Page 11 of Prince of Queens

As I drive home, my body aching but my spirit refreshed, I can't help but think about Gia again. I know I should let it go, respect her wishes and move on. But a part of me knows it's already too late. One taste wasn't enough. It just made me want her more.

And I always get what I want.

Chapter 6

Gia

Ihurry down the dimly lit street with a grin on my face, my latest painting clutched tightly in my hands. The night air is cool against my skin, a welcome relief after hours on my feet painting. I've been working non-stop for days, pouring every ounce of my conflicted emotions onto canvas. The result is... intense. I can't wait for Rachel’s reaction when she sees it in the morning. I’ve already delivered four other paintings to the gallery this week, but this is my best yet. I got the idea to leave it there tonight so Rachel’s surprised when she walks in tomorrow morning, and had to act on it.

As I approach the gallery, I see a figure stepping into the elevator. Without thinking, I call out, "Hold the elevator, please!"

I rush forward, slipping through the doors just as they're about to close. "Thanks," I mutter, still catching my breath. "Fifth floor, please."

The man presses the button without a word. I step to the back of the elevator, finally taking a moment to study myelevator companion. He's tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an expensive suit that hugs his frame in all the right ways. There's something familiar about the set of his shoulders, the way he holds himself…

Suddenly, the elevator jerks violently, then stops with a groan of protesting metal. The lights flicker ominously before settling into a dim glow.

"You've got to be kidding me," I groan, leaning my head back against the wall.

The man stiffens, then turns around, and I feel my heart stop as I take him in. Dominic Esposito. It can’t be.

His eyes widen in surprise, then darken with something that sends a shiver down my spine. "Gia," he says, his voice low and rich as he steps closer to me.

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my body reacts to his presence as I look up to meet his gaze. "Dominic. What are YOU doing here?"

His eyes flick down to the wrapped canvas in my arms, then back up to my face. A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "I could ask you the same thing. Though I think I can guess."

I resist the urge to touch my face, knowing there's probably paint smudged across my cheek. Instead, I lift my chin defiantly. "I'm dropping off a new piece. You?"

He shrugs, the movement drawing my attention to the breadth of his shoulders. "I'm a patron of the arts. Is that so hard to believe?"

I snort, unable to help myself. "You? An art lover? Somehow I doubt mobsters have much time for gallery hopping. Why are you really here? to shake down one of the building tenants?"

His eyes flash with something dangerous, and for a moment, I remember exactly who I'm dealing with. But then his expression softens, and he chuckles as he shakes his head. "You'd be surprised, Red. There's a lot you don't know about me."

"Oh really?" I challenge, crossing my arms. "Like what? Do you have a secret passion for watercolors? Or maybe you're more of a sculpting kind of guy?"

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Actually, I'm quite skilled with my hands. Thought you’d remember that."

I feel my cheeks heat up at the reminder, but I refuse to back down. "Well, I hope those skilled hands of yours can get us out of this elevator, because I have places to be."

Dominic raises an eyebrow. "Hot date?"

"Yes, actually," I lie smoothly. "With my couch and a pint of ice cream. And I'd hate to keep them waiting."

He laughs, the sound rich and warm in the confined space. "Far be it from me to come between a woman and her ice cream. Let's see what we can do about this situation, shall we?"

We fall into silence as Dominic examines the control panel. I try the emergency phone, but it's dead. Dominic fiddles with his cell, but there's no signal.

"Great," I mutter. "Just great."

"Relax," Dominic says, loosening his tie. "I'm sure someone will notice we're stuck soon."

"Oh, sure," I say sarcastically. "Because people are always coming to art galleries in the middle of the night."

He turns to me, a challenging glint in his eye. "I do. Rachel lets me stop by the gallery whenever I want. And is this such a bad thing? Being stuck here with me?"

I roll my eyes, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. "Please. I can think of at least a dozen places I'd rather be right now."

---