Something About Eve

by Debra Salonen

  Matt leaned over the arm of the chair for the handle of his flight bag. From its dark recesses, he pulled out a red and green tin box. “Mom sent you some cookies.”

  He stretched across the coffee table to hand it to her.

  “Cookies?” Eve’s heart constricted. Her contact with Matt’s mother these past few days had blossomed into friendship. Irene was a caring, generous woman who loved her son immensely. This gesture felt like an endorsement of sorts.

  “Thanks.” She accepted the tin without making eye contact. She didn’t want Matt to guess what she was thinking. It was probably a silly thought, anyway. What mother would want someone like me for her son? I’ve got too much baggage—even more than Matt or his mother know about.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Matt set the teapot—a smart-looking black enamel number—on a hot pad in front of Eve. He left enough room for her to play solitaire with her cookies, which is what she appeared to be doing. The dozen or so sugar cookies were lined up like cards in columns.

  “Is there a system to this madness?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking up. There were little white crumbs at the corners of her lips and Matt had to lace his fingers behind his back to keep from brushing them away. “They’re ranked according to beauty and whimsy. I plan to eat them in order.”

  “Best first?”

  “Of course,” she said, reaching for one Matt recognized as Ashley’s contribution. The bell-shaped sugar cookie with ornate swirls of green, pink and purple frosting made his teeth hurt just looking at it.

  He poured tea into her mug.

  “Mmm,” Eve said, closing her eyes as she chewed. “Beautiful and tasty.”

  “You know, Eve, taking into account your beauty-queen background, Dr. Freud might find this whole cookie-thing very interesting,” he said.

  She brushed away the idea like a pesky fly. “Freud-schmoid. What did he know about cookies?”

  She chewed, accenting the movement with moans of ecstasy that made Matt’s throat—not to mention other parts of his anatomy—tighten. “Absolutely delicious. Tell your daughter I said so.”

  “What makes you think Ashley decorated that?”

  Eve opened her eyes. “Cookie decorating is like any other art form. Each artist has his or her signature style.” She leaned forward to rearrange the remaining cookies. “I would say these three are Ashley’s. There’s a free-spirited joy to them. The four more traditional ones are from an adult. Your mother?” Matt nodded. “And the wild ones were done by a younger hand—or someone on drugs.”

  Matt hooted. “I’m glad to see you’ve got your cognitive processes back. Very good deductions. You’re right about them all, except one.”

  He selected one from the “child’s” pile—a particularly bizarre mishmash of lines and squiggles that resembled an out-of-control doodle. “I made this one.” He bit down and chewed.

  Eve frowned. “Are you serious?”

  He nodded, trying hard to keep from smiling. She looked so consternated he almost burst out laughing.

  “Were you on drugs at the time?”

  He laughed, and almost choked on his cookie. Eve passed her cup to him. The tea was still hot but he swallowed a gulp then gave it back to her. The heat from the cup mingled with the warmth of her fingers in a way that seeped deeper than seemed possible.

  She started to say something, but the phone rang before she could get the words out. Matt didn’t like the fear that flashed into her eyes. He considered letting the machine pick up, but opted to answer it.

  “Hello,” he said sharply.

  “Matt?” a female voice exclaimed. “Hey, everybody, it’s Matt.”

  “Sara?”

  “Oh, Matt, thank God you’re there. Here’s Bo.”

  After a moment of dead air, Bo came on the line. “Hey, cuz, what a break! We were calling your place next. This makes things so much simpler.”

  Matt cut in. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You’ve gotta get out of Atlanta, Matt. All hell’s breaking loose. Even Ren and Sara have gotten calls—on Christmas morning, for heaven’s sake. So Ren worked it out that you two will fly to Cancún, Mexico, this afternoon. We’ll have a rental car waiting for you. Ren’s buddy has a great beach house in a resort near Tulum, and the people who were renting it over the holidays bailed at the last minute. Can you believe it? Is that luck or what?”

  Luck? Try ludicrous. “What about work?” Matt asked. “I’m supposed to be lining up new jobs.”

  “This is your job, man. Hell, I’d jump at it in a heartbeat—” He broke off to speak to someone else. “No, of course, I’d rather be here with you. I didn’t mean I want to go to Mexico,” Matt heard him say.

  Matt couldn’t keep from grinning. Claudie could keep his cousin on his toes like nobody else could.

  “Matt,” Bo said, his tone tense and impatient, “just do this, okay? Eve needs the help. You’re getting paid. Ashley’s gone for the week. You’re the only person for the job. Got it?”

  Eve cocked her head and mouthed, “Mexico?”

  “Let me get this straight. You want Eve and me to sneak out of the apartment, catch a plane to Cancún, then spend a week at some guy’s beach house just to avoid a few reporters?” Matt had to admit it didn’t sound like a bad idea—just ridiculous.

  “It’s worse than that. Here. I’ll let Ren explain.”

  Ren Bishop, cool and levelheaded, as usual, said, “Communitex is suing Eve for breach of contract. It’s pure and utter bull—legal posturing to create a smoke screen that might keep Communitex solvent through the end of the year. That check you had Bo run on Barry showed how shaky things are there. My friend in the market says there’s talk of a buyout.”

  Matt had to assume Eve didn’t know this part of the story. “The suit is completely bogus,” Ren said. “But, in the meantime, you need to lie low. Barry will turn this into a media circus if he gets his hands on Eve.”

  Matt’s resolve solidified. He’d never let that slime-ball anywhere near her again.

  “The beach house is stocked with beer and goodies. I went online this morning and arranged tickets,” Ren said. “All you need is your passport. And Bo said you always carry it when you travel.”

  Matt looked at Eve. “Do you have your passport?”

  She nodded, her eyes round and unblinking. “It’s probably still in my Panama bag. I don’t think I ever unpacked.”

  “Good. Don’t bother. Looks like we’re heading to Mexico.”

  “TRUST ME,” Matt whispered in Eve’s ear as he opened the door leading to the garage. “This is going to be a breeze. We drop off the car, take the shuttle to departures and we’re home free. Your own mother wouldn’t recognize you in that getup.”

  Eve reached up to align her wig—a blond bob that had been part of a flapper costume she’d worn one Halloween. Without spirit gum it didn’t fit well. Somehow it seemed symbolic of her life—nothing fit anymore. Without warning, she burst into tears. “I’m so sorry to put you through this.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said, the endearment one he undoubtedly used with his daughter, “I don’t think spending a week in the Mexican Caribbean is such a bad thing.”

  Sniffling, she looked up. Even in the dimness of the garage, the humor in his eyes was impossible to miss. “But I know privacy is important to you—especially in your line of work.”

  His expression changed. “This is my job, Eve. I’ll deal with the flack as it comes. Hopefully, we’ll dodge the bulk of the hoopla.”

  It was the word job that shut her up. She had to remember that. Matt was doing this as a favor to Ren and Sara. Bo’s company would be paid for Matt’s time. This wasn’t personal, even if there were those who might try to build a romance around it.

  When her step faltered, Matt lifted her and walked briskly to the car. Eve kept her chin tucked against her chest in case any photographers were lurking in the shadows. She was exhausted. All she wanted to do was sleep. Preferably with Matt—
something she knew wasn’t likely to happen. The night in her guest room had been a fluke, but she’d slept nightmare-free. And she wanted that again.

  Maybe I could bribe him, she thought. He sure as heck wouldn’t do it for sex, but he might take money.

  “Would you sleep with me?” she asked, the fatigue making her words slur. “I’d pay you.”

  He almost dropped her. His arms double-clutched, and Eve liked the way she wound up pressed even tighter to his chest.

  “How many of those pills did you take?” he asked, coming to a stop. Eve felt him lean down to open the door of the rental car.

  “It’s not a pill thing. I just sleep better when you’re around. That’s what I meant.”

  He gently deposited her into the passenger seat then depressed a lever, which made the seat recline. Eve opened her eyes and stared straight ahead, too embarrassed to look at Matt. No doubt her face was as red as her mittens. “Forget it. That was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.”

  She scrunched down until the downy muffler touched the bottom of her lips, and closed her eyes.

  This left her wholly unprepared for the touch of Matt’s lips on hers. A quick kiss, but friendly.

  “We’ll be sleeping in the same house for a week,” he said, his breath touching her cheek. “You’re there for rest and relaxation, but I could use a little of that, too. It’s been a tough year.”

  Eve opened her eyes and looked into his. He was smiling. Really smiling. She wanted to reach out and touch his cheek. Maybe kiss him again and see if they could go beyond friendly. But she knew that wouldn’t be smart.

  She forced a smile. “You’re right. This trip is just what the doctor ordered. Maybe there really is a Santa Claus.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “THIS PLACE HAS CHANGED a lot since the last time I was here,” Matt said, taking in the looks of the Cancún airport as they exited the plane. A steward was waiting with a wheelchair. Although Eve had argued against it, Matt noticed she sank into the waiting seat with a sigh. He was worried that this trip was going to be too much for her fragile reserves, but fortunately she’d slept quite a bit of the flight, her head on his shoulder, which was both a good thing and bad.

  Although the steward offered—in English—to push Eve, Matt handed him their two carry-on bags instead. “No, gracias.”

  With a cheerful smile, the man directed them to the elevator.

  “When were you here?” Eve asked, peering around like a child at a circus. From his vantage point Matt saw that her wig was mussed in the back. Its brassy, ash-blond color made her look washed-out. Her khaki pants and long-sleeve, denim blouse two sizes too big accentuated her thinness.

  “I don’t remember exactly. Ashley was seven or eight. We left her with my folks,” he said, wishing she would sit still. The oversize blouse made it far too easy to look where he shouldn’t.

  “A second honeymoon?” she asked, her gaze fixed on a splashy travel poster beckoning jungle tours and archaeological sites.

  More like a last-ditch effort to save our marriage. “Something like that,” Matt lied. At the time, he had termed their problems “a few bumps in the road.” Not long after that trip, Sonya had become involved with her plastic surgeon and the road crumbled. “They were just building this place then. We landed at the old airport.”

  “Hmm,” she said, looking down when a young girl offered her a coupon booklet.

  “No, gracias,” Matt said, shaking his head. The elevator doors opened and he pushed the wheelchair across the threshold.

  “Customs,” the steward said, pressing the down arrow.

  Matt wasn’t looking forward to the upcoming ordeal. Their plane had been filled with excited American tourists ready to party for the final week of the year. He feared someone might recognize Eve.

  By the time the elevator door opened, the lines of eager travelers had stalled to a tangled V of ants funneling into two or three slots. “Oh, dear,” Eve murmured softly.

  The young attendant at his side motioned for Matt to follow him. The detour took them to a makeshift gate blocked by a table. An official-looking fellow in a tan uniform met them. After a brief discussion too swift for Matt to catch, the customs officer took their passports and forms and walked to a nearby desk.

  Seconds later, the documents were stamped and the barricade moved. Astounded by their good luck, Matt pushed Eve through the gate, but his jocularity vanished when the man asked Eve for her autograph. She did so with a smile, then motioned for Matt to hurry.

  He couldn’t say what disturbed him the most—the fact she was recognized or the fact he felt like her hired hand.

  Which, he reminded himself, I am. His job was to get Eve to a safe place where she could recuperate. That did not include kissing her. Or anything else of that nature.

  She’s a client. Don’t ever forget that. You saw the movie The Bodyguard. You know what happened to Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner.

  “Do you think that could be us?” Eve asked, cutting into his thoughts. Her question stymied him until he followed her outstretched finger. A small intense-looking man with a placard stared at them, smiling hopefully. Matt read the name on the sign and sighed.

  “That’s us, all right. My stupid cousin has a warped sense of humor.”

  Eve’s low chuckle made gooseflesh appear on his bare forearms despite the muggy heat that enveloped them the instant they passed from the air-conditioned building.

  “Señor y Señora Matthew Goodfellow, welcome to Cancún,” the man said, rushing up to greet them. “Your car is right over here. In the back is a cooler. Ice, agua, cerveza, juice.”

  The car, a four-door sedan, seemed fairly new and reliable. Matt was pleased to see it had air-conditioning. He settled Eve in the passenger seat then put their bags in the trunk. After tipping the wheelchair attendant, he signed the rental car agreement.

  The agent gave Matt directions to the nearest shopping area along with a flyer with directions to the beach house where they’d be staying.

  “Casa Rosa,” Matt said, glancing at the glossy brochure. The two-story rose-colored house looked very inviting. He passed the papers through the window to Eve, then walked around the car to get in.

  “It looks heavenly, doesn’t it?” Eve said, opening the folded brochure. “I wonder—”

  Matt glanced sideways. She was nibbling on her bottom lip—a sure sign she was nervous about something. “You wonder what?”

  “I don’t want you to be bored. That wouldn’t be fair. Maybe we should check into one of the hotels here in Cancún. That way, you could get out and have some fun instead of just hanging around watching me sleep.”

  I can think of worse things to do, Matt thought.

  He didn’t answer until he’d negotiated his way through traffic to a huge gray building with the familiar Wal-Mart logo. After he pulled into a parking spot, he turned to face her.

  “This isn’t about me, Eve. It’s about getting you somewhere safe so you can recuperate in peace. That’s what I’m getting paid for, okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Matt pulled off his sweater and tossed it in the back seat then checked his hip pocket to make sure his wallet was in place. Despite the air-conditioning, his jersey turtleneck was sticking to him like wet paper.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing you need?” he asked.

  She started to shake her head, but suddenly reached up and yanked off the wig. It flew over her shoulder like a dust mop to land on top of his sweater. Leaning forward, she worked the pins out of her hair in a feverish frenzy.

  Matt watched as bobby pins dropped like spent ammunition. She sighed with pleasure and shook her locks free, then she vigorously massaged her scalp.

  “Ahh,” she breathed, righting herself with a backward flick of her chin. “I couldn’t stand that a minute longer.” Shifting in the seat to face him, she removed her sunglasses and looked at him. “I could use some really good hair conditioner.” She rattled off several brand name
s, but they could have been in Spanish for as much sense as they made.

  Matt’s gaze remained fixed on the intoxicating glimmer of her trademark hair. His fingers itched to draw one glossy section to his cheek.

  “Matt?”

  The throaty purr added to the intimacy of the moment, but it held enough of a question to draw Matt back to solid ground. He coughed nervously and gracelessly stumbled out the door. “Conditioner. I’ll see what I can find.”

  As he marched to the building, he sternly went over the list of reasons he couldn’t get involved with Eve. They were too different. She came with too much baggage. Matt had Ashley’s welfare to consider. The list seemed endless.

  Maybe I should have Ashley’s name tattooed on my forehead, he thought, chuckling under his breath. An in-flight magazine had carried an article about henna tattoos. Supposedly, they wore off after a few weeks. That would give me enough time, he thought. Or would it? Something told Matt, Eve Masterson might be in his head for a long, long time to come.

  “HOW MUCH FARTHER?” Eve asked, waking up to find the sky fading to a silvery gray. “Did I miss anything?”

  “You sound just like Ashley,” Matt told her, his tone teasing.

  She really liked it when he lightened up and relaxed. During the entire flight he’d seemed poised to jump in front of her anytime anyone looked at her sideways. Eve appreciated his dedication to duty but now that they were out of the rat race, she hoped he’d loosen up.

  “I am a kid—at heart. Most people think I’m a workaholic with no sense of humor. But a lot of that is due to demands of the business.”

  Matt made a funny sound in his throat and she turned to look at him. They hadn’t really talked since he’d returned with two overflowing shopping bags and a thick wad of pesos. He’d cracked open two ice-cold juice drinks then they’d been on their way out of town.

  “How’d you get into TV?”

  Something about his tone made her say, “Don’t you mean why did I get into broadcast news?” There was enough residual light from the setting sun to see him blush.