If he only knew how little thought she’d given the whole mess. She’d been too wrapped up with planning her move to her own apartment to think about anyone else. Maybe she did owe him something. He’d always been nice to her, even when their parents weren’t around. His family had bought a house near hers when she was five, but Richard Grimes’s wealth was too new, and it had taken years for him to earn minimal acceptance in local society. The scandal had become a convenient excuse to ignore him.
Cristina swallowed a sigh, remembering how Jason had volunteered to escort her to her senior prom—her only invitation for the event. She’d been painfully shy then. Even now, she had to force herself to be more outgoing when she’d rather stand back and observe.
She looked at him. They were both going through changes that had taken them out of the social hub they’d always known—although hers was by choice. She didn’t want to encourage him, not when something new and exciting awaited her, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to turn away from him, either.
She touched the back of his hand. “Of course I’ll go with you. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“Really? I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty. We’ll have a late supper after.”
“Fine.” She followed him to the front door, startled by how fast he was leaving. Apparently he’d gotten what he came for, and that was that. No idle chitchat for this man. If he really thought that just being seen with her would help, well, she could make that sacrifice.
He clasped her hand and shook it, then he leaned back through the doorway and kissed her, right on the lips. On a scale from one to ten, she gave him a one in both technique and excitement level. She resisted wiping the back of her hand across her mouth when he pulled away.
“Bye,” he called as he hurried out to the street.
Cristina shut the door, then went into the kitchen to get something to wash away the experience. She drank half a glass of iced tea before she came up for air.
The planets must be out of alignment or something, she decided. All of a sudden she’d become some sort of femme fatale, a whole new role for her. Two men had taken a more-than-average interest in her. One might as well be her brother—she’d certainly never looked at him as anything other than a platonic friend. The second man she couldn’t even begin to define. But she had a hard time believing that she was the kind of woman who normally drew Gabriel Marquez’s attention.
So, it appeared that both men had agendas and neither of them were sharing the itemized list with her, leaving her in a quandary. The biggest adventure of her life was about to begin, and she wasn’t sure what to pack for the journey.
Three
Right on time. From his office window, Gabe watched Cristina exit the taxicab. Not surprised at her punctuality, he left the room, then waited on the landing as his part-time housekeeper directed her up the stairs.
He watched her trail her hand along the mahogany banister, her fingertips caressing the polished wood. He saw her focus on the individual paintings hung at precise intervals on the wall along the staircase, the same scene but depicted at different times of year and in different weather. Light and shadows changed with the seasons, creating individual moods.
“Good morning,” she said as she reached the landing and accepted his outstretched hand. “What a beautiful home, and what incredible work you do.”
“We have to go up one more flight to the studio.” He curved his fingers around hers. “And you don’t have to flatter me, but I thank you.”
“Now, you strike me as a man with a firm grip on his ego.” She smiled, casting him a sideways glance as they climbed the next staircase. “My opinion of your work probably doesn’t even matter to you.”
He noted the teasing light in her eyes. “Even a secure ego needs feeding.”
She made a sound of agreement. “Have you lived here long?”
“A few years.”
“So your risks pay off more often than not.”
He released her hand as they stepped into the garret room he’d turned into a studio. “I don’t seem to run out of beer and pretzels.”
“I’ll bet. Oh! Oh, Gabe, this is wonderful!”
His time in the studio was limited, but he enjoyed every second. Skylights allowed the sun to flood the space. Windows replaced the front and back walls. Although called a garret, it was really too large and airy for the title, thanks to the changes he’d made. He’d spent the morning straightening up the room. Usually he didn’t bother. It was the only area of his life he didn’t keep filed, sorted, computerized or pigeonholed.
He watched her move to the back window, which overlooked his garden, her teal-colored skirt undulating around her calves as she walked, a contrast to her demure sleeveless blouse printed with tiny flowers and buttoned to her throat. On her feet lilac-painted toenails drew attention to her strappy sandals. Gold bracelets danced along her left wrist, tinkling sweetly. She didn’t wear a watch, which pleased him. She wasn’t in a hurry.
“Beautiful,” she said, turning to him.
“I can’t take credit for it. I only enjoy someone else’s hard work.”
“But beauty and color are important to you. You surround yourself with it. That’s obvious in your work.”
“And my subject.” He waited to see if she blushed. She didn’t, but her posture changed, as if she didn’t believe him. “I’ll just be sketching you today, Cristina, and conversing. I need to know more about you before we talk about clothing and tone.”
“My father will want something appropriate to hang with the other generations in the family gallery.” She paused. “That sounds really pretentious, doesn’t it? Again.”
“Traditions die hard. Please, come sit here and let me study you.”
Cristina moved to the appointed chair he’d placed directly under a skylight. Her heart hadn’t stopped thumping since she’d stepped into his house. Her body was warm and her temperature still climbing. She’d intentionally worn something nondescript because...because—She didn’t know why, for sure. Only that she needed some kind of armor for now.
If De La Hoya had actually taken the commission, she would have allowed him—because he undoubtedly would have demanded—artistic control. Except that she certainly wouldn’t have posed nude.
Maybe he’d turned down the commission because he’d deduced that what her father wanted would be too traditional for his interest She’d never know, of course, since his reclusive life meant that they would never cross paths.
“What are you thinking about?” Gabe asked.
Startled out of her thoughts, she fidgeted. “Alejandro De La Hoya.”
“Well. I’m flattered.”
She smiled. “I was uncomfortable having you study me. I had to think about something else. Have you ever met him?”
He made a noncommittal sound as be pulled up a rolling stool beside her and hefted a sketch pad into his lap. “What kind of music do you like?”
“Classical. Opera, in particular. Most especially Verdi. I’m going to see Rigoletto tomorrow night with Jason Grimes. He’s the man you met the other night.”
“Yes, I remember him.”
She listened to the sound of his pencil as he sketched—short, quick strokes detailing her face in profile. She was glad she didn’t have to see him eye her inch by inch. “How about