Her Brooding Italian Boss

by Susan Meier

  She made herself some eggs and toast and ate them on the balcony, listening to the soothing sounds of the ocean. Finished eating, she set her plate on the table beside her outdoor chair and let herself drift off to sleep.

  The sound of Antonio calling for her woke her. “Laura Beth?”

  She snapped up on her seat. Her heart leaped, and for a second she let herself consider that he might have changed his mind about her coming along. Lord knew she could eat a second dinner. And though she hadn’t liked Picasso, a gallery opening didn’t usually showcase only one artist. She’d probably see lots of paintings she’d like.

  Filled with hope, she pushed off the patio chair and slid the glass door aside to enter the main living area, and there stood Antonio, so gorgeous in a black tux that her breathing actually stuttered.

  “Look at you!”

  His hair tied back off his face highlighted the sharp angles and planes of his chin and cheeks and made his large brown eyes appear even larger. His crisp white shirt and sleek tux weren’t just sexy. They made the statement of just how refined, how wealthy, he was. Even his shiny shoes spoke of pure elegance.

  “It’s the first time I’ll be in a gallery in over two years. I figured I couldn’t look like a slouch.”

  “Oh, trust me. You do not look like a slouch.”

  He laughed, but extended his right arm toward her. “I can’t get this cuff link to close.”

  She walked over. “Let me see.”

  The cuff link in question was black onyx with a diamond stud.

  “I can get it.”

  She smiled up at him and he gazed down at her, his beautiful dark eyes shiny with anticipation. Her heart tugged. He really wanted to be back in his world. Back with his peers. His people.

  And here she stood in threadbare jeans, an old top and flip-flops. Her longing for him to ask her to come to dinner and the opening with him morphed into shame. Humiliation. Even if he begged, she had nothing to wear.

  But he wasn’t begging.

  His phone rang and she quickly fastened his cuff link so he could grab it from the coffee table. “Olivia, what’s up?”

  She heard the sounds of her friend’s voice, though she couldn’t make out the words. But Antonio laughed.

  “That’s perfect. I love that restaurant.” He headed for the elevator. “I’ve got my dad’s limo. I can be at your hotel in twenty minutes.” He pressed the button and the door magically opened. Listening to Olivia, he turned and waved goodbye to Laura Beth as the door closed behind him.

  And she stood in the glamorous main room, alone, listening to the sounds of silence.

  Tears threatened but she stopped them. She wasn’t upset. She was angry. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have a dress to wear or shoes. Antonio hadn’t been glad to ditch her because she was penniless. He’d been glad to leave her behind because they’d connected that afternoon. They’d talked about Constanzo. He’d let her drive. He’d kissed her, for heaven’s sake. Then they came upstairs to the penthouse and he’d gotten—distant?

  She glanced around.

  Why would he suddenly become cold? The only thing that had happened was finding Constanzo’s note—

  No. He’d become cold when they’d discovered they were alone.

  And he didn’t want to be alone with her.

  Part of her understood. She was a pregnant woman. What rich, eligible bachelor would want to be alone with a pregnant woman?

  But he had no reason to fear her. She’d never made a pass at him. If anything, he’d made a pass at her. He’d kissed her—

  She tossed her hands in the air in frustration. Why was she thinking about this!

  To get her mind off it all, she took a shower and washed her hair. With nothing better to do, she heated the curling iron she found in a drawer and made huge, bouncy curls out of her long locks. Before she could comb them out and style her hair, her stomach growled.

  With fat, uncombed curls and dressed in pajama pants and a huge T-shirt, she walked to the kitchen. Just as she opened the refrigerator, the building doorman rang up. Though she answered the phone, she winced when a bounty of Spanish bombarded her. With a grimace, not even sure she’d be understood, she said, “I don’t speak Spanish.”

  He said something else, then disconnected the call.

  Shaking her head, she headed back to the refrigerator to find a snack, but she heard the elevator doors open, and she walked to the main room.

  There in the elevator was the doorman, package in hand, grinning at her.

  She walked over. “Oh, a package. That’s what you were saying. We had a package.”

  He nodded, handed it to her and left as quickly as he’d arrived, apparently deciding she was a poor candidate for a tip, and he was right, because she didn’t have any of the local currency.

  She started for the coffee table to leave the big box somewhere Antonio would see it, assuming it was something for him, only to see her name on the label.

  She frowned. Who would send her something here? Who even knew she was here?

  Slowly walking back to her room, she examined the label one more time to make sure it really was for her. She closed her bedroom door behind her and opened the box to find a simple black dress and black spike heels.

  Confused, she pulled the dress out of the box. The material was sinfully soft, rich in texture, like a chiffon or organza. A card sat in the crinkled tissue paper that had caressed the dress. She grabbed it, opened it and read, “Cara, go to the opening. Constanzo.”

  She stared at the card, then burst out laughing. This was just too weird. How did he know she wasn’t going to the opening? Unless he’d realized that she’d refused to go to the opening with Antonio because she had nothing to wear? She had mentioned that to him—

  What difference did it make? Antonio was gone. She didn’t have money for a taxi. Antonio had taken the limo. And she couldn’t get the doorman to bring the Jag around because she didn’t speak Spanish. Constanzo might want her to go, but the dress had arrived an hour too late. Which was too bad. She’d really like to go to that opening and show vain, conceited, jumping-to-conclusions Antonio he had nothing to worry about from her.

  She tapped the note against her palm, then glanced at it again and smiled. It was printed on Constanzo’s stationery and had his cell number on it.

  She glanced at the dress, glanced at the card, glanced at herself in the mirror with her hair curled but not combed. She might look like a street person right now, but Antonio had been the one to say he wanted to paint her. Considered her classically beautiful. Kissed her. She hadn’t been the one to make passes at him. So why was he acting as if she were someone to be afraid of?

  Anger bubbled in her stomach. How dare he behave as if she was the one with the crush on him and insultingly leave her behind when he was the one who’d kissed her?

  The shy Kentucky girl in her filled with fire. She raced to the kitchen and picked up the phone the staff probably used to order groceries.

  It took three rings before Constanzo answered. “Hello?”

  “I need a coach.”

  “Excuse me.”

  “You sent me a Cinderella dress but it came too late for me to go to the opening. Antonio’s long gone with the limo. I can’t go with him to the gallery.”

  “I will call the driver and have him come back for you.”

  “I want the Jag.”

  Constanzo laughed. “Excuse me.”

  “I want the Jag. If I’m going to go to the trouble of getting all dolled up...I’m making an entrance.”

  Constanzo laughed with glee. “That’s my girl. I’ll call the doorman and tell him to have the keys waiting for you when you get downstairs.”

  “You better also get my name on the guest list for the opening. I’m pretty sure a
fancy gathering like this one is by invitation only.”

  “I’ll have Bernice call.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Go knock his socks off.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  STANDING IN THE main room of the gallery, pressed in by art aficionados, Antonio glanced at his watch. His return to the world of art had been a subtle, almost disappointing, one. Olivia had other clients—working clients—she was schmoozing right now. Tucker had found two business acquaintances he was talking up. And Antonio stood by a gallery owner from Madrid who desperately wanted him to do a showing.

  Half of him had gone breathless at the prospect. The other half wanted to run in terror.

  The screech of a car grinding to a stop stabbed into the noise of the gallery. He looked up, past Juanita Santos to the wall of windows behind her. A red Jag had pulled up to the curb for valet parking. His eyes narrowed. That looked just like Constanzo’s car.

  The driver’s door opened. A spike heel emerged, connected to one long, slim leg.

  His eyebrows rose. The crowd outside the gallery turned to the newcomer. Men smiled. Women gave her the once-over.

  Antonio’s mouth fell open as Laura Beth tossed the keys to the valet.

  With her hair pulled up, piled high on her head, and looking luscious in the slim black dress, she walked the cobblestone path like a model working the catwalk. The dress rode her curves, accenting her womanly figure, but the black color gave her a sleek, sophisticated air. In her worn jeans and goofy librarian work clothes, she was an all-American girl. In this dress, she was a woman.

  And all eyes were on her.

  His heart caught and his breathing faltered, but he ignored them. He wasn’t in a position to get involved with her. Though looking at her in that dress, he was again tempted. Still, for all he knew, Constanzo had set this up. But even if he hadn’t, his reasons for staying away from Laura Beth were sound. Responsible. He feared watching her belly swell with child, but his first marriage had also made him jaded, angry. She was absolutely too nice for him. And right now she was about to be rejected at the door.

  A gentleman, he couldn’t let that happen. He turned to Juanita. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Of course.”

  He headed for the door, his heart thundering in his chest with fear that she’d be embarrassingly refused entrance. Instead, the young man smiled and motioned for her to enter.

  She dipped her head in thanks and glided into the crowd.

  He stopped and waited for her to see him. When she did, she approached him.

  “Well, look at you.”

  She smiled slowly. “You’ve got to stop stealing my good lines.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad you’re here, but I’m afraid I’m—”

  He was about to say busy, when Olivia raced over. “Laura Beth?”

  She raised her hands. “In the flesh.”

  Olivia squealed with joy. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m spending a few weeks with Antonio, helping him try to clear out his office.”

  One of Olivia’s eyebrows rose as she looked at Antonio, who clearly hadn’t mentioned that her best friend was living with him.

  Laura Beth laughed. “Don’t worry. Constanzo hired me. Antonio didn’t. So he’s not really cooperating.”

  Olivia tilted her head at him. “Pity.”

  Then Laura Beth totally surprised him by squeezing Olivia’s hand and saying, “I’d love to chat. But Antonio was just telling me that he’s busy. I’m assuming you’ve got people for him to meet, so I’m going to walk around the gallery and, you know, browse.”

  Olivia gave her a quick hug. “Have fun. I do have a few people I’d like Antonio to meet. But maybe we can catch up tomorrow.”

  Laura Beth smiled mysteriously. “Maybe.”

  Then she turned and walked away.

  Antonio watched the slight sway of her hips, the long curve of her spine, as she moved away from him.

  “Wow. She looked happy, huh?”

  Antonio faced Olivia. “Happy?”

  “Yeah. Lately she’s been a little glum.” She slid her hand into his elbow and turned him toward the crowd again. “I guessed she was a bit upset about being roommateless, but she wouldn’t talk about it. She won’t take a thing from me or Tucker. Not even a job offer. She wants to make her own way in the world.” She paused and frowned. “How’d Constanzo talk her into working for you?”

  He blinked. Obviously, she didn’t know Laura Beth was pregnant. So he shrugged. “I think losing her apartment really brought home the fact that she couldn’t be choosy about who offered her a job.”

  “Yeah, well, if you really don’t want her, Tucker does. He has an opening for an IT person who would work directly with him, somebody he can trust with his secrets.”

  “Sounds perfect for her.”

  “It is perfect for her. He was going to make the offer after the wedding, but she disappeared. Now at least we know where she went.”

  “Yes, you do.” And Tucker wanting to hire Laura Beth was like a blessing from heaven. A relief.

  Really.

  There was no reason for the odd feeling in his stomach, the fear of losing her, the reminder of how empty his house was without her.

  He peered around into the crowd but couldn’t see Laura Beth. Then he caught a fleeting glimpse of her as she moved between two conversation circles. The men in each cluster smiled at her and she innocently smiled back.

  Jealousy catapulted through him.

  “Ready to mingle?”

  Thanking God for a reason to take his eyes and his attention off Laura Beth, he smiled at Olivia. “Desperately.”

  He spent an hour with Olivia introducing him to gallery owners, art dealers and collectors. His former charm came back to him as if he hadn’t lost it. If he’d had anything new to display or sell, he would have made a killing.

  But he didn’t have anything new to display or sell, and he wasn’t yet entertaining commissions, so everyone drifted away. The futility of his situation roared through him, frustrating him, making him wonder why the hell he was even here.

  He faced Olivia. “I’m going to get a drink. Would you like one?”

  “I think I better find Tucker.”

  Perfect. He could go to the bar, drink himself stupid with scotch and be driven back to the penthouse, where he could pass out and forget he was a has-been.

  Shifting to the side, he slid through the throng of happy people and to the discreet glass-and-marble bar set up in a corner.

  “Scotch.” The bartender turned to go and he caught his arm. “Three of them.”

  The young man nodded, apparently thinking he was getting drinks for friends, and that was just fine with Antonio. He angled himself against the marble, but when he did he saw Laura Beth, standing alone, staring at a painting.

  He studied the tilt of her head, the way it clearly displayed her interest in the picture, saw the light and shadows he’d use if he painted her, so everyone would see what he saw. A newcomer falling in love.

  Damn it! What was he doing imagining painting her again!

  “Here you are, sir.”

  The bartender set three crystal glasses of scotch on the bar. Antonio took the first one and downed it. He set the empty glass on the bar, then dug through his pockets for a good tip.

  He walked away with a scotch in each hand, deliberately heading away from Laura Beth, but apparently she’d moved too, because there she stood, in front of another display. This one she seemed to like about as much as she liked the Picassos.

  Watching her, he sipped the second scotch. The desire to capture her slithered through him again, just as Jason Ashbury stopped in front of him.

  “I wanted to give you a card.”


  Antonio set his second scotch on an available tray with a wince. “Sorry.”

  Jason laughed. “Never apologize for enjoying a good scotch.” He handed the card to Antonio. “I know you’re accustomed to bigger galleries, but we’d love to have you in Arizona.”

  And he’d love to be in a gallery in Arizona. He’d love to have a showing anywhere. If he could just freaking paint again.

  His gaze strolled to Laura Beth.

  Jason shook his hand. “Come visit us. Maybe we’ll inspire you.”

  He walked away and Antonio’s eyes sought Laura Beth again. She all but shimmered in the sophisticated dress, but she couldn’t hide that innocence. And maybe that’s what drew him. She was his deceased wife’s polar opposite. And if her innocence was the medicine he needed to paint again, maybe he shouldn’t fight it.

  He strolled over. “Are you okay?”

  “What? You think a woman can’t be on her own in a gallery?”

  “No. You’re pregnant and it’s been a long night and you still have a bit of a drive home.”

  She winced. “Saw me in the car, did you?”

  He took a step closer. “Saw you getting out of the car.”

  This time she laughed. “That was fun.”

  “You looked like you were enjoying it.”

  “Oh, I was.” She took a long drink of air. “I’m going to miss this.”

  “Barcelona?”

  “No. The dressing up tonight and playacting.”

  He raised one eyebrow in question. “Why? You’ve got a few more weeks in Italy. You can do all the dressing up and playacting you want.”

  She shook her head. “No. I can’t. Walking around here tonight, I remembered something I’d thought at the wedding. I took what I believed was a real job because I’m not an executive or a trust-fund baby or even employable in New York City.” She faced him. “But you don’t want me and I don’t really belong here. It’s time for me to go home.”