Читать книгу All Wrapped Up in You - Sun Chara - Страница 5

“Ninety-nine cents.” Ellie stood outside the Burbank Media Mall showcasing a Christmas brooch in her gloved hand to shoppers rushing by.

She kept a smile plastered on her face, offsetting the desperation rising in her throat, and wiggled her foot, adjusting the cardboard patch over the hole in her boot.

It had been three weeks since she ditched Prince Charming and the ‘castle’. Had she made the right decision?

She replaced the brooch in the basket, and scooped up the coins on the bottom. Two sales on Christmas Eve; not a good sign.

The Santa Ana winds sliced through her thin coat, numbing her flesh; a gust swayed the palm trees lining the boulevard. She pulled the fur cap lower over her ears, glad she’d also worn the matching scarf.

“A dollar ninety.” Ellie counted the money in her palm and a tremor shot through her. What could she buy with the pennies in her hand? She rifled through the pockets of her coat to ensure she hadn’t missed any coins. Nope, she hadn’t.

She leaned against the street lamppost and heaved a breath. Air frosted her lips. Her heart thudded, and she fisted her fingers, the coins grating in her palm. “I can’t return to the castle…and to him.”

But she had to get home…a laugh bubbled inside her, and she bashed it down before it erupted from her in a hysterical sound that’d have people gaping at her. She dropped the coins in her purse, and with her head slightly bent against the wind; she made her way to the bus stop, but stalled in step when a Porsche pulled up alongside of her.

“Get in,” the driver commanded, his voice sending shimmers of awareness through her. “You’ll freeze waiting for the bus.”

“No.”

“Ellie, don’t be obstinate,” he said, a ripple of impatience in his voice. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

An eerie silence ensued in the lull in the wind, and the melody sailed to her from the car radio. ‘Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la la la…’

She nearly snorted at the lyrics. Jolly… Huh!

Peter Medeci, M.D. The highly sought after neurosurgeon, the man of her dreams. The man that had given her everything except the one thing she wanted most…and that’s why she skipped out on him. To get close to him again would be self-destructive, but even as she reasoned, her body hummed with yearning.

“I’ll make my own way.” But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she cringed; she didn’t even have enough for the bus fare for the long ride back to her North Hollywood mouse hole.

“You will not.” She heard the car door open, and paused. “Get in, before you make a scene.”

A gust whipped her, and she quivered, glancing at the warm interior of the car. Sighing, she reluctantly got in. He reached across her to shut the door, and his arm bumped her breast. A shiver invaded her body but it had nothing to do with the cold weather. “Tha-ank you.”

He grunted his acknowledgment, revved the engine and shot into the traffic cruising onto Victory Boulevard.

Awkwardness filled the interior, but it suited her because she was in no mood to talk. But then she noticed he knew the way to her digs. “You know where I live?”

“I do.” He shot her a shadowed look, his jaw a hard line. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Ellie.”

She should’ve realized that Peter Medeci would not easily relinquish what belonged to him. And in his view she belonged to him. She crinkled her brow wondering why it’d taken him three weeks to force a confrontation. “I don’t doubt that.”

He smiled, and her heart involuntarily flipped in her chest.

“We have to talk, Ellie.” He slowed down on her street, which looked like an image of a third world country neighborhood.

“You want to talk now?” She suppressed the giggle gurgling in her throat. For five years, she had wanted to hear those words from him, but now she didn’t care. A niggle zapped. Okay, she didn’t want to care. “You’re too late.”

“Am I?” he asked, shooting her a penetrating glance. “I think not.”

“Just drop me at the corner, and I’ll make my own way,” she said, not even acknowledging his words.

He filled his lungs with air and blasted out a typhoon. Of course, he drove her to her doorstep. “Here you are, principessa.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer, Mrs. Medeci?”

His words gouged her heart, and, yanking the door open, she scooted out and ran into the building. Once inside she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes, willing her heart rate to kick back into normal tempo.

When she thought she’d heard him drive off, she trudged up the stairs, set the basket down and went for her purse to get the key. But in her haste to leave him, she’d left it on the seat in his car. Even now he had such a hold over her that she’d felt compelled to escape his presence as soon as possible or risk giving in to her desires. What was she going to do? She needed her purse; it had her keys, her phone…

“Are you looking for this?” Peter climbed the stairs two at a time and held out her purse.

She nodded her thanks, took her purse and rifled in it for the key. “Why are you still here?”

He stood his ground.

Inserting the key in the lock, she pushed the door open.

“Invite me in.”

She shook her head, stepped inside and was about to close the door when he blocked it with his foot. “You can’t avoid me forever, Ellie.”

“That may be so,” she murmured. “But I can for today.”

“Tomorrow.” He hesitated, and then turned and without a backward glance descended the stairs, his footsteps echoing back to her.

And as much as she denied it, she already missed him…but she had to be strong and not succumb to his overpowering sexual attraction.

Her body flamed and her heart longed for him, but her mind rebelled.

She shut the door, and still gripping the doorknob, blinked up at the ceiling. The defective plumbing from the apartment above hers had leaked, blotching the ceiling. She lowered her sights a notch to the peeling paint on the walls, then glanced to her right. Loose fitting sheets, now hooked to the side with nails, doubled as curtains on the one window.

Wind whistled through the cracked pane, chilling the already cold room. A raindrop splattered against the window.

She’d called this dump ‘home’ for three weeks. What was she thinking?

Tilting her chin, she straightened her shoulders and marched across the floor, then skidded to a stop. Outside, the odd horn sounded in the rush hour traffic, and she was glad she was indoors, away from the craziness on the street. She sucked in frigid air, and blasted out a blizzard.

Clutching the collar of her coat closer around her neck, she futilely attempted to buffet the chills assaulting her body.

A spider crawled along the crack on the wall above the refrigerator, dangled a moment and shimmied up the silver thread into the corner of the ceiling. Ellie forced down a shriek, but it burst from her in a hysterical laugh. Tottering along several steps, she set her basket on the stained carpet, and collapsed on the tattered sofa doubling as her bed. Her single suitcase served as a bedside table. On top of it, a portable radio was now playing, “Away in a Manger…”

The melody filled the room, but she barely tuned in. She leaped up, tossed her purse across the sofa and heard the coins jingle inside. A quick glance in the full-length mirror behind the door reflected her gaunt look. Urgently, she yanked off her cap, tossed it on the sofa, removed her gloves and ran her fingers through her golden brown locks to detangle. Dark lashes fringed her eyes, the color of warm chocolate, now shadowed with uncertainty.

Anxiety. Fear?

She had to get a job or she’d be out on the street…freezing in the cold.

You could call him…return to him.

For better or worse…to honor and obey…she’d promised. But to her Italian husband, it seemed as though his career had overtaken his vows. Obviously, he’d forgotten the part about to love and to cherish.

Hear him out. Maybe you’re wrong.

She slammed those ‘weak’ thoughts down. Somehow she would make her own way. She wouldn’t put up with feeling second best anymore.

With a dollar and ninety-nine cents to your name? The taunt ripped through her psyche, but she ignored it.

Had she been foolish and overreacted? After five years of living with the hotshot doc, she doubted it.

A tremulous smile brushed her mouth, and she pinched her cheeks to add color. Closing her eyes, just for a moment she drifted back to her fairy tale life in the luxurious Beverly Hills mansion with her sexy husband, chauffeur, servants, Rodeo Drive fashions, Tiffany jewels, designer shoes .… but it had upended. Disillusionment and pain mocked her.

A pounding on the door splintered her reverie, and she started.

“Ellie, open the door!”

She wound the woolen scarf around her fingers, the sound of his voice sent ripples of joy through her, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the sadness.

“I will not,” she said, forcing the words from her stiff lips.

“I demand it.”

“Of course,” she murmured. “Something you’re good at.” That’s why she’d left. His grueling schedule and demands had infiltrated their private life to such a degree that she’d lost herself in his life; while he thrived with his career, she stayed home, acting the good doctor’s wife and turning into a shadow of herself. She’d left him and his wealth, but somehow she couldn’t divorce herself from him…this man she’d tumbled head over heels for and married.