One Passionate Night: Her Brooding Italian Boss / The Heiress's Secret Baby / Best Friend to Wife and Mother?

She almost told him she was more sleepy than hungry, but she finally realized he’d invited her along on this jaunt because he liked company too. So she headed for her room, intending to wash her face and comb her hair, then spend some time with him while he snacked.

Corridors with steel beams, skylights and glass walls took her to the second door on the left. She opened it and stepped inside.

She loved her room in Antonio’s house, but this room was magnificent. Beiges, grays and whites flowed together to create a soothing space like a spa. She could almost hear the wind chimes and sitar music.

She put her suitcase on the bed and walked toward the bathroom, desperate to freshen up before her snack with Constanzo.

With a quick twist of the handle, she opened the door and there stood Antonio, wiping a white terry cloth towel down his chest, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower.

His eyes widened and he instantly rearranged the towel to cover as much of himself as possible.

But it was too late. She’d seen the dark swatches of hair covering his muscled chest, and—wrapped around the side of his neck—the black ink of the webbed wing of the rumored dragon tattoo.

He gaped at her. “What are you doing here!”

“Me?” Too shocked to monitor her responses, she yelled right back, “What are you doing here!”

“This is my dad’s penthouse. Why would I not use it when I’m in Barcelona?”

She couldn’t argue that, so she said, “Fine. Whatever.” Lifting her chin, she began backing out of the marble-and-travertine bathroom, embarrassed not just by the fact that she’d walked in on him naked, but also because her mouth watered for a look at his tattoo. From his muscled arms, broad shoulders and defined pecs, she knew his back was probably every bit as spectacular. The right tattoo would make it sexy as hell. “I’m only here because your dad said this was my room.”

“I always use this room when I stay here.”

“Great. Peachy.”

Her face hot, her mind reeling, she pivoted out of the bathroom and walked to the bed. Grabbing her suitcase, she headed for the main living area. Unfortunately, Antonio was right behind her.

Not about to be intimidated, she tossed her suitcase on a white sofa and made her way to the kitchen.

Constanzo sat on a stool at the center island, dipping bread into olive oil. “Come, cara. Eat.”

Then Antonio walked in behind her and Constanzo’s smile grew. “Antonio!”

He scowled at his dad. “What are you doing here?”

Constanzo laughed. “I live here.”

“You live in a country house in Italy! This is a spare house.”

He smiled. “It’s still mine.”

Antonio tossed up his hands in despair and walked to the center island. And there, on his back, was the glorious dragon.

Prickly heat crawled all over Laura Beth. The man was a god. Not only was the dragon perfect, crafted in reds, greens and blacks, but his shoulders were wide, and behind the ink of the dragon, well-defined muscles linked one to another. Every time he moved his arm, the dragon seemed to shift and shimmer as if alive.

Of course. What did she expect from an artist but a tattoo that was a work of art itself?

Oh, this was bad. Every time she learned something new about her boss, she liked him a little bit more. Deciding the best thing to do would be to pretend everything was fine, she strolled to the center island, sat on a stool and took a piece of the crusty bread.

Constanzo motioned for her to dip the bread in the olive oil. “So you and I, we go to see the sights tomorrow?”

She nodded as she slid the bread into her mouth. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

From her peripheral vision, she watched Antonio’s eyes narrow, as she and Constanzo behaved as if nothing was wrong, then he shook his head and stormed out.

When she was sure he was gone, she caught Constanzo’s gaze. “I hope you have another bedroom for me.”

He laughed. “There are five bedrooms. Suites, really. You don’t even have to bump into him accidentally if you don’t want to.”

She sucked in a breath. Considering how much he didn’t want to see her, she imagined Antonio would pack and move to a hotel the next morning, but she wasn’t about to explain that to Constanzo. She sent him a smile. “Good.”

But the next morning when she entered the dining room, Antonio and Constanzo sat at the long cherrywood table, as if nothing had happened. 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.

“Dad, really!” Antonio started after him. “Wait!”

Constanzo spun around. “No, you wait. I’m tired today. Very tired. But I was happy to spend the day with you anyway. If you don’t like having me around, then I’ll do what I want to do—rest in my room with a good soccer game.” He turned and headed down the hall. “It’s not a big deal.”

Antonio watched his father walk away and turn to the right to go to his room. Constanzo backing out of plans made no sense. His dad never turned down an opportunity to be out and about, doing things, seeing things, especially when he had somebody like Laura Beth to play tour guide for.

Antonio shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and walked back to the main room to see Laura Beth standing by the window, waiting for him.

“He isn’t going. Says he wants to rest.”

“Oh.” Laura Beth hesitantly walked toward him. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he just seemed—” Odd. Unusual. Confusing. “Tired.”

“I get that. He didn’t sleep on the flight. We got in late. Then we stayed up another hour or so eating.” She winced. “The man’s going to make me huge.”

He laughed. “He prides himself on being a good host.”

She smiled, then glanced around. “So what now?”

He sucked in a breath. “I usually go to the Picasso Museum when I’m here.”

She brightened. “Then let’s go. I don’t have anything else to do until the gallery opening tonight.”

He wasn’t surprised she and his father planned on going to the opening. When Constanzo butted in, he went full tilt. Maybe that was why he wanted to rest?

Antonio glanced back down the hall that led to his dad’s suite. The gallery opening started late and ended in the wee hours of the morning. Constanzo wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he might have realized he couldn’t waste his energy today if he intended to be up until three. Maybe he knew he couldn’t spend the day sightseeing and also go to the gallery opening? And maybe the whole nonargument they’d just had was his way of getting out of sightseeing so he didn’t have to admit he needed the rest.

The crazy old coot hated admitting shortcomings. Even if they were a normal part of life.

With that settled in his mind, he glanced at Laura Beth, with her bright, expectant face. He should tell her no. He’d sort of gotten them back to being friends. Spending the day with her was like tempting fate—

Or he could turn it into a day to cement their friendship. He could show her around, acting like a friend, and maybe his attraction would go away.

Actually, that idea was perfect.

He hoped.

CHAPTER SEVEN

PRAYING HIS PLAN to get them back behaving like friends worked, Antonio pointed to the elevator and Laura Beth followed him into the plush car, through the ornate lobby and then to the street. The doorman tossed him a set of keys. He motioned to a shiny red sports car. Low and sleek, with the black top retracted, the Jaguar hit the sweet spot of luxury and fun.

“Oh, nice!”

“It’s my dad’s, of course.” He paused halfway to the car as guilt unexpectedly nudged him. His dad shared everything he had, gave Antonio anything he asked for, and he shouldn’t have made that remark about being glad that Tucker and Olivia sometimes entertained him. But as quickly as the thoughts came, Antonio shoved them aside. His dad hadn’t been insulted by his comment as much as he’d been looking for a way to bail on a day of sightseeing. Antonio was positive he had nothing to feel guilty for.

Laura Beth ambled to the Jag. Her eyes lit with joy as she took in the stunning vehicle. “Your dad has the best taste.”

“Yes. He does.” He opened the car door for Laura Beth and motioned for her to step inside.

She slid in, immediately glancing behind her at the nonexistent backseat. “Maybe it’s a good thing Constanzo bailed. I’m not sure how we all would have fit in this.”

Walking around the hood of the car, Antonio laughed. “No worries. My dad has a limo here. There could have been space for everybody if he’d really wanted to come along.”

He jumped inside. As he slipped the key into the ignition, he could feel the heat of her gaze as she studied him. This was the closest they’d been since the day he’d explained why he wanted to paint her. Hot and sharp, his attraction to her tumbled back. The temptation to touch her was so strong, he fisted his hands.

“My mom does that, you know.”

Expecting something totally different from her, he frowned and peered over at her. “Does what?”

“Tells me she isn’t upset when I know she is. Especially when I’m home for a holiday and I want to go somewhere without her. It’s not really passive-aggressive behavior. It’s more like she sees I’m an adult, and, though it’s hard, she has to give me some space. So she says she’s not mad and lets me go alone.” She caught his gaze. “Sometimes it makes me feel guilty. But I know it’s her choice. Almost like a gift.”

He frowned. If Laura Beth had picked up on his exchange with Constanzo, maybe it hadn’t been so innocent after all. “A gift?”

“Yes. Time alone with my friends is a gift.”

He scrunched his face in confusion. “Why would Constanzo think we needed alone time when we just spent several days together?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever he’s doing, it’s weird, because until today Constanzo’s never dropped back.”

“Maybe this morning he finally got the message that you don’t want him around so much?”

The guilt rolled back. It tightened his chest and clenched his stomach. He looked out over the hood of the car, then faced her. “It’s not like that. The only time I freak is when he meddles.”

She shook her head. “No. You’re pretty much always grouchy with him. But I get it.” She put her hand on his forearm, as if what she had to say was supremely important and she wanted him to listen. “You’re an adult who lives twenty minutes away from a retired wealthy man who adores you and has nothing to do but dote on you.”

He laughed.

“When he first found you, all this attention was probably fun. Now you want to be yourself.”

“I suppose.” Except without painting he had no idea who he was. And maybe that’s what made him the most angry with Constanzo’s meddling. He wanted to be able to say, Let me alone so I can paint, or feed the hungry, or gamble, or read, or sit on the beach. But he couldn’t. He had no interest in anything. And having Constanzo around always reminded him of that.

Not wanting to think about that anymore, he hit the gas and propelled them into the street, ending the discussion.

The wind ruffled through their hair, and Laura Beth laughed with glee. “This is great!”

He hit the clutch and shifted into the next gear, working up some speed before he shifted again, and again, each time sending the little car faster as he wove in and out of lanes, dodging traffic.

She laughed merrily, shoving her hands above her head to feel the air.

Something about her laugh soothed him. She hadn’t been right about Constanzo giving him space. Never in their history together had his dad ever dropped back, unless Antonio pushed him. But suddenly it didn’t matter. With the wind in his face and the sun beating down on him, it was just nice to be outside. To be away from his dad. To be away from two years’ worth of requests for paintings. To be away from the studio that reminded him he couldn’t create.

He sucked in the spring air, let her laugh echo around him and felt the tightness of his muscles loosen as he drove to the Picasso Museum.

* * *

Laura Beth followed Antonio to a back entrance of the pale stone museum. Glancing around, she said, “So, are you a friend of the curator or is your dad a donor?”

He said, “Both,” then pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket. “Carmen, we’re here.”

They waited only a few seconds before a short dark-haired woman opened the door for them. Antonio said something to her in Spanish, then she smiled and disappeared down a hallway.

The power of a billionaire would never cease to amaze Laura Beth. “Nice.”

“It is nice. I don’t like having to work my way through crowds or wait in lines.”

“Nobody likes to work their way through a crowd or wait in a line.”

“Which makes me lucky that I can come in through a back door.”

She shook her head. “Right.”

He led her through a maze of corridors until they entered the museum proper. Paintings dominated the space. Color and light flowed like honey. A true fan, Antonio stopped, closed his eyes and inhaled.

Laura Beth stifled a laugh. Not because it wasn’t funny, but because he was home. This was where he loved to be.

He didn’t say anything, just walked up to a painting and stood in front of it. She ambled over, sidling up to him to see the picture. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the odd shapes, the out-of-proportion dimensions, the unexpected colors.

“Isn’t that something?”

She fought not to grimace. “Yeah, it’s something, all right.”

It took only ten minutes and two more paintings for her to realize she didn’t just dislike the first piece of art. She didn’t like Picasso. Still, she smiled and nodded in all the right places, if only because she didn’t want to look like a bumpkin.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry, but these paintings are weird.”

He spared her a glance and said simply, “You don’t like abstracts.”

She winced. “I don’t.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I thought you liked this museum.”

“I do.” He glanced around, as if the ten minutes had filled his desire and now he was fidgety. “But today I feel odd being here—”

She didn’t think that was it. As casual and calm as he tried to be about his dad backing out of their plans, she knew it had upset him. Or maybe it nagged at him. If it really was the first time Constanzo had canceled plans with him, there was a reason. And Antonio was too smart of a guy not to know that.

So why did he keep pretending he didn’t care?

He looked around. “Maybe I just don’t want to be inside a building?”

“Maybe.” And maybe he needed a little time in the good, old-fashioned outdoors to think things through. “We’ve got a pretty fancy car out there. If you wanna take a ride through the city, I’m game.”

Antonio cast a longing look at a painting and another thought suddenly struck her. What if his edginess wasn’t about his dad but about the paintings? Picasso might be his favorite artist and he might have visited this museum every time he came to Barcelona, but she’d bet he hadn’t been here since he stopped painting.

He definitely needed to get out of here.

So she gave him an easy way out. “Please. I’d love to see the city.”

“Then I will take you to see the sights.”

She caught his arm. “Are you missing what I said about the fancy car? I don’t want to walk through museums or cathedrals. I wanna ride. Besides, I think I could get a better feel for the city if we drove.”

“Barcelona is beautiful.” He sucked in a breath. “Actually, a drive might be a good idea.”

They climbed into the little red sports car again. Within seconds Antonio eased them into traffic. Cool air and scenery—a mix of old buildings and new, leafy green trees standing beside palms, and a sea of pedestrians—whipped by as he shifted gears to go faster and faster and swung in and out of lanes.

Air ruffled her hair. The sun warmed her. But it was the power of the Jag that put a knot in her chest. For all her intentions to stop lusting after the wonderful toys and lives of her rich friends, she loved this car.

Longing rose up in her, teasing her, tempting her. Her fingers itched to wrap around the white leather steering wheel. Her toes longed to punch the gas to the floor. For twenty minutes, she constrained it. Then suddenly she couldn’t take it anymore.

She leaned toward Antonio. Shouting so he could hear her above the wind and the noise of the city, she said, “Would you mind if I drove?”

He cast her a puzzled frown, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.