She opened her mouth to argue but stopped when her stomach rumbled. It was thunderously loud. He glanced over his shoulder, gave her a smile that dazzled her.
And oh, for God’s sake. Whatever.
“Thanks.” With all the dignity she could muster, she still managed to trip over the rug as she left.
To shave or not to shave. It took him ten minutes to work out that philosophical conundrum. He’d been letting his beard grow, figuring what the hell, but after assessing himself in the bathroom mirror, he decided he looked scruffy. He couldn’t go into town with her looking like a bum. Not if she was going to wear that green thing.
He should take her out to dinner, he thought, lathering his face. The thought made him nervous. Like he was a teenager, asking a hot girl out to a dance. What the fuck was he going to do with her now?
His dick had some very good ideas, but they weren’t practical.
The way she’d talked about the flower she’d seen in the winter garden surprised him. That combination of toughness and a good attitude in the Winter Aconite. She’d seen it. That was rare. Most people saw plants as a commodity, a decoration, a means to an end, if they saw them at all. Not many saw them as entities in their own right.
Yeah, and she was probably a woo-woo earth mama type who would commune naked with nature spirits, or something terrifying like that. Jesus. He had to stop shaving for a minute to process that concept, or else risk nicking an artery. Pathetic, sex-starved mountain man that he was.
It had been so long for him, he didn’t even want to do the math.
Maybe he could make the situation go away by pissing her off until she left in a huff. She was proud, prickly. Shouldn’t be too hard.
He wiped off shaving cream as he pondered that option. Maybe he could make crude sexual advances. Infuriate her into leaving. Duncan would kick his ass, but hey. A man had his limits.
But excitement flooded him at the thought of touching her. Stiff dick, red face, pounding heart. He gripped the sink with both hands, and thought it through.
Bad idea. Too volatile. She might press charges against him for sexual harassment, which would be embarrassing and stupid.
Worse yet, who knew? Maybe she’d reciprocate. God help him then. And there was the danger issue, too. Entirely aside from the evil Nazi art freaks, it was flat-out insane for a tiny woman like that to wander around alone in a fucking van, flaunting her sexy little body right and left. Any ignorant redneck dickhead who saw tattoos and a nose ring would instantly draw his conclusions and make a pass.
Repeat after me, he told himself grimly. Not. Your. Problem.
That would be the mantra for the day.
Vivi opened to Jack’s knock. He’d shaved, and combed his wet hair back off his face. His face was even more striking now that she could see the stark, lean angles of his jaw, his chin.
She suddenly wondered how long she’d been staring.
At the grocery checkout stand in Pebble River, they eyed each other’s choices with open curiosity. She went for fruit, veggies, stuff from the health food section. He was classic in his tastes, and definitely a carnivore, but most of his groceries were real food, not empty junk. Which did not surprise her, when he looked at his body.
Which she did, at absolutely every opportunity. Unreal. So hot.
In the parking lot, he turned to her as soon as he started up the engine. “Let’s get food,” he said.
“Didn’t we just?”
“I mean a restaurant. You like Mexican?”
“Uh, yes,” she admitted. The idea of a plate of steaming, cheese-smothered enchiladas took her by storm.
The meal went smoothly enough, at first. He started by asking her for a rundown of the security situation, so she munched freshly fried tortilla chips with fabulous fresh salsa and regaled him with the long and harrowing tale of Lucia’s death, the necklaces, the abductions of her two sisters, and the evil Ulf Haupt and his nasty, piglike minion, John, both of whom were convinced that the D’Onofrio sisters could reveal the whereabouts of these mysterious lost sketches if sufficiently terrified or tortured. She showed him her necklace, with its emerald V, the last of the trio that Lucia had given them. He squinted at it for a while, from every angle, and handed it back, shaking his head.
“Un-fucking-believable,” was his laconic comment.
“Tell me about it,” she agreed, fervently.
Then he started asking questions about herself. She told him about studying art in New York, and her brief, dizzying burst of artistic success when she signed the contract with Brian’s gallery. She did not mention her personal relationship with Brian, or why she’d broken the contract and run. In fact, she started glossing over more and more details. It was that cool, assessing look in Jack’s eye that shut her up. It bugged her. Like he knew something about her. Or rather, like he’d already made up his mind.
“So, you just left everything you built when it was all going so well, and ran off into the sunset to find yourself?” he asked.
She bristled. “I suppose you could say that, if you were being unkind. I didn’t like the way the gallery management was pushing me around. I decided I’d do better on the road, on the crafts fair circuit, developing my own designs. With nobody breathing down my neck.”
“I guess you must hate that more than anything,” he said.
She frowned, unnerved. “Hate what?”
“Having someone breathing down your neck.”
She frowned at him, pondering that. “Depends on the person,” she said slowly. “And it depends on what they want from me.”
“Doesn’t it always. Did you break any hearts when you ran?”
Vivi’s eyes narrowed. His hidden agenda was rearing its horned, fanged head, big-time. “That sounds like a trick question,” she said. “Personal, too.”
“Just wondering.”
She stared down at her half-eaten enchiladas. Her appetite was fading.
“So you did leave someone,” he said.
Her teeth clenched. “I broke up with the man I was seeing before I left, but I had damn good reason,” she said.
“Yeah? What?”
Well, actually, I found out that he was the devil, she wanted to say, but didn’t, it being none of his damn business. “You have no right to judge me,” she told him.
From there, the conversation went sharply downhill. She did her part, but his responses were terse monosyllables. And his shuttered, glittering stare was starting to unnerve her.
She took a swallow of her margarita, and stared him in the eye. “Look, Mr. Kendrick—”
“Call me Jack.”
“Okay, Jack. Just tell me what’s on your mind, okay?”
His eyebrow tilted up at the corner. “What do you mean?”
Vivi shoved her hair back. “I mean, how you judge me for things you know nothing about. I mean, how uncomfortable you are with me.”
“Is that all?”
She shook her head. “What else would I be talking about?”
“I thought you might be talking about the fact that I’m attracted to you,” he said. “I figured you might have noticed that. It’s kind of hard to miss.”
Vivi’s fork clattered loudly down onto her plate. “Ah…”
“But since you brought it up,” he continued, “I might as well just be honest. You’re right. I’m uncomfortable, for two reasons. The fact that I’m attracted to you is one reason. And the other reason—and I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings—is that you are not the type of woman whom I want to be attracted to. That puts me in a bad place.”
Her mouth dropped. “My…type?” she repeated. “And what type is that? Are you one of those meatheads who think that girls with nose rings and tattoos are automatically promiscuous?”
He waved that impatiently away. “No, that’s not the issue. I’m talking about living in a van, moving around all the time, getting bored easily, and leaving things half done. I don’t want to get involved with someone who’s just passing throug
h. It’s a big waste of time.”
Anger burned in Vivi’s stomach. “Hold on, here. Did I invite you to get sexually involved with me without me noticing it? Or did you just assume that my type is sexually available to everyone?”
Jack took a swallow of beer. “No. You didn’t. And I didn’t.”
“Let me get this straight. You want to nail me, but you think I’m scum, and you don’t want me around lowering your property value.”
He frowned. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say ‘scum.’”
“I call it how I see it,” she shot back. “You want me to get so pissed off, I just pack up and leave, right? Is that your plan?”
He forked up a bite of his steak fajita and stared at it. “That would be my plan, if it weren’t for this danger issue,” he said, reluctantly. “It does sound like you’ve got one hell of a security problem. But I don’t—”
“Then let me make a revolutionary suggestion,” she announced. “Get this, Kendrick. I know this idea might shock you to your toes, but how about if we just don’t have sex?”
He smothered a laugh, covering his mouth with his napkin, his eyes darting around the restaurant. “Uh—”
“It’s the perfect solution,” she went on, with false cheerfulness. “Amazing in its streamlined simplicity. You don’t have to fuck me, if it would be so upsetting to you. Aren’t you relieved? Isn’t that just an incredible load off your mind? Just ignore me, okay? It’s easy. I’ll just stay out of your way and do my own thing.”
He looked alarmed. “And what exactly is your thing?”
She shrugged. “Living my life. Making my art. Duncan mentioned that you have a studio in the barn, but I’ll understand if you don’t want me to use the space. The apartment will do nicely for now.”
Jack rose, bumping the table and knocking over the beer bottle. A fork fell to the floor. The restaurant went dead silent, and a waitress froze in position, holding her trays of food. Jack cursed softly. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Fine.” She got up, and began digging for her wallet.
“I’ve got the check,” he said.
She swept past him, elbowing him out of her way at the cash register. “I’d rather die than let you pay for my meal.”
Vivi sat as far from Jack as possible in the truck. After he pulled into the driveway, she climbed out without a word, slammed the door, and reached for her groceries.
He tried to take the bags from her. She jerked them away.
He yanked them back. “Don’t be stupid,” he growled.
She followed the crunch of his boots on the gravel through the darkness and followed him up the stairs, still fuming.
He opened her door with his own key, flipped on the light, and set her bags on the kitchen counter. They stared at each other as Edna leaped and danced and wagged her enthusiastic greeting.
“Good night,” Vivi said, pointedly.
“Where are you going to sleep?” he asked.
She opened and closed her mouth. “Wha—what?” she forced out.
“There’s no bed here. Where are you going to sleep?”
“Ah,” she murmured, blushing.
There was a faint, fleeting hint of a smile in his eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting my own bed.”
“I didn’t think you were,” she lied, her blush deepening. “I’m sleeping in my sleeping bag. It was hooked to my backpack. See?”
“Just a sleeping bag? On the bare floor?” He sounded shocked.
“I’m used to roughing it,” she said coolly.
He frowned, ruffling Edna’s ears. “No one sleeps on a bare floor in my place,” he said. “I don’t care what you’re used to.”
“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but strictly speaking, it’s not your place. I’ll be paying rent. So don’t treat me like a guest.”
He turned and stalked out the door, disappearing into the dense darkness. Vivi shut the door behind him, breathing out a sigh of relief.
Her battle tension dissipated, leaving her exhausted. She opened the sliding doors and let the fragrant night air into the room. Then, slowly and systematically, she put away her groceries in the big, clean kitchen. So much space, for everything. It felt strange, after the van and her sisters’ microscopic apartments.
Then she lit her scented candles and some sandalwood incense, turned out the overhead light, and sat down cross-legged on her sleeping bag. The graceful, empty room flickering with candlelight soothed her. It felt strange and lovely, to have the door open to the night. To let her senses open and soften, to listen to frogs and insects singing their sweet night songs. She’d been so paranoid and closed up tight these last few weeks. But here, oddly, she felt…safe.
From the Fiend, anyway. If not her own sex-starved stupidity.
It was more a sense of his presence rather than any noise he made that made her nerves jolt into a state of alert. She jumped to her feet as he pushed open the mosquito screen with his boot and stepped through the sliding glass doors. He carried a rolled-up futon without apparent effort, a feather pillow wedged beneath his muscular arm.
“Knock next time,” she said. “I’d appreciate it.”
He gazed over the futon, looking aggrieved. “My hands were full.” He unfolded it onto the floor, tossed the pillow on top.
“For the record,” she persisted, “in the future, I prefer that you not barge in on me like that. Whether your arms are full or not.”
That condescending, dismissive movement he made with his shoulders was making her tense. “You’re not taking me seriously,” she said tightly.
“Don’t worry, I heard you.” His eyes swept the room until they found her sleeping bag. “Will that keep you warm enough?”
“It always has before,” she said. “The futon wasn’t necessary, but thanks, anyway.”
“The incense smells good.” His eyes followed the thin stream of smoke that undulated sensuously from the tiny bronze censer.
“Yes, it does. It’s my favorite.”
A heavy silence fell. “Ah…thanks for the futon,” she said. She’d intended the words to be a dismissal, but they emerged so husky and low and tentative, they sounded almost inviting.
Vivi tried to think of something else to say, but after a couple minutes of strugging, she abandoned the effort. She was too tired. It felt false. And this guy wasn’t interested in social chatter. He just stood there like a mountain in her bedroom. As dense as granite. An unidentifiable emotion burning from his shadowed eyes. He wasn’t leaving until he was ready.
So Vivi waited. She quietly bore the weight of the silence that spread ever wider in the flickering dimness, until it became something more than silence. Anticipation, taut with things that were longing to be said. Waiting. A breeze wafted through the door and put out a candle, casting the room into deeper shadow.
Vivi took matches from her pocket, and turned to relight it.
She started to turn, and froze. He was right behind her.
“Just looking at this.” He pushed aside the hair hanging over her back with his fingertip, barely touching her sun tattoo. “I caught a glimpse of it while you were paying for your dinner, but I couldn’t tell what it was, under your hair.” He traced the small circle with radiating lines. “A sun. Does it have some special meaning? Like the flower?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s in memorium. For a friend I lost.”
His hand dropped. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded and turned to face him again. It took all her nerve to raise her eyes to his. When she did, the smoldering hunger in his gaze stole her breath.
“Do you have any other tattoos?” he finally asked.
She lifted her chin, straightened her spine. He had no right to do this, when she was all alone in the dark. Throwing those hot, intense sexual vibes at her, when she was feeling so vulnerable. “That’s for me to know, and for you to wonder about.” She aimed for a crisp, dismissive tone of voice. Insofar as she could, with no breath to back it up.
The breathlessness made it sound like…flirting. God help her.
Sure enough. He didn’t look dismissed. He looked like he was wondering, as she’d just invited him to do. And who could blame him?
He was wondering so hard, she could feel it against her skin.
If he made a move on her now, she wouldn’t have the force of will to push him away. She was gooey to the core. Sopping wet for him. One featherlight push, and down she’d fall, right onto her back. Take me.
After all her uppity pronouncements. All her fighting words.
“Good night.” He turned, and headed out the door.
Vivi stood for a moment, looking at the black rectangle, open to the fragrant, noisy night. The candlelit room seemed blank and empty.
Chapter
3
Jack paced the length of his living room, hands clenched, stopping at each end like a caged beast.
He’d just spent hours on the Internet, researching Vivi D’Onofrio. Browsing around on her commercial website, looking at her jewelry designs. Necklaces, rings, brooches, earrings, nose rings. Perfume bottles, Christmas tree ornaments, mobiles, jewelry boxes. Made of glass, beads, metal, wood, homemade paper, found materials. The stuff was weirdly beautiful. Unusual. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly that he liked about it, but he liked it.
He wondered how she dealt with her mail-order business. If he were one of the bad guys, the first thing he’d do would be to order a pair of earrings from her site, go to the address they were sent from, and start pushing whoever he found there. Dangerous for everyone involved.
There were also a lot of references regarding a big-shot art gallery in New York City, run by a guy named Brian Wilder. There was a picture of him, one of those stiff, mannered shots, where the guy tried to look smart by holding on to his chin with a hooked finger as if hiding a zit. The guy’s photo triggered instant dislike. Made Jack’s prick-o-meter register way off the chart.
Then he’d studied shots of Vivi’s artwork from the archived catalogs of the Wilder Gallery, from five, six years ago. The same vibe as the pieces on her website, but they were bigger, bolder more ambitious. And the prices staggered him. Jesus wept. Even if the gallery took a huge cut, she could have gotten rich, if she’d stayed with it.
Tasting Fear Page 39