The Doll Brokers by Hal Ross Page B

slowly slid her hands up. She used her fingers to knead the tension from his shoulders.
    He closed his eyes. “That feels good.”
    â€œI know.”
    She waited but he didn’t volunteer anything more. Verna took her hands away and his eyes flew open. She glanced at her watch.
    â€œI thought you might need a sounding board, but I guess not. I’m heading off.”
    Verna made a move toward the door and caught a glimmer of her reflection in the glass of the framed print beside it. She considered herself attractive, weight held in check, curves in all the right places. Then why this penchant for falling for the wrong guy? Ever since she’d moved to Manhattan from upstate New York. Not that there had been many, but invariably the men she became involved with were either single and jerks, or married.
    If at times she found Patrick’s touch unpleasant, then Verna simply reminded herself of how much better he was than other men she had known. He had his faults, of course. There was no denying that. Yet, she would give anything to hear him say that he truly cared about her.
    â€œWait,” Patrick said when she reached the door. “Is everyone gone?”
    She kept her hand on the knob and nodded.
    â€œDon’t go.” He caught her free hand to reel her back in.
    She let him. And he walked her over to the bar.
    His office was huge and pretentious. An impressive oak desk and computer station faced the window. The other side of theroom was given over to a black leather sofa fronted by a narrow smoked-glass table. A few pictures of his family hung on the wall, but none of Irene.
    Patrick poured himself a snifter of Courvoisier. He held the bottle aloft as though to invite her to join him.
    Verna shrugged indifference.
    He poured another snifter. She made no move to take it.
    â€œYou’re angry with me,” he said finally.
    â€œI’m worried about you.”
    He let out a deep, rough breath. “It’s been a rotten day.”
    â€œWhat did the banks say?” she asked, finally taking the snifter in hand. “Besides no?”
    He groaned and shook his head. “What does it matter? That’s the bottom line.”
    â€œWhat did your mother say?”
    â€œThat doesn’t matter now, either.”
    Which meant he hadn’t told her yet, Verna thought.
    Patrick hooked his free hand behind her neck and tried to pull her face closer to his.
    She moved away. “How did Ann take it?” She asked.
    â€œI don’t want to talk about her,” Patrick said.
    Verna realized that she was going to have to put more effort into this. “I could help you.”
    â€œI know. That’s what I’m waiting for.”
    â€œI meant with a way to fix the bank mess.”
    â€œYou?”
    â€œYes, me.” Her anger flared. “We could set a plan down on paper, figure out a new approach.”
    He took a long swallow from his glass. “I have better plans for you,” he said.
    â€œBut you don’t trust me.”
    â€œI
crave
you. That’s better.”
    â€œIs it?” She stepped further away from him.
    â€œDon’t do this. Don’t play with me. Everybody wants something from me. Except you.”
    For a moment she almost faltered, found herself prepared to give in. But too often she’d given herself to him and it proved meaningless. “Pat,” she started to say.
    As if she hadn’t spoken, his arms reached out and he tried pulling her tight.
    She struggled against him.
    â€œI need you,” he said.
    And I need you, she was thinking. But not this way. Not tonight. She pushed hard. He almost lost his balance. She backed up towards the door.
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    There it was, the insecurity in his voice.
    â€œHome.”
    â€œWhat the hell do you want from me?”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” she said, reaching for the door.
    â€œFor Christ”s sake, Verna!”
    She opened the