One Passionate Night: Her Brooding Italian Boss / The Heiress's Secret Baby / Best Friend to Wife and Mother?. SUSAN MEIER
Both rose. “Good morning!”
Constanzo’s greeting was a little cheerier than Antonio’s, but at least he wasn’t scowling. What was with these two that they could argue one minute and be best friends the next?
Was that why she couldn’t get along with Antonio? Because she wanted resolutions to arguments, when he seemed perfectly happy to ignore conflict?
* * *
Antonio surreptitiously watched Laura Beth walk to her seat. She looked girl-next-door pretty in a coral-colored T-shirt and jeans that were so worn she was either really, really poor or really, really in fashion.
He watched her all but devour a plate of French toast as his father rambled off a long list of places he wanted to show her that morning, including the Museum of Modern Art and the Picasso Museum.
His pulse thrummed. He never came to Barcelona without a trip to the Picasso Museum. But should he risk spending time with her when she pushed all his attraction buttons?
Without looking up from the morning paper, his father said, “Would you care to join us, Antonio?”
He wanted to, but he also didn’t. He’d come on this trip to get away from the temptation of his assistant, the longing to paint, when he knew it was off, wrong somehow. She was a nice girl and he was a bleak, angry man who was as much attracted to the idea of painting again as he was attracted to her. No matter how he sliced it, he would be using her.
And, if nothing else, he knew that wasn’t right.
“I’m thinking about—” He paused. His brain picked now to die on him? He was the king of excuses for getting out of things. Especially with his father. But he wasn’t at home, where he could cite a million nitpicky things he could do. He was in his father’s home, in a city he didn’t visit often.
His father peered at him over his reading glasses. “Thinking about what? Going to the museum? Or something else?”
He couldn’t make an excuse Constanzo would see right through. It would only make the old man more curious, and when he was curious, he hounded Antonio until he admitted things he didn’t want to admit. If he gave his father even the slightest hint he was avoiding Laura Beth, his dad would either get angry or he’d figure out Antonio was attracted to her.
Oh, Lord! With his nosy dad, that would be a disaster.
It was the lesser of two evils to just give in and join Laura Beth and Constanzo. He could always go his own way in the museum.
“Actually, I’d love to go to the museum with you.”
Constanzo’s face split into a wide grin. Laura Beth looked confused. Well, good. She certainly confused him enough.
An hour later, he strolled into the main room of the penthouse, where Laura Beth perched on one of the parallel white sofas, awaiting his father. Though Constanzo had said they’d leave at ten, his dad didn’t really keep to a schedule.
“He might be a minute.”
She laughed. “Really? I’m shocked.”
Antonio lowered himself to the sofa across from her. He didn’t want to be attracted to her, hated the fleeting longing to paint she inspired, if only because it always flitted away, but she was a guest and it was time to mend fences. Even if she returned to New York tomorrow, he’d see her at Olivia and Tucker’s parties. They needed to get back to behaving normally around each other. Small talk to show he wanted to be friends was exactly what they needed.
“That’s right, you flew here with him last night. You’ve experienced the joy of traveling with my dad when he doesn’t fall asleep.”
She winced. “He wasn’t too bad. He just wants what he wants when he wants it.”
“Precisely.”
He tried a smile and she smiled back. But it was a slow, awkward lift of her lips. Discomfort shimmied around them. And why not? He’d told her his thoughts. His desire to paint her. The fact that he thought she was classically beautiful. Right before he’d chased her out of his office and then arranged to be away from her. She probably thought he was just shy of insane and might never be comfortable around him again.
She rose from the sofa and walked to the wall of windows. “The ocean is pretty from up here.”
He swallowed. Her little coral-colored top hugged her back. Her threadbare jeans caressed her bottom. In his mind’s eye he didn’t merely see her sensual curves; he saw the breakdown of lines and color.
Longing to paint swooped through him. But he answered as calmly as he could. “The ocean is always pretty.”
She conceded that with a shrug and didn’t say anything else, just gazed out at the sea, looking like a woman lost, with no home...because that’s what she was. Lost. Alone. Homeless.
And pregnant.
Emptiness billowed through him, like the wind catching a sail, when he thought of the loss of his own child. But his conscience pricked. As much as he’d like to pretend everything between him and Laura Beth was okay—the way he and his dad always handled conflict—she was his friend. No matter that he couldn’t paint her because he didn’t trust the artistic urges she inspired; he’d treated her abysmally the night before.
Heat washed through him as he remembered her walking in on him in the bathroom. Her eyes had grown huge with surprise, but he’d seen the interest, too. And her interest had fed his. Two steps forward and he could have taken her into his arms, kissed her senseless.
That’s why he’d gotten angry. It had been a defense mechanism against the temptation to take advantage of what he saw in her eyes.
He should say, “I’m sorry,” and apologize for yelling. He nearly did, but that might take them into a discussion of his attraction, which would lead to a discussion of him wanting to paint her and they’d already gone that route. It didn’t solve anything. It actually made things worse between them.
So maybe the just-gloss-over-what-happened-and-pretend-everything’s-okay technique he and Constanzo used was the way to go? Some arguments didn’t have conclusions, and some conflicts simply weren’t meant to be faced.
He rose, walked beside her, and said the most nonromantic, nonconfrontational thing he could think of. “So how are you feeling today?”
She cast a quick glance at him. “I’m pretty good. No morning sickness, but I think that’s because your dad keeps feeding me.”
“Have you told him you’re pregnant?”
She grimaced. “Still working on figuring out how to tell people.”
“Well, my dad would be thrilled.” He would have been even more thrilled with Antonio’s child, but Gisella had stolen that from both of them. “I told you. He loves babies.”
“Which is why he spends so much time with Tucker and Olivia?”
“Yes. That’s part of it. But Olivia and Tucker also go out of their way to make sure he’s a part of things. They think of him as family and he loves that.”
“That’s nice.”
“It is, and it works for me, too. Because any week they’re in Italy entertaining him is a week I don’t have to.”
“Oh, really?”
Antonio pivoted away from the window to see his dad standing in the entry to the main room.
Red blotches had risen to his cheeks. His eyes narrowed condemningly. “You think you have to entertain me?”
Antonio grimaced. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Dad.”
“I’m perfectly clear on what you meant.” His chin lifted. “And if I’m such a burden, then perhaps I’ll just go back to my room and wait for the soccer game.” He turned on his heel and headed down the hall.