Her idea of hand-painting articles of clothing had captured his imagination, and he had enthusiastically agreed to put some of her designs in his store on consignment. They had sold immediately, and his clientele began clamoring for more. She now worked almost solely on commission.
“Your designs are the hottest thing since tamales,” Barry told her.
Smiling, she could just imagine him drawing deeply on one of the thin black cigarettes he chain-smoked. He was irascible, brutally frank, and often downright rude. But his rudeness was in direct proportion to his affection for the person to whom he directed it. The more outrageous he was, the better his customers liked him.
Beneath Barry’s abrasive veneer, Rana had detected a caring human being whose affectations were a defense mechanism. She thought he was probably fulfilling everyone’s expectations of him, just as she had done until six months ago.
“Was Mrs. Tupplewhite happy with her hostess gown?”
“My darling, when she saw it, she almost burst the seams of this really tacky dress she was wearing. It was the most hideous plaid I’ve ever seen.”
“Did you sell it to her?”
“But of course.” He cackled. “Some of my customers may have no taste, but I’m not stupid.”
“Is that why you agreed to feature my designs in your
“You are an exception to every rule I know, love. You were the first model I’d ever met who wasn’t obsessed by her own image in the mirror. You were a doll to work with during those fashion shows I organized. You weren’t pushy.”
“My mother did all the pushing for me. ”
“Don’t get me started on her, or I’ll keep you all day. Suffice it to say that I adore you and your work. I feel almost guilty about selling these works of art commercially.”
“I’ll bet,” Rana said drolly.
He sighed theatrically. “Ahh, my, you know me too well. Now, enough of this,” he said, switching moods abruptly. “When are you coming into Houston? When will the wrap skirt be finished for Mrs. Rutherford? She’s making a nuisance of herself, calling three times a day.”
“By the end of the week.”
“Good. I’ve got four more orders for you.”
“Four?”
“Yes, four, and I’ve raised your price.”
“Barry! Again? I’m not doing this for money. I can still support myself on my residuals.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. In our society we do everything for money. And these rich broads don’t quibble about price. The more something costs their husbands, the better they like it. Now, be a good child and shut up about the price tags I place on your designs. Are you still holding to that ridiculous rule that you refuse to meet with the customers personally?”
“Yes.”
“For the same reason?”
“Yes. There’s an outside chance one of them might recognize me. ”
“So what? I’d be delighted. You know how I feel about that absurd disguise.”
“I’m happier than I’ve been in years, Barry,” she said softly.
“Very well. I won’t nag. But I do have something different and exciting to discuss with you when I see you.”
“What is it?”
“Never mind now. Just go back to work on Mrs. Rutherford’s skirt.”
“Okay. I’ll-Hold on a sec. Ruby’s at my door.” Rana laid down the receiver and scrambled to the door. But it wasn’t Ruby who stood on the threshold. It was Trent. He was leaning lazily against the jamb.
“Got a Band-Aid?”
“I’m on the phone,” she replied shortly. He looked positively mouth-watering, and she was irritated with herself for noticing.
“I don’t mind waiting.”
He pushed past her, so she had no choice but to let him come in. She certainly couldn’t remove him physically from her apartment. Giving him a dirty look, she went back to the telephone.
“Barry, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”
“So do I. I’ll see you later in the week, love.”
“Yes, Friday. Good-bye.”
“Who’s Barry?” Trent asked baldly the moment she hung up the phone.
“None of your business. What was it you wanted?”
“A boyfriend?”
She stared at him angrily through the tinted lenses of her glasses and mentally counted to ten. “Yes, Barry is a man and yes, he’s a friend, but no, he’s not a boyfriend in the way you suggest. It was a Band-Aid you interrupted me for, wasn’t it?”
“Are you sure he’s not a boyfriend? Aren’t you seeing him on Friday? Sounds like a date to me. ”
“Do you want a Band-Aid or not?”
She tossed her hair back angrily, and belligerently planted her fists on her hips. Trent was delighted to see the soft, round evidence of breasts beneath her shabby shirt. Nice breasts. Very nice breasts. He smiled. “Please.”
She went into her bathroom and found a tin of Band- Aids in the medicine cabinet over her sink. She fumbled with the lid, finally got the thing open, took out one of the bandages, and pivoted on her heel. Trent was standing behind her. She ran right into him.
It all happened in a moment’s time, but it seemed to Rana that it lasted forever.
Automatically her hands came up and flattened against the wall of his chest. His hands clasped her upper arms in an effort to steady her. For a split second, their bodies touched. Everywhere. Chests, tummies, thighs, and everything in between came together with a soft, solid impact that had drastic repercussions.
Electrical circuits connected. Heat was generated. Invisible sparks flew.
Rana ground the heels of her hands against his chest to push herself away from him. He, too, fell back a step. He felt as dazed as he’d been the last time Mean Joe Greene slammed into him behind the line of scrimmage.
Two sets of lungs were suddenly starved for air, and the only sound in the room was their struggle for oxygen.
“Here’s… here’s the Band-Aid.” A tremulous hand extended the bandage toward him.
He took it. “Thanks.” Yes, she definitely had breasts. And firm thighs.
He turned away, and she breathed a vast sigh of relief. But he didn’t head for the door. Instead, he sat down on the edge of her sofa and propped one foot over the opposite knee. He grappled with the stubborn cellophane wrapper and after a few seconds gave up. “Can you open this for me, please?”
“Certainly.” She lunged forward to take the Band-Aid from him once again. She just wanted him to go quickly. To leave her hermit’s cave. This was her refuge, her safety, and he was an unwanted intruder. “I’m sure Ruby has some Band-Aids,” she said, hoping he would hear the unspoken reprimand in her voice.
“I’m sure she does, too, but she still isn’t home. I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”
He was disturbing her, all right. She hadn’t been involved with a man since her marriage, seven years ago. Men were off-limits. Men were unnecessary risks. Friends like Barry and Morey were fine. Business associates were fine as long as they kept to business. But never, never would she allow herself to love a man again. That was her creed. She had sworn never to get so sexually stirred up that her hand trembled as it was trembling now. One disaster was enough. “I have work to do, and I’m not getting much done today.” And you are the reason, she added silently.
Frowning slightly, he took the bandage from her and carefully wrapped it around his little toe. “There. That should keep it from getting any worse.” He stood up. “You do good work, Ana.”
“What?” What had he called her? He had even pronounced it with a soft “a,” to rhyme with her real name.
“I noticed as soon as I came in. Very interesting.”
He motioned his head toward her work area, where garments in various stages of completion were spread out. He walked toward them and studied her current project, Mrs. Rutherford’s skirt. It sported a cluster of tiger lilies extending from the hem to the waistband on the left side. And there, crawling up one spotted petal, was her discreet cursive signature, “Ana R.” She and Barry had agreed on the backward spelling of her name as a trademark.