DONNA ALWARD - Hired - The Italian's Bride

“Do you want to talk about it, Mari?”

With a sigh she put down the pen, placed her hands flat on her desk and crossed her legs. “Talk about what, Luca?”

“About what happened in the attic.”

She looked away. “No, I don’t.”

“You were frightened. I want to know why.”

“I was not frightened. I happen to be…claustrophobic.”

It was paltry and he saw through it. But he could not make her talk and he hardly knew her well enough to pry. Still…

“I did not realize that when I reached for your arm.”

Her hands remained flat on the blotter and she met his eyes coolly. “Luca, I am a person who does not like her personal space invaded. I’m not a touchy person. That’s all. I’m sorry if that is blunt, or rude.”

“It is honest, and I appreciate it. So it is not just me you don’t want to touch you, it is everyone.”

Her cheeks flamed. “That’s correct.”

“It’s nothing personal.”

She swallowed, and his gaze was drawn to the curve of her throat. Damn, it sure felt personal right now.

“Nothing personal,” she echoed weakly.

“I’m glad, because we will be working together closely and it will be difficult if there is animosity between us.”

Animosity?

Mari swallowed and forced the cool, neutral expression to remain on her face. He had no idea about what had happened in the attic. How his words touched her, mirrored so many of her own emotions. How she’d suddenly felt strangled and had to get out.

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