by Girard, Dara
She finally turned and opened the door, eager to escape. To her relief he let her go. He didn't grab her hand or say anything that would make the moment even more unbearable.
She began to relax when she was assaulted by the bright lights of the bakery. She pitied him, that was all. It didn't go deeper than that. It wasn't anything dangerous like desire. She suddenly felt better, that rationale made all her crazy feelings make sense.
She saw a simple chocolate swirl cheesecake. It looked serious next to the flowery vanilla cakes plush with icing. It was perfect. She felt calm as she returned to the car. Eric would probably forget all that she had said anyway.
She slid into her seat. She stopped when she realized he was gone.
Chapter 4
He probably thought she was crazy, or worse—drunk. He had most likely left disgusted by her display of emotions. She had made him uncomfortable by talking about his relationship with his brother. Or maybe he was just sick of her company, sick of the disaster she had made of his birthday. She didn't really like him, she told herself, only pitied him, but his absence made her feel miserable.
The passenger door suddenly opened. "Relax, Adriana," Eric said in a quiet voice. "I just went to get a few things." He put the bag between his feet.
She was so happy to see him, her voice was harsh. "I could have left you."
"You didn't see my note?" He lifted a tissue off the dashboard. A brief message was scribbled across it.
"What does it say? Your handwriting is terrible."
"It says 'Won't be long.'" He pushed the note into his shirt pocket. "Do you often jump to conclusions?"
She put on her seat belt.
Eric settled back as she started the car. He could see how her brothers were protective of her. Her eyes were dangerous—open, honest, amazingly innocent in a way that made a man feel protective. When he'd seen her panicked gaze, thinking he had left her, he had the crazy urge to comfort and hold her. He smiled to himself. Tonight he planned to do much more.
* * *
The hummingbird was nervous, but Eric was too preoccupied to soothe her. Her apartment held his attention. It was as he had expected, yet it wasn't. There were no bold contrasting colors—like a purple couch with brown pillows. No unidentifiable works of art spread about the place. Instead it was peaceful. Cream walls and drapery with brown accents gave the room a natural earthy feel. Her couch was full of various-sized pillows and covered with a velvet slipcover. An antique phone sat on a side table. Iron candle holders hung on the walls. A large glass coffee table faced the couch with a polished black base.
Everything in the apartment invited a guest to use the five senses. The scent of vanilla drifted from the candles, soft chenille pillows tempted you to touch them, and a bowl of tangelos and oranges on the dining table tantalized you to indulge.
"I suppose you would like to have a tour to see how recklessly I spend money," she said as she placed the cake in the kitchen.
He nodded.
They went into the bedroom. A place of exotic, tranquil beauty. An ornate embroidered duvet with a patchwork border of sari and jacquard covered the bed in the colors olive and raisin. Numerous pillows sat on top in burgundy and gold satin with beaded lace. A sheer red suspended canopy hung above, trimmed with red crystals. Moroccan-style lanterns hung near the windows close to a beaded ottoman.
Wordlessly, he entered the bathroom. A sanctuary. A hand-woven woolen rug lay on the floor, while white billowy curtains moved gently from the air of the vent. Ivory candles of various shapes and sizes sat around the claw-footed tub. He noticed the detail of the feet.
She followed his gaze. "It was hell getting that thing in here, but I had to have it."
He nodded and returned to her bedroom. He went to touch the bed and saw a flash of orange and white leap from the windowsill and dash out the door.
"I think I just saw Elena."
"Elissa," she corrected, leaning against the bed. "She's shy of people, so don't take it personally."
"I didn't plan to."
She glanced around the bedroom, then looked at him. "Disappointed?"
He toyed with the crystals on the canopy. "By what?"
"Most men expect women like me to have leopard-print silk sheets, half-naked statues, and lingerie hanging behind the door."
He surveyed the room. No, it wasn't what he had expected, but he certainly wasn't disappointed. "I like it."
"I should be worried." She left the room.
Eric dropped his bag and followed. She showed him her office and guest room, then went to her balcony.
"My view isn't exquisite, but nice enough." She went to the railing and turned. Eric rested against the door frame. "Come on. Don't you want to see the view?" She looked out on her quiet street. A dog ambled past under a street lamp, becoming visible, then invisible.
"Not particularly," he said.
She looked at him, surprised. "Why not?"
His eyes slid away a moment, then returned to hers. "I'm not a fan of heights."
An involuntary smile formed on her lips. "You don't like heights?"
"No."
"I never would have guessed. I thought the only thing you would be afraid of is a tax audit or a late bill payment."
He pushed up his glasses.
She clicked her tongue in a tsk, tsk manner. "What a shame. You'll be missing a great view." She sat on the railing and swung her legs.
Eric watched her, his face impassive.
"You know, there is really nothing to be afraid of as long as you're careful. As you can see I'm perfectly safe." She swung one leg over the side and folded her arms. "See?" His expression didn't change. She almost wondered if he was lying about his fear and had another reason for not wanting to come out. She decided to tease him further. "Right now I am perfectly balanced. It's like sitting on a tree branch. However, if I did this..." She swung both legs over the side and looked down at the distant street. "Then I'd—"
She never finished the statement or demonstration. Eric grabbed her in one swoop and swung her over his shoulder.
For a moment, Adriana was too stunned to reply. She stared upside down at his back.
Eric said, "That's enough."
Her tongue returned to her. "Put me down!"
"Did you have fun doing that?" He closed the balcony door. "Are you finished teasing me?"
"I wasn't teasing you. Okay, maybe a little." She let out a little laugh. "I couldn't help myself."
"I see."
"Eric, put me down."
"Why?" He playfully patted her on the bottom. "I think I like this side of you."
She hit him in the back with her fists. "Put me down!"
He shook his head. "Not yet. It's my turn to tease."
"This isn't teasing, this is manhandling."
"Am I hurting you?"
"That's not the point. If you don't put me down I'll scream."
He adjusted her weight. "You're not the screaming type."
"I might pass out."
"I doubt that."
"Eric!" She punched him in the back again. "Yes, you are hurting me."
He paused. "I'll let you go, if you promise me something."
"What?"
"Never do that stupid stunt again for me or anyone else. No matter how tempting."
She closed her eyes and sighed, exasperated. He would give her a lecture. "Eric, I wasn't going to fall."
"Promise."
"I'm a grown woman, I can—"
"Promise."
She groaned. "All right, I promise."
He unceremoniously dropped her on the couch. She glared up at him. "That was completely unnecessary."
"As was your childish display on the railing." He threw up his hands. "If I had said I hated fire, would you have run naked through it?"
She fixed her skirt. "You are too serious, I was just having fun."
"That could have gotten you killed."
She was silent. He usually wasn't so adamant. She b
it her lip. "I really had you worried."
He rested his hands on his hips.
She jumped to her feet. "I'm not stupid. It's not even that high." She grabbed his hand and walked toward the balcony. "Come on." She jerked to a halt when he didn't move.
"No."
"I thought you were a logical man."
"I am very logical," he said softly.
"Then you can't let an illogical fear rule you. Think of all the sunsets you'll miss. You'll never have the feeling of being close to the stars."
"You can describe it for me."
She tugged on his arm; he remained still. She glared at him; he smiled.
She gave up. "You're as stubborn as a donkey."
"I return the compliment."
"Let's eat." She went to the kitchen and retrieved two plates.
He followed behind her. "Do you need any help?"
"No," she snapped.
"Mad at me?"
She fetched a large knife from the knife block and flashed it at him. "Do you want a big or little slice?"
He took a step back. "I'll be in the living room."
She cut two healthy slices of the cheesecake and set the knife down. Oddly she wasn't upset, though she had every right to be. She'd never been swung over a man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She had never entertained any Jane and Tarzan fantasies before. Tonight she might start. It was an exciting and terrifying experience to be at a man's mercy. Eric's mercy.
That was strange. She frowned. The fact that he had acted so uncharacteristically was unsettling. She had expected a few stern warnings, even a lecture about the hazards of heights, but he had grabbed her like some Neanderthal.
In that moment she felt his strength, his impatience, and it called to every feminine impulse in her. It dared her to respond in kind. She glanced toward the living room. She was making more out of it than necessary. He was just scared. Imagine a man being afraid of heights. How pathetic. No lunches on the balcony, no hotels peering over the ocean, mountain cliff hideaways. Like him, everything would have to be grounded, solid, and safe. Dull, dull, dull.
Adriana returned to the living room with the two slices of cheesecake in hand. She saw Eric sitting on the couch with Elissa purring loudly behind his head. She didn't comment on Elissa's unusual behavior. She figured her cat had mistaken him for a statue.
She handed him a piece of cake and sat down on a chair. She threw her legs over the arm with her back facing him. It was best to just get the night over with. Why had she invited him home with her anyway? What would they talk about? They had nothing in common. She felt sorry for him, but she couldn't blame the other women for refusing his practical proposals. He had no passion, no fire, no mystique. He was serious. Ready to delve into a lecture on the smallest issue. She should have left him in his office. She took an angry bite of her cake. At least it tasted good and made up for an evening that was quickly growing worse and worse.
"Adriana..."
She glanced at him over her shoulder. He hadn't touched his cake. She nodded to his plate. "Don't you like it?"
"I'm sure I will."
"You won't know until you taste it. Go on," she urged when he hesitated.
He took a bite and swallowed. "It's delicious."
"I chose it. What did you expect?" She turned away again and sighed. She couldn't wait to take him home.
She heard him lay the plate on the coffee table and lean forward. "Adriana, I am sorry I hurt you." He cleared his throat. "I guess for a moment I overreacted."
She swirled her head around and stared at him. His eyes were solemn. He thought he had hurt her. Oh God, why did he have to ruin everything by being so nice?
"You idiot." She swung her legs to the floor. "You didn't hurt me."
His jaw tensed. "But you said—"
"I only said that so you'd put me down."
He rested back, doubtful. "Are you sure?"
"Eric, I know you could never hurt anyone." She briefly thought of Bruce's broken hand and the ease in which he had swung her over his shoulder. He was a big guy. Apparently, he could do damage if he wanted to, but probably wouldn't. "At least not on purpose," she added. "Now stop being so serious and finish your cake or you will hurt my feelings."
He stared at it. "It's very good."
"The best compliment is an empty plate."
He finished the slice and got another. She glanced up at the clock and grimaced. "Oh no, I've missed the first part." She turned on the TV. A man working on an injured dog appeared on the screen.
Eric settled in his seat. "Oh, hell. I forgot that was on."
She turned to him amazed. "You watch Pentel MD?"
"Every week."
"I don't believe you."
"That's not the first time." He stretched out his legs. "I like the mysteries. I bet you watch it for Michael Pentel." The hunky veterinarian.
"What woman wouldn't?" She held a hand to her chest and breathed deeply. "The man is gorgeous."
"Right. I, of course, only watch to see the animals solve crimes."
"And watch his assistant."
He shook his head. "She doesn't interest me. I like a woman with more substance."
"She doesn't need any more substance," she said, extending her hands in front of her chest.
He slanted her a glance. "Careful, your envy is showing."
She made a face and turned to the screen. It was a classic episode. One they had both seen before. They spent a majority of the time arguing why certain clues were overlooked. Why the killer could have been anyone and who really solved the crime.
"I say it was the dog," Eric said.
Adriana widened her eyes. "The dog?" she asked, outraged that her beloved doctor should be upstaged by a little beagle.
"He found the weapon. He alerted them to the arsonist."
"You just don't like Pentel."
"What's not to like? He's gorgeous," Eric said drawing out the last word in mockery.
"Be quiet. He's not only attractive, he's kind and good with animals."
Eric lifted Elissa from behind him and placed her on his lap. "Have you noticed what good taste she has?"
Adriana frowned at her contented companion. "It is amazing. She hisses at Keith."
He kissed the top of the cat's head. "I think I like her even more."
"What do you have against Keith?"
"His lack of skill for one. His freeloading for another."
She rested her chin in her hand. "He does not freeload."
"You pay him for work he doesn't produce."
"Of course he produces."
He surveyed the room. "Why isn't any of his work around here?"
"Because I am wearing his art. I don't need to hang it."
He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Admit it, it's ugly."
"It is not ugly. It's expressive, abstract."
He put Elissa on the floor. The cat protested, then accepted the dismissal. She ran under the couch. Eric stood and grabbed a pen and paper. He scribbled something, then put it in her lap.
"Behold, destiny!" It was a line surrounded by squiggles.
She crumpled it up. "Don't be ridiculous."
"You don't like my work?" He fell on the couch and covered his eyes. "I am mortally wounded. I don't know if I'll ever work again."
She threw the crumpled ball of paper at him. "You're being obnoxious."
He looked up. "I'm trying to make a point."
"Keith's work is a legitimate art form whether you believe it or not." She pushed him back into the couch before he could stand. "Stay there."
She went to her shelf and grabbed a large book. She sat down next to him and opened it to a picture by Jackson Pollock.
Eric leaned across her. She swallowed, ignoring his warmth and the scent of beer mingling with his own. "My painting from the second grade. How did it get in here?"
She nudged him. "It's called action painting. But Keith loves expressionism like Vassily Kandinsky." She turn
ed the page. When he said nothing, she turned the page again. She did so until he stopped her.
"That's not too bad," he said, admiring the work of Piet Mondrian. "I see how someone could see a four-sided polygon as art."
"The other works are just as exquisite. Especially if you see them in a museum."
He turned the page, narrowing his eyes at another Mondrian. "Fine, it's a date."
She hesitated, unsure whether he was joking or not. He wasn't. She could now understand why Elissa had been purring. He had a heat that exuded from his large frame, conflicting with his cold eyes. She abruptly shut the book, ready to take him home, eager to escape the wicked temptation he presented. Puzzles always had a special allure.
Eric covered her hand before she could move. "Don't run."
"I wasn't going to," she lied.
"Good."
She bit her lower lip. "Eric?"
"Hmm?"
He hadn't moved, but somehow he felt closer, his warmth creeping up the length of her skin, igniting all her senses. She couldn't voice what she was feeling, yet she couldn't move away.
She turned to him. He slowly smiled, without wickedness, but as a sensual invitation. It was his secret weapon, transforming his face. He rubbed her chin with gentleness. "Don't look so worried."
He was going to kiss her; she wasn't going to stop him. She felt the heat come closer, then imprint itself on her mouth. How could a man who appeared so distant, so aloof, bring forth such fire? Show such strength, but handle her so gently? Her mind told her to resist him, to stop him, but her heart didn't allow her to break the delicious hold. She let him explore the inside of her mouth, taking in the potent taste of him. He was wild, but safe. The rivers of contrast were staggering and brought forth an almost insatiable desire.
She felt his hand slip under her shirt. Impatient fingers wrestled with the back of her bra.
"Eric," she breathed against his cheek.
He grunted in response.
"The fastener's in the front."
"Figures." He quickly unclasped the bra and kissed the tip of her nipple through her shirt. Adriana wasn't in the mood for such foreplay, she wanted to be naked. To feel his hot flesh against hers, the softness of his lips creating a wet path up her chest. She tried to unbutton his shirt, her fingers shaking so much she couldn't manage the simple task. Growing impatient, she ripped it apart. Buttons bounced onto the carpet and zipped across the room.
