He shook his head. “She depended on me. I should have tried harder. Instead I got frustrated. I worked more. I should warn you that I’m not a very good husband. I’m not good at reading emotions. I travel a lot. I get absorbed with my business.”
She put her hand on his arm. “You’re a good man, Maximo. You’re going to be a good husband, and a wonderful father. In my line of work I’ve dissolved more marriages than I care to think about, and then, at the Children’s Advocacy Center I saw a lot of men who were lousy husbands and fathers. You’re not like them.”
“You say that, Alison, and I think you even mean it, but you’ve only known me for three weeks. Selena had seven years to grow disenchanted with me.”
“I think all marriages can lose their luster if you let them,” she said firmly. “But we’re getting married for a reason.”
“The baby.” He put his hands over her rounded belly and rested her palm over them.
“Yes. That reason is never going to go away. We’ll always have our child in common.”
“And that’s enough for you?”
She gave him a level stare, her eyes never wavering from his. “It has to be, doesn’t it?”
He nodded firmly. Decidedly. “Yes.”
“Then it is. We’re going to make this work for our child. We’re going to make a family. That’s all that matters. When I make my vows I’ll keep them.”
Maximo ignored the tightening sensation in his chest. Ignored the voice in his head berating him for allowing this woman to settle for so much less than she deserved. “Then you would be in the minority.”
She shrugged one delicate shoulder. “I’m used to that by now. I was a twenty-eight-year-old virgin until last night, remember?” She gave him a sly grin.
“How could I forget?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps you need your memory refreshed.” And then she was in his arms, stroking his back with her hands and practically purring.
This was enough. Enough for both of them. He would do everything in his power to make it enough.
“Alison?” He cupped her bare hip bone with his hands and did wicked things to the indent that led from there to her femininity.
“Hmm?” she half moaned.
“I want to show you something.”
“You already did that—” she snuggled into him “—twice,” she added playfully.
“Not that.”
She sighed. “I suppose we have to get out of bed at some point.”
“It is advised.”
They had spent most of the morning in bed and it was late afternoon now. Alison was languid, satisfied in a way, but far from sated. There would never be a time when she wouldn’t crave the way Max made her feel. When he kissed her, caressed her, entered her, she felt complete.
“All right, but you have to feed the baby and me first.”
“I wouldn’t dream of being neglectful.”
He made good on his promise and fed her lunch—a creamy pasta dish that made her very happy. Now that her morning sickness had passed she found she was loving food again, more than usual even. After she was finished, Max took her hand and led her out of the villa and into the courtyard.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m being led astray?” she asked, the wicked grin on his face making her stomach flutter.
“I have no idea. I promise you my intentions are entirely pure.”
“Somehow, I very much doubt that there’s anything pure in your mind except for purely naughty thoughts.”
He laughed and the sound made her heart jump in her chest. “No. You’ll see.”
There was a small whitewashed building that rested on an outcrop of rock that overlooked the beach below. It seemed as though it was nearly carved into the cliff, a part of nature. It had obviously been built years earlier than the villa, the mature, creeping vines that covered the side attesting to that fact.
“This is lovely,” she said.
“It’s one of the reasons I picked this location to build the villa. The natural lighting inside the studio is amazing.” He took a key out of his jeans pocket and put it into the ancient keyhole.
Alison was surprised by the renovation that had been done to the inside, which was light and airy, modern.
“There’s a bedroom and bathroom through there.” He pointed through the galley-style kitchenette and to a door that stood closed. There was sparse furniture in the main room, a couch, an easel and paintings lining the walls, all beautifully, photo-realistically done.
“Max … you did these, didn’t you?” She could see it in each brushstroke, so controlled, so carefully placed. Maximo captured the essence of what he painted, kept the life that possessed his subject in the real world and translated it to the canvas. It didn’t possess the freedom of expression, the broad, abstract work of a modern artist, but it wouldn’t have been Max if it had.
“Yes.”
“Does anyone know?”
He shook his dark head and came to stand close behind her. “It’s something I’ve dabbled in over the years, but never devoted much time to.”
“That’s a crime! Max, these are beautiful!” She moved up close to a landscape portrait of the waves crashing on the rocks. It was the view out the window it was placed next to, and it rivaled the real thing. The water was alive and the wind was a living thing, too, moving the grass in a sea of green ripples.
“It isn’t what’s popular. I invest in art. I wouldn’t invest in these. They’re the kind of pictures that hang in a doctor’s office.”
“They’re amazing.” She reached a hand out, letting it hover over the exquisite work. “Do you only do landscapes?”
“So far. As I said, I haven’t had much time to devote to it.”
“Selena never saw them?” she asked gently, watching his eyes darken with stormy emotion.
“No.” Just no. No explanation. She didn’t need one. Selena had not loved the man standing before her. She may have loved the idea of him. The powerful, handsome prince with the gorgeous body and amazing bedroom skills. But she hadn’t loved him. He was so much more than what he chose to show the world. And she had been blessed with a window into his heart.
“I’m honored that you showed me.”
He turned to her. “I want to paint you.”
“Me?”
He laughed. “Yes. I have never done a portrait. I haven’t been inspired to. But I want to paint you.”
This was more intimate for him, she realized, than making love. He was sharing something with her that he had not shared with any other woman, any other person, period. That did something to her. It made the most bittersweet pain twist her heart, made her stomach tighten with longing.
“I would like that.”
He put an arm around her and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up so that their eyes met. “I want to paint all of you.”
Realization of what that meant dawned slowly. “I can’t do that!” she protested, her cheeks heating at the idea of getting naked in such bright daylight and lying exposed for hours on end.
“I’m realizing that you’re the kind of woman who can do anything