Daphne Clair – The Determined Virgin (страница 5)

‘A suburban handcraft shop in Onehunga. Needlework, ceramics, a few paintings and carvings. I sold my first mosaics there after I took it over. The gallery evolved over time, and people began coming to it from all over the city.’ Rhiannon halted to steady her voice, replacing the spoon on the tablecloth. ‘I inherited the business when my grandmother died.’

Gabriel cast her a quick glance. ‘When?’

‘Almost three years ago.’ The cancer that killed her had been mercifully quick, but her death had left a huge hole in Rhiannon’s life.

‘Tough,’ he commented. Perhaps guessing she didn’t want to talk about that, he said, ‘Opening in High Street’s a bold move.’

‘It’s a risk, but I did my homework. I’m ready to move on.’

He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘You’re not given to taking risks lightly, are you?’ he said slowly.

How could he know, on such a brief acquaintance? Her neck stiffened warningly. ‘I like to know where I’m going.’

‘Sometimes it’s fun to take a step in the dark. You never know what it might lead to.’

His eyes had turned silver again, in the light from a chandelier overhead. They held hers for a long moment.

The waitress brought their desserts, and the moment broke. Rhiannon picked up her spoon, turning her attention to the dish before her.

After her first mouthful Gabriel asked, ‘How is it?’

She forced herself to look at him, finding nothing but polite inquiry in his eyes. ‘Very nice. Wonderful.’

He watched her take the next spoonful, then dug his own spoon into his gateau, asking, ‘You don’t have any trouble with the arm?’

‘It was only a bruise.’

Deceptively casual, he said, ‘Do you want to tell me why you were so frightened?’

Her hand tightened on the spoon. An unseen tremor passed through her. Without looking at him, after taking a breath to school her voice to an even tone, she said, ‘You startled me, that’s all.’

Steadily she went on eating.

After a few mouthfuls, steering him away from her life story, she asked, ‘How did you start in the air-freight business?’

He cast her a keen look but said, ‘I fell into it more or less by accident. I was working at the airport in the customs department, and when a freight firm was threatened with receivership it seemed a good chance to buy in and see if I could make a go of it.’

‘You had the money for it?’

‘The bank was good to me.’ He grinned. ‘Though I had to convince them I could turn the business around and make it a paying proposition.’

‘You must have been very persuasive.’

He had his coffee cup in his hand, looking at her over the rim. ‘I can be very persuasive when I want to be.’

The disconcerting glint that sometimes lurked in his eyes was there again. She had to make an effort not to look away.

‘And,’ he said, ‘my grandfather, bless him, offered to guarantee me for a loan.’

So he’d had a fond grandparent, too. Maybe that had helped when his parents split up.

Forking up a piece of gateau, Gabriel considered it. ‘The old guy’s gone now. He had a big globe on a brass stand in his living room, and I remember him explaining to me the concept of travelling around the world from one place to another until you arrived back where you started.’

‘How old were you then?’

Gabriel swallowed the morsel of gateau. ‘About five, I think. Ever since, a globe has reminded me of him. Maybe that’s why the idea of buying the air-freight company appealed.’

He lifted his cup to his lips. Her gaze slipped to his throat, caught by the movement under his skin. She watched with fascination until he lowered the cup and she hastily turned her attention to her plate. ‘It can’t have been easy when you started,’ she commented.

‘It was a challenge.’ He launched into a brief description of his career—the rocky beginning, the setbacks on the way, the eventual success—and she found herself caught up in his obvious enthusiasm.

Then he paused. ‘I guess that’s more than you ever wanted to know.’

‘No. It’s exciting.’

‘Is that what excites you? Talking business?’ His brows rose and his lips curved.

Rhiannon floundered. The innuendo was subtle and his eyes held laughter, but a flush rose from her throat and stung her cheeks.

Taking pity, he said, ‘I’d call downhill skiing exciting, parachuting, hang-gliding…and a few other things.’ For a moment a wicked gleam lit his eyes. ‘But biz talk?’ He shook his head. ‘You haven’t lived, baby.’

Rhiannon seized on the final word. ‘I’m not a baby!’

‘I’m nine years older than you,’ he reminded her.

‘Yes, Grandad.’

The gleam this time was retributive. ‘And I’m not your grandad.’

Rhiannon gulped down a mouthful of hot coffee. He didn’t look like anyone’s grandad. ‘Have you done those things? I mean…downhill skiing, hang-gliding…?’

‘And the rest?’ A crease appeared in his cheek. He was trying not to laugh. Held by that shimmering gaze with its veiled, provocative challenge, Rhiannon was suddenly breathless.

But not frightened.

Gabriel didn’t press her, to her great relief. This was too new a sensation to be taken at speed. He said nothing more until he’d demolished his gateau, then he sat back as she finished off her dish. ‘What did you do with those tiles?’

She told him about the church commission, answering his questions regarding tools and techniques. When she mentioned using tiles from demolition sites, he said, ‘The building next door to mine is being pulled down.’

‘Oh?’ She hadn’t been near there recently.

‘Maybe you should have a look.’ Pushing away his empty cup, he asked, ‘Do you want another?’

Rhiannon declined, not wanting any more coffee but curiously reluctant to move. She was, she realised dazedly, enjoying herself.

Only they couldn’t stay here all night. She fumbled for her bag and put on her jacket. ‘Thank you for this, it’s been nice.’

Rain had fallen while they were in the restaurant, and when they stepped outside the pavement was wet and shining under the streetlights, the tyres of passing cars hissing on the road surface. Still warm from the day’s sun, the asphalt steamed slightly.

‘It could be slippery,’ Gabriel said, his hand coming to rest on Rhiannon’s waist under the jacket. ‘Is your car in the parking building?’

‘Yes, but you don’t need to come with me.’

‘I’m going to pick up my car. And anyway, I wouldn’t desert you in the street.’

She was very conscious of his barely perceptible touch on her waist all the way there. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, and she didn’t pull away until she took out her keys and unlocked her car.

Before she got in he stopped her with a light hold on her wrist, and her gaze flew to his face. A whole colony of butterflies seemed to have taken up residence in her stomach, and she conquered the urge to pull away, standing very still while consumed by conflicting emotions of dread and curiosity.

A faint frown appeared between Gabriel’s brows. He bent his head quite slowly and brushed his lips against her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Rhiannon.’

Then he opened the door for her, standing back when she started the engine.

Watching the tail-lights disappear down the ramp, Gabriel flexed his fingers, then folded them into his palm. He could still feel the warmth that had emanated through Rhiannon’s thin blouse, and found himself fantasising about the smooth skin underneath the fabric, imagining tugging the garment from the imprisoning band of her skirt and running a finger along the groove of her spine, while he held her close…

It had taken considerable will-power to resist sliding his arm about her, resting his hand on her hip, nestling her shoulder under his. He’d felt the tiny tremor that seized her when he’d put his hand on her waist, and had made himself stop right there. In another woman he might have guessed the tremor indicated sexual awareness, but with Rhiannon…

He could hope, but she’d given no sign of welcoming his touch. And she’d been very composed, almost cool, since he’d walked into the gallery.

He went to the elevators, jabbing at the button.

Damn, she had been cool. Decidedly so. Cool and cagey. Not giving much away, except when he’d made an oblique, mildly sexual remark and she’d blushed like a schoolgirl.

So the coolness was a blind, a facade. Hiding what?

Fear. The word was stark, shocking.