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, with 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
