by Bird, Peggy
He didn’t meet her eyes. “Liz, I can’t … ”
“Are you thinking about leaving my gallery and going with someone else, someone more established?”
“Why would I go with someone else when I’m perfectly happy here?” Now he was looking straight at her.
“You could have your pick of any gallery in town. Why did you come here?”
He dropped his eyes before he answered. “I liked what I saw when I came in. A new gallery suited me.”
Something didn’t track with that answer, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Well, are you seeing another woman? I mean, we never talked about that. If you want to see other people, I certainly can’t object but I should know, particularly if you’re sleeping with her … ”
He wrapped her in his arms. “Sweetheart, I’m not sleeping with, eating with, talking with, or hanging out with any other woman. You’re all the woman I want.” He pulled back and gave her that stormy look that melted her insides. “The business I’m dealing with isn’t about where my work is or another woman. I promise. I’m sorry it’s been distracting. But I think it’ll be taken care of in a few days and we’ll never have to worry about it again.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, I have to get out of here. But I’ll be back about 4:30. Be ready to leave for dinner at five and wear a dress.”
He’d brushed it all off again even though he had technically answered her questions. There was nothing more she could think of to do. She sighed. “Okay. Five. Five? Isn’t that early for dinner?”
“It’s a bit of a drive to the restaurant.” Another kiss. “See you then.”
After he left she tried to make sense of their conversation. He was telling the truth. She was sure of that. But she was equally sure there was more to it than he’d said. She just didn’t know what to do about it.
So, to put it out of her mind, when Jamie got back, she threw herself into the final round of musical pedestals, hung the last paintings, and organized the display of jewelry. On Tuesday, she’d get the wine and snacks for the opening reception and pick up the brochures for her design business from the printer. Then everything would be set for the “soft” opening on Wednesday, when Liz hoped to have enough visitors come through the gallery to see how the flow of people worked and whether she had to make any changes before the official opening on First Thursday.
The details of getting her business off the ground had driven her — and been driving her — crazy for months. Tonight, assuming Collins came back in a good frame of mind, she hoped to focus on something more enjoyable.
A quick shower, some time in her bathroom with a hairdryer and her makeup, and she was ready to slide into one of her LBDs. She had three little black dresses. One, flattering but conventional, was what she used to wear to Mason’s business dinners. One was suitable for funerals. The third was flat out sexy. She picked the third. Maybe it would guarantee Collins would be in a good mood when he saw her in it.
The A-line skirt stopped just above her knees. The form-fitting front was cut up to her neck, the back plunged almost down to her waist. The sleeves were long and tight. She never wore much jewelry with it, just gold stud earrings and a couple slender bangle bracelets. She planned to wear her favorite black ballet flats, but hadn’t put them on when Collins arrived back in the apartment.
“If I ask you nicely, will you wear that dress every time we go out?” he asked as he came into the bedroom.
“I’m glad you like it. It’s my favorite.” She turned to the mirror to put in her earrings and heard his quick intake of breath when he saw her bare back.
“Wow. I was wrong. Not every time we go out. Every day of your life.” He kissed her between her shoulder blades and ran his hands around her waist, holding her close to him so he could nuzzle her neck. He let her go with another kiss on her back and she grabbed her shoes. But he shook his head as she slipped on her ballet flats. “No, you should wear heels with that.”
“I hardly ever wear heels unless I want to tower over everyone and dominate the room.”
“Wear them tonight. You can’t possibly own heels that will make you taller than I am, if that’s what’s worrying you. And you should have figured out by now that I’m not easily dominated.”
She dug into her stack of shoeboxes and brought out a pair of black sandals with two-inch heels. When she put them on, he nodded in approval.
“Now all I have to worry about is finding something to wear that measures up to my date’s outfit.” He was changing into the gray trousers, black T-shirt, and jacket he’d worn to the dedication.
“You managed to pick up a few groupies wearing that the last time you were in town. It should work for a quiet dinner, don’t you think?”
Just as he finished dressing, his cell phone rang. “We’ll be right there,” he said to the caller. He ended the call and stuck the phone in his pocket. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.” He opened the door at the top of the steps and followed her down.
A limo was idling by the curb. The driver opened the passenger door as they approached. She turned to Collins with a smile. “A limo? Is this … ?”
“We’re going to the Long Beach Peninsula. I wanted to have wine with dinner and not fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. Besides, you and that dress would look silly in a pickup truck.”
“Long Beach, as in the Washington coast? What’s there?”
“The Shelburne Inn. You’ll love it. The food’s great. So’s the wine.” He opened the door for her and walked around to talk to the driver while she settled herself. As he got in the car with her, a smoked glass window dividing the space between the driver and the passengers rose, giving them complete privacy. The limo pulled out from the curb just as Collins popped the cork on a bottle of champagne. He handed her two crystal flutes.
“What’re we celebrating?” she asked as she held out the glasses for him to fill.
“Isn’t it obvious? I found a home in Portland for my work and it’s at the exciting new Fairchild Gallery. We’re both going to be famous.” He touched his glass to hers in a toast.
Although she was a little disappointed his answer wasn’t something more personal, she smiled. “Maybe not famous. Maybe just well known in Portland,” she said before she took a sip. “Actually, let me amend that. You’re already well known in Portland. With luck, I’m about to catch up.”
He opened a basket she hadn’t noticed until then and brought out a cutting board on which he arranged crackers and a small bowl of caviar. He put a teaspoonful of caviar on a cracker and held it to her lips. “I don’t like all the stuff people serve with this, I like mine straight. I hope you don’t mind.”
“In Russia, they say all you need is ice-cold vodka or chilled champagne. I think you’ve got it covered.” She took a bite. “Oh, God, this is as good as … ”
“If you say as good as sex, I’ll be crushed.”
“I was going to say as good as I had in Russia, but it’s almost worth it to lie just to see what you look like crushed.”
• • •
It took two hours to drive to the restaurant. After a two-hour dinner of superb seafood and the perfect wine, he escorted her back to the limo for the drive home, impatient to get to dessert — the real dessert he’d planned for the end of their evening.
“You were right. It was worth the ride. That dinner was wonderful. Thank you,” she said as the driver headed off for Portland.
“The night’s not over yet, babe,” he said, taking her hand and nibbling at her fingers. “We have two hours to enjoy before we get home.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You haven’t asked why I wanted you to wear a dress.”
“No, I wondered but … ”
Instead of answering her unfinished question, he pulled her leg over his lap then lifted her so she
straddled him, her knees alongside his hips. Running his hand up her bare leg, he pushed the dress up to her hips. “I wanted to do this all the way to the restaurant, but decided to save you for later.” He crushed her mouth with his, one hand at the nape of her neck, the other under her dress, around her bottom, holding her so close there was a good chance the silk of his T-shirt and the fabric of her dress had merged into a new fiber.
When he broke the kiss, he could tell she was becoming aroused. Her voice shook as she said, “I thought the reason for the limo was so you could drink at dinner.”
“I didn’t say it was the only reason, did I?” He grazed the back of his hand across her breasts and felt her nipples harden. When he nipped at them with his teeth, she sighed. His hands slid up under her dress, his fingers slipped between her legs. The heat of his hand met the heat of her body and he thought something might actually catch fire.
Tugging at the band of lace at the top of her bikini panties, he whispered, “We need to get rid of these, sweetheart. Help me.”
She slipped off her shoes then raised herself on her knees and he slid her bikinis down her thighs. When she sat on his lap again they struggled to get the panties off one leg, then the other. She was giggling by the time he accomplished the task, but when he went back to kissing her and ran his hands up her bare thighs, she moaned instead, her eyes glazing over in a haze of desire.
His hands stopped at her hips, his thumbs just touching the now-damp curls between her legs. She fumbled with his belt, impatiently tugging at the button and zipper on his trousers. He took her hands, slowed her down, and helped her unbuckle his belt.
When his zipper was down, she released his erection from his boxers. Before he could stop her, she slid from his lap to the floor of the limo and, kneeling between his legs, wrapped her hands around him.
“Liz, what … ?” He lost his thread of the sentence as she started licking up the side of his shaft and sucking him gently. “Oh, babe, you don’t have to … ”
When she looked up, her green eyes were dark with a desire that matched his own. “I want to. Please. Unless I’m not doing it right … ”
His cock jerked in response and he barked out a laugh. “You’re doing just fine.”
She guided the head of his penis into her mouth, sealing her lips over the glans. When he groaned and touched her head, she took more of him in, sucking and tonguing him.
It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. She may have been inexperienced, but her hot breath and warm mouth, her soft tongue on his hard cock was more erotic than anything he’d ever felt. She looked triumphant, as if she were not only sexually engaged but feeling powerful because she could give him this pleasure.
The tiny groans and moans she made resonated in her mouth, vibrated against his flesh, driving him rapidly toward climax. From those sounds and her rapid breathing, she was as excited as he was. At least he hoped she was because he didn’t think he could take much more of the rhythmic pull of her mouth on him without exploding, and he was sure she wasn’t ready for that. Not in the back seat of a car in her favorite black dress.
He pulled her up from the floor back onto his lap. “Wasn’t it good?” she asked. “Did I do it wrong?”
“Way too good, babe. But I want us both to be in this.”
She straddled him, on her knees again, as he lowered her onto him, entered her, knowing it wouldn’t take long to reach a conclusion. His mouth fastened on hers in a rough, punishing kiss, his fingers found her most sensitive spot and massaged it until he felt her muscles convulsing around him and she flew apart in his arms. She bit at his neck as he gripped her hips and surged into her, claiming her as his. Because she was. Now and always, his.
She nestled against him, but they realized quickly that the back seat of a car, even a limo, was not the place to cuddle in afterglow. Particularly not when the lights of I-5 were appearing outside and the ride — the one in the car — was almost over. They cleaned themselves up a bit, rearranged their clothes, panicked when they couldn’t find her panties until he located them inside the champagne bucket. By the time they were back in Northwest Portland, they were reasonably sure they had everything under control.
When they got into the apartment he followed her into the bedroom and they both looked in the mirror. Her lips were swollen from kissing, her face was blotchy with whisker burn, and her hair had lost the sleek, sophisticated look it had when they’d left the restaurant. He had a love bite on his neck and his curls looked like they’d been blown up in a chemistry experiment gone awry.
Liz grinned at his reflection. “All I can say is, I hope you tipped him well enough that he’ll keep his mouth shut.”
Chapter 9
The “soft opening” did what Liz hoped it would do. She found out where the lighting didn’t work and refocused a couple pin spots, and she moved one of the small temporary walls to make it easier to navigate through the gallery. By the next day, everything was set for the official opening on First Thursday, the monthly art event when galleries opened new shows and hosted evening receptions to introduce their artists.
Everything was set except Liz. She couldn’t eat breakfast, couldn’t even drink her coffee. She spent the morning changing her mind a half-dozen times about what to wear, how to position the wine and snack tables, and where to put the e-mail sign-up sheet. The gallery was due to open at noon and she still hadn’t made up her mind or eaten anything, so Collins called in backup.
Jamie arrived to staff the gallery while Collins took Liz to the café down the street for a big bowl of chowder and bread, a lot of bread. By the time she returned to The Fairchild — the art critic for the daily newspaper had shortened its name to that — her blood sugar had stabilized and she was able to focus on what needed to be done.
At five, when the first after-work visitors came through the door, Liz was in hostess mode. Dressed in a vibrant blue caftan, adorned with a necklace one of her artists had created and a pair of earrings Tinkerbell and her pals could have used as hula hoops, she greeted everyone who came in. Pouring wine and introducing her artists to visitors, she appeared to be presiding over the biggest party in the city instead of opening a new business in the middle of a recession.
The gallery enjoyed a steady stream of sales early in the evening — small pieces of her ceramic artist’s work, jewelry, a couple prints, notecards. Then Mason and Jamie arrived.
Jamie had raved so much about Collins’s work that Mason wanted to be the first to purchase a piece of it from the new gallery. It was a two-fer for him — he pleased the person he loved and helped the person he still cared for. While he and Jamie were deciding what to purchase, another couple began considering which piece they would buy. Liz could sense a competitiveness as they went from piece to piece, each couple carefully eyeing the other.
Finally, the man and woman chose a cast bronze boat and Jamie selected one of the abstract grass pieces displayed in the windows.
Liz thanked Mason as she wrote up the sale. “You didn’t have to do this. You’ve already done so much to make the business work.”
“I’m doing it partly for you, but mainly because it makes Jamie happy. He loves working here with you. He was never this excited when he was doing IT in my office, I can tell you.”
“I’ve been thinking about offering him a paying job. Would that be okay, I mean, I don’t know how you feel about it … ”
“Actually, I was going to talk to you about that. He asked me last week if I thought you were going to hire staff and I said your business plan didn’t include paid staff for a year at the earliest. He was disappointed. So I was going to ask if you’d reconsidered that decision.” He put up his hand to stop her question. “And, no, I didn’t say anything to him about it.”
“Of course you didn’t. But I have changed my mind. After spending all my time here for the past however many months, I have a
new appreciation for small business owners. I think I’d rather dig into my savings in the short run if I have to and hire someone take a couple shifts a week to give me some breathing space.”
“Good move. You don’t want to burn out.”
“So, what would you recommend for compensation? I’m thinking $15 to $18 an hour.”
“That’s a lot for a sales position and an inexperienced salesperson.”
“But he does all the computer work, too.”
“Offer $15 and a review in six months when you see how the business is going. It’s not as if he needs to support himself.”
“Mason, I know how generous you are but believe me, I also know how nice it is to have your own money. He’s worth paying for.”
“I know he is. But I don’t want you to get in over your head.”
“Okay, I’ll make it $15 for now, more as we grow. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” She handed him the credit card slip to sign. “And can we keep his present in the window until Collins replaces it?”
“Of course you can. After all, Jamie’ll get to see it when he works, won’t he?”
The sale of two of Collins’s pieces seemed to open the floodgates. Soon a third piece sold. Liz’s favorite watercolor of a spring scene in the Chinese Garden left after hanging on the wall a mere two days. Her oil painter got a commission for a family portrait. She lost track of the number of unframed prints the photographer sold. Jamie had to pitch in to help her write up the sales.
Among the people who bought from her were two women Liz had met recently at a luncheon hosted by a local civic organization. Fiona McCarthy was a reporter for the weekly alternative newspaper, Willamette Week. Her buddy, Margo Keyes, was an assistant district attorney. The two women had been out to dinner and stopped by the gallery to give Liz moral support.
Seeing that the crowded gallery was doing just fine, they turned their attention to the art. Fiona found an unframed photograph of the St. John’s Bridge on a misty morning, a view she saw often from her kitchen window. Margo bought the necklace Liz was wearing, but laughed off the idea she’d ever wear the hoop earrings that went with it. Both women complimented Liz on the gallery she’d created with her good taste and promised to come back with their friends.