, maybe. She’d never dated a businessman and rarely interacted with people in that realm unless it involved contracts.
Whatever his livelihood, it was to remain a secret for the time being, and since she had secrets of her own, that was fine. She tossed back some champagne, let the bubbles fizz across her tongue and contemplated this very intriguing stand-in boyfriend.
Of course, if they stayed on this balcony, she didn’t really need a companion, coerced or otherwise, as a shield from questions and ex-fiancés. So maybe she needed him for something else entirely.
She was alone in the most romantic city in the world, and Matt represented a golden opportunity to change that for one magical evening, then leave before he realized who she was. Loneliness went hand in hand with the fresh scars of rejection that kept reminding her not to let anyone get too close.
But an anonymous encounter—that was a horse of a different color. If he didn’t know who she was, he couldn’t reject her.
The
