One Passionate Night: Her Brooding Italian Boss / The Heiress's Secret Baby / Best Friend to Wife and Mother?. SUSAN MEIER
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Technically, she was lucky.
Very lucky.
When she opened the door to the huge stainless-steel kitchen, the noise of shuffling pots and chatting servants greeted her. Antonio’s staff hadn’t been around the day before. He’d mentioned giving them time off while he was in New York for the two weeks for Eloise and Ricky’s wedding. But today they were in the kitchen, going about what looked to be typical duties.
“Good morning!”
The three women froze. Dressed in yellow uniforms, with their hair tucked into neat buns at the backs of their heads, they could have been triplets, except the woman at the stove appeared to be in her seventies. The woman at the table was probably in her thirties. And the woman with the dust cloth looked to be in her early twenties.
The oldest woman said, “Good morning,” but it sounded more like “Goot morning.”
Laura Beth eased a little farther into the room. “I’m a friend of Antonio’s. I’m staying here for a few weeks. Hopefully, I’m going to be helping him clean his outer office.”
The youngest woman smiled. Her big brown eyes brightened. “Sì.”
The oldest woman batted a hand. “Her English isn’t good. God only knows what she thought you said.” She walked from behind the huge center island that housed the six-burner chef’s stove. “Would you like some coffee?”
“She can’t drink coffee.” Antonio’s words were followed by the sound of the swinging door behind Laura Beth closing. “She’s pregnant.”
The eyes of all three women grew round, then bright with happiness.
Caught like a child with her hand in the cookie jar, Laura Beth spun around. Antonio’s usually wild hair had been tied back, and the curve of a tattoo rose above the crew neck of his T-shirt, teasing her, tempting her to wonder what an artist would have chosen to have drawn on his shoulder. Rumor had it that he had a huge dragon tattooed from his neck to his lower back and that it was magnificent.
Interest turned to real curiosity, the kind that sent a tingle through her and made her long to ask him to take off his shirt.
Their gazes caught and her stomach cartwheeled. The attraction she felt for him rippled through her, reminding her of the look he’d given her the night before. She told herself she wasn’t allowed to be attracted to her boss—even if he was gorgeous and sexy with his dark eyes that seemed to hold secrets, and the unruly hair that framed the strong face of an aristocrat. But after their encounter in the office the night before, everything about him seemed amplified.
He’d wanted to kiss her. She was just about positive of it. So why hadn’t he?
Her curiosity spiked. Something soft and warm shivered in the pit of her stomach.
Oh...that had been a bad question to ask.
The oldest housekeeper’s excited voice broke the trance. “We will have a baby here!”
“No.” Antonio faced his staff and said, “We will have a pregnant woman here for about four weeks.”
“Ah. Sì.”
Antonio pointed at her. “This is Rosina. She supervises Carmella and Francesca.”
Laura Beth stepped forward to shake their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”
They giggled.
“They aren’t accustomed to guests shaking their hands.”
“But I’m an employee, just as they are.” She turned to Antonio. Her gaze met his simmering brown eyes and her stomach fell. Good grief, he was hot.
She took a step back, but swayed. She hoped her morning sickness was back because she’d hate to think she’d actually faint over a good-looking guy.
He caught her elbows and kept her upright. “Let’s get you to the dining room and get some food in that stomach.”
As he led her into the ultramodern dining room, dominated by the large rectangular table with mismatched chairs, her skin prickled from the touch of his fingers on her arm.
She reminded herself that he was only a friend helping her because she’d swayed. And she was pregnant—with another man’s child. She didn’t know how Italian men were about these things, but lots of American men would think long and hard before they took on the responsibility for another man’s child. And Antonio was half-American.
Damn it! Why was she even thinking about this?
He pulled out her chair and helped her sit, but immediately excused himself. “I’ll need five minutes. By the time I get back, the staff will have breakfast ready.”
She nodded and he left. Nervous, she shifted on her chair, until the pool beyond the wall of glass caught her eye. Past the shimmering water were lush gardens, and beyond that, the blue sky. She’d been to Italy before, but this place, the place Antonio had chosen, was so perfect it seemed to have been carved out of heaven. The peace and quiet of it settled over her.
The door swung open and Antonio returned to the table. “I’m sorry about that.”
As he spoke, Rosina entered behind him, carrying two plates of eggs, bacon and toast. She served their breakfasts and exited. Antonio opened his napkin and picked up his fork.
“I trust eggs and bacon are good for you this morning.”
She nodded eagerly, her stomach rumbling from the scent of warm bacon. “It’s great. I’m starving.”
His fork halfway to his plate, he paused. “You should be. You didn’t eat last night. I went into the kitchen ten minutes after you said you’d be getting a snack, but you weren’t there.”
“Too tired. Honestly, Antonio, everybody talks about things like morning sickness, but nobody ever mentions the exhaustion.”
He fussed with the silverware beside his plate. “When I told Rosina you had fallen asleep last night without even changing into pajamas, she said women are very tired for the first three months and fall asleep often.”
She heard everything he said as a jumble of words. Her brain stalled then exploded after he said he knew she’d fallen asleep without changing. For him to know that, he had to have checked up on her. Which meant he’d seen her lying naked across her bed. Her face blossomed with heat.
“What?”
She sucked in a breath. “You came looking for me last night?”
“Yes.”
She groaned.
He frowned. “What?”
“You saw me naked.”
He busied himself with his silverware again. “No. I saw you lying on the bed with a towel wrapped around you. You weren’t naked.”
“Oh, way to split hairs.”
“Americans are prudish.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she making too much of this? “You’re half-American!”
He laughed. “What are you worried about? You have a beautiful, long, sleek back. I’d love to paint you, but I’d replace the towel with a swatch of silk—” He stopped. His brow furrowed.
This time she frowned. “What?”
He picked up his napkin. “It’s my turn to say nothing.”
“Really? Because I wouldn’t mind sitting for a portrait.”
He sniffed a laugh. “Then you’d be sitting for a long time. I haven’t painted for two years.”
Since his wife died. She knew that. And knowing he’d grieved for two long years, a smart person wouldn’t push, wouldn’t question any further. She reached for