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‘I’m sure you must have an hour free somewhere,’ he challenged, his mouth twisted derisively.
An hour, yes, possibly even the odd day here and there. But she didn’t wish to give any of that time to Brice McAllister.
‘Possibly,’ she dismissed. ‘But even I deserve some time off for rest and relaxation.’
‘Sitting in a chair while I sketch you is not exactly going to tire you,’ he returned dryly.
No—but trying to keep that blank wall in her eyes for an hour or so, shutting his probing gaze out of her inner self, definitely would!
She shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have my diary available at the moment, but as soon as I do I’ll check it over and give you a call,’ she added dismissively, having noted that his teacup was now empty.
He raised dark brows, making no effort to stand up in preparation of leaving. ‘Tomorrow is Saturday—surely you aren’t busy all over the weekend too?’
Sabina held in her frustrated anger with effort. This man wasn’t just determined, he was dogged!
He was also, she was slowly coming to realise, all the more intent on doing those sketches because he sensed her own reluctance not to have him do them.
She shook her head with feigned regret. ‘I’m afraid Richard and I are away this weekend,’ she was able to tell him with complete honesty. And some satisfaction, she admitted inwardly.
At least, she was allowed to feel that way for a few very brief moments—because she then became aware of the sound of Richard’s car outside in the driveway!
Usually she was more than pleased to see him, feeling safer when he was around, but today her heart sank at the realisation that he was home. Because Richard, she knew, despite gentle hints from her this last week that she really didn’t want her portrait painted, was very determined that it would be done. And he was equally determined that the artist of that portrait would be Brice McAllister.
‘Pity,’ Brice drawled, obviously not in the least convinced by her excuse.
He also wasn’t yet aware that Richard had arrived home, and Sabina schooled her features into one of cool politeness so that Brice McAllister shouldn’t see how dismayed she felt at having the two men meet again. Something she had desperately been trying to avoid!
Brice sighed. ‘I wonder—’
‘Sabina? Are you—?’ Richard had come straight into the sitting-room on entering the house, coming to an abrupt halt as he saw Sabina wasn’t alone, his gaze narrowing as he took in Brice McAllister’s presence in the room, the used cups on the low table clearly stating that he had been here for some time.
‘Richard!’ Sabina stood up immediately to cross the room to her fiancé’s side, linking her arm warmly with his as she smiled at him. ‘Mr McAllister called round for tea,’ she dismissed with a lightness she was far from feeling.
Brice hadn’t exactly ‘called around for tea’, that had been merely incidental; he had really come here in order to corner her into making a definite appointment for those sketches!
Sabina looked across at him now, wondering exactly what he was going to say to Richard about his reason for being here.
Would he tell Richard of his five unacknowledged telephone calls this past week? Yes, she did know exactly how many times he had telephoned, had instructed the loyal Mrs Clark to repeatedly tell him she wasn’t at home!
Would he now tell Richard of her evasive tactics?
She gave an inward groan just at the thought of it, having no doubts that Richard would not be pleased that she had deliberately been avoiding Brice McAllister this last week. Richard would also, once they were alone, want to know the reason for it. She could hardly tell him that she had done it because she didn’t want Brice McAllister looking into her soul…!
‘I called round in person to apologise for not getting in touch with either of you this last week.’ Brice McAllister was speaking smoothly now. ‘I’ve been rather busy, I’m afraid. But that’s still no excuse for my tardiness.’ He grimaced.
Sabina could only stare across at him disbelievingly. He had been rather busy…? His tardiness…? He was the one apologising…? When she had been the one who—
‘That’s quite all right,’ Richard accepted lightly, the tension relaxing from his body at the other man’s explanation. ‘Is everything sorted out now?’ He looked at the two of them enquiringly.
Sabina looked at Brice for guidance on this one, still stunned by the way he had smoothed over the situation with a few brief—if totally inaccurate—words.
Had they sorted everything out now?
More to the point, why had Brice McAllister lied just now? Only she could benefit from such a misconception—and, as she was only too well aware, she had done nothing in their acquaintance so far to merit such gallantry. As Brice, up to that point, had done nothing to show he was capable of such an emotion!
He looked at her enquiringly. ‘I believe so,’ he drawled pointedly.
That was why he had lied—so that she had no choice but to make a firm appointment to go and see him. But, in the circumstances, it was probably the least that she owed him…
‘Richard, I was just explaining to Mr McAllister—’
‘Brice,’ he put in dryly.
‘To Brice,’ she corrected after a slightly irritated glance in his direction; she did not want to be on a first-name basis with this man, intended keeping him very firmly at arm’s length. Further, if she could manage it! ‘That I have the afternoon free on Tuesday,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘And I was just complimenting Sabina on having such a good memory,’ Brice McAllister drawled. ‘I always have to consult my diary before making appointments,’ he added pointedly, that green gaze mocking her.
Sabina shot him a glaring look. Damn him, how dared he mock her when he knew she couldn’t defend herself? Probably for exactly that reason! After all, there had to be some recompense for letting her off the hook so nobly!
‘Three o’clock on Tuesday afternoon, then.’ He nodded abruptly, obviously tiring of the game he was playing, anxious to be gone now as he took a card out of the pocket of his jacket.
Much as he had obviously enjoyed the game, damn him, Sabina inwardly acknowledged frustratedly. But what choice did she have now…?
‘Fine,’ she agreed abruptly, taking the card with his address printed on it, wishing she could somehow misplace it before next Tuesday. But at the same time knowing it would do her no good even if she did; that appointment might as well be set in stone as far as Richard was concerned!
Richard nodded. ‘I have a meeting that afternoon, I’m afraid, Sabina, but I’ll have Clive accompany you,’ he assured her smilingly.
‘Clive?’ Brice McAllister repeated slowly. ‘I have to tell you now, unlike Sabina, I do not like an audience while I work,’ he bit out harshly.
Richard laughed dismissively. ‘Clive is completely unobtrusive, I can assure you. But if it bothers you,’ he added cajolingly as the other man still scowled, ‘he can wait outside in the car.’
Brice nodded abruptly. ‘It bothers me.’
No more than it bothered Sabina to think of spending that hour alone with him at his studio!
CHAPTER THREE
‘WHAT do you know about the model Sabina?’
‘Aha!’ Chloe said with satisfaction as she put down her knife and fork to look across the luncheon table to Brice. ‘I told Fergus, after you accompanied us to the fashion show last Saturday that there was something going on. So much for inviting me out to lunch to cheer me up while Fergus is away in Manchester at a book-signing!’ she added teasingly.
Brice loved his cousin’s wife dearly, looked on her as the younger sister he had never had, but sometimes…!
‘There’s nothing “going on”, Chloe,’ he told her dryly. ‘I’m going to paint the woman. I just thought I should know something about her before I did.’
‘Oh.’ Chloe couldn’t hide her disappointment at this explanation.
Brice gave a rueful shake of his head at her deflated expression. ‘Just because you and Fergus are rapturously happy together—even more so since you knew about the expected baby—does not mean everyone else around you has to be in love too!’
‘But wouldn’t it be nice if you were?’ Chloe came back undaunted.
‘She’s an engaged woman, Chloe,’ he dismissed with amusement.
‘But they don’t seem in any hurry to get married,’ she replied instantly. ‘And Richard Latham is so much older than Sabina…’
Brice was all too well aware of that already…
‘Nice’ wasn’t exactly how he would have described the possibility of his falling in love. But he knew that his two cousins, Logan and Fergus, had found true love in the last year, and that they—and their wives!—would like nothing better than for Brice to join them in their obviously happy state. The only problem that he could see was that he hadn’t yet found the woman that he could fall in love with!
The model Sabina certainly wasn’t her. She was beautiful, yes. And from their meeting last Friday he knew that she was also completely natural and unaffected. He was also intrigued by her, found her engagement to a man so much her senior slightly odd, as he found the way she had the equivalent to a ‘minder’ accompany her wherever she went; because he had no doubt that the man Clive who would be driving her to his studio this afternoon was exactly that, no matter what guise he might otherwise be appearing under.
What Brice really wanted to know was, in view of David Latham’s view of his uncle, was Sabina being protected on Richard’s behalf, as a collector of priceless objects, or for some other reason…?
Which was why he had wondered, with Chloe being a fashion designer herself, with her own connections in the design and model world, if she knew anything about Sabina that might answer some of his questions for him. But the last thing he wanted was for Chloe to think he had a personal interest in Sabina!
‘How is Fergus’s latest book doing?’ He decided to change the subject for a while; they could always come back to Sabina later.
‘Number one in the hardback best-seller list after only two weeks,’ Chloe told him with obvious pride. ‘Have you read it?’
‘Not yet.’ He resumed eating his meal, knowing that he had successfully diverted Chloe’s attention from possible wedding bells on his behalf. ‘It’s set in the fashion-designer world, isn’t it?’
It was the perfect way to distract Chloe from the subject of Sabina, and for the next fifteen minutes they talked of Fergus’s successful new book, then went on to discuss Chloe’s father’s return to politics, and now the government.
Anything but the beautiful model Sabina!
Because, as he’d talked to Chloe about everything else under the sun but Sabina, Brice had come to the realisation that his interest in her was personal!
She was deliberately cool and aloof, put up a barrier between herself and others—with the obvious exception of Richard Latham. And yet at the same time there was a vulnerability about her that seemed to be completely inexplicable.
Sabina was the world’s top model, very beautiful, very much in demand, and very highly paid. Her earnings had to equal those of the highest paid actress in Hollywood. Which meant she had the money to be and do whatever she pleased. And yet…
It was that ‘and yet’ that intrigued Brice, that had him thinking about Sabina even when he wasn’t aware he was doing it. He was becoming obsessed with her, he realised.
But this afternoon he hoped to go some way to solving the enigma that was Sabina Smith!
‘Thanks for lunch, Brice.’ Chloe reached up to kiss him on the cheek as they parted outside the restaurant. ‘And good luck with Sabina this afternoon,’ she added mischievously.
Brice gave a rueful shake of his head as he drove back to his home; he had no doubts that by this evening the whole family would know he had questioned Chloe concerning Sabina!
He arrived back at the house in plenty of time for their three o’clock appointment. But three o’clock came and went, with no sign of Sabina.
She wasn’t coming, damn it. After four days’ wait, after all that anticipation, she wasn’t coming!
Brice could feel the anger starting to build up inside him, having no doubt that Sabina had done this deliberately. He—
The doorbell rang.
It was three twenty-five, there had been no call to say she would be arriving late, but nevertheless Brice knew it was her. He schooled his features into showing none of his previous anger; that was probably what she expected, so she wouldn’t get it!
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ Sabina was apologising profusely even as his housekeeper showed her into the studio a few minutes later. ‘I had a photographic session for a magazine this morning, and, although they promised me faithfully that I would be finished by two o’clock, it ran over, and I—’
‘You’re here now,’ Brice firmly cut into her lengthy explanation. Because he was sure, even from their brief acquaintance, that Sabina was not the effusive type, that she would never use half a dozen words when one would do. Which probably meant she was making this up as she went along! ‘Have you had lunch?’
She blinked at this sudden change of subject. ‘No…’
‘Then can I offer you a sandwich or something?’ He looked enquiringly at his housekeeper even as he made the offer.
‘No, really,’ Sabina refused before Mrs Potter could answer. ‘I’ll have something later,’ she dismissed.
‘Tea or coffee, then?’ Brice offered smoothly.
God, she looked beautiful today, the clinging blue Lycra tee shirt, the same colour as her eyes, clinging in all the right places, as did the body-hugging black trousers she wore with it, her hair loose again today, a shining gold curtain down the length of her spine. Brice’s fingers itched to take up paper and pencil and begin his sketches.
Sabina looked set to refuse again, and then obviously thought better of it. ‘A coffee would be very nice, thank you.’ She smiled warmly at the housekeeper.
‘And how about Clive?’ Brice couldn’t resist asking, sure that the ‘chauffeur’ was even now sitting outside waiting to drive Sabina back to the home she shared with Richard Latham. As he had no doubt sat outside and waited for Sabina while she’d been in her photographic session this morning! ‘Would he like a coffee too, do you think?’ he added derisively.
Sabina’s gaze narrowed as she looked across at him for several long, silent seconds. ‘No, I’m sure Clive will be fine,’ she finally answered slowly. ‘I hope I’m not putting you to too much trouble,’ she added warmly to the housekeeper.
Brice could see, as Mrs Potter left the studio with a smile on her face, that Sabina’s apparently guileless charm had obviously worked its magic on her; he had no doubt that there would be more than a cup of coffee on the tray the housekeeper brought back in a few minutes.
‘Where do you want me?’
Now there was a leading question if ever he had heard one, Brice acknowledged derisively, sure that most men wouldn’t care ‘where’ with Sabina, as long as they had her!
Brice’s outward expression remained impassive. ‘The couch, I think,’ he answered consideringly. ‘To start with. I’m really not sure what I’m going to do with this yet,’ he added frowningly. How could he possibly do justice to such a beauty as Sabina’s…?
There was no doubting her surface beauty, but there was so much more to her than that, a naturalness that owed nothing to powder and paint, an inner Sabina that he needed to reach too. And he was determined, no matter what barriers she might choose to put up, that he would reach that Sabina!
Sabina moved to sit on the couch, the May sun shining in brightly through the windows that made up one complete wall of Brice McAllister’s studio. The garden outside was a blaze of spring flowers, and just the sight of that mixture of bright blossoms lightened Sabina’s spirit.
‘Do you do the gardening yourself?’ she asked interestedly.
‘Sorry?’
She turned back to look at Brice McAllister, only to find he was already engrossed in the sketch-pad resting on his knee as he sat across the room from her. ‘I didn’t realise you had already started,’ she murmured slightly resentfully, knowing she had been caught off guard as she’d looked out at the beauty of the garden.
‘Only roughly,’ he dismissed, giving her his full attention now, looking very relaxed in blue denims and a black tee shirt. ‘And yes, I look after the garden myself, It’s often a welcome relief after being in my studio for hours. Do you garden?’
Her expression became wistful. ‘I used to.’
‘Before pressures of work made it impossible,’ Brice McAllister guessed lightly.
A shutter came down over her eyes. ‘Something like that,’ she answered noncommittally.
The fact that she no longer gardened had nothing to do with work commitments, and everything to do with the fact that she no longer lived alone in her little cottage. But she was not about to explain that to Brice McAllister.
She was only here at all today under protest, because last Friday she had been given no choice but to agree to the appointment. Part of her knew that she probably also owed Brice a thank-you for not telling Richard how she had been avoiding his phone calls all week. But there was something inside her that wouldn’t let her say the words…
