“You really think this could be the answer for me, don’t you?”
“Think about it. You seemed awfully happy when you were fixing this place up. You were excited every time you discovered some treasure buried in a secondhand store. Isn’t that what a career should be? Something that’s fun, as well as lucrative?”
“But this is more like a hobby.”
“Only because you’ve treated it that way. It doesn’t have to be. It could be good for us, too.”
She drew in a deep breath. “What do you mean?”
“It’s something we could do together. It would be a natural. You could think up some jazzy little name for the business, even print up cards. When I do jobs, people are always asking me if I know anyone who does decorating for less than an arm and a leg. We could specialize in low-cost but very classy renovations.”
“You might be right. It would put us on an equal footing,” she said thoughtfully, unaware of Paul’s sudden tension.
“Meaning?”
“It would put an end to this hang-up you have about me being better than you.”
Paul pushed her aside and stood up, his expression furious. “Dammit, you just don’t get it, do you?”
“What’s wrong?” she asked as he paced around the room, raking his fingers through his hair.
“Can’t you see that this has nothing to do with putting us on an equal footing economically? I want you to be happy. If going back to a brokerage house, putting in endless hours and developing ulcers in a quest for a six-figure income makes you happy, then go for it. My ego can stand it if you make ten times what I do. I love you, Gabrielle. I’m not trying to own you.”
Breathless and wide-eyed, she stared at him. “You love me?”
He stopped pacing and stood gazing down at her. “I suppose I do,” he said as if the thought had just made itself very plain for the first time.
A soft smile began slowly, then blossomed across her face. That warm, melting feeling played havoc with her senses. “Then why are you so far away, when you could be down here holding me?”
After a hesitation that went on so long it almost frightened her into thinking he was having second thoughts, he moved back to her side at last. She knew as his lips came down hard on hers that simply saying the words did not assure them of an easy time of it from now on, but it was a start. With their feelings out in the open, they could finally begin to make decisions about what was best not just for them as individuals, but for the two of them together. It was unlikely that they would always agree, but they were learning the art and rewards of communication and compromise.
For now, though, his mouth was hot and urgent against hers and problems that might creep up in the future were the last thing on her mind.
CHAPTER TEN
Gabrielle found that decorating Theresa’s apartment was an entirely different challenge from selecting the pieces for her own place. The artist’s bold personality required more vibrant colors, more unorthodox accessories. Her search for the right things led to the discovery of even more stores that stocked inexpensive used furniture, carpet remnants and even castoff, unrestored antiques.
She came home every day exhausted, but filled with enthusiasm. Her once well-manicured nails had long since chipped and broken so badly that she had to keep them short and unpolished. She usually had tiny spatters of paint on her eyelashes or the tip of her nose. She rarely dressed in anything fancier than jeans. Her hair was usually pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her arms were constantly sore from hauling her finds home to be repaired and then to Theresa’s. Equally filthy and bone-weary, she and Paul fought over the hot water in the evening, more often than not sharing the old-fashioned, oversize tub and a bottle of wine as they talked about their days. She’d never looked less sophisticated or felt a greater sense of contentment in her life.
One night Paul found her already deep in scented bubbles, the kitchen filled with a pattern of soft colors cast from a beautiful Tiffany lamp she’d spent the afternoon cleaning up.
“I like the atmosphere,” he said quietly, standing in the doorway.
Her skin tingled just from the heated expression in his eyes. “Join me,” she suggested.
Without taking his eyes from hers, he dropped his toolbox on the floor and began stripping off his clothes. The sheepskin jacket fell first, followed by his plaid flannel shirt. He tugged his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans, then lifted it over his head, baring an expanse of chest matted with dark whorls of hair. Work boots were kicked off, then socks tossed aside. His fingers lingered at the snap on his jeans, his eyes filling with amusement as he teased her with a deliberate delay.
Gabrielle took a slow sip of wine and watched, her heart thumping unsteadily in her chest. Lord, the man was gorgeous. She wondered if there would ever be a day when the sight of him didn’t set off sparks deep inside her. He stripped off the jeans at last, then the jockey shorts as her breathing set a pace just short of ecstasy.
He slid into the tub, his legs stretched intimately alongside hers. Pink and aqua lights danced across the bubbles.
“Where’d you find the lamp?”
“Hmm?” she murmured, reluctant to shift to a more impersonal mood.
“The lamp,” he said, grinning.
She tried to tamp down her wildly vivid imagination, which was far removed from lamps. “Down near the Bowery.” Her voice still had a whispery quality.
He stared at her, horrified. “Gaby, I don’t want you going down there.”
The delicious mood vanished at once as his sharp tone registered. “It’s safe enough in the daytime,” she said, then added pointedly, “it’s certainly not that much worse than this neighborhood.”
Her stubborn
