Millionaire's Woman

The painting had an oddly compelling quality. He stared at it, trying to comprehend its appeal, but without success. The random daubs of c

olor, the splotches and squiggles didn’t make any sense—just like Ellie.

He couldn’t quite figure out what she wanted. He’d thought at first it was money, pure and simple, but she wasn’t very consistent about it. When he’d taken her to the art show and she’d admired a small ceramic vase, he’d offered to buy it for her, but she’d refused. Even more surprising, when he’d given her a raise, she’d tried to refuse that also. He’d disregarded her protests, but still, he found her actions odd. She must be after something else. But what? Publicity for the gallery? Definitely. But there had to be more than that. Something just for her. Fame?

Maybe. Although it was hard to believe that someone who could smile the way she did could be so calculating. When Ellie smiled, her eyes smiled also, and her whole face glowed. Warmth practically radiated from her. Sometimes when she smiled, he found himself liking her…like a friend. Although friendship wasn’t what he’d felt a few nights ago when he’d stood at her apartment door, looking down at that siren mouth of hers. He’d wanted to rip off her clothes, throw her down on the floor and make hard, sweaty love to her until neither one of them could move…

Hell.

He frowned at the painting on the wall, then bent back over the contracts on his desk. Going out with Ellie was business, an extreme measure undertaken to protect Wisnewski Industries. Once he’d closed the Lachland deal and his sister found out he’d tricked her, he wouldn’t need to spend any more time with Ellie. No more froufrou art shows or la-di-da symphonies. He planned to make a quick, clean break with Eleanor Hernandez, and he had no intention of complicating the matter by getting involved with her.

No intention at all, he told himself again later that evening as he rang her doorbell.

Martina, dressed in boots, a denim skirt and anemerald blouse that flattered her dark hair and eyes, let him in.

“Big date tonight?” he asked her.

She flashed a bright smile. “My boyfriend is coming to get me and we’re driving up to Madison.”

“Madison? That’s a long trip in this weather.”

“Yeah, we’re going to spend a couple of nights with some friends of his. Go ahead and sit down. Ellie’s not quite ready yet.”

He sat on the sofa, talking casually with Martina while some part of his brain filed away the information that there would be no one in the apartment when he brought Ellie home tonight; it would be completely empty. Quiet. Private.

Not that it mattered.

He forced himself to focus on Martina. She had a flirtatious, sensual manner—except when she talked about business. Then she was as coolheaded as any of his vice presidents. He’d had a chance to talk to her several times in the last couple of weeks, and he liked her.

“What do you think of Ellie’s new acquisition?” Martina asked, waving a hand at the artwork resting on the coffee table.

It looked like a lump of mud. “Very unusual.”

Martina snorted. “It’s a piece of crap, that’s what it is.”

Eyeing the brown mass, Garek wondered if she meant the remark literally.

“But half the stuff she brings home is crap,” Martina continued. “Just let some crackpot wander into the gallery and tell her some sob story and she immediately opens up her purse. Just because her father was an artist and could never sell any of his work, she feels compelled to buy something from everyone.”

Garek frowned, but before Martina could say anything more about Ellie’s father, he heard footsteps behind him. Standing, he turned to see her coming from the bedroom. For a moment, all he could think of was how gorgeous she looked. A scrap of blue velvet clung to her breasts, waist, hips and thighs, emphasizing her smooth curves.

“Happy birthday!” She smiled up at him and held out a box that he hadn’t even noticed she was holding.

A flat, rectangular box.

Her smile made accepting the box a bit less painful. He opened it and stared down at the tie within.

Green musical notes floated down the length of it. The widest part featured miniature newsprint with a headline: PUKE ON NUKES. The whole thing appeared to have been splattered with a rainbow of paint.

“How…colorful,” he said.

“It’s a bit outrageous,” she admitted, glancing at his face a trifle anxiously. “But I thought you ought to loosen up and try something a little less conservative than the ties you usually wear.”

“Did an artist from your gallery design it?” he asked.

“Not exactly. I haven’t displayed any of his work. But he came into the gallery last week and he’s trying very hard to get established…”

He looked at her, then at Martina, who rolled her eyes before discreetly disappearing into her bedroom.