The Determined Virgin

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Climbing the stairs, she asked, ‘I suppose you’d like a design relating to your business, since your firm owns the building?’ She went to the wall, raising her eyes to gauge the height, and stroked a hand along the curve, getting a feel for it. The finish wasn’t too smooth to take a bonding agent, she noted.

‘That would be good.’ Gabriel spoke absently, watching the movement of her hand. Then he transferred his intent gaze to her face. ‘But not a replica of the company logo.’

Rhiannon contained her smile. ‘That’s a relief.’

‘You don’t like our logo?’

‘It isn’t that I don’t like it, but I don’t want to reproduce someone else’s design.’

‘I was thinking of something more imaginative. Unique.’

‘It will take some planning, and I can’t work on it full time.’

‘I told you I’m prepared to wait for what I want. And I think you can give me that.’ His eyes were intent, and something in their expression made her breathing momentarily uneven. She had a peculiar sense that she was standing on the brink of some possibly hazardous edge, not on a solid marble landing.

Forcing her mind to practicalities, she banished the bizarre fantasy. ‘It will have to be done outside business hours.’

‘All the better. Less disruption to traffic on the stairs.’

‘I’d need a scaffold. I’m afraid that will take some room.’

‘Hm.’ He glanced up at the wall. ‘Of course. We’ll organise that. I’ll talk to the guys who did the scaffolding next door when they started the demolition. They might like another small job.’

‘Which firm is doing the demolition? I’d like to get hold of them and ask if I could have any damaged tiles.’

He wrote it down for her, and then said, indicating the wall, ‘What do you think?’

There was no logical reason to turn down a promising commission. Gabriel was willing to pay out good money, the concept was exciting, and the exposure in a prominent position to hundreds of people entering the building every day would surely boost her reputation and perhaps bring more commissions. If she ever got to earn enough from her art, she could hire extra staff for the gallery and spend more of her time creating new works.

‘If you’re sure it’s me you want,’ she said, taking the plunge, ‘then I’d like to take it on.’

He smiled as though she’d amused him. ‘I’m sure I want you, Rhiannon.’ His voice was low and there was a note in it that sent a spiral of peculiar, astonishingly pleasurable sensation down her spine.

Making her own voice crisp, she said, ‘Do you have any definite ideas?’

His lips momentarily curled upward, his brows rising a fraction, but he said, ‘About the design? That’s up to you. But I’d appreciate some consultation.’

‘Of course. I could make some sketches, and work out an estimated price and time frame before we go ahead.’

‘I’ll be looking forward to it.’ He sent her a slow smile, almost intimate, and her breath hitched for an instant.

She put a hand on the smooth polished stair rail to steady herself, and began to descend, watching her feet.

Gabriel came to her side, his hands nonchalantly buried in his pockets. ‘Maybe fate brought us together,’ he said. ‘The perfect match.’

Her step faltered, and swiftly he turned, an arm stretched across in front of her, his hand closing over the railing just below hers. He was one step down from her and their eyes were level. ‘You and my blank wall,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes.’ But her heart was jumping.

He’d thought she might fall, she realised. He wasn’t trapping her.

He didn’t move away instantly. ‘You’re safe,’ he said, ‘with me.’

Rhiannon swallowed. ‘I wasn’t falling.’

His smile was enigmatic and a little tight. ‘I wouldn’t mind, and I’m here to catch you.’

‘I don’t need to be caught.’ Her throat felt as though there were a tiny moth helplessly imprisoned there.

‘And don’t want to be.’ Gabriel spoke slowly, his eyes searching her face.

Rhiannon shook her head, not trusting her voice. New sensations bewildered her; a kind of excitement that was half fear and half something else, absolutely alien to her.

Dizzying warmth started at her toes and weakened her knees, rising to heat her cheeks and dry her mouth. She moistened her lips and Gabriel’s gaze became riveted on them. Her heartbeat increased to suffocation point.

Then he said, his voice oddly muffled, ‘So. We’d better get out of here.’

He went just ahead of her and she hurried down the remainder of the steps, ignoring the hand he offered when he reached the bottom.

He didn’t comment on that, but something flared in his eyes, and Rhiannon didn’t dare speak until he let them out of the building, using a side staff door down a short flight of concrete steps. ‘This way it’s a shorter walk back to your gallery,’ he explained as he re-armed the alarm.

‘You’ll want to collect your mosaic,’ she realised.

Once there she unlocked the door and stood by while he hoisted the bulky package into his arms.

‘I’ll let you know when I’ve had time to consider your project,’ she told him.

‘Aren’t you leaving now?’

‘I have stuff to do here.’ She was still setting up the back room so she could do mosaics there.

‘I’ll see you again, then.’ Gabriel smiled into her eyes, and then she was watching him stride away from her.

It was seconds before she roused herself to turn the other way and head for the back of the gallery.

Several times in the next few days Rhiannon almost phoned Gabriel’s office to tell him she couldn’t take on his project after all.

She was too discomfited around him, too aware of the frailty of the protective barriers she’d painstakingly built about herself.

He was the first man who had seriously threatened them.

She didn’t know how to deal with the occasional gleam in his eyes, the crease of amusement in his cheek when he made some remark that seemed to hold a hidden meaning, only to give her a bland look when she became flustered, allowing her to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

The evening he’d escorted her to her car after their coffee and cake, when he bent his head and she’d known he intended to kiss her, she’d stood like a possum caught in headlights, giving him no hint of reciprocation, no encouragement, and he’d deflected the kiss to her cheek.

Hours afterwards she’d fancied she could still feel the warmth of his lips on her skin.

It’s called sexual attraction, she acknowledged with dawning surprise on Thursday morning, as she knelt on the floor of the workroom, packing a large glass vase into a shipping box. A normal, healthy emotion.

She sat back on her heels, incongruously struck by the revelation. It was several minutes before she roused herself.

After taping the box she reached for an air-freight label, peeled off the backing and smoothed the label with its familiar embossed angel wings onto the box. Her finger traced its outline.

Gabriel. The name of an angel, but angels were sexless, genderless. And Gabriel Hudson was all male.

Rhiannon had recognised that at their first meeting. Her predictable reaction had been alarm, but when he’d shown his concern after her fall the alarm was tempered by other less expected emotions, so foreign to her that she hadn’t at first recognised them.

She was attracted to Gabriel. Not just distantly, aesthetically appreciative of his quite spectacular good looks, but physically affected.

And he’d quietly but unmistakably signalled that he found her…at least interesting.

An echo of the shock recoil she’d felt when he’d told her he’d ‘asked around’ about her sent out a warning signal. Reaching for a felt-tip pen, she waited a moment to steady her hand before writing an address on the Angelair label.

She’d been mistaken about his reason. Gabriel had wanted to know if she was good enough at her craft to work on his mural. That was natural, and perfectly legitimate. She couldn’t go through life being suspicious of the motives of every male who crossed her path.

Fear was a prison. Maybe this was her chance to break out of it. Many women of her age had already had several lovers.

The pen slipped in her fingers, making a smudge. Lovers?

She tightened her grip, took a shaky breath and completed the label with care as the door chime indicated someone had entered the shop and she heard Peri offer his help.

Gabriel hadn’t suggested he wanted to be her lover. Was she was reading too much into the warmth of his smile, the lurking appreciation in his eyes? Perhaps she’d mistaken simple courtesy and his unnecessary remorse for reciprocation of her own tentative and muddled feelings.

That would be a change. She stifled a nervous laugh. After all, Gabriel Hudson must have his pick of glamorous women, and although Rhiannon was aware she had been given an attractive face and figure, she made little effort to enhance them beyond meticulous grooming. ‘You could wait until you’re asked,’ she muttered aloud, with a small grimace.