Desire by Design Page 3

  Matt stared out at the city lights sparkling across the black waters of the harbor. Several moored ships glowed against the dusky skyline, their masts decked out like great, white Christmas trees for the hordes of tourists swarming the waterfront.

  “I have work to do,” he told his uncle. “Just because I’m not in my office doesn’t mean I can let things pile up.” A thought landed and took root. “You aren’t trying to hook us up, are you?”

  “You and Eve? Don’t even joke about such a thing. I’m not getting any younger, and my heart won’t take it.” His uncle sounded so entertained by the idea that Matt’s suspicions were eased. Whatever his uncle was up to, matchmaking wasn’t it. “But I need you here tonight, and it won’t hurt to make Connor happy.” Uncle Bob lowered his voice, as if about to convey a big secret he didn’t want anyone to overhear.

  A reluctant grin tugged at Matt’s lips. Oh yeah. Those caterers were probably dying to find out what his uncle’s current scheme was. And he knew his uncle. There had to be one.

  “There are a few councilors I want you to talk to,” Bob admitted. “They aren’t convinced yet about the need for design changes, and I’m hoping you can sway them.”

  So that was what his uncle was up to. Matt relaxed. Business, he could understand. And family loyalty. Uncle Bob might not be keeping score but Matt was, and Matt owed him for all the years he’d tried his best to fill in as a father. If Uncle Bob wanted a modern City Hall, then that was what he’d get. Matt could impress a few councilors.

  It was the unimpressed project manager he seemed to be having the difficulty with. He wondered what her type was. And why he wasn’t it.

  Maybe he’d find out at the fundraiser. He might even get a chance to make amends.

  “Okay,” he said, feeling more enthusiastic than he had a few minutes ago. “What time should I be there?”

  “Eve will pick you up around eight.”

  Matt disconnected and tossed his phone into a padded armchair, then rubbed his stubbly chin. He glanced at his watch. Plenty of time for a shower and shave.

  …

  Eve hopped around her bedroom on one foot, trying to stuff the other into an uncooperative pair of pantyhose while cursing the man who’d invented them. Then, she cursed men in general.

  I forgive you, Eve, Claude, her ex-husband, had said.

  Even after three days, her anger over that statement hadn’t burned itself out. It seemed they had vastly different recollections as to why their two-week marriage had ended, and she didn’t feel quite as forgiving about them as Claude. Maybe she should have said so before blowing that rape whistle in his ear.

  To call her five years later to tell her he forgave her for some figment of his imagination was only one example of his unfortunate tendency to fixate.

  For what felt like the millionth time, she wondered what it was that had attracted her to him in the first place. Flattery, she supposed. He’d been a marine biologist with a PhD who traveled all over the world, and had been working on a research project in the Bay of Fundy, near her small Acadian hometown, the summer they’d met. Handsome and brilliant, he’d treated her like the sun rose and set for her pleasure alone. He was handsome, too, in a bookish, nerdy kind of way. The attention had been overwhelming for a girl who’d seen nothing of the world and never gotten more than a drafting diploma from the local community college.

  His teasing about that education should have served as her first warning. It hadn’t taken her two days after the wedding to realize the magnitude of her mistake. Claude’s adoration turned to obsession in the blink of an eye. He’d trashed their apartment because he hadn’t liked her talking to an old boyfriend from high school. He’d called her stupid on several occasions, and she’d almost begun to believe it. After all, she’d made the mistake of marrying him.

  But when he said they were going to spend the next few years on an isolated island in the Pacific doing marine research, and had given her only a few days to prepare, Eve dragged herself out of denial and finally balked. He’d actually raised a hand to hit her, violent anger burning in his eyes, and that was the end, as far as she was concerned. An older brother had taught her how to defend herself, and she’d laid Claude out flat, breaking his nose and blackening both of his eyes, then packed her bags and moved home.

  When faced with a choice between leaving for the Pacific and pursuing her, Claude had chosen to leave—as she’d expected him to, despite his possessive tendencies. She’d shown herself to not be his puppet anymore.

  All she told her family was that she wasn’t about to live on a deserted island that had no electricity or modern medical care. She hadn’t said a word about Claude; Eve had her pride.

  Once she was sure Claude was out of the country, she’d moved to Halifax and talked her way into the construction business. She’d started off with only private clients before hiring on with Sullivan Construction and scraping her way up the ladder to project manager. She’d worked long and hard to get where she was.

  And now, Claude was back. She’d never really known him, she now understood. She had no idea if he’d try to contact her again, or what his motives were for doing so in the first place. He’d signed the divorce papers years ago, and she’d assumed they were through. That rape whistle she’d blown in his ear should have been enough to convince him, the arrogant bastard.

  She finished wriggling into her uncooperative pantyhose and zipped into her dress, checking the clock by her bed. She had to go pick up her “date” soon.

  Eve smoothed her dress and stood up taller. If there was one important lesson she’d learned from the whole experience with Claude—and with her job—it was not to get involved with clever, ambitious, overly confident men. Not professionally, and definitely not personally. They were good at hiding their true natures behind a thin layer of charm.

  And Matt Brison was charming.

  He might be an architect, not a biologist, but brilliant was brilliant. The ego was there. The sense of self-entitlement. Deep down, on the level that mattered, he made Eve uneasy.

  So why she’d agreed to accompany him to the fundraiser tonight she would never know, although it likely had a lot to do with her paycheck. If she wanted to remain on the City Hall project, Connor Sullivan had hinted, she’d better paste on a smile and pretend to be pleased.

  She grabbed her shoes and her purse and sprinted down the stairs.

  …

  It was ten minutes past eight by the time she parked in the hotel’s gloomy, underground parking garage.

  She examined her makeup in the rearview mirror one last time before climbing out of the car and hitching down the tight skirt of her black dress. She wished she’d had something more conservative to wear than a dress her brothers had given her as a joke for her twenty-ninth birthday. They said it was to help her catch a man before she became an old woman of thirty.

  She’d rather catch a bad cold.

  The dank smell of sweating cement and automobile fumes ambushed her as she tottered to the elevators. The sound of her high heels tapping on concrete echoed eerily throughout the empty parking garage. Eve tried not to think about the long shadows and dark corners created by the inadequate overhead lighting, and breathed a small sigh of relief when the elevator doors slid closed behind her.

  There was no doubt about it. The phone call from Claude had left her nervous and on edge, and that just made her angrier. If she got to pick her next life, she was coming back as a man. A huge, hairy one.

  The elevator doors hummed open. She stepped into the hotel lobby, crossed to the front desk, and asked the clerk to call Matt’s room to let him know his ride was waiting. She reminded herself she was a professional and to act like one, then caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and had an uneasy addendum to that thought.

  Did this dress make her look like the wrong kind of professional?

  Matt’s gaze wandered around the lobby, then lingered appreciatively on the mirrored reflection of a woman standing near one o
f the potted plants.

  Recognition snagged his insides. It couldn’t be.

  The thick mass of auburn hair was now twisted in a smooth knot and pinned at her crown. A light touch of makeup emphasized large eyes and long, dark lashes, and her plump lips demanded his attention. She wore a black dress that clung to her curves. The dress fit her perfectly, granted, but it showed a lot of leg—and she had great legs.

  Matt’s mouth went dry. Somehow he doubted those high heels had steel toes.

  She watched him approach with an air of hesitation about her that disarmed him even more.

  She held out a hand to greet him. That handshake put them right back on a professional footing and reminded him she hadn’t planned the evening for his entertainment. This was business, not pleasure.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said.

  “Not a problem,” he managed to reply, despite the wad of cotton coating his tongue. “You look very lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tough audience. He might have been commenting on the weather for all the reaction the compliment got from her. He usually didn’t have to work this hard to give a woman a reason to like him.

  Surely he could find some way to redeem himself for his poor first impression.

  They walked together to the elevator, noticing again how very small she was in spite of her towering heels. And how much more reserved she seemed than she’d been on site. He thought maybe he preferred her in work boots. At least then he’d had something to say to her.

  Although, up until now, he’d said all the wrong things. He wondered how he could lead up to an apology without coming off sounding like a condescending ass again.

  He punched the button beside the gleaming, silver elevator doors. The doors slid open, and they stepped inside.

  “Out of curiosity,” he said. “What kind of toys did you play with when you were a little girl?”

  Her lovely eyes were puzzled as she glanced up at him through those thick lashes. The elevator gave a slight jerk, and Matt took her elbow to steady her, her skin surprisingly soft and smooth beneath his touch.

  “The usual girl stuff, I guess. My mother had a thing about buying me dolls.” Eve’s button nose crinkled, and she looked amused—and maybe a little embarrassed. “But my favorite was a dump truck one of my brothers abandoned. Why?”

  Matt felt a flash of relief. That sounded more like what he’d expected. And a great deal more interesting. “Just curious.”

  He remembered to release her elbow, then didn’t know what to do with his hand so he stuck it in his pocket. When they reached the parking level, he followed her to her car.

  He frowned as he looked around the deserted garage. “You shouldn’t park down here. It’s not safe.”

  She reached into her glittery evening bag for the keys. “I grew up with three older brothers.” She pressed a button and unlocked the doors. “I can take care of myself.”

  Matt waited until she’d slid into the driver’s side before getting in himself, then turned to face her, propping his elbow on the back of the seat. “Having three brothers isn’t much help if you’re alone when you’re mugged.” Or worse.

  She inserted the key in the ignition, and the engine turned over as she gave a little shrug. “It is when one of them teaches self-defense courses and makes you practice.”

  She backed the car out of the parking space with the skill of a stock-car racer, then, with a heavy foot on the gas, shot out of the garage and into the street.

  Matt yanked the seatbelt across his chest and hips and clicked it into place. He ran his fingertips over the dash. “Does this car have a passenger-side air bag?”

  Eve’s supple lips curved. Slowing down to navigate a sharp corner, she turned onto a quiet street and headed for the south end of the city.

  “I’m really a very good driver,” she assured him. “I’ve never had an accident.” She peered at him again, and Matt found himself holding his breath when her smile deepened. “Mind you, I’ve only had my license for three weeks.”

  His jaw started to drop and then he snapped it shut. “That’s a joke, right?”

  “Good heavens. Lighten up a little. Of course, it’s a joke. I—”

  Something on the sidewalk caught her attention. She muttered an exclamation and slammed on the brakes, throwing them both forward against their locked seatbelts. Matt grabbed for the dash with both hands, then looked over to make sure she was okay.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

  If so, then it wasn’t a person she liked. Her hand trembled slightly on the gearshift, and it took her a moment to get the car back in motion, but it was the expression on her face that struck Matt the most. Her eyes darted back and forth like she was scanning the terrain for enemy snipers. She looked almost…

  Hunted was the word that sprang to mind.

  Eve hoped she had lipstick on her teeth. The way Matt had stared at her during the rest of the drive meant it was either that, or he thought she was crazy.

  She paused in the doorway of the large reception room and gave her front teeth a quick, furtive buff with her thumb just to be safe. Nope. No lipstick. He thought she was crazy.

  She didn’t blame him. She wanted to get this evening over with as quickly as possible. She wasn’t in the mood for dodging budget questions on a design that didn’t exist, and diplomacy wasn’t one of her strengths. Neither did she care for this type of function. She didn’t golf, she didn’t sail, and she didn’t have a million dollars to give away to some worthy cause.

  But Matt looked all male-model gorgeous in a charcoal-gray suit that had to have been custom-made for him. He fit right in. This was his world, not hers.

  He gestured for her to precede him through the doorway, and when she took a step forward, he placed a hand on the small of her back. His thumb subtly skimmed the swell of her hip. Eve wrestled a spontaneous, bone-melting desire to arch against his touch like a cat at a scratching post, then almost had a panic attack. She edged away from his lingering hand, aware she was overreacting to what amounted to nothing more than a gentlemanly gesture.

  Matt grabbed them a glass of wine from a passing waiter as a smiling middle-aged woman in her forties, with artificial blond hair and an ill-fitting dress, jiggled her matronly body in their direction. Eve, glad for the diversion, scanned her memory, trying to come up with a name. Marion Something-or-other. Provincial Government, Department of Tourism and Culture.

  Her stomach let out a little flutter of excitement. Eve had been trying for months to get work with these people. They had a few restoration projects that she’d love to be involved in.

  The older woman extended a heavily ringed hand. “Hello, Ms. Doucette. I was hoping I might see you here this evening. We’ve never been formally introduced. I’m Marion Balcom.” Her gaze swept over to include Matt. “And you must be Matt Brison,” she said, shaking hands with him, too, before zeroing back in on Eve. “It’s amazing how fast Bob made all this happen, isn’t it? There hasn’t been much press coverage on this whole project, yet already Culture and Tourism has been fielding calls from the Historical Society regarding what will happen to the current City Hall building.”

  “I’m the project manager,” Eve explained, her head still foggy from the touch of Matt’s hand. She took a sip of her drink. “I’m in charge of the expenditures and cost analyses, so that’s not really my area, but it’s my understanding that the old Hall has been slated for decommission.”

  “Then the old Hall isn’t worth saving?”

  Eve was no good at figuring out what information people were really trying to get from her, and it was obvious Marion wanted something. For Eve’s part, she wanted to make a good impression.

  “That depends on how much money you’re willing to spend on it,” she replied carefully. “According to the engineer’s report the answer is yes, it can be saved, but if the building is to be decommissioned, then my guess would be the city can’t afford the expense
of renovating. Sometimes it’s cheaper to start from scratch.”

  “Hmm.” Marion’s eyes again rested on Matt, who’d been quietly listening. “Mr. Brison, I thought your designs tended to be much more sophisticated than anything our quiet little city would require. Hadn’t other plans already been approved?”

  Again, Eve wondered where Marion was headed with her questioning. She was on the prowl for something, though.

  “This is a design/build project,” Matt explained. “The preliminary blueprints are used as a guideline so the general contractor can provide cost estimates and a timeline for completion. I’ll be the one making sure the client gets what they really want for the final design.”

  His eyes went to Eve on that last comment, as if he were trying to get her concurrence. Well, he wasn’t going to get it. Clearly, he needed a reminder that technically, in this instance, he worked for the general contractor and not the client—and there was a difference between what the client might want and what the client could afford. Architects tended to forget funny little details like that.

  She opened her mouth to speak as their host wove his way through the crowd toward them. Tall, with a thick shock of silver hair and blue eyes much the same color as his nephew’s, Bob’s face was a wreath of smiles.

  Eve clenched her teeth. The last time he’d smiled at her like that, she’d found herself working pro bono. And the thing about free labor was that one tended to get what one paid for.

  Which reminded her, she still had some doors to shave down and hang at that Internet café. The other volunteers didn’t know how, and the bathroom doors had to be installed for the café to pass a building inspection.

  “Hey, Matt. Evie.” Bob pumped her hand. “You look absolutely beautiful this evening. Glad you could make it. By the way, thanks for picking Matt up.” His voice carried, and a few people laughed. Even Marion smiled.