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Only they couldn’t stay here all night. She fumbled for her bag and put on her jacket. ‘Thank you for this, it’s been nice.’
Rain had fallen while they were in the restaurant, and when they stepped outside the pavement was wet and shining under the streetlights, the tyres of passing cars hissing on the road surface. Still warm from the day’s sun, the asphalt steamed slightly.
‘It could be slippery,’ Gabriel said, his hand coming to rest on Rhiannon’s waist under the jacket. ‘Is your car in the parking building?’
‘Yes, but you don’t need to come with me.’
‘I’m going to pick up my car. And anyway, I wouldn’t desert you in the street.’
She was very conscious of his barely perceptible touch on her waist all the way there. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, and she didn’t pull away until she took out her keys and unlocked her car.
Before she got in he stopped her with a light hold on her wrist, and her gaze flew to his face. A whole colony of butterflies seemed to have taken up residence in her stomach, and she conquered the urge to pull away, standing very still while consumed by conflicting emotions of dread and curiosity.
A faint frown appeared between Gabriel’s brows. He bent his head quite slowly and brushed his lips against her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Rhiannon.’
Then he opened the door for her, standing back when she started the engine.
Watching the tail-lights disappear down the ramp, Gabriel flexed his fingers, then folded them into his palm. He could still feel the warmth that had emanated through Rhiannon’s thin blouse, and found himself fantasising about the smooth skin underneath the fabric, imagining tugging the garment from the imprisoning band of her skirt and running a finger along the groove of her spine, while he held her close…
It had taken considerable will-power to resist sliding his arm about her, resting his hand on her hip, nestling her shoulder under his. He’d felt the tiny tremor that seized her when he’d put his hand on her waist, and had made himself stop right there. In another woman he might have guessed the tremor indicated sexual awareness, but with Rhiannon…
He could hope, but she’d given no sign of welcoming his touch. And she’d been very composed, almost cool, since he’d walked into the gallery.
He went to the elevators, jabbing at the button.
Damn, she had been cool. Decidedly so. Cool and cagey. Not giving much away, except when he’d made an oblique, mildly sexual remark and she’d blushed like a schoolgirl.
So the coolness was a blind, a facade. Hiding what?
Fear. The word was stark, shocking.
He might never have suspected if he hadn’t caught her off guard that first day, scaring her witless with a single, asexual touch and an offer of help. She hadn’t been able to cover up so well then, her defences stripped for a few minutes by pain.
They were good defences.
The elevator doors slid open for him. A pretty young woman standing in the middle of the car gave him a small social smile as he entered and pressed the button for his floor. He could feel her covert glances but didn’t return them.
Rhiannon in the same situation had backed into the corner.
She’d been anxious from the moment he entered.
The woman he was sharing with now stepped forward when the elevator glided to a stop at her floor, and gave him a lingering sidelong glance as she left. He had no urge to follow her before the doors closed again.
In the gallery, on her own turf, Rhiannon had been perfectly sure of herself with her customers, and her manner had scarcely changed when Gabriel approached, except for that slight, involuntary alteration in her expression, like an invisible glass mask.
The mask had slipped when she spoke of her work, but it went right back at any hint of masculine interest. As though she had no idea how to deal with it.
She didn’t know how to flirt.
The doors opened and he stepped out. He smiled, unaware of the slightly tigerish quality of the smile.
Maybe he could teach her.
His purchase of the panel gave Gabriel an excuse to call at the gallery on Saturday, when Mosaica was open until two.
Ten minutes before closing time he found Rhiannon alone behind the counter, her head bent over a notepad.
‘Hi,’ he said, and she looked up, her eyes glazed for a moment.
When they cleared, her smile was uncertain. ‘Hello.’
‘You remembered?’ He glanced over at the mosaic and the red sticker fixed to it.
Rhiannon seemed to gather herself, assuming a professional air. ‘I was going to phone you on Monday and ask if you want it delivered.’
‘I’ll take it myself.’
‘Now? Certainly.’
The door chime momentarily drew her attention to a middle-aged Japanese couple entering. Then she turned to the door standing ajar behind the counter and called, ‘Peri?’
A broad-shouldered young man appeared, with smooth brown skin and large dark eyes, his black hair a mane of luxurious waves secured in a ponytail. A tie-dyed muscle shirt and purple leather pants hugged his lovingly honed chest and thighs, and he flashed a dazzling Tom Cruise smile at Rhiannon. ‘Yeah, boss?’
‘Mr Hudson’s buying the mosaic over there. Could you pack it for him please?’
‘Sure.’ Peri ambled over to the piece and lifted it with effortless care before shouldering his way back through the doorway.
Her voice crisp, Rhiannon said to Gabriel’s shirt-front, ‘How did you want to pay?’
Reaching for his credit card, Gabriel experienced a flash of annoyance. From her manner, he could have been any stranger off the street. And seeing Peri had shaken him a bit. When Rhiannon mentioned an assistant he’d assumed a female one, not a hunky young guy who believed in making the most of his obvious assets.
It called into question all Gabriel’s guesses and assumptions. If she didn’t mind having that around every day she was hardly man-shy.
Just shy of certain men. Him, for instance.
Handing over the card, he studied her bent head as she processed the payment, remembering with a certain relief that she’d denied being in a relationship.
The Japanese couple were holding a murmured debate over a large wooden bowl, turning it over and running their fingers across the smooth finish. Rhiannon handed back Gabriel’s card and said dismissively, ‘Peri won’t be long,’ then went to speak to them.
Peri reappeared with the mosaic encased in sturdy cardboard. ‘Here you are, mate. I mean, sir!’ He threw a comical glance at Rhiannon, but she was concentrating on the tourists, who didn’t have much English. ‘Want me to carry it? How far to your car?’
‘No thanks,’ Gabriel assured him shortly, not keen on following all that splendid musculature along the street. ‘Just leave it here for now. I’m waiting to speak to your boss.’
‘Sure.’ Peri leaned the parcel against the end of the counter, giving him a rather sharp glance.
The couple decided to buy the bowl and, as they approached the counter with Rhiannon, she asked Peri to find a box and prepare it for posting.
While he bore the bowl off to the back room and Rhiannon patiently deciphered where the couple wanted it sent and took their payment, Gabriel stood by. After they had bowed their way out, she turned to him and indicated the wrapped mosaic. ‘Is Peri going to carry that for you?’
She made to turn, presumably to call the assistant, and Gabriel reached out a hand but dropped it before his fingers touched her arm. ‘I don’t need Peri.’ As she paused, he said, ‘Have you eaten?’
‘On Saturday we’re usually very busy, and I don’t bother until the shop closes.’
‘Have something with me?’
‘Why?’
Hadn’t she ever heard of a date? He raised his brows and she looked flustered, biting her lip as her cheeks coloured.
Gabriel went to Plan B. ‘I want to discuss a possible commission.’
Her eyelids flickered. ‘What kind of commission?’
‘Let me buy you a late lunch and we can talk about it.’
Her gaze lowered, and he saw the front of her blouse—teamed with dark green jeans—flutter as she took a breath. Then she raised her head and her eyes met his. ‘All right.’
Gabriel was unprepared for the surge of triumph that made him want to grab her and kiss that gorgeous, tempting mouth. Instead he nodded and said, ‘When you’re ready.’
He found them an umbrella-shaded outdoor table at a café-bar. Rhiannon was glad to be offered the choice instead of going inside.
Over her Niçoise salad and Gabriel’s curried kumara fritters he asked her, ‘How long has Peri been with you?’
‘Since I moved into the new place. I’d sold some carvings for him over the last couple of years, and he helped out before Christmas.’
‘He’s a carver?’
‘His uncle taught him traditional Maori carving, and Peri’s particularly interested in incorporating Maori motifs into modern design. But it doesn’t pay enough to live on, and I figured I’d need an assistant when I moved into town, so I offered him the job.’
Peri had jumped at it, and she’d had no qualms about employing him.
Gabriel’s look was oddly penetrating. ‘I guess he’s an asset to the shop.’
‘He’s keen, and strong.’ Some of their stock, like the mosaic Gabriel had bought, was heavy and awkward; she’d been glad of Peri’s muscle. ‘And he did his degree in art.’
Gabriel nodded, spearing a potato chip with his fork.
Rhiannon ate a shiny black olive and carefully placed the stone on the side of her plate. ‘What’s the commission you wanted to talk about?’
Reminding himself he’d told her it was a business lunch, Gabriel said, ‘There’s a blank concrete wall in the Angelair Building.’ There was, since yesterday when he’d decided the huge tapestry hanging there was dusty and dated, and had it taken down. ‘It needs some kind of artwork—like a mosaic.’
If he’d thought she’d jump at the opportunity to decorate the pride of his company, which had won a building industry award, he would have been wrong. She went very still, her fork poised with another olive on it. ‘Why me?’ she asked quietly.
Because I can’t get you out of my mind. Because he wanted to pin her down, make sure she couldn’t easily escape him while he delved under that fragile shell she adopted in public, and discovered what was beneath it. Because he wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t back away from him when she found out just how intensely he wanted to know her—in every sense of the word.
And because he had a hunch his supposedly irresistible charm wasn’t going to work its magic with this woman.
He said, ‘I like your work.’
‘You want an unknown artist to do this?’ She sounded sceptical.
‘I’ve found out quite a lot about you, and—’
‘What?’ The fork in her hand lowered, and the skin on her cheeks went taut and pale. ‘How?’
‘Just by asking around,’ he answered, pausing as her eyes widened and darkened, ‘among people in the art scene.’ And in the business world. Anywhere he could think of. Alerted by her reaction, he didn’t mention how many feelers he’d put out in various directions. ‘You’re a young artist to watch, they said.’ Which was about all he’d been able to discover.
She looked surprised, but the colour gradually returned to her face. Pushing her fork into her salad, she stirred the frilled lettuce leaves. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have someone who’s a big name?’
‘I’d get more satisfaction out of sponsoring an emerging artist.’ He smiled at her. ‘When you’re famous I can say I spotted your talent early.’
‘What if I never become famous?’
‘Don’t you believe you will?’
‘I haven’t really thought about it. I just like doing what I do.’
She’d told him she wasn’t driven by ambition, despite her successful retail business. What did drive her? Love for her art? Or perhaps a simple need for money. He might turn that to useful account. ‘Will you consider my proposal? I expect to pay a good price for it.’
‘I don’t have a lot of time right now, with the new gallery, and I have to finish my present commission.’ She still seemed uneasy.
‘I can wait.’ If he had to. Not naturally patient, Gabriel had learned that sometimes patience was necessary in order to get what he really wanted. Deferred gratification, they called it. He had the distinct impression that Rhiannon had been deferring for a long time.
Absently stirring her salad again, she inquired, ‘What size is the space?’
‘Approximately three by five metres.’
Her eyes lifted. ‘That big?’
He saw the spark of interest in her expression and pressed his advantage. ‘Roughly. It’s not flat, and it curves up at one end. I can show you after lunch if you have the time.’
Rhiannon picked out another olive with her fork and stared down at it as if it were a crystal ball. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll have a look.’
Gabriel let her into the foyer of the Angelair Building, pressing a button on a remote control to disable the alarm.
An elegant central stairway rising before them dominated the space, flanked by ground-floor businesses, their doors firmly closed. Gold lettering on a glass-enclosed board proclaimed that the Angelair offices were on the third floor while other firms occupied the remainder of the building.
‘Up there.’ Gabriel waved toward the stairs. Halfway up, the flight divided and curved around a convex, half-circular concrete wall, the top edge shaped upward from right to left.
‘The central lift shaft is behind it,’ Gabriel said. ‘The other side is glass.’
She vaguely remembered it from visiting the building in the past. An architectural showpiece, although there were more conventional elevators at the rear of the shopping arcade.
‘Could you do a mosaic there?’ Gabriel asked.
‘It would be a challenge.’ Both in design and execution. ‘And expensive,’ Rhiannon warned, but with a stirring of excitement.
‘Not a problem.’
