Passionately Ever After. Metsy Hingle
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had known was that never before in her life had she been so drawn to a man. More than drawn, she admitted. She’d been entranced by him. One look and she’d known that he was the man she had waited for her entire life. She drank in the sight of him again now. The tall, athletic frame of his body. Those linebacker shoulders that filled the black and red sweater he wore so wonderfully. The tad-too-long dark hair that made him look more like a rebel than a dot-com millionaire. Suddenly Maria could remember all too easily the texture of his hair when she’d wound her fingers through it, the feel of that hair brushing against her bare skin while they made love.
Realizing what she was doing, Maria shut off the dangerous memories. She lifted her gaze to meet Steven’s. And her breath hitched as those piercing blue eyes of his went from cool to hot as he looked at her. For a moment, Maria couldn’t breathe. Trapped in the heat of his gaze, her pulse pounded frantically as Steven started across the room toward her. His eyes never wavered and when he captured her nervous fingers in his hands, Maria feared for a moment that she might actually faint.
“Hello, Maria,” he said, his voice like a caress.
Maria opened her mouth, intent on returning the greeting, but no words came out. As though in a trance, she simply stood there and watched as Steven began to lower his head. When his mouth was mere inches from hers, sanity suddenly came slamming back. She turned her face away and his lips brushed her cheek. The kiss was light, barely a whisper of a touch, but it might as well have been a brand, Maria thought, because she felt the burn of Steven’s kiss all the way down to her toes.
Rattled and fearful she would do something foolish like throw herself into his arms, Maria pulled her hands free and stepped back. “Hello, Steven,” she finally managed and didn’t miss the flicker of annoyance that crossed his handsome face.
“It is a lovely surprise, your Steven coming to visit you, yes?” Magdalene asked.
“Somehow I don’t think Maria’s all that surprised to see me, Mrs. Calderone,” Steven offered in her silence.
“It is Magdalene,” her friend chided him.
“My apologies, Magdalene,” Steven offered gallantly and earned another smile from the older woman.
“This is true, Maria? You were expecting Steven?” Magdalene asked.
“No, not exactly,” Maria hedged. More like she had hoped that he wouldn’t be able to find her. Aware that both Magdalene and Louis were waiting for her to explain, she said, “When I spoke to Karen the other day she mentioned that Steven had said he wanted to speak with me.”
Steven arched his brow at her understatement. But much to her relief he didn’t point out that he had sworn to Karen that he intended to track her down no matter how long it took him.
Unfortunately, it hadn’t taken him long at all. Not that she was surprised, she wasn’t. After all, Steven Conti hadn’t become a millionaire before he was twenty-five by failing to attain whatever goal he’d set for himself. And according to Karen, he had been quite determined to find her—with or without her cousin’s help.
“Well, Louis and I are happy you have come. Our Maria has been moping about since Thanksgiving. Now we understand why. Don’t we, Louis?” Magdalene asked, the twinkle back in her eyes.
“We do?” Louis asked, a puzzled expression on his dark, weathered face.
Magdalene rolled her eyes. “Men! Louis, our Maria has not only been missing her family. She has been missing Steven.”
“Is Magdalene right, Maria? Have you missed me?” Steven asked, his voice somber, his eyes serious.
Her heart ached at the longing he made no attempt to hide from her. Not trusting herself to answer him, she turned away and walked over to the fireplace. For once she failed to appreciate the beauty of the Indian blanket that hung on the wall above the stone hearth. She simply stared into the fire, scarcely aware of the heat of the flames that licked at the logs or the spit and hiss of the burning wood. She pressed a hand to her belly and searched for the right words to tell Steven about the baby.
“Pequeña, what is wrong?” Magdalene asked. “Maria?”
At the sound of Magdalene’s voice, Maria shook off her sadness and turned her attention toward the other woman. “I’m sorry, Magdalene. Did you say something?”
A frowning Magdalene marched over to her, placed a hand on her forehead, then caught her fingers. “No fever. And you don’t feel chilled anymore. Are you still cold?”
“A little,” Maria fibbed, still unwilling to reveal her protruding belly.
Magdalene’s frown deepened. “Did you tell the doctor about these chills?”
“Doctor?” Steven repeated and Maria didn’t miss the note of alarm in his voice. “What’s this about a doctor? Are you sick?”
“No. No, I’m not sick. It was just a checkup,” Maria said quickly, silently pleading with Magdalene with a look to say nothing about the baby. “I’m just not used to the Montana winters and I was a little chilled when I came inside. That’s all.”
Magdalene’s dark eyes widened slightly as understanding dawned. “Perhaps some hot chocolate will help to warm you up,” she offered, but Maria didn’t miss the reproach in the other woman’s expression.
“Yes. Hot chocolate sounds wonderful,” Maria replied.
“What about you, Steven?” Magdalene asked as she returned to the coffee table and began loading dishes onto the serving tray. “Would you care for another cup of coffee or would you like hot chocolate, too?”
“If it’s no trouble, coffee would be great.”
“No trouble at all.”
“I’ll take another cup, too,” Louis informed his wife.
“Why don’t you come help me in the kitchen, Louis?” Magdalene suggested.
“But—”
“I’m sure Steven and Maria have much to discuss. You will excuse us for a moment. Yes?” Magdalene asked and gave Maria a pointed look.
“Of course,” Maria said.
“Come, Louis.” Magdalene smiled at her confused-looking spouse and handed him the tray. “Perhaps you will sample the cinnamon rolls I baked earlier. I am thinking that maybe I should send some for the Christmas Bazaar at the church.”
“Anything to help you and the church,” a beaming Louis replied, and with tray in hand, he headed for the door.
Magdalene paused, looked back at Maria for a moment. “I will be in the kitchen if you need me, pequeña,” she said before following her husband from the room.
Steven watched the two women exchange looks and wondered at the unspoken message that passed between them. For a moment, he could have sworn he’d picked up some strange vibes in the room, but then Magdalene was closing the door and leaving him alone with Maria.
With the Calderones gone, the room fell silent, and were it not for the hiss of the logs burning in the fireplace, Steven was sure he could have heard a pin drop. But after months of being haunted by the memory of Maria, not even the unnatural silence dimmed the pleasure of being near her again.
So he drank in the sight of her now. Like a starving man, he took in every detail of her appearance. Her hair was longer, he noted, falling like mahogany silk nearly to her shoulders. Her skin was paler than he remembered, but there seemed to be a glow to it now that hadn’t been there when she’d fled from Boston. Courtesy of the mountain air, he suspected. He wasn’t sure if the flush in her cheeks was due to his presence or to the heat from the fire, and decided it was probably a little of both.
He looked into those big doe eyes of hers—eyes that he’d seen countless times in his dreams. Much to his disappointment there was the same wariness in them now that had been there the last time he’d seen her. Shrugging