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Whoosh.
They had gone up in flames.
A flicker moved in the mirror in the corner of the room and he clenched his jaw. It didn’t matter if they’d burned down Rome, she wasn’t here for him. All she’d wanted was his father’s notebook. Mateo turned back, finishing doing up the last button on his shirt, came out of the walk-in wardrobe and stalked towards her.
‘Better?’ he asked, somewhat peevishly.
‘Much, thank you,’ Evie replied primly and could finally stop averting her gaze so much. Though she wished he wouldn’t glare so much. Something about the way he peered at her beneath those strong, dark brows made her feel too similar to how she’d felt when he’d... She cleared her throat. ‘As I was trying to explain, I’ve been hoping to speak to you about your father’s notebook.’
‘And when you couldn’t, you thought you’d just take it instead?’
While she searched for a way to answer that question, her eyes tracked him as he crossed to the mantel above the fireplace and poured a finger of whisky into a crystal-cut glass.
‘Want one?’ he asked far too casually for her liking.
She shook her head. All she wanted was to take what she’d come here for and get back to her hotel. Being near him after that kiss, it was all too confusing. Her pulse was still racing, and every time he looked at her she felt it almost like a physical touch. She cursed her pale skin as she felt the blush rise again on her cheeks, because without taking his eyes from her once, he lifted the glass, drained it, and poured himself another.
She opened her mouth to advise him to perhaps take it easy, and once again his raised eyebrow dared her to intervene. Pressing her lips together and biting her tongue, she looked around the room, hoping for a reprieve from the intensity of his focus.
She took it all in, even as she felt the hot, heavy press of his gaze. The bed had surprised her at first, but that was because she had imagined the bookshelves as part of a bigger library. A desk sat between two impossibly large bookcases, in front of a bay window. But the desk itself was oddly familiar; that deep forest-green leather topping the dark mahogany table-top, with drawers either side of the seating area. Perhaps if she got close enough, she’d see a ring mark in the top right-hand—
‘It’s a different one.’
She glanced back at him, unnerved that he had read her thoughts so easily.
‘The desk. It’s not his,’ Mateo clarified unnecessarily, his tone so balanced she couldn’t read the emotion that lay hidden beneath it.
‘Mr Marin. This really has been an unfortunate misunderstanding.’
‘Of course it has,’ he replied, throwing her words back at her.
She ground her back teeth together to prevent herself from saying something stupid. Inhaled, counted to five and exhaled slowly. ‘I waited. Outside your office, this afternoon, and when I came here—’
‘How did you get my address, by the way?’ he interrupted easily, infuriating her—in part because she still felt guilty about it.
‘I saw your address on the desk while your assistant was making me a tea,’ she said, hoping Mateo wouldn’t blame the young, out-of-his-depth staff member.
‘Huh,’ was all the reply he gave as he watched her over his whisky glass. ‘He’s a temp,’ he said, half apologetically. ‘Of course, had my usual secretary been present, you would have been seen, and sent away again within minutes, I assure you.’
Without the notebook. That was theunspoken conclusion to the sentence she heard. And once again his absolute refusal to listen or try to understand her—just as he had done with his father—grated on nerves already raw.
‘I came here to speak to you and explain,’ she tried again, ‘but there was a party and I was mistaken as a waitress,’ she said, gesturing to her clothes and then regretting it as Mateo’s slow gaze tracked her body, ‘and before I knew it, I had a tray in my hand.’
‘Clearly it would have been too much for you to simply explain that you weren’t the hired help for this evening?’
She bristled at the superiority in his choice of words.
‘Well. Here I am now, listening. Why do you want the notebook so badly?’
‘I need it to...to...’ Evie bit her lip, remembering the NDA in time to stop herself from breaking it, but clearly managing only to look even more idiotic to Mateo than she had before.
Something flashed in his eyes—as if he’d come to a realisation. ‘I can’t believe this,’ he scoffed. ‘You’re going after the treasure?’ He shook his head at her as if he was disappointed in her. ‘It’s a fool’s errand,’ he stated, looking at her as if she had utterly lost her mind. He was shaking his head, even before he said his next words. ‘No. You can’t have the notebook. I’m doing this for your own good. You’ll thank me one day,’ he said, pointing a finger at her that she wanted to grab and pull—hard.
Anger shot through her, twinning with frustration. How many times had—and would—people tell her what was best for her?
You’re not ready for it.
You don’t have the life experience for it yet.
