Passion (In Wilde Country 2)

Cristo! He was about ready to tear the hair from his head.

Clearly, if he wanted to keep from saying something he would regret, it was time to move on. He could see Luca’s reflection in the window glass. He was sitting close beside Cheyenne, holding her hand. She had her face turned up to his, and they were smiling at each other as if they alone knew the secrets of the universe.

Were they both insane? Based on what lurked in the DNA of virtually everyone in this house, love was an illusion. It was one thing to observe an illusion from a distance, or from the glittery showplace of a wedding celebration, but to be subjected to it, non-stop…

“Cold, man?”

He blinked and swung around. Jake Wilde, on his way to the coffee pot, paused next to him.

“What?”

“Your teeth were grinding together,” Jake said.

“No,” Matteo said quickly. “I’m fine. I was just, ah, I was just watching the snow and wondering how long it’s going to last.”

Caleb Wilde, who’d been feeding logs to the fire in the big stone fireplace, got to his feet.

“No telling,” he said. “Weather report didn’t even mention snow.”

Travis, the third Wilde brother, nodded in agreement as he bounced a toddler on his knee.

“We get storms like that sometimes. They just roll in without warning.”

Without warning, Matteo thought. That was what had happened with Luca. One second, he’d been a happy bachelor. The next, he was a husband.

It was a depressing thought, and deserved something stronger than coffee.

Matteo rose to his feet, headed for the built-in bar and the bottle of brandy. He shot another glance at Luca, who was watching his wife with a look so tender and yet so hungry that it was almost embarrassing to see.

What happened to you, mio fratello? Matteo wanted to say. Surely, the sex can’t be so good it turned your brain to mush.

Because what Luca thought was love had to be sex. It had to be…

“Did you say something, Matteo?”

Dio, had he?

No. Luca was smiling. So was everyone else, or so it seemed, even Emily, who was at the far end of the room, sitting at the piano, noodling through some ancient, godforsaken love song.

“No,” Matteo said briskly, “not me. Uh, what’s that you’re playing, Emily? Sounds nice.”

“It’s some old Frank Sinatra thing. You’d Be So Easy To Love.”

“That’s our Matteo,” another sister said, with a roll of her eyes, “if he just took the time to find the right girl.”

Everyone laughed. Matteo hoped he managed to sound as if he were laughing, too, even though he figured the best he’d managed was a cackle. He decided to forego the brandy. The last thing he needed was something that might loosen his tongue.

There’d been endless little digs about him being The Last Man Standing, a name given him by the Wilde and Bellini women after Luca’s day-after-Christmas wedding.

“That’s our New Year resolution,” they’d told him. “A girl for our Matteo.”

“Sounds like the title of a book,” Luca said.

That had rated more laughter. Matteo knew it was all good-natured teasing, but he’d had a tough time joining in.

At least that last remark had been the only one so far today…

“I know some women who’d be crazy over him.”

Hell. Two digs in two minutes. And what was this him nonsense? He was right in the room with the rest of them. How could they talk about him as if he were a—a bar of soap?

“Absolutely,” chimed a chorus of female voices.

“Maybe he’ll meet someone special tonight.”

Another knee-slapper for everybody but Matteo, who could almost feel the hair rise on the back of his neck.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “We asked a few people in for dessert and coffee. We thought it would be nice if you Bellinis met some people from Wilde’s Crossing.” He grinned. “Some of them are female, single and very, very attractive.”

The Last Man Standing shot to his feet.

“Wow,” he said, much too cheerfully, “too bad I’m going to miss it!”

They all stared at him, even Luca.

“What do you mean, you’re going to miss it?”

Matteo mimed a look of absolute innocence.

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m flying back to New York in—” He looked at his watch, which was surely better than looking at all those shocked faces. “In just a few hours. In fact, I’d better get moving. My pilot might want to take off a little sooner than scheduled. The snow…”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I were, but, ah, but I have an appointment tomorrow. I’m sure I must have said something about it.”

He was also sure his nose had to be growing like Pinocchio’s, but he was in too deep to back out now.

“No,” Luca said, his eyes narrowing, “you did not.”

“Ah. I could have sworn I did.”

“Can’t you cancel it?”

“I wish I could. ” Could you fake sincerity? He hoped to. “But I have to be at a client’s office at eleven.”

“Eleven? On a Sunday?”

Dammit. Where was his head?

“Ah, he’s been very busy lately and this is an emergency. Sunday’s the only time he can manage.”

Luca looked doubtful. Jake looked helpful.

“Well,” he said, “you could fly out really early in the morning.”

Crap. First he’d picked the wrong day and now, the wrong time.

“Sure.” Caleb was into it now, checking his watch, doing some quick calculations in his head. “If you fly out at six or even six thirty—”

“Impossible,” Matteo said quickly. Too quickly. They all looked at him with their eyebrows raised. His matchmaking sisters. His brother. His brother’s wife. His half-sisters, his half-brothers, their spouses… Even the kids, and if the Golden Retriever puppy Jake had given his wife for Christmas couldn’t raise its eyebrows, it was doing an excellent job of trying. “I mean,” he said with a determinedly innocent smile, “what if this snow turns into a real storm and I can’t fly out in the morning?” He drained the last of his coffee and put down the mug. “I wish I could stay,” he said briskly, “but I can’t. Business is business.”

They were all in business, one way or another, meaning they all knew the truth to that, but they were looking at him as if he were the guy breaking up the party, which he probably was, except he just couldn’t deal with it another minute.

The noise. The crowd. The cute kids and cute puppy…

This bunch of supposedly smart people who thought domesticity was bliss.

“I was going to leave a little later,” he said, “but this snow… I’ll just run upstairs and collect my things and get going before the storm gets worse.”

All the men volunteered to drive him to the airport. Matteo said thanks, but no thanks.

“I have a rental car parked right outside, remember?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t have four-wheel drive,” Jake said.

“No need for four-wheel drive,” Matteo said, trying to ignore the way Luca was staring at him. “I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t make it to Dallas.”

What was he going to have to do? Fight his way out of this house?

“Really, Jake, I’ll be—”

“The keys to the Silverado are on a red leather tag in that big bowl near the door. Take it. Just let us know where you park. I’ll have one of my guys drop your rental at the airport tomorrow.”

Matteo felt a twinge of guilt, but the Golden Retriever puppy chose that second to squat in front of the fireplace and pee, one of the kids chortled and promptly tumbled into the resultant puddle, and the twinge of guilt vanished.

“That’s great. Thanks.”

“No problem. We just wish you could stay, that’s all.”

“Yes. Me, too.”

He smiled, avoided looking at Luca and hurried to the guest wing where he tossed his stuff into his duffel as quickly as possible. Then he headed downstairs for a round of handshakes and backslaps, hugs and kisses, baby drool and puppy slobber.

Part of him felt like a rat for lying to all these people he’d come to love—and that kind of love, the fraternal kind, was definitely understandable—but a bigger part of him was already breathing sighs of relief.

“I’ll walk you out,” Luca said.

“No need,” Matteo said, scooping the keys to the Silverado from where Jake had said they’d be. “I’ll just—”

“I said, I’ll walk you out.”

It was the tone of voice meant to remind him that Luca was older. By only two minutes, but still, he was older. They’d joked about it as kids, but rarely since then. Now, seeing the steely glint in Luca’s eyes, Matteo decided it was best not to argue.

The door opened onto the porch. The steps had been cleared, as had the long driveway, but snow clung to the meadows and to the hills beyond the house. The sight was beautiful. Even a cynic could admit that.

“Sorry about having to leave early, but—”

“Bullshit.”

Matteo almost stumbled. “What?”

“You heard me.” They’d reached Jake’s truck. Luca opened the passenger door, snatched Matteo’s bag from his hand, tossed it on the seat and slammed the door. “You no more have an appointment tomorrow than I do.”

“Hey. You calling me a liar?” Matteo asked, trying to sound indignant.

“I’m calling you a man running for his life.”