Chapter 6 #2
Well that was an understatement. She tried to keep her face pleasantly neutral, sort of the prom-queen-stuck-on-a-float look. "Why would you think something happened to me?"
"Because, darling ." He paused provocatively and the word ran down her spine, curling around her, suffocating her. "You stood me up."
"I did?" She eyed him skeptically.
"Yes. You promised to come by the bar." He raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"Oh God, Nick, I'm sorry. I forgot all about you." He had asked her to come by. They'd been supposed to have lunch. Yesterday .
His face darkened, taking on a sardonic look. "And here I thought you might have need of rescue."
She held out a hand. "I didn't mean it like that. You know I'd never stand you up on purpose. Something came up and I forgot all about it. Forgive me, please." She might not be willing to jump in his bed, but he deserved better than a brush off.
The anger faded and his lips twisted into an ironic grin. "I hope it was more than the cat that kept you away."
"The cat?"
"Yes, your new pet."
Damn, she really had to bone up on this lying thing. "As a matter a fact, it was the cat."
He waited patiently for her explanation, his foot swinging lazily against the cabinet under the counter.
"She's a stray. I found her a couple of days ago out by the trash.
She looked so pitiful. Skinny and lonely and, well, as it turns out, sick.
She has ear mites. Kept her up all night, poor baby.
So I spent a good part of yesterday in Del Norte at the vet.
" She shot him what she hoped was an apologetic look.
"Ah, Cara, my angel. Always taking care of the misfits." He rose and crossed the space between them. "But now perhaps you can spare some time for me?" His words were a question, his tone was not.
"Of course. Why don't I meet you in town, later."
"But you're here and I'm here, why not now?" He trailed a finger down her cheek. "Besides, as much as I love your company, Cara mia, I have some business I'd like to take care of."
There was obviously no getting rid of him, but she be damned if she'd continue this conversation in her robe. "Fine. Why don't you make yourself comfortable and I'll get dressed."
"Are you sure you don't want a little help?"
"No, thank you, I can manage. I'll be back in a sec." She fled into the bedroom and leaned against the closed door, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Who the hell is he?" Michael's whispered words made her jump.
"Just an acquaintance."
"He seemed a little more than that to me."
She glared at him. Enough was enough. She was not a pawn for Nick and Michael to throw around like a football. "I think he'd like to be, but he isn't," she spoke quietly, through clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry." His voice softened and his apology reached all the way to the crystal depths of his cobalt eyes.
She smiled weakly. "Look, I've got to get dressed or he's going to come in here."
Michael stepped back and waved at the room behind him. "Your room is mine."
Suppressing a laugh, she walked to the dresser and began pulling out clothes with no thought as to what she was grabbing. Then, with garments in hand, she eyed him thoughtfully. "Turn your back."
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't budge.
"Unless you want me to go back out there like this, turn your back."
With a rakish grin, he shrugged and turned away.
She caught her breath at the clean strong lines of his bare shoulders.
The man was a magnet. She simply couldn't quit staring.
Even the white of his bandage enhanced his sexuality.
With shaking hands, she quickly pulled on a pair of faded cut-offs and a tee-shirt.
"You can turn around now."
He spun around, the look of surprise on his face almost comical. "You're not going out there in that."
"You sound like my grandfather."
"Well, I shouldn't wonder if you insist on entertaining gentleman callers dressed like that."
Gentleman callers? "You were expecting a ball gown?"
"No. I was expecting something that covered more than the robe did." He glared at her, his gaze raking up and down her. Funny when he did it, she felt all hot and squirmy inside, but when Nick did it, she wanted nothing more than to slap him silly.
"Cara?" Nick.
"I've got to go. This will have to do." She pulled an oversized tee-shirt from another drawer.
"Here, it wouldn't hurt you to cover up, too.
" She threw the shirt at him, watching as he snagged it one-handed.
With a mock bow, he sent her a crooked smile that for all the world seemed a promise of things to come.
She quelled a surge of desire. What had come over her?
She waited until he moved out of range of the open door, then walked back into the living room, pulling the door closed behind her.
"There, that's better. Sorry to keep you waiting." She sat on the arm of a chair. Nick traced the curve of her calf with his eyes and she actually felt herself blush. Maybe shorts hadn't been the best idea. "Can I get you something to drink?"
He was settled on the sofa, one leg crossed casually over the other. He looked as if it were his home, not hers. Somehow the familiarity grated on her nerves.
"I'll take a Scotch, neat."
She was halfway to the cabinet when she remembered the Scotch was in the bedroom. What was left of it. Her heart couldn't stand another whispered conversation with Michael. She obviously was not cut out for subterfuge.
"I'm out."
Nick frowned. "What happened to the bottle I gave you?"
Another of his annoying habits. He seemed to find great delight in stocking her house with delicacies he wanted to have on hand. Quite presumptuous really. "It's gone. Gin?"
"Fine."
He didn't sound fine, but frankly, she didn't care. She dropped a couple of ice cubes in a glass and mixed the drink, being careful to go light on the gin. No sense in adding fuel to his lust-filled glances. "You said you had business to discuss."
She crossed to the sofa and held out his drink, a cheerful smile firmly in place.
"I want to talk about the paintings." He touched the glass, but rather than taking it, he slid his hand down to cover hers. Unless she upended the drink, she had little choice but to join him on the sofa.
"We've been down this road before, Nick." Several times.
"Look. I love the series, and I want them. It's as simple as that." He reached for the drink with his left hand, keeping her fingers entrapped in his right.
"You haven't even seen them. You saw The Promise once for maybe five minutes. How could you possibly love them?"
"I know what I like, Cara mia." He shrugged. There was subtext here, but she be damned if she knew what it was.
"Well I'm flattered. But I've told you, the paintings are no longer mine to sell. They belong to Solais."
He leaned forward, tightening his fingers, a shadow of anger passing across his face. She winced and he loosened his grip, the shadow dissipating almost before it began. "You've already sent them?"
She pulled her hand free, absently rubbing it against her shorts. "No, although I should have. I've gotten most of them crated for shipping, but I need to finish up. I was planning to get in to the studio yesterday, but —"
"I know, you were unavoidably detained. Well, you'll simply have to tell them you've changed your mind."
"I can't do that. It's the Solais Gallery, and you know as well as I do that it's a miracle they wanted them in the first place. If I were to back out now, I'd never sell to them again."
"Well, we'll simply have to find a way around that. You can name your price."
"I'm sorry, Nick. I can't. I intend to honor the contract with Solais."
"Damn it, Cara, you're not being reasonable."
"I'll paint you something else."
"But I want those paintings, Cara." He grabbed both her wrists in his hands.
She tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. "Nick, stop it. You're hurting, me."
He leaned forward, his glacial eyes boring into hers. "My dear, I simply won't take no for an answer." The icy fury in his eyes scared her. He was close enough now she could smell the gin on his breath.
"I believe the lady said no."
If the situation hadn't been so frightening, it would have been absurd.
Michael stood in the bedroom doorway clad in his jeans and her tee-shirt.
What had served as a nightshirt for her, barely fit over his broad shoulders.
The cotton clung to his muscles, outlining the hard lines of him and displaying the grossly distorted figure of Tweety Bird across his chest.
Nick rose, dragging her with him, then froze, obviously completely thrown by the man in the doorway. Cara jerked free, and took a step in Michael's direction.
"Who the hell are you?" Nick's normally elegant voice was lost in his anger, his classic good looks marred by the rage etched on his face.
"The cat."
Cara watched as Nick pulled himself together, schooling his face into the social equivalent of bland, his gaze going first to Cara, then Michael, then back to Cara again. "And does the cat have a name?"
Cara opened her mouth to answer, but Michael was faster.
"Michael Macpherson. And I think it's about time that you were going."
Nick's mouth twitched at the corner, the only sign that Michael's words affected him. With a shrug he focused his attention on Cara. "I'm sorry if I upset you, Cara mia. I'm afraid I got carried away." He moved to touch her, but Michael moved faster, stepping neatly between them.
"I said it's time for you to go."
Nick was in full control again, cool composure masking any hint to his real feelings. "Very well. We'll talk later."
Cara poked her head around Michael. "I'm not changing my mind, Nick."
"I understand. I shouldn't have overreacted. It's just that I wanted them so badly. Forgive me, darling?" He actually managed to look contrite.
Cara smiled weakly. "Of course." Anything to get him out of here before Michael throttled him.
With a last blistering look at Michael, Nick strode into the mud room. A few seconds later the door slammed behind him, rattling the windows.
Cara blew out a long breath, her eyes meeting Michael's. "He wouldn't have hurt me. He was just angry about the paintings."
"Maybe not, but I didn't think it was worth taking the chance."
She sank onto the sofa, grateful for its support.
Michael sat in the easy chair, leaning forward, his blue eyes filled with concern. "Are you sure you're all right?"
Cara smiled. "I'm fine. Besides, isn't that supposed to be my line? You're the one who got shot." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "Maybe we should clarify a few things."
"Fine by me. I'll start. Tell me about your paintings, the ones that Nick wants so badly."
Cara opened her eyes, surprised at the turn of the conversation.
She'd been expecting him to talk about being shot not her artwork.
"There's not much to tell. Once when I was a kid, I stumbled on the ruins of an old mine up in the mountains.
It was a long way from here. Straight up the canyon, something like five or six miles past the tunnel where I found you. I'm not good at distances.
"Anyway, I managed to climb up to a ridge of sorts, nestled in a valley, and there it was, perched on the top of the mountain, defying nature.
There wasn't much left. Fallen timbers and a sink hole.
The remnants of a shack of some kind—one window, unbroken, silhouetted against the sky.
It seemed so lonely there, sort of lost in time.
So I sketched it from various vantage points.
"Then a few months ago, I came across the sketches, and remembered the mine.
I tried to find it again. I went to where I remembered it being.
But it wasn't there. I guess it had been too long.
Whatever had been there was gone. Anyway, for whatever reason, it still called to me.
So I painted it. But I never could seem to get it right—to capture the magic.
So I painted it again and then again. Each time using a different angle and different light.
The result being the series of paintings Nick was talking about. "
"One of the paintings is called the Promise ?"
"Yes, that's the only one Nick's actually ever seen."
"So why did you call it that?" His voice tight, almost tense.
"My grandfather used to talk about a silver mine named the Promise. It was lost, too. Like my mine. Made me think of all the hopes and dreams that died in those mountains." She shrugged. "So I named the painting after it. It just seemed right somehow. Why do you ask?"
"Because," his gaze met hers, his eyes full of pain, "my father owned the Promise."