Trusting Again (3 page)

Under most circumstances, she wouldn’t have gone. She hardly had the kind of money it took to bid on any of the items in the auction even if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t exactly run in the social circles of the people likely to be there. But three things made this event tempting. First, it was taking place at the Olympic Sculpture Park, one of her favorite places in the city, where huge pieces of work by famous sculptors sat outdoors with Elliott Bay in the background.

Second, Liz had hinted in a recent phone conversation that she and Collins might be in Seattle for the auction. Liz loved events like that and Collins needed to be in the city to check on the progress of a piece of his work that was being installed in the park. So Cynthia RSVP’d “yes.” Even after Liz emailed that their schedule was getting crazy and they might not make it, she didn’t change her mind. By then, the auction catalog had arrived and the third reason kicked in: Marius’s company was listed as a sponsor of the fundraiser.

In her fantasies of what his life was like, she saw him attending events like this one, wearing an Armani tux, handing a crystal flute of champagne to a stunning-looking woman who was wearing a beautiful ball gown and an only-too-familiar Cleopatra collar. Why she wanted to torture herself by seeing him like that, she couldn’t explain. But she wanted to see him again, even if he was with someone else.

This time, on the off chance she’d run into him, she was more careful about what she chose to wear. Not that there was a huge inventory from which to select. She’d never been much of a clotheshorse and, given her limited budget, that was a good thing. There was only one thing in her closet she thought would work — her summer gallery-opening dress. It was pale green pseudo-silk and had spaghetti straps that did little more than fall off her shoulders at inopportune moments. But the dress was form-fitting and did just fine with non-functional straps. With it she always wore her favorite knock-off designer sandals with four-inch heels and only enough gold leather to keep them on her feet and anchored to her legs.

Because she liked the way it made her neck look long and graceful, she took the time to get her hair twisted into a semi-braided up-do. To wear with her favorite gold earrings, she’d brought home from her studio a recently finished neckpiece with handmade beads in aventurine green glass decorated with gold leaf. She knew she would eventually sell it, but she loved it so much she wanted to wear it once before putting it in a gallery. Marketing, she called it.

When she was ready, she treated herself to a cab so she wouldn’t have to hassle with parking, and she was off to the sculpture park.

The indoor area where the auction and cocktail party were being held was jammed with people. While waiting for her nametag at the registration table, she looked around at the crowd. Other than the president of the ballet and her friend Jasmine, who was frantically dealing with both registration and the last minute details of the auction, she didn’t recognize anyone. No Liz. No Collins. No … no anyone.

Jasmine hugged her when she got to the head of the registration line. “I’m so glad you’re here. I know you’ll have a great time. I’ve seated you over on the other side of the room with the other artists.”

“Is there anyone here, other than you, I’ll know?”

“You know Spence and Doug, don’t you? They’re over there. Spence donated one of his paintings. And Janet Bracken’s there, too. She has a lovely piece of pottery in the auction.”

Jasmine handed Cynthia her nametag and directed her to the wine and her table.
Jas was right,
Cynthia thought, when Spence gave her a huge kiss and hug as soon as he saw her.
Knowing Spence, he’ll flirt with me all evening even with his husband Doug sitting beside him. This could be fun. Even if I don’t see … him … see Liz. I meant see Liz.

The wine was decent, the appetizers enough to count as a modest dinner. The conversation among the group of artists was fun. Eventually, the president of the ballet made a pitch for the upcoming season, introduced a brief performance by some of the company’s dancers and brought on the auctioneer for the main event of the evening.

The auction went very well. At least, it seemed to Cynthia it did. The bidding for every item was lively; for her piece, even heated. In the end, someone she couldn’t see in the crowd bought it for three times what it would have sold for in one of her galleries. She was happy for the ballet, but wondered if this meant she should raise her prices.

After several rounds of bidding interspersed with breaks for refills of wine and the occasional raffle, the event ended and the crowd began to thin out. She had no more reason to stay, but before she called a cab to take her home, she decided to have a quick wander around the grounds outside.

• • •

Marius had originally declined the invitation extended to him as a sponsor of the ballet’s fundraising event. After being out of town for weeks on business, the last thing he wanted to do was attend a charity auction. Then the auction catalog arrived. Cynthia’s name and a description of the Cleopatra collar she’d donated made him change his mind.

She’d ignored the note he’d left for her at the Heathman and he didn’t know why. He’d been sure the right signals had been there that day in Portland. She was as aware of the attraction between them as he was. He wanted to find out why the hell she hadn’t acted on it. It bothered him not to know. Although he hadn’t seen a ring of any kind on her left hand, he supposed it was possible she was married or engaged. Maybe had a boyfriend or was living with someone. Whatever the reason, he wanted to know. Since it was possible she’d be at the auction, he retracted his “no” and accepted the invitation.

But once he got to the event, he discovered he had a minder, a ballet board member whose job it was to make sure he had a pleasant evening at a table with the other sponsors and board members. There was no chance to wander around, to see if Cynthia was there. A few minutes before the auction began, he finally spied her across the room and was disappointed to see she seemed to be with a date. At least, the man sitting next to her acted like a date, his arm around the back of her chair, leaning in and whispering to her.

He sat through the auction trying to come up with a way to talk to her. She didn’t look in his direction, not even when he bid on her donation. Damn it to hell, nothing was working out. And now the event was over and he’d lost his chance.

Wait. She was leaving, going out to the sculpture garden, alone, leaving the man who looked like her date deep in conversation with another man. He made his excuses to the people at his table and headed across the room toward the same door, tracking her every step.

Mother of God, she was beautiful. Tonight, she was dressed in something pale green that hugged her body, exactly as he wanted to. Her tawny blonde hair was twisted up on her head in an intricate-looking set of braids and knots. His fingers itched to unpin it, slowly pull the braids apart, as he kissed her neck and shoulders. He was sure her hair felt like silk, sure her skin was soft and tasted sweet.

She was exquisite. Cool and reserved-looking at first glance, the intensity he’d seen in her sapphire blue eyes when he’d talked to her in the gallery made him sure she would be anything but reticent for the right man. A man like him. He planned to find out as soon as possible if he was right.

• • •

She was standing in front of her favorite piece, the huge Oldenburg typewriter eraser, when she heard, “How many years do you think it’ll it be before they’ll have to explain what a typewriter is, much less a typewriter eraser?”

Even if she hadn’t recognized the deep rumble of his voice, she would have known the exotic smell of his aftershave anyplace. Marius had been there after all.

She’d gotten what she’d hoped for, but her racing heartbeat reminded her what effect he had on her. Now that it was too late, she remembered how tongue-tied he made her. A deep breath was necessary before she faced him. A couple of deep breaths, actually. Then she turned to see that amazing face and those eyes, warm with … with what?

She stuttered out, “Oh, hello. Yeah … ah … I guess you’re right. It’ll be like … maybe like … Renaissance paintings … all the references to saints. Uneducated peasants knew the symbolism. We don’t … have to have … you know … a guidebook.”

He pointed at the sculpture as he walked closer. “You’re not comparing those of us who know what that is to peasants, are you?” he teased.

She could feel her face redden. “Of course not.” If she was reading him right, he was enjoying her discomfort.

“No, I guess you weren’t because that would include you, since you recognize it. I bet you could even write the guidebook entry about it.” He was standing so close she swore she could feel the heat from his body on her bare arm. “So how would you explain it, if you had to?”

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.”

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.