Hidden Agenda

by Rochelle Alers

  “Thank you.” The two words were so simple, yet conveyed all of the appreciation she felt for Matt at that moment. It wasn’t the clothes or the jewelry—she had had those with Alex. It was Matthew Sterling—the man.

  He was offering her hope.

  Chapter 7

  The onset of siesta began in practiced precision as shopkeepers closed their doors, dimmed lights, drew shutters, and unfurled awnings.

  Eve and Matt walked out of the jewelry shop, stopping abruptly. A blackened sky and large drops of rain greeted them. Pedestrians quickened their pace to get out of what was certain to become a torrential downpour.

  “Wait here,” Matt suggested. “I’ll bring the car around.”

  Eve moved closer to him under the shop’s awning, curving an arm around his waist. His car was parked three blocks away.

  “No. I’ll go with you.”

  He stared down at her bowed head. “You’ll get wet.”

  “I don’t care.” She didn’t want him to leave her.

  He hesitated, then said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Holding her hand, he half-jogged along the sidewalk, skirting others in their rush to get out of the rain. Eve, quickening her pace, followed Matt’s lead. Both of them were soaked by the time they were seated inside the Lincoln, the sounds of their heavy breathing reverberating in the confined space.

  Matt glanced over at Eve and went still. Her thin white blouse was plastered to her chest, clearly outlining her bare breasts. His body reacted swiftly and he groaned aloud. He had almost forgotten that she did not wear a bra.

  He’d scrutinized her after she’d tried on formal and casual dresses, slacks, blouses, skirts, shoes, and accessories, but he had given her complete privacy when she selected her intimate apparel.

  Gritting his teeth, he had hoped there would be at least one bra in the purchases scheduled for delivery at the Navarro residence later that evening.

  “Are you cold?” he asked her, unable to pull his gaze away from the outline of her dark areolas.

  Eve saw the direction of his gaze, and liquid fire ignited her face, spreading to her chest. His gaze traveled slowly upward over her face, then retraced its path down her body just as slowly.

  The tingling in the pit of her belly inched lower, becoming an intense, heated throbbing; a throbbing, raging force that spread and scorched the essence of her femininity.

  No! she screamed inwardly. She couldn’t let it happen; she did not want a physical attraction between herself and Matt. This was a game they were playing and she wanted no memories once they separated.

  “No, I’m not cold,” she replied in a choked voice. Turning her head, she stared out the side window.

  Matt also glanced away, starting up the car. His features were deceptively composed as he tried not to concentrate on what was happening in his groin. His reaction to Eve was so swift, violent, and totally unexpected that he wanted to make love to her—right in the car!

  He wanted to taste her swollen nipples and kiss her sexy little mouth until she begged him to stop.

  But it would not happen, because he’d promised her uncle that he wouldn’t touch her. He would marry Eve, perhaps even share her bed, but would never consummate their union.

  “Why aren’t we going back to Alma’s?” Eve asked Matt as he maneuvered the car into his private parking space at El Moro’s underground garage. It was the first time she’d spoken since they left the Zona Rosa.

  He turned off the headlights and the ignition, not bothering to look at her. “The local roads are dangerous when it rains. We’ll stay here until it stops.”

  “I need dry clothes.”

  “You’ll get dry clothes.”

  She folded both hands on her damp hips. “From where?”

  Matt slipped from behind the wheel, came around the car, and opened her door. Reaching in, he helped her out. The tenuous rein on his temper snapped.

  “Why do you always have to question me, Eve? I told you I’d get you something to wear.”

  Her temper also ignited. “I question you because you bark demands as if I were a trained pet, Mateo Arroyo. You never ask or explain anything.”

  She was right. He did bark orders at her. It wasn’t his style, but Eve had no way of knowing what she was doing to him. She didn’t know how difficult it was for him to pretend he felt nothing for her when just being with her disturbed him.

  There had been times earlier that afternoon when he actually enjoyed watching her emerge from the dressing rooms wearing dresses or gowns that flattered her figure. It filled him with pride when he noticed other men staring at the woman who was to become his wife.

  A little voice had taunted him, saying: She belongs to me. She is mine. And only mine. He didn’t know where the rush of possessiveness had come from. All he knew was that he wanted Eve Blackwell, and wanted her for more than the lust she summoned from him.

  “I live by my own set of rules, Eve,” he began in a hushed tone. “And because I do, I’ve managed to stay alive. I will not risk losing my life because you refuse to listen to me. You’re going to have to get out of the habit of being Daddy’s spoiled little princess. I—”

  “In order words, you want me to obey you,” she interrupted.

  He nodded slowly, a smile replacing his frown. “I think you’re beginning to understand me.”

  “What I understand is that you want a puppet.”

  Moving closer, he lowered his head, their noses only inches apart. “I want you to be anything I ask you to be. I’ll take an obedient, affectionate, and passionate fiancée for starters.” He noted the narrowing of her eyes and knew she wasn’t going to concede without an argument.

  “You forget that I’m the one who’s been married. I know how to play the game, Matt, and that means I’m much more experienced when it comes to making concessions. It can’t be all your way,” she argued.

  Matt straightened, his smile becoming a wide grin. “You’ll be given the opportunity to ‘play the game,’ as you say, later tonight. A business associate has invited me to his home to celebrate his daughter’s acceptance into Spain’s most prestigious school of classical dance. The timing couldn’t be more perfect to introduce my friends to mi novia.”

  Eve’s delicate jaw tightened in frustration. She didn’t want to attend a party; she wanted to find her child.

  “I can’t go anywhere looking like this,” she snapped, refusing to relent, and glaring challengingly at Matt.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared back at her. “What do you need?”

  She noted his tender expression, the total absence of gold in his luminous eyes, and for the first time she realized his eyes reflected his mercurial moods; she preferred the deep jade-green to the fiery amber sparks.

  “I usually have my hair and nails done before a social event.”

  “You will have your hair and nails done,” he stated with quiet finality. Turning, he made his way along the corridor to the private elevator, leaving Eve rushing to catch up with his long strides.

  She preceded him into the elevator, averting her gaze. She knew very little about Matthew Sterling, but she’d discovered that he wasn’t as unaffected by her presence as he pretended. What his lips did not say, his eyes did. They told her he enjoyed the roles they’d opted to play. They also missed nothing. She was certain he could recall every dress, formal gown, and shoe she had tried on.

  “What do you want me to wear tonight?” she queried, deciding to test his memory.

  His eyebrows inched up in surprise. “You want me to decide for you?”

  Biting down on her lower lip, she concealed an emerging smile. “These people are your friends, Matt. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

  Matt studied her for a moment and they exchanged subtle looks of amusement. First she lashed him with the whip she called her tongue. Then she purred like a satisfied kitten.

  “I’d like you to wear the burgundy dress.”

  Eve was pleased. It would’ve be
en her choice. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

  “You’re very welcome, Preciosa.” They shared a smile, he shaking his head. He knew the time he would spend with Eve would never be boring. However, what he didn’t want to do was become too comfortable with her; he didn’t want to miss her once they parted.

  The elevator doors opened to Matt’s suite and Eve followed him into the air-cooled space. Wrapping her arms around her body, she shivered noticeably.

  “You’d better get out of those wet clothes,” he suggested, hanging his own soggy jacket on the back of a chair in the dining area. “Use the bathroom in the bedroom. You’ll find a bathrobe on a shelf that will fit you.”

  She walked to the far end of the suite and into his bedroom. Her gaze swept over the neatly made king-sized mahogany bed, large masculine dresser, and matching armoire. She barely remembered the pearl gray and white color scheme of the wall-to-wall drapes and bed dressing by the time she stepped into the bathroom. The entire space was covered with smokey gray mirrors. Even the ceiling was mirrored!

  She slipped out of her shoes, slacks, and blouse. Every time she shifted she caught a glimpse of her naked upper body.

  “Hedonist,” she whispered. Whoever had designed the bathroom had to have been a hedonist.

  Glass shelves cradled thirsty towels and an ample supply of thick, white velour bathrobes in varying sizes from men’s extra large to women’s petite.

  Eve wondered how many other women had selected robes from the supply in Matt’s bedroom when he conducted liaisons in the privacy of his hotel suite.

  Well, there was one thing she was certain of—she would not be one of Matt’s women.

  Chapter 8

  Eve reentered the living room and found Matt in the dining area staring out the wall of glass. The sky had darkened so much that it was impossible to tell the hour.

  He hadn’t changed his clothes and his damp shirt clung to his back, outlining the brown flesh through the finely woven fabric.

  A roll of thunder shook the heavens, followed by an ear-shattering crash of lightning, and the distant mountains were brilliantly highlighted by the flash of atmospheric energy. Placing a hand over her mouth, she’d hoped to cut off her scream of terror, but she wasn’t quick enough.

  Matt turned, his eyes large and questioning. He was beside Eve in less than a half dozen steps. “What’s the matter?”

  Her fingers trembled against her equally quivering lips. She tried speaking, the words refusing to come from her constricted throat.

  Grasping her shoulders, Matt shook her gently. “Eve!” He pulled her to his chest, and she collapsed. The fear in her eyes was so vivid that he couldn’t imagine what had put it there. She continued to mumble incoherently against his chest. Lowering his head, he kissed her forehead. “What is it, Darling?”

  “Close the drapes. Now!” Desperation vibrated in the demand.

  He seated her on the sofa, then turned and made his way to the windows. Within seconds the panoramic view of Mexico City was hidden behind a wall of pale silk.

  Retracing his steps, Matt stood over Eve. She lay face down on the sofa, her arms crossed over her head; he sat down beside her and pulled her trembling body into his strong embrace, pressing her face to his shoulder.

  “I’ve closed them, Eve. Look,” he urged.

  Eve chanced a look at the drawn drapes, her heart rate slowing. The fear she should have overcome as a child had continued to haunt her into adulthood.

  “Thank you, Mateo.” Her voice was a breathless whisper. Resting her head on his chest, she closed her eyes, absorbing his warmth and strength.

  In the instant she’d whispered his name, Matt had learned more about Eve Blackwell than in the past twenty-four hours or than her dossier had revealed. She only called him Mateo in anger or in fear, and he’d seen her fear—stark and vivid.

  Holding her gently, one hand caressing her back, he pressed his lips to her moist hair. “Tell me about it, Preciosa.”

  Eve felt a momentary wave of panic, then it subsided. How could she tell Matt about something so fearful, so trenchant? And what saddened her was that she connected the only thing she remembered about her mother with fear.

  “Eve, you must learn to trust me. I have to know how to protect you.”

  She had sought to erect a wall of resistance against Matthew Sterling. She wanted their encounter brief and uneventful, not one which meant involvement with this mysterious, complex man.

  But she would become involved; and her involvement would be as his wife!

  “I don’t remember too much about my mother,” she began quietly, unshed moisture glistening in her eyes, “except that she always wore perfume. I used to tell her that she smelled good enough to eat. She’d laugh because she knew how much I loved candy. She used to threaten me, saying that if I didn’t stop chewing bubble gum and eating candy I’d grow up with bad teeth and an acne-riddled complexion.”

  Matt tightened his grip on her waist. Eve’s mother was wrong. She had beautiful teeth and a flawless complexion. What he wanted to tell her was that she, also, smelled good enough to eat. The perfume she favored was light and feminine, the fragrance blending sensuously with her own body’s natural scent. His sensitive nostrils detected the essences of jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, sandalwood, and vetiver.

  “Do you look like your mother?” he asked, his voice soft and soothing.

  Eve’s smile indicated sadness as she remembered the photographic images of her mother and father on their wedding day. “Everyone says I do, except that her hair was less curly than mine, and she was at least four inches shorter.”

  “She must have been a beautiful woman,” Matt stated simply.

  “Everyone said she was. She was placed in a skilled nursing facility. The day she left home was the last time I saw her face.”

  Pulling back, he studied her features. “What about the wake? Weren’t you allowed to attend?”

  “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “My father thought it would be too traumatic for a five-year-old to see her mother for the last time lying in a coffin.” Closing her eyes, Eve relived the scene which had haunted her for almost thirty years.

  “However, I did attend the funeral and burial services.” The timbre of her voice lowered. “It was as if the sun never rose that morning. The sky was gray, and the air was so thick and heavy that everyone kept wiping the moisture from their faces. I complained to my father that the dress I was wearing was too hot for the weather, but he never spoke or looked at me.

  “Many of the people who had attended the funeral service did not come to the cemetery, so there was only my father, Uncle Harry, Aunt Dorothy, and, of course, Janice. The sky was so black it could’ve been midnight in December instead of an early June morning.

  “My father picked up a handful of dirt and threw it on the lowered coffin. At the same time I leaned over to throw my white rose onto the coffin, a roll of thunder shook the ground. Then a flash of lightning lit up the entire cemetery. I screamed in fear, tripping over my father’s foot and losing my balance. If it hadn’t been for the ropes encircling the open grave I would’ve fallen in it.

  “My father yelled at me—probably more in fright than in anger. I blotted out the sound of his voice, seeing what I thought was rage on his face. The service ended, everyone racing back to their cars. I huddled in a corner of a cavernous black limousine while nature vented her fury. I tried climbing onto my father’s lap, but he pushed me away. It wasn’t until we returned to the house that I realized he’d been crying.”

  Vertical slashes appeared between Matt’s eyes. Floyd Blackwell might have lost his wife, but he hadn’t lost his daughter, his only child. The torment of his loss should have been overshadowed by the existence of the child he and his late wife had created; a child who needed his love as well as his protection.

  “Now you know,” Eve stated resignedly.

  “All I know is that you’re afraid of thunderstorms.”

  Pulling ba
ck, she stared up at his bemused expression. There were pinpoints of gold in his eyes. “You don’t think I’m silly?”

  “No. There’s nothing silly about being afraid of something.” What he didn’t say was that he harbored his own fears, fears he refused to acknowledge.

  “Whenever there’s a storm I close all of the curtains and blinds, turn on all the lights, and get into bed,” she admitted.

  Matt kissed her forehead for the second time. “Now that I know you don’t like thunderstorms I’ll try to make certain you won’t have to go through them alone. I’ll close the drapes and we’ll get into bed together.”

  Eve sat up straighter, staring at the mock sinister grin curving his sensual mouth. “I think you’re looking forward to getting me into bed.”

  “Call it a perk. I’ve never worked with a partner as attractive as you.”

  His eyes darkened to a deep green, sending her pulses racing. I can’t, she thought. She couldn’t permit herself to feel more for Matt than necessary. She wanted only to pretend enough to fool everyone into thinking they were very much in love.

  If I keep him at a distance out of the bed, then I’ll be able to keep him at a distance when we’re in bed.

  “You’re quite a silver-tongued devil, aren’t you?” she drawled, wrinkling her delicate nose.

  His eyes widened. “I’m serious, Eve.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She slipped out of his loose grip, adjusting the front of her robe.

  An expression of withdrawal shadowed Matt’s features. He’d made a fool of himself. He’d admitted to Eve that he found her attractive and looked forward to sharing a bed with her. Again her performance was flawless, while his faltered.

  “As soon as siesta ends, the salon in the lobby will do your hair and nails. After that we’ll return to Alma’s so you can change clothes for the dinner party.”

  Her spine stiffened and she bit back the retort on her tongue. It would take Matthew Sterling a long time, if ever, to stop barking his commands.

  Her shoulders dropped in surrender. It was useless to argue with him. She would do whatever he told her to do. She was willing to play the game—to win—if it meant getting Chris back.