The Art of Deception Read online

  belonged to her.

  Perhaps it was best that way.

  Standing, she began to walk again, scuffing the leaves that danced around her feet. She was tired of herself. Another first. It wasn’t going to go on, she determined. Whatever the cost, she was going to whip Kirby Fairchild back into shape. Starting now. At a brisk pace, she started back to the cabin.

  She liked the way it looked, set deep in the trees by itself. The roof was pitched high and the glass sparkled. Today, she thought as she went in through the back door, she’d work. After she’d worked, she’d eat until she couldn’t move.

  Peeling off her coat as she went, she walked directly to the worktable she’d set up in the corner of the living room. Without looking around, she tossed the coat aside and looked at her equipment. She hadn’t touched it in days. Now she sat and picked up a formless piece of wood. This was to be her Passion. Perhaps now more than ever, she needed to put that emotion into form.

  There was silence as she explored the feel and life of the wood in her hands. She thought of Adam, of the nights, the touches, the tastes. It hurt. Passion could. Using it, she began to work.

  * * *

  An hour slipped by. She only noticed when her fingers cramped. With a sigh, she set the wood down and stretched them. The healing had begun. She could be certain of it now. “A start,” she murmured to herself. “It’s a start.”

  “It’s Passion. I can already see it.”

  The knife slipped out of her hand and clattered on the table as she whirled. Across the room, calmly sitting in a faded wingback chair, was Adam. She’d nearly sprung out of the chair to go to him before she stopped herself. He looked the same, just the same. But nothing was. That she had to remember.

  “How did you get in here?”

  He heard the ice in her voice. But he’d seen her eyes. In that one instant, she’d told him everything he’d ached for. Still, he knew she couldn’t be rushed. “The front door wasn’t locked.” He rose and crossed to her. “I came inside to wait for you, but when you came in, you looked so intense; then you started right in. I didn’t want to disturb your work.” When she said nothing, he picked up the wood and turned it over in his hand. He thought it smoldered. “Amazing,” he murmured. “Amazing what power you have.” Just holding it made him want her more, made him want what she’d put into the wood. Carefully he set it down again, but his eyes were just as intense when he studied her. “What the hell’ve you been doing? Starving yourself?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She stood and walked away from him, but she didn’t know where to go.

  “Am I to blame for that, too?”

  His voice was quiet, serious. She’d never be able to resist that tone. Gathering her strength, she turned back to him. “Did Tulip send you to check up on me?”

  She was too thin. Damn it. Had the pounds melted off her? She was so small. How could she be so small and look so arrogant? He wanted to go to her. Beg. He was nearly certain she’d listen now. Yet she wouldn’t want it that way. Instead, he tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “This is a cozy little place. I wandered around a bit while you were out.”

  “Glad you made yourself at home.”

  “It’s everything Harriet said it would be.” He looked at her again and smiled. “Isolated, cozy, charming.”

  She lifted a brow. It was easiest with the distance between them. “You’ve spoken to Harriet?”

  “I took your portrait to the gallery.”

  Emotion came and went again in her eyes. Picking up a small brass pelican, she caressed it absently. “My portrait?”

  “I promised her she could exhibit it when I’d finished.” He watched her nervous fingers run over the brass. “It wasn’t difficult to finish without you. I saw you everywhere I looked.”

  Quickly she turned to walk to the front wall. It was all glass, open to the woods. No one could feel trapped with that view. Kirby clung to it. “Harriet’s having a difficult time.”

  “The strain shows a bit.” In her, he thought, and in you. “I think it’s better for her that Melanie won’t see her at this point. With Stuart out of the way, the gallery’s keeping Harriet busy.” He stared at her back, trying to imagine what expression he’d find on her face. “Why aren’t you pressing charges, Kirby?”

  “For what purpose?” she countered. She set the piece of brass down. A crutch was a crutch, and she was through with them. “Both Stuart and Melanie are disgraced, banished from the elite that means so much to them. The publicity’s been horrid. They have no money, no reputation. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

  “Melanie tried to kill you. Twice.” Suddenly furious at the calm, even tone, he went to her and spun her around. “Damn it, Kirby, she wanted you dead!”

  “It was she who nearly died.” Her voice was still even, but she took a step back, from him. “The police have to accept my story that the gun went off accidentally, even if others don’t. I could have sent Melly to jail. Wouldn’t I feel avenged watching Harriet suffer?”

  Adam forced back the impatience and stared through the glass. “She’s worried about you.”

  “Harriet?” Kirby shrugged. “There’s no need. When you see her, tell her I’m well.”

  “You can tell her yourself when we get back.”

  “We?” The lightest hint of temper entered her voice. Nothing could have relieved him more. “I’m going to be here for some time yet.”

  “Fine. I’ve nothing better to do.”

  “That wasn’t an invitation.”

  “Harriet already gave me one,” he told her easily. He gave the room another sweeping glance while Kirby smoldered. “The place looks big enough for two.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, but don’t let me spoil your plans.” She spun on her heel and headed for the stairs. Before she’d gotten five feet, his fingers curled around her arm and held her still. When she whirled, he saw that his gypsy was back.

  “You don’t really think I’d let you leave? Kirby, you disappoint me.”

  “You don’t let me do anything, Adam. Nor do you prevent me from doing anything.”

  “Only when it’s necessary.” While she stood rigid, he put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re going to listen to me this time. And you’re going to start listening in just a minute.”

  He pressed his mouth to hers as he’d needed to for weeks. She didn’t resist. Nor did she respond. He could feel her fighting the need to do both. He could press her, he knew, and she’d give in to him. Then he might never really have her. Slowly their gazes locked; he straightened.

  “You’re nearly through making me suffer,” he murmured. “I’ve paid, Kirby, in every moment I haven’t been with you. Through every night you haven’t been beside me. When are you going to stop punishing me?”

  “I don’t want to punish you.” It was true. She’d already forgiven him. Yet, her confidence, that strong, thin shield she’d always had, had suffered an enormous blow. This time when she stepped back he didn’t try to stop her. “I know we parted badly. Maybe it’d be best if we just admitted we’d both made a mistake and left it at that. I realize you did what you had to do. I’ve always done the same. It’s time I got on with my life and you with yours.”

  He felt a quick jiggle of panic. She was too calm, much too calm. He wanted emotion from her, any kind she’d give. “What sort of life would either of us have without the other?”

  None. But she shook her head. “I said we made a mistake—”

  “And now you’re going to tell me you don’t love me?”

  She looked straight at him and opened her mouth. Weakening, she shifted her gaze to just over his shoulder. “No, I don’t love you, Adam. I’m sorry.”

  She’d nearly cut him off at the knees. If she hadn’t looked away at the last instant, it would’ve been over for him. “I’d’ve thought you could lie better than that.” In one move he closed the distance between them. His arms were around her, firm, secure. The same, sh
e thought. Nothing had changed after all. “I’ve given you two weeks, Kirby. Maybe I should give you more time, but I can’t.” He buried his face in her hair while she squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been wrong, she remembered. She’d been wrong about so many things. Could this be right?

  “Adam, please…”

  “No, no more. I love you.” He drew away, barely resisting the need to shake her. “I love you and you’ll have to get used to it. It isn’t going to change.”

  She curled her hand into a fist before she could stroke his cheek. “I think you’re getting pompous again.”

  “Then you’ll have to get used to that, too. Kirby…” He framed her face with his hands. “How many ways would you like me to apologize?”

  “No.” Shaking her head she moved away again. She should be able to think, she warned herself. She had to think. “I don’t need apologies, Adam.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he murmured. Forgiveness would come as easily to her as every other emotion. “Your father and I had a long talk before I drove up here.”

  “Did you?” She gave her attention to a bowl of dried flowers. “How nice.”

  “He’s given me his word he’ll no longer…emulate paintings.”

  With her back to him, she smiled. The pain vanished without her realizing it, and with it, the doubts. They loved. There was so little else in life. Still smiling, Kirby decided she wouldn’t tell Adam of her father’s ambition with sculpting. Not just yet. “I’m glad you convinced him,” she said with her tongue in her cheek.

  “He decided to concede the point to me, since I’m going to be a member of the family.”

  With a flutter of her lashes, she turned. “How lovely. Is Papa adopting you?”

  “That wasn’t precisely the relationship we discussed.” Crossing to her, he took her into his arms again. This time he felt the give and the strength. “Tell me again that you don’t love me.”

  “I don’t love you,” she murmured, and pulled his mouth to hers. “I don’t want you to hold me.” Her arms wound around his neck. “I don’t want you to kiss me again. Now.” Her lips clung to his, opening, giving. As the heat built, he groaned and drew her in.

  “Obstinate, aren’t you?” he muttered.

  “Invariably.”

  “But are you going to marry me?”

  “On my terms.”

  When her head tilted back, he ran kisses up the length of her throat. “Which are?”

  “I may come easy, but I don’t come free.”

  “What do you want, a marriage settlement?” On a half laugh, he drew away. She was his, whoever, whatever she was. He’d never let her go again. “Can’t you think of anything but money?”

  “I’m fond of money—and we still have to discuss my sitting fee. However…” She drew a deep breath. “My terms for marriage are four children.”

  “Four?” Even knowing Kirby, he’d been caught off guard. “Four children?”

  She moistened her lips but her voice was strong. “I’m firm on that number, Adam. The point’s non-negotiable.” Then her eyes were young and full of needs. “I want children. Your children.”

  Every time he thought he loved her completely, he found he could love her more. Still more. “Four,” he repeated with a slow nod. “Any preference to gender?”

  The breath she’d been holding came out on a laugh. No, she hadn’t been wrong. They loved. There was very little else. “I’m flexible, though a mix of some sort would be nice.” She tossed her head back and smiled up at him. “What do you think?”

  He swept her into his arms then headed for the stairs. “I think we’d better get started.”

  * * * * *