Read Online Every Time I Love You by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heather Graham
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tomorrow would be better—”
“Tomorrow is a Saturday. Geoff won't be opening the gallery. We should start tonight. It's only about eight fifteen, and the reception seems to be winding down.”
“But—”
“Are you trying to back out on me? My house isn't even an hour's drive from the city. We'll leave soon.”
He picked up one of the fine crystal champagne glasses and pulled a bottle of the Dom Perignon from the ice. He poured, then thrust the glass into her hand. He picked up his own glass and touched it to hers with a little clink.
“The deal is made, Ms. Norman.”
* * *
A half hour later, she was in his old Mach I, watching as the city flew by her, silently promising herself that she would never drink champagne again. It was a very dark night on the highway, and very cold. She wasn't even able to talk to him; she sat huddled in the bucket seat, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. He didn't seem to notice. He was carrying on a conversation by himself, explaining that he wanted to start with a preliminary sketch and, once he did, she would understand what he had in mind, and be pleased.
“I'm...sure,” Gayle murmured uneasily. She glanced his way, watching the night lights play over the contours of his face.
“Riva probably would have gone just to be with you, you know,” she heard herself tell him.
“What?” Amused, he glanced her way quickly. He was still smiling as he looked ahead at the road again. “Yeah, I think that you're right. I think that she and I might have had the same finale in mind.”
“I—I've warned you. I don't. Maybe I didn't play fair. We could turn around. Maybe you could still catch Riva.”
He shook his head in the darkness. His smile remained in place. “A smile from you,” he teased, “is worth total ecstasy from another woman.”
“Oh, please, don't laugh at me. I have a god-awful headache.”
“Do you? Poor baby. You can't just guzzle down champagne that way.”
Eventually they left the highway and started down a rural route that was even darker. It seemed to Gayle that they twisted and turned endlessly before they came to a walled estate, the brick of the wall nearly hidden by a profusion of skeletal trees. Brent used a little plastic card to cause the wrought-iron gate to open, and they started along a curving, ebony ribbon of driveway. When they came to the entrance of the house and parked beneath the massive portico, Gayle realized that the house wasn't old at all, as the brick wall had seemed to imply. It was a contemporary dwelling. From the portico she could see the living room through massive plate-glass windows. There was an immense granite mantle at the far wall before which were leather sofas and chairs in soft grayish-beige to complement the stone.
“You like it?”
He hadn't stepped out of the car. He was surveying her in the dim light beneath the portico.
“Yes.”
“No, you don't.”
“I'd imagined you in something different. A real Colonial, something with more...character, I suppose.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I do like old places. We've one in the family, though, already. I like this house because it gives me the privacy I need; I loved the woods here.” He opened the door and stepped out of the car at last, walking around to open her door. Her knees were a little shaky. He kept a hand on her elbow and led her to the front door. He rang the bell and she frowned at him curiously. He grinned.
“My housekeeper should be here. She and her husband live on the grounds.”
“Oh.” Gayle was certain that she blushed again. She'd been so convinced he wanted to seduce her.
“You thought I meant to steal you away and ravish you.”
“No. Of course not.”
“Oh.” She felt his eyes on her and pretended to study the house through the windows.
No one came to the door. Brent swore slightly and searched through various pockets in his trousers and coat until he found his keys. He opened the door, and ushered her in.
It was really
“Tomorrow is a Saturday. Geoff won't be opening the gallery. We should start tonight. It's only about eight fifteen, and the reception seems to be winding down.”
“But—”
“Are you trying to back out on me? My house isn't even an hour's drive from the city. We'll leave soon.”
He picked up one of the fine crystal champagne glasses and pulled a bottle of the Dom Perignon from the ice. He poured, then thrust the glass into her hand. He picked up his own glass and touched it to hers with a little clink.
“The deal is made, Ms. Norman.”
* * *
A half hour later, she was in his old Mach I, watching as the city flew by her, silently promising herself that she would never drink champagne again. It was a very dark night on the highway, and very cold. She wasn't even able to talk to him; she sat huddled in the bucket seat, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. He didn't seem to notice. He was carrying on a conversation by himself, explaining that he wanted to start with a preliminary sketch and, once he did, she would understand what he had in mind, and be pleased.
“I'm...sure,” Gayle murmured uneasily. She glanced his way, watching the night lights play over the contours of his face.
“Riva probably would have gone just to be with you, you know,” she heard herself tell him.
“What?” Amused, he glanced her way quickly. He was still smiling as he looked ahead at the road again. “Yeah, I think that you're right. I think that she and I might have had the same finale in mind.”
“I—I've warned you. I don't. Maybe I didn't play fair. We could turn around. Maybe you could still catch Riva.”
He shook his head in the darkness. His smile remained in place. “A smile from you,” he teased, “is worth total ecstasy from another woman.”
“Oh, please, don't laugh at me. I have a god-awful headache.”
“Do you? Poor baby. You can't just guzzle down champagne that way.”
Eventually they left the highway and started down a rural route that was even darker. It seemed to Gayle that they twisted and turned endlessly before they came to a walled estate, the brick of the wall nearly hidden by a profusion of skeletal trees. Brent used a little plastic card to cause the wrought-iron gate to open, and they started along a curving, ebony ribbon of driveway. When they came to the entrance of the house and parked beneath the massive portico, Gayle realized that the house wasn't old at all, as the brick wall had seemed to imply. It was a contemporary dwelling. From the portico she could see the living room through massive plate-glass windows. There was an immense granite mantle at the far wall before which were leather sofas and chairs in soft grayish-beige to complement the stone.
“You like it?”
He hadn't stepped out of the car. He was surveying her in the dim light beneath the portico.
“Yes.”
“No, you don't.”
“I'd imagined you in something different. A real Colonial, something with more...character, I suppose.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I do like old places. We've one in the family, though, already. I like this house because it gives me the privacy I need; I loved the woods here.” He opened the door and stepped out of the car at last, walking around to open her door. Her knees were a little shaky. He kept a hand on her elbow and led her to the front door. He rang the bell and she frowned at him curiously. He grinned.
“My housekeeper should be here. She and her husband live on the grounds.”
“Oh.” Gayle was certain that she blushed again. She'd been so convinced he wanted to seduce her.
“You thought I meant to steal you away and ravish you.”
“No. Of course not.”
“Oh.” She felt his eyes on her and pretended to study the house through the windows.
No one came to the door. Brent swore slightly and searched through various pockets in his trousers and coat until he found his keys. He opened the door, and ushered her in.
It was really
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