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Italian Maverick's Collection


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      Jules pressed her hands to her cheeks. She hadn’t had a chance to do her makeup yet. She couldn’t have him seeing her like this—with her scars exposed. Her heart beat rapidly. She didn’t think she could stand to have him turn away in repulsion.

      She stepped closer to the door. “Could we talk at lunch?”

      There was a slight pause. “Is everything okay?”

      What could be so important? She didn’t have a clue. She had to admit that she was quite curious to know what was so urgent.

      “Jules?” The doorknob jiggled. “Jules, what’s going on? Why is your door locked?”

      She sighed. He wasn’t going to just give up and go away. She’d already witnessed his stubborn streak at the florist. This time he might just break down the door to see for himself that she was okay.

      This might be just what she needed to end the silly crush she had on him. Once he saw the scars on her face, he’d turn tail and run.

      “Jules, come on. You’re starting to worry me.”

      She sucked in a steadying breath, leveled her shoulders and released the lock on the door. With a twist of the knob, she pulled it open. Stefano stood there, all six-plus feet of him, with his forehead wrinkled with worry lines. He stepped into the room, and she backed up so he could enter the whole way.

      “See, nothing to worry about.” She felt a little off center that he was actually worried about her. Aside from Lizzie, no one worried about her.

      His gaze slid over her fuzzy black robe with purple polka dots. She suddenly wished it was a little longer. As it was, it barely reached midthigh, and the only thing beneath it was a lacy black bra and matching undies. Though she was modestly covered, she still felt fully exposed. She lowered her head, staring at her purple toenails.

      “You aren’t dressed yet?”

      She shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

      “I noticed. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about—”

      “If this is about hiring help, I told you to forget it.”

      “Actually, what I wanted to say is I know in the beginning I wasn’t a fan of helping with this wedding, but I want to help now. I want to do whatever it is that you need. Just give me a task, and I’ll get it done. Or at least I’ll try my best.”

      Jules crossed her arms. “Do you mind if I ask what brought about this change of heart?”

      He paused and stared at her. Was it her scars? Did he at last see her defects? That crescent moon scar that wrapped around the side of her left eye and the long scar that trailed down her jaw. They were so ugly.

      She couldn’t stand him staring any longer. She felt as though she were under a spotlight. Pretending to be intent on picking up some of her flower-making supplies from the floor, she kept her back to him.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

      “I should have put on my makeup, but I didn’t get to it yet.”

      “Don’t.” When she turned a questioning look his way, he added, “Don’t put the makeup on.”

      She straightened and turned to him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

      “No, I think you look beautiful without all of that stuff.”

      He couldn’t be serious. There was no way someone could find her scarred face beautiful. She shook her head. “Don’t lie.”

      “I’m not.” He stepped closer to her. When she wouldn’t meet his gaze, his thumb moved beneath her chin and raised her face until she was looking directly at him. “You are beautiful.”

      “But...but what about my scars?”

      “The one by your eye is hardly noticeable. It’s your green eyes that draw my attention. The gold flecks in them catch the light just right. And your pert nose is just perfect. And then there’s your lips—they are quite fascinating. They look as though they are just ripe for kissing.”

      The breath hitched in her throat. He was seducing her with his words. No one had ever done that before, and all she wanted him to do now was put some action behind his compliments.

      Then in the next breath his hand pulled away from her chin, and he stepped back. “If that’s the only reason you wear all of that makeup, then don’t. You are much more beautiful without it. Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

      Maybe he wouldn’t. He’d just lead her on and then leave her wanting a kiss that wasn’t coming. How in the world was she ever going to concentrate on anything but him?

      “I’ll consider it.” She’d been wearing makeup since she was a teen, hiding her scars.

      “Are you still making flowers?” He glanced around at the array of papers on the floor.

      “The shower gave me renewed energy, and I thought I might make some more before lunch.”

      “I see your helper faded away.”

      “Apricot wore herself out chasing the paper and then sliding across the floor. When she got bored of that I rolled a piece into a ball. She batted it everywhere until at last it went under the bed. Instead of going after it, she clawed her way up the bedspread and laid down.”

      There in the middle of her bed, in a pink fuzzy blanket Jules had bundled up into a circle with a divot in the middle, was Apricot—belly up and sound asleep. The kitten was so sweet. She didn’t know how she’d ever leave her behind.

      “Seems as if she couldn’t be happier.” He turned back to Jules. “You’re really good with her. Someday you’ll make a great mother.”

      “It’s not going to happen.”

      She waited, but he didn’t say anything else on the matter.

      Deep inside she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that she could someday be a mom. Lizzie wasn’t the only one who’d dreamed of having her own family. But knowing she wasn’t cut out to raise children, Jules had turned her focus to social work. She thought she could care for the kids from a distance. Until she’d found out that she was unable to maintain a professional distance. Frustration knotted her stomach.

      Stefano made himself comfortable on the floor and started to gather a stack of papers. “So how do you do this?”

      “You really want to make a flower?” She surely hadn’t heard him correctly. There was nothing about this jean-clad, muscle-bound businessman that said he had a crafty bone in his body.

      “Of course I do. I told you that I would do everything I could to help with this wedding. Speaking of which, I ordered those wedding favors.”

      “You did?”

      He nodded. “You wouldn’t believe all of the party favors they offer. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered a few other things. Of course, you get final approval.”

      Impressed with his new attitude toward the wedding, she sat down next to him. “Thank you. I can’t wait to see them.”

      She went on to instruct him about making flowers by taking eight sheets of tissue paper and aligning them with the round paper cutter. For a while she gave him her undivided attention, but he was a quick learner. His flower wasn’t perfect, but it impressed her—he impressed her. It wasn’t just his flair for crafts, but his ability to put aside his misgivings about the wedding for his brother’s happiness.

      “Not exactly like your flowers,” he said, surveying his rather limp effort.

      “But not bad for your first try.” She gave him some pointers, and he tried again.

      “That’s better.”

      “Yes, it is.”

      He turned