Kat Cantrell - Pregnant By Morning

It was so very right.

This woman was not at all his type—too glittery, too sensual, too beautiful. He couldn’t imagine introducing her to his mother or taking her to a museum opening where they’d rub shoulders with the elite of Dallas.

But he didn’t care.

For the first time since Amber died, he felt alive. His heart beat in his chest and blood flowed through his veins and a woman was kissing him. He reveled in these small clues that he hadn’t been buried alongside his wife.

After an eternity passed in a blink, she broke away and stared up at him, her breath coming in short gasps. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He hadn’t kissed a woman other than Amber in five years and as a reintroduction to the art, it was off the map. Surely she’d felt some of the same heat.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

“Yes, you absolutely should have.”

He might be out of practice, but she was still firmly in his arms, and a woman who hadn’t just had her world shaken to the foundation would have stepped away by now.

She inhaled sharply, her chest pushing against his and stroking the flame higher. “Not under false pretenses. I have to come clean. My ex is here, and that was a poor attempt to hide from him.”

“I beg to differ. As attempts go, I thought it was pretty good.”

A quavery laugh slipped out from her kiss-reddened lips and then she did step away, out of his embrace. But not too far.

“Just so you know, I don’t go around kissing random men.”

“There’s an easy way to fix that. I’d be happy to introduce myself and thus eliminate the randomness.”

“That would be awesome because I’m pretty sure I’m going to kiss you again.”

She had felt it.

The thrill swept all the way to the soles of his feet. Tonight, he was someone else, and as it seemed to be working out well so far, why screw around with it?

“Matt. My name is Matt.”

It flowed from his mouth effortlessly, though he’d never been Matt in his life. But right here, right now, he liked Matt a hell of lot. Matt wasn’t bogged down in inertia and terrified he’d never find his way out. Matt hadn’t walked away from all his responsibilities at home or lain awake at night, eaten with guilt over it. Matt hadn’t drifted around the world in search of something he suspected didn’t exist, only to land in Venice holed up in a cold, lonely palazzo.

Matt had fun and kissed costumed women at parties and maybe got to second base before the end of the night.

She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Matt. You can call me Angie.”

Angie. It was too harsh, too common for such a delicate and ethereal woman. The careful phrasing tipped him off that it wasn’t her real name, but since he’d similarly hedged, he couldn’t exactly complain.

“Which one is your ex? So we can steer clear.”

Since she’d been trying to hide, he assumed the breakup had been nasty and not Angie’s choice.

Surreptitiously, 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.