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Her own hands were knotted together, turning over and over in her lap.
The rational part of his brain kicked in. He needed to get this job back on track. He needed to finish the renovations at the palazzo and the chapel.
And the history-loving part of him would love to see the other fresco. This wasn’t such an unreasonable offer to accept. Another night in Venice might give him a little time to get to know Lucia again.
And it seemed as though the rest of Venice might be attending a concert somewhere, leaving the beauties of Venice still to be explored...
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. ‘Thank you, Lucia. You’re right. I probably won’t be able to find anywhere else to stay. As long as you’re sure it’s not too much trouble, I’d be delighted to stay.’
CHAPTER FIVE
WHAT HAD SHE just done?
Was her apartment even reasonably tidy? She didn’t have any food. Well, not the kind of food to entertain with and make dinner for a guest. Chilli-flavoured crisps and orange-flavoured chocolate might be her favourite dinner but she couldn’t offer it to a guest. What on earth had she been thinking?
She was desperately hoping that she appeared outwardly calm. But her heartbeat was thudding against her chest at a rate of knots. Logan gestured to the waiter and settled their bill, picking up his bag and giving her a casual smile. ‘Shall we finish this paperwork back at your place?’
It was a reasonable, rational question. He couldn’t possibly imagine the way the blood was racing around her system and the breath was sticking in her lungs.
‘Of course,’ she said as coolly as possible, with a nod of her head as she stood up.
‘How far away do you live?’ he asked.
She tried to smile. ‘Well, that depends entirely on traffic and the time of day.’
She weaved her way through the cobbled streets towards the water-taxi stop. ‘I’m only two stops along. It only takes a few minutes.’
They were lucky. The water taxis on this side of the canal weren’t quite so busy. They jumped on and back off within five minutes.
Her skin was prickling. Every little hair on her arms was standing on end even though the sun was splitting the sky. Now that Logan had had a chance to cool down he was back to his normal, unruffled self. She kind of wished he was still as flustered as he had been for a few moments earlier. It made him seem less infallible. A little more vulnerable—just like she felt.
But Logan had never been vulnerable. He’d always been rock solid. Even in grief.
He jumped out of the taxi before her and held out his hand for her as she stepped from the bobbing boat. She lifted her head and tried to walk with confidence. Although her apartment overlooked the Grand Canal the entrance of the traditional building was around the back. It had been hundreds of years since people had entered directly from the canal, and the original entrance had long since been plastered over.
She couldn’t hide her smile. The architect in Logan could never be hidden. His eyes were roaming over the traditional building, his smile growing wider by the second. ‘You stay in an old Venetian palace?’
The admiration and wonder in his voice was obvious. She’d always known Logan would approve of her choice. The fifteenth-century building facing the Grand Canal was one of the most photographed in the district. It had distinctive Venetian floral Gothic-style architecture. The fa?ade was pink plaster facing with intricate white detailing around all the windows and balconies that overlooked the canal. The arches on the balconies were topped with delicate quatrefoil windows, resembling flowers with four petals.
She gave him a smile as she opened the entranceway. ‘Just wait until you see the inside. We have our own high ceilings, beams, alcoves and frescoes. The whole place is full of original features.’
Logan was nodding, his eyes wide as they stepped inside. She’d always loved this about him. The way a glimpse of architectural details of a building could capture his attention instantly. He would become instantly enthralled, desperate to know more about the building and its history. Architecture had always been Logan’s dream. But renovating ancient buildings? That was his calling. Always had been.
A bit like hers had been painting.
The memory swept through her like a gust of stormy weather.
Another part of life put into a box. When she’d first got together with Logan, their apartment had been littered with brushes, easels and oils. She had painted all the time, usually wearing nothing more than one of his shirts. She’d loved the feel of having him right next to her as she’d created, and if he hadn’t been there, the scent of him—his aroma and aftershave—would usually linger on one of his shirts waiting to be washed. Thoughts of Logan had always fired her creative juices.
