Read Online Ruthless Perfection (The Rosa Legacy #1) by Susie Warren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susie Warren
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her. He wanted to explore her graceful body and capture her response.
Her gaze caught his. “Do you mean fully dressed?”
“Whatever you are comfortable with.”
Isabel looked nervous. “I wouldn’t be comfortable removing my clothes.”
Marc stepped toward her. “It doesn’t matter. Stand here and turn your head, moving your chin to your shoulder.”
He reached out and positioned her shoulders and head. He felt a tremor run through her body as he breathed in the scent of her perfume.
He rolled up his sleeves, and flexed his shoulders. After taking a few measurements, he lifted his chisel and hammer and started methodically chipping away at the pure white slab of marble.
She noticed Marc stiffened before blanking out any expression. His eyes darkened and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking.
He began to make marks on the sculpture.
“Why don’t you let people know that you create some of the work produced here?”
“It’s better for the business not to disclose the artists’ names. The expectation is that all work is top-notch. I employ a staff of extremely talented workers. I wouldn’t want a client to specify a particular artist’s work.”
Isabel felt his gaze on her as he kept going back and forth between her and the sculpture. It was fascinating being a stand-in for him. He seemed more relaxed and accessible to her as he chipped away at the rough statue.
She was fascinated by the intensity with which he studied the statue. He seemed to be blocking out everything; then suddenly he would begin chipping away at the marble in swift, decisive strokes.
“I don’t think it is widely known that you create sculptures. I think most people just see you as a businessman.”
“Try to keep still. It was not something that brought joy to my family. My father in particular was horrified by the idea of his son wanting to sculpt instead of deal in marble.”
“That must have been difficult for you,” Isabel said.
“No, I am a very fortunate man. Three generations have worked exceedingly hard to create the business that now thrives. Marble is in my blood. And there was a compromise of sorts after my father’s death as Santoro & Sons became Santoro Designs, allowing me to push the company in new directions.” Marc took a sip of his drink.
Silence. Isabel realized she had overstepped her bounds. It was really none of her business.
“When I was young, I insisted on having things my way. I often argued with him about it.” Marc remained silent for a few moments, then continued. “My father thought my art was a useless obsession and used to say frequently that it would employ no one. Always reminding me that the men of Carrara depend on the Santoro quarry for their livelihood. Even after my father’s death, I find it difficult to spend time on design and not the business.”
Isabel willed her body to stay perfectly still, and he continued to chip away at the statue.
The starkness of his comments softened Isabel towards him. “That seems unfair. I think everyone deserves to pursue their real passion.”
“Is that what you do? Pursue your real passion at every turn?” His words mocked her.
Her eyes met his and for a moment, Isabel wondered if the conversation was taking on a hidden meaning. Was he asking about her career or a much more basic desire? Isabel shook her head. “No, not always. But I’m starting to...”
She closed her eyes briefly and her arms instinctively shielded her body. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. Especially not desire or longing. He was definitely out of the realm of possibility. His desire to seek physical perfection in his artwork and designs eliminated her as a possibility. He would be repulsed by her body.
“You are no longer in position.”
Opening her eyes, she found him watching her. It was impossible to miss the flash of desire in the depths of his eyes or in the way his gaze flickered over her body.
“I should return to the
Her gaze caught his. “Do you mean fully dressed?”
“Whatever you are comfortable with.”
Isabel looked nervous. “I wouldn’t be comfortable removing my clothes.”
Marc stepped toward her. “It doesn’t matter. Stand here and turn your head, moving your chin to your shoulder.”
He reached out and positioned her shoulders and head. He felt a tremor run through her body as he breathed in the scent of her perfume.
He rolled up his sleeves, and flexed his shoulders. After taking a few measurements, he lifted his chisel and hammer and started methodically chipping away at the pure white slab of marble.
She noticed Marc stiffened before blanking out any expression. His eyes darkened and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking.
He began to make marks on the sculpture.
“Why don’t you let people know that you create some of the work produced here?”
“It’s better for the business not to disclose the artists’ names. The expectation is that all work is top-notch. I employ a staff of extremely talented workers. I wouldn’t want a client to specify a particular artist’s work.”
Isabel felt his gaze on her as he kept going back and forth between her and the sculpture. It was fascinating being a stand-in for him. He seemed more relaxed and accessible to her as he chipped away at the rough statue.
She was fascinated by the intensity with which he studied the statue. He seemed to be blocking out everything; then suddenly he would begin chipping away at the marble in swift, decisive strokes.
“I don’t think it is widely known that you create sculptures. I think most people just see you as a businessman.”
“Try to keep still. It was not something that brought joy to my family. My father in particular was horrified by the idea of his son wanting to sculpt instead of deal in marble.”
“That must have been difficult for you,” Isabel said.
“No, I am a very fortunate man. Three generations have worked exceedingly hard to create the business that now thrives. Marble is in my blood. And there was a compromise of sorts after my father’s death as Santoro & Sons became Santoro Designs, allowing me to push the company in new directions.” Marc took a sip of his drink.
Silence. Isabel realized she had overstepped her bounds. It was really none of her business.
“When I was young, I insisted on having things my way. I often argued with him about it.” Marc remained silent for a few moments, then continued. “My father thought my art was a useless obsession and used to say frequently that it would employ no one. Always reminding me that the men of Carrara depend on the Santoro quarry for their livelihood. Even after my father’s death, I find it difficult to spend time on design and not the business.”
Isabel willed her body to stay perfectly still, and he continued to chip away at the statue.
The starkness of his comments softened Isabel towards him. “That seems unfair. I think everyone deserves to pursue their real passion.”
“Is that what you do? Pursue your real passion at every turn?” His words mocked her.
Her eyes met his and for a moment, Isabel wondered if the conversation was taking on a hidden meaning. Was he asking about her career or a much more basic desire? Isabel shook her head. “No, not always. But I’m starting to...”
She closed her eyes briefly and her arms instinctively shielded her body. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. Especially not desire or longing. He was definitely out of the realm of possibility. His desire to seek physical perfection in his artwork and designs eliminated her as a possibility. He would be repulsed by her body.
“You are no longer in position.”
Opening her eyes, she found him watching her. It was impossible to miss the flash of desire in the depths of his eyes or in the way his gaze flickered over her body.
“I should return to the
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