by Helen Brooks
His arms came around her, he pushed her against the door, and he kissed her.
The darkness whirled around her. His mouth was hard against hers, the intensity of its demand shocking.
She put her hands on his chest to push him away, but then the kiss changed. It became gentle, tender.
She hesitated. She’d wanted him to kiss her. Really kiss her. She’d been curious ever since that frustrating half kiss he’d given her the night of the basketball game. And now she knew. She knew…oh, dear heaven! She knew it felt wonderful to be kissed by Garek Wisnewski. He was so big, she would have thought he would crush her, but he held her so lightly, so gently, it was like being cradled in a cocoon. But at the same time, there was nothing soft about him. His body felt hard and muscled, his lips firm against hers. Rippling sensations flowed over, around and all the way through her. She liked being kissed by him. She liked the way his mouth felt on her lips and her chin and her neck…
She felt his fingers undoing the buttons of her coat; his hands burrowed underneath, stroking her sides. That felt good, too. She reached up, entwining her fingers in his hair, pressing herself closer to him.
His hands slipped down the velvet of her dress to her waist, then up to the undercurve of her breasts, then down to the tops of her hips. And then back up again until his thumbs were resting against the sides of her breasts.
She was aware, suddenly, that she was on the verge of breaking some tenuous thread of restraint, of allowing herself to go beyond what she’d intended. She’d only wanted to know what it was like to kiss him. She hadn’t intended it to go any further than that. She hadn’t expected to feel like this. To want him so intensely…
But she did. She didn’t care about anything else. She only wanted the kiss to go on and on…she wanted him to touch her breasts. She wanted him to touch her all over—to make love to her…
The door suddenly pushed against her back, thrusting her forward. Garek held on to her, stepping backward, pulling her with him. The light flashed on, blinding her as a familiar voice said, “Something’s blocking the door…oh!”
Ellie blinked at Martina, who stood openmouthed in the doorway, her boyfriend behind her.
“Martina! What are you doing here?” Aware, suddenly, of Garek’s arms around her, Ellie stepped away from him.
Martina’s wide-eyed gaze flickered back and forth between Ellie and Garek. “The road was snowed under…we’re going to drive up tomorrow afternoon instead…I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt!”
“You’re not interrupting.” Ellie wondered if she looked as self-conscious as she felt. “Hi, Billy. Come sit down.”
“Uh, thanks, but I have to go,” he muttered with an uneasy glance at Garek’s stony face. “See ya tomorrow, Martina.”
“Bye, Billy.” Once Billy left, Martina started sidling toward her room. “Uh, I’m really tired.” She faked a yawn. “I better go to bed now. Good night!” She scuttled the last few steps into her bedroom.
Garek turned back to Ellie, his eyes dark and intense. “Come to my apartment with me.” His voice was low and husky.
“No.” She glanced away from his compelling gaze.
He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night, then. At my apartment.”
The expression in his eyes made her tremble. She knew she should say no. She had to say no. She opened her mouth to say no.
“Yes,” she whispered.
A light blazed in his eyes and he gave her a quick hard kiss. “Until tomorrow.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Eight
Ellie found it difficult to concentrate on work the next day. She hung a painting, moved a sculpture and worked on balancing the accounts. Unfortunately, she hung the painting upside down, dropped the sculpture—the head broke off—and could not get the accounts to balance no matter how many times she checked the numbers.
Finally, she gave up all pretense of working and sank onto the flat, leather bench that sat in the middle of the gallery so people could sit and look at the art. Coincidentally, it also gave her an excellent view of the clock. Three fifty-eight. Three fifty-nine. Four o’clock…
In one hour she could go home and get ready to go to dinner at Garek’s.
And to make love.
The words had been unspoken, but she’d heard them loud and clear all the same.
Was she insane?
She must be.
How else could Garek Wisnewski have affected her like this? Last night, she’d felt hot inside and out, she’d yearned for his touch, she’d forgotten all caution, all logic, all common sense…
How had he done that to her?
After he’d left last night, she’d sat in a daze on the couch in the living room, not moving until she heard the creak of a door hinge. Glancing over, she’d seen her cousin cautiously stick her head out. “Is he gone?” Martina had whispered.
Ellie had nodded.
Martina had opened the door all the way and come out into the living room. Clad in a long flannel night-gown with pink bunnies on it and a fuzzy bathrobe, she’d sat cross-legged on the couch next to Ellie.
“Wow,” she’d said. “You look like you’ve died and gone to heaven. He must be one heckuva kisser.”
“Martina…”
“Oh, come on, El…fess up. I can’t believe what I just saw. You haven’t so much as looked at a man since you came to Chicago. I was beginning to think I was going to have to send your name to the nearest convent.”
Ellie had frowned. “Just because I don’t jump into bed with every guy I meet doesn’t mean I want to be a nun.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Martina hadn’t been put off by Ellie’s discouraging tone. “Garek Wisnewski, of all people! I thought you hated him.”
Ellie had thought so too. But something had changed in the last few weeks. “He’s not as bad as I thought,” she’d admitted. “He makes me laugh. He can be really kind. He cares a lot about his sister—”
“Ellie…” Martina had stared at her, a frown knitting her forehead. “Are you in love with him?”
The question had rasped on Ellie’s skin like an ice scraper. “No, of course not,” she’d said automatically.
“Yeah, right,” Martina had said. “I believe that one.”
“It’s true,” Ellie had insisted. “I’m not in love with him.”
“Well, you should be. You should forget about that loser, Rafe—he never cared about you. He was only out for what he could get. Garek is different. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I think he’s in love with you. Or if he’s not, he will be soon.” Martina had yawned. “I’ve got to get up early. Good night.”
Ellie had gone to bed soon after Martina, but she hadn’t slept well.
Are you in love with him?
Fourteen hours later and the question was still echoing inside her head.
Ellie closed her eyes, blocking out her view of the ridiculously slow-moving clock. Was she in love with Garek? She didn’t think so. And yet, she’d never felt like this before, not even with Rafe. With Rafe, she’d felt an odd mix of excitement, curiosity and rebellion. With Garek, she felt excitement, too, but it was fueled more by a genuine liking of him as a person. Rafe had talked a lot, but rarely backed up his speeches with action. Garek, on the other hand, spoke very little, but he accomplished everything he set out to do. Rafe had ridiculed her interest in art and music. Garek wasn’t necessarily a devotee of either, but he obviously recognized the importance of both and shared her deep commitment to supporting artists and the arts. Rafe hadn’t cared about his disabled father and ailing mother—she hadn’t even known of their existence until he broke up with her. Garek obviously cared deeply about his family—he supported his sister and gave her loving, thoughtful gifts. Like the necklace. And the art foundation…
If she let the relationship continue on its natural course, if she went to his apartment and had sex with him, she would probably fall in love w
ith him. But would he love her in return?
Martina seemed to think so. But Ellie wasn’t so sure. She thought about how badly Rafe had hurt her. She didn’t want to go through that again.
And yet, in more ways than one, she’d been hiding ever since she came to Chicago. She couldn’t live the rest of her life this way. At some point she was going to have to take a risk on someone.
Maybe it was time to take that risk…
She looked at the clock.
Four fifty-seven. Four fifty-eight. Only two more minutes…
The door opened and a woman entered. She wore a royal-blue designer suit, her hair fresh-from-the-salon styled and tinted, a large diamond on her finger. She had that too-perfect look of plastic surgery and could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty years old.
Usually Ellie would have been delighted at the arrival of a customer, no matter how close to closing time. But today she only wanted to hurry home and get ready to go to Garek’s.
With an effort, she hid her impatience. “May I help you?”
“I am Doreen Tarrington,” the woman announced.
Doreen Tarrington…Garek’s sister?
Ellie smiled, warmth curling inside her. Had he sent his sister to meet her? “Mrs. Tarrington! How nice to finally meet you. I’m Ellie Hernandez, and this is Vogel’s Gallery.”
Doreen did not smile back. Nor did she take Ellie’s outstretchedhand. Haughty gray eyes gazed disdainfully around the room, and as she looked at several of Ellie’s newest purchases, a horrified expression settled on the woman’s features. “I knew it. I knew it!” she said bitterly.
Ellie’s hand dropped to her side. The warmth inside her faded. “Is something wrong?”
“I would certainly say so—this place is ghastly! This isn’t real art! What will the Palermos and the Branwells think? He did this on purpose. I know he did!”
“Who?” Ellie asked.
“Garek.” Loathing filled Doreen’s voice. “My brother. He picked this gallery to humiliate me. The wretch. The terrible wretch!”
Ellie’s stomach knotted. “Mrs. Tarrington, you don’t know what you’re saying. Garek did this for you—”
Doreen laughed cynically. “Is that what he told you? You obviously don’t know him very well. Or do you?” The piercing gray gaze, suddenly looking very much like Garek’s, swept over her. “He’s sleeping with you, isn’t he? A common sales clerk! I can’t believe Ethel was taken in by you—or Garek, either. But of course he wasn’t. I see it all now. I make a perfectly reasonable request that he start an art foundation for me, and what does he do? He seeks out the trashiest gallery he can find just to annoy me. How like him. How very like him!”
Ellie opened her mouth to say something—anything—but Doreen continued, her anger as biting and unstoppable as the wind over Lake Michigan.
“And you—I suppose you’re the ‘suitable girl’ I asked him to find.” Doreen’s hard gaze swept over her again. “How much did he pay you to play this horrible trick on me? Or did you do it for free, thinking he really cared about you? I hope you weren’t that naive. The only thing my brother cares about is himself. And money, of course.”
Without another word, Doreen turned on her heel and left the gallery. Ellie, feeling dazed, went into her little office and sat down. She stared at the canvas over her desk. It showed an artist drawing the barren landscape outside his window—only in his rendition everything was green and in flower.
Ellie had always liked the painting. It reminded her to look on the bright side. But now it seemed to have a totally different meaning.
Had she been looking at everything through rose-colored glasses—seeing only what she wanted to see?
She picked up a pitcher of water, but her hands were shaking so badly, she put it back down.
That woman—that horrible woman was Garek’s sister? She obviously didn’t think too highly of her brother. Could what she’d said be true? Had Garek chosen Vogel’s and gone out with Ellie to humiliate his sister?
Ellie clasped her hands together tightly. She didn’t want to believe it. But it all rang true. All the little inconsistencies that had puzzled her, that she’d ignored, now made terrible, sickening sense. His seeking her out for his art foundation after insulting her in his office. His quick decision to choose Vogel’s without even speaking to any other galleries. His insistence on taking her to the symphony, to dinner, the art show and the basketball game…
Ellie felt cold inside. She’d thought he was a kind and generous man who loved his family. But now with that facade stripped away, she saw the same man who’d left her standing in the gutter—cold, selfish, heartless. Did he care about anyone or anything other than himself?
Money, according to his sister.
Ellie folded her arms on the desk and put her head down on them.
She should have questioned him more closely instead of allowing herself to believe the best. But that was what she’d wanted to believe. If Doreen hadn’t come in, Ellie would probably be on her way over to his apartment right now, planning to spend the night with him…
Air burned inside her lungs, stinging her throat and nose and eyes. She’d thought she might be falling in love with him. She’d thought he might learn to love her. How could she have been so stupid?
“Ellie?”
Startled, she lifted her head. “Robbie?” Blinking back her tears, she looked at her handsome cousin standing in the doorway of her office. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still in jail.”
He hunkered down next to her. “I got out early for good behavior. I only have to report to my parole officer once a week.”
“That…that’s great.” With an effort, Ellie tried to put aside her emotional turmoil and concentrate on Robbie. He looked thinner than she remembered, and his skin had a slightly sallow cast—but his hands twitched with the same restless energy, and when she sniffled, she caught the scent of Old Spice, the cologne he’d always favored. “Have you seen Aunt Alma and Uncle Rodrigo yet?”
“Not yet. I’m not so sure they’ll want to see me.”
“Of course they will,” she said automatically, although, secretly, she wasn’t so sure about Uncle Rodrigo—he’d been extremely angry when his son got arrested. “How are you doing, Robbie?”
“Good. I’ve been clean for the last six months.”
“That’s great. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, El. But never mind about me. Why were you crying?” His big brown eyes, so like Martina’s, were full of concern.
Ellie’s shaky composure threatened to crumple under his inquiring look. She tried to smile. “Nothing, really. I was just upset about…something to do with the gallery.”
“Are you crying over that Wisnewski guy?”
Ellie straightened abruptly. “Where’d you hear about him?”
“Martina said you’re in love with him.”
“Martina told you that!”
“Yeah. I called your apartment this morning and talked to her a while. She told me all about you and Wisnewski.”
Ellie wished they would have talked about something else. Didn’t Martina know by now not to say anything about Ellie’s love life to Robbie? “Well, it’s not true.”
He looked as though he didn’t believe her.
“Really,” she insisted, wiping the tears from her face. “Oh, maybe I thought I was for a minute or two, but now I know I was mistaken.”
He was still staring at her, a frown on his face. “I’ve never seen you cry over a man before—not even that jerk Rafe.”
“Robbie, this is ridiculous.” She stood up. “I don’t want to talk about Garek Wisnewski anymore.”
Cracking his knuckles, Robbie stood also. “He hurt you.”
“Yes…I mean, no, not really,” she said, alarmed. She remembered what had happened the last time Robbie got that look in his eyes. He’d always been way too protective. “Don’t worry. I can handle my love life. Hadn’t you better go see your parents?”
The bloodlust died out of his eyes and he shuffled his feet. “Ellie, I hate to bother you when your heart is broken and all—”
“It’s not broken!”
“—but I don’t know if my father will let me in the house,” Robbie said, ignoring her interruption. “I have a friend who’s going out of town and he said I could stay at his place starting tomorrow. But tonight…”
“You’re welcome to stay with me,” she said. “Martina’s going to be gone—I’m sure she won’t mind if you use her room.”
“Thanks, El—you’re the best. Oh, and one more thing. I have a friend—another friend. He wants to be an artist. He’s really talented…”
Ellie’s heart sank a little. “Did you meet this friend in prison?”
“Yeah, he got busted for some pyramid scheme. But he’s completely reformed—he’s a real smart guy. He’s taken every mailorder course there is. If you ever need an undertaker, a minister or a lawyer, he’s your man.”
“Uh, exactly how long has he been in prison?”
“Not that long. The thing is, he’s decided he really wants to be an artist. You think you could take a look at his stuff?”
“Sure,” she said listlessly. “Have him bring by some samples of his work tomorrow.”
“Thanks, El. I owe you one. Say, could you give me the key to your apartment?”
She handed over the key, and he gave her a casual hug. “Thanks again, El. Oh, and listen. If you need any help, if you want me to punch your boyfriend’s lights out or something, you let me know.”
“I will,” she told him, touched in spite of herself.
