She turned so suddenly towards the source of that voice she strained her already stiff neck, putting up a hand to soothe that stiffness as she frowned across to where Michael D’Angelo stood in the doorway. His hair looked dark, presumably from a recent shower, and a black T-shirt now stretched tautly over his muscled chest and flat abdomen, a pair of faded denims resting low down on his lean hips.
He looked...different, in informal clothes. More... Darker. Leaner. Sexier. So much more of the latter that Eva instantly felt the increased rate of her pulse as she continued to look at him, at the same time as she resisted the impulse to fold her arms to conceal the plumping arousal of her breasts.
‘You shouldn’t have let me sleep,’ she accused defensively as a glance at her wristwatch showed it was almost nine o’clock.
‘You were obviously tired...’ Michael’s eyes had narrowed, not at the aggressiveness of her tone, but because he was wondering what had caused the becoming flush that now coloured Eva’s previously pale cheeks, her eyes a dark and unfathomable violet between sooty lashes. ‘Dinner should be delivered in a few minutes,’ he added distractedly.
She pushed back the dark swathe of her hair, revealing the delicate network of veins at her brow. ‘Pizza?’
He smiled slightly. ‘A four-course meal and the appropriate wines from André’s.’
She raised dark brows as she obviously recognised the name of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Paris. ‘Normal people just order pizza...’
‘I would hope I’m a normal person, Eva. I just also happen to like good food.’ Michael gave an unapologetic shrug. ‘I also thought we both deserved more than a snack for dinner as our lunch was such a disaster.’
‘Oh, I’m not complaining,’ she assured ruefully. ‘And I hate to tell you this, but lunch was a typical example of mealtimes with the twins!’
Michael had already guessed that, which was another reason he had decided to order the meal from André’s; Eva’s slenderness was a clear indication that she was in need of an uninterrupted meal, cooked by someone else.
Although Michael wasn’t quite so sure, with his increasing physical awareness of her, about the two of them eating dinner alone together in the intimacy of the adjoining dining room... ‘I thought we could eat in the kitchen?’ he prompted briskly.
‘Fine with me.’ Eva nodded as she stood up to stretch her cramped limbs. ‘I can’t remember the last time I slept so deeply...’ she added with a frown.
He shrugged broad and unconcerned shoulders. ‘You obviously needed it.’
Yes, she had. She had been with her sister constantly during the last seven months of Rachel’s life, and the past three months had been spent sleeping with half an ear open in case one or both of the twins needed her.
Eva had no doubt that she owed the deepness of the nap she had just taken to the fact that she had known instinctively that she could trust Michael D’Angelo to deal with any emergency that might occur while she was sleeping.
He exuded an assured self-confidence that seemed innate, Eva acknowledged as she now looked at him beneath lowered dark lashes. An air of competence as well as confidence.
Just as he also exuded an inherent sexual aura that Eva knew would prevent her from ever feeling completely relaxed in his company...
It was the fact that Michael seemed so unaware, or more likely just uninterested, in the impact of his own sexual attraction on women that made that attraction all the more lethal.
In fact, Eva could never remember being so totally physically aware of a man as she was of the enigmatic Michael D’Angelo at this moment.
Maybe it was because his hair was still damply tousled from the shower, and the informality of the fitted T-shirt and denims made him appear far removed from the cold and incisive businessman she had met at the gallery earlier this morning.
Either way, this awareness, this pulse-pounding body-heating attraction she now felt towards Michael, was totally inappropriate in the circumstances!
‘I think—’
‘I’ll just—’
Eva’s cheeks flushed slightly as she looked across at Michael questioningly.
‘I’ll just go and put out the cutlery and glasses in the kitchen,’ he finished dryly.
Eva nodded. ‘And I’ll go and check on the twins and then finish tidying up in here.’ It wouldn’t take her more than a few minutes; the wreckage the twins left in their wake always looked worse than it was.
Michael grimaced. ‘I would have done it, but I didn’t want to wake you.’
She smiled. ‘Thanks.’
Michael continued to look at Eva for several long seconds as he found himself slightly transfixed by the brightness of her smile; her eyes now glowed a warm violet, her cheeks were rosily flushed, the lushness of her lips relaxed and slightly parted to reveal straight and even teeth.
Eva Foster, when she wasn’t looking angry or harassed, was indeed a very beautiful woman.
Damn it, she was still beautiful even when she was looking angry or harassed!
And this was only day one of his self-imposed nightmare...
* * *
Day one became day two, and then day three, and with each successive day Michael’s awareness of Eva Foster deepened to the point he had felt himself more than once balanced on the edge of taking her in his arms and kissing her. He had nothing but admiration for the selfless way in which she had devoted herself to caring for her sister’s twin babies.
Michael spent his days at the gallery, but Eva and the twins were there waiting for him in his apartment when he returned each evening, and the two of them had fallen into the routine of feeding and bathing the twins together before Michael ordered dinner to be delivered from one of the exclusive restaurants he usually frequented but was currently unable to do so.
They talked as they ate those meals together, exchanging views on everything and nothing. But, as if by tacit consent, neither of them talked of Rafe, or what would happen when his brother returned from his honeymoon.
It was...domesticated. Pleasantly so, in fact, when Michael had always believed that domesticity wasn’t for him.
As for Eva...
Each minute, each hour, Michael spent in her company only served to deepen his attraction to her, to increase his physical awareness of her, to a degree that he had begun to take cold showers before going to bed in an effort to resist the ever-increasing desire he felt to walk the short distance down the hallway that separated their two bedrooms!
By the third evening of Eva’s stay Michael knew his normally rigid control was seriously shaken, so much so he was no longer sure a cold shower was going to be anywhere near enough of a deterrent for the increasing ache he felt to make love with her...
‘That was another delicious meal.’ Eva gave Michael a smile of satiation as he sat across the kitchen table from her watching her intently as she finished the last of the lemon mousse he had ordered for their dessert; Michael certainly knew some amazing Parisian restaurants to order food from!
To her surprise the past two days had been more relaxed than she could ever have hoped for in the circumstances, her days spent sightseeing with the twins, her evenings enjoying eating a leisurely and always delicious meal with Michael.
And, Eva realised, she had enjoyed Michael’s company as much as, if not more than, the delicious food!
He had proved to be both an intelligent and provocative dining companion as they discussed but respected their often differing views on everything from education to global warming. And art. They discussed art, in all its forms, a lot. Which Eva especially loved; it had been too long since she had been able to sit down with another adult and enjoy any intelligent conversation, let alone about her favourite subjects.
And if all of that conversation and those amazing and companionable meals had succeeded in
heightening Eva’s awareness of this relaxed and informal Michael D’Angelo, then that was her problem to deal with, because, her own reservations aside, she knew she was the last person Michael would ever allow himself to be attracted to.
He looked across at her quizzically now. ‘You still haven’t explained how it is you’ve travelled so extensively...?’
Her smile became wistful. ‘It was part of my job. I used to be a photographer,’ she explained at Michael’s questioning look.
‘Well...I suppose I’m still a photographer. Of sorts,’ she added with a grimace. ‘Only I’ve taken a step backwards, and now just do the occasional wedding and christening!’
Michael gave a slow shake of his head. ‘And what did you used to photograph?’
‘Oh, this and that.’ Eva shrugged dismissively, reluctant to talk about what she used to do.
Because it was too painful.
Much as she loved the twins, and was more than happy to stop travelling on assignments while they were so young and needed her with them, she still couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for the career she had necessarily put on hold. It wasn’t for ever, Eva consoled herself—the twins would grow up, go to school, and then maybe she could think about resuming at least part of her career.
In the meantime having the twins meant she still had part of her sister with her. That she could enjoy watching the twins grow up, and telling them, when they were old enough, of the mother who had loved them. Loved them so much she had been willing to die to give them life...
Michael eyed her searchingly as he noticed the sudden sheen of tears in those violet-coloured eyes. ‘Why the reluctance to talk about your work, Eva?’
She shrugged. ‘I just don’t see the point in talking about the past, that’s all.’
No, that wasn’t all, Michael recognised shrewdly. Whatever Eva’s photographic career had been, her reluctance to talk about it now would seem to indicate it was something she had loved doing.
Something she’d had to give up in order to care first for her sister, and then the twins.
Which forced Michael to acknowledge that he hadn’t carried out his initial decision: to find out everything he could about Eva Foster...
Not surprising when his days had been spent so busily at the gallery and his evenings just as busy with Eva and the twins!
Or maybe, inwardly, he had been harbouring the hope that Eva would be the one to tell him about herself...?
‘And if I’m interested...?’ he prompted softly.
‘That’s just too bad,’ she dismissed impatiently as she stood to begin collecting up the last of the dishes from their meal before carrying them over to the counter.
Michael turned in his chair so that he could continue looking at her, watching the suppleness of her body as she loaded the dishwasher, even as he tried to puzzle out this woman who had somehow managed to fascinate him, in spite of himself.
These past few days had been unlike any others he had ever known, and not just because the twins had burst into his life. No, the main reason was Eva, and his interest in her, his attraction to her in spite of himself, and his enjoyment in her company.
He loved his family, enjoyed his work at the galleries, but the women who came briefly into and then out of his life never even came close to knowing the real Michael. Probably because he chose those women for their physical and social attributes, and they chose to be with him, however briefly, because he was one of the wealthy and influential D’Angelo brothers.
At a little over five feet tall, with a lean, slender figure —apart from those firm and thrusting breasts!—Eva Foster was nothing at all like the sophisticated spa-and-beauty-parlour-enhanced women he briefly dated.
Just as Eva had made it clear from the beginning that she didn’t consider his being one of the wealthy and influential D’Angelo brothers as being an asset as far as she was concerned!
As a result, these past few days had been the first time, ever, that Michael had felt as if he and a beautiful and desirable woman had talked openly, honestly, to each other.
And he didn’t want that to change by having Eva clam up on him now.
‘Perhaps if you— Wait a minute!’ Michael sat forward alertly as an idea suddenly occurred to him. An idea that maybe should have occurred to him much sooner than this! ‘Eva Foster...’ he murmured slowly, sharply. ‘Is it possible that you’re the photographer E J Foster?’ He looked across at her searchingly.
Eva blinked as she straightened from loading the dishwasher, her shoulders tensed defensively. ‘How do you know about E J Foster?’ she prompted as she looked across at him warily.
‘I co-own and run three art galleries, Eva,’ Michael reminded dryly. ‘And I consider E J Foster’s photographs to be art in its purest form!’
‘You do...?’ A delicate—and pleased?—flush now coloured her cheeks. As evidence that she was indeed E J Foster?
‘I do.’
Eva couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of pleasure in Michael’s praise of her work. After all, no matter what her personal gripe was against the D’Angelo family, he was Michael D’Angelo, one of the three brothers who owned the prestigious Archangel galleries, and a man, an expert, whom she knew the art world held in deep respect.
Michael stood up abruptly. ‘Come with me.’ He held out his hand to her.
Eva’s wariness increased, her expression guarded as she still held back. ‘Come where?’
‘With me,’ Michael pressed decisively as he continued to hold out his hand invitingly.
Eva wasn’t at all sure about this. Admittedly the two of them seemed to have reached an uneasy truce, considering that Michael suspected her of trying to coerce money out of his brother, and the fact that she wasn’t at all happy about his suggestion that his brother Rafe might perhaps want a hands-on role in his children’s lives.
But Michael was certainly acting very strangely now...
Nor did she feel in the least reassured when she reluctantly took his hand—a strong and firm hand that swallowed up her much smaller one as he curled his fingers about hers—and he led her out of the kitchen and down the hallway in the direction of the bedrooms.
His own bedroom, Eva realised as he opened a door at the end of the corridor and flicked on a light switch, illuminating two paintings on the opposite wall, but otherwise leaving the room in darkness.
Even so Eva could see that the décor was in browns and creams, the carpet a dark chocolate-brown, the drapes at the windows of cream brocade, the four-poster bed a dark and masculine mahogany and draped with the same cream brocade.
But the added giveaway to this being Michael D’Angelo’s own bedroom was the suit he had been wearing earlier draped over the mahogany chair in front of the masculine dressing table, a pair of highly polished black leather shoes tucked neatly beneath that chair, and a set of gold cufflinks glittering on the dressing-table top.
Eva instinctively pulled back from entering his obviously personal domain, although she didn’t succeed in freeing her fingers from his. ‘I don’t know what you have in mind, but I think I should warn you that I’m really not— What are you doing?’ she protested as Michael released her hand, only to take a firm hold of her arms and push her further into the bedroom. ‘Michael...?’
‘There!’ Michael stood behind her, keeping that light grasp on both her arms as he faced her towards one of the paintings illuminated on the bedroom wall.
Except it wasn’t a painting.
There, on Michael D’Angelo’s bedroom wall, was a large, framed, limited edition photograph. A photograph Eva easily recognised. Because she had taken it...
CHAPTER SIX
IN THE FOREGROUND of the photograph was a young African woman, her baby strapped to her back with a wide strip of coloured material, and above and behind her, silhouetted
in the setting sun, was a lioness lying on the flat rock of an escarpment, her cub at her feet. A small gold plaque on the base titled it ‘Harmony’.
Eva blinked back the tears as the photograph brought back memories of that last evening of her stay in Africa. She had spent over a week at the tribe’s encampment, listening to their stories, and had taken dozens of photographs. But this particular photograph, of the woman and her baby, the lioness and her cub atop that escarpment, she had taken on her last evening there, and it held special meaning for her.
It represented the harmony of man and nature, living together, each respecting the other’s right to be there. Even if that occasionally led to one or other of them being killed...
‘There’s something more to the photograph, isn’t there?’ Michael prompted gruffly, intensely, the photograph affecting him emotionally, as it usually did.
Eva looked at him sharply. ‘How did you know that?’
He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘I just did.’
Moisture dampened her eyes as she nodded before turning back to the photograph. ‘The mother had lost her older child when this same lioness attacked the village a few weeks earlier.’ She spoke in a hushed voice, as Michael had, as if they might disturb the mother or the lioness if they spoke too loudly. ‘The men of the village tracked the lioness down, left her unharmed, but killed one of her two cubs.
‘They saw it as balance, that with only one cub to feed the lioness would not be hungry enough to attack their village a second time.’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘I talked to the mother for hours, and, while she deeply mourned her lost child, she harboured no ill will towards the lioness for wanting to nurture her own children, and, as you can see, she felt no fear either. She just accepted the balance, the—the—’
‘Harmony,’ Michael murmured softly, appreciatively.
Eva swallowed. ‘Yes. I don’t think I could be as...understanding of that balance or harmony, if it had been one of the twins who had been taken.’
‘No,’ he accepted huskily, understanding that Eva’s perspective would certainly have changed with the advent of the twins into her own life. ‘But even so, at the time you understood, totally encapsulated this mother’s acceptance of that balance and harmony, in your photograph.’
A D'Angelo Like No Other Page 8