“Can’t you see it? I think it’s there in every stroke of his brush. Like this,” she said, touching the round of his shoulder, “and this.” She traced along his collarbone.
Marcus grabbed her hand in his, pressing it against his cheek. “You’re romanticizing what is simply a brilliantly executed piece of art.”
Avery looked at him—and was that pity in her eyes?
“Oh, Marcus. Sometimes you have to look past the technique and the media, and look into the soul of a painting.”
“I’d rather look at you,” he murmured, gathering her close and kissing her, deliberately distracting her from something he knew he could never agree with her on.
That night as they made love again, this time slow and languorous and without the soul-burning intensity of earlier in the day, there was no mistaking Avery’s cry when she climaxed.
“I love you, Marcus!”
The short sentence rang in his ears, stroking his guilt yet at the same time touching a part of him that warmed to the words, that wanted to be able to accept them, but knew he couldn’t. Because no matter what, one day soon he would have to walk away from Avery Cullen, and when he did, he wanted to be certain he had Lovely Woman with him.
Nine
Avery walked in the garden alone. Marcus was attending to more Waverly’s business and while she didn’t begrudge him that, she did miss him. It had become too easy to get used to his presence, to become addicted to his lovemaking. She’d never considered herself an especially sensual woman, but somehow, in Marcus’s arms, she had become a wanton. She knew her declaration of love two nights ago had surprised him, she’d felt him change—not withdraw from her, exactly, but he was different.
It was probably her fault for using the L word so soon. A man like Marcus, well, he was a man of the world and, despite all her wealth and privilege, she’d had a pretty sheltered life. Sure she’d hit the party scene with her friends for a while, the party scene they still tried to lure her back to. But she knew that life wasn’t for her. What was important to her was family, a home, surrounding herself with the people and the things she loved and trusted.
Could Marcus love her? she wondered. Or deep down, was he still using her? She smiled as she thought of the way they’d used each other at dawn before he’d had to dress and catch a flight to Manchester to visit a potential client. When she thought about it, she supposed everyone used somebody once in a while. She was used to it—had even convinced herself she didn’t mind it, or at least could live with it. But with Marcus it was different. She wanted him to want her every bit as deeply as she wanted him, and she wasn’t talking in the physical sense, either.
He’d sat for her again yesterday so she could start on his oil painting. Once more, he’d tried to bring up the subject of Lovely Woman and once more she’d shut him down. What was with his obsession with selling it? Couldn’t he just accept she wasn’t going to let the painting go, not for love or money?
“You look as if you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
Ted Wells’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Oh, yes. I’ve got plenty to think about at the moment. By the way, I took your advice about Dad’s collection. I’m letting Waverly’s represent it.”
“Are you happy with your decision? You can change your mind, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” She nodded her head. “I’m okay with it. But I’m keeping one of the paintings for myself. It’s the only one that means something to me, but Marcus thinks I should still include it.”
Ted shrugged. “I don’t see why you should if you don’t want to. So how’re things going with young Price? Mrs. Jackson mentioned you two are spending a whole lot of time together lately.”
Avery blushed. The last time she’d spoken to Ted, and that wasn’t all that long ago, she’d only just met Marcus. Now, here she was, mooning around the garden thinking about him—no doubt wearing her heart on her sleeve.
“Things are okay,” she said, unable to stop the smile that spread across her face. “He’s helping me with the statue like you suggested. I’m not sure that he’s making much more headway than I did myself but I know he’s trying. It’s just his doggedness about Lovely Woman that bothers me, I guess.”
“A man like Marcus Price didn’t get where he is now without being very ambitious,” Ted observed.
“I know, and when he’s not talking work he’s great to be with.” She couldn’t keep the warmth from her voice.
“You sound quite taken with him.”
“I am, in fact, I actually think I’ve fallen in love. Can it happen like that, Ted? Have you ever fallen in love so fast it left you dizzy?”
Ted smiled, the action creasing his handsome weathered face. “Yeah, I have and I’ve always said you gotta follow your heart.”
* * *
The rest of the week passed uneventfully, with the exception of a succession of blissful nights spent in Marcus’s arms, she thought with a private smile.
He was busy on the phone today, coordinating having an approved Waverly’s photographer to document the collection in Los Angeles in preparation for the Waverly’s catalog. David Hurley, her assistant, had sent through the requisite information complete with condition report, provenance and most recent valuation for each painting. He’d also liaised with David on the packing company that would crate and ship the canvases to New York.
Avery also had been busy. She’d set in motion discussions with the children’s charity about the additional trust to be set up to hold the buildings she planned to buy with the proceeds from the sale. The lawyers would no doubt get fat on all the legal requirements involved but at the same time she knew she was doing the right thing for the children.
She’d invited Marcus along with her to the gallery opening she’d been asked to attend tonight, but he’d cried off saying he wanted to make the most of the time difference between London and L.A. to talk with David. Now, she was just about ready to head out the door. As part of their VIP treatment, the gallery was sending a driver for her so at least she didn’t have to worry about parking. She popped her head into the study to say goodbye to Marcus on her way out.
“Wow, maybe I should come with you after all,” Marcus said, coming out from behind the desk the second he saw her.
Avery was filled with that delicious melting sensation she got every time she saw him. She did a little twirl, the action showing off her legs in the deep rose-pink silk crepe and organza party dress she’d bought for tonight.
“Are you worried someone might sweep me away?” she teased.
“Let them try and they’ll have me to deal with,” he said darkly.
Her breath caught in her throat. This was the closest he’d come to actually saying she was his. As far as she was concerned, no other man would exist in the room tonight. Her heart was firmly here at home with Marcus, but could she begin to hope he felt the same way about her?
“I’ll be sure and give them your number,” Avery said, forcing the same light tone into her voice that she’d used a moment ago.
“Yeah,” Marcus growled, catching her hand and dragging her to him. “Make sure you do that so I can warn them all off.”
A chime at the front door alerted them to her driver’s arrival.
“I’d better go.”
“You’ll have to fix your lipstick,” Marcus said.
“It’s okay, oh—”
Marcus took her mouth in a long wet kiss that left her in no doubt that he was looking forward to her return.
“I can stay home,” she offered, her blood already heated, her body craving his. “I’ll send the driver away.”
“As tempting as that is, I really need to work.” He turned her around and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the door. “Go, have a good time, but not too good, okay?”
Avery repaired her lipstick in the car, but still had a smile on her face when she arrived at the gallery. There was already quite a throng and she accepted a glass of champagne from one of the passing waiters with her usual thanks before circulating through the rooms and greeting those she knew. The works on display weren’t her cup of tea, too dark and violent. In fact, some of them made her even feel slightly ill. She’d do what she needed to do and then she’d head home, she decided, leaving her untouched champagne on a side table and reaching for a small bottle of sparkling mineral water instead.
“Avery! Long time no see.”
She turned and forced herself to paint a smile on her lips. “Peter Cameron, how lovely to see you. What brings you to London?”
She leaned forward for the obligatory air kiss that sufficed for greeting between acquaintances but was left slightly off balance when he connected with her cheek, right beside her mouth. That certainly hadn’t been an accident, she thought, fighting the urge to wipe away the imprint his touch had left.
“Promotion, what else?” The man laughed. “I’m with Rothschild’s, at their West End offices now.”
The last time she’d seen Peter had been in L.A. when he’d unrelentingly pursued her. As a date he wasn’t entirely unappealing but there’d been an edge to him that had instinctively put her guard up.
“Missing the sunshine and beaches yet?” she asked, looking over his shoulder at a clock on the wall and hoping it wouldn’t be considered too rude if she left soon.
“Not yet,” he admitted. “I’ve got enough to keep me busy although I don’t know how I’ll cope with a British winter. What are you doing here in London?”
“I moved over to be with my dad while he was ill—I’ve decided to stay here, make this my permanent home.”
“Hey, yeah, sorry to hear about your loss.” Peter brushed past the condolences. “Since we’re in the same city we should catch up. What about dinner tomorrow night?”
Avery pushed back the feeling of revulsion that built in her stomach as he took her hand and squeezed. She gently disengaged it from his hold and shook her head.
“No, thank you. I’m with someone.”
“Ah, so the rumors are true.” Peter looked displeased. “Tell me, do I know him?”
“You might,” she said with a light shrug. “He works for your opposition. Marcus Price.”
Peter let out a low whistle. “And wasn’t he quick on the uptake. He’s a bit of a charmer, our Marcus. I suppose he’s sweet-talked you out of the Cullen Collection, too.”
Was that sour grapes talking? One of the reasons Peter had tried so often to meet her father while he was still alive was to sound him out about whether or not he’d ever part with the collection.
“I think that’s privileged information,” she hedged.
Peter gave her a salacious wink. “What happens between the sheets, stays between the sheets. It’s okay, I understand. But you should seriously consider putting the collection with Rothschild’s. I can personally guarantee we’ll do a far better job.”
A bitter taste flooded across her tongue at his insinuation and fury at his attitude warred with long-instilled manners. Thankfully, manners won. There were enough paparazzi here tonight to have a field day if she lost her temper.
“Look, it’s been lovely, but I really have to head off. Another engagement,” she fibbed. Well, being with Marcus was another engagement in her book anyway.
“Give my regards to Marcus,” Peter said with a marked lack of sincerity.
“Sure,” Avery said, keen now to get away. Talking about Marcus to Peter was distasteful—as if Peter’s tarnish could rub off on their fledging relationship.
“Nice to see the guy has come to some success although I doubt you’ll ever be able to completely knock the rough edges off him.”
“Rough edges?” She had no idea what he was talking about.
“I heard he clawed his way to where he is now the hard way. Blue-collar origins, brought up by his grandfather after his mother died in prison of a drug overdose. They even say his grandfather bought off the father so he’d never touch Marcus again. I bumped into a few of his old private-school friends. They said he was driven even then. Scholarships, of course.”
“Of course,” Avery repeated, feeling nothing but respect for Marcus.
In fact, if she could have loved him more at that minute she did. Marcus had come up the hard way. He hadn’t enjoyed the easy glide through life that came with everything being served on a twenty-four-carat gold platter as she’d experienced her entire life.
“Still keen on your Waverly’s hotshot?” Peter asked, his voice revealing that snaky side of him she’d never quite trusted. “He’s driven. He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants. I tell you, bring your business to Rothschild’s. You won’t regret it.”
“Actually, I don’t believe that Rothschild’s and I would be a good fit. I’ve always been taught you need to respect the people you do business with.”
Her put-down did little to deter him. But that was a measure of the kind of man Cameron was.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” he responded with a leer. “Whatever Marcus can do for you, Avery, I promise I’ll do it better.”
His sly innuendo made her feel physically ill. She had to get away from him before she embarrassed herself all over his well-shined shoes.
“I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t. Good night.”
Not to be put off by her quelling goodbye, Cameron was determined to have the last word. “Mud sticks, Avery. Remember that. And there’s got to be more dirt in Price’s background. I’ll be sure to let you know when I find it.”
She turned and fled, not even waiting for the major domo stationed at the door to summon her driver, instead waving down one of London’s ubiquitous cabs and diving inside as if her sanity depended on it. As she settled back in the cracked upholstery and gave her details to the driver she realized she was shaking. She’d never liked Peter Cameron but right now she actively loathed him.
She weighed the information he’d shared with her with what she already knew about Marcus. Yes, it was clear he was driven, and if Peter’s information had been correct and Marcus had made his way through private school and college with scholarships it spoke volumes about his tenacity and focus. She’d experienced a bit of that tenacity herself, she thought with a smile. Where would she be now if he hadn’t taken “no” for an answer when she’d spurned his requests to discuss the Cullen Collection?
A great deal lonelier—that was a fact. She couldn’t wait to get home. Driven or not, Marcus Price was the man who held her heart and she couldn’t wait to show him, again, just how much.
Ten
After her experience at the gallery with Cameron, Avery was glad she had no additional functions she needed to attend over the weekend. Besides which, she was feeling more tired than usual. Mind you, that probably had a great deal to do with the lack of sleep she’d been having lately. Marcus was a driven man, in work and in play. And, if the past couple of weeks were anything to go by, he liked to excel at whatever it was that he was doing.
However much he excelled, he had yet to find any trace of the angel statue, and Avery knew his lack of progress on the matter frustrated him. He wasn’t a man accustomed to failure. She thought about his background, how he’d obviously worked so hard alongside those with a greater sense of privilege than he’d enjoyed. She’d broached the subject of his upbringing with him on Sunday night, but he’d been short and to the point, saying only that he’d been extremely lucky that his grandfather had brought him up and that he owed him a great deal for it.
She’d almost finished his nude, a project that had progressed far quicker than her garden painting had, that was for sure. She was just adding a few touches here and there when she heard Marcus
come into the room.
“I’ve brought you coffee and lunch,” he said, putting a tray on the sideboard.
“Thanks,” she answered, putting down her brush and wiping her hands quickly on a cloth. “I think I’m done with the painting.”
“That’s great,” Marcus said, pouring her a mug of coffee from the carafe he’d brought upstairs to her.
Avery took the mug from him and raised the fragrant brew to her lips, ready to take that first reenergizing morning mouthful, but the liquid never made it to her mouth. Instead her stomach turned at the prospect of sipping it.
“Has Mrs. Jackson changed the coffee beans?” she asked, taking another sniff and feeling the same awful reaction.
“I don’t think so.” Marcus took the mug from her and sipped. “Still tastes the same. Would you rather I ring for another pot?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll stick with water this morning. Probably better for me anyway.” She grabbed one of the bottles of water she always kept on hand in the studio and twisted the cap off, taking a long drink in an attempt to rid herself of the lingering aftereffect of smelling the coffee.
“I just had a call from my PA,” Marcus said, helping himself to one of the club sandwiches on the tray.
“Oh, she’s up early, isn’t she?”
“I’m lucky, Lynette’s dedicated to her work. To be honest, the woman terrifies me she’s that organized. She’s been at Waverly’s for thirty years.”
“Wow, that is dedication.”
“Hmm, yeah. There’s not much she doesn’t know about the firm, that’s for sure. Anyway, she called to let me know there’s a special evening organized for Tuesday night, and reminded me that my attendance is expected.”
“Tomorrow?” Avery asked. “Do you have to go?”
A Silken Seduction Page 9