“I need the money.”
He cocked his head. “You’re from one of the richest families in Italy. I don’t do too poorly myself, and you’re my wife. Why the hell would you need to work for money?”
She lifted her chin in that stubborn tilt that drove him crazy. “Michael’s rich. You’re rich. I’m not rich. I may have a fat trust fund, but I’m going to make my own way, just like everyone else. If that means working extra shifts, I’m not complaining.”
He bit back a curse. “Family takes care of their own. What’s theirs is yours. Why can’t you understand that?”
She gave an unladylike snort. “Same way you can’t understand how it feels to have failed at everything you’ve done.”
His mouth dropped open. “Failed? You succeed at everything you touch.”
Her voice turned to ice. “I’m not stupid, Max. You may want to get me back in bed, but lying doesn’t cut it. I sucked at being a chef like Mama. I wasn’t good at business like Julietta and Michael. And I sucked at anything to do with personal fashion, beauty, or looks like Venezia. Don’t insult me.”
His heart broke. This beautiful, spirited, giving woman believed she wasn’t worthy. The urge to strangle her or kiss her warred inside him. Instead, he swallowed past the tightness in his throat and told the truth.
“You succeeded at everything precious in this world, Carina. People. Animals. Love. Nothing else matters, you know. But you just don’t see it.”
She stilled. Those soulful dark eyes grew wide with astonishment. A connection blazed between them, hot and bright, and the air grew clogged with emotion. He put down his fork to reach for her.
Carina jumped off the seat and took a few steps back. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for dinner.”
She flew out of the kitchen and left him alone and empty.
A few days later, Carina studied the paintings in front of her with a critical eye. The class had helped with form and taught her a few techniques that took her to the next level. Her teacher even commented on getting in contact with someone for representation, especially if she completed a cohesive series. A tiny trickle of alarm slid down her spine. A public showing would mean more than coming out of the closet as a hopeful artist. It would mean stripping naked and screaming “Look at me!” in the middle of Times Square.
The real problem, of course, was her family. Her supportive, well-meaning core group who believed she had talent but painted as a hobby. Not once had she expressed her soul screaming for the opportunity to be a professional artist. Art was well respected in Bergamo, but business was revered, especially with the famous La Dolce Famiglia bakeries in the Conte name.
Carina nibbled at her bottom lip and scrawled her name at the bottom.
Her first official piece completed. And if anyone saw it, they’d believe she was a slut.
The lines were blurred in a hazy gray black that cast the couple in shadow. The woman’s hard nipple revealed her arousal, and her face caught the onlooker’s eye with a naked ecstasy as if she was fighting orgasm. The man’s back was turned and blocked the rest of her bare body. Lean muscles bunched and a tattoo claimed the top left shoulder in that of a serpent. The window sketched toward the right-hand side of the painting gave the impression of a sense of voyeurism peeking into their sensual world, while the bright light of day and sanity remained through the glass.
She fisted her hands, then slowly worked out her fingers. The cramp in her wrist told her she’d been at it for hours. Excitement nibbled on her nerve endings. It was good. She felt it deep inside her gut, a sense of satisfaction she rarely experienced anymore. Not since she started college. She’d fought the pull of her instinct for a while now, but only created flat, two-dimensional portraits that left her cold.
The raw erotic nature shocked her. Who would’ve known Max ripped open the gates of her soul and tore off the locks? No going back to sensible, clean creations. The moment she lay eyes on the portraits in Sawyer’s office, she knew she needed to dig deep and paint nudity. No matter what happened with her work, at least she was telling the truth. About her nature. Her wants. Needs. Fantasies.
About time.
She cleaned her brushes, tucked away her acrylics, and stripped off her smock. Time to give Rocky a treat and check on Gabby. She’d invited her family for dinner, and hoped she’d have time for a quick nap in the sun first.
Gabby greeted her with the normal coo she’d begun to love. Already, she dreaded the time she needed to let Gabby fly away. The bird’s bright, knowing eyes told a deeper story with an exotic past Carina would love to know more about. Maybe she’d have a chat with her owner before releasing her.
She checked the dressing and bandage, fed her, and carried the converted fish tank outside to the back patio. The Olympic-sized pool was surrounded by lush foliage, imported palm trees, and vivid red and purple irises to surround swimmers in a tropical lagoon. Rocky padded outside, not giving Gabby a second thought, and plopped beside her on a lounge chair. Carina slid into the Adirondack chair with her pets flanking her, a glass of Merlot on the table, and the sound of gushing water and wind in the background.
A sense of peace settled over her. She murmured occasional comments to Gabby and Rocky, and slowly, her lids closed.
“Carina?”
Her name slid from his mouth like honey and caramel, all smooth and gooey and delicious. She smiled and lifted her face upward, too relaxed to lift her arms. The delicious smell of man, soap, and a hint of spicy cologne drifted on the breeze. “Hmmm?”
Gentle fingers caressed her cheek. She pressed against that warm hand and kissed his palm. A low mutter. “Ah, sweetheart, there’s a storm coming. You should come in.”
“ ’Kay.” She stretched, wanting him to strip off her clothes, part her thighs, and slide home. Her muscles clenched in delicious anticipation. She nibbled on his strong wrist and sighed. “Taste good. Smell good.”
“Dio, you are killing me.”
The fuzzy haze of sleep blurred her good intentions and her brain waves. She blinked and reached up. Pushed back the crisp strands of hair across his brow. Traced the arrogant hook of his nose, his soft, full lips. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured. “Too beautiful for me, though. Aren’t you, Max?”
“Fuck this. I’m no saint.”
His lips coasted over hers. Warm, capable, sipping from her mouth like savoring an expensive glass of wine. His taste exploded on her tongue and she moaned, opening to him fully. He kissed her for long, slow moments that went on and on, until she melted into the chair and the flesh between her legs grew swollen and wet. When he finally lifted his head, she knew he’d won. Waited for him to pick her up and bring her into his bedroom. And at that moment, she didn’t care anymore.
The doorbell rang.
The ding caused Rocky to launch off his rest spot and bark. She bumped back into reality like a rough landing and pushed herself up. Max shook his head. “I may kill whoever’s at that door,” he said. With one last hard look, he disappeared through the French doors.
Carina slid out of the chair. She wondered if Fate stepped in to save her. How long could she hold out before falling back into his bed? The voice of her sister-in-law floated through the screen and she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She was safe from temptation now.
For a while.
Maggie waddled in looking generally huge, uncomfortable, and majorly pissed off. The black stretch knit dress hit her knees, and rhinestone flip-flops slapped over the marble floors. “If they don’t get out of me now, Carina, I’m gonna take them out myself.” She marched into the living room, stood at the edge of the comfy chair, and fell back. Carina had a feeling she wouldn’t be getting up unless they had a crane.