Her Brooding Italian Boss. Susan Meier
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They’d be living together.
Oh, wow. No wonder her thoughts ran amok. She was going to be living with the guy she’d had a crush on for five years.
Right. Plain Jane Laura Beth would be living with a famous artist, who still grieved his equally gorgeous, equally wonderful wife. Common sense plucked away her fear. She had nothing to worry about.
She smiled and said, “Hello.”
Constanzo ambled to the back of the plane. “Can I get you a drink?”
She turned to watch Constanzo as he approached the bar. “No. Thanks.”
Antonio stopped in front of her. With his windblown hair and sun-kissed skin, he looked so good, so sexy, that her mouth watered. Especially when his dark eyes met hers.
“What are you doing here?”
Reminding herself Antonio wouldn’t ever be attracted to her and she had to get rid of this crush, she peeked back at Constanzo again.
He batted a hand. “I hired her. She’s out of her apartment and had no permanent job. It was perfect timing.”
Antonio’s lips lifted into a smile that would have stopped her heart if she hadn’t known he was off-limits. “Oh. That’s great.”
The pilot announced they’d been cleared for takeoff. Antonio pointed at the leather sofa, indicating Laura Beth should sit, then he sat beside her. Close enough to touch. Close enough that if they hit turbulence, they’d tumble together.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Stop!
She had to get ahold of these wayward thoughts or she’d drive herself crazy living with him! She was not in this guy’s league. She’d figured all this out yesterday. She was common, pregnant and needed a job more than a crush.
They both buckled in. The little jet taxied to the runway of the small airstrip and took off smoothly. It climbed for a few minutes and leveled off before the fasten-seat-belts light blinked off and the pilot announced they anticipated an uneventful flight, so they could move about the cabin.
To settle her nerves and maybe waylay the attraction that zapped her every time she looked down and saw Antonio’s thigh mere inches away from hers, Laura Beth pulled a book from her purse.
“Ah. I loved that novel.”
She glanced at the book, then at Antonio. “I never took you for a science fiction fan.”
“Are you kidding? Some of the best art is in science fiction. The imaginations and imagery required are magnificent.”
Laura Beth smiled, glad they had something normal to talk about, but her stomach picked that exact second to growl. Her face flushed.
Antonio laughed. “You skipped breakfast.”
She hadn’t been able eat breakfast. It seemed that now that she knew she was pregnant, morning sickness had kicked in.
“Um, I wasn’t hungry when I got up this morning.”
Antonio unbuckled his seat belt. He reached for her hand. “Come with me.”
She undid her seat belt and took the hand he’d offered. Her fingers tingled when his warm hand wrapped around them. As he pulled her up to stand, she reminded herself to stop noticing these things and followed him to the back of the plane.
The area she’d believed was a wet bar was actually a small kitchenette. She gaped at it. “You have to be kidding me.”
Antonio nudged his head in the direction of his dad, who had fallen asleep on the sofa across from the one where Antonio and Laura Beth had been sitting.
“Anything my dad could possibly want is always stocked on the plane. When we arrive at our destination, any food not eaten will be donated to a charity.” He laughed and opened the small fridge. “How about eggs and toast?”
Her stomach didn’t lurch at the thought, so she nodded.
Antonio studied her. “Hmm. Not very enthusiastic. So let’s try French toast.”
“I love French toast.” And she hadn’t had it in forever.
He motioned for her to sit at one of the bar stools, obviously needing her out of the way in the tiny space. He hit a button and what looked to be a grill appeared.
“This is so cool.”
“This is the life of a billionaire.”
She glanced around. Remembering her thoughts from the night before, she didn’t look at the plane as somebody who someday wanted to own one. She counted her blessings that she was here and had a job and a place to stay.
“It’s kind of fun getting to see things that I wouldn’t normally see.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, I’m never going to be a billionaire. So I’m never going to own a plane like this.”
“Ah.” He broke two eggs in a bowl, added milk, vanilla and a dash of what appeared to be cinnamon, beat the mixture, then rummaged for bread. When he found it, he dipped two slices into the egg mixture and put them on the small griddle. They sizzled.
She sniffed the vanilla. “Yum.”
“You really must be hungry.”
“I am.”
He turned to flip the two pieces of French toast. She tilted her head, taking in the details that made him who he was. Sexy dark hair. Wide shoulders. Trim hips. But his face was the showstopper. Dark, dark eyes in olive skin. A square jaw. High cheekbones.
Something soft and warm floated through her. She was just about to curse herself for looking at him again when she realized she’d never felt like this with Bruce. She’d liked Bruce—actually, she’d believed she’d loved him. But she’d never felt this odd combination of attraction and curiosity that mixed and mingled with the warmth of their friendship and turned her feelings into something more...something special.
She cleared her throat. What was she doing? Fantasizing again? This guy was her boss! Not only that, but he was a widower. Someone who’d lost his wife and still grieved her so much he no longer painted. What would he want with her? Plain, simple Laura Beth Matthews, who—oh, by the way—was also pregnant with another man’s child. Her job was to organize him back to the land of the living, not drool over him.
He made eight pieces of French toast, divided them onto two plates and handed one to her.
Her stomach rumbled again. “Thanks.”
He passed the syrup across the bar. She slathered it on her French toast, but waited for him to pick up his fork before she picked up hers. If there was one thing she’d learned from her years of attending Olivia and Tucker’s baby events and Ricky and Eloise’s elaborate parties, it was to follow the lead of the host and hostess.
He took a bite of his French toast, then smiled at her. “So getting a job where you get to live in was a pretty nifty way to handle the apartment problem.”
She reddened to the roots of her hair. “Does it seem sleazy?”
“No. It’s smart. After I rotated out of the foster-care system, I’d have killed for a job that got me off the streets.”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have scrounged your way to Italy, where your dad found you.”
“Scrounged.” He grinned. “I love American words.”
“Hey, you’re half-American!”
“Yes, I am. And proud of it. I use both worlds.” He frowned. “Or did.” Then he brightened. “Never mind. How’s the toast?”
“I love it.” She pushed her plate away having eaten only two slices. “But I’m full.”
Antonio