The Determined Virgin

by Daphne Clair

  She'd been a virgin.

  A sudden chill passed over him. He broke into a cold sweat.

  Surely she had admitted that Gerald Dodd had as­ saulted her? Rapidly reviewing what she'd actually said, Gabriel swore quietly.

  He'd made assumptions—wrong assumptions.

  Whatever Dodd had done to Rhiannon had undoubt­ edly been unethical and evil, but...

  But, a thin, relentless inner voice accused, growing stronger and louder until it thundered in his ears, hadn't Gabriel himself just done something similar? Maybe-the thought hit him like a blow to his stomach—even worse?

  Instead of listening properly, finding out what had re­ ally happened, reassuring her with words, he'd taken ad­ vantage of the moment. Sure, he'd obtained her tacit consent before he kissed her, and he'd meant it to be a chaste kiss, almost brotherly...well, perhaps not quite that, but a kiss of comfort, rather than passion. Nothing to make her anxious or afraid.

  Then she'd kissed him back, and all his pious, spe­ cious reasoning went out the window along with his self- control.

  At least he'd retained enough decency to keep a rein on his desire and not scare her to death. And to pause, difficult though it had been, when she made that little sound, like a whimper of distress.

  Or pleasure...

  He hadn't been sure. But when he'd held back to de­ termine the cause she'd begged him to go on.

  And he'd realised how much further he'd penetrated into her defences than he had meant or expected to.

  Only, he reminded himself brutally, because they'd already been weakened by that blasted news report.

  Why hadn't he stopped himself there? She'd still been in shock, as he'd said himself, and he'd had no right to use it to further his own rampant desire for her. Which brought him full circle.

  Bile rose in his throat—revulsion at the thought of having anything in common with Gerald Dodd.

  It's not the same! he told himself. Of course it wasn't.

  Because...? the merciless inner voice jeered.

  Because it wasn't just sex he wanted from Rhiannon. Because it hadn't been enough. Never would be.

  He wanted her smile, her talent, her enthusiasm for her work, her understanding of what art was, her rare laughter, her intensity, and the warmth that she showed Peri and Mick Dysart, sometimes even her customers— but not nearly often enough to himself.

  He wanted to free her from the constraints that pre­ vented her showing him that side of her personality. From whatever horrors in her past were haunting her.

  He didn't only want to make love to her—he wanted to chase the shadows from her eyes, protect her from louts like the one they'd encountered in the cafe, and from sleazy sexual opportunists like Gerald Dodd. Even—he groaned, and dropped his head into his hands—from himself.

  He wanted to make her happy. Ever after.

  No excuse, he reminded himself sternly, absorbing the stunning knowledge that he wanted Rhiannon in his life forever. It didn't make what he had done to her any less selfish.

  Or help him devise a strategy to make up for it.

  Half an hour later he let her out of the building, and she said, 'You could have the scaffolding taken down now. If there's any touching up to do on that part I can use a stepladder. There's no need to block the stairway any longer.'

  'I'll get rid of it,' he promised.

  'Thanks for your help,' she said hurriedly, as he opened the door. 'My car's just over there. I'll be all right now.'

  He caught her arm. 'Rhiannon—I'm sorry. I took ad­vantage and I should have had more sense—and more willpower.'

  'There's nothing to forgive.' She sounded brittle. 'It was entirely mutual. I'm not a teenager anymore and you gave me every chance to change my mind. You weren't to blame.'

  It should have made him feel better. Instead he felt infinitely worse. 'But you regretted it afterwards,' he said harshly.

  She ducked her head, then made an obvious effort to meet his eyes. 'That's not your fault.'

  At a loss, he studied her face, seeing resolution and a hint of sadness, as if she were renouncing something she desperately wanted. He could almost feel her putting some emotional distance between them.

  She said, 'If you took advantage, so did 1.1 used you.'

  'Used me?' Shock roughened his voice.

  'I wanted something...someone...to lean on. You were there.'

  'I don't care! Lean on me anytime you like. I can stand it.'

  'But I can't.'

  'What do you mean by that?' Scowling, he said, 'Everyone needs support now and then.'

  'Everyone?' She cast him a derisive look, and pulled her arm from his slackened grasp. 'If you let me know when the scaffolding's removed I'll finish the rest of the mosaic'

  He let her go, morosely watching her get into her car and drive away.

  The next day, after closing the gallery and cashing up, Rhiannon went home.

  When they'd had dinner, Janette switched on the tele­ vision for a current affairs programme. Rhiannon, curled up in an armchair with a book in the hope that it would help her forget last night's events, paid little attention until the name Gerald Dodd burst on her ears like a gunshot.

  Her head jerked up, and goose flesh rose on her arms as a smiling picture of the man flashed on the screen. Her feet shot to the floor, and she was ready to flee when the presenter said, '...denied allegations of a sexual na­ture concerning his patients. Tonight we interview the man who says he is the target of a woman scorned.'

  Slowly Rhiannon sank back. Rage hammered at her forehead and hotly blocked her throat. She didn't hear the rest of the preliminaries before the interview, con­ ducted in his consulting room.

  It hadn't changed much. Neither had he. He spoke with pity of a deluded woman who had referred her friend to him with the specific agenda of having her back up a false accusation. He was charming, sorrowful and sympathetic, only lightly alluding to the fact that if the 'pathetic and ridiculous' allegations were believed the women might be in line for considerable monetary com­pensation. Rhiannon wondered how anyone could doubt his sincerity, or the compassion in his eyes.

  'Do you believe him?' she asked Janette when the ad break came.

  'He's convincing,' the other girl said. 'A bit too smooth, maybe. But he'll probably get off. It's their word against his, and they are friends, apparently. Difficult to prove it's not collusion.'

  'He doesn't deserve to get off,' Rhiannon murmured. And then more fiercely, 'He doesn't!'

  CHAPTER NINE

  Gabriel' s secretary left a message with Peri to say the scaffolding in the Angelair Building had been disman­ tled, leaving her no excuse not to continue with the mo­ saic.

  On impulse she said, 'Peri, would you like to help me finish the Angelair project? I'll pay you, of course.'

  'Yeah, okay,' he said. 'I'm no expert at mosaic but I've watched you often enough. I guess I could make myself useful.'

  When Gabriel saw Peri at her side, working on the cartoon for the lower half of the mosaic, he cast her a piercing glance, lifting his brows derisively.

  'Peri's going to help with the rest of the project,' she said, sending him a defiant look of her own.

  'I see.' All too obviously, he did. He knew she was using Peri as a shield, taking the coward's way.

  But that was better than laying herself open to perilous emotions that she didn't dare give way to again. Wasn't it?

  Peri was an asset in more ways than one. With him to help carry tiles and materials she didn't need anyone else, and he quickly picked up her techniques. The work went amazingly fast, and when Gabriel came to watch them, for the most part he maintained a slightly brooding silence.

  Once the mortaring and grouting was done, Rhiannon said, 'I'll finish the rest myself.' There was still a little painting to be done, handwork that didn't need a second I person. 'Thanks for your help, Peri.'

  'Anytime.' He looked at her curiously. 'What's with you and the angel Gabriel?'

 
; 'Nothing. He likes to keep an eye on how his project's going.'

  'Not only on that. He watches you like a hawk. Does he scare you?' 'Of course not.'

  'Then why don't you ever look at him if you can help it? You're not going out with him any more, are you?' 'One show isn't "going out" with someone. Every­ thing else was business.'

  'Oh, yeah. You're running scared of something.' Peri scowled. 'If it's him, I'll sort him out for you.' 'Peri, no! He hasn't done anything to deserve that.' Of course he hadn't. If she was running scared, it was from herself, her own unpredictable reactions and mud­ dled emotions. It was time she sorted herself out. Maybe time to be brave enough to take a step in the dark.

  She went back to the Angelair Building prepared to face Gabriel, to find only Mick, offering any help she might need. 'Mr. Hudson told me to look after you while he's away,' he said. 'Gabriel's away?'

  'Had to fly to Australia in a hurry. Didn't he tell you?' 'No.' There was no reason why he should, she sup­ posed.

  'His brother was in an accident over there,' Mick said. 'He's the manager of the Sydney office, you know.' The memory of her parents' accident came back sharply—the jolt of learning the news, then the black coldness of knowing her mother was dead, the mingled relief and fear when she was told her father was alive but in critical condition. And the continuing ache of his ongoing disability. 'How serious is it?'

  'Dunno.' Mick shrugged. 'But Mr. Hudson was wor­ ried.'

  Gabriel hadn't spoken much of his family, but his tone when he mentioned his brother was affectionate. She wished he'd given her the chance to express her concern and sympathy. But his mind would have been preoccu­ pied with his brother's needs, and making arrangements to go to him. Rhiannon had no right to expect him to think of contacting her.

  Mick carried a stepladder to the landing for her, and stayed by her while she checked the mosaic over, mak­ ing sure the tesserae were all firmly fixed, and donning a mask and gloves to clean a few bits that showed a leftover residue of grouting. The next evening she began adding silver paint in a broad swathe across part of the width, dividing it into two parts sweeping upward like abstract angel wings.

  When she was done and Mick had removed the step- ladder, she stood down in the foyer to survey the com­ pleted opus.

  Mick came back. 'Pretty good,' he said. 'You'll be proud of yourself.'

  Rhiannon smiled at him. It was exactly as she'd pic­ tured, yet a tiny niggle of dissatisfaction bothered her.

  But no amount of checking her drawings against the mosaic enlightened her as to what it was.

  Peri found her poring over the picture of the Russian icon that had inspired her design, comparing it with her coloured plan.

  'Something isn't right,' she said in answer to his query. 'But I can't figure it out.'

  He joined her. 'It's a great design,' he said. 'Are you sure you're not just being over-perfectionist?'

  Rhiannon shook her head. 'It feels unfinished. As if there's something missing.'

  He looked from one piece of paper to the other with concentration. Finally he pointed to the picture of the angel and said hesitantly, 'Rhee...the only missing ele­ ment apart from the halo around his head is the rose he's holding.'

  Rhiannon stared at the flower in the angel's hand, in­ stinctively recoiling. 'Oh, no!' she said aloud. 'It's an abstract! Not a copy.'

  'Sure, but...' Peri shrugged uncomfortably. 'Well, it's up to you.'

  The following evening Rhiannon entered the Angelair building. It had been blustery all morning, and a few showers had fallen. The swish of tyres through water added to the hum of traffic on the street and the roar of the digging machines next door. Lately the crews had been working until dark. Apparently the contractors were behind schedule.

  Mick carried the stepladder up the stairs for her. 'I'll stick around while you're climbing up and down,' he said, testing it. 'There you go. She's steady.'

  She had the picture of the Russian icon in one hand, and taped it to the mosaic, her mouth set in a stubborn line. Carefully she drew lines over the tesserae and the grouting, copying the rose stem and its single bloom as closely as she could, but making it much bigger. Grad­ ually her tension eased as she concentrated on her me­ ticulous brushstrokes.

  Mick said, surprised, 'Even I can tell what that is!'

  She smiled down at him. 'Can you pass me that paint?'

  She painted in the stem and the leaves, and was dip­ping her brush for the final time into a pot of crimson when they heard the door from the side stairs open and close, and seconds later Gabriel appeared, looking up at them, Rhiannon perched near the top of the ladder that Mick was unnecessarily holding on to.

  Gabriel's hair was wet, there were droplets of water on his face, and the shoulders of his jacket were damp. A low rumble of distant thunder vied with the city noise.

  Rhiannon felt paralysed, the brush poised in her hand, as Gabriel swept his gaze over the mosaic, and then fixed on her. He said, 'I'll take over here, Mick.'

  The older man looked up at Rhiannon for a second before starting down the stairs. 'How's your brother, Mr Hudson?' he asked.

  Gabriel was still looking at Rhiannon, not moving at all. After a moment he shifted his glance and told Mick, 'He's not out of the woods yet but they say he's stable. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? I have a hell of a lot of paperwork to catch up on so I'll be around for a while.'

  'Sure, boss. Ta. I wouldn't mind going out for a drink or two with a couple of old mates. They invited me but I said I was working tonight.'

  After he'd left, Gabriel finally moved, slowly ascend­ing the stairs. He looked tired and stressed, his cheeks slightly hollowed, the skin of his face taut. He stopped at the foot of the ladder. 'I didn't know if you'd be here,' he said. 'I thought maybe this would be finished.'

  'I'm so sorry about your brother. Mick told me there'd been an accident.'

  'Some drunk smashed into his car. The doctors had to remove his spleen and patch him up in various ways. He broke a few bones too but we hope he's going to pull through. His wife is with him, and my mother. I'm not needed any more.'

  You are, Rhiannon thought. / need you. The thought was so terrifying it paralysed her.

  He shifted his gaze to what she'd been doing. 'Don't let me disturb you. Watching you work is...soothing.' 'I'm nearly finished.' She lifted the paintbrush, mak­ ing a careful curve at the edge of a petal.

  A few more strokes and it was done. She refastened the lid on the tin, laid the brush on top and handed them down to Gabriel. 'Can you take this?'

  He placed them on the drop sheet, then as she climbed down steadied the ladder with both hands, so that when she turned she was within his extended arms.

  Her heart flipped over, but she looked up at him fear­lessly, meeting his questioning gaze. Slowly she raised a hand and placed it against his chest, letting it lie there.

  He leaned forward, tilting his head, giving her time to draw away, but she didn't.

  His lips were cool from the rain that she smelled on him, but they warmed when he found her mouth with a kiss that was sure and slow, redolent of restrained erot icism. She closed her eyes and savoured it, every atom of concentration on the firm masculine mouth that was parting hers, gently insistent.

  Then he drew away. 'I hope you don't mind,' he said, his voice deep and slightly gritty. 'I needed that.'

  'So did I,' she said, and as a flame leapt into his eyes she slid her arms about his neck and offered her mouth to him again.

  His hands left the ladder and his arms came about her waist, hauling her close. But he paused, consciously loosening his hold, and Rhiannon gave a little choking cry and tiptoed to meet his kiss. He was being so careful of her, so considerate. Her heart melted like metal in a furnace and she opened her mouth to him, inviting him, trusting him, wanting him...

  She had a sensation of soaring far above the ground, caught in some kind of celestial wind. It was Gabriel who broke the kiss, pressing his lips to her chee
k, and then to the curve of her shoulder and neck.

  He kissed her mouth again, quick and urgent. He looked upward, his eyes lighting on the surreal face of the angel she'd fashioned. 'Thank you,' he breathed.

  His expression changed as his gaze shifted to the re­ cently applied paint that glistened in the fierce white glow of the lamps. 'That rose wasn't in the original de­ sign.'

  'No. Do you mind?'

  He shook his head, and looked back at her, his eyes ablaze with curiosity and something else. 'I like it. Why did you do it?'

  'It belongs. I don't know why, but it seems right.'

  'Yes,' he said, glancing again at the mosaic. 'Have you signed it?'

  'No.' She hadn't wanted to until she had resolved that nagging doubt about its completion. She crouched to scrawl her painted initials in one corner, and then joined him at the top of the stairs.

  He said, 'Congratulations. It's a great asset to the building. People will be talking about it.'

  'It's probably the best thing I've done, as well as the biggest. Thank you for giving me the chance.' She looked down at the brush she still held. 'I suppose we ought to clear all this stuff away. And I should clean my brushes.'

  If he'd said, Don't bother, she'd have followed his lead. But he merely nodded and began packing up the lights. She remembered he'd said he had a lot of work to do after his absence.

  Gabriel locked the storeroom door and handed Rhiannon the key. 'There are a couple of things I really do have to attend to urgently,' he said. 'Is it too much to ask you to come up to my office and wait for me? I want to talk to you, be with you.'

  She wanted that, too. 'I'd like that.'

  Pausing beside the elevators, Gabriel said, 'We'll take the stairs...'

  'No, it's all right.' When the doors opened she hesi­ tated a second before stepping into the small, brightly lit space, and Gabriel pressed the button for his office floor.

  The doors closed and the car began to rise, all sound from outside suddenly cut off. Rhiannon was standing a few feet away from him, her back to the wall, and he recalled the first time he'd seen her, retreating from him into a corner of an elevator similar to this one.