Stefano wanted to be the recipient of that smile.
He wanted Annabelle to look at him like that.
It was a strange feeling for him to be ignored by the woman he wanted most. Mrs. Gutierrez, smiling, brought her a plate and she calmly served herself. Stefano watched Annabelle eat pastries, cooked eggs and ham with gusto while he drank only black coffee, feeling surly. He saw her smile and laugh as the boys entertained her with jokes, tossing rolls at one another. As usual, the teenagers were rowdy and full of laughter as they gobbled down their food and drank gallons of milk.
Beneath the dining hall’s high ceilings of vaulted wood, Annabelle sat in her tall wooden chair at the end of the table, holding court like a princess, laughing at the boys’ antics. And Stefano suddenly wondered why, at almost thirty-four, she had no children of her own. She would make a wonderful mother. Why had she never settled down and started a family?
Because she couldn’t commit? Because she was a workaholic? Because she was constantly on the road and didn’t need, or want, a real home?
All good reasons, he thought. All bad reasons.
Annabelle finally finished the last of her tea.
“Now?” the boys demanded.
She smiled. “Clear the table.”
The long wooden table was clean in seconds. As the boys clamored around her, even Mrs. Gutierrez came over to see what all the commotion was about. Annabelle reached into the black leather case at her feet and withdrew a stack of colorful printed images.
“Here’s a sampling of the pictures I’ve taken so far. Just preliminary pictures off my travel printer,” she warned. “The final versions will be far better.”
She placed the stack on the table, and the boys snatched them up. Immediately, they started exclaiming with praise over the beauty of the photographs she’d taken of Santo Castillo.
“You are truly a wonder, señorita.”
“Sí—you even made Juan look less ugly in this one!” another boy snickered, only to be punched in the shoulder by the first boy.
“My goodness, these are beautiful,” Mrs. Gutierrez cooed. “The prettiest pictures I’ve ever seen.” The housekeeper looked over at Stefano. “Don’t you think so, señor?”
Annabelle’s gaze met Stefano’s across the table, and he heard her intake of breath. The smile on her face fled.
Setting his jaw, Stefano walked toward her. Reaching for the papers, he looked through the images. He saw Santo Castillo’s landscapes, the golden fields around the hacienda, the dappled forest, the horses in the stables, even the boys working. He saw Mrs. Gutierrez cooking in the modern kitchen as she made a meal for seven hungry men.
Technically, the pictures were all perfect.
And yet … they didn’t move him. Something was missing. Something like passion. Like life.
“Well?” He looked up to see Annabelle biting her lip. “What do you think?”
It was the first time she’d spoken directly to him in three days. He could not tell her the cold hard truth—that these pictures did not touch his heart. What did he know about photographs? What did he know about art? Nothing.
Waiting, she licked her lips nervously. He had the vision of that pink tongue flicking at the corners of her full mouth. He felt himself tighten as he imagined those sweet pink lips against his rough skin, gasping her pleasure, crying out his name.
No—he had to stop torturing himself!
But he’d never experienced anything like this, being so close to a woman he desired without being able to possess her. Did she even know the power she had over him?
“Stefano?”
“The pictures are fine,” he muttered. Roughly, he pushed the stack of photographs aside and turned away.
“No.” The sharpness of Annabelle’s voice stopped him. “Don’t be polite, Stefano. I want to know what you actually think.”
He slowly turned back to face her.
“I think they are unremarkable,” he said quietly. “Verídicamente, I expected better from you.”
She blinked, clearly shocked. “What?”