be possible to capture those odd little snatches of innocence in the portrait.
Idly he glanced back in the window. With a ridiculous jolt of panic, he saw Jamie rise and head for the kitchen door. Forgetting logic, Adam dashed toward her.
“He’s coming.”
Surprisingly swift, Kirby leaped over the bed of flowers and kept on going. Even though he was running full stride, Adam didn’t catch her until they’d rounded the side of the house. Giggling and out of breath, she collapsed against him.
“We made it!”
“Just,” he agreed. His own heart was thudding—from the race? Maybe. He was breathless—from the game? Perhaps. But they were wet and close and the fog was rising. It didn’t seem he had a choice any longer.
With his eyes on hers, he brushed the dripping hair back from her face. Her cheeks were cool, wet and smooth. Yet her mouth, when his lowered to it, was warm and waiting.
She hadn’t planned it this way. If she’d had the time to think, she’d have said she didn’t want it this way. She didn’t want to be weak. She didn’t want her mind muddled. It didn’t seem she had a choice any longer.
He could taste the rain on her, fresh and innocent. He could smell the sharp tang of the flowers that were crushed between them. He couldn’t keep his hands out of her hair, the soft, heavy tangle of it. He wanted her closer. He wanted all of her, not in the way he’d first wanted her, but in every way. The need was no longer the simple need of a man for woman, but of him for her. Exclusive, imperative, impossible.
She’d wanted to fall in love, but she’d wanted to plan it out in her own way, in her own time. It wasn’t supposed to happen in a crash and a roar that left her trembling. It wasn’t supposed to happen without her permission. Shaken, Kirby drew back. It wasn’t going to happen until she was ready. That was that. Nerves taut again, she made herself smile.
“It looks like we’ve done a good job of squashing them.” When he would’ve drawn her back, Kirby thrust the flowers at him. “They’re for you.”
“For me?” Adam looked down at the mums they held between them.
“Yes, don’t you like flowers?”
“I like flowers,” he murmured. However unintentionally, she’d moved him as much with the gift as with the kiss. “I don’t think anyone’s given me flowers before.”
“No?” She gave him a long, considering look. She’d been given floods of them over the years, orchids, lilies, roses and more roses, until they’d meant little more than nothing. Her smile came slowly as she touched a hand to his chest. “I’d’ve picked more if I’d known.”
Behind them a window was thrown open. “Don’t you know better than to stand in the rain and neck?” Fairchild demanded. “If you want to nuzzle, come inside. I can’t stand sneezing and sniffling!” The window shut with a bang.
“You’re terribly wet,” Kirby commented, as if she hadn’t noticed the steadily falling rain. She linked her arm with his and walked to the door that was opened by the ever-efficient Cards.
“Thank you.” Kirby peeled off her soaking jacket. “We’ll need a vase for the flowers, Cards. They’re for Mr. Haines’s room. Make sure Jamie’s not about, will you?”
“Naturally, miss.” Cards took both the dripping jackets and the dripping flowers and headed back down the hall.
“Where’d you find him?” Adam wondered aloud. “He’s incredible.”
“Cards?” Like a wet dog, Kirby shook her head. “Papa brought him back from England. I think he was a spy, or maybe it was a bouncer. In either case, it’s obvious he’s seen everything.”
“Well, children, have you had a nice holiday?” Fairchild bounced out of the parlor. He wore a paint-streaked shirt and a smug smile. “My work’s complete, and now I’m free to give my full attention to my sculpting. It’s time I called Victor Alvarez,” he murmured. “I’ve kept him dangling long enough.”
“He’ll dangle until after coffee, Papa.” She sent her father a quick warning glance Adam might’ve missed if he hadn’t been watching so closely. “Take Adam in the parlor and I’ll see to it.”
She kept him occupied for the rest of the day. Deliberately, Adam realized. Something was going on that she didn’t want him getting an inkling of. Over dinner, she was again the perfect hostess. Over coffee and brandy in the parlor, she kept him entertained with an in-depth discussion on baroque art. Though her conversations and charm were effortless, Adam was certain there was an underlying reason. It was one more thing for him to discover.
She couldn’t have set the scene better, he mused. A quiet parlor, a crackling fire, intelligent conversation. And she was watching Fairchild like a hawk.
When Montique entered, the scene changed. Once again, the scruffy puppy leaped into Adam’s lap and settled down.
“How the hell did he get in here?” Fairchild demanded.
“Adam encourages him,” Kirby stated as she sipped at her brandy. “We can’t be held responsible.”
“I should say not!” Fairchild gave both Adam and Montique a steely look. “And if that—that creature threatens to sue again, Adam will have to retain his own attorney. I won’t be involved in a legal battle, particularly when I have my business with Senhor Alvarez to complete. What time is it in Brazil?”
“Some time or other,” Kirby murmured.
“I’ll call him immediately and close the deal before we find ourselves slapped with a summons.”
Adam sat back with his brandy and scratched Montique’s ears. “You two don’t seriously expect me to believe you’re worried about being sued by a cat?”
Kirby ran a fingertip around the rim of her snifter. “I don’t think we’d better tell him about what happened last year when we tried to have her evicted.”
“No!” Fairchild leaped up and shuffled before he darted to the door. “I won’t discuss it. I won’t remember it. I’m going to call Brazil.”
“Ah, Adam…” Kirby trailed off with a meaningful glance at the doorway.
Adam didn’t have to look to know that Isabelle was making an entrance.
“I won’t be intimidated by a cat.”
“I’m sure that’s very stalwart of you.” Kirby downed the rest of her drink then rose. “Just as I’m sure you’ll understand if I leave you to your courage. I really have to reline my dresser drawers.”
For the second time that day, Adam found himself alone with a dog and cat.
A half hour later, after he’d lost a staring match with Isabelle, Adam locked his door and contacted McIntyre. In the brief, concise tones that McIntyre had always admired, Adam relayed the conversation he’d overheard the night before.
“It fits,” McIntyre stated. Adam could almost see him rubbing his hands together. “You’ve learned quite a bit in a short time. The check on Hiller reveals he’s living on credit and reputation. Both are running thin. No idea where Fairchild’s keeping it?”
“I’m surprised he doesn’t have it hanging in full view.” Adam lit a cigarette and frowned at the Titian across the room. “It would be just like him. He mentioned a Victor Alvarez from Brazil a couple of times. Some kind of deal he’s cooking.”
“I’ll see what I can dig up. Maybe he’s selling the Rembrandt.”
“He hardly needs the money.”
“Some people never have enough.”
“Yeah.” But it didn’t fit. It just didn’t fit. “I’ll get back to you.”
Adam