Beginning Again: Book 1 in the Second Chances series (Crimson Romance) (9 page)

He was, in short, so damned perfect she was afraid if she wasn’t careful she could fall for him. She didn’t know which was worse, the idea that she might begin to love him or that she could lose him.

The morning after their beach adventure they slept in. Then they grabbed coffee and scones at a nearby bakery before taking the long way home, back up the coast to Astoria before heading east to Portland.

Jamie was still at the gallery when they arrived. After Liz inspected the new inventory and billing systems he’d finished, as well as the updated Facebook page and their new Twitter account, Jamie showed Collins his proposed template for the sculptor’s website. They got into such a detailed discussion that Liz left them to it and went upstairs. A half-hour later she heard the gallery door close and Collins’s footsteps on her stairs.

• • •

Before he left the next morning, Collins promised to send images of the work he’d be bringing her and to call her as soon as he got home. Although she held him for a long moment before he got in his car, she wasn’t devastated by his leaving. She knew he’d be back for the opening. And having him three hundred miles away gave her a chance to take a deep breath and figure out exactly what the hell had just happened to her.

He called when he got home and told her he missed her. In spite of her suggestion they text instead of phone, he called every night during the weeks they were apart. He needed to hear her voice, he said, needed to tell her how much he missed her, person to person.

He also told her he was pushing up his return date — he’d be there the weekend before the gallery opening. And he asked her not to make any plans for the Monday after he arrived because he’d made some plans of his own for them. She thought he came close to saying a lot more at several points in their conversations. But, unable to deal with both complications in her personal life and the mountain of last-minute details for opening her business, she pretended she didn’t understand what he was talking about. He let the subject drop.

The Sunday before her gallery opening, Liz was inspecting the wall on which she’d just finished hanging a series of photographs of Portland when she got a weird feeling on the back of her neck, as if someone were outside, watching her. People walking past had been glancing in as she hung the work of her artists, but this didn’t feel like a random curious onlooker.

It wasn’t.

Collins was outside talking on his cell. He had an expression on his face she’d never seen — tense, focused, almost grim. Pacing up and down the sidewalk, he gestured wildly with his free hand, sometimes with his free middle finger. As she watched, he looked in, noticed she’d seen him, turned his back to her, and walked out of sight without any greeting.

Five minutes later he was standing outside the gallery window again, his arms crossed over his chest. On his face he wore his best cocky, arrogant Collins grin. Wearing jeans and the black T-shirt she loved — okay, honestly? she lusted after what was under the shirt — he was apparently sure she’d eventually realize he was there so he hadn’t bothered to knock.

“What was all that pacing about?” she asked as she opened the door.

He didn’t answer but drew her hard against him, kissing her. No sweet and tender kiss, it was hungry, fierce, and demanding. It said how much he’d missed her. How much he wanted her. Releasing her, he said, “God, I’m glad to see you.”

“How long were you outside and who were you talking to on the phone? You looked almost mean.”

“It’s just business. Nothing you have to worry about.”

“If you tell me not to worry my pretty little head about business, I’ll deck you.”

He looked as if he might be about to say something serious to her, but he backed off. Or, more accurately, moved in closer to drown her curiosity in another kiss. She tried to keep her question in mind but, once again, she found it impossible to think while he was kissing her. She got lost in his arousal, and her own, heat and warmth pooling in her belly as her body melted and molded to him. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, the questions were lost.

When he released her mouth, she held onto him, clutching his arms. “Dear God, you do things to me I don’t understand,” she said, close to gasping for breath.

He continued to hold her close. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, sweetheart. If we weren’t standing in front of two walls of windows, I’d already have you stripped and flat on the floor.”

“But we checked off ‘public place with an audience’ the last time you were here, so we don’t need to do that again.” She could feel him smile against her temple.

“Right. No need to check off anything more than once, is there?”

“No, like Stephen Sondheim says, ‘I Never Do Anything Twice.’ ”

“Oh, yes, you do.”

“All right. Apparently for you, I’m willing to make exceptions.” She disentangled herself from his arms. “But I want my gallery to be known for the work my artists show, not what I and one of my artists show of themselves. Let me get closed up here and we can … “ She paused as she locked the front door. “Oh, wait. What about your work? Where is it? Let’s get it into the gallery before we go upstairs.”

“It’s all in the back of my pickup.”

“A Porsche and a pickup? Interesting transportation options.”

“Ever try lugging metal sculptures around in a Porsche?” He followed her out the door. “When we’re finished unloading, how about the café down the street for dinner? I’m starved.”

“We can eat in. I was very domestic this past week. Made it to the grocery store, put clean sheets on the bed.” She cocked her head and frowned. “I guess I should ask before I assume — are you staying with me?”

“Where the hell else would I stay, babe?”

By the time they’d unloaded Collins’s truck, Liz had proof that in addition to whatever else she knew him to be, he was truly a talented artist. He’d brought eight pieces. Two were small cast bronzes of fishing boats on stormy seas. Two, the larger pieces for the window displays he and Jamie had designed, were abstract renderings of grasses with wildlife and insects hidden in them. The other four were representations of old Frank Sinatra songs. They were part of the series, he explained, that “World on a String,” the piece Jamie had admired, belonged to.

Liz saw how Collins viewed the world and she loved it. All of it.

• • •

Later that night he started to get out of bed.

“Want some ice water? I’ll get it for you,” she said.

He looked chagrined for a moment. “No, that’s not it. I brought something for you. I was going to give it to you Thursday but I can’t wait that long. It’s in my duffle bag.” When he came back to the bed he had his hands behind his back.

“I kept obsessively thinking about you and thought maybe if I worked it out in sculpture, I could move on to other work. Didn’t make any difference. I still obsessed about you. But I did end up with this.” He brought from behind him a grapefruit-sized, ball-shaped object. At his urging she sat up and took it from him.

It had three parts. The outer part was a hollow ball, created of metal wire that had no apparent pattern to it and no indication of how to get into an inner hollow ball that was a swirl of metal ribbons enclosing the final bit, a thin, metal piece shaped like part of a jigsaw puzzle.

She laughed with joy at the toy-like nature of the work, rattled it so it made a noise, inspected it from all angles. “This is amazing. How did you do it? Why did you do it? What’s it called?”

“I told you why. So I could stop obsessing about you. And how I did it is my secret. It’s called ‘Liz’ because it’s you. A puzzle wrapped in mystery inside an enigma.”

“Isn’t that how Winston Churchill described Russia?”

“Close.”

“Why do I remind you of Russia?”

“You don’t. But that does represent how I think of you. You present yourself as someone who’s upfront when in fact, very little of the real you is obvious — and there’s hardly any way to figure out who you are from what is obvious. That’s the outside enigma. The mystery is why this woman ignored — or denied — how passionate she was for so long. And the puzzle at the center of it all is where she wants to go from here.”

She could feel tears well up in her eyes as she turned the object in her hand and listened to his explanation. “I don’t understand how … you barely know … no one has ever … ” She swallowed the lump in her throat before looking at him.

“Liz, I love you. I’ve been trying to tell you over the past weeks, but you kept changing the subject. That’s how I know you. I love you.”

• • •

After a couple hours of moving and rearranging pedestals, sculptures, and window displays, the perfect presentation of Collins’s work still eluded them. Well, eluded Jamie and Liz. Collins had been happy with the display for some time. Finally he said he was leaving, once again, to attend to some business.

“Wait, before you go, we need to talk,” Liz said as he headed for the door. She saw the uncomfortable, stunned-bunny look on Jamie’s face when he heard the dreaded “we have to talk” and suggested he take an early lunch.

She didn’t have to make the suggestion twice.

As soon as Jamie was gone, she took a deep breath and jumped in. “Collins, what the hell’s going on? You keep making these mysterious phone calls and disappearing for hours at a time and coming back in a shitty mood. I deserve to know what it’s about.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Liz, I can’t … ”

“Are you thinking about leaving my gallery and going with someone else, someone more established?”

“Why would I go with someone else when I’m perfectly happy here?” Now he was looking straight at her.

“You could have your pick of any gallery in town. Why did you come here?”

He dropped his eyes before he answered. “I liked what I saw when I came in. A new gallery suited me.”

Something didn’t track with that answer, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Well, are you seeing another woman? I mean, we never talked about that. If you want to see other people, I certainly can’t object but I should know, particularly if you’re sleeping with her … ”

He wrapped her in his arms. “Sweetheart, I’m not sleeping with, eating with, talking with, or hanging out with any other woman. You’re all the woman I want.” He pulled back and gave her that stormy look that melted her insides. “The business I’m dealing with isn’t about where my work is or another woman. I promise. I’m sorry it’s been distracting. But I think it’ll be taken care of in a few days and we’ll never have to worry about it again.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, I have to get out of here. But I’ll be back about 4:30. Be ready to leave for dinner at five and wear a dress.”

He’d brushed it all off again even though he had technically answered her questions. There was nothing more she could think of to do. She sighed. “Okay. Five. Five? Isn’t that early for dinner?”

“It’s a bit of a drive to the restaurant.” Another kiss. “See you then.”

After he left she tried to make sense of their conversation. He was telling the truth. She was sure of that. But she was equally sure there was more to it than he’d said. She just didn’t know what to do about it.

So, to put it out of her mind, when Jamie got back, she threw herself into the final round of musical pedestals, hung the last paintings, and organized the display of jewelry. On Tuesday, she’d get the wine and snacks for the opening reception and pick up the brochures for her design business from the printer. Then everything would be set for the “soft” opening on Wednesday, when Liz hoped to have enough visitors come through the gallery to see how the flow of people worked and whether she had to make any changes before the official opening on First Thursday.

The details of getting her business off the ground had driven her — and been driving her — crazy for months. Tonight, assuming Collins came back in a good frame of mind, she hoped to focus on something more enjoyable.

A quick shower, some time in her bathroom with a hairdryer and her makeup, and she was ready to slide into one of her LBDs. She had three little black dresses. One, flattering but conventional, was what she used to wear to Mason’s business dinners. One was suitable for funerals. The third was flat out sexy. She picked the third. Maybe it would guarantee Collins would be in a good mood when he saw her in it.

The A-line skirt stopped just above her knees. The form-fitting front was cut up to her neck, the back plunged almost down to her waist. The sleeves were long and tight. She never wore much jewelry with it, just gold stud earrings and a couple slender bangle bracelets. She planned to wear her favorite black ballet flats, but hadn’t put them on when Collins arrived back in the apartment.

“If I ask you nicely, will you wear that dress every time we go out?” he asked as he came into the bedroom.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s my favorite.” She turned to the mirror to put in her earrings and heard his quick intake of breath when he saw her bare back.

“Wow. I was wrong. Not every time we go out. Every day of your life.” He kissed her between her shoulder blades and ran his hands around her waist, holding her close to him so he could nuzzle her neck. He let her go with another kiss on her back and she grabbed her shoes. But he shook his head as she slipped on her ballet flats. “No, you should wear heels with that.”

“I hardly ever wear heels unless I want to tower over everyone and dominate the room.”

“Wear them tonight. You can’t possibly own heels that will make you taller than I am, if that’s what’s worrying you. And you should have figured out by now that I’m not easily dominated.”

She dug into her stack of shoeboxes and brought out a pair of black sandals with two-inch heels. When she put them on, he nodded in approval.

“Now all I have to worry about is finding something to wear that measures up to my date’s outfit.” He was changing into the gray trousers, black T-shirt, and jacket he’d worn to the dedication.

“You managed to pick up a few groupies wearing that the last time you were in town. It should work for a quiet dinner, don’t you think?”