Hired:The Italian's Bride

“Of course I did.” He tucked an errant hair behind her ear. “I merely wondered what would finally make them break free.”

She paused slightly, but she was growing bolder; dealing with him on a daily basis and having to stick up for herself had achieved that. She’d learned to trust him a little, and trust was uncharacteristic of her. And yes, he drove her crazy when he bossed her around. But he also touched her heart when he was gentle with her, as if he already knew her secrets.

After years of planning every moment, every aspect of her life, the ability to break out of the box was exciting. She wished he’d kiss her again, like he had on the balcony after dinner the other night. Like he had just minutes ago. She looked up and met his eyes boldly. “What if I told you it was you?”

His golden eyes met hers. Clung. Without anything happening between them she felt the power of their earlier kiss. Swayed closer to him.

“Tell me why this painting.” He broke the connection and faced the work of art.

She looked back at it, her heart thudding. The opportunity was gone but she hadn’t imagined the link between them.

She wasn’t sure why this particular painting spoke so strongly to her. It wasn’t a painting of anything concrete at all, just a swirl of color. It wasn’t of people that reminded her of someone, or mountains or lakes or places. It was a vertical rectangle with the color of twilight forming the background, the tones and shades swirling together in an ocean of blues. And bisecting it, a splash of deep, throbbing red.

“It’s peace,” she murmured, taking a step closer to it. Without thinking she reached down and took his hand in hers. “It’s tranquillity and contentment and a thudding heart.” When she looked at it, it made her ache. Made her hope, and that was something she’d given up on long ago. Hope was about the future, and she lived day to day. Luca would think that silly, she was sure, so she kept the last to herself.

Luca smiled, though he was unusually unsettled. He’d called her “his” Mari without thinking, and it shocked him to realize he thought of her that way. He’d meant to share the art with her, but it had become more very quickly and he felt the need to back away. The way she’d looked up at him, the way she’d credited him with her response, sent warning bells crashing through him.

It was all his fault. He’d ignored the signs and had told himself that he wasn’t getting in too deep. Because he’d sworn not to.

He was about casual liaisons, but nothing about his feelings for Mari were simple or casual. It was a miscalculation he hadn’t counted on. He’d be a liar if he didn’t admit he had looked for an excuse to see her today. The kiss last night had affected him more than he’d expected. And he’d enjoyed knowing it had affected her, too, seeing her back in form when he’d arrived this morning. He’d taken pleasure knowing he’d gotten to her, seeing her trussed up in her suit and with her hair pulled back. Wearing her battle armor. Keeping him at arm’s length. She had been right about one thing. He did enjoy a challenge.

But something had changed. It was more than enjoying her company, of matching wits. There was a connection with Mari that he hadn’t anticipated. He felt it when she’d reacted to the painting. And when their eyes had met moments ago. And when he’d kissed her earlier this afternoon.

He took a step back, his brows pulling together as he stared at her back. “That’s the meaning of art, Mari. It doesn’t have to make sense. It just needs to mean something.”

She stepped up to the canvas and looked at the price. “That’s insane.”

He looked at the number. It wasn’t exorbitant, but he remembered again that he was used to Fiori money and that such a sum was nothing to him. For someone in Mari’s situation, he imagined it was quite different.

“Think of how it elicited such a reaction from you, and then try to quantify it. Can you put a price on that?”

“I can and have.” She smiled, even as she gazed wistfully at the canvas.

He laughed, he couldn’t help it. Mari was so charmingly practical. It reminded him how far apart they were and he took a little comfort in it. She was not for him. He was not for her. She was the kind of woman who looked for long-term stability, and he traveled around the world with his job, settling nowhere. This was just a blip on the radar.

“I could afford it, if I didn’t eat for the next year. This is why art is in museums rather than living rooms.”

She started to walk away. “I don’t know why I was so struck by it anyway.”

“You don’t need to know why. Sometimes understanding takes all the magic away.”