“What? No biting?” he questioned with an exaggerated pout, although both of them knew Julio would not risk exposure by fully morphing before a crowd.
Diego was about to answer when his vamp senses picked up on a familiar scent. “I’ve got to go. Behave yourself.”
Despite his warning to Julio, Diego put on a burst of vampire acceleration and arrived at the anteroom just as one of his staff was about to help Ramona with her jacket. Diego stepped in, slipping his hands to her shoulders to remove the serviceable peacoat, which he passed to a clerk.
What she wore was anything but serviceable, Diego thought as his eyes took in the deep wine-colored velvet gown that artfully draped the slender lines of her body and the generous curves of her breasts. Silver combs pulled her thick chestnut hair back from her face, highlighting the fine bones there.
“Felicidades,” he whispered against her ear, wishing her well.
Ramona faced him and smiled, but she seemed tired and even more pale than she had the other day. “Gracias, Diego. I didn’t realize it was you.”
“Where else should I be but at your side?” He slipped his arm through hers and urged her to the bar, where he snared two glasses of red wine. He handed her one and raised his in a toast. “To a fine showing. I know it will be a success.”
“Again, gracias. It wouldn’t have been possible without you.”
Diego nodded, sipped his wine and then shot a quick look at his watch. “We’re going to open the doors soon. Are you ready?”
Was she? Ramona wondered, risking a look at Diego, who was peering at her a little too intently. She recalled their kisses after dinner and how they’d both moved away from their just-business vow. What would tonight bring? she wondered, and guilt rose sharply again.
She was lying to him with each kiss, promising more than she could ever give.
“Ramona?” he murmured, as if sensing something was amiss.
“Diego, I—”
She didn’t get to finish, for the doors to the gallery opened and the first few guests had entered.
“Excuse me,” Diego said and with a brush of his hand against hers, headed to the door to greet his customers and assorted guests.
She needed a moment to collect herself before she met any prospective buyers. Normally she was undaunted by such meet and greets, but the importance of tonight, on so many levels, had her nerves shot. Not to mention that yesterday’s emotional turmoil at van Winter’s visit had robbed her of most of a night’s sleep.
Rushing to the back room, she found Julio Vazquez there, intently studying her large painting. As she entered, he turned and shot her a knowing smile.
“It’s a masterpiece. How can you part with it?” he asked with a flourish of his hand. He approached her and floated air kisses above each of her cheeks.
“Gracias, Julio. I didn’t know you’d be coming tonight.” Diego was generally good about advising when another of his artists would be dropping by; it helped keep some of the egos at bay, not that she was bothered by Julio’s presence, although there was something particularly catty about his attitude at the moment.
“Amiga, how could I miss the showing that bumped mine?”
She peered at him, eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you mean, ‘bumped mine’?”
“Come now, niña. Isn’t it obvious that he’s, well…flattered by your attentions?”
Ramona bade Julio a frosty goodbye. Then she went in search of Diego, who had lied about the sudden opening in his schedule. She hadn’t wanted the money he’d offered, and she certainly hadn’t wanted him to pull anyone else’s show on her behalf.
She didn’t need anyone thinking that he was playing favorites, she thought as she entered the second display room and noticed Diego standing beside Alicia Tipton. The older woman’s head was bent toward him as he gestured to the trio of pictures, her interest half on the paintings and half on Diego.
Clearly Ramona would have to wait until later to discuss Julio’s comments. Much later, she realized as she scanned the gallery and noticed the crowd that had gathered.
Diego must have spotted her, for he held up his hand and gestured for her to come over. When she’d made her way through the throng, he introduced her to Mrs. Tipton. Diego was about to make a more public introduction when a low buzz of excitement crept through the room, drawing everyone’s attention to the door of the gallery.
Frederick van Winter stood there, regally debonair. On either side of him stood beefy bodyguards, making it obvious to anyone who didn’t recognize the reclusive millionaire that this was someone to be noticed. As he stepped forward, the crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses.
Crossing the room, he stretched out his arm to Mrs. Tipton, “Alicia, it’s been way too long,” he said, bending over her hand and kissing it.
“It’s a shame you’ve been hiding yourself lately,” she responded with a titter before introducing Diego.
“Mr. Rivera. I’ve heard quite a bit about your gallery. This creature beside you is the artist, I assume,” he said, so smoothly that for a moment Ramona almost believed his charade.
“Mr. van Winter.” Her tone came across a bit curt, earning a puzzled look from Diego, who quickly tried to smooth things over.
“I’d be delighted to show you some of Ms. Escobar’s works,” he said obsequiously, bowing slightly and holding his hand out in invitation.
Van Winter ignored the gesture and instead offered his arm to Ramona. “Ms. Escobar, I’d prefer if you gave me a private tour. That is, if you don’t mind my spiriting her away, Rivera.”
An angry look crossed Diego’s face for a moment before he schooled his emotions. With a solicitous nod, he said, “Of course not. Mi casa es su casa.”
She wasn’t a house, Ramona wanted to shout. She was a woman. A woman with a mind of her own who didn’t want to have to pretend to enjoy Frederick van Winter’s company. But of course, she couldn’t make a scene in front of all these people.
Van Winter walked her to the farthest room in the gallery, where he paused and nodded to his two goons. With quiet and menacing efficiency they emptied the room, until only she and van Winter remained. Then they blocked the entryway with their bodies.
She yanked her hand from his arm and rubbed at it, as if trying to wipe away something dirty.
Van Winter seemed amused by her actions, but then focused on the large painting, moving forward and backward, then to one side as he studied it.
“Quite magnificent,” he began. “I may have to acquire it for my collection, especially since it will soon be worth so much more.”
Dead artists’ works always fetched higher prices, Ramona knew, but she didn’t allow his comment to faze her. Instead she said, “What are you doing here?”
“Enjoying a rare night out. That’s not a crime, as far as I know, but maybe you would know better about crime.”
Slimy bastard, she thought, but forced a smile to her lips. “I don’t know why you came—”
“To see if you are truly an artist or just a master at copying.” He once again scrutinized the painting, and was about to place a finger on the canvas when she snagged his hand.
“Don’t.” She couldn’t bear to have him soil the work with his touch.
Van Winter switched his attention to her
, with a cold, almost snakelike smile. “I didn’t realize just how much it meant to you. How much he means to you.”
From behind them came the sounds of a struggle, and as she released van Winter’s hand, she noticed Diego breaking past the two guards. He rushed to her side. “Is everything all right?”
Van Winter looked from her to Diego to the painting, and his smile grew broader. “Just fine. I’m going to look at the other paintings before I make up my mind which one to buy.”
“Of course, but please remember there are other guests here, as well. I can’t have your bodyguards intimidating my patrons,” Diego said.
With a nod of acquiescence, van Winter waved for his goons to depart, and then followed them out.
Diego turned to her, his expression grim. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”
Chapter 7
R amona wrapped her arms around herself and stalked to the far side of the room, her back to him. When she whirled around, her anger was palpable in the taut set of her body and the tight slash of her lips.
“I might ask the same thing. What’s going on? You lied to me.”
Tonight was not going the way he’d imagined, Diego decided, from the hermit millionaire’s surprise visit to Ramona’s accusations. “What are you talking about?”
She walked back to him and jabbed a finger in his chest. “Julio told me that you bumped his show for mine. Is that true?”
Damn him, Diego thought. In the nearly five hundred years they had known each another, it had never really sunk in with Julio that all Diego wanted to be was a friend and nothing more. He had no doubt that Julio had spilled the beans to cause problems.
“I did ask Julio for a favor, but if he had said no—”
“We both know Julio would never say no to you, Diego. I don’t need you saving me. I can take care of myself,” she said, emphasizing the point with one last sharp jab of her finger against his chest.
He snagged her hand, and because some of the patrons had started to filter back into the room, he led her to a far corner. Leaning close, he whispered, “Did van Winter upset you?”
“What if he did?” she replied with a tired sigh.
It had been so much easier in the old days, he thought as he cupped her jaw and raised her face to his. “I could call him out for you. Pistols at dawn. Or would you prefer swords?” he teased, almost half wishing he could uphold her honor in such a fashion.
But then, of course, he could just go suck the old bastard dry, if he had done anything truly serious.
“This isn’t something to kid about, Diego. The guy’s a creep and you’re not much better,” she said. Then she pushed past him and stormed off.
But as he followed her to the next room, he noted van Winter watching them. Noticed the tightness that entered Ramona’s posture whenever the wealthy old man caught her eye. Something was up between the two of them. Something big, Diego realized, and he was quite relieved when van Winter finally left for the night after plunking down a large sum for one of the smaller paintings. The tension his two muscle-bound cretins had created evaporated upon their departure, brightening the night.
Diego mingled with his guests, talking up the paintings and smiling as he noted that his assistant was writing up sales receipts on several occasions. He wandered to the back room once again, drawn by what he had come to consider “his” painting. Diego hoped it wouldn’t sell, so that he could buy it himself.
And what will you do with it? the demon’s voice in his head chastised. Sit in front of it and reminisce about the human you once knew? Another one you watched shrivel up and die?
Human fate was no match for a vampire’s, Diego admitted to himself. Whether willing or not, he could make Ramona his. But because of the humanity he clung to in his heart, and the vow he had made to be a better man, he refused to heed the demon’s call.
Ripping himself away from the painting, he returned to working the crowd.
A couple of hours passed and people slowly filtered out, until finally just his staff and the caterer’s remained, and Ramona. She had plopped into one of the few available chairs and seemed totally exhausted.
Grabbing two of the last glasses of champagne, Diego walked over and held one out to her, but she waved him off. “I’ve had enough, thanks.”
She rose, but wobbled a bit, and he immediately swept his arm around her waist to steady her. “I guess you have had enough, little one. Let me walk you out.”
With a tired nod, she shot him a grateful smile, their earlier upset of the night seemingly forgotten. At the door of the gallery, he helped her down the three small steps to the cobblestoned street. There was no traffic and only a few parked cars remained on the block.
“I’ll call a cab for you,” he said, and stepped away from her to head back inside.
He had reached the door of the gallery when one of the parked cars suddenly started to move, accelerating swiftly. Tires squealing and lights off, it headed directly for Ramona, who stood frozen in place.
The car—an unassuming, late-model black sedan—jumped the curb, sending sparks flying as the hubcaps grated against the stone. With a blast of inhuman acceleration, Diego flew off the stoop, wrapped her in his embrace and lifted her out of harm’s way. A loud thump followed as the car careened back onto the street and raced away.
He glanced at Ramona as he held her in his arms. She was even more pale than before, with a greenish cast to her face that he recognized well. He had but a moment to help her to the curb, where she lost the contents of her stomach. When she was done, he scooped her up and took her back into the gallery. Her body trembled in his arms and he asked, “Are you okay?”
She nodded, but seemed ready to vomit again. “Just the shock of it, I guess.”
Ignoring the puzzled looks of his staff, Diego took Ramona to his office bathroom, where he helped her clean up and splash some cold water on her face. Semirestored, she murmured, “Can you give me a minute?”
He hesitated, not sure she was strong enough to be left alone, but then acquiesced and sat down on the sofa in his office to wait for her. When she joined him, he said, “I’m going to call the police. We should file a report.”
“You can’t.” When her gaze met his, he noticed the fear there, but also determination.
“Mind telling me why not?”
Ramona looked down at her hands and wrung them together nervously. He covered them with one of his, stilling the anxious motion. Without looking at him, she softly said, “Because if you do, bad things may happen to people I care about.”
At first Diego wasn’t sure whether to believe her, but as she lifted her face and he examined her features, he realized she was deadly serious.
As deadly serious as whomever had been behind the wheel of the car that had nearly run her over earlier.
As he recalled the rather unusual encounter with van Winter, he had no doubt the millionaire was somehow involved in whatever was going on.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Diego said. But he was unprepared for the story that spilled from her. A story that was not only difficult to believe, but incomplete. As Ramona relayed the details of all that had happened in the last several months, he got the sense that she was being less than honest.
He had already been betrayed once before and
didn’t want to believe that Ramona was capable of a similar deceit. The only way to know for sure, however, was to consider that her crazy tale might actually be true, and prove that van Winter had committed fraud.
The plan’s only problem was that it also meant accepting that Ramona had committed forgery, albeit unknowingly.
“Why didn’t you ask me? If it was only the money—”
“It wasn’t just about the money and…I couldn’t ask you. I didn’t want your pity. I don’t want it now.” She cocked her head at a challenging angle.
Cradling her jaw, he laid his forehead against hers and said, “What I feel for you is anything but pity, querida. Can’t you tell?”
Ramona reached up and tangled her hands in his hair, stroking the longish strands as she said, “What you’re feeling is lust, because you don’t know me well enough to feel anything else.”
He lowered his hand to her shoulder, idly traced a pattern on her neck with his thumb. “Then let me get to know you better.”
She sighed harshly. “I’ve just told you that I copied three masterpieces and am possibly on someone’s hit list, and you want to get to know me better?”
She bit back the part about being a dead woman walking, which would be sure to cinch the deal and have him running away as fast as he could, as most men would. There were few heroes left in this world.
But Diego was apparently harder to scare away than most. “Together we will figure out what to do about van Winter. Trust me.”
Trust him? she thought, finding his request almost impossible to fathom. She examined his features, and saw commitment and caring there. Hope rose in her that maybe she had found one of those few remaining heroes. That maybe he could not only help her prove her innocence, but wouldn’t run when he discovered the truth about her life. Her expected-to-be-short life.
Desire Calls Page 10