“No.” She glanced away from his compelling gaze.
He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night, then. At my apartment.”
The expression in his eyes made her tremble. She knew she should say no. She had to say no. She opened her mouth to say no.
“Yes,” she whispered.
A light blazed in his eyes and he gave her a quick hard kiss. “Until tomorrow.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Eight
Ellie found it difficult to concentrate on work the next day. She hung a painting, moved a sculpture and worked on balancing the accounts. Unfortunately, she hung the painting upside down, dropped the sculpture—the head broke off—and could not get the accounts to balance no matter how many times she checked the numbers.
Finally, she gave up all pretense of working and sank onto the flat, leather bench that sat in the middle of the gallery so people could sit and look at the art. Coincidentally, it also gave her an excellent view of the clock. Three fifty-eight. Three fifty-nine. Four o’clock…
In one hour she could go home and get ready to go to dinner at Garek’s.
And to make love.
The words had been unspoken, but she’d heard them loud and clear all the same.
Was she insane?
She must be.
How else could 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.”