Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(86)

“Colleen, it’s lovely to see you again.” Portia offered her most ingratiating smile. “Portia Powers. We chatted at the Sydneys’ party last spring.”

“Yes. Nice to see you.” Her voice was faintly nasal, her manner cordial, but Portia could tell she didn’t remember. Several beats of silence ticked by, which Colleen didn’t try to fill.

“Some interesting auction pieces.” Portia resisted the urge to grab a gin and tonic from a passing waiter.

“Yes, very interesting,” Colleen replied.

“A little warm in here tonight. The ice sculpture seems to be fighting a losing battle.”

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

This was hopeless. Portia hated looking like a sycophant, and she’d just decided to cut her losses when she noticed a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. The noise level dropped; a head pivoted here and there. She turned to see what had caused the rustle of interest.

And felt the floor drop out from under her.

Bodie stood just inside the doorway, his massive frame clad in a perfectly cut, pale beige summer suit with a chocolate-colored shirt and subtly patterned necktie. He looked like a very expensive, very deadly, Mafia hit man. She wanted to run into his arms. At the same time, she felt a wild urge to dive under the buffet table. The biggest gossips in the city were here tonight. Just by herself Toni Duchette broadcast to more people than WGN Radio.

Her knees felt weak, the tips of her fingers numb. What was he doing here? Her mind raced then fastened on an image of him standing naked in front of the small console in her living room where she kept her personal mail. He’d moved away as she approached, but he must have seen the stack of invitations she never mentioned to him: the Morrisons’ pool party, the new River North gallery opening, tonight’s benefit. He would have known exactly why she hadn’t invited him to go with her. Now, he intended to make her pay.

The cloying scent of Colleen’s Shalimar made her stomach pitch. Bodie’s gangster’s smile offered no reassurance as he headed straight toward her. A trickle of perspiration slid between her breasts. This wasn’t a man who took slights well.

Colleen had her back to him. Portia didn’t know how to brace herself for a disaster of this magnitude. He stopped just behind Colleen. If the older woman looked around, she’d have a heart attack. Mockery turned his blue eyes to slate. He raised his arm. And set his hand on Colleen’s shoulder.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Portia sucked in her breath. Bodie had just called Colleen Corbett “sweetheart”?

The older woman tilted her head. “Bodie? What on earth are you doing here?”

Portia’s world spun.

“I heard they were handing out free drinks,” he said. And then he pressed a kiss to Colleen’s papery cheek.

Colleen slipped her hand into his big paw and said peevishly, “I got that dreadful birthday card you sent me, and it wasn’t one bit funny.”

“I laughed.”

“You should have sent flowers like everyone else.”

“You liked that card a hell of a lot more than a bunch of roses. Admit it.”

Colleen pursed her lips. “I admit nothing. Unlike your mother, I refuse to encourage your behavior.”

Bodie’s gaze drifted to Portia, recalling Colleen to the amenities. “Oh, Paula …This is Bodie Gray.”

“Her name is Portia,” he said. “And we’ve met.”

“Portia?” Her forehead wrinkled. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Auntie Cee.”

Auntie Cee?

“Portia? How Shakespearian.” Colleen patted Bodie’s arm and smiled at her. “My nephew is relatively harmless, despite his terrifying appearance.”

Portia wobbled ever so slightly on her needle-sharp heels. “Your nephew?”

Bodie reached out to steady her. As he touched her arm, his soft, menacing voice slid over her like inky silk. “Maybe you should put your head between your knees.”

What about the trailer park, and the drunken father? What about the cockroaches and the trashy women? He’d made it all up. This whole time he’d been playing her.

She couldn’t bear it. She turned and pushed her way through the crowd. Faces flashed by as she dashed into the hallway, out of the restaurant. The night air hung thick and heavy with heat and exhaust. She set off down the street, past the shuttered shops, past a graffiti-splattered wall. The Bucktown restaurant edged the border of less fashionable Humbolt Park, but she kept walking, not caring where she was going, only knowing that she had to keep moving. A CTA bus roared by, and a punk with a pit bull gave her a sly, assessing eye. The city closed around her, hot, suffocating, filled with menace. She stepped off the curb.

“Your car’s the other way,” Bodie said from behind her.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

He caught her arm and dragged her back up on the curb. “How about apologizing for treating me like nothing more than a piece of meat?”

“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not turning this back on me. You’re the one who lied. All those stories …The cockroaches, the drunken father. Right from the beginning you lied to me. You aren’t Heath’s bodyguard.”

“He can pretty much take care of himself.”