together, then smiled. “Good.”
He stared at her. He knew he should get up and leave. She didn’t want him here. And yet, he couldn’t seem to tear himself away. He wanted her to like him. Or maybe he just wanted her to admit he wasn’t that bad so he could be the one to dismiss her. He wasn’t sure which it was.
“Maybe I can explain my … less-than-friendly reaction to you this way. You think women should fall for you like … like apples in a tree, right into your arms. Don’t you?”
“So what are you saying?” he quipped back. “That you’re not ripe yet?”
She gave him a baleful look from behind the glasses.
“Or maybe, it’s this. That you’re forbidden fruit?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “Bingo,” she said, then sobered. “Now if you don’t mind …”
“But I do mind.” He breathed in her scent again and knew that was part of the reason he didn’t want to leave her. She smelled like exotic fruit—forbidden or not. And he was rapidly developing a taste for it. He stayed right where he was and began to talk about simple, banal things around them, just to try to lower the unease between them.
Listening to him, Elena began to tap her foot nervously. He put her on edge and she didn’t like that. She came to this place for peace and resuscitation, not to be the object of a verbal joust.
She wondered for a moment if she should call Fabio back. She’d been told when he first came to work for her that she wasn’t to let him play with children. He was a professional with tasks to perform and it would confuse him to treat him like a house pet. At first she’d been very rigid about it, making sure he toed the line in all aspects of their relationship. But the more she’d grown to depend upon him, the more she’d relaxed. He was enjoying the boy. She could hear them both. That told her he was still close enough so that she didn’t need to worry. And they were having such a good time. She smiled. She would let him play awhile longer.
The man’s arm brushed hers and she almost gasped. Luckily, she controlled the impulse, but she bit into her lower lip to do it. He didn’t seem to notice. He was talking about the sunlight on the ocean and the quality of the water below them. Ordinary things. Things anyone might talk about. And though he hadn’t left, he wasn’t being so obnoxious anymore. She sighed. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. She shouldn’t be so judgmental. He was probably a decent enough fellow.
And yet.
There was something there that bothered her, something she could hear in his voice. An underlying unhappiness, perhaps—an old wound that still festered. Something that ate at him deep inside.
But she had no intention of trying to help this man. He wasn’t a friend and he was never going to be. She moved impatiently, about to call Fabio back to her side, but her foot struck the side of her canvas bag and she felt it overturn and spill its contents onto the ground.
“Oh, bother,” she muttered, leaning down to collect her belongings.
But he did it for her. “Here you go,” he said, but then he hesitated and she waited, wondering what he’d found that interested him among her things.
“So you’re an artist,” he said at last.
She frowned, surprised. “Of sorts,” she replied, thinking of her musicianship. She’d been extremely musical from the beginning, and once she’d lost her sight, at age four, she’d plunged into music as a way of communicating with a world that didn’t know what to do with people like her. “How did you know?”
“I can see you’ve been sketching.”
She went very still. What on earth was the man talking about? “Have I?” she said carefully.
“Yes. Here’s your sketchbook. It fell out of your bag.”
My sketchbook? What sketchbook?
Then her mind cleared. Ah, Gino. Her very gay, very artistic friend who often came along when she climbed out here in the ruins. He’d come along today, but had gone back to the house to make a phone call. The sketchbook had to be his.
“Mind if I look at these?” the man was asking.
“Oh, why not?” She laughed softly, wondering what else Gino had left in her bag.
She heard pages rustling, but there was dead silence from her companion.
“Wow,” he said at last, his voice somewhat strangled. “Michelangelo’s got nothing on you.”
She frowned, wondering what on earth that meant. “It’s nice to have one’s work appreciated,” she said ambiguously.
“You do have a way with …” he cleared his throat “ … uh, the nude male form.”
She choked back a laugh. Oh, Gino, what have you been up to? From the nuances she sensed in this man’s voice, whatever he’d found on the pages was pretty darn provocative. She could just imagine—Gino unleashed!
Good heavens. And just how did he suppose that a blind woman managed that sort of thing? But he still didn’t realize she was blind. People often didn’t catch on at first. She’d trained herself to move and express herself just as a sighted person would. Fate had played a very large, serious joke on her and she enjoyed playing her little joke on the world in return. Still, most people got clued in relatively quickly. Usually seeing her with Fabio and putting two and two together was what did it. But then, he hadn’t really seen her with her dog, had he? He’d seen his son with Fabio, not her, and the connection hadn’t been made. Interesting.
“So you like the style?” she asked, having a hard time holding back a chuckle. “Tell me. Which is your favorite?”
He choked for just a moment, and his voice was a bit ragged when he responded. “Why don’t you tell me which is yours?”
“Hmm.” She put her head to the side. “I think I love them all.”
“Right.” He drew in a sharp breath and didn’t seem to have a good response to that one.
He didn’t know what to make of her. It was obvious. Finding nude sketches in her bag presented a whole new side of her from his point of view. He was probably trying to decide whether to take it as an earthy invitation to intimacy—or to run for cover. The laughter bubble was coming up her throat and she didn’t know how long she would be able to hold it back.
“So. Do you hire models for this kind of thing?” he asked carefully.
She shook her head. She knew it was time to stop this. She could hear the intensity building in his voice. The thought of her sketching these nude male images was turning him on in a big way. And an aroused, aggressive man whom she didn’t really know was something she didn’t want to deal with. But she couldn’t resist one last needling.
“Why? Are you offering your services?” She raised an eyebrow and waited to see what he would say.
“That would depend on the compensation,” he said, moving closer, his voice deepening.
She moved a little away, but still asked, “What would
