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‘So it was Isabella that led me to your father. And it was your father that seemed to be the first person I’d met that understood me,’ she finished with an apologetic shrug, hoping her words didn’t reignite Mateo’s hurt.
When she looked up, she was surprised to find that Mateo had left the chair and crossed the room. He was further away than he had been in Spain, but her heart still fluttered in her chest like a bird. The scent that had almost hypnotised her before was still there, taunting her. Hope for something she did not want to name still filled her lungs, making it hard for her to catch a breath.
He looked at her, his gaze unfathomable, but long and steady, as if telling her that he saw her too. Not that he understood her, but that hesawher, and that was almost too much for her to bear.
She went to turn away, but his hand caught her chin and gently guided her back. ‘Don’t. I... I’m glad you had that with him. I’m glad he was there for you in a way that you needed.’
She wished he wouldn’t use words likeneedwhen he was that close to her, when she was this vulnerable. He was talking about his father, and all she could think of was how he’d kissed her. How he’d prised open her lips with his own, how his tongue had filled her in a way that made her both full and hungry at the same time.
Her breath caught and he dropped his gaze to her lips. Desire flashed like fireworks in the espresso-rich depths of his irises. For an exquisite moment he leaned towards her, the move barely perceptible, but enough for her to feel the puff of his breath against her lips. She angled her head towards him just when he released her from his touch and stepped back as if to emphasise the distance he wanted between them.
Desire turned to shame in a single twist of a heartbeat. Once again she was that naïve girl with her first crush, humiliated by how badly she had misread the situation.
A sob replaced hope, hurt replaced desire and she quickly spun away from him, half running to get her wrap and the box containing the octant. She had to get out of there before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
‘Evelyn, wait,’ he called after her, but it was too late. Tears were already blurring her vision, but as she blindly reached out for the wooden box it slipped in her cold hands and crashed to the floor, hitting the side of the table, cracking open and landing on the octant.
The gasp that cut through the room echoed with Mateo’s own shock as he pulled her back just in time from reaching for a jagged metal piece and cutting herself. Cursing, he led her over to the couch, leaving her only long enough to pour a measure of whisky into a glass and making her drink it. His own shock was almost as acute as hers.
‘It’s okay, Evie,’ he said, using the shorter version of her name for the first time and not even noticing.
‘Oh, my God.’ She looked up at him, eyes wide and tears gathering. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t... I’m sorry.’
He shushed her gently and took the octant carefully from her to inspect the damage. Casting his eye over it, he could tell that the bottom arc of the device was a little bent, but it was the crack in the bone inlay along the back of the arc that was the most obvious. His heart dropped, even as he tried to comfort her.
‘This can be repaired,’ he lied.
But she shook her head back and forth. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not about whether it can be fixed...’ She held her hand out for it and he gave it back to her, watching as she gently ran her finger over the crack. She shook her head again, but then stopped. Frowning, she brought it closer to her face as if she’d seen something.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know... I think... Is that paper?’ she asked, seemingly of herself. ‘Can you pass me my bag?’
He retrieved the leather briefcase she’d dropped by the door of the suite and gave it to her, taking a seat in the chair beside the sofa.
After rummaging around in the bag, she took out a pair of tweezers and gently went at the crack in the octant, poking the tweezers into the crack and retrieving what looked like the smallest roll of paper he’d ever seen.
He stared in disbelief as she put the octant to one side, and gently prised open the ancient piece of paper.
‘What are they?’ he asked, even though he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew very well what the figures were.
Evie looked up at him, shock turning to surprise, excitement replacing horror. ‘I think... I think they might be coordinates.’
CHAPTER SIX
MATEOWISHEDSHEwouldn’t pace like that in the suite. With every movement she made, sequins shimmered and shivered across her lithe form and he couldn’t look away. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and bit back a curse, turning to glare at the tiny piece of paper with numbers scratched onto it from four centuries ago as if it were to blame.
‘I understand,’ Evelyn said into the phone she’d been on for the last half-hour. ‘Yes, I agree.’
Angry. He was angry. A worryingly large amount of pent-up energy was coursing through his veins and he realised that he’d subconsciously been echoing Evelyn’s movements and pacing the suite himself.
Basta ya.
He caught her eye and gestured to the door to the bedroom and en suite. She nodded absently and went back to her phone call. He stalked through the door, past the large bed that taunted him, and into the bathroom.
Running the cold tap, he splashed water on his face in an attempt to shock him out of whatever funk he was in. But in his heart of hearts, he knew it wouldn’t work. Because what he felt in that moment was guilt. Guilt, anger, frustration. Had his father been right? All these years, all the anger and hatred he’d directed towards him for choosing to chase a fantasy over his responsibilities, and in actual fact his father had been the only one to see the truth?
He punched the marble countertop in a fit of fury. He wanted to roar, to yell, to swear and break, but Evelyn was only a room away and he didn’t want her to see that. Evelyn, the woman who had been the only one to support his father.
