Desire by Design

by Paula Altenburg

  The kiss itself only lasted a few seconds. It took her longer to figure out where she was after it ended. His hands held her upright, and his mouth continued to hover a few inches from hers, his lips tipped in a smug smile.

  All she’d intended was to prove she could resist him. She hadn’t expected him to be such an enthusiastic participant. A line had been crossed, but she wasn’t sure which one of them had gone over it.

  She pried herself free. “Now Bob doesn’t have to kiss you,” she said, straightening Matt’s tie and smoothing his shirt, trying to make light of what felt far from a light situation. “Unless you want him to, that is. In which case, you pay for lunch.”

  “This isn’t over, Eve.” Matt lowered his voice even though the door was now closed. “I left your car in the parking lot. I’ll get Uncle Bob to drive me home later. He’s got some meetings planned for the afternoon, but you’ve got my cell number. Call me if you need me.”

  Eve’s hands were shaking as she tucked her blouse back into the waistband of her skirt. What she needed right now was a good, stiff drink—and her head examined, because she did like him. His design wasn’t bad, either.

  But she’d been fooled once before, and she didn’t think she could stand it if Matt fooled her, too.

  …

  Matt guessed it would take two glasses of wine before his uncle brought up the subject of Eve.

  Uncle Bob always fortified himself before addressing anything controversial, although there was nothing he could say to ruin Matt’s mood. Life was good. Eve couldn’t kiss him like that and not feel anything for him.

  He couldn’t wait to get home. And when in the past thirty-odd years had he ever felt like that?

  The waitress placed his meal in front of him and refilled his water glass. Matt had to admit to a certain amount of surprise that such a small city had a genuine Thai restaurant, with a menu that was limited but completely authentic and a full house. They’d had to wait to be served.

  It was a bigger surprise to him that his meat-and-potatoes uncle would frequent it. The owner even knew him by name.

  “I’m the mayor, Mattie. Everyone knows my name,” his uncle said when Matt commented on it. “The city’s not that big.” He took another sip of his drink and regarded Matt with brooding eyes. “She’s not your type, you know.”

  One and a half glasses. Uncle Bob must be in a hurry.

  Matt took a bite of his spring roll, taking his own time. Delicious. The beef Pad Thai was good, too.

  He didn’t want to discuss Eve. His feelings for her—whatever those feelings might be—were private. He didn’t even want to discuss them with her, let alone his uncle.

  “I never said she was.”

  Uncle Bob looked relieved. “I’m glad you realize it. You’re all wrong for her.”

  That threw him. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’ve got to admit, Mattie.” Uncle Bob rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re a little too predictable. But Evie, on the other hand… Now, Evie’s quite a woman.”

  Matt couldn’t quite get his head around the conversation. “I heard someone say you called her a bully.”

  “Oh, she is,” Uncle Bob assured him. “About some things. When it comes to work, she’ll pound you into the dirt. But she isn’t dull, that’s for sure. And she’s a real little beauty, besides.” He sighed, crumbling a piece of bread between his fingers, then got straight to the point. “She’s never going to come around to your way of thinking.”

  Matt wasn’t sure he understood. Were his feelings for Eve so transparent that even his uncle could read them? He liked her, more than liked her, and intended to explore what seemed to be a mutual interest, but he wasn’t exactly ready to propose. Besides, Eve had baggage, and too much of it to haul around for the short while they were working together.

  His fingers curled around his fork. “What’s my ‘way of thinking?’”

  “About your design.” Uncle Bob leaned forward, and Matt eased his grip on the cutlery. This wasn’t going to be the conversation he’d feared. It was going to be worse.

  “She’ll sabotage it,” he said, a dish crashing to the floor somewhere near the kitchen and punctuating his words. “I heard a rumor that if she can ensure a heritage-style building, she’ll be invited by the province to bid for a spot on the art gallery restoration project slated for next year. Historic reconstruction and restoration is a specialty of hers.”

  Matt felt as if he’d been gut-kicked. All the air exploded from his lungs. That couldn’t be true. Eve wouldn’t get involved in politics, not even to further her career. She was too straightforward. No. Her only objection to his design was the price tag.

  Because she didn’t like to lose. It was obvious that Eve wasn’t a very good sport.

  “It’s true,” his uncle insisted, as if sensing Matt’s disbelief. “The province and I have been fighting it out for over a year now, ever since we decided to go ahead and replace the old City Hall. Marion Balcom’s been spearheading the project. They want to save the old building. Barring that, they want a heritage replication for the new one. You can never convince politicians that something might be out of their jurisdiction, though.” Uncle Bob sounded tired. “They get a few tree-huggers and left-wing wackos protesting outside their doors, and they cave. It doesn’t matter to them what the majority wants as long as the vocal minority gets off their backs.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you one of those politicians?” Matt said. “How can you be so sure that you know what the majority of the people want?”

  “I’m not saying the majority of the people want a modern City Hall. What they probably want is for us to fix up the old one while trying to save a few dollars.” Uncle Bob rubbed his eyes, then picked up his drink again. “What I am saying is that people want a boost to the economy. Money talks. Look at this restaurant, Mattie.” He waved an arm around him. “The first two years it was in business, it lost money because people were afraid to try something new. I found the owner some investors to keep him going because I hoped tourism would save it, plus bring in the locals. Now, it’s a trendy hotspot. On weekends I can’t even get a table without booking in advance.

  “That’s what I’m aiming for with this new City Hall, too. Your design will make it a tourist attraction. Hopefully it will spark a little controversy, then a lot of interest. Eventually, it will help move this province into the future.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I love the city the way it is.” He downed the last of his drink. “But it has to grow—and I don’t necessarily mean in size—if it wants to compete economically with other cities in this country. And I’ll be damned if I let the province ruin things because of a vocal minority.”

  “You’ve got to be wrong about Eve’s part in all this,” Matt said. He didn’t care about minorities, leftists, or anyone else for that matter. Eve wouldn’t try to change anyone’s design for her own personal gain. Especially not one of his.

  A passing waitress dropped a napkin, and Uncle Bob bent over to retrieve it for her. She smiled and thanked him before proceeding on her way, her pink skirt weaving through the crowd.

  “Why are you telling me this, anyway?” Matt asked.

  “Because Eve’s a beautiful woman, and men do stupid things for beautiful women.” Uncle Bob held up his hand when Matt would have interrupted. “You’ve already admitted you made concessions for her. I know your work, Mattie. I saw the concessions, too, and I can live with them. In fact, they’re perfect for this city. You’re an artist as much as you are an architect.

  “But if you make any more concessions for Evie, you’ll be compromising your own reputation. Not only that, but you’ll be jeopardizing everything I’ve fought for, too. Right at this moment, City Council is uncommitted as to what kind of building they want, despite some outside pressure. They’ve left the decision up to me. For now. But it wouldn’t take much to sway enough of them in another direction.”

  And Matt was
expected to choose between his uncle’s wishes and Eve’s.

  Right there, Matt lost his appetite. He owed his uncle for all the years he’d been there for him, when he’d taught Matt how to drive a car, or helped him out with college. Matt had never been made to feel obligated, and his uncle probably hadn’t even considered that possibility when he’d asked for this favor, but the obligation was there just the same.

  His uncle said his name, and not for the first time. Matt jumped. “Yes?”

  “A word of advice.” Uncle Bob waved a forkful of curried chicken. “Whatever you end up doing, for God’s sake, don’t let her talk you into putting gingerbread trim on it.”

  …

  Eve wasn’t at home when Matt got there.

  He gathered fliers that someone had crammed into the old mailbox still attached to the wall beside the front door. He went inside and shut off the alarm system, his good mood totally destroyed. First, Uncle Bob. Now Eve wasn’t where she was supposed to be. It was as if they went out of their way to suck all the calm from his life.

  He went to toss the fliers on the counter, then took a closer look. One of them seemed to be a page torn from a scientific journal.

  He picked it up and scanned the article. It seemed a Dr. Claude LaPierre had been recently published on some shellfish research he’d completed. It was dry and almost incomprehensible to anyone not interested in the study.

  Matt frowned. He could not, for the life of him, figure out what kind of message this was meant to convey. He sifted through the fliers to see what else might be hidden between them. He found a newspaper article in French from some local paper outside of Montreal, Quebec and guessed it was Claude’s hometown by the glowing description of his life and work.

  The accompanying photo was of more interest to Matt. He was curious what Eve had seen in the guy. The black-and-white image, although grainy, showed an average-looking man with thinning, blond hair and a wide smile.

  Again Matt didn’t understand the message, although it was obvious there was one. Since there was no threat in them however, and nothing to indicate it had even been Claude who had left them, he buried the papers inside a stack of newspapers waiting for recycling day. Eve didn’t need to see them.

  But now that Matt had a name and a little additional information, he thought he might make some quiet inquiries as to where Dr. Claude LaPierre, shellfish expert, was working these days.

  The doorbell rang and Matt jumped. Maybe she’d forgotten her keys or how to disarm the new alarm system.

  He hobbled to answer it. He’d spent the remainder of the day in a number of meetings, and his leg was stiff and sore from sitting for an extended period of time. He made a mental note to get up and move around more often.

  It took him a few seconds to place the woman standing on the doorstep. When he did, his stomach plunged and his wariness soared. With the highs and lows his emotions were riding today, sooner or later he’d need medication.

  “Hello, Matt.” Lena Sullivan held up a pot and pushed her way past him before he could stop her. “I heard you had been injured, so I brought you some soup.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you.” And a little weird, too. It had happened two weeks ago. Matt didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  “Eve’s not here?” Lena asked, looking around.

  “I’m not sure where she is or how long she’ll be. I just got home myself.” He didn’t know what else to say. “Here, let me take that from you. I’ll just put it in the kitchen.”

  Matt took the pot from Lena’s hands. He headed down the hall and set it on the table. When he turned, he bumped into Lena, who was right behind him. “Sorry.”

  Lena wrapped her arms around his waist. “No problem.”

  Matt was seeing a very distinct problem. He tried to disengage himself, but she was stronger than he’d anticipated. “Mrs. Sullivan, I—”

  “Call me Lena.”

  “Mrs. Sullivan.” Matt eased her hands off his backside. “I’m thinking your husband might not like this.”

  Lena’s full red lips crooked downward in a pout that was downright frightening. “Connor pays no attention to me.”

  Now Matt understood what was going on. Lena was the type of woman who, after finding herself married to an older man, worried whether or not she was still attractive to the rest of the male population. If he let on he found her attractive and flirted with her a little, sooner or later she’d give up.

  “Connor must be crazy, then,” he said. “You’re a very beautiful woman.”

  She threw herself into his arms. Matt staggered backward. His hip struck the edge of the table, and the pot of soup slid a few sloppy inches. Then Lena attached herself to his lips, and he was too astonished to do more than grab her to steady himself.

  She finally let him up for air, but Lena wasn’t looking ready to back off. Instead, she was staring behind him. Her face warned Matt that things were about to become more awkward, not less. When he turned around to look, he wished he’d been prepared for exactly how awkward things would prove to be.

  “We must have the wrong house.”

  The short, plump woman who spoke could only be Eve’s mother. She had the same hair, although hers was streaked with gray, and the same chocolate-colored eyes. She even stared at Matt with the same cool expression Eve adopted when she was displeased.

  It was obvious that Mrs. Doucette knew full well she wasn’t in the wrong house. And the forbidding man behind her had to be Eve’s father.

  Chapter Nine

  Lena recovered faster than Matt.

  She slapped his face before spinning on her heel, her head held high as she brushed past Eve’s parents.

  Matt rubbed his stinging cheek, wishing that he could follow her and make as grand an exit. Sooner or later, however, he’d have to return.

  He stared at the Doucettes. They stared back.

  “You must be Eve’s parents.” He didn’t bother offering to shake hands, although he did make a feeble attempt at a smile. But the rigid expressions on their faces didn’t change, and his own smile tightened. “I’m Matt Brison, the architect for the new project Eve’s working on.” No response. What luck. Two more Doucettes who weren’t impressed by his name. “You must have had a long drive.” Although not nearly long enough, considering they were a day early. “Could I get you coffee or tea?” He dropped his hand to the top of the pot Lena had abandoned. “Or some soup?”

  There was a definite chill in the air.

  “No, thank you,” Mrs. Doucette said.

  Eve, toting bags of groceries, bounced into the kitchen. She’d changed from the skirt and heels she’d worn to the office into her usual jeans and a T-shirt, which meant she’d likely come straight home after work before going out again. That made him feel better—he’d been worried.

  “I see you’ve met my parents,” she said. “This is my mother, Therese, and my father, Giles. They arrived early, so we went out to pick up food for the weekend.” She set the bags on the table, ignoring the tension in the room. “I ran into Lena on her way out. What did she want?”

  If the sparkle in Eve’s eyes was anything to judge by, she was enjoying this. And if so, Matt wasn’t sharing her amusement. He doubted if there was anything he could say right now that would convince the senior Doucettes that he wasn’t some sort of serial sex offender.

  Nothing he could think of off the top of his head.

  “She brought soup,” Matt said.

  Eve lifted the lid on the pot. “Mm. Turkey. Wasn’t that nice of her? That’s one less meal we’ll have to worry about this weekend.”

  Yeah. Real nice. Lena was a thoughtful woman. Didn’t Eve find it strange that her boss’s wife was dropping off a pot of soup?

  “Eve, could I speak with you in the living room, please?” Matt said. He transmitted a look meant to let her know it wasn’t a request. “Now?”

  Eve trailed him down the hall, and when they reached the living room, Matt slid the glass doors clo
sed behind them. Where should he begin?

  Just that afternoon, he’d had his hands—and his mouth—all over Eve. He’d spent the last several hours daydreaming about repeating the experience. He didn’t want her parents to be the ones to tell her what they’d just seen. He didn’t want her thinking he’d been touching another woman.

  Okay, technically he had. But his intentions were good. Maybe not medal-winning good…

  Matt steadied himself. He’d just say it straight out and get it over with, then he’d try and explain how it happened. “When your parents walked in, Lena had her hands on my, uh, backside—and it might have looked like I was trying to kiss her.”

  “Wow,” Eve said. “That’s awful.” Her eyes welled, and she put a hand over her mouth.

  Although it made him feel kind of good to know she cared enough to be upset, the last thing he wanted was to make her cry. He shifted uneasily. “I can explain.”

  “Please.” Her voice was muffled. She waved him off with her free hand. “There’s no need to explain. I can picture it just fine.”

  She wasn’t crying… She was laughing.

  He felt his lips thin. He’d been caught in her house, with another woman in his arms, and she was laughing at him.

  “Then would you mind explaining it to me?” he asked. “So I know we’re both clear on what happened?”

  “Lena knows I often work late on Fridays, so she made up an excuse to come over, hoping you’d be alone. She came on to you because that’s what she does, and you tried to put her off without being mean about it. Because that’s what you do.” Eve smiled up at him, swiping her eyes with the heel of one hand. “Face it, Matt. You’re too nice, sometimes.”

  Matt deflated like a beach ball with a slow leak. His uncle was right: he was boring. It seemed Eve thought so, too.

  “Great. I’m a nice person. Could you tell your parents that?”

  “They’re going to believe what they want to believe. Don’t worry about it.” Eve looked ready to burst out laughing again at any moment.