Good gracious, she was glorious in anger. Her close proximity sent a dose of her feminine scent straight to his gut, piercing his defenses. Not that he’d ever had any when it came to her. His eyes shifted from her eyes, passed the kissable lips and chin imbued with steel stubbornness to the enticing cleavage, its size accentuated by the simple top she wore. He couldn’t stop the desire that surged through him or the thought that folowed.
She’s mine.
“I’ve given you a month’s notice. If you need help finding my replacement, you know where to find me.” Her words kiled his amorous thoughts and assertion.
“That won’t be necessary.” His tone came out dismissive, causing her eyes to darken further.
She straightened and gave him a sad smile. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I don’t want us to part as enemies, Baron.” He ignored the begging quality of her tone. What had she expected? Marching bands and fireworks? Courtesy demanded that he say something but he couldn’t think of anything that would be remotely polite. Last time she came into his office, talking about quitting, he’d shown her he was wiling to go the extra mile to keep her. He’d caled his contacts and let them know the galery would, from that day, restore paintings from any period. He stil didn’t know what he’d said to tick her off, women were unfathomable that way, but she’d read him the riot act, threatened to leave despite his efforts.
He’d swiftly moved around his desk to her side, ready to do anything to make her stay. In her haste to get up from the chair, she’d tripped and he did what came naturaly to him—wrapped his arms around her waist to steady her. But it had presented an opportunity he would have been remiss not to exploit. Kissing her turned out to be a mistake. He hadn’t factored in his response, the roar of blood in his ears, the overwhelming urge to claim and possess. After Valerie, he’d sworn to never let a woman get under his skin. Kara did that evening, not with threats and broken promises but with a kiss. He set out to prove he would not be dictated to by his emotions, especialy when it came to a woman, and had succeeded.
“I’l let you continue with your work,” she mumbled, interrupting his thoughts, and turned to leave.
Watching her step away from his desk sent panic straight to Baron’s gut. He hated the feeling, yet was helpless to control it. The intercom on his phone chose that moment to light up, too, demanding his attention. His focus stayed on Kara. He wanted to tel her to stay, beg her not to leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to beg. A man had his pride. If she couldn’t see how great they were together then maybe she needed to go.
Why then did the thought fil him with sadness?
At the door, Kara gave him one last look as though hoping he would say something. He couldn’t, that was how pissed off he was. He was more likely to haul her in his arms and kiss her crazy, a repeat of what happened a year ago. Only this time he was sure she would knee him. As the door closed behind her, his wel-laid plans crumbled and dissolved into nothing.
On her way back to her office, Kara was relieved she didn’t bump into one of her coworkers. Anger blocked her throat and tears burned the back of her eyes. She didn’t even know why she was tearful. Baron had accepted her resignation, hadn’t he?
Even though he’d been nasty about it, the deal was done. Over with. Kaput.
Then why did she feel like crap? And typical of her, her tear ducts were tied to her emotions, a real pain in the butt when she wished to stay in control.
She closed her door and hurried down the stairs. Beating a path on her wooden floor didn’t make her feel any better. How dare that arrogant man try to buy her off? Double her pay, new office, who the hel did he think he was? To have the nerve to imply she was indecisive? She wasn’t the type to wring her hands and let others make decisions for her.
Kara stopped pacing, flopped on her chair, and gnawed on her lower lip. Okay, maybe occasionaly she was a tad indecisive.
Like whether to have a Brazilian wax or basic bikini line, turkey-on-rye or on croissant, nothing major.
How about a year ago?
A tiny voice in the back of her head mocked. Fine. So she might have appeared hesitant about her resignation last year, big deal. Or when she’d kissed Baron like she couldn’t get enough of him then pushed him away.
Pushed him? Yeah right. As if her puny arms could dislodge the Rock of Gibraltar Fitzgerald. She’d protested the onslaught on her senses, and he’d taken notice and let her go. Then as though unaffected by their kiss, he’d gone back to his usual sober self. His response put a dent the size of a crater in her self-confidence, made her question her own sensuality. Her previous boyfriends had never complained, but after that day, she’d wondered if perhaps she was lacking in some areas. Maybe that was why she now thought sex wasn’t a big part of a relationship. Shared goals and interest, respect, and companionship were the main things she sought in a man these days.
A knock sounded behind her and she turned to see Rick Ben Jacob peering down at her. Six-foot-one with a mass of brown curly hair, a surfer body, and a face any male model could die for, Rick was the main buyer for the galery now that Baron was busy with expansion and new talents. He was also unavailable to the female population.
“Hey, Rick.”
“Are you okay, hon?” He started down the stairs, his soft brown eyes not leaving her face until he reached her side. “You zoomed past my office without a word.” He squatted by her chair.
“What happened?”
Tears threatened to fal at his sympathetic tone. Crying in his presence would be so humiliating.
“Nothing.” She toyed with a lock of his hair. “What are you doing down here?”
“Sweetie, you can’t hide anything from me by changing the subject. I live with Mr. Raul-in-Denial and his BS doesn’t fly with me either.” He touched her cheek. “You had a fight with the witch?
Want me to punch her nose for you?”
Kara smiled. Rick had nicknamed Gena the witch a few years back and the employees quickly embraced the name. But despite his teasing, she couldn’t dare confide in him. He would discuss whatever she said with his life partner Raul, who could never keep his trap shut. Raul owned an organic pastry shop two blocks away and was in and out of the galery a few times a week.
Within a week, her coworkers would know about her resignation.
No, she had no intention of teling anyone who worked for Baron she was quitting. That was his prerogative.
She decided not to correct Rick’s assumption about Gena and said, “A little tiff, Rick. No biggie. What’s up with you?”
“My nephew’s bar mitzvah is next week, my parents’
anniversary this weekend. Which one wil you attend?” Kara wrinkled her nose. “That’s such a short notice.”
“I know, I know. I hadn’t planned on attending the anniversary, not without Raul. My father…,” he muttered something in Persian, “but I’m going anyway, for my mother’s sake. Please say you can make it.”
Poor Rick. His father, an important man in the local Iranian Jewish community, refused to accept that his only son was homosexual. “I think I can make the bar mitzvah.”
“Thank you. I’l tel Raul.” He kissed her cheek and got up.
“I’l drop off the invitation tomorrow. The theme is Harry Potter.
Kids.” He shuddered and looked around, his eyes zeroing on the painting in the easel. “Oh, an original Halè. Circa eighteen-sixty-eight?”
I nodded. “It came last week when you were at an auction.
I’m starting on it this afternoon.”
“Nice piece. Is it privately owned or from a galery?”
“A galery. Why? Interested in purchasing it?”
“Can’t afford it, sweetie.” He turned to her and added, “I’m headed to Raul’s for lunch. Want me to pick you up something?”
“Not today, thanks. I’m meeting Renee.” She hadn’t planned on it until she spoke. “I might pick up something on my way, though.”
“Croissant or rye?” he teased.
Kara stuck her tongue out at him. “Haven’t decided.”
“Give us a cal when you do. Later.” He headed up the stairs, whistling a tune under his breath. He paused by the door to add, “We owe you one, Kara.”
She knew he meant about agreeing to attend the bar mitzvah. Every time he took Raul to a family gathering, the two needed moral support. Of al his friends, she clicked with his father the most. The old man considered himself an art connoisseur and loved lengthy discourse on antiquities.
“That’s what friends are for, Rick.” Once the door closed behind him, Kara picked up her cel phone and dialed Renee’s number. “I’m joining you guys for lunch after al.”
“That bad?”
Baron was one subject she didn’t want to discuss. “I’m heading out the door, but might be a little late. Raul’s shop gets a little crowded at this time of the day.”
There was mumbling on the line, as though Renee was talking to someone. Then she came back on the line with, “Chloe said she already ordered something from a nearby restaurant.” Kara grimaced. She wasn’t up to Chloe’s fast foods. “Tel her I already have my lunch covered.”
Renee chuckled. “Tel her yourself. Don’t want her to lay it on me. You know how she gets. Chloe, that’s beautiful. Kara you won’t believe…ouch. What was that for?”
There was more mumbling in the background, and then Chloe’s deeper voice became clearer. “For trying to steal my moment, that’s what. I could go postal on your butt.” Laughter trickled down the line.
Kara stifled a giggle, too. “Go easy on my eardrums, Chloe.
What’s going on?”
“You won’t know until you get your skinny butt here. And you’d better not bring some turkey-on-rye mess and cal it food.
You need more meat on your bones as it is. I’ve got us some fried onions and burgers, and a fruit shake to wash it al down.” Kara imagined the hours she’d put at her gym working off the extra calories.
“I’l be there. Better watch whose ass you cal skinny, woman.” She closed her cel phone, before Chloe could start her usual mantra of what men liked.
Men don’t like skin and bones on a woman, Kara. They
want meat they can grab and bite.
Kara picked up her purse and started up the stairs. The way Chloe went on, one would think Kara’s size eight was thin. It wasn’t her fault she was smal waist up. On the other hand, Chloe was a size fourteen. According to her, anyone smaler was scrawny.
Kara stepped into the galery’s main floor and glanced around. She immediately regretted the action. This tendency to try and catch a glimpse of Baron every time she walked into the galery had to stop.
In a month’s time I’ll be gone, and he’ll be part of
my past. I’d better get used to it, fast.
The pep talk didn’t stop her heart from beating at a frantic pace. She realy didn’t want to see him, talk to him, or even think about him. He might not be around the main floor, but that didn’t mean jack. He could be watching her right now as she stood beside the pilar, skulking like a fugitive.
Baron had his entire galery wired with a state-of-the-art security system. The monitors occupied a wal in his office and received video feeds from every room. He liked to keep an eye on his investments, and who could blame him? The galery boasted a wide variety of expensive and innovative works of art, from paintings and sculptures to video presentations. The biweekly exhibitions by various emerging or established artists included historicals, thematic shows, or one person retrospectives.
Kara squared her shoulders and started across the room.
As usual, the galery’s ambient temperature and spaciousness created by its wooden floors and vaulted ceiling soothed her senses.
There was a stream of customers walking around, much more than usual, but that wasn’t surprising. Works by Daniele “Dan” Chancy, one of the local artists, often drew quite a crowd.
Kara paused to admire a sculpture of a nude woman in repose and a bust of a Native American warrior, and smiled with regret. She was going to miss this place. During her lunch hour, she often walked through rooms and studied the displayed pieces.
Time to get going or Chloe will have my hide.
Kara hurried toward the entrance. Just before she exited the galery, she looked over her shoulder at the office on the second floor.
She shouldn’t have done that.
Baron stood by the glass wal, his intense gaze locked on her. How long had he been watching her? Did it matter? A rush of something hot and primal slithered up her spine. She wanted to run out of the room, but couldn’t wil her legs to move.
He looked huge and unapproachable. It was hard to see the exotic perfection of his face—a blend of his Cuban mother and Irish-American father. Not that she needed to. She had every inch of his face etched in her brain: the startling blue eyes and black hair, the smooth sun-kissed skin and the aquiline nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the prominent cheekbones, even the faint scar that ran from the bottom of his lower lip to his chin.
How many times had she looked up and caught him staring down. She’d like to say staring at her, but that would be presumptuous. Often she’d smile or wave. Such a simple gesture, yet she couldn’t do it now.
“Excuse me?”
Kara whipped around and blinked at the elderly couple trying to enter the galery. The poor man would have to run her down with his wheelchair to get inside. Heat crept up her face.
Maybe that was what she needed, someone to knock her down and shove some sense into her thick skul.
“I’m sorry.” She moved out of the way and grabbed the other door to ease their entrance.
“Thank you, my dear,” the woman said with a motherly smile.
“It was my fault realy.” This time, Kara didn’t look back.
She hurried to her car, so embarrassed she wanted to slap herself.
She was an idiot. No matter how much she denied it, she was attracted to Baron. Very much so. What if?
No, there were no what ifs for the two of them. She was moving on. In fact, she’d better start thinking about something else before her mind went into hyper-drive and came up with a crazy idea.
Chloe’s was always busy but Kara lucked out when a woman backed out of a spot just as she entered the parking lot adjacent to the spa and salon. Eager to hear the latest, she went to the salon first and was greeted by a blast of techno music. Chloe spent most of her time there working and left an assistant to man the front desk at the spa. Amid “hi Kara” and “what’s happening” from the hairdressers, her gaze sought Renee and Chloe.
“They’re in her office next door,” someone yeled.
“Thanks, guys.” She walked to the back, past the salon office and a back door, and into a halway with soothing taupe walpaper. The change in the atmosphere was startling. While the salon had been noisy with techno music and the scent of hair chemicals in the air, the spa was calmer, scented with herbal essences and the soothing sound of classical music in the background. Trickling water from a fountain reached Kara’s ears.
Through a textured glass wal, she saw silhouettes of clients relaxing in chaise loungers, iced water or tea in their hands. Muted conversations between clients and employees drifted from other rooms.
Kara turned left at the common room with its plush chairs and black glass coffee table offering a fruit basket and a pitcher of water for guests. Hardly any sound came from behind Chloe’s closed door, which wasn’t surprising. Chloe always curbed her exuberant nature when at the spa.
Kara knocked briefly then pushed the door open. Chloe, in her trademark pantsuit and spiky red hair, relaxed in a chaise lounge, a glass of something sparkly in her hand. Champagne? Her sister, Shannon, opposite her in looks and temperament, sat on the edge of the cherry desk, while Renee on the armchair, had her shoeless feet dangling on the edge of an arm. They al looked up when Kara walked in.
“About time,” Chloe said and swung her feet to the floor.
She picked up an empty champagne glass from the floor and waved it at Kara. “Take it. Pour her some, Shay.”
Kara frowned, her gaze bouncing between the three grinning women and the bottle, which turned out to be sparkling cider. “What’s going on?”
“I’m getting married.” Chloe lifted her left hand and wiggled fingers with long, curving acrylic nails. “My Danny proposed.” She screamed in excitement.