Window on Today

by Joan Hohl

  Gazing at the portrait, Karla again experienced the thrill and excitement of discovery she had felt that morning, and again shivered from the same joy of ownership she’d felt after purchasing the canvas. She, Karla Janowitz, possessed an original Jared Cradowg painting. What a pity the man appeared unworthy of the enormous talent he possessed.

  The thought brought an image of the man and an echo of his promise, or threat, to return to the gallery. Suppressing a shiver, Karla drew her gaze from the portrait and smiled brightly as she turned to yet another group of guests.

  What seemed like aeons later, her feet aching in protest against the spike heels on her strappy sandals, Karla stood, ignoring the aches, laughing and conversing with the eager and receptive western art lovers who had so graciously responded to the invitations she had laboriously painted in the glow of a lamp at midnight.

  The stated closing hour of nine came and passed, and still the guests lingered, laughing, talking, and buying. Karla was tired to the point of numbness; satisfaction activated the adrenaline that surged through her body, keeping her upright and animated.

  As the hour of ten approached, the guests slowly began to decrease in number. Arrangements were made to package and ship, package and deliver, package and hold for pickup. Finally, Karla ushered the last reluctant-to-leave patron from the gallery. After shutting and locking the door, she slumped wearily against it and closed her eyes. Though the room was in hushed silence, she was aware of the eyes of her friends and her young assistant upon her. As she slowly raised her shadowed eyelids, a triumphant smile lit up her face.

  “As objective observers,” she said, skimming her gaze over the watchful faces, “would you agree that the opening was a resounding success?”

  There was an instant of silence; then Karla was pulled away from the door by her laughing friends, to be hugged, kissed, and congratulated.

  “It was fantastic, Karla!” Andrea exclaimed.

  “You ‘re fantastic, Karta,” Alycia laughingly corrected Andrea.

  “I’m profoundly impressed,” Sean said sincerely.

  “And I feel privileged to be a small pan of it,” Anne said softly.

  Karla gave her assistant a look of surprise. “A small part?” She shook her head sharply. “Anne! You have worked like a Trojan helping me to get this all together.” She hugged the small women without embarrassment. “And now it’s time to celebrate,” she announced as she stepped back. She quickly made the introductions she had neglected to make earlier. When the flurry of “How do you do” and “Nice to meet you” was over, Karla glanced around the room and made a face. “We can finish whatever needs to be done tomorrow,” she told Anne decisively. “Let’s go to dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Anne repeated, gazing at Karla as if she’d just suggested they dance naked in the streets.

  “Yes, dinner,” Karla said. “You know, food, drink, conversation, relaxation?”

  Though she smiled, Anne shook her head vigorously. “Not me. I’m too tired to even think about food... or any of those other things. All I want to do is go home and drop into bed.”

  Sean heaved an exaggerated sigh. “These young people just can’t keep up the pace. What’s this world coming to?”

  Rolling her eyes, Alycia smiled at Anne. “Don’t mind him, he has a flair for the dramatic. Can we drop you somewhere?”

  “No, thank you.” Anne returned the smile. “I have my own car.” She hesitated, then leaned closer to Alycia and spoke in a stage whisper. “Dramatic or not, I think your husband is as handsome and imposing as Jared Cradowg.”

  “Thank you,” Sean’s face was a study in amused confusion. “I think. But who is—” That was as far as Karla allowed him to go before interrupting.

  “Am I the only who who’s starving?” she cried in a voice that sounded slightly strangled. “Anne, good night. We’re leaving—if you don’t mind locking up?”

  Anne gave her employer an odd look, but readily agreed. “Not at all. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Right.” Making believe she was unaware of the baffled expressions on the faces of her friends, Karla collected her purse and three-quarter-length cape. Heading purposefully for the door, she called, “Let’s move out, troops, I’m famished.”

  * * * *

  “All right, Karla, tell all,” Alycia demanded, in the same teasing manner the three women had exacted information from one another while sharing an apartment. “Who, exactly, is Jared Cradowg?”

  They were seated at a round table in one of the finest steak house restaurants in Sedona. The decor was underplayed elegance, and the ambiance was relaxing. The conversation from the other late diners in the intimate room was pleasantly muted. Feeling trapped, Karla took a sip of her champagne cocktail and considered how to reply.

  “He’s no one, really.” Her voice and shrug were casual—too casual; her friends were immediately suspicious.

  “A friend?” Andrea said teasingly.

  “A male friend?” Alycia inquired hopefully.

  “A lover?” Sean asked bluntly.

  Karla choked on her drink. “Lover!” She sputtered. “Jared Cradowg?” She shuddered. “The man’s a throwback to the Stone Age!”

  “Really?”

  “Indeed?”

  “Interesting.”

  Karla glared at the three grinning faces. “Yes, really. And, yes, indeed. And, no, not interesting.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Bull.”

  Karla eyed her three tormentors balefully and took a cautious sip of her drink. She was well and truly trapped. Without a shred of doubt, she knew they’d tease her unmercifully until she told them who Jared Cradowg was. Karla was mildly surprised that none of the three had recognized his name, especially Sean, who possessed a keen appreciation of western art. As if he’d read Karla’s thoughts, Sean suddenly snapped his fingers.

  “Cradowg.” He repeated the name softly. “Spelled C-r-a-d-o-w-g—but pronounced ‘Craddock’... right?”

  “Yes,” she admitted tightly.

  “The painter?”

  Karla sighed in defeat. “Yes, Jared Cradowg, the painter.”

  “Is he famous?” Andrea asked.

  “Now that you’ve cleared up the spelling and pronunciation, I do remember the name,” Alycia said, turning to her husband.

  “Wait a minute.” Sean narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “That large painting of the Apache Indian,” he said in a musing tone. “It’s a Cradowg, isn’t it?”

  “Yes “ Karla admitted.

  “And you were talking to a man right before Anne told you we were at the gallery,” Sean recalled aloud. “Was that chiseled giant Jared Cradowg?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean that deeply tanned hunk?” Andrea asked, eyes widening.

  “Yes.”

  “The one whose face appeared to be chipped from the side of a cliff?” Alycia said in a tone of wonder.

  “Yes!” Karla clapped her hand over her mouth and glanced around guiltily. “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted softly. “Now, will you please drop it?”

  “Drop it?” Andrea frowned.

  “Are you kidding?” Alycia arched her dark eyebrows.

  “Why are you so uptight?” Sean asked silkily.

  “I’m not uptight.” Karla lifted her chin.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Ditto.”

  Karla laughed. She couldn’t help herself; it was all so familiar. Even being badgered by them felt good. “I honestly don’t know the man.” She held up a hand, palm out, to stave off another round of one-word barbs. “Tonight was the first time I ever laid eyes on him,” she explained. “And I couldn’t have talked to him more than ten minutes.”

  “I don’t think I understand.” Andrea frowned again.

  “Don’t feel like the Lone Ranger,” Alycia muttered.

  “He must have made some impression,” Sean observed shrewdly.

  “Yes
, he did. He annoyed the hell out of me,” Karla confessed. “He was arrogant, rude, and insulting.”

  Andrea’s gentle eyes flashed fire. “What did he say to upset you?”

  Alycia’s chin angled militantly. “How dare he insult you!”

  Sean’s back stiffened. “Would you like me to teach him some manners?”

  A warm, cared-for feeling spread through Karla, banishing her anger, which had been rekindled by talking about the artist. “No, thank you, Sean, but I appreciate the offer.” She smiled wryly. “And ‘offer’ is the key word” Before she could be bombarded with questions, she quickly explained. “Mr. Cradowg made me an offer for the Apache Indian painting. He became rude and insulting when I refused his offer.”

  “You own the painting!” Sean was suitably impressed.

  Karla laughed. “Yes, I own it. And I have no intentions of giving it up, not even to its illustrious and ill-tempered creator.” She sighed with relief when she noticed the waiter approaching their table, balancing a loaded tray on the palm of one hand. “Oh, wonderful!” she exclaimed brightly. “I do believe I’m being rescued by the entree. Do you suppose we could find a topic of conversation during dinner that might be more conducive to digestion?”

  The subject of one Jared Cradowg was discreetly dropped. But the man himself was not forgotten, at least not by Karla. Long after she had parted company with her friends, when she was curled into a comfortable position in her bed, the memory of Jared Cradowg’s promise to return to the gallery in the morning made her restless with anger... and tingly with anticipation.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  “I thought you’d never get here.”

  Stifling a startled scream, Karla spun around to glare at the man who’d spoken impatiently from directly behind her. The key she had been in the process of inserting into the lock on the gallery door slipped from her trembling fingers and landed on the pavement with a soft jingle.

  “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she demanded, glaring into his hooded dark eyes. “Or do you just make a habit of sneaking up on people?”

  Jared Cradowg’s implacable expression didn’t change by so much as a flicker. “I didn’t sneak up on you,” he said in a voice devoid of inflection. “And giving you a heart attack would hardly serve my purpose.” A flame flared to life in the depths of his eyes as he raked her slender form with a swift but encompassing glance. “Or anyone else’s purposes, either.”

  The hint of sensuality hidden in his lowered voice caused the tremor in Karla’s fingers to skip erratically up her arms, then down through her body. Shocked and angered by her involuntary response to him, she attempted to hide it by returning the insult. Tilting her head defiantly, Karla ran a frosty gaze slowly from the longish gleaming black hair on his well-shaped head down to his expensive but scuffed leather boots six feet and some four or five inches below. As a ploy designed to humiliate, her examination was sadly lacking, for the magnificent male packed into the length of him had a strange effect on her breathing capabilities.

  Suddenly inexplicably frightened, Karla stooped to retrieve her keys. Jared moved at the same instant. Their knees bumped; her forehead made contact with his hard chest; their fingers touched directly over the keys.

  “Oh!” Karla gasped, then froze, trapped between the solid door and his equally solid body. He didn’t move for what seemed like forever but could not have been more than a few seconds. Yet during those seconds, Karla’s senses were assailed by the feel, the scent, the essence of him. He was pure, undiluted, 100 percent magnetizing male, and she was shaken by the power radiating from him. “Do you mind?” she asked in an icy tone, raising her challenging gaze to his shadowed, watchful eyes.

  “I don’t mind at all.” A smile teased the corners of his sculpted lips. “As a matter of fact, I’m enjoying this immensely.”

  Karla gritted her teeth and fought the conflicting urges to slug him or to fling her arms around his neck and bring his face close enough to taste those thin, arrogantly male lips. Amazed at the anticipatory thrill that ricocheted down her spine, she snapped, “Back off!”

  He allowed a few more moments to pass with cool deliberation, and only then did he slowly rise and step back. “Nasty little thing in the morning, aren’t you?” One nearly straight black brow rose chidingly.

  “I’m never nasty.” Ignoring his outstretched hand, Karla scooped up the keys before rising with unstudied grace. She favored him with the nastiest smile she could twist her lips into. “And at five feet seven inches, I’m anything but small.”

  “Honey, anything under six feet is small to me.”

  Karla stopped breathing altogether for an instant, whether from his use of the casual endearment or from the sexy smile that worked its way over his lips, she didn’t know—but then, she really didn’t want to know. She covered the pent-up breath that whooshed from her body by spinning around and inserting the key into the lock.

  The air inside the showroom was stale with the lingering scent of wine, perfume, and paint. Ignoring the tall man dogging her footsteps, Karla walked to the air-conditioning control on the wall and switched the unit on high. Within moments she could feel the forced air swirling around her, cooler than the late November breeze outside. She turned to face her silent, uninvited customer as she shrugged out of her lightweight suede cape.

  “What are you doing here at nine-thirty in the morning?” Karla made a point of looking at the delicate gold watch encircling her wrist. “The notice on the door clearly states the ten o’clock opening time.”

  Jared had come to a halt less than a foot from her; his unreadable dark eyes regarded her with nerve-jangling directness. “I told you I’d be back when we could talk in private.” His voice was as smooth and deep as a shaded mountain stream; Karla felt the effects of it shimmer from her scalp all the way to her lacquered toenails.

  “Haggle,” she snapped, furious with him for the sensations she was experiencing. “You said you’d be back to haggle.”

  He conceded the point with a brief inclination of his head. “And I fully intend to haggle,” he drawled. “But the scenario has altered a bit.”

  Not having the vaguest idea what he was talking about, Karla frowned at him in confusion. “Scenario? I don’t understand. What scenario?”

  “The famous artist, beautiful art-gallery-owner scenario,” he explained in a honey-soft voice.

  “What?” Karla stared at him in stunned wonder, more rattled by his sudden display of warm amusement than by his obscure statement.

  The lines radiating from the corners of his eyes—lines Karla assumed were the result of squinting in the glare of the Arizona sunlight, certainly not from good humor— crinkled attractively when he laughed. In quick summation, Karla decided his laughter alone should be registered with the authorities as a deadly weapon; the sound of amusement rumbling from his chest had a blowtorch effect on her bloodstream.

  “The famous artist, being me, and the beautiful gallery owner, being you,” Jared expanded his explanation, indicating first himself then Karla with one long, lightly haired, strangely elegant index finger. “And the scenario being the love affair I’ve decided we’re going to have.”

  Love affair? Karla again stopped breathing. Love affair! The man was a blithering nutcase!

  Refusing to acknowledge the sudden acceleration of her pulse rate and the wild thump-thump of her heartbeat, she eyed him warily and took a cautious step back. “I don’t have love affairs,” she said with hard emphasis.

  His gleaming black eyes crinkled again as he noted her cautious retreat. “Good.” As it had the night before, his smile revealed strong teeth, blazing white in sharp contrast to his bone-deep tan. “I like my women a little naive.”

  Karla’s spine went rigid with the sense of outrage that seared through her. Damn if the man wasn’t a chauvinistic blithering idiot! A sweet, contemptuous smile changed the configuration of Karla’s soft lips. “Let me explain, Mr. Cradowg,” she began in a
tone every bit as sweetly lethal as her smile. “I don’t have love affairs because I am not naive. Do you get my meaning?” She arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow disdainfully.

  “Sure.”

  The impulse to scream was very hard to resist. Grinding her teeth, Karla wondered how in the world he had managed to infuse so much sexual communication into that one slowly drawn out word. In that instant, she changed her opinion of him. He wasn’t a blithering idiot after all; the man was a sexy-as-hell chauvinist! And, of even more concern to Karla, her senses and body were responding to him like a moisture-starved desert blossom unfolding to a reviving mist of rain! In the very next instant, Karla knew she had to get rid of him, get him out of her showroom, and her vicinity, before she made an absolute scatterbrained spectacle out of herself and, in the process, ruin her image of herself as a liberated, savvy, totally today woman.

  “Okay,” she said, exhaling wearily. “You’ve had your morning amusement. But I have work to do, so why don’t you trot on home and play with your... paints?”

  Jared’s bark of appreciative laughter ricocheted off the matte-finished walls, then arrowed into the depths of her heart. “I work with my paints, sweetheart.” Closing the distance between them with one casual step, he raised her chin with the tip of one long finger. While she stared wide-eyed at him, he slowly, slowly lowered his head. “But I’m ready to play whenever you are.” His warm breath misted her lips an instant before his mouth took command of hers.