Desire by Design - By Paula Altenburg Page 0,60

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