Marked by Passion (37 page)

Yeah, my life literally splattered on canvas. Not that anyone knew but me. And Paul.

And one other person.

I searched the crowd for the millionth time. Rhys wasn't here. I didn't know if that was a disappointment or a relief.

Actually, I hadn't seen him since that night. At first, it'd been by choice. I'd needed time to think.

It didn't take long to realize his actions did speak louder than his original intentions. He'd helped me come into my own—with both
tu ch’i
and my art. I hadn't made huge progress with my powers yet—I still didn't know how to heal—but in accepting them, I found living with them more natural and less a struggle.

Most importantly, he'd never lied to me. He could have—it would have made life easier for him. I'd never have known differently. But he never did.

Honorable.

Still, something kept me from calling him. If I didn't know better, I'd think that some girly side of me wanted him to make a move. To win me.

That's when his notes started arriving.

Small, written on expensive vanilla paper in bold black handwriting that I knew without a doubt belonged to him. They showed up everywhere—under my door at home, at Madame's, at the bar. The first one was propped on my easel in my studio.

Some sweet, some sexy, all affecting, I eagerly read each subsequent one. Devious on his part, because I started to anticipate receiving them.

I pressed my hip, feeling the last one I received tucked into the waistband of my thong, next to my mark. It said, simply, "Forever."

A week ago I'd broken down and called him. I tried to rationalize that I needed to set up training sessions again, but I couldn't lie to myself. It was Rhys I really wanted.

Except Brian told me Rhys was out of the country. And I still hadn't heard from him.

"Gabe." The director, Chloe, swept up to me in her black cocktail dress and squeezed my hand. "This is a success beyond imagination. All your paintings sold.
All
of them. It's unheard-of."

"Great." Sad that all I could think of at the moment was that I looked like a giraffe next to her. I tugged the strapless top of my shimmery peacock blue dress one more time.

Madame nudged me and hissed under her breath. "
Arrête
."

"I could have sold the Dark Forces series ten times over." The dollar signs in her eyes made them shine brightly. "As it was, an anonymous buyer called early and offered to pay three times what I'd priced them."

"Peachy," I said nervously. My gut told me the anonymous patron was Rhys. Was that a good sign? He knew how personal they were—he'd recognize the emotion behind each stroke. But then why wasn't he here?

"I wonder how he heard about them. He asked for them specifically." She flagged down a waiter and snatched a glass of champagne from his tray. "So much for my grand plan of cloaking you in mystery to drum up curiosity. I was so careful not to let word leak out, too."

"Curious." I glanced at Madame, who was suddenly very intrigued by the fringe on her shawl.

"He wasn't pleased when I told him the fifth painting had already been sold," Chloe said with capitalist glee.

"Sold?" I blinked. "Someone else bought the last painting? Who?"

She shrugged. "It was another anonymous sale."

My gut lurched.
Not Paul
. That painting was intimate— part of my soul. It'd be sickening if Paul possessed it. Creepy, even. Please let it not be him.

"And as long as the check clears, I really don't care. Unless it's someone famous. Then I could use that for PR. Be sure to mingle." Chloe squeezed my hand one more time before she dropped it and went to continue schmoozing.

"I must say hello to a friend I see." Madame smiled at me. "I am proud of you, Gabrielle. I could not have been prouder if you were my own daughter."

My heart leapt into my throat, and I had to swallow a couple times before I could speak. "
Merci, Madame
."

"You must celebrate tonight,
mon chou
. You look— how does one say?—as if your best friend is lost." She pulled me down, kissed my cheek, and glided away, leaving a scent of vanilla.

"Gabe!"

I turned around in time to catch the bundle of seafoam chiffon that threw herself at me.

Carrie's embrace squeezed the air out of my lungs. For a small woman, she had a grip.

She let go, her face suffused with wonder and excitement. "This is so incredible. I had no idea you were so talented. I mean, I knew you were talented, but these—" She waved at the room, her eyes wide in awe. "These transcend."

Tears filled my eyes. First Madame, now Carrie.

"Oh, no." With a horrified gasp, she grabbed my arm. "Did I say the wrong thing?"

I shook my head. "You said the perfect thing."

"Oh. Good." She grinned. "The next perfect thing I'd like to say is that you look amazing. Vivian would die if she saw you in that dress. Actually ..." She pulled out her cell phone, flipped it open, and took a quick picture. "I'm going to pix that to her later."

Laughing, I hugged her. "I'm so glad you came."

"I wouldn't miss this for the world." She took my hand, her eyes solemn. "It means a lot to me that you wanted me to share this night with you."

"I—" I wanted to tell her that it meant a lot to have her there. That I valued her, that her friendship was treasure to me. I just didn't know how. I sucked at this emotional crap.

She smiled and squeezed my hand. "I know. Me, too."

"Are you sure you aren't a mind reader?"

"Nah. We're just on the same wavelength." She peeked over my shoulder. "I see a man over there who looks like he's dying to fetch me a glass of champagne, so I'm going to let you mingle with your adoring public."

I laughed. "Go. I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe we could have tea."

Her face lit from within. "I'd love that."

Sighing, I watched her walk away. At least I had one thing to look forward to.

I rolled my shoulders. Sore. In the past weeks since the thing with Paul (I had no idea what to call it—
incident
seemed such a pale word), I'd been working out hard. Mostly to get myself back in fighting shape. Partly because it helped take my mind off Rhys.

Sometimes.

Wu didn't think I was mentally prepared for the scroll, so he'd been reluctant to teach me anything real yet. I tried not to act bratty like Luke Sky walker in
The Empire Strikes Back
, but it was difficult. With Paul still at large, I needed all the resources I could get.

Of course, I did have a virtually constant police escort. Aside from the plainclothes detail that followed me all the time, Ramirez made a point of stopping by at least once a week. He'd sit at the bar and have a drink. Once, I asked him why they bothered to keep an eye on me if Paul had been spotted in South America. He said his gut told him Paul would show up to see me, and he'd wait patiently for that day.

I waited for my brother to show up, too. Not so patiently. We had a score to settle.

"Enough," I mumbled under my breath. I was supposed to be basking in the limelight. I pasted a smile on my face and turned to find someone to talk to. Checking out the scene, I bypassed the snooty people I should have been kissing up to, in hopes that there'd be someone more interesting.

Then my eyes fell on him.
Tu ch’i
leapt to life, and the tension gripping my shoulders for the past few weeks melted.

"You look bewitching," Rhys said in his sexy James Bond voice.

"You look like a penguin." Actually, he looked hot in his tux. The only way I thought he looked hotter was naked. "Where have you been?"

"Away on business." He lifted my wrist to his lips and kissed it so lingeringly that I swore I heard two women behind me sigh. "Miss me?"

"Hardly," I lied. I wanted to rail at him for declaring that we weren't finished and then falling off the face of the world. Except for his damn notes.

He must have known, because he placed a finger on my lips. "Hush. We're declaring a truce. No arguing for this one night."

I frowned at the foreign concept. "We won't have anything to talk about."

He chuckled, stepping closer. "I think we can find something, love. Like your smashing success."

His heat enveloped me, and I leaned in, eager to feel it wash over me. "It's pretty hopping, isn't it?"

"Not surprising, however. Clothilde La Rochelle is never wrong about talent."

I couldn't help myself—I had to ask. "Why did you pay so much for those paintings? Was it so I'd feel even more indebted to you?"

"There's no debt between us. I give to you freely and without intent." He tugged me so he held my hand cupped in his between our hearts. "And those paintings were
mine
."

I blinked at the fierceness in his voice.

"You painted them for me. Deny it as much as you like, but I know they were meant for me. The way you were meant for me."

Not knowing what to say to that fierce declaration, I ignored it and said as casually as I could, "I heard someone else bought the fifth painting."

"A mistake I'll rectify soon." He tangled his free hand in my hair, which I'd worn loose tonight, and arched my neck back. "What's mine, I keep."

He seared my lips with a kiss before I could reply. He breathed fire into my mouth, and then I didn't want to say anything. I grabbed his lapel and pulled him as close as we could get in public.

Too soon, he lifted his head. For once, his eyes weren't so guarded, and I felt like I could see deep into the fiery pits of his soul. I pulled him closer, letting what I found there warm me. "You really do love me?"

"With my every breath," he said without hesitation.

My birthmark tingled, a sparkling shower of happiness. I nodded. "You told me to think about this, and I have."

He stilled, the way a predator does so he won't startle his prey. "And?"

I slipped my hand inside his coat and rested my palm over his mark. "I think it's time to discuss a new deal."

"What sort of new deal?"

"A lifelong one."

He tugged me flush against his body. "Do you feel you have enough leverage to negotiate successfully?"

Grinning, I wiggled against his growing erection. "I feel I've got quite a lot of leverage here."

He grabbed my hips and held me still. "I'm ruthless, you know. I won't compromise. It's all or nothing with me."

Looking up into his blue eyes, I nodded. "I find myself willing to agree to those terms."

"Tell me," he urged, his voice low and sexy. His thumb pressed on my mark and a corner of the note I'd tucked in my panties.

I lifted my chin and said the words clearly, straight to his heart. "I love you."

Triumph. He lowered his mouth to mine, sealing our deal with a slow, engulfing kiss. I sighed, feeling warmth spread through my body, in all the places that counted.

"Gabrielle," he whispered against my lips, "I'm going to need to look over the terms. Very thoroughly."

And very soon, if I had anything to say about it.

Would anyone miss me if I slipped out? I looked over Rhys's shoulder, across the room and right into Madame's eyes. An older woman who dripped diamonds stood speaking to her, but Madame watched Rhys and me. As if she read my query, she tilted her head and winked.

I looked back at Rhys. "What do you say we take this to my office?"

He shook his head. "No,
my
office. I'd wager I'll be better equipped."

"You're already well equipped," I said, toying with the waistband of his slacks.

His grin widened, hot and wicked. Taking my hand, he placed a slow kiss on my wrist that promised all manner of sins, and then he led me out of the gallery and into the night.

I
can't believe I'm doing this." With a furtive glance behind her, Carrie tiptoed down the dark stone corridor. At the beginning of the monastery tour, the guide had explicitly said it was forbidden to wander from the group, and since she'd been on the tour ten times in the past ten days, she couldn't play blonde and clueless.

But she hadn't come all the way from San Francisco to China to go home empty-handed. Her best friend, Gabri-elle, would have told Carrie that if she wanted something, she should go for it wholeheartedly.

She wondered if Gabrielle—Gabe—would condone breaking and entering.

Stop thinking
. She had only so much time to find the room and look for what she needed before the tour group caught up to her. She hurried down the hall.

There it was to the left. The innocuous wooden door to the room that held the monastery's archives.

Heart pounding, she scurried to it and slipped inside. Carrie held her breath. She tensed, waiting, certain someone was about to bang on the door and demand what she was doing.

No one.

Just nerves. She exhaled and slumped against the door at her back. Even working as a bartender in San Francisco's Mission District didn't cause this kind of anxiety.

It wasn't her fault. She'd tried to go through proper channels. She'd contacted the monastery and asked for access to their manuscripts. They'd turned her down cold.