Текст книги "Tasting Fear"

Автор книги: Shannon McKenna

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Текущая страница: 29 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Chapter

8

Vivi felt so relaxed, sprawled on Jack. Her body just couldn’t get enough contact with him.

“So?” she prompted him. “Shouldn’t we talk?”

“Probably,” he said cautiously. “I’m not feeling very articulate.”

“Hmm.” She shifted, breasts brushing his chest, her crotch rubbing against his thigh. He hardened beneath her. Ready for more. The man was tireless.

“You just wait a minute,” she said. “We should talk before we make love again. This is too easy!”

“What’s wrong with easy?” He groped for a condom and ripped the package open. “We can talk if I’m inside you, can’t we? Nothing’s stopping us.”

“Like I’m supposed to chitchat while a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound sex god is nailing me to his bed with his enormous thing, giving me multiple orgasms? Puh-leeze.”

“Consider it a challenge,” he suggested, rolling the condom over his cock. “I won’t move. I just want to be inside you. Please?”

He nudged himself inside and stared into her eyes for the whole, long, tight slide to his balls. She fit over his pulsing shaft like a skintight glove. She blushed, from her chest on up. She was the one who started to move. She couldn’t help herself. Manipulative bastard. He knew she couldn’t get enough of him.

She’d have felt embarrassed, if she weren’t so busy working herself up to another climax. She flung the covers back and rode him, chest heaving, back arched. He touched her breasts, held her, played with her clit until she collapsed over him in spasms of pleasure.

After, she lifted herself up onto her elbows, hazy with residual pleasure, and realized that he was still hot and huge and hard inside her, staring into her eyes. “Ah, Jack?” she ventured. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he said. “I’m fine. Didn’t you want to talk?”

“But, ah…don’t you need to come?”

He gave her a swift grin. “It’ll wait. No hurry. I want to hang out, miles inside you. My dick is in heaven. It wants to take up residence.”

She buried her laughter against his silky mat of dark chest hair. “If you say so.” She pulsed her stretched, quivering vaginal muscles around him and tried to compose herself. Here went nothing.

“I was wondering…if you’d go with me into Pebble River, like Margaret suggested,” she said. “To look at rentals. For my shop.”

His face stiffened. “You know what I think of that idea.”

“It’s what I plan to do,” she told him. “I know you think I’m married to the road, but I took that path by necessity. Not by choice.”

“Please. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She sighed, in frustration. “They’re not promises. I’m just telling you my plans. Why won’t you listen to me, Jack?”

He shook his head. “Duncan will kill me if I let you do this.”

She jerked up onto her elbows. “Duncan does not make my decisions for me! I am almost broke, Jack! And I cannot hide forever!”

He let out a heavy sigh. “I see that.”

She took another chance. “And you can’t say there’s nothing between us,” she said, resolutely. “Not anymore.”

“I’m not saying that. But let’s just stay in the moment. Let’s not look at it too closely. If we do…” His voice trailed off.

“It’ll disappear?” she finished.

His silence was her answer. She drooped down onto his chest, feeling him shifting and pulsing. Reminding her of his presence inside her.

“So we can’t talk about the future,” she said. “What can we talk about?”

“The past,” he said. “Tell me about your past.”

She blew a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “Big topic. Want to break it down a little for me?”

“Tell me how you became an artist,” he suggested.

“Ah. Well, it was a challenge. Lucia sweated for years, trying to turn me into a civilized human. I was a wild animal, even though I loved her to pieces from the start. Hyperactive, hot tempered, foulmouthed. I got bad grades. I had impulse control issues. I got into fights.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She ignored that. “Lucia was determined to make me respectable. She wanted me to study something that would make me good money, turn me into a pillar of the community. She loved art, but she liked classics. She didn’t understand wild experimental art. We had a hell of a time, fighting it out.”

“And you won?” He twirled her hair around his finger.

“Not at first. I compromised. I agreed to study graphic design. I tried, I really did, but I was miserable, and my grades sucked, and I ended up losing my scholarship. Lucia was furious with me.”

“And? What did you do then?”

She shrugged. “I waitressed, I tended bar. Was a bike messenger for a while. Saved enough to reenroll in art school, one semester at a time. And I survived on art show openings for a couple of years.”

He looked puzzled. “How’s that?”

“You know those wine-and-cheese receptions at art galleries when a new exhibit opens? You can find one every night in New York, if you inform yourself. Cheese, crackers, grapes, strawberries, mini-quiches, puff pastries. If you’re too broke to buy groceries, they’re great.”

He stirred uncomfortably. “You were that desperate?”

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I saw a lot of art. It did me good. And then I met this gallery owner, Brian. I signed a contract with him. And he started to sell some of my stuff. My brief artistic golden age.”

He lifted his head. “Brian? He’s the filthy fuckhead ex, isn’t he?”

Vivi went very still on top of him. “Ah…what if he is?”

“Brian Wilder, right?” he said slowly. “Wilder Galleries. In Soho.”

She was shocked. “How in the holy hell do you know that?”

“It’s the age of information,” he said, innocently. “Shouldn’t be hard to find out where the prick lives.”

“You wouldn’t!” She felt panicked, as if that poisonous toxic waste from her past could contaminate this delicate, shining thing she had with Jack. “Don’t you dare! Leave him alone! Promise me!”

He stroked her back. “Shhh. Don’t worry about it.”

She hissed at him, anything but reassured. “If you mess with Brian, I’ll take you apart! I will deconstruct you and sell you for scrap!”

He pressed her ass, pulsing his cock inside her. Reminding her he was the man, no doubt. Hah. “I hear you,” he soothed. “So the fuckhead started selling your work, and then? What kind of work was it?”

“I met him during my barbed-wire and broken-beer-bottle period.”

His eyes widened. “Your what?”

“I was rebellious, at the time,” she explained. “I felt put upon because of my tragic childhood, I was mad at my birth mother for going to jail and killing herself, mad at Lucia for trying to control me, et cetera, et cetera. And I was drinking way too much espresso. I put it all into my work.”

“I see.” His voice was guarded.

“Anyway, Brian discovered me, you might say,” she went on. “Decided to clean me up, make me marketable.”

“And you got involved?” He cupped her breast in his hands.

“Yes,” she said, her voice catching breathlessly. “It was a disaster. On every level, not just a personal one.”

“What happened?” He began to rock his pelvis up against her, pressing his pubic bone against her clit in a slow, circular movement.

She pushed against his chest until she was upright, glaring down at him. “Don’t distract me,” she lectured. “You’re cheating!”

His pelvis surged, making her undulate on top of him. “Sorry. You’re so sexy. I forgot myself,” he murmured. “And then?”

“What happened was that he turned out to be an art vampire, in addition to being an evil fuckhead. All he wanted was to make me into his money-grubbing zombie slave.”

“I see,” he said.

“And…well, I couldn’t. I tried to be a zombie slave, but nothing came out. And he got really angry. And…well, you know the rest.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

He stared up into her flushed face. The deep rocking slide of his cock inside her was impossible to resist. He held her firmly, thrusting up, stirring her around, making her gasp and bite her lip.

“I…I destroyed his office,” she said, breathlessly. “After the last time that he…well, you know. I was so angry. Freaked out. Out of my head. I think I smashed probably fifty thousand dollars’ worth of art.”

“Good.” He thrust harder, jarring a whimper from her throat. “Did he say, ‘You’ll never work in this town again,’ et cetera?”

“Yes,” she said, bleakly.

“And you believed him?”

She braced herself against his chest. “Of course I believed him! It was true! He blacklisted me, Jack! The guy has clout!”

He stopped moving, petted her hair. “Okay,” he murmured. “Sorry.”

“I thought I was finished,” she went on. “Then Rafael stepped in.”

“Who’s this Rafael, anyhow?” Jack frowned. “Another boyfriend?”

“Rafael? Good God, no. Rafael’s just my buddy, and besides, he likes boys.”

“So you drove off with Rafael, and left the whole mess behind you.”

The flat finality of his voice made tension grip her chest. “Hey. Don’t you dare blame me for—”

“I’m not blaming you,” he said quietly. “You did the right thing.”

She was dumbfounded. “You think so?”

He pulled her back down on top of him. “Yeah. I do.”

Vivi relaxed against his solid warmth. His quiet statement soothed something deep inside her. “I think you’re the only person who’s ever said that, except for Rafael,” she said. “Lucia thought I was giving up. My sisters, too. It’s hard to go against everyone’s advice.”

He stroked her back without replying, warm and comforting.

“Poor Lucia,” she murmured. “I was a heartbreak to her. I defied her in every way. From my clothes to all of my ill-fated career choices.”

“Were you one of those girls with spiked hair and safety pins?”

She snorted. “Not quite. I did have thigh-high lace-up black leather boots, though.”

“Wow,” he commented, eyes wide.

“They were the centerpiece of my wardrobe. I wore them with ripped fishnet stockings and a purple velvet miniskirt.”

“My God,” he said, with feeling. He reached down to slide his thumb tenderly into the top of her labia, circling around her clit.

“Do you still have them?” he asked.

She writhed against him, eyes shut. “Have what?”

“The boots.”

Her eyes popped open, and she started to laugh. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Maybe in a box, in Lucia’s attic. It was a long time ago.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. She giggled harder. He frowned at her. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” she said. “I thought you would disapprove of my slutty boots. Brian hated them. You surprise me, that’s all.”

“Brian was a sick, evil fuckhead. Don’t compare me to him. Of course I want to see you in those boots. I’m a normal guy, okay?”

“You’re not a normal guy, Jack.”

He kissed her fiercely into silence, and lifted his head some time later, when she was dazzled with lust. “Besides. You’re a fine one to talk about normal. Barbed wire and broken beer bottles, for God’s sake.”

“Oh, shut up,” she murmured, and kissed him back hungrily.

A moment later, she pried herself up and touched his cheek. “Jack?” she asked, tentatively. “Would you do something for me?”

He froze, eyes guarded. “If I can,” he hedged.

“I want to try something,” she said hesitantly. “I want, um…I want to roll over. And for you to, ah…hold my hands down.”

His face went blank, and he jerked up onto his elbows, rocking her back. His body was rigid. “Why, for fuck’s sake? That’s sick, Viv, after what he…why would you do that to yourself? Or me?”

“Shhh,” she soothed. “Nothing sick about it. I think that it would be okay, with you. Sexy, even. But I can’t know until I try.”

“But I’m the one who feels like dogshit if it doesn’t work out!”

“Please, don’t get mad,” she pleaded. “I just thought…I don’t want all these dead zones and ‘danger, keep out’ signs in my head. I want to feel free. And if anyone in the world could do that for me, it would be you. Believe me. I would never ask such a thing of you if I didn’t trust you.”

Even though you don’t trust me back. She held the thought at bay with difficulty.

He stared into her face for a long time, as if trying to read her mind. “You’re sure about this,” he said, carefully.

She nodded, swallowing hard, and smiled at him.

“And you won’t blame me if—”

“God, no,” she assured him. “Not in the least. I swear.”

In one swift surge, he rolled them both over, pinning her beneath his weight. He folded her legs up high, hooking them over his shoulders, and then grabbed her hands, pinning them beside her head.

He waited, staring fiercely into her face.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m okay,” she whispered.

He leaned down and kissed her deeply, possessively. His tongue thrusting and twining boldly with hers. “Look into my eyes,” he said. “The entire goddamn time. Or else. Got it?”

She nodded. Speechless. Her throat was quivering, and her heart felt full, as she stared into his face, but she wasn’t panicking. No stabs of fear, no numbing black fog. Her heart pounded from excitement, not fear.

He was not gentle. She had not wanted him to be. He took her hard, his body challenging hers, and his face looked angry as he did it; eyes burning, mouth grim. Except that she knew him now. She could feel his concern for her, his tension, his need. His awareness of her.

And she was aware of him, too, on levels she’d never imagined. She sensed that the conquering hero pose excited him, and his excitement fed hers, in a confused feedback loop of emotion, sensation. No playacting. Her surrender was as real as his conquest.

She gasped for breath, jerking up to meet his hard thrusts. Staring with wide, tear-blinded eyes into his face. Struggling voluptuously against the implacable strength of his beautiful body, his steely arms, his gripping hands.

She could go there with him. She could go anyplace she wanted with him, as far as she could dream of going, and know that he would carry her back, completely safe, all in one happy, sated piece.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, limp and damp. They roused themselves at last to take a long, lazy shower, washing each other. Jack’s tireless cock rose to full salute, but Vivi laughed at him.

“Dream on, big boy,” she said. “I’m done for the night.”

He toweled her off, with his usual passionate attention to detail and herded her toward the stairs. “Food, then,” he said, resigned.

They made sandwiches in his kitchen. Devoured the rest of Margaret’s latest batch of cookies. And when they could find nothing else that was quick and easy to eat, they went back up the stairs, and into Jack’s bed, to twine their naked bodies as closely together as they could.

They talked, carefully. Tentative, groping conversations about their pasts, their histories. Circling around forbidden topics.

But she didn’t want dead zones and “danger keep out” signs in their conversations, either. Vivi sat up, pushing his hands away when he reached to pull her close again. “I have a question, Jack.”

“Ask away,” he said, his face hidden in the shadows.

“What happened after the bust?” She let her hair curtain her face.

He took her hand. “We’re having a beautiful time,” he said, his voice halting. “Don’t ruin it by asking me questions like that.”

“I’m not picking a fight,” she said gently. “I just need to know. Did you go to one of your other family members?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t reach any of them. My mother was in India, meditating with some guru. My aunt had moved on, to some other boyfriend. They hadn’t stayed in touch.”

“So you just took off, all alone?”

“It wasn’t so bad at first. It was summer, and there was fruit and corn to steal. I ate a lot of hot dogs. Became an excellent shoplifter.”

She laughed, incredulous. “You?”

“I was unbeatable. I told you, remember? Fasting makes me crabby.”

He fell silent, then, and she reached out to stroke his shoulder. It was rigid. “And then?”

“I lasted about eight months,” he said. “I found the places where the runaways crashed. But the winter got cold. One night, I was in this flophouse in North Portland. Some guys picked a fight with me. It ended badly.” He touched the scar on his forehead. “That’s where I got this.”

She leaned down, and kissed his eyebrow, his forehead.

“That was it, for me. I found a phone. Called Margaret, collect.”

“Margaret? You mean, you knew her then?”

“Freddy knew her,” he corrected. “From when he was a kid. He’d told me about her. So I gave her a try. The operator asked if she’d take a call from Freddy Kendrick’s nephew. And she accepted the charges.”

“Wow,” she whispered. “So you went to live with her?”

“For a while,” he said. “She was good to me. I joined the military as soon as I was old enough. Didn’t want to be a burden to her.”

She ran her fingers through the sable texture of his hair, and thought about it all. “You think I’m going to be like them, right?” she said. “Like your family? Running out on you?”

He rolled over, clapping his hand over his eyes. “Oh, fuck, Viv. Don’t do this.” He sounded exhausted. “It’s so beautiful. Don’t wreck it for me. Just let it be what it is. Please.”

“But I just want you to—”

“Let me have this, okay?” He sounded angry again. “For however long as it lasts. Can’t we just stay in the moment?”

She hid from the revealing shaft of moonlight that illuminated the quilt as she considered it. There was something to be said for staying in the moment, hard though it was. She was a normal, flesh-and-blood woman. She craved the usual reassurances, promises, declarations of trust, faith. Love. She wasn’t going to get them from him. Period.

But so what? That did not mean that what he gave her instead was not precious. Or that she shouldn’t cherish it anyway.

After all. Suppose they stayed in the moment, for, say, thirty years? Forty? Fifty? Maybe when he was a grizzled old man, he would give in, laugh at himself. Finally admit that it had been love all along.

She slipped back between the sheets and into his hot embrace.

The image made her smile, but her eyes were wet.

Chapter

9

Vivi stepped back from the wall she was painting and surveyed the warm ivory tone with satisfaction. She adjusted an elegant earthenware vase on its stand with her pinkie finger, the only finger with no paint on it, and stood back to admire the effect. Classy.

Her store was shaping up. Her friends were coming in from all over the West Coast to bring her consignments. Stock was pouring in. Just that morning, Betty and Nanette had left an assortment of handblown bottles and stemware. Yesterday, Rockerick brought leatherwork. Brigid left a pile of jewel-toned handwoven silk shawls and throws. Miraben brought teapots, vases, jugs, dishes. With her own stuff, the shop would be a gallery of wearable, usable art.

The bells over the door tinkled. Jack walked in. A smile spread over her face. His answering grin made her toes curl.

He looked around with his usual reservation. He disapproved of her decision to open the shop. Vociferously

“Looking good,” he said, grudgingly.

Well, my. Unusually positive, for him. She gazed at him, savoring the glow of sensual energy that hummed between them.

“You look incredible,” he said, leaning toward her.

Vivi pulled back. “Let me wash my hands. Paint cramps my style.”

“Hurry,” he said.

Vivi ran to the bathroom and scrubbed paint off her hands. She stripped off her T-shirt and cutoffs, threw her green dress over her head, shook her hair down. They had been lovers for weeks now, and she still got swirling flutters in her stomach when she saw him.

Jack gazed at the snowy bulk of Mount Adams when she emerged. “Great view,” he commented, as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

“It’s a great location,” she said. “Ten days, and I’ll be ready for my grand opening. So what brings you here, Jack? I thought you were taking those larkspurs and veronica into Portland today.”

“I did. The truck overheated on the way back. It has a broken fan belt. I left it at the shop.”

“So you’re bumming a ride home? You’re sure you can endure being seen in public in my disreputable van?”

“I’ll wear a Lone Ranger mask,” he said. “There’s a blues concert tonight, at the riverfront park. Want to go dancing?”

“Dancing? Wow! Yes!”

He cupped her head in his hand, kissed her again, and was maneuvering her toward the privacy of the little office in the back. She giggled, and pulled away. They’d gotten up to hours of juicy, delicious mischief back there on her secondhand desk, every time he came to her shop. But not today. “Don’t get any ideas,” she protested. “I have a lot to do before I can fling myself into the abyss of rampant sensuality.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours, then.” A dazzling smile, and the bells tinkled as he walked out.

Breath escaped slowly from Vivi’s lungs. She was terrified at how happy she was, but the feeling was marred by a keen edge of uncertainty. She was trying to get used to uncertainty, but it still rattled her.

The last few weeks were like a dream. The two of them spent every waking moment that they weren’t working together. She was sleeping in his bed, eating with him, living in his house. The apartment in the barn had turned into her studio, when she worked at all. She’d never been so distracted, so knocked off track. She was drinking too much of his powerful coffee, soaking in his big tub, eating his excellent cooking, wearing his huge shirts around.

Their hungry, intense lovemaking left her drained, shivering, empty of thought. When she was in that condition, she could stay in the moment, as he’d begged her to do. And she was in that condition a lot.

She’d gone on with her plan of opening a shop, in spite of Jack’s anger and protests, and the objections of her sisters. If she wanted to put down roots, she had to get on with it.

She tried to protect herself emotionally, the way Jack shielded himself from her, but he was intensely sensitive to her moods. When he sensed her withdrawing, he promptly seduced her and rendered her mindless and whimpering. But he never let down his own guard.

Patience. They belonged together. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They’d made progress. For God’s sake, they were going dancing tonight. How very normal of them. That was progress.

Everything else was perfect. The trendy location she’d found for her shop in Pebble River was ideal. A local woodworking shop was making a carved hanging sign that read “Vivi’s Treasure Box.” Glass-fronted cabinets were ordered and on their way. She’d organized wholesale accounts with the most talented artists she knew. Her credit was maxed to the limit, but hey. Life was risk. She could stand it. All she had to do was persuade Jack that they had a future together. The biggest risk she’d ever taken. The highest stakes. All or nothing.

But she had no idea what she would do with herself if she lost.

The breeze was warm at the riverfront park. The sensual blues tunes of the band from Portland pulsed through the evening air. A slow romantic song began, and Vivi and Jack merged without a word, swaying like a single body.

It was really happening for her, Vivi thought, in a haze of unbelieving happiness. They were going to let their fears and hesitations go. Together, they formed something greater than the sum of their parts. The music throbbed around them, and his body was the core of her spinning universe. She would never find another man so right for her, who moved her so deeply, and now was the moment to tell him. He was ready to listen. She could feel it.

She was so enthralled as she stretched up to whisper in his ear, she barely noticed the large hand tapping on her shoulder.

A big, booming voice intruded on her consciousness. “Vivi? Viv D’Onofrio? Sweet thing, is it really you?”

Vivi turned. A stocky blond man with a goatee, a waxed moustache, and a purple silk shirt stood smiling at her. A narrow tie dotted with suns and moons adorned his shirt. Vivi tried to place him, and he grinned widely, revealing his trademark golden eyeteeth.

“Rafael!” she cried out, as he enveloped her in a bear hug. “Is it you? What happened to the beard, the dreadlocks, the tie-dye?”

“And this is my disheveled pixie Vivi? You look stunning. That long, long hair! I could eat you up with a spoon! Give me another hug!”

“Put her down.” Jack’s voice was quiet, but authoritative.

Rafael swiveled his head, leaving Vivi’s feet dangling a foot off the ground. He took one look at Jack. She thudded heavily to the ground.

Rafael’s widened eyes traveled the length and breadth of Jack’s body. “Viv!” he exclaimed. “You devil, you! Where did you find this one?”

“Jack, this is Rafael, my buddy from art school, the guy I told you about. Rafael, this is Jack Kendrick. My van got stuck in his mud.”

“How provocative,” Rafael murmured. “The van clued me in that you were here. I saw it in the parking lot, and I’ve been prowling the grounds looking for you. And what does this Jack Kendrick do?”

Jack blinked at him, quizzically. “Uh…”

“He grows flowers,” Vivi supplied.

“How picturesque. I love it.” Rafael’s golden teeth flashed. “What are you doing in these parts, angel? Apart from, ah…the obvious.” His gaze flashed toward Jack, eyebrows waggling wildly.

“I’m starting a business in Pebble River,” she said.

Rafael’s eyebrows shot up. “Putting down roots?”

God, she hoped. “I’m burnt on the crafts fairs. But enough about me. Tell me about your transformation. Are you respectable now?”

“Prosperous, my dear. Different from respectable,” he said, fingering a diamond that glinted discreetly in his ear. “Remember Rudolfo, the promoter of the show we did in Monterey? He made me his site manager, and one thing led to another, and now I’m a promoter!”

“That’s great, Rafael! I’m so happy for you!”

Rafael twirled a diamond solitaire ring on his finger, batting his eyes. “Thank you. I was so ready to change my image. You should see me in full regalia! Armani, Prada. I look like a million bucks.”

She tugged his tie affectionately. “What brings you here?”

“Business. I was in San Francisco, setting up a gallery show. And I’m heading back to New York tomorrow, because some clients are flying in from London on Saturday—”

“Whoa, you’re riding high!” she said, impressed. “The last time I saw you, we were roasting hot dogs around a campfire!”

“Life marches on! The art in my New York gallery can be seen by appointment only, I’ll have you know,” Rafael said proudly. “Artists would kill to show me their work. I act disgustingly self-important. You’d laugh your head off if you saw. Anyway, this band is a fave of mine, so I popped over from Portland to see the concert before I fly back to New York, and am I glad! I’ve been desperate to get in touch with you! I have the perfect job for you, love. Mine!”

Vivi squinted at him, confused. “What? Yours? How?”

“You heard me. My clientele is growing, and I’m putting together high-end shows that travel, but with my gallery in New York, I can’t always be on the move. I need a curator and site manager. You could do for me what I did for Rudolfo. I’m talking invitational shows, where you handpick the artists, jury the art, curate the show, plan the tour, choose galleries, lofts, ballrooms, hotels. The money is extremely good. And a canny career move for a developing artist, if I may advise you.”

“Wow,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s a very generous offer, but—”

“Don’t make snap decisions!” Rafael admonished. “This job has been good to me. I want to pass on the good fortune! Think about it!”

“I’m speechless,” Vivi said, touched. “It’s kind of you to think of me, but the truth is, my life is complicated right now. And I’m kind of in the midst of something here.”

“I can see that!” Rafael eyed Jack with blatant approval. “But let me just explain how perfect my job is for you.”

Vivi abruptly became aware of the quality of Jack’s fierce, silent attention. “Um, Rafael, do you suppose we could meet for coffee and talk about this tomorrow? Now is not the best time for—”

“What better time? We arranged this time in the astral plane! I have to catch a plane tomorrow. Seize the moment!” Rafael took her arm and led her away from the crowd. Vivi glanced uncomfortably back at Jack. He followed closely, his face unreadable.

“Listen carefully,” Rafael began earnestly. “A sample month in the life of Vivi D’Onofrio, art promoter. One week in San Francisco, eating sushi and going to the opera. The next week in Berkeley, taking in wild experimental theater. A tour of the wine country in between. On to Los Angeles, San Diego, Santa Fe, always a different view. No fleabag motels, no moldy campground showers. You eat in award-winning restaurants, you sleep in five-star hotels. You deal in outrageously expensive art. It’s fun, stimulating, challenging. What do you say?”

“You know money has never been a big priority for me—”

“Oh, I know.” Rafael patted her shoulder. “But just try making lots of money for a while, and see how fast you get used to it.”

“The real reason is not the money,” she plodded on. “I’m—”

“This job is your way back into the high-end art world! Everything that bastard Wilder took from you, you can have again! I’m not suggesting you be a site manager or curator forever. I’m thinking about your long-term artistic career! If you go this road, with the contacts you develop, you can write your own ticket!”

“But my shop is already organized, and I—”

“A little shop in a little town has its charm, but think about it. Work with me for a while, and that scumbag Wilder will be eating your exhaust. Just imagine the satisfaction.”

Vivi imagined it. She twisted gently out of Rafael’s grip and wrapped her arms across her chest. Shivering, although the night was warm. The crowd swirled around them, but the music faded to the background of her mind as she pondered the images.

The big-time art world. Success, fame, money. The life she’d dreamed of as a struggling young artist. It didn’t make her heartbeat quicken anymore. She lifted her gaze past her friend’s expectant face, to where Jack stood, behind him. His stance rigid. Eyes fixed on her.

That life didn’t include Jack. The finality of that fact sent a stab of nervous panic through her. “Ah…ah, it’s tempting, but—”

“And you could play fairy godmother to your artist friends! You’d have the power to bring their stuff to the attention of the high-end buyers! You could change their lives! Wouldn’t that be grand?”

Vivi took a slow breath. “It sounds great, but I found a perfect location for my shop. I’m content with that. I’m staying put.”

She twisted to see if Jack was still listening. He was close behind, but when she tried to meet his eyes, he looked straight ahead.