by Susan Meier
She took a step back too. “I’d have to make a ton of money to be able to live in New York on my own, especially with the added expense of a baby. If I couldn’t make it as a single woman, it’s pretty far-fetched to think I could make it as a single mom. At the wedding, I thought about finding new roommates, but I now realize it might be impossible to find two women who want to share the small amount of space we could afford with an infant. I think, in the end, I’m going to have to go back to Kentucky. Live with my parents until the baby is born and then hope I can find a job.”
* * *
The sadness in her voice sat on Antonio’s shoulders like a cold, wet coat. Two minutes ago, she’d been so fiery he’d wanted to kiss her. But suddenly she’d become meek, docile.
Not that he wasn’t glad. Now that he knew she was pregnant, everything inside him had frozen with a new kind of fear. The last thing he needed in his life was someone who would remind him of the child he had lost. He might be able to keep her in his home for the four weeks of rest she needed, four weeks before her pregnancy showed...but he couldn’t handle watching another man’s baby grow when he knew his own child had been cast aside.
She pointed behind her to the door. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to the kitchen to make a sandwich.”
“I’ll show you—”
She waved a hand to stop him. “I’m fine. I really do need some time by myself.”
She turned and walked out of the room, and he fell to the tall-backed chair behind the desk and rubbed his hands down his face. The man who loved peace and quiet now had a constantly hungry pregnant woman in his home. Pregnant. As in with child. Here was a single woman with no money who was willing to beg and sacrifice to figure out what to do with her life so she could keep her child—and his wealthy wife, who could have hired all the help in the world, had aborted his baby.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He had to get her out of his house before her pregnancy showed, before the constant reminder drove him insane with sadness and anger.
But he wouldn’t do it at the expense of her feelings. She’d left his office believing she’d done something wrong, when she had done nothing wrong. His jumbled emotions had caused him to react poorly.
He should apologize tonight, before she went to bed, so she didn’t take the weight of this job loss on her shoulders like one more mistake.
He bounced out of his chair and headed for the kitchen, but when he got there it was empty. And clean. Not even a bread crumb on a countertop.
Regret tightened his stomach. He hoped to God he hadn’t upset her so much she’d decided not to eat. Thinking that she might have gone outside for some fresh air before making her snack, he waited in the kitchen for twenty minutes. But she never came in.
Irritation with himself poured through him. Of course he’d upset her by telling her she couldn’t stay. She was pregnant and sensitive. Right now she was probably taking responsibility for everything that happened to her.
Knowing he had to apologize and make her see it wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t keep her, he headed upstairs to her room. The strip of light below the white door to her bedroom indicated she was inside, and he knocked once.
“Laura Beth?”
There was no answer, but the light told him she was still awake, probably reading the science fiction novel she’d had on the plane.
He knocked again. “Laura Beth?”
This time when she didn’t answer, he sighed heavily. She might want her privacy, but he didn’t want a sleepless night, angry with himself for being the cause of her anxiety and going to bed hungry. And he didn’t want her upset with herself.
He twisted the knob. “I’m coming in.”
As soon as the door opened, he knew why she hadn’t answered. Sprawled across the bed, wrapped in the bath towel she’d used after showering, lay his houseguest. Her toes hung off the side. Her hair fell down her long, sleek back. The towel cruised across her round buttocks.
The fact that she was angry with him disappeared from his brain like a puff of smoke as interest and curiosity fluttered inside him. He told himself to get out of her room. She was sleeping. Obviously exhausted. And tiptoeing closer was not a very gentlemanly thing to do.
But right at that moment, he didn’t feel like a gentleman. The artist in him awoke and cautiously eyed the smooth lines of her back, the long sweep that spoke of classic femininity, the perfect milk-white skin interrupted by dark locks of hair that shimmered when she sniffed and shifted in her sleep.
Longing to paint coiled through him. Swift and sharp, it stole his breath. His fingers twitched, yearning for the slim wooden handle of a paintbrush, and also pulling him out of his trance.
Oh, dear God.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d wanted to paint her. For real. At the wedding he’d wanted to capture the expression in her eyes, but that had been more like a wish.
What he’d just felt was a genuine yearning to see her form on a canvas, to bring her essence to life.
Excitement raced through him and he studied her back, her hair, her peaceful face against the soft white pillow. His unwanted attraction to her blossomed, but the desire to paint didn’t return.
Anguish filled him, but he brushed it off. He couldn’t explain the fleeting moment of wanting to paint her, but it was gone and that might be for the best. His decision to let her go was a good one. Even if his ability to paint returned, he could not paint her. It could take weeks to get the image of her he wanted and by that time she’d be showing and he’d experience all the sadness of the loss of his child a hundred times over.
He quietly tiptoed backward toward the door and left her as she lay.
* * *
The next morning, Laura Beth awakened to the bright Italian sun peeking in through the blinds behind the sheer aqua curtains. She stretched luxuriously on the smooth, cool sheets that felt like—terry cloth?
Her brow furrowed and she looked down with a gasp as the events of the night before tumbled back. She’d been too tired to make herself something to eat but had forced herself to shower, then she’d fallen asleep before she could even get into pajamas. Pregnancy was full of surprises.
But that was fine. Today was the second day of her life as a realist. No more dreaming or rhapsodizing for her. She had a child to consider. She might have told Antonio the night before that she envisioned herself going back to Kentucky, but that wasn’t the optimal plan. Her parents would eventually come around and love the baby, no matter that it didn’t have a participating father and that their daughter wasn’t married. But there weren’t a lot of jobs for IT—information technology—people in Starlight, Kentucky, the small town in which she’d grown up. If she was going to earn a decent living, it would be by getting a job where she could use her degree. And that was what she needed to consider while she had this one-month reprieve. She had to think about exactly what kind of job she could do and in what city she would find it.
She dressed in her best jeans—which were nonetheless worn—and a pink tank top, then ambled downstairs feeling a little better. Because she’d slept later than she normally did, her morning sickness was barely noticeable. Antonio might not be giving her a shot to prove that she could be a good assistant, but she needed time to really think through her options. And he was giving it to her. In beautiful Italy.
Technically, she was lucky.
Very lucky.
When she opened the door to the huge stainless-steel kitchen, the noise of shuffling pots and chatting servants greeted her. Antonio’s staff hadn’t been around the day before. He’d mentioned giving them time off while he was in New York for the two weeks for Eloise and Ricky’s wedding. But today they were in the kitchen, going about what looked to be typical duties.
“Good morning!”
The three women froze. Dressed in yellow uniforms, w
ith their hair tucked into neat buns at the backs of their heads, they could have been triplets, except the woman at the stove appeared to be in her seventies. The woman at the table was probably in her thirties. And the woman with the dust cloth looked to be in her early twenties.
The oldest woman said, “Good morning,” but it sounded more like “Goot morning.”
Laura Beth eased a little farther into the room. “I’m a friend of Antonio’s. I’m staying here for a few weeks. Hopefully, I’m going to be helping him clean his outer office.”
The youngest woman smiled. Her big brown eyes brightened. “Sì.”
The oldest woman batted a hand. “Her English isn’t good. God only knows what she thought you said.” She walked from behind the huge center island that housed the six-burner chef’s stove. “Would you like some coffee?”
“She can’t drink coffee.” Antonio’s words were followed by the sound of the swinging door behind Laura Beth closing. “She’s pregnant.”
The eyes of all three women grew round, then bright with happiness.
Caught like a child with her hand in the cookie jar, Laura Beth spun around. Antonio’s usually wild hair had been tied back, and the curve of a tattoo rose above the crew neck of his T-shirt, teasing her, tempting her to wonder what an artist would have chosen to have drawn on his shoulder. Rumor had it that he had a huge dragon tattooed from his neck to his lower back and that it was magnificent.
Interest turned to real curiosity, the kind that sent a tingle through her and made her long to ask him to take off his shirt.
Their gazes caught and her stomach cartwheeled. The attraction she felt for him rippled through her, reminding her of the look he’d given her the night before. She told herself she wasn’t allowed to be attracted to her boss—even if he was gorgeous and sexy with his dark eyes that seemed to hold secrets, and the unruly hair that framed the strong face of an aristocrat. But after their encounter in the office the night before, everything about him seemed amplified.
He’d wanted to kiss her. She was just about positive of it. So why hadn’t he?
Her curiosity spiked. Something soft and warm shivered in the pit of her stomach.
Oh...that had been a bad question to ask.
The oldest housekeeper’s excited voice broke the trance. “We will have a baby here!”
“No.” Antonio faced his staff and said, “We will have a pregnant woman here for about four weeks.”
“Ah. Sì.”
Antonio pointed at her. “This is Rosina. She supervises Carmella and Francesca.”
Laura Beth stepped forward to shake their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”
They giggled.
“They aren’t accustomed to guests shaking their hands.”
“But I’m an employee, just as they are.” She turned to Antonio. Her gaze met his simmering brown eyes and her stomach fell. Good grief, he was hot.
She took a step back, but swayed. She hoped her morning sickness was back because she’d hate to think she’d actually faint over a good-looking guy.
He caught her elbows and kept her upright. “Let’s get you to the dining room and get some food in that stomach.”
As he led her into the ultramodern dining room, dominated by the large rectangular table with mismatched chairs, her skin prickled from the touch of his fingers on her arm.
She reminded herself that he was only a friend helping her because she’d swayed. And she was pregnant—with another man’s child. She didn’t know how Italian men were about these things, but lots of American men would think long and hard before they took on the responsibility for another man’s child. And Antonio was half-American.
Damn it! Why was she even thinking about this?
He pulled out her chair and helped her sit, but immediately excused himself. “I’ll need five minutes. By the time I get back, the staff will have breakfast ready.”
She nodded and he left. Nervous, she shifted on her chair, until the pool beyond the wall of glass caught her eye. Past the shimmering water were lush gardens, and beyond that, the blue sky. She’d been to Italy before, but this place, the place Antonio had chosen, was so perfect it seemed to have been carved out of heaven. The peace and quiet of it settled over her.
The door swung open and Antonio returned to the table. “I’m sorry about that.”
As he spoke, Rosina entered behind him, carrying two plates of eggs, bacon and toast. She served their breakfasts and exited. Antonio opened his napkin and picked up his fork.
“I trust eggs and bacon are good for you this morning.”
She nodded eagerly, her stomach rumbling from the scent of warm bacon. “It’s great. I’m starving.”
His fork halfway to his plate, he paused. “You should be. You didn’t eat last night. I went into the kitchen ten minutes after you said you’d be getting a snack, but you weren’t there.”
“Too tired. Honestly, Antonio, everybody talks about things like morning sickness, but nobody ever mentions the exhaustion.”
He fussed with the silverware beside his plate. “When I told Rosina you had fallen asleep last night without even changing into pajamas, she said women are very tired for the first three months and fall asleep often.”
She heard everything he said as a jumble of words. Her brain stalled then exploded after he said he knew she’d fallen asleep without changing. For him to know that, he had to have checked up on her. Which meant he’d seen her lying naked across her bed. Her face blossomed with heat.
“What?”
She sucked in a breath. “You came looking for me last night?”
“Yes.”
She groaned.
He frowned. “What?”
“You saw me naked.”
He busied himself with his silverware again. “No. I saw you lying on the bed with a towel wrapped around you. You weren’t naked.”
“Oh, way to split hairs.”
“Americans are prudish.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she making too much of this? “You’re half-American!”
He laughed. “What are you worried about? You have a beautiful, long, sleek back. I’d love to paint you, but I’d replace the towel with a swatch of silk—” He stopped. His brow furrowed.
This time she frowned. “What?”
He picked up his napkin. “It’s my turn to say nothing.”
“Really? Because I wouldn’t mind sitting for a portrait.”
He sniffed a laugh. “Then you’d be sitting for a long time. I haven’t painted for two years.”
Since his wife died. She knew that. And knowing he’d grieved for two long years, a smart person wouldn’t push, wouldn’t question any further. She reached for her toast.
Rosina walked into the dining room. “Excuse me, Mr. B. Your package has arrived. I sent it back to the office as you requested.”
He rose. “Thank you, Rosina.”
Laura Beth looked from Antonio to Rosina and back again. But the oldest maid smiled and walked away. Antonio set his napkin on his plate. “That would be your computer.”
“My computer?”
“Yes. I ordered you a new one, since you insist on playing secretary for two weeks. Come back to the office whenever you’re ready. I’ll have it set up.”
An odd feeling stole through Laura Beth as he walked out of the room. Why had he gotten her a new computer when there were two perfectly good computers in his office? She remembered the software might have commands in Italian and she didn’t speak Italian, and went back to eating.
She finished her breakfast, wishing she could eat more. Not because she was hungry but because she simply wanted more food. But in the end, she knew if she didn’t soon get ahold of her appetite, she’d be big as a house when this baby was born.
After washing her hands and brushing her teeth in her room, she made her way to the office.
As she entered, she gasped. “Wow. Look at this.” Everything on the desk had been stacked in neat piles. The old computer had been removed and sat on the floor in a corner.
He pointed at his office behind her. “Everything in that room is to be left alone.” He motioned to the piles on the smaller secretarial desk. “This fan mail you can answer.”
“What about the other stacks?”
“Some are requests for portraits or for me to paint specific scenes or commissioned work for someone’s home or office. Those we will answer together.”
She nodded. Obviously considering the conversation over, he walked to the computer sitting in the corner, picked up the monitor and took it into his office. He returned and did the same with the computer tower and the keyboard. When he was done, he pulled the office door closed and locked it.
She tried to catch his gaze, but he avoided her by keeping his attention on the keys he shoved into his pocket.
“I have some errands in town. I’ll be back at noon to read any letters you’ve drafted.”
She nodded and said, “Yes,” but before the word was fully out of her mouth he was gone.
She sat at her desk, glancing at the new computer, which he’d set up while she finished breakfast. When she saw that everything was in English, she reminded herself that was why he’d bought a new computer.
But that made her frown. If the computer had instructions and menus in a language she didn’t speak, why would he feel the need to hide it behind closed doors?
Why hide it at all?
CHAPTER FIVE
ANTONIO RETURNED A little after three. Angry with himself for being so obvious about hiding the computer, he’d avoided his office. But he couldn’t stay away any longer.
