“Yes?” He looked down at her. It was just the two of them alone beside a single bed.
Her whole body flushed hot beneath her black shift dress. Awkwardly, she turned away, yanking the sheets off the tiny bed. “I just need to drop these in the laundry room.”
“Allow me.” As he took her bag, then the sheets and blankets, his fingertips brushed hers. She swallowed.
What was wrong with her? Why was he having this effect on her? She’d never felt this way before about anyone. Certainly not Cody, the one time he’d tried to kiss her on that disastrous date, or any of the men she’d met in San Francisco, or the boys from high school. Was it pregnancy hormones?
Or was it just the fact that Alex Falconeri was the most obscenely sexy man she’d ever met?
Pushing past him, she fled the tiny garret. After going back down the stairs, she led him to the laundry room, then to the bathroom she’d shared with her aunt. Gathering up a small toiletry bag, she tucked it into the overnight bag still on his shoulder, then paused, knowing she should take the bag and carry it herself. She carried her own burdens, always.
But as she started to reach for the straps, she remembered her aunt’s stern admonition. Okay. She was seven months’ pregnant. Maybe she could accept help. But it wasn’t easy.
Clenching her hands at her sides so she wouldn’t be tempted to take the bag, she faced him with all the dignity she could muster. “I’m ready.”
Rosalie just prayed he couldn’t see the impact he was having on her. If he did...it would be even more embarrassing than when she’d blurted out the question asking if he was proposing to her. She could only imagine how humiliated she’d feel if he felt he had to explicitly tell her he wasn’t interested in her physically. Again.
From now on, she told herself firmly as they headed downstairs, she would focus on one job. And it might be the most difficult job she’d ever had.
She would stop wanting Alex Falconeri.
CHAPTER FOUR
ALEX’S BLOOD WAS PUMPING as he watched Rosalie hug her great-aunt farewell. He’d gotten what he wanted. She was returning to live with him in Venice.
He didn’t begrudge the deal they’d made. A stipend? Negligible. Child support? Obviously. Custody? He was relieved they’d promised not to battle each other with underhanded tricks. Yes, he had far more money for a protracted custody fight, but courts tended to be swayed with sympathy for a loving mother. And Rosalie’s love for her unborn child was clear.
As was her incredible charisma. Her petite, curvy frame, her luminous brown eyes, so soulful and alive, her plump lips, her dark hair with streaks of sunlight around her heart-shaped face—
No judge alive could resist a plea from a woman like this, and a jury even less so. Any case Alex took to court against her, he would lose.
He would have paid any price to get her to willingly move to his palazzo in Venice. He could not easily have moved to California for a multitude of reasons. His vineyard was one. His inability to get on a plane was another. He was relieved she’d given in, and was going to let him support her. He’d only suggested Rosalie become a nanny because she’d been so strangely reluctant to let him pay her way. What did he care about money? He was glad to support both her and the child. Of course he should support them.
But he hadn’t lied about wanting to create firm boundaries. Making her his employee would have helped with that. But now, there was nothing to prevent him from acting on his desire and making her his mistress. He’d be living in the same house with her. Wanting her with this ravenous hunger.
But he could never allow himself to have her.
Because a woman like Rosalie Brown only wanted true love. S
he’d said so. For her, it was the only reason for marriage, the only reason for sex.
Love is the basis of everything. Or it should be.
She’d been raised in a loving home. She actually believed that was normal. It was why she’d become a surrogate. To bring another family together, to try to heal her own grief over the parents she’d lost. For love, all for love.
While Alex had no love to give.
Just learning to be a father would be hard enough. He sucked in his breath.
All this time, he’d wanted a child, but that had been theoretical. He’d wanted to continue the family name.
But in two months, he was going to be responsible for a real flesh-and-blood little boy. How would he know what to do? He’d assumed he’d love his child, but what if he didn’t? After the way he’d been raised, how would Alex possibly know how to be a good father?
“It’s nearly midnight,” the elderly French lady said as she pulled away from her great-niece’s embrace in the restaurant. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait to leave until morning?”
Rosalie glanced back at him questioningly. Alex thought of her tiny bed in the garret, of the way it had felt with the two of them pushed together in such a tight space. He wouldn’t last two minutes without trying to kiss her.
“We should leave,” he replied. “We will sleep in Paris. Goodbye, madame.” He gave Odette Lancel a small bow. “Thank you again for your assistance.”