One Passionate Night. Jessica Gilmore

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СКАЧАТЬ rang and she quickly fastened his cuff link so he could grab it from the coffee table. “Olivia, what’s up?”

      She heard the sounds of her friend’s voice, though she couldn’t make out the words. But Antonio laughed.

      “That’s perfect. I love that restaurant.” He headed for the elevator. “I’ve got my dad’s limo. I can be at your hotel in twenty minutes.” He pressed the button and the door magically opened. Listening to Olivia, he turned and waved goodbye to Laura Beth as the door closed behind him.

      And she stood in the glamorous main room, alone, listening to the sounds of silence.

      Tears threatened but she stopped them. She wasn’t upset. She was angry. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have a dress to wear or shoes. Antonio hadn’t been glad to ditch her because she was penniless. He’d been glad to leave her behind because they’d connected that afternoon. They’d talked about Constanzo. He’d let her drive. He’d kissed her, for heaven’s sake. Then they came upstairs to the penthouse and he’d gotten—distant?

      She glanced around.

      Why would he suddenly become cold? The only thing that had happened was finding Constanzo’s note—

      No. He’d become cold when they’d discovered they were alone.

      And he didn’t want to be alone with her.

      Part of her understood. She was a pregnant woman. What rich, eligible bachelor would want to be alone with a pregnant woman?

      But he had no reason to fear her. She’d never made a pass at him. If anything, he’d made a pass at her. He’d kissed her—

      She tossed her hands in the air in frustration. Why was she thinking about this!

      To get her mind off it all, she took a shower and washed her hair. With nothing better to do, she heated the curling iron she found in a drawer and made huge, bouncy curls out of her long locks. Before she could comb them out and style her hair, her stomach growled.

      With fat, uncombed curls and dressed in pajama pants and a huge T-shirt, she walked to the kitchen. Just as she opened the refrigerator, the building doorman rang up. Though she answered the phone, she winced when a bounty of Spanish bombarded her. With a grimace, not even sure she’d be understood, she said, “I don’t speak Spanish.”

      He said something else, then disconnected the call.

      Shaking her head, she headed back to the refrigerator to find a snack, but she heard the elevator doors open, and she walked to the main room.

      There in the elevator was the doorman, package in hand, grinning at her.

      She walked over. “Oh, a package. That’s what you were saying. We had a package.”

      He nodded, handed it to her and left as quickly as he’d arrived, apparently deciding she was a poor candidate for a tip, and he was right, because she didn’t have any of the local currency.

      She started for the coffee table to leave the big box somewhere Antonio would see it, assuming it was something for him, only to see her name on the label.

      She frowned. Who would send her something here? Who even knew she was here?

      Slowly walking back to her room, she examined the label one more time to make sure it really was for her. She closed her bedroom door behind her and opened the box to find a simple black dress and black spike heels.

      Confused, she pulled the dress out of the box. The material was sinfully soft, rich in texture, like a chiffon or organza. A card sat in the crinkled tissue paper that had caressed the dress. She grabbed it, opened it and read, “Cara, go to the opening. Constanzo.”

      She stared at the card, then burst out laughing. This was just too weird. How did he know she wasn’t going to the opening? Unless he’d realized that she’d refused to go to the opening with Antonio because she had nothing to wear? She had mentioned that to him—

      What difference did it make? Antonio was gone. She didn’t have money for a taxi. Antonio had taken the limo. And she couldn’t get the doorman to bring the Jag around because she didn’t speak Spanish. Constanzo might want her to go, but the dress had arrived an hour too late. Which was too bad. She’d really like to go to that opening and show vain, conceited, jumping-to-conclusions Antonio he had nothing to worry about from her.

      She tapped the note against her palm, then glanced at it again and smiled. It was printed on Constanzo’s stationery and had his cell number on it.

      She glanced at the dress, glanced at the card, glanced at herself in the mirror with her hair curled but not combed. She might look like a street person right now, but Antonio had been the one to say he wanted to paint her. Considered her classically beautiful. Kissed her. She hadn’t been the one to make passes at him. So why was he acting as if she were someone to be afraid of?

      Anger bubbled in her stomach. How dare he behave as if she was the one with the crush on him and insultingly leave her behind when he was the one who’d kissed her?

      The shy Kentucky girl in her filled with fire. She raced to the kitchen and picked up the phone the staff probably used to order groceries.

      It took three rings before Constanzo answered. “Hello?”

      “I need a coach.”

      “Excuse me.”

      “You sent me a Cinderella dress but it came too late for me to go to the opening. Antonio’s long gone with the limo. I can’t go with him to the gallery.”

      “I will call the driver and have him come back for you.”

      “I want the Jag.”

      Constanzo laughed. “Excuse me.”

      “I want the Jag. If I’m going to go to the trouble of getting all dolled up...I’m making an entrance.”

      Constanzo laughed with glee. “That’s my girl. I’ll call the doorman and tell him to have the keys waiting for you when you get downstairs.”

      “You better also get my name on the guest list for the opening. I’m pretty sure a fancy gathering like this one is by invitation only.”

      “I’ll have Bernice call.”

      “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome. Go knock his socks off.”

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      STANDING IN THE main room of the gallery, pressed in by art aficionados, Antonio glanced at his watch. His return to the world of art had been a subtle, almost disappointing, one. Olivia had other clients—working clients—she was schmoozing right now. Tucker had found two business acquaintances he was talking up. And Antonio stood by a gallery owner from Madrid who desperately wanted him to do a showing.

      Half of him had gone breathless at the prospect. The other half wanted to run in terror.

      The screech СКАЧАТЬ