The Royal House of Niroli: Secret Heirs. Penny Jordan
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to depend upon him, the more she’d relaxed. He was enjoying the boy. She could hear them both. That told her he was still close enough so that she didn’t need to worry. And they were having such a good time. She smiled. She would let him play awhile longer.
The man’s arm brushed hers and she almost gasped. Luckily, she controlled the impulse, but she bit into her lower lip to do it. He didn’t seem to notice. He was talking about the sunlight on the ocean and the quality of the water below them. Ordinary things. Things anyone might talk about. And though he hadn’t left, he wasn’t being so obnoxious anymore. She sighed. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. She shouldn’t be so judgmental. He was probably a decent enough fellow.
And yet.
There was something there that bothered her, something she could hear in his voice. An underlying unhappiness, perhaps—an old wound that still festered. Something that ate at him deep inside.
But she had no intention of trying to help this man. He wasn’t a friend and he was never going to be. She moved impatiently, about to call Fabio back to her side, but her foot struck the side of her canvas bag and she felt it overturn and spill its contents onto the ground.
“Oh, bother,” she muttered, leaning down to collect her belongings.
But he did it for her. “Here you go,” he said, but then he hesitated and she waited, wondering what he’d found that interested him among her things.
“So you’re an artist,” he said at last.
She frowned, surprised. “Of sorts,” she replied, thinking of her musicianship. She’d been extremely musical from the beginning, and once she’d lost her sight, at age four, she’d plunged into music as a way of communicating with a world that didn’t know what to do with people like her. “How did you know?”
“I can see you’ve been sketching.”
She went very still. What on earth was the man talking about? “Have I?” she said carefully.
“Yes. Here’s your sketchbook. It fell out of your bag.”
My sketchbook? What sketchbook?
Then her mind cleared. Ah, Gino. Her very gay, very artistic friend who often came along when she climbed out here in the ruins. He’d come along today, but had gone back to the house to make a phone call. The sketchbook had to be his.
“Mind if I look at these?” the man was asking.
“Oh, why not?” She laughed softly, wondering what else Gino had left in her bag.
She heard pages rustling, but there was dead silence from her companion.
“Wow,” he said at last, his voice somewhat strangled. “Michelangelo’s got nothing on you.”
She frowned, wondering what on earth that meant. “It’s nice to have one’s work appreciated,” she said ambiguously.
“You do have a way with …” he cleared his throat “ … uh, the nude male form.”
She choked back a laugh. Oh, Gino, what have you been up to? From the nuances she sensed in this man’s voice, whatever he’d found on the pages was pretty darn provocative. She could just imagine—Gino unleashed!
Good heavens. And just how did he suppose that a blind woman managed that sort of thing? But he still didn’t realize she was blind. People often didn’t catch on at first. She’d trained herself to move and express herself just as a sighted person would. Fate had played a very large, serious joke on her and she enjoyed playing her little joke on the world in return. Still, most people got clued in relatively quickly. Usually seeing her with Fabio and putting two and two together was what did it. But then, he hadn’t really seen her with her dog, had he? He’d seen his son with Fabio, not her, and the connection hadn’t been made. Interesting.
“So you like the style?” she asked, having a hard time holding back a chuckle. “Tell me. Which is your favorite?”
He choked for just a moment, and his voice was a bit ragged when he responded. “Why don’t you tell me which is yours?”
“Hmm.” She put her head to the side. “I think I love them all.”
“Right.” He drew in a sharp breath and didn’t seem to have a good response to that one.
He didn’t know what to make of her. It was obvious. Finding nude sketches in her bag presented a whole new side of her from his point of view. He was probably trying to decide whether to take it as an earthy invitation to intimacy—or to run for cover. The laughter bubble was coming up her throat and she didn’t know how long she would be able to hold it back.
“So. Do you hire models for this kind of thing?” he asked carefully.
She shook her head. She knew it was time to stop this. She could hear the intensity building in his voice. The thought of her sketching these nude male images was turning him on in a big way. And an aroused, aggressive man whom she didn’t really know was something she didn’t want to deal with. But she couldn’t resist one last needling.
“Why? Are you offering your services?” She raised an eyebrow and waited to see what he would say.
“That would depend on the compensation,” he said, moving closer, his voice deepening.
She moved a little away, but still asked, “What would you consider a fair price?”
He paused, and for some reason her pulse began to quicken.
“I always say the kindness of a beautiful woman is worth more than gold.”
His voice was low and seductive now and he was moving even closer to her. If his son hadn’t been romping nearby, she was sure he would have made some sort of move by now. Surprisingly, she felt a quick shiver of apprehension. The joke was played out. She had let this go on too long as it was. Once again, as her friends always warned her, she was playing with fire and she was going to get burned if she didn’t put out the flames right away.
CHAPTER TWO
“I’VE never been one to trust much in “the kindness of strangers”,” Elena said quickly, lifting her chin and making sure any hint of teasing was erased from her tone. Instead, she was back to being brisk and dismissive. “And I’m not hiring right now. In fact, if you don’t mind …”
Her words stopped in her throat. He’d leaned very close to her, so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.
“But I do mind, beautiful lady,” he said, his voice very quiet, but hard as steel. “And I don’t like being played with.”
He didn’t touch her, but she felt as though he had. Suddenly she was breathless and her heart was hammering in her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was from fear or excitement. Either way, it was something she wasn’t used to. And she wanted it to stop. Had she gone too far this time? Had she walked too close to the edge?
But in the next second, all was confusion as a crowd of tourists appeared on the ruin above the terrace, and Fabio was back, panting happily and pushing his head against her knee, and she sensed the man drawing away. And then he was calling his son and she heard the crunch of crumbled stone in his departure.
On pure reflex, her hand rose and covered the area of her face where his warm breath had seared it. His voice and the sense of his presence had disturbed something in her in a way she’d never felt before. She shivered and hoped fervently she would never come across the man again.
“Hey, are you all right?”
Gino was back. She sighed and smiled at him in relief.
“I’m fine,” she lied, then shivered one last time. “But I think one of my ancestors just walked across my grave.”
“Elena Valerio, you are in big trouble.”
She moaned softly and made a face as she settled back into