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

She ambled to a picture a few feet away. “This one.”

It was a painting of three dogs running through the dead brush around a pond in late fall. The colors were cool, dismal. The sky so dark it was almost charcoal gray.

“This reminds you of home?”

Gazing at the painting, she said, “Yes.”

Hoping for the best, he said, “You had a dog?”

She laughed. “No. We had ugly Novembers. The cold sets in and lingers. But some of my best life things happened in fall.”

She faced him with a light in her eyes that flicked the switch of his longing to paint. But in a different way than the day he’d found her lying on her bed wrapped in a towel, a different way even than the technical visions of dimension and light that had overtaken him various times that day. This was a serious, quiet need, something that didn’t hurt him or fill him with angry longing. This one was normal.

Breathlessly afraid to lose this feeling, he quietly said, “What sort of things?”

“Well, my birthday’s in the fall, so there’s the whole being born thing.”

He laughed.

“And every fall we returned to school.” She smiled at him but her eyes were distant, as if she were thinking back to the past. “Going to school meant seeing my friends, getting new clothes, football games, school play tryouts.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It was.”

“And that’s why you’re going home?”

She moved her eyes up to meet his gaze. “I just keep thinking I’d like to be around my mom when I actually have the baby. But I also had a great childhood. I want my baby to have that, too.”

He whispered, “It makes sense,” not sure why the moment felt so solemn, except it meant that their time together was ending. Or maybe because he knew he needed to at least try to paint her and if he didn’t ask in the next few seconds he wouldn’t get the chance.

“I still think about painting you.”

“I know.” She stepped away. “You told me it annoys you to think about painting me.”

He laughed. “Tonight’s feelings are different.”

She faced him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Tonight it all feels real, doable.”

“Well, that’s...something.”

He breached the space between them. “Actually, it is. The uncontrollable urge might have been a first step, but just as your feelings about becoming a mom are shifting, growing, so are my feelings about painting you.”

Her breath caught. “You’re serious?”

He glanced around. “Yes. But this feeling is so new and it’s only cropped up around you.” He caught her gaze. “Can you spend the next few weeks with me? Let me see if I can paint again?”

“Only if you also let me work as your assistant.”

Her persistence made him laugh and long to kiss her. In that very second, the need was so strong he doubted his ability to resist it. Her face tipped up to him. Her earnest eyes held his. It would be so easy.

But he’d kissed her once and it had only reminded him that he couldn’t have her.

Because he couldn’t.

“I want the painting to be our focus.”

“Can I earn my keep by answering the rest of your mail?”

He laughed. “No. I want to do this right.”

She cocked her head. Understanding flitted across her face. “Okay.”

And something wonderful sprinted through his blood. Acceptance. She had needs of her own. Troubles of her own. But instead of bargaining with him, she would simply help him.

“You know, Tucker wants to hire you when you get home.”

Her eyes widened. “He does?”

“He needs someone to work directly with him.”

“Oh my God. That might mean I could work from Kentucky.”

Her eyes glittered with happiness and the lure of her lush mouth was as strong as an aphrodisiac. He wondered about his strength, his endurance, if he really could paint her without touching her.

But his fears melted away when he remembered he couldn’t watch her pregnancy. And now he knew she was going home to her mom and a job from Tucker.

She would not be around forever. His endurance didn’t have to last a lifetime. Only a few weeks. He had nothing to worry about.

CHAPTER NINE (#uf159c5c3-e277-5e99-be4c-c0c71cd5b6d0)

WHEN THEY ARRIVED at Antonio’s country home the next day, everything had a different feel to it. They were no longer adversaries. They were partners in his plan to paint again. The feeling of being on even ground was heady stuff for Laura Beth. She’d always been second-best, plain Laura Beth. Today they were equals.

Standing in the foyer, she faced him with a smile. “So? Ready to go to the studio?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“I thought artists had to work while they were inspired. Do you want to lose your momentum?”

She could tell from the expression that flitted across his handsome face that he didn’t. Still, he said, “How about lunch first?”

She caught his hand and tugged him in the direction of the back door that led to his studio. “How about work first?”

He laughed. “Wow. I have never known you to turn down food.”

“I had a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich while you took that catnap on the plane.”