Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire

“It’s true. Someone who creates art for a living can see it clearly.”

Yeah, that was definitely not any kind of flirtation on his part. “Well, I think you may be the first real artist I’ve met. No one’s actually commented on my face that I can recall.”

She saw his hand move ever so slightly before he curled his fingers into his palm. For an insane moment, she thought he might have been about to touch her. She imagined him trailing a finger along her jawline, cupping her cheek in his palm. A shiver ran down her spine.

The effect of his gaze was hypnotic. He wasn’t so much looking at her as discovering, exploring her features. The air around them suddenly grew thick. In that moment, Maya had the strangest notion that she somehow knew this man. Had known him forever. She’d seen him in her dreams, heard his voice in her imaginings.

Or maybe she’d actually hit her head on the side of the gondola while toppling over the side.

“I have a confession to make,” he stated. His tone as he spoke the words took her breath away. “I’m afraid you may not like it.”

CHAPTER THREE

MAYA COULDN’T QUITE decide if she liked it or not. It was hard to believe what she was looking at. Was that really her depicted on the easel Vito had led her to?

He’d sketched her as she slept. At least, she thought it was her. For the woman portrayed on the canvas in charcoal appeared to be another version of herself.

“You’re not saying anything, cara.” Vito spoke softly behind her as she stood staring at the easel.

“I’m not really sure what to say.”

“I will destroy it if you wish. We can pretend it never existed.” The stiff quality of his tone told her clearly it would pain him to do so.

But was that what she wanted? Part of her felt flattered, proud that she’d provided any kind of inspiration to an artist of his caliber. Because he was clearly talented, given what she was looking at.

Another part, however, felt more than a little uneasy, as if her privacy had been breached when she hadn’t even been aware.

She cleared her throat. “No. Don’t do that. I just—I just need a moment to decide how I feel.”

“That sounds fair.”

“I’ve never been drawn by anyone before. I can’t even really tell if it’s indeed me.”

“It is most definitely a sketch of you. Why do you not see it, I wonder?”

She scrounged for the words to explain. Maybe the alcohol was still addling her mind, but it was tough to summon them. “I don’t know exactly. It’s just that this woman on the paper...she seems much more...at peace with herself and her life. Confident in the decisions she’s made.” How he’d portrayed all that in one quick sketch was truly magical. She found herself in awe of his talent.

“This is my profession. As an artist, I capture what I see.”

Maya trailed a finger along the edge of the paper. “And this is truly how you saw me as I slept?”

“It is how I see you,” Vito answered with no hesitation.

Though it was flattering, she knew she couldn’t read too much into his depiction of her. The man had laid eyes on her mere hours before. He had no idea who she really was. He didn’t know any of the decisions she’d made that had led her to where she was right now—alone and licking her wounds. If Vito knew all that, he’d have drawn her much differently. Of that she had no doubt.

“If I may ask, what compelled you?”

“To put your likeness down on paper, you mean?”

Maya nodded. Surely he had better things to do, could have easily found a better subject. She had no doubt she was merely an inconvenience; the poor man had felt compelled to assist her as no one else seemed willing to. So she had no idea what his motivations may have been. She was far from muse-like.

So she was surprised with his answer. “You’re one of those rare people whose inner strength can be seen clearly on the outside. It’s a very uncommon quality.”

Maya had to laugh at that. She couldn’t have heard him right. In fact, none of this seemed real. Maybe she was still asleep on his sofa, having an alcohol-or concussion-fueled dream. Or perhaps she should go even farther back than that. Maybe she really had managed to injure herself during the fall from the gondola. And she was actually lying in an Italian hospital somewhere in the midst of a deep coma.