Italian Maverick's Collection. Кейт Хьюит
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Italian Maverick's Collection - Кейт Хьюит страница 92
“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe Dante’s kids will take an interest in the business.”
Jules glanced over at him, noticing the strained look on his face as he kept his line of vision straight ahead. She wondered about his strong reaction to the thought of having kids.
Maybe it had something to do with her surprise in finding that she was the only woman aside from Maria living at the villa. Where were the women? Stefano was very handsome. In fact, if she were looking for fun beneath the Italian sun, he’d be first on her list. Was he still mourning his wife? Not that it was any of her business. But still she was curious.
“How about you?” Stefano’s voice drew her out of her thoughts.
“What?”
“Are you interested in having a family?”
He was the first person to ask her that question. Not even Lizzie had asked her. And she supposed she owed him some sort of answer since she’d brought up the subject in the first place.
“Do I look like mother material?”
“Sure. I guess.”
“You aren’t even looking at me.”
He stopped walking and turned to her. Silence ensued as he stared at her. “I think that beneath all of that makeup lies a beautiful woman who can have whatever she sets her mind on.”
Her heart stopped. He thought she was beautiful? This was yet another thing that no one had ever said to her. What did she say now?
She moved her tongue from where it was stuck to the top of her mouth, hoping her voice would work. “Thanks. But you don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”
“I’m not.” His eyes darkened as he continued to stare at her as though he was truly seeing her. “There’s something special about you.”
A fluttering sensation filled her chest, and all she could think about was sinking into his arms and finding out if his kisses were as romantic as the ones she watched in the black-and-white movies that played late at night when she was alone while her friends were out on dates.
“I’m out of the loop on what’s in style as far as women’s fashions. I suppose that the makeup and dark clothes are a fashion statement.”
Jules glanced down at her black-on-black ensemble. She never really stopped to think about her appearance. She’d been dressing like this for so many years that it was just natural for her. It hid the ugly scars that lurked beneath—a reminder of a part of her life that was best left hidden and buried.
“Actually, it’s just my style.”
“I see. It...it’s different from how the women in these parts dress. In the village, things are more simplistic than you’ll find in Rome or Milan.”
Normally she’d have taken that as an insult, but he’d already said he thought she was beautiful...beneath the makeup. So maybe he was just stating a fact. She stood out around here. But she didn’t have anything else to wear—anything that would make her fit in better. Not that she planned to—fit in, that is.
She toyed with a loose thread on the hem of her top. “It’s just so different back in New York. It’s like a melting pot of styles and trends.”
“I can imagine. But I’m confused. What does your appearance have to do with you becoming a mother?”
Back to that subject—the one she didn’t want to delve into. “I’m not having kids.”
“As in ever?”
“As in never ever. I wouldn’t have a clue how to be a good mother.” And there she’d gone and blurted out more than she’d intended to say—more than she normally shared with anyone.
Stefano started walking again toward the barn, and she fell in step beside him, waiting and wondering what he’d ask next. They moved along quietly for a few minutes. A gentle breeze brushed over Jules’s face and made her pigtails flutter. But it was the man to her left that had her chest all aquiver. He really thought she was beautiful? Her heart tumbled.
As they neared the large stone structure, Stefano cleared his throat. “You’d be surprised at what people are capable of when their hearts are involved.”
She shook her head. “Trust me. I didn’t have a good role model.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Not as sorry as I am.
Just then she heard something. A squeak? A squeal? A cry?
She stopped walking. “Did you hear that?”
Stefano stopped and glanced back at her. “I don’t hear anything. What is it—”
“Shhh...” Her gaze darted around the foundation of the building, where the grass was higher.
If it was a rat, she was going to scream and jump on Stefano’s back. She may be pushing to gain her independence from her foster sister, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a weakness or two. And rodents gave her the willies. Still curiosity drove her on.
Squeak.
“Did you hear it that time?”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s just some sort of wildlife that can take care of itself. Come on. I’ll give you the unofficial tour of the winery.”
“We can’t leave. Not yet. What if it’s hurt?”
Stefano arched a brow. “Didn’t you just get done telling me that you weren’t the motherly type?”
“I’m not.” Though deep down she wished someday she could be the kind of mother that she’d dreamed of. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m heartless. The creature might be starved or worse.”
She didn’t want to think about the worse part. She’d always had a tender spot for animals, even though she’d never been able to have a pet. Her foster homes wouldn’t allow animals. And then the apartment lease forbade them. But now that she was moving, perhaps she’d look for a pet-friendly apartment.
She hunched over and started searching around the shrubs and through the greenery along the side of the building. When she glanced over her shoulder, she found Stefano standing there staring at her.
“Don’t just stand there. Help me.” She didn’t wait for his response as she turned and continued her hunt.
There was a distinct sigh from Stefano followed by the sound of his approaching footsteps. She wished whatever it was would squeak again. She couldn’t see any signs of life. What was it? And where was it?
“Is this what you’re searching for?”
Jules immediately straightened and turned. Her gaze landed on a fuzzy ball of orange fur. “What is it?”
Stefano