Heart of the Hunter (7 page)

The door banged against the wall as she flung it open with obvious irritation. “Yes?” she hissed then blinked. “Jeb?”

“Yep.” He lounged against the wall, laughing down at her. Her shirt dangled from a crooked finger. “Always turning up, like the proverbial penny.”

“What penny?” The gaze she turned to his was vague and slightly unfocused.

“Uh-oh.” He drew away from the wall, and at his full height towered over her. “Bad day?”

“You could say that, considering the way that it started.”

“Funny, I sorta liked the way it started.”

“You're making fun.” She squinted up at him. “Are you making fun? You promised you wouldn't. Never, never make fun. Fun hurts.”

Jeb shook his head and eased the glass from her fingers only an instant before it would have slipped from her loose grasp. Holding it up to the light spilling through the door, he saw the dark red color of the drop that was left. “How many of these have you had?”

“Two.” She waved three fingers in his face. “Only two.”

“Oh dear.” Jeb smothered a smile and wondered if she couldn't count, or had the least tolerance for wine of anyone he'd ever seen.

“Oh dear, is exactly right. This has been an ‘oh dear' sort of day, all day long.” Her skirt dipped and swayed, and the square cut neck of her camisole dipped with it, revealing a tantalizing bit of femininity as she leaned against the door.

“It has, has it?” He wouldn't think of the camisole, soft and supple, provocative in its very simplicity, and leaving little doubt her breasts were naked beneath it.

“In...innnndubitably.”

“Then why don't we fix it?” Stepping forward, he swept her into his arms, and was surprised to discover how well she fit next to his heart. How good she felt in his embrace.

“What...?” Woozy from the swiftness of his move, she clung to him, her arms wrapped tightly about his neck.

“Shh,” Jeb murmured against her hair. “Just relax. This won't hurt a bit. I promise.”

“Jeb?”

“None other.”

With a step unhampered by the slight addition of her weight, he crossed to the deck and settled with her into the chaise. A glance at her demure little jacket tossed carelessly aside, and her shoes tumbled heel over toe as if a tottering child had abandoned them, told a story of irritation and frustration. The bottle of wine with so little taken from it proved a suspicion that she'd eaten little if anything all day. Explaining how two glasses of wine came to be verified so emphatically with three fingers.

“Knocked you on your pretty little tush didn't it, sweetheart?” Her shirt and his excuse, lay crumpled and forgotten by the door.

“Hmm?” She moved restlessly against him, her cheek scrubbing his chest.

“Shh.” He considered dinner, then decided food was not what she needed. Drawing her close, he stroked her hair, breathing in her perfume as it blended with the fresh sea air. A seductive combination as intoxicating as the wine. For his own sanity he didn't want to think of her perfume, any more than he wanted to think of the camisole, or her body curled into his. But he wasn't destined to succeed in that, and as he eased her tensions his own escalated. With an uneven note in his voice he murmured, “Why don't you tell me about your day.”

“My day was terrible.” Each word was carefully spaced.

“So you said.”

“It started with you.”

“That was terrible?”

“Yes. No. I don't know.”

“Maybe we'd better leave that part out for now. What came next?”

“Charlie coyote came next.”

“Ah-ha! He caught the roadrunner. How fast?”

“Just eighty-five miles an hour.”

“Just! That's not running, honey, it's flying low. What next?”

“Mrs. Atherton.”

“The old biddy.”

“In the flesh. She wants Ashley's paintings. She hates him and calls him the village idiot, and
that
woman's child. Whoever
that
woman is. Ashley's paintings aren't for sale. If they were, I wouldn't sell them to someone who called him an idiot.”

“Good for you.”

“You wouldn't say that if you knew how close I came to spitting in her eye and banning her from the gallery forever.”

“Our little cygnet grew into a magnificent swan with a tiger's heart,” Jeb whispered against her temple. “Tony would be proud of you.”

His first mention of her brother. He waited for her reaction.

“Ha!” She clutched at his shirt and curled closer into him. Her hand trembled. “He wouldn't care at all.”

Jeb held her, daring no more as she struggled with something he didn't understand. It was a long while before her ragged breaths slowed to a drowsy rhythm and when he rose from the chaise, she clung to him, muttering sleepily into his throat. It was a simple matter to find her bedroom. But not so simple to listen to his head and not his body as he stripped away her skirt and discovered the camisole was a chemise. A single garment intended to serve the utilitarian purpose of both lingerie and blouse.

“Utilitarian! Like hell!” he growled on a strangled breath. It was madness dressed up in lace, lying in wait for an unsuspecting male.

He was suddenly and, he knew, unfairly angry with her for what he felt, for what she made him feel. But anger became his temporary ally. When he left her sleeping like a trusting child with the duvet tucked chastely beneath her chin, beyond the intimate glimpse, he knew little more about Nicole Callison. And because of it, a damnable lot about himself.

He wanted her. He might curse himself for a fool and an idiot, but it changed nothing.

Guilty, or innocent, he wanted her.

T
he sun was past its meridian as Jeb slipped the roadster into a narrow slot in the unpaved lot. Shadows pooled in elongated circles about live oaks and blooming crape myrtles. In this late afternoon hour, the hottest part of the day, the purposeful pedestrian would find no relief in them from the sultry heat rising from the walks of Charleston.

A wise man would have gone to ground, seeking out the cool, or creating his own with a long, cold drink. A worried man would do exactly as Jeb, seeking out the cause of his worry.

As he stepped into the galley, his first impression was of an island of cool serenity in the midst of the sweltering heat outside. A quiet day winding down to a quieter end. In the space of a thought, the illusion was shattered by the caustic demand of the lone customer.

“You might as well sell, Nicole. I intend to have the paintings, sooner or later.” Haughty flint in the commanding voice was not softened by a cultured drawl. “Sooner would be much easier, my dear, for all of us.”

“The paintings aren't for sale, Mrs. Atherton.” Nicole was calm, only the set of her shoulders betrayed annoyance.

“Of course they are.” The regal woman with an unyieldingly straight back and perfectly groomed silver hair gestured with the arrogance of royalty. Her lust focused on a group of paintings hanging in an obvious place of honor. “Why else would you display them at the sale?”

“They were only lent to us. I can't sell what isn't mine.” Nicole dealt with peremptory arrogance with unshakable composure.

“You're being ridiculous, Nicole.” The woman was taller, larger, and by the sheer power of her size and her position in the city, she meant to intimidate the younger, smaller upstart.

Jeb's initial inclination was to step in, but something in the look of Nicole held him back. Settling back against a column, he crossed his arms over his chest and observed, discovering he needn't have worried.

“I'm not being ridiculous, and I'm not being stubborn.” Nicole was undaunted, her pleasant attitude unchanged. “I'm keeping a promise.”

“To whom?”

“To Ashley, Mrs. Atherton,” Annabelle interjected from her desk, her black eyes burning into the woman like lasers.

“No one asked you, Annabelle.” Mrs. Atherton sent her a scathing look meant to remind an underling of her place.

“Perhaps you didn't ask Annabelle, but what she says is true. My agreement and my promise to Ashley in return for the privilege of displaying his paintings was that they wouldn't be sold.”

“The man's an idiot. He wouldn't know if you sold one, or two or the whole lot of them. A promise to Ashley means no more than a promise to a stray dog.”

“Ashley is
not
a stray, Mrs. Atherton.” Twin wings of color swept across Nicole's cheeks as her face paled. The shaking of her hand was stilled by a convulsive tightening of her fingers over a gold clad fountain pen.

The grande dame of Charleston didn't seem to notice, but Jeb did, as the foolish woman waded deeper into the fray. “He lives on the street, Nicole, that's virtually the same.”

“He might wander the streets, but he doesn't live on them. He has a house, not a mansion like yours, but functional. And he has a job.”

“Shining shoes in a hotel?”

“It's honest work that meets his needs. And—” warning that there was more, was given by only the slightest force in Nicole's voice “—just because he isn't like you, or anyone else in Charleston, doesn't mean he's an idiot. But if he were, why would you include the work of an idiot you so despise in your hallowed collection?”

“Nicole!” The pinched, elderly face grew even more autocratic. “You needn't be rude.”

“You're right,” Nicole agreed. “It's the last thing I need.” Crossing to Annabelle's desk, she laid the pen on a colorful blotter. Her breasts rose in a long, deep breath before she turned back to her obstinate customer. “Ashley's paintings are not for sale, Mrs. Atherton, that precludes the need for more discussion. Now, if you will excuse me, we close in ten minutes and I have things to do.”

“I will not excuse you, Nicole, I—”

“Nicky, darling,” Jeb said softly as he pushed away from the column and moved toward the desk. He'd heard enough, and more. He was tired of the woman's arrogance, and amazed she didn't see the stony look in eyes as cold as green ice. “Have you forgotten?”

“Forgotten?” Nicole turned to him, a flash of surprise on her face. Engrossed as she'd been with her contest of will with Mrs. Atherton, she had no idea he had come to the gallery and even less what she might have forgotten. “I'm sorry, I don't...”

“Ahh, sweetheart.” He folded his palms about her cheeks. As surprise ascended to shock, he brushed her mouth with his, lightly, but with a lingering completeness. With unmistakable reluctance he moved away, accusing tenderly, “You forgot our date.”

“Our date?” Nicole touched her lips with an unsteady hand. Amid the sudden tumult of every nerve, she realized she sounded like a parrot, but at just this particular moment, she couldn't quite get her jangled thoughts in order. “What date?”

“Ohmigosh!” Annabelle slapped her forehead with an open hand. “I'm the one who forgot, Jeb.
I
forgot to tell Nicole you called. She has no idea you've planned a romantic dinner just for the two of you.” Rising from her desk, like a minuscule queen of the Amazons, she crossed to Mrs. Atherton. Taking her arm firmly, she led the speechless woman to the door. “I'm sure you understand that we need to close a tad early today.”

“No, I don't.” Unaccustomed to such cavalier treatment, the self-acclaimed savant of the arts struggled to remove her arm from Annabelle's grasp, but discovered the pudgy hand gripped like a vice.

“Of course you don't mind.” Annabelle cut short her protest. “I'm sure you realize as well as I how impatient young lovers can be.”

“Young lovers?” The covert struggle ceased, avid eyes stared at Nicole and Jeb over Annabelle's shoulder.

“Yes, indeedy, it's wonderful, isn't it?” The gallery door was open. The pressure of Annabelle's hand had to be bruising as she stepped into the street with Mrs. Atherton. “
Do
come to see us again, soon. Surely by then we'll have something you'll like as well as Ashley's paintings.”

One step back, a hearty shove of the door and the newest Amazon turned to face them. “There now.” She dusted her hands on her skirt as if the touch of Mrs. Atherton left them soiled. “As of this minute, we are officially closed.”

“Annabelle,” Nicole managed to utter, “do you know what you just did?”

“Indeed, I do. Exactly what I've always wanted to do—throw the old battle-ax out.”

“Bravo!” Jeb clapped his hands.

“And you!” Nicole rounded on him. “Do you know what
you've
just done?”

“Indeed, I do.” Jeb rested one hip on the edge of Annabelle's desk as he brushed a wisp of ebony from Nicole's temple. “I just saved the old battle-ax's life. I don't believe she realized how close you were to losing your temper.”

“I might get angry, but I don't lose my temper,” Nicole said through clenched teeth.

“No, I'm sure you don't. It isn't allowed, is it? That's why you have nights like last night, when you're wound so tight.”

“I wasn't wound tight.” She dodged away from him.

Jeb chuckled. “No, I don't suppose you were.” Undeterred by her abrupt move, he stroked her hair. A not so subtle reminder that he'd done the same in the moonlight on a deck overlooking the sea. “Just tight.”

Nicole caught his wrist, her fingers closing like handcuffs over the tanned flesh. “I was not tight then, I'm not angry now.”

“You're not angry.” Jeb agreed conversationally.

“No, I'm not angry.”

“Hey! Who's arguing?” Her hands still circled his wrists, he left them there. “Then it's settled, you're going to dinner with me.”

Nicole released her grasp as if his touch burned and backed away. “I will not go to dinner with you.”

“Then you're angry with me.”

“I am not.”

Jeb grinned, propped one foot over the other, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then, sweetheart, tell me why.”

“Because.”

“Because, why?”

“Because I have work to do.”

“Name it.”

“I have to close the gallery.”

“Annabelle just did that.”

“I certainly did,” Annabelle murmured from her vantage point by the door.

“Anything else, Nicky?” Jeb asked.

“There are new paintings to catalog.”

“I can do that,” Annabelle piped in.

“I have some packages to ready for shipping.”

“That, too.”

“Annabelle.” Nicole turned to her assistant. “You need to get home to your husband. He must be disturbed with the long hours we've been working.”

“No, I don't, Harry isn't home. That's why I don't mind hanging out here—it gets lonesome in that rambling old house without my hot-blooded stallion around.”

“Give it up, Nicky. You're surrounded, and the cavalry isn't coming.” Jeb straightened to his full height, standing just a couple of inches under a foot taller than her five feet, two. “You avoided me this morning by skipping your walk on the beach. The evening's another matter.

“Unless, you want to break one of your own cardinal rules, and lose your temper.” He touched her chin, tracing the small indentation that was not quite a cleft. “Do you want to be angry with me? Do you blame me for last night?” He lifted her face to his. “Would you feel better if we pretended it never happened?”

Annabelle made a restless move, her curiosity building to volcanic proportions. A warning glance from Jeb quieted her.

Nicole wasn't aware of the restlessness or the warning. She didn't look away from Jeb, or move from the lazy, mesmerizing caress. He was right, she had avoided the beach and another chance encounter. When she'd woken with the first chirping of the birds, she was disoriented and had no memory of retiring the night before. When a headache struck, the magnitude of which only red wine could cause, she was confused. When she discovered she was still dressed in her chemise, she remembered Jeb.

Jeb. Lounging by her door in the moonlight. Catching her glass, then scooping her up, as well. Soothing her, teasing her, listening to the debacle that had been her day.

Jeb. His lips in her hair. The beat of his heart against her own. His hands on her as he stripped off her skirt. His angry, half-whispered curse as he found what she wore beneath.

Jeb. His soft kiss on her forehead. His quiet wish for a restful sleep.

Jeb. Awakening every dream she'd ever dreamed. Dreams that had lain silent, but never died.

Jeb. Always Jeb. Her heart would never be free of him. And she was a fool.

Since then, her day and her mood had vacillated to the extreme, the single constant had been self-contempt and humiliation. She almost welcomed a second day of Mrs. Atherton's demands. At least it was something to think about other than Jeb and her own stupidity.

Now there was nothing to do but face it and brazen it out if she must. “I don't suppose there's any need in lying. I did avoid you this morning—I thought you would prefer it that way. I...uh...wasn't exactly myself. I hope you know that. I don't usually do that sort of thing and to inflict myself upon you was unforgivable. We were friends in the past, but, if we're honest, we have to admit we're almost strangers now.”

Annabelle gasped and made an odd choking sound.

Jeb heard, knew exactly the connotation she'd given Nicole's rambling monologue, and couldn't resist the temptation to strike a flame to smoldering suspicion. “We aren't strangers, my love.” He whispered softly, but not too softly. “We could never be after last night.”

“I thought you would be disappointed in me.”

“The only thing that disappoints me, is that you've refused to have dinner with me.” He took her hands in both of his. “Would it be so awful to spend another evening with me? This time I promise I won't put you to bed.”

Nicole succumbed to laughter and to him. He was teasing her, and the anger she'd heard last night was gone. “All right, it's a deal. But this time I promise, you won't need to put me to bed.”

“Deal.” He kissed the tender flesh of one wrist and backed away. “I'll browse while you freshen up.”

Nicole hurried to a set of doors that led to a small lounge and bathroom. Annabelle didn't have to be a clairvoyant to interpret one last tarrying look. Her cool, collected boss wasn't so cool and collected and wasn't sure at all what she was getting herself into.

Jeb moved through the gallery, pausing before this painting and that. Patting the head of a bronze retriever and the nose of a perky chipmunk. When he drew near the wolf's head, Annabelle was waiting as he knew she would be. As Mrs. Atherton said, sooner or later.

“Ahh, Annabelle.” He smiled down at her. “I imagine you have some questions for me.”

“You bet I do.” She jerked her head toward the wolf, a magnificent rendering that captured danger and spirit without taming either. “Judging from this little conversation, it sounds as if you might be trying to live up to your reincarnation here.”

“In other words, you think I'm trifling with your boss lady.”

“Are you? Did you?” Blunt question, brooking nothing but truth. Jeb would give her that, in part. He wondered what she would think of the whole of it.

“If by trifling, you mean did I sleep with Nicole last night. The answer is no, Annabelle.”

“But she said—”

“She said I put her to bed. And I did. Alone.”

The dark, Gypsy mane swayed about plump shoulders as a skeptical chin jutted at him. “Suppose you explain how that came about.”