Because I Could Not Resist (Because You Are Mine Part 2) Read Free Page B

directions.
    “I’m fine. Please pay me no mind,” she said, laughing airily and throwing away her tissue. “You know how old women can get maudlin.”
    “I’ve never known you to be maudlin,” Ian said. His gaze flicked off Mrs. Hanson and landed on Francesca.
    “May I speak to you a moment, in the library?” he asked her.
    “Of course,” she said, lifting her chin and forcing herself not to cringe in the face of his blazing stare.
    A minute later, she turned anxiously at the sound of Ian shutting the heavy walnut door of the library behind him. He stalked toward her with the smooth, graceful stride of a predatory animal. Why was it she was always comparing such a sophisticated, contained male to a wild thing?
    “What did you say to Mrs. Hanson?” he demanded. She suspected it was coming, but she still bristled at the subtle inflection of accusation in his tone.
    “I didn’t say anything! We were just . . . talking.”
    His gaze bore into her. “Talking about my family.”
    She resisted heaving a sigh of relief. Apparently, he’d only heard their last comments and hadn’t realized what Mrs. Hanson had revealed about his mother. And him. Somehow, she knew for a fact he’d be far less contained than he was if he knew Mrs. Hanson had been loose-lipped about those particular details.
    “Yes,” she admitted, straightening and meeting his stare, though it cost her a great deal of effort. Sometimes those angel eyes became the avenging-angel variety. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “
I
asked her about your grandparents.”
    “And that made her cry?” he asked, his tone thick with sarcasm.
    “I don’t really know the details of what made her cry,” she snapped. “I wasn’t prying, Ian. We were just talking, having polite conversation. You should try it sometime.”
    “If you want to know about my family, I would prefer if you asked me.”
    “Oh, and you’ll dish out all the details, no doubt,” she countered, her tone just as sarcastic as his had been earlier.
    A muscle jumped in his cheek. Abruptly, he walked toward the large, gleaming desk and picked up a small bronze statue of a horse, toying with it. Francesca wondered in mixed irritation and nervousness if he wanted something to do with his hands besides strangle her. With his back to her, she had the opportunity to study him for the first time. He wore an impeccably cut pair of trousers, a white dress shirt, and a blue tie that matched his eyes. Since he always wore suits to the office, she assumed he’d removed the jacket. The starched shirt perfectly fit his wide shoulders. The pants draped his narrow hips and long legs: elegant, raw masculinity defined.
He really was a beautiful male animal,
she thought resentfully.
    “Lin said she contacted you this morning,” he said, the change in topic taking her off guard.
    “She did. I’d like to speak to you about what she said,” Francesca replied, anxiety now trumping her anger.
    “You painted today,” he said rather than asked.
    She blinked in surprise. “Yes. How . . . how did you know?” She’d had the impression he’d come directly to the kitchen upon entering the penthouse.
    “There’s paint on your right forefinger.”
    She glanced down at her right hand. She’d never seen him even glance in that direction. Did he have eyes in the back of his head?
    “Yes, I painted.”
    “I thought perhaps you weren’t going to return, after what happened on Wednesday.”
    “Well, I did return. And not because you told Lin to call and buy me off. That wasn’t necessary.”
    He turned. “
I
think it was necessary. I won’t have you worrying about whether or not you can afford to finish your degree.”
    “
Plus
—you
knew
that I would finish the painting if I knew you were going to pay me the commission no matter what,” she said irritably, edging toward him.
    He blinked and had the decency to look slightly abashed.
    “I don’t like being manipulated,” she said.
    “I