Every Time I Love You Read Free

deeply as the lovers in the painting? Had Thane been capable of loving her that deeply?
    “Maybe no one really loves that intensely,” she murmured aloud. But instinctively she knew that they did. Very special people were surely privileged to love like that.
    The phone rang. Before Gayle picked up the receiver she reminded herself to write back to Sally.
    “Gayle! Good—you're home.” It was Tina.
    “Happy birthday, kid.”
    “Thanks. Are you ready?”
    “Ready? I just got in. I thought we weren't going out until eight.”
    “No! We got reservations for dinner at the pew club down by the Sheraton. Didn't Liz call you?”
    “No, Liz didn't call me.”
    “Well, get dressed! Hurry! She's picking me up in twenty minutes. We'll be at your place in half an hour. And, oh, make it dressy, huh? It's coats and ties only for men, so we may as well use the opportunity, okay?”
    “I haven't got anything—”
    “You've more clothes than Macy's. It's my birthday! Find something!”
    Gayle was about to say that she couldn't possibly be ready in thirty minutes, but a dull buzz assured her that Tina had already hung up. Muttering, she hurried to her bedroom and walked quickly over to her closet and began to flip through the hangers. She found a backless black silk, pushed past it, came back to it. She could swish her hair to the side with a barrette, wear the gold choker and her new black heels and be all set.
    She should have hopped into the shower but decided that it had been a long day at the gallery and she deserved a decent bath. She filled the tub with bubbles, poured herself a glass of wine, and stepped in. The water was good and warm, the scent of the bubbles delicious. She closed her eyes and leaned back, then opened her eyes again and decided she even liked her bathroom. She'd decorated it in different shades of mauve. Her towels were monogrammed and her curtains were the sheerest gauze over a darker velvet. Tina once said that Gayle's bathroom reminded her of a powder room in a classy whorehouse. Gayle wasn't sure she liked the description, but her bathroom was nice and luxurious. Little Hummel figurines sat on the marble commode, a Lladro angel stood high above the brass towel rings. Gayle shrugged. She couldn't draw or paint, but the artist inside of her appreciated beautiful things. Not that she had to have them. When she and Thane had first met, they'd slept on comforters on the floor. They'd eaten bread and cheese and laughed over cheap wine.
    She stood, ignoring the bubbles that clung to her. She hadn't thought about Thane in a long time, but today Geoffrey had mentioned his name and then she'd received the letter from Sally. It was probably natural that she was thinking about him. But it wasn't natural to be feeling quite so...disturbed.
    She sipped her wine. It was the paintings , she thought. She couldn't get the image of those lovers out of her mind, and they were making her acutely unhappy with a life that had pleased her very well. No. She shook her head and swallowed down the rest of her wine, wincing as she did it too quickly. Everyone was unhappy once in a while, right? Married people wanted to be single; singles wanted to be married. Tall people wanted to be short. It was human nature.
    Gayle wrapped a huge towel around herself and hurried back to her bedroom to dress; more time had gone by than she had planned. She dug quickly into her small nightstand for underwear and stockings, smiling ruefully at her weakness for pretty lingerie. The drawer was filled with soft, silky teddies and string-line panties in satin and lace.
    Her doorbell rang just as she was fixing her long blond hair to one side. She yelled that she would be right down, hurriedly slipped into her heels, grabbed her coat, her purse, and the elegant negligee she had bought for Tina, and rushed out.
    Out on the street, the night had become even more beautiful. The snow was silver beneath the moon. There seemed to be an air of expectation