Trusting Again Read online

  She tried to put words together that made sense. “Well, let’s see … uh, maybe something like … something like it was used with a typewriter, the precursor to the computer.” She turned back to look at the sculpture and the words came more smoothly now that she wasn’t looking at him.

  “Then, I’d explain that Oldenburg wanted people to look differently at everyday objects, like erasers and clothespins. But maybe someday they’ll claim he meant for the typewriter eraser to be symbolic of the ease with which we erase our past, forget everything that has gone on before and tie that in with forgetting what a typewriter is.” When she was finished, she faced him again. She stifled a moan in the back of her throat when she saw the sensual smile that warmed his eyes and her insides.

  “Nice. Not only can you write the guidebook now but you can also predict the guidebook of the future. Maybe you’ve discovered a new career path for yourself.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll stick to my jewelry.” She glanced down at her feet, then back up. “I didn’t see you and your friend earlier.”

  “My friend?” He looked genuinely puzzled at her comment.

  “The one you bought the birthday present for.”

  “Ah, that one. She’s not the kind of friend it sounds like you think she is. The birthday gift was from my family, not from me. Her family and mine go way back. So, no friend tonight. Or any night, for that matter.”

  She was relieved but he was the one who looked it.

  “Is that why you didn’t call me?” he said.

  “I don’t usually call men out of the blue.”

  “Even if the man leaves a note asking you to call?”

  “What note? What are you talking about?”

  “I left a business card with my cell number on it with the hostess at the Heathman asking you to call me if you’d like to have coffee or a glass of wine.”

  He didn’t have a girlfriend. He was there alone. He’d left her his phone number and asked her to call. “I never got it,” she said. “If I had, I would have called if only to thank you for paying for our wine that day.”

  As if swooning with pleasure, the wayward strap on her dress slipped off her shoulder and fell down her arm. He took the one step he needed to close the gap between them and slid his forefinger under the strap, slowly moving it up her arm to where it belonged, his finger creating goose bumps where he touched her. He patted the thin piece of fabric into place before stroking down her back to her waist, where he kept his hand.

  “Wouldn’t want you to have a wardrobe malfunction,” he said.

  The pressure of his touch, the heat of his hand, made her shiver, made her nipples contract into tight buds, her back arch ever so slightly in his direction. She was sure he heard her sharp intake of breath trying to get enough oxygen to her brain to cool her whirling senses.

  “Are you cold?” Before she could stutter out an answer, he slipped off his jacket and draped it around her. “The breeze off the water can be chilly in the evening.”

  As if it was the night air making her shudder. As if he didn’t know exactly what was making her tremble.

  He continued, “I hope your date won’t be unhappy when you go back in wearing another man’s jacket. Although, it would serve him right for letting you wander out here in the chilly air all alone.”

  “I’m here by myself, too, and I wasn’t going back in. I was saying goodbye to the sculptures before I left.”

  The smile became a grin. “I saw you sitting with a man at your table and thought … ”

  “Spence? He’s an old friend who flirts with everyone, including me. But his husband Doug was there, too. So it was all quite harmless.”

  “I’m glad.” He looked only half serious. “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble by flirting with someone who’s already taken.” He resettled his jacket on her shoulders. “Look, now that we’ve gotten it sorted out that neither one of us is attached to anyone else, would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?”

  She hesitated for a few seconds, not sure she should give in to the impulse to spend more time with him. But she couldn’t resist. “How can I say no? You must know all the good places for coffee. I’d love to.”

  “I know the best place in town. Where’s your car? You can follow me.”

  “No car. I took a cab.”

  “Perfect. I’m parked in the garage under the building. But first, I have to go back inside to pick up my auction item.”

  “Oh? What did you bid on?”

  “A Cleopatra collar for my sister. I thought if I was the successful bidder, I might have a chance to meet the artist who created it.” He touched a bead on the neckpiece she was wearing, then traced his finger over the collarbone next to the bead. “But if I’d seen this first, I might have tried to get it off you.” He must have noticed the startled look on her face. “Convinced you to sell it to me, I meant. My sister likes green.”

  Chapter 3

  After he retrieved his auction item, Marius led Cynthia to the elevator and into the garage. When he punched his remote, the lights on a convertible sports car lit up. Even if she hadn’t recognized the insignia, “Porsche” written across the back of it told her what kind of car it was. It looked just like the man who owned it, dark and sleek and very, very sexy, exactly what she would have imagined he’d drive, if she’d thought about it.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said as she slid onto the leather seat.

  “She is, isn’t she?” he said. “My family gave it to me as a birthday present when they sent me out here. They thought I deserved a consolation prize for having to leave Miami.”

  “It never occurred to me that anyone would be unhappy about moving to Seattle. Did you really hate the idea so much you thought you deserved a present?” She was sure she sounded defensive about the city she loved.

  “At first, I admit I did. I didn’t want to move. But I’ve discovered there are definite charms to the Northwest.” He put the key in the ignition. “Is it okay that the top’s down? I don’t want you to be too chilly.”

  “Not a problem. It’s such a beautiful evening. And I have your jacket to keep me warm.”

  “You’re right. It is a beautiful evening,” he said. “Let’s take the long way around to coffee and find a place to look at what first convinced me I could like the Northwest.”

  When they arrived at Discovery Park, he offered his arm to her so she could navigate the uneven ground in her sandals. They walked out to a good vantage point for watching the water. They stopped and she immediately unhooked her arm, uneasy at the feel of him against the side of her breast, at her hand holding so tightly to him. She thought she saw him smile slightly, as if he knew exactly what she was doing. But he only said, “Here. This is what I fell in love with.”

  They watched the water for a moment or two in surprisingly comfortable silence. Finally, he said, “The water everywhere was the first thing I came to appreciate about Seattle. I sail and this is a great place for it.”

  “I used to sail when I was growing up and I loved it, too. But it’s been a long time.” Glancing over at him to see his face when he answered the question she was about to ask, she said, “What else do you like about us?”

  He paused for a moment, as if he was going to answer the real question, the one that asked what he liked about her, but he answered the surface question. “Mostly the attitude people have. Everybody seems to enjoy life, to take the time to appreciate what’s here. And the setting — not only the water but the mountains all around, like no place in the U.S. I’ve ever been.”

  “I can’t imagine living far away from the water or the mountains. My favorite place is the perfect combination of those two things.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “The San Juan Islands. I always think of them as a chain of drowned mountains. I could live there, I think.”

  “I sail there as often as I can. It’s some of the best scenery around.”

  They walked back to the car and h
e headed to the Queen Anne neighborhood. He pulled into a small garage under a very modern looking house built over the side of a hill.

  “This is a good place for coffee?” she asked even though she was sure she knew the answer to her question. She also knew she’d probably have said “no” if he’d immediately asked her to come home with him. But sliding into it this way made it feel all right. Somehow in only a short couple of conversations he’d made her feel at ease. When she wasn’t feeling so terribly attracted to him she couldn’t think straight.

  “It’s the best place in town. It’s my home. Are you uncomfortable about being here? We could go someplace else, someplace more public, if you’d like.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s a beautiful house. And I’m sure the coffee will match.”

  He opened the car door for her and preceded her up a circular staircase that went from the garage to the kitchen. After he took the jacket from her shoulders and hung it on the back of a chair, he took off his tie and unbuttoned his collar button. Saying, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the coffee going and join you in a few minutes,” he busied himself with a canister of beans and a large machine she assumed made coffee.

  She wandered out of the kitchen to look around. The house was as stunning inside as it was out. The open-plan kitchen had granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances. The living room had two glass walls; in the center of the third wall there was a floor to ceiling bookcase on which glass and pottery pieces were displayed as well as books. Interesting paintings — abstract, landscape, and portraiture — flanked the shelves.

  A cozy group of chairs and love seat sat around a freestanding gas fireplace set out from the glass wall opposite the kitchen area. Hardwood floors were covered in the right places with carpets in classic designs. It was very modern yet somehow still warm, inviting, and comfortable. She was just about to sit in one of the overstuffed chairs when the view from the deck outside caught her attention.

  From every angle of the deck that seemed to wrap around much of the house, there was a view of the downtown city skyline. All the iconic Seattle symbols were there — the Space Needle, Elliott Bay, a couple of ferries, Mt. Rainier. It was the most stunning view of the city she’d ever seen from a private home.

  “Oh. My. God.” She apparently said it loud enough for him to hear. He came out and stood beside her, his hand over hers on the railing. She stepped away from him, trying to be casual about it.

  “I had the same reaction the first time I saw the house,” he said. “As soon as I saw this view, I made an offer. Didn’t even ask for an inspection and never saw the bedrooms until I moved in.”

  “Marius, this is the most amazing … ”

  He traced her cheekbone with his index finger. “Say that again.” His voice was warm and husky.

  She moved back a step and gave him a puzzled look. “This is the most amazing … ?”

  “No, the first part. Say my name again.”

  “Why?”

  “I like hearing you say it.” He lifted her hand from the railing and, overcoming her initial resistance, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “I’ll like it even better when you’re in my arms and say it. When you’re in my bed.”

  She pulled her hand free of his. “What makes you think that’s going to happen?” She knew her voice sounded shaky and it annoyed her.

  “It won’t happen tonight but eventually it will, querida. We both know it will. There’s been something between us since the day I walked into the gallery. Something very good and very powerful.”

  As if to prove what he was saying, he gathered her into his arms. She knew she should probably put up at least a token resistance, but she couldn’t find the will to, because he was right. There was a strong pull, a potent chemistry between them.

  For weeks, she’d been thinking about what it would feel like to have his arms around her, to rest her head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat, to feel the heat of his body against hers. She’d thought about the exotic smell of his aftershave, the warmth of his brown eyes looking into hers; she’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

  And now he was doing what she’d fantasized, tipping her chin up, looking deep into her eyes before holding her face with one hand and kissing her.

  It was so much better than anything she’d imagined. His mouth was soft and tasted vaguely of champagne. When he pressed his lips against hers, she sighed, her lips parted and she felt him pull her closer. Swallowing her sigh, he urged her lips further apart with his tongue, then set about slowly exploring one corner of her lips, then the other, then her mouth. As he skimmed his hands down her back and snugged her hips close to his, she melted into him, her arms around his neck, her fingers in his hair.

  Returning the kiss, she tasted and sipped at his mouth. Her arousal was evident in the hard tips of her breasts, the growing wetness between her legs, his in the erection pressing against her. He slanted his mouth, keeping control of her lips and her body with the pressure of his mouth and hands. It was a kiss she’d only ever dreamed about.

  But as she began to come up through the fog, wondering if he expected her to change her mind about whispering his name in his bed sometime in the next few hours, he broke away. He continued to hold her, kissing her hair lightly, while his breathing — and hers — returned to normal. It wasn’t until she trembled that he released her.

  “You’re shivering again. Let’s go inside.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “That coffee I promised should be ready by now.”

  She was about to say the chilly night air had made her cold. But it was a lie. She knew it and so would he.

  For the rest of her visit, she managed to keep out of the range of his sensual mouth and his electrifying touch. The coffee was, of course, delicious; the conversation surprisingly normal, considering what had preceded it. She found out he was thirty-four years old, one of six children and, when he had time to train, competed in triathlons, which helped explain the fit body. He loved Latin music, spy novels, soccer, and sailing.

  In return, she told him she had one sister, had lived in Washington State all her life, exercised about once every five years and only if forced to, and would turn thirty in the fall. She followed local musicians Death Cab For Cutie and still loved the now-defunct band Sleater-Kinney, read literary fiction and didn’t own a TV. It seemed the only thing they had in common was their love of sailing and good coffee.

  He took her home when they’d finished the coffee and conversation, but it was more the latter than the former that kept her awake that night as she added additional footage to the Marius Hernandez tribute tape she’d been playing in her head since the first time she’d met him.

  Chapter 4

  Marius called the next evening, and the one after. No reason. Just to talk. Cynthia had almost gotten up the nerve to invite him for dinner at her apartment when, on the third evening, he asked her to meet him on Friday at a well-known downtown restaurant, which he said was close to his office. They agreed to meet in the bar.

  She left her studio earlier than usual, too antsy to focus on her work. Showered and dressed before five, she sat around her apartment for half an hour — a half-hour that dragged on for two days, in her view — until she decided traffic might be so bad that she’d better leave early for the restaurant.

  Right. Why couldn’t she just admit she was arriving at the restaurant early because she was too nervous to stay at home? She couldn’t remember feeling like this about a dinner date before. But then, he was clearly the most attractive man who’d ever asked her out. Attractive and unsuitable. Maybe not unsuitable, unattainable. Or just plain unwise.

  Like Josh.

  No, not like Josh. But different from the artists she’d been with since Josh had broken up with her. Different? More like completely opposite. Actually, when she thought about it, he did have a lot in common with her ex-boyfriend. Both were high-powered businessmen, both had more money than she did, and both moved in social ci
rcles far different from hers.

  That was the reason Josh had left. He said he didn’t want to be tied down. But he meant tied down to her. Only a few months after he walked out of her life, he married a woman whose politically prominent family could help him with his ambitions. It was a wedding that made the news because it took place on a private island and had Bill and Melinda Gates at the top of a guest list that included most of the state’s political and business elite.

  Surely Marius wasn’t as calculating about his life as Josh was. Not that she was going to get involved enough to find out. She’d vowed never to let her emotions get tied up with someone like Josh again. All she was doing was having dinner with Marius. Flirting a little. Enjoying his charming company.

  She wasn’t delusional enough to deny his attraction. That would be impossible to do, even if she wanted to. Every time she saw him — every time she thought about him — her rapid heartbeat and various tingling body parts were a reminder of how attracted she was. When she was with him, she was a moth flying near a flame — a propane torch flame. All she had to do was remember not to circle close enough to get her wings — or any other part of her — singed.

  Because she knew she’d not be turning down any request to spend time with him, she also knew it would take all her concentration to keep to her plan. It wouldn’t be easy. Not when a surge of desire went through her just from the smell of his amazing cologne or from the intensity of those bottomless brown eyes looking at her. Not when her insides turned to liquid from his smile or when she experienced any of the dozen other reactions she had to him. But she had to keep him from taking up residence in her heart the way he’d gotten into her head, her hormones, and her dreams. That would be a disaster.

  The only saving grace was that, in the struggle to keep him from getting beyond the wall she had resolutely built around her emotions, she thought she’d get help from an unexpected source — Marius himself. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she wasn’t his type any more than he was hers. It was just hormones for him, too, and he wouldn’t be around long enough for her to worry about, would he? But it would be fun while it lasted. Wouldn’t it?