publicize the event. I was surprised Mr. Wisnewski agreed to that. He hates any kind of publicity.”
Ellie usually subdued any impulse to question Stacy about Garek, and she tried to restrain her curiosity now. But somehow, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Oh?”
Stacy needed no further encouragement. “Ever since being named Most Eligible Bachelor he’s been hounded by women,” the girl said. “I read in the Chicago Trumpeter that a woman waited for him in a parking garage, then jumped on the hood of his car and started kissing the windshield. She left red-lipstick imprints all over the glass before he could get her off. Another woman broke into his house and stole all his underwear and put it up for sale on eBay. The police caught her and arrested her, but not before she’d sold a pair of boxer shorts to a woman living in a Florida retirement community. He threatened to sue the Chicago Trumpeter and they’ve backed off for the last month or so, but we still get women calling or coming to the office on some pretext, hoping to meet him.”
Ellie bent over the miter box, the whine of the saw ringing in her ears as she remembered Garek’s surliness when she’d bumped into him on the sidewalk. What had he said in his office the next day? So you managed to track me down.
She still couldn’t really excuse his rudeness to her. But she could understand it. She even sympathized with him in a way—she hated the press, also.
She didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want to be aware of him. But it was hard not to be. At the art show, she’d been conscious of his hand at the small of her back as he guided her from painting to painting, his bulk protecting her from being jostled by the crowd. When he took her to dinner, she was conscious of his hands on her shoulders as he helped her off and on with her coat. At the play, a comedy, she’d been distracted several times by his deep, rather rusty-sounding laugh; that had been bad enough, but then afterward, she’d neglected to button her coat before they went outside. Greeted by a blast of icy cold wind, she’d started to tug off her gloves, but he’d grabbed her hands and pulled her into a sheltered doorway. “I’ll do your coat up for you,” he’d said, and proceeded to fasten each button from her throat to her hemline.
She’d tried not to let his closeness affect her. She’d tried to ignore the increasingly familiar curling sensation low in the pit of her stomach. Just as she’d tried, a few days later, at the basketball game, not to notice the way his hair grew to a point at the nape of his neck; the way he listened silently, intently, to what she said; the masculine scents of wool and leather that clung to him; and the amusing contrast of the floral scent of his hair.
A gift of shampoo from his niece, he’d said when she impulsively asked about it last night after inviting him into her apartment for coffee. Sitting next to her on the couch, he’d immediately put down his cup and leaned over to sniff her hair.
“Mmm, strawberry, I think.” He lifted a strand of her hair and ran it through his fingers.
Her entire scalp prickled at his touch. He continued to stroke her hair, his fingers gradually weaving their way deeper and deeper into its thickness until he was cradling her head, holding her completely still as he stared down at her mouth with a dark, intense look in his eyes.
Her heart pounded against the wall of her chest as if trying to get out. She knew she should pull away. She knew letting him kiss her was opening the door to all kinds of trouble. But the feeling inside her didn’t respond to arguments. The feeling wasn’t logical. It wasn’t sensible. It was just there. Hot and needy and demanding. One kiss, it told her rational self. Just one kiss…
“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