Desire by Design

chapter Eleven


Eve rolled over in the single, wrought-iron bed, the creaking of its springs and the sagging mattress tickling her awake. She could hear her mother downstairs in the kitchen.

Time to get up or she’d be late for school.

No, wait. Wrong decade.

She pried her lids all the way open and was greeted by the glassy stares of dozens of pairs of unblinking eyes. The bedroom walls were lined with shelves full of the many dolls her mother had given her over the years. Eve had always hated those dolls—along with all the frilly little dresses her mother used to make her wear. The harder her mother had tried to turn Eve into a girl, the more Eve wanted to be a boy.

Being a girl didn’t seem so bad these days. She concentrated on the way Matt looked at her sometimes when he thought she wasn’t watching—and even sometimes when he knew she was—and smiled. He made it plain he liked what he saw, and never gave the impression he thought there was room for improvement. And he’d seen her at her worst. Eve no longer thought Matt would turn out to be another Claude. If anything, he was the anti-Claude.

And that made him pretty close to perfect.

Eve wasn’t sure she could deal with all that perfection. Getting more deeply involved with Matt wouldn’t be any better for her self-esteem than Claude had been, because now she really was the one who had room for improvement.

And this time she cared. Which only meant one thing—he could hurt her an awful lot.

Plus, we work together, she reminded herself. She took a deep breath as she stared at a long crack in the ceiling. And once the job was over, their lives would go back to being incredibly different. She tried to imagine sitting down to Christmas dinner with Bob Anderson. Even better, she tried to imagine Bob sitting down to Christmas dinner with her brothers.

Then, she hoped that Matt lived through the day.

She’d better get up. There was a lot of work involved in entertaining the entire Doucette clan for a whole day of activities, and it was the best distraction she could ask for.

She dressed quickly and tried to be quiet on the stairs so as not to disturb Matt. She halted in surprise when she entered the kitchen.

“Hi.” A warm smile lit his face when he greeted her. He had flour on his forehead and looked so adorable Eve’s bare toes curled. He held up a mound of dough for her inspection. “Your mother is giving me a bread-making lesson. She says men make better bread than women because we’re stronger.”

He slapped the dough on the floured countertop and kneaded it with all the finesse of an expert.

Eve took a quick glance around the room to make sure they were alone, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Only my mother would make bread on the morning she’s hosting a huge anniversary party. She thinks she’s Superwoman.”

Matt paused in mid-motion. “I’ll have you know that I’m making the bread. Does that make me Superman?”

“I don’t know about Superman.” Eve gave him a slow, playful inspection from his head to his toes. “But I do think a man in an apron is incredibly sexy.”

Sunshine broke through the thick morning mist, streaming across the red-and-gray-tiled linoleum floor, and Matt’s fingers stilled. “I guess we’re both in luck, then. I think a woman in an apron happens to be sexy, too.”

“That means I’m out. The only apron I own is for when I have a hammer and a bucket of nails.”

Matt abandoned the bread dough, snagged her with floury fingers, and drew her to him, his hands large, warm, and steady. His eyes were bluer than the waters of the Bay, visible behind him through the tall kitchen window. “Those are the sexiest kind.”

Whenever he smiled at her like that, her body went hot all over. He didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t domestic or that she hated frilly clothes. He liked her for who she was. She looped her arms around his neck and drew his head down for a kiss.

Matt rested his forehead against hers, his hands on her backside. “What was that for?”

She considered all the possible explanations. Because he looked so sexy all covered in flour. Because he’d told her she didn’t disappoint him. Because he made her feel good.

But she couldn’t very well tell him that she wanted him. Not in her mother’s kitchen.

“It’s an old Acadian custom to kiss the cook,” she said.

“Then I’m all in favor of old Acadian customs.” His freshly shaven jaw nuzzled the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

Footsteps sounded on the back porch, and they sprang away from each other. Rather, Eve sprang. Matt had to be pushed. He made a face at her before turning back to the neglected dough.

“Aren’t you both the pair of early birds?” Her mother set the eggs she’d gathered into a basket beside the sink, then washed her hands.

Eve’s face felt hot, like she’d been caught doing something naughty instead of just thinking about it.

“Why don’t you let me finish the bread?” Eve suggested to Matt. “You’re a guest, remember?”

She hoped he wouldn’t remember that she’d wanted him to help wash dishes just the night before, and he’d still been a guest then. But last night they weren’t expecting her brothers to arrive at any moment, and Matt didn’t need them to see him looking so domestic.

“And let you get all the glory? Not a chance,” he said. He gave the dough another slap. “Back off.”

“Leave him alone,” her mother said. “Men are good at bread-making.”

Eve couldn’t recall any time she’d ever seen a man making bread in this house before. “If that’s true, how come none of the boys ever had to do it?”

“When was the last time you made bread?” her mother countered. “As I recall, you were never any good at it.”

Okay, that round went to her mother.

Eve poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove and wandered over to the window while her mother supervised getting the bread dough into the pans. Every once in a while, she would cast Eve an odd look.

“Is it just me, or is my mother acting weird?” Eve asked Matt after her mother finally disappeared. “I mean, weirder than usual?”

“I think she was curious.” His eyes danced. “You have two big, white handprints on the seat of your pants.”

Again, her heart did that little pitter-pattery thing it always did when he smiled at her that way. She craned her neck, trying to see. “Lovely. I’d better change before people start to arrive.”

Too late.

Her oldest brother, Cyril, burst into the kitchen. He wasn’t anywhere near as tall as Matt, but he was rock solid—and all of it muscle. When he entered a room, people noticed. Right behind him were Marcel and Alain. Marcel wore his dark hair pulled back from his face and tied in a ponytail. Alain kept his hair short and neat, because he was slowly going bald. With their different styles, heavy shoulders, and thick necks, they looked like a professional tag team.

Alain grabbed her first.

“Eve!” he cried, swinging her off her feet before tossing her over his shoulder like he was planning to save her from a burning building. “We’ve missed you.”

Eve winced, air hissing from her lungs. Her reflexes weren’t what they used to be. She should have been better prepared for this.

Matt cleared his throat. Four heads, hers included, swiveled in his direction. Alain let Eve slide to her feet.

Matt stuck out a hand still sticky with traces of bread dough. “Hi. I’m Matt Brison. Eve and I work together.”

The men all shook hands, which Eve took as a promising sign.

Then Marcel tipped his head sideways, eyeing the seat of Eve’s pants. “Looks like maybe you play together, too.”

That wasn’t nearly as promising. Eve began babbling introductions to cover for it.

“Matt, this is Cyril, Marcel, and Alain. My brothers. Cyril’s the self-defense instructor I told you about. Alain’s in the Navy. And Marcel—believe it or not—works for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.” So don’t mess with them.

Matt didn’t seem impressed. Or as scared as he should be.

“You don’t look like a carpenter,” Alain said to him.

“I’m not. I’m an architect.”

The men were all sizing each other up. Her brothers didn’t seem impressed with Matt, either. And they definitely weren’t feeling any fear.

Cyril rolled one meaty shoulder. “How about it, Matt? Do you like to play games? Because when all the family gets together like this, we usually play soccer.”

If Eve didn’t do something fast, Matt was a dead man.

“He’s not playing soccer with us,” she said hastily. “Matt brought his laptop with him so he can get some work done this weekend.”

“Are you playing soccer?” Matt asked her.

Uh oh. “Yes,” she admitted. She had her reputation in the family to maintain. “But I’ve played with them before. You haven’t.”

A stubborn look she’d never seen before crept into his eyes. This was it. She might as well kiss him good-bye.

“If you’re playing, then so am I,” he said.

Marcel slapped Matt on the back. “Welcome to the team. Why don’t you wash off that flour, ditch the apron, and come give us a hand? We’re setting up tables on the front lawn.”

See, Eve? Matt’s satisfied expression read as her brothers filed out the door. Things are going great.

Eve rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

“What’s that for this time?” he asked, his expression softening again now that the Neanderthals were gone. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I’m just curious.”

It was for thinking she needed protecting. For thinking he could take on her brothers. For not caring that he’d been wearing an apron around all that macho, male attitude.

“Because I’m going to miss your pretty face,” she said. “Those guys are planning to kill you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He untied the apron and slung it on a hook near the sink. “You know, Eve, you don’t understand men nearly as well as you think you do.”

And Eve didn’t understand what this soccer match was really all about.

Yes, Matt knew her brothers planned to kick his ass, and yes, he also knew they thought he was a sissy because he was an architect and not something more manly, like a carpenter. But what none of them realized was that growing up a skinny, bookish kid with no father, a guy either learned to look after himself or got his butt kicked on a regular basis. These days, no one kicked Matt’s butt unless he let them, and if getting along with Eve’s family meant taking a few hits, then fine. A couple of bruises didn’t bother him.

The warm afternoon sunshine toasted the back of his neck as everyone gathered to choose sides in the hayfield behind the house. Most of the women and children, and the older men, sat on scattered blankets in the shade around the apple trees to watch.

Eve hadn’t been kidding when she’d hinted about the size of her family, he realized, awed. Once the aunts, uncles, cousins, and their spouses were all factored in, they had enough players for an entire league.

“I want Matt on my team,” Eve said.

She’d tied her hair back in a long French braid, the tip curling over her shoulder against her breast. She tossed the braid impatiently out of her way, lithe and gorgeous in a pair of cutoffs that didn’t quite cover everything when she bent over—and she did far too much bending for Matt’s personal comfort. One or two cousins-by-marriage were doing a bit too much looking for his comfort, too.

“I don’t think so,” Cyril disagreed, calling Matt’s reluctant attention back to the matter at hand. “I think we’d better put him on my team.”

That came as a surprise. Matt would have thought the self-defense instructor would have wanted to be in a better position to hit him. It was hard to hit your own team member and make it look like an accident.

“Just so you know, we play to win,” Alain said to Matt, elbowing him as the game began. “You have medical coverage, right? Because Eve’s real competitive.”

What was that supposed to mean?

It didn’t take Matt long to figure it out, not when there was no referee and Eve’s brothers kept feeding him the ball. They weren’t just trying to kick his ass; they really were trying to get him killed—and apparently, Eve was their weapon of choice. Alain wasn’t kidding when he’d said his sister was competitive. She seemed to be her team’s enforcer.

Matt had to admire her brothers. They were a whole lot smarter than he’d given them credit for. He was about to get his ass handed to him by a girl, and in front of her entire family. If they hadn’t thought him a sissy before, they were going to now.

Eve, however, wasn’t cooperating. Every time someone sent Matt the ball she dropped back, refusing to challenge him. At first he was pleased she’d caught on and wasn’t about to play her brothers’ stupid game. Then he realized something.

She didn’t play along because she didn’t want to hurt him. And everybody watching knew it.

Matt could live with her whole family thinking he was a sissy architect, but there was no way he was having Eve think it, too. He took the ball down the side of the field. If she wouldn’t challenge him, he’d find someone else to do it for her.

Someone hit him from behind. Hard.

“Are we playing Australian rules?” Matt asked, picking himself up and trying not to groan.

“Puh-lease,” Eve said, rolling her eyes as she rushed over to make sure he was still breathing. “Have you noticed any rules?”

She bent down to examine him, her hands on her knees, and just as she was making a move to wipe the blood off a small scrape on her knee, Marcel checked her from behind.

Matt’s heart stopped as she went down, but before he could come to her rescue, she’d snatched at the hair on Marcel’s leg in retaliation.

“Ouch!” Marcel yelped, rubbing the newly acquired bald spot on the back of his calf. “You’re getting slow in your old age, Eve. And mean.”

Matt’s heart started pounding again, this time with ill-contained anger. Dancing lightly on the balls of his feet, he made a move toward Marcel, but someone grabbed him by the arm to stop him. Matt whirled around, and Cyril’s palm shot up in self-defense.

“Easy there, baker boy,” Cyril murmured, stepping out of the range of Matt’s longer reach. “Marcel’s just trying to keep her tough. He’s not going to hurt her. Watch.”

With a sudden deft twist of her body, Eve had Marcel flat on his back, one knee on his chest, her other pressed into his throat. Matt peered down into Marcel’s face from over Eve’s shoulder.

“Was that tough enough for you?” Matt asked.

“Get off your brother, Eve,” her mother called out from beneath a twisted apple tree where she’d been chatting with some relatives. “He’s got a bad back.”

“And lousy reflexes,” Alain added in an aside to Matt, apparently unaware that Matt wasn’t seeing the humor. “Don’t know what the RCMP sees in him if a woman can take him out like that. I think he’s ready for a desk job.”

Eve scrambled to her feet, pushing a strand of hair away from her flushed face.

“And I think Matt’s ready for a break,” Cyril said to Eve, although his watchful eyes remained on Matt. “Why don’t we let someone else play for a while?”

“I don’t need a break,” Matt said.

Eve looked from her brother to Matt, suddenly seeming to notice that something was wrong.

“I need one,” Eve said to Matt. “I could use something to drink. Why don’t you join me?”

Her shirt was sticking to her skin, there were flecks of dirt and grass clinging to her legs, and her hair was a mess. Matt had never been so attracted to a woman in his life.

That was the trouble. His feelings for Eve were a whole lot more complicated than he’d bargained for. This caveman mentality—the primeval part of him that wanted to kill anyone who touched her—wasn’t something he was comfortable with. He was used to being in control of both his life and his emotions, but since he’d met Eve, there had been nothing but chaos.

Maybe he’d better take that break after all. At the moment, he didn’t feel much like letting anyone kick his butt. Not when he felt like kicking it himself.

Eve followed him off the field, and the soccer game resumed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him.

She really didn’t know…

Matt took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. He hated losing his temper, and he hated her brothers for making him. But, more than anything, he was angry with himself. He’d almost decked her brother during a soccer game. As weird and twisted as the game was.

Matt had always wanted to be a part of a big, noisy family that gathered for anniversaries and organized things like soccer games, but this business of trying to kill each other was too crazy for him. Not much wonder she didn’t know anything about romance. Look what she had for examples.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said.

They stopped at the table with the drinks on it, then crossed to the blankets where Eve’s mother was sitting.

Eve tried to lag behind, but Matt caught her fingers and pulled her with him. If she tried to get into that soccer game again, he was tossing her into the car and driving her straight back to the city.

“Come meet Eve’s cousins,” Therese welcomed him. “Isabel, Jeanne, this is Eve’s boyfriend, Matt.”

Eve made a strangling noise low in her throat, like she was choking on a breath mint or something equally small, as Matt shook hands with the women. The first was Jeanne, a pretty enough woman, although her face was too sharp for Matt’s liking. She was married to the round-bellied man he’d seen earlier crushing a beer can on his forehead, the one who was now playing soccer but hanging back out of harm’s way.

Smart man.

“I’m the architect on Eve’s new project,” Matt said, turning on the charm. The women in the family had to be better than the men.

“Dating the boss, are you?” Jeanne said to Eve.

Matt’s charm slipped a notch. “You’ve got that backwards. I’m the one who’s dating the boss.” Eve’s family already thought she could kick his butt, so what difference did it make if they thought she was his boss, too?

“We aren’t dating,” Eve said.

That did it. Matt was putting an end to Eve treating him like a stranger, especially in front of her family. They had an unusual relationship, true, but they were more than friends, and he was staking his claim, right here and now.

He slung his arm around her shoulders and kept it clamped in place so she couldn’t shrug him off. “Technically speaking, no, we’re not. We’re living together.”

One fossilized, gray-haired aunt raised lacquered eyebrows in evident disapproval. “Any possibility of marriage?”

Since that particular aunt seemed to be the mother of the woman whose husband had a fondness for beer cans and sleazy T-shirts, Matt didn’t see what right she had to judge Eve’s living arrangements.

“No,” Eve said.

“It’s just as well,” the beer-can basher’s wife said. “This way, you won’t have to worry about whether or not to send back the wedding gifts.”

The comment was more humorous than nasty, but the white marks around Eve’s mouth told Matt she’d felt it, so he felt it, too. Didn’t anyone in this family realize that her marriage had hurt her? Didn’t any of them care that she wasn’t as tough as they all—men and women included—seemed to think she was? She was only human.

“That’s what I love most about Eve,” he said. “She’s more of a doer than a talker. She might not like admitting to them, but when she makes mistakes, she does something about it.” Unlike Jeanne, who seemed content to hang in there with the beer-can crusher forever, although Matt wasn’t sure she was the one who’d made the mistake in that relationship.

His eyes fastened on Eve’s. “And she never makes the same one twice.”

…

Sitting cross-legged on a blanket beside Matt, Eve laced a blade of grass through her fingers and tried not to be too charmed by his words of defense.

He’d meant well. She appreciated the effort. But thanks to his good intentions, her family was reading far too much into their relationship. Her cousins were probably already placing bets on how long the marriage would last.

“Matt lives in Toronto,” she said. “He’s renting a room from me until City Hall is finished.” She smiled at Jeanne. “So we won’t have to worry about returning wedding gifts.”

“Really?” Jeanne said.

Eve wasn’t sure she liked the speculation creeping into Jeanne’s beady, off-center eyes. This was so like her cousin. Whatever Eve had, or did, Jeanne had to diminish it in some way.

At least the soccer game was wrapping up.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” Matt said to Eve.

She wondered if she was in trouble. Sometimes it was hard to tell with him. “Can it wait?”

“No. It’s business.” He hauled her to her feet. “Excuse us, ladies.”

“I don’t think they’re going off to pick out china patterns,” Eve heard Jeanne murmur in satisfaction to Eve’s aunt.

Matt marched Eve around the corner of the garage and trampled a fragrant patch of clover in his path. A swallow swooped under the garage eaves, disappearing into a crevice.

“Do you hate me?” he asked once they were safely out of earshot.

“Hate you?” she echoed. Her mind went blank. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because that’s the only reason I can think of for why you’re trying to sabotage me, here.” He caught her chin in his hand so that she was forced to look at him. “Either that, or I think you’re afraid that if they like me, you won’t have any reason not to like me, too.”

She concentrated on the fingertip-sized indent at the peak of his upper lip. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she felt the tiny pulse below her jaw leap beneath his fingers, which were still cupping her chin. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

“Then name three things that you like about me,” he challenged her. “Because I’m beginning to wonder if you hate all men or if it’s just me. Not that I’d blame you if it’s all of us,” he added. “I’ve seen enough of your brothers to know why you’d feel that way. I just think it’s something you should work on, and I’m willing to help you practice.”

“You’re crazy,” Eve said. “I don’t hate men. I work with men all the time. I certainly don’t hate my brothers. And I don’t hate you, either.”

Matt smiled into her eyes. “Prove it. Three things.”

“Are we talking physical, professional, or personal?” she hedged.

“Let’s make it simple,” he said. “One of each.”

“Okay.” Eve thought a moment. “Physical, then. Your nose.”

“My nose?”

“You asked what I like. You didn’t say I needed to explain it,” Eve replied. “Professional,” she continued. “I like your briefcase. And personal. I really like those navy blue boxer briefs you wear. Really.”

“Let me get this straight,” Matt said. “You like my nose, my briefcase, and my underwear? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Let’s see you do better.”

“Easily.” Matt released her chin, then wrapped her snugly in his arms so that she had to tip her head back to look up at him. Her heart tripped a little faster. “I like the way your dark, sexy eyes light up whenever I walk into a room.”

“They do not,” Eve said. Although to be honest, she kind of liked the sound of dark and sexy when linked with her eyes.

“Quiet,” he ordered, his arms tightening around her. “This is my fantasy.”

“I’d like to file a protest. You never said we were allowed to fantasize. That’s cheating.”

“I’m about to cross your ‘docile nature’ off the ‘personal’ list,” Matt warned.

“You have a list?”

“Of course. To continue…” He lowered his mouth and pressed a kiss to the soft swell of her throat. “I like the way you smell. Flowery. A little sweaty at the moment, but definitely still girly.”

“Is my smell professional or personal?” Eve asked.

“I’m still on physical.” He touched the tip of his tongue to her ear lobe. “And the way you taste. Mm. ‘Sugar and spice and everything nice.’ I like that, too.”

Matt won. Hands down. But Eve wasn’t about to tell him so until he was finished.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance. She heard one of her brothers calling his name, and she wriggled free from his arms.

“Excuse me.” Cyril strode around the corner of the garage, holding up Matt’s cell phone. “Oddly enough, it’s for you.”

“Thanks.” Matt took the phone with a distinct lack of enthusiasm and walked toward the house, searching for a spot with better reception.

“You’re a guy,” Eve said to Cyril. “What would you find romantic?”

A pained expression cartwheeled across her brother’s face. “Why ask me? Why not read a magazine or something?”

“That would be my preference, but since I don’t have any handy, I’m stuck with you.”

Cyril studied her. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “I really do.” There was no point in denying it any longer. “A lot.”

“Then try sharing something with him.”

“You mean, like sex? Because that’s what I’m trying to accomplish, here.”

Cyril’s face flushed a dull brick-red. “I figured that out already, and I don’t need the details, thanks. But I meant, like a secret. A hope or a dream. Something you’ve never shared with anyone else.” He stuck his hands in his shorts pockets. “Oh, yeah. And next time? You might want to let him flatten Marcel for you instead of doing it yourself.”

“Matt would never flatten anyone,” Eve said with absolute conviction. “He’s too nice.”

“If you say so,” Cyril said, without any conviction at all. “But remember, there are other ways to flatten a guy than by hitting him. You might want to think about that, too.”