Free Hidden Agenda by Rochelle Alers

thirsty towels and an ample supply of thick, white velour bathrobes in varying sizes from men’s extra large to women’s petite.
    Eve wondered how many other women had selected robes from the supply in Matt’s bedroom when he conducted liaisons in the privacy of his hotel suite.
    Well, there was one thing she was certain of—she would
not
be one of Matt’s women.

Chapter 8
    E ve reentered the living room and found Matt in the dining area staring out the wall of glass. The sky had darkened so much that it was impossible to tell the hour.
    He hadn’t changed his clothes and his damp shirt clung to his back, outlining the brown flesh through the finely woven fabric.
    A roll of thunder shook the heavens, followed by an ear-shattering crash of lightning, and the distant mountains were brilliantly highlighted by the flash of atmospheric energy. Placing a hand over her mouth, she’d hoped to cut off her scream of terror, but she wasn’t quick enough.
    Matt turned, his eyes large and questioning. He was beside Eve in less than a half dozen steps. “What’s the matter?”
    Her fingers trembled against her equally quivering lips. She tried speaking, the words refusing to come from her constricted throat.
    Grasping her shoulders, Matt shook her gently. “Eve!” He pulled her to his chest, and she collapsed. The fear in her eyes was so vivid that he couldn’t imagine what had put it there. She continued to mumble incoherently against his chest. Lowering his head, he kissed her forehead. “What is it, Darling?”
    “Close the drapes. Now!” Desperation vibrated in the demand.
    He seated her on the sofa, then turned and made his way to the windows. Within seconds the panoramic view of Mexico City was hidden behind a wall of pale silk.
    Retracing his steps, Matt stood over Eve. She lay face down on the sofa, her arms crossed over her head; he sat down beside her and pulled her trembling body into his strong embrace, pressing her face to his shoulder.
    “I’ve closed them, Eve. Look,” he urged.
    Eve chanced a look at the drawn drapes, her heart rate slowing. The fear she should have overcome as a child had continued to haunt her into adulthood.
    “Thank you, Mateo.” Her voice was a breathless whisper. Resting her head on his chest, she closed her eyes, absorbing his warmth and strength.
    In the instant she’d whispered his name, Matt had learned more about Eve Blackwell than in the past twenty-four hours or than her dossier had revealed. She only called him
Mateo
in anger or in fear, and he’d seen her fear—stark and vivid.
    Holding her gently, one hand caressing her back, he pressed his lips to her moist hair. “Tell me about it,
Preciosa
.”
    Eve felt a momentary wave of panic, then it subsided. How could she tell Matt about something so fearful, so trenchant? And what saddened her was that she connected the only thing she remembered about her mother with fear.
    “Eve, you must learn to trust me. I have to know how to protect you.”
    She had sought to erect a wall of resistance against Matthew Sterling. She wanted their encounter brief and uneventful, not one which meant involvement with this mysterious, complex man.
    But she would become involved; and her involvement would be as his wife!
    “I don’t remember too much about my mother,” she began quietly, unshed moisture glistening in her eyes, “except that she always wore perfume. I used to tell her that she smelled good enough to eat. She’d laugh because she knew how much I loved candy. She used to threaten me, saying that if I didn’t stop chewing bubble gum and eating candy I’d grow up with bad teeth and an acne-riddled complexion.”
    Matt tightened his grip on her waist. Eve’s mother was wrong. She had beautiful teeth and a flawless complexion. What he wanted to tell her was that she, also, smelled good enough to eat. The perfume she favored was light and feminine, the fragrance blending sensuously with her own body’s natural scent. His