Millionaire's women - By Helen Brooks Page 0,166

Garek Wisnewski have affected her like this? Last night, she’d felt hot inside and out, she’d yearned for his touch, she’d forgotten all caution, all logic, all common sense…

How had he done that to her?

After he’d left last night, she’d sat in a daze on the couch in the living room, not moving until she heard the creak of a door hinge. Glancing over, she’d seen her cousin cautiously stick her head out. “Is he gone?” Martina had whispered.

Ellie had nodded.

Martina had opened the door all the way and come out into the living room. Clad in a long flannel night-gown with pink bunnies on it and a fuzzy bathrobe, she’d sat cross-legged on the couch next to Ellie.

“Wow,” she’d said. “You look like you’ve died and gone to heaven. He must be one heckuva kisser.”

“Martina…”

“Oh, come on, El…fess up. I can’t believe what I just saw. You haven’t so much as looked at a man since you came to Chicago. I was beginning to think I was going to have to send your name to the nearest convent.”

Ellie had frowned. “Just because I don’t jump into bed with every guy I meet doesn’t mean I want to be a nun.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Martina hadn’t been put off by Ellie’s discouraging tone. “Garek Wisnewski, of all people! I thought you hated him.”

Ellie had thought so too. But something had changed in the last few weeks. “He’s not as bad as I thought,” she’d admitted. “He makes me laugh. He can be really kind. He cares a lot about his sister—”

“Ellie…” Martina had stared at her, a frown knitting her forehead. “Are you in love with him?”

The question had rasped on Ellie’s skin like an ice scraper. “No, of course not,” she’d said automatically.

“Yeah, right,” Martina had said. “I believe that one.”

“It’s true,” Ellie had insisted. “I’m not in love with him.”

“Well, you should be. You should forget about that loser, Rafe—he never cared about you. He was only out for what he could get. Garek is different. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I think he’s in love with you. Or if he’s not, he will be soon.” Martina had yawned. “I’ve got to get up early. Good night.”

Ellie had gone to bed soon after Martina, but she hadn’t slept well.

Are you in love with him?

Fourteen hours later and the question was still echoing inside her head.

Ellie closed her eyes, blocking out her view of the ridiculously slow-moving clock. Was she in love with Garek? She didn’t think so. And yet, she’d never felt like this before, not even with Rafe. With Rafe, she’d felt an odd mix of excitement, curiosity and rebellion. With Garek, she felt excitement, too, but it was fueled more by a genuine liking of him as a person. Rafe had talked a lot, but rarely backed up his speeches with action. Garek, on the other hand, spoke very little, but he accomplished everything he set out to do. Rafe had ridiculed her interest in art and music. Garek wasn’t necessarily a devotee of either, but he obviously recognized the importance of both and shared her deep commitment to supporting artists and the arts. Rafe hadn’t cared about his disabled father and ailing mother—she hadn’t even known of their existence until he broke up with her. Garek obviously cared deeply about his family—he supported his sister and gave her loving, thoughtful gifts. Like the necklace. And the art foundation…

If she let the relationship continue on its natural course, if she went to his apartment and had sex with him, she would probably fall in love with him. But would he love her in return?

Martina seemed to think so. But Ellie wasn’t so sure. She thought about how badly Rafe had hurt her. She didn’t want to go through that again.

And yet, in more ways than one, she’d been hiding ever since she came to Chicago. She couldn’t live the rest of her life this way. At some point she was going to have to take a risk on someone.

Maybe it was time to take that risk…

She looked at the clock.

Four fifty-seven. Four fifty-eight. Only two more minutes…

The door opened and a woman entered. She wore a royal-blue designer suit, her hair fresh-from-the-salon styled and tinted, a large diamond on her finger. She had that too-perfect look of plastic surgery and could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty years old.

Usually Ellie would have been delighted at the arrival of a customer, no matter how close

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