Read Online Her Brooding Italian Boss by Susan Meier - Free Book Online

letter sound personal.”
    She fell back to her chair. “Yes. But you should still want to read them.”
    He took the stack of letters from her again. “One would think you’d be happier that I trust you.”
    She crossed her arms on her chest. “One would, except I don’t think you trust me as much as you’re disinterested.”
    “I’m not sure I see the difference.”
    “I did a good job!”
    “Oh, you want me to read them so I can praise you?”
    She tossed her hands in the air. “You’re impossible.”
    “Actually, I’m very simple to understand. None of this interests me because I was a painter. Now I’m not.”
    She frowned. “But you said this morning that you’d like to paint me.”
    He had wanted to paint her. Twice. But both times the feeling had come and gone. Now that he had a minute of distance from it, it was easy to see the urge was unreliable. Not something to take seriously. Certainly not something to change the stable course of his life. Given that he was attracted to her and she was pregnant—while he still wrestled with the loss of his own child—that was for the best.
    “A momentary slip.”
    She frowned at him. “Really? Because it might actually be your desire to paint coming back, and like I told you, I wouldn’t mind sitting for a portrait.”
    He chuckled at her innocence. “Trust me. You wouldn’t want to sit for a portrait.”
    She rose and came around the desk to face him. Leaning on the corner, he didn’t have to look down to catch her gaze. They were eye level.
    “I have the chance to be painted by the most sought-after artist in the world. How could that not be fun?”
    He licked his suddenly dry lips. She stood inches away. Close enough that he could touch her. His desire to paint her took second place to his desire to kiss her. If wanting to paint a pregnant woman was a bad idea, being attracted to that woman was a hundred times worse. Spending the amount of time together that they’d need for a portrait would be asking for trouble.
    “I didn’t say it wouldn’t be fun. But it wouldn’t be what you think.”
    Her eyes lit. “That’s what makes it great. I have no idea about so many things in life. I might have lived in one of the most wonderful cities in the world, but I was broke and couldn’t experience any of it. Now, here I am in gorgeous Italy and I feel like the whole world is opened up to me.” She stepped closer, put her hands on his shoulders. “Paint me, Antonio.”
    Her simple words sent a raging fire through him and the desire to paint reared up. Having to turn down the chance to get his life back hurt almost as much as the betrayal that had brought him here. But though his attraction to her was very real, there was no guarantee this yearning to paint was. He could take her to his studio, risk his sanity, feed his attraction to her, and then be unable to hold a brush.
    “I told you. It wouldn’t be what you think.”
    “Then tell me.” Her eyelids blinked over her incredibly big, incredibly innocent green eyes. “Please.”
    Attraction stole through him, reminding him that his desire to paint her and his attraction to her were somehow knitted together, something he’d never felt before, adding to the untrustworthiness of his desire to paint. He refused to embarrass himself by taking her to his studio and freezing. And maybe it was time to be honest with her so she’d know the truth and they wouldn’t have this discussion again.
    “Last night, seeing your back, I might have wanted to paint you, but the feelings were different than any other I’d had when I saw something—
someone
—I wanted to paint.”
    Her head tilted. “How?”
    He’d always known, even before he’d studied painting, that the eyes were the windows to the soul. With his gaze connected to Laura Beth’s, he could see the naïveté, see that she really didn’t understand a lot about life. How could he explain that the reasons he wanted to paint her were all wrapped