“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 direction of her thoughts heated her up fast despite the chill in the air. But who could blame her for going there when the man’s mouth made her blood boil?
There was this strange awareness between them, which she’d felt the moment he’d turned to face her in the foyer. It was almost a recognition, as if she’d seen him many times, but had never quite caught up with him to start a conversation.
Yet he’d never removed his mask. She knew he had a chiseled jaw to match his well-defined mouth and a solid chest under his lapels, but that was it. The rest of his face remained hidden, like his body, his hopes, his disappointments...the mystery of it whet her appetite for more.
“Ever been on a speed date?” she asked him.
He took a sip of champagne and shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
She doubted he’d ever have a need to resort to such a thing. Dating as a whole never worked for her. Men usually fell into three categories: starstruck, unavailable or opportunist.
Rory was firmly in the last category. His rejection had been crushing, especially after losing her voice. She’d thought of all people, he’d understand and would sympathize. That he’d be there for her during the worst crisis of her life. Instead, he couldn’t dump her fast enough. On the bright side, he’d cured her of any desire to have a man in her life permanently.
Which made her masked friend exactly what the doctor ordered.
“I haven’t either, but I always wanted to. It seems like fun.”
“I’m always up for fun. What does it entail?”
She loved the way he talked, like it never occurred to him that normal people’s vocabulary didn’t usually include words like entail. And like it never occurred to him that she hadn’t gone to college. He treated her as if she possessed intelligence. That was potent.
“Well, to the best of my knowledge, there’s a time limit. We have to get to know each other as quickly as possible before the bell rings. It’s designed so you can figure out if you’re compatible in a short period of time.”
He cocked his head, lips pursed. “I already know I like you. Why do we need to have a speed date to figure that out?”
She shook her head, gaze glued to his. A part of her wanted to take this instant attraction to its natural conclusion as fast as possible. But no smart girl jumped into the pool without at least some clue how deep it was.
“Consider it part of the application process. There’s a spark here, and I’m curious to see what happens if we fan it.”
His irises flared. “Just so I’m clear, how does the time limit factor in?”
“Ask as many questions as you want, as fast as you can, and when the timer on my phone goes off, you’re going to kiss me.”
His palm cupped her face, tilting it up to almost meet his. “What if we skip the timer and I kiss you right now?”
“That’s no fun.” She firmly removed his hand from her chin, only to lose it to her hair as he threaded his fingers through the loose curls not caught up in her feather headpiece.
His warm thumb rested in the hollow behind her ear, brushing it lightly. “Clearly you need a refresher on how good my lips feel on yours.”
The shiver went deeper this time, and a nice