Page 27 of London
Using the chisel to carefully trace the lines and curves of his palms and fingers, her thoughts drifted back to last night. Every time she forced her mind back to work, something triggered a fresh memory, sending delightful shivers through her. Had she not just created the tangible proof of those hands, she would’ve thought everything had been a dream, a figment of her imagination. But it had been real. Each spectacular moment spent beside him had been real.
She stifled a grin, recalling how timid and reserved she’d been at first, not knowing what he expected of her. But that wariness had vanished under Gerard’s expert tutelage. With tenderness and sensuality, mind-blowing caresses, and kisses so hot she wondered how they hadn’t seared her skin, he’d brought out a side of herself she hadn’t known existed.
She’d never been that intimate with anyone. The few relationships she’d had were the clumsy, inexperienced explorations of youth. Even the sex life she’d had with Tony couldn’t compare with the sensational night she’d spent in Gerard’s arms. With Tony, the sex had been brief, over so quickly that she’d rarely enjoyed it before he rolled away from her and reached for his phone. There’d always been a business call to make, an email that needed his attention. She’d lost count of the nights she cried herself to sleep, alone in that cold monstrosity of a bed. How many nights had she tossed and turned, restless, her body hungry for a fulfillment she hadn’t known existed until last night?
Under Gerard’s ministrations, she’d believed them to be the only two people in a universe of his making. His focus had been giving her pleasure, worshipping her like a goddess. While he’d gotten just as much satisfaction from the encounter, his lovemaking had put her first. She didn’t know if it was his attentiveness that had made him such a fantastic lover, or if it was simply the powerful chemistry they shared. His kisses alone set her on fire. Whatever the reason, he was an expert in bed, a master at pleasuring a woman. He’d certainly lived up to his countrymen’s reputation.
Thinking of the other women he must have had dismayed her, creating a physical pain in her heart. How many times had he repeated the words he’d said to her to one of his lovers? Was she really special to him? Had he been honest with her?
While she believed him to be a man of integrity, an honest man, it was too soon to be certain of his sincerity. But one thing was crystal clear—Gerard was very special to her. If she had the courage to acknowledge it even to herself, she might admit she was falling in love with him. But that was impossible. They’d met only days ago. The thought was too outlandish to consider.
However, what she would consider was his suggestion that she join him on his trip to Romania. Whether accidentally or by design, his stories about Romanian myths, legends, and history intrigued her. Taking a vacation together would give them a chance to get better acquainted. She wanted that very much.
Sighing, she turned back to the hands.
The hours flew by as Linda worked away, losing track of time, immersed in the piece, something that usually happened when she was engrossed in creation. Only after dusk settled and she couldn’t see well enough to continue did she realize the sun had set. She arched her aching back, her muscles were in knots. What she wouldn’t give for a massage—and food.
Turning on her work lamp, she finished applying the final layer of varnish before stepping back to admire her creation. While it wasn’t as spectacular as some of her other sculptures, it was beautiful in its simplicity, and held a special significance.
She would take it to the gallery tomorrow and present it to Francesco. Grinning, she imagined him caught in the throes of agony and ecstasy, as he sought to find a spot for it in the eve of the exhibit’s opening. Irving Stone had certainly chosen the right title for Michelangelo Buonarroti’s biography. Whatever else they did, the lives of those consumed by art truly was agony and ecstasy.
Linda tidied her workspace and then went into the mudroom to shed her clothes covered in sawdust, varnish, sweat, and glue. Naked, she hurried upstairs into the luxury of a hot shower. Afterward, dressed in a summer robe, she padded downstairs to the kitchen. Once she fed a highly annoyed Pirata who’d been ignored at mealtime twice on the same day, she opened the fridge. Famished as she was, she pulled out the leftover Spaghetti Carbonara, heated it, and then ate it, remembering last night’s dinner.
Still hungry once she’d finished the small portion left, she poured herself a glass of milk, grabbed a box of cookies from the shelf, and cozied up on the living room couch with Pirata. The cat had deigned to forgive her and climbed into her lap.
She was reaching for the remote when her cellphone rang. Checking the display, she groaned. What the hell did he want?
“Hello, Tony,” she answered, the ice in her voice obvious enough for even her thick skulled ex-husband to recognize.
“Ciao,cara,” His aristocratic, conceited voice set her teeth on edge. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. What do you want?”
“I’m glad to hear that. I read about your upcoming art exhibit, and I wanted to congratulate you.”
“Really? Congratulate me on what you always referred to as my rich housewife’s hobby?” she sneered, remembering the dozens of events and dinner parties where his comments and condescension had humiliated her.
Tony laughed, not in the least abashed. “Darling, I was only teasing you. You were always so touchy. I’ve always taken an interest in your work, you know that. Didn’t I encourage you to get involved and give money to that little clinic… What was its name?”
Linda was livid. “I’m sorry, you what? As I vividly recall, you specifically told me not to get involved.”
“At first yes, but after that when I looked into it, I supported you wholeheartedly. I even wrote you a check myself once. That I remember distinctly.”
Linda tapped her foot so hard Pirata jumped off her lap, annoyed with her. She was so over this kind of conversation. During and after the divorce, Tony had called her frequently, begging her to reconsider her decision. When that didn’t work, he’d either threatened her, or tried to reason with her—in his own twisted way. It had been months since he’d last called—so why tonight? She cursed herself for answering the phone.
She let her head fall back against the cushions.
“Whatever you say, Tony.” She gave in, knowing it was easier to agree than to argue. “Why did you call me?”
“I called simply to see how you were, Linda. I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, and it took me a long time to understand why.”
His tone was serious and while his charm was still there, it wasn’t the glitzy stuff he used to seduce women. Instead, it was the quiet interest and understanding that had helped him achieve the status of a wealthy businessman. Anyone who didn’t know him as well as she did would vouch for his sincerity. She knew better.
“I’ve accepted the fact that there’s no chance of us getting back together, but we can still be friends—or at least friendly. I’m interested in your well-being, and always will be.”
Expecting another argument full of reproaches and venom, Linda was taken aback. She toyed with the cookie box, her index finger tracing the straight edge.
Had Tony finally grown up enough to accept the breakup? Regardless of his sincerity, she didn’t want to be friends with him. Sadly, she couldn’t find it in her heart to tell him the truth. Sometimes she cursed her inbred politeness, but in this case it might be the right approach, and could cut the conversation short while they both remained civil.
