Millionaire's Woman

by Helen Brooks

  “Ellie? Ellie? Is something wrong with the frame?”

  She came out of her trance to find Stacy staring at her. “The frame?” Ellie repeated stupidly before she remembered. She looked at the angle she’d cut into the oak. “Oh, yes. I mean no. It’s fine. I’m sorry, I wandered off for a moment there.”

  A knowing smile appeared on Stacy’s face. “I understand. I’d be in a daze too if Garek Wisnewski was in love with me.”

  “Stacy, please!” Ellie felt her cheeks heating up. The girl was too romantic…and too naive. “Garek Wisnewski isn’t in love with me. He and I are just friends.”

  She bent over the miter box again, with another piece of molding. Friends…she tested the word in her head. How else to describe their relationship? It wasn’t just business, anymore, she couldn’t deny that. But they weren’t really dating, either. If they had been, surely he would have kissed her last night when she’d made no move to stop him.

  But instead, he’d released her and headed for the door. She’d felt bereft, confused. Had she misread the look in his eyes when he looked at her mouth? She’d never liked her mouth. In school, the other kids had teased that her lips were “upside down.” Maybe he stared only because of their odd shape…

  He’d paused by the door and looked down at her, frowning. “I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday.” Then, as suddenly as he’d abandoned her, he’d pulled her to him and had pressed a hard, swift kiss against her mouth, before striding out the door.

  That kiss…it had been so brief, over almost before she realized what he was doing. Even so, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Rafe’s most passionate embraces had never affected her the way Garek’s fleeting kiss had.

  “I didn’t even know about his birthday,” she said out loud to Stacy. “I don’t really know him that well. And he doesn’t know me.”

  “He knows enough,” Stacy said. “And what else do you need to know about him except that he’s a hunk?”

  What he was thinking. Feeling. What he thought about her. “This is a ridiculous conversation,” she told Stacy.

  “I heard him tell his sister on the phone that he wanted to introduce you to her soon—”

  Ellie’s heart skipped a beat. “You shouldn’t repeat things you overhear,” she reprimanded the girl, but not with as much conviction as she should have.

  Stacy ignored her. “Garek’s sister is very important to him. I heard that the necklace he bought her for Christmas cost a fortune. Emeralds and rubies are very expensive.”

  The girl nodded in a knowledgeable manner, but Ellie barely noticed. He’d bought that necklace for his sister? He hadn’t talked about Doreen Tarrington much, but he must care for her to buy her such an expensive piece of jewelry. Granted, he had terrible taste, but still, it had been kind of him.

  Garek Wisnewski, kind?

  “Technically, his sister is in charge of this art foundation,” Stacy continued. “But her health isn’t too good, so he won’t let her do any work. She loves art. He started the foundation for her.”

  The piece of wood in Ellie’s hands splintered. “He did?”

  “Yes, Mr. Wisnewski’s secretary, Mrs. Grist, told me all about it,” Stacy said. “His sister told him she wanted to start an art foundation and Mr. Wisnewski agreed to finance it for her.”

  Ellie remembered her suspicion when Garek had proposed investing in the gallery. Why hadn’t he admitted it was for his sister?

  She remembered something he’d said. You shouldn’t be so quick to judge me.

  Ellie picked up a fresh piece of wood. “That was very…kind of him,” she said slowly.

  Garek was hard at work late Friday afternoon when the phone rang. Impatiently, he glanced up, his eyes burning from reading the small, tight print of a contract. He had a stack of documents he needed to go through and sign in order to finalize the terms for financing the prospective buyout of Lachland, and he wanted to finish today.

  “Yes?” he said curtly into the phone.

  “Mrs. Tarrington’s here to see you,” his assistant told him.

  Ah, Doreen. He looked down at the contract he’d just signed. The deal with Lachland hadn’t closed yet, but the financing was in place. Doreen didn’t know it yet, but her ace had been trumped.

  Garek smiled. “Send her in, Mrs. Grist.”

  Doreen came in, wearing a black designer dress with a black-and-white scarf pinned at her shoulder that had the unfortunate effect of making her look sallower than usual. She carried a flat, rectangular box in her blackgloved hands.

  “Happy birthday, Garek,” she said, kissing the air by his cheek, then settling herself into the leather chair opposite him.

  He sat back down and opened the box. “A tie,” he said. Mustard yellow, emblazoned with a coat of arms, it was uglier than the muddy green one embroidered with a well-known designer’s initials that she’d given him last year. It was even uglier than the putrid maroon-and-gold one she’d given him the year before that, the one she’d accidentally left the half-price sticker on.

  “I traced our family tree back to Polish royalty,” Doreen said. “This is our ancestral crest.”

  Garek almost laughed. The Wisnewskis were descended from pure peasant stock and Doreen knew it. But he allowed no trace of his thoughts to appear in his expression. “Thank you, Doreen. How was your cruise?”

  She coughed a little and her normal foghorn voice weakened. “The cruise was horrible. We sailed through a hurricane and I was sick the whole time. Karen was heartless—she reminds me of you. She had no sympathy for my illness. She lounged around the pool the whole time, flirting with the crewmen. I complained to the captain about allowing employees to fraternize with the guests…but never mind about that.” Her gaze sharpened on him. “I spoke to Ethel this morning. She said she saw you at the symphony with some woman. And at the art exhibit. And at the Cape Cod Room.”

  “Ethel ought to be a reporter for the Chicago Trumpeter.” Garek half rose from his chair. “If that’s all, Doreen—”

  “No, that’s not all, Garek Wisnewski! Who is this woman?”

  Garek reseated himself, biting back a smile. “Her name is Eleanor Hernandez.”

  “Hernandez—that sounds Mexican.”

  “So it does.”

  Silence fell in the office.

  Garek leaned back, waiting for the explosion. Doreen had complained frequently about the influx of Mexican immigrants, ignoring him when he pointed out their own grandparents’ parallel circumstances.

  Finally, Doreen broke the silence. “I’m glad to see you’re keeping up your end of our bargain.”

  He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Our bargain,” she repeated. “To start dating a nice girl. Ethel told me she is a perfectly charming young woman.”

  Garek made no response. At that particular moment, he was incapable of one.

  “Ethel also said that she received an invitation to the silent auction for the art foundation. She told me—confidentially, of course—that her friend on the Social Register committee is very impressed by the foundation. He made a note when Ethel mentioned it to him. It’s possible I’ll be listed in the summer edition. Ethel said it’s going to press in a few weeks—”

  “Doreen,” Garek cut her off. “I have to get back to work.” Ignoring her indignant sniffs, he escorted her out of his office, then returned to his desk and sat down, frowning. His plan to teach Doreen a lesson had gone crazily awry. But then, a lot of things hadn’t gone the way he’d expected in the last few weeks. Ever since he’d met Eleanor Hernandez.

  His gaze drifted to the canvas hanging on the wall opposite his desk.

  Woman in Blue.

  He’d intended to give the painting to Ted Johnson—payback for the Lilly Lade painting—but instead, on some incomprehensible impulse, he’d ordered it hung on his office wall.

  The painting had an oddly compelling quality. He stared at it, trying to comprehend its appeal, but without success. The random daubs of c
olor, the splotches and squiggles didn’t make any sense—just like Ellie.

  He couldn’t quite figure out what she wanted. He’d thought at first it was money, pure and simple, but she wasn’t very consistent about it. When he’d taken her to the art show and she’d admired a small ceramic vase, he’d offered to buy it for her, but she’d refused. Even more surprising, when he’d given her a raise, she’d tried to refuse that also. He’d disregarded her protests, but still, he found her actions odd. She must be after something else. But what? Publicity for the gallery? Definitely. But there had to be more than that. Something just for her. Fame?

  Maybe. Although it was hard to believe that someone who could smile the way she did could be so calculating. When Ellie smiled, her eyes smiled also, and her whole face glowed. Warmth practically radiated from her. Sometimes when she smiled, he found himself liking her…like a friend. Although friendship wasn’t what he’d felt a few nights ago when he’d stood at her apartment door, looking down at that siren mouth of hers. He’d wanted to rip off her clothes, throw her down on the floor and make hard, sweaty love to her until neither one of them could move…

  Hell.

  He frowned at the painting on the wall, then bent back over the contracts on his desk. Going out with Ellie was business, an extreme measure undertaken to protect Wisnewski Industries. Once he’d closed the Lachland deal and his sister found out he’d tricked her, he wouldn’t need to spend any more time with Ellie. No more froufrou art shows or la-di-da symphonies. He planned to make a quick, clean break with Eleanor Hernandez, and he had no intention of complicating the matter by getting involved with her.

  No intention at all, he told himself again later that evening as he rang her doorbell.

  Martina, dressed in boots, a denim skirt and anemerald blouse that flattered her dark hair and eyes, let him in.

  “Big date tonight?” he asked her.

  She flashed a bright smile. “My boyfriend is coming to get me and we’re driving up to Madison.”

  “Madison? That’s a long trip in this weather.”

  “Yeah, we’re going to spend a couple of nights with some friends of his. Go ahead and sit down. Ellie’s not quite ready yet.”

  He sat on the sofa, talking casually with Martina while some part of his brain filed away the information that there would be no one in the apartment when he brought Ellie home tonight; it would be completely empty. Quiet. Private.

  Not that it mattered.

  He forced himself to focus on Martina. She had a flirtatious, sensual manner—except when she talked about business. Then she was as coolheaded as any of his vice presidents. He’d had a chance to talk to her several times in the last couple of weeks, and he liked her.

  “What do you think of Ellie’s new acquisition?” Martina asked, waving a hand at the artwork resting on the coffee table.

  It looked like a lump of mud. “Very unusual.”

  Martina snorted. “It’s a piece of crap, that’s what it is.”

  Eyeing the brown mass, Garek wondered if she meant the remark literally.

  “But half the stuff she brings home is crap,” Martina continued. “Just let some crackpot wander into the gallery and tell her some sob story and she immediately opens up her purse. Just because her father was an artist and could never sell any of his work, she feels compelled to buy something from everyone.”

  Garek frowned, but before Martina could say anything more about Ellie’s father, he heard footsteps behind him. Standing, he turned to see her coming from the bedroom. For a moment, all he could think of was how gorgeous she looked. A scrap of blue velvet clung to her breasts, waist, hips and thighs, emphasizing her smooth curves.

  “Happy birthday!” She smiled up at him and held out a box that he hadn’t even noticed she was holding.

  A flat, rectangular box.

  Her smile made accepting the box a bit less painful. He opened it and stared down at the tie within.

  Green musical notes floated down the length of it. The widest part featured miniature newsprint with a headline: PUKE ON NUKES. The whole thing appeared to have been splattered with a rainbow of paint.

  “How…colorful,” he said.

  “It’s a bit outrageous,” she admitted, glancing at his face a trifle anxiously. “But I thought you ought to loosen up and try something a little less conservative than the ties you usually wear.”

  “Did an artist from your gallery design it?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. I haven’t displayed any of his work. But he came into the gallery last week and he’s trying very hard to get established…”

  He looked at her, then at Martina, who rolled her eyes before discreetly disappearing into her bedroom.

  Suddenly, Garek wanted to laugh. Struggling to keep a straight face, he looked back at Ellie. “Then you’ll have to help me put it on, won’t you?”

  Her radiant smile made the sacrifice worthwhile.

  He pulled off his old tie, and bent his head so she could put the new one around his neck. His movement brought his face into close proximity with her bare shoulders and he inhaled the scent of the light perfume she wore. All desire to laugh disappeared. Straightening back up, he put his hands on her waist to steady her—or perhaps himself, he wasn’t sure.

  Her waist felt tiny within the grasp of his hands. The tips of her breasts were only inches away from his chest. The slightest tug would pull her up against him…

  “There you go.” She stepped back abruptly.

  His hands fell to his sides and he looked down at the knot she’d tied with amazing speed and skill. “You’ve done this before.”

  “I always tied my grandfather’s for him.” She sounded a little tense. “Let me get my coat and we can go.”

  The club he took her to was small and dark and intimate. On the dance floor, she moved with a sensual Latin grace that sent his temperature soaring. Hecouldn’t take his eyes off her. The clinging blue dress made him want to run his hands from her shoulders down to her hips. He managed to restrain himself for at least an hour—until the band finally decreased the tempo and played a slow dance. He pulled her into his arms.

  She hesitated; then, her arms lifted around his neckand she moved closer, her breasts pressing against his chest.

  Missing a step, he steered her into another couple. He recovered quickly, however, and tightened his arms around her. His hands slid down over her hips. She made no objection, just squirmed closer.

  He groaned. He was in heaven. And hell. He wanted to get the hell out of there, take her back to her apartment and—

  “Garek,” she murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  “I know why you started the art foundation.”

  He stiffened slightly. “You do?”

  “Yes. I know you’re doing it for your sister.” She leaned back to smile at him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I think it was a very kind and generous thing to do.”

  Garek stared into her shining eyes. “I’m a businessman,” he said. “I’m never kind or generous.”

  Still smiling, she shook her head and rested her cheek against his shoulder. He looked down at her soft hair, a whirl of thoughts in his head. She didn’t believe him, obviously. What would she say, he wondered, if he told her that he had started the foundation only to annoy his sister, not to please her? What would she say if he told her he didn’t care at all about pleasing his sister; but that the idea of pleasing her was becoming more and more appealing?

  Involuntarily, he tightened his arms around her. He’d drunk too much wine. That was why he was having these puerile thoughts…

  A sudden, bright flash nearly blinded him. Blinking as his vision slowly cleared, Garek saw a man with a camera hurrying toward the door.

  Annoyance raced through him, but then he sighed. Actually, he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

  “Hope you don’t mind having your picture in the paper,” he said lightly, glancing down at her.

  Shock and dismay fluttered across he
r face. “Aren’t you going to try to stop him?”

  “I can if you want me to.”

  She nodded mutely.

  He caught the man just as he was climbing into a car. After a brief scuffle, Garek managed to get the camera. As he stripped out the film, the photographer said, “Aw, give a guy a break. My editor said she’d give me a bonus if I got this picture.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” Garek snapped. “Before I decide to take you apart, as well.”

  The reporter gave Garek an appraising glance, then got in his car, apparently deciding retreat was in order. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he yelled out the window before driving off.

  Garek made his way back into the restaurant.

  “Did you catch him?” Ellie asked anxiously when he was close enough to hear.

  “All taken care of.” He looked at her pale face and put his arm around her. “C’mon. Let me take you home.”

  Driving down the dark, icy streets, they didn’t talk much. Garek thought about the incident in the club and Ellie’s reaction. She should have been delighted about that picture. She could have parlayed it into publicity for the gallery and thus for herself. What kind of sane person turned down such a golden opportunity?

  He stopped the car in front of her apartment building and looked at her.

  “You didn’t introduce me to any clients tonight,” she said.

  “No,” he said.

  There was a slight pause.

  “Would you like to come in for some coffee?” she asked.

  The streetlight haloed her face, emphasizing her wide, clear eyes and sweetly smiling lips. Maybe she was as honest and genuine as she appeared. The only problem was—he didn’t want her to be. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. He didn’t need to complicate this situation any more. If he had any sense at all, he would let her go up to her apartment alone…

  He looked at her, all softeyed and dewylipped.

  That mouth.

  “I’d love to come in,” he said.

  Chapter Seven

  As they stepped into the apartment, Ellie pulled off her glove and reached out to turn on the light. Before she could do so, however, Garek’s hand closed over hers. He’d taken off his gloves, too, and his fingers were warm. He shut the door, cutting off the glow from the porch light and casting the apartment into complete darkness. Ellie stood perfectly still, the blackness pressing against her, the scent of damp wool, icy wind and male musk filling her nostrils. Outside the apartment, the savage sleet and wind howled; inside, all was quiet—except for the wild beating of her heart.