her again, I’ll relay your compliment.”
She scrutinized me with her typical intensity. “You like this girl. She’s very pretty.”
“How can you tell?”
She pointed at the painted figure. “Does she look like her?”
I conjured up Penelope’s beautiful face and nodded. “There is a resemblance.”
“And you didn’t get her number?”
“You know me. I don’t like questions.”
She twirled her hand dismissively. “Ask her out. You’re too handsome. The girls would fall at your feet if only you would act more…” She lifted her chin up and pushed out her chest, giving her impression of cockiness.
“Thanks for the lesson in the art of seduction,” I responded dryly. She smiled with a wink before leaving.
Although I couldn’t imagine that being a cocky bastard would win over Penelope Green, I needed to do something to convince her that I wasn’t a cad. Maybe flowers and a note of apology.
Flowers, yes. Apology? I had nothing to apologize for. She was the one who’d jumped to conclusions, although Penelope’s feistiness sent blood gushing to my groin as I recalled her pretty eyes firing up.
My cell vibrated. The name Peter Barnes, a private detective I’d recently hired, came up.
“Blake.” His gravelly voice was so loud that I held the phone away from my ear.
“What can you tell me?” I asked.
“Only that the Cherry Orchard’s registered to a conglomerate that is not that easy to pin down. But I did find one lead.”
“That is…?”
“A name that’s connected to a leading figure from an Eastern European gang.”
I rubbed my head. “Right.”
“I’ve got a few leads. I’ll do some poking around, and perhaps we can meet at the end of the week. I’d prefer to do things away from the phone,” he said.
“Sure.”
10
* * *
PENELOPE
THE MODEL FOR OUR life drawing class had that kind of muscular body that sent Sheldon into a meltdown.
Cupping the side of his mouth, he whispered, “He’s gorgeous.”
I had to smile. The model did have that Adonis appeal. And him being naked as the day he was born wasn’t exactly making things any easier for poor Sheldon. I only hoped the model’s shriveled member wouldn’t rise for the occasion.
A break was called. We’d been drawing all morning. Life drawing was my favorite subject, although I preferred female models. They were easier to draw. All those masculine sinews put me in awe of the Italian masters, particularly Michelangelo, and their ability to depict the male figure.
As I headed for the coffee machine, a bunch of roses and a pair of legs headed my way, and this time, it wasn’t my surreal take on the mundane.
Angie, the administrator, noticed me passing. “Ah… there you are, Penny.” She handed me a bunch of roses of every color known to that genus.
After I regained my senses, having buried my nose in the intoxicating bunch of fragrant flowers, I asked, “Are they really for me?”
She smiled. “An admirer.”
Over my shoulder, I heard Sheldon remark, “A rich admirer, I’d say.”
“Lucky you,” she said, passing me an envelope.
The card nearly fell from my hand. I looked up at Sheldon, who took it from my hand and sniffed it. “Mm… it’s perfumed.” He held his chin. “Now, who could these be from?”
My legs, by this stage, were nearly buckling from the weight of the blooms coupled with shock and all other kinds of indescribable emotions.
Sheldon took the bunch from my arms. “Here, let me help you. Shit, there must be at least sixty roses.”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I uttered, “Holy crap.”
He remained there with the roses in his arms. “Well, come on. Aren’t you going to see who they’re from?”
I sat down and opened the envelope. The card read: Can we start again? Dinner? Your paintings look lovely in my home. Thank you. Blake Sinclair.
I kept reading it over and over as if I’d missed some small detail. It was handwritten, and I ran my fingers over the card, feeling the pen markings, like a psychic with a piece of jewelry.
“It’s from him, isn’t it?” asked Sheldon, placing the flowers down on the seat next to me.
I nodded. In a trance, I passed him the card.
“You must go. I mean he’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.”
“I know. He’s almost too gorgeous.”
Sheldon tilted his head in sympathy. “Don’t be scared. I’m sure he’ll be a gentleman. Unless, you know…” He growled. “You don’t want him to be.”
I laughed.
Blake hadn’t left my thoughts, even though I tried to quash this sudden obsession, because Sheldon was right—Blake Sinclair terrified me. I hated the thought of him learning about my life