Heart of the Hunter Page 7

  “You’re not angry.” Jeb agreed conversationally.

  “No, I’m not angry.”

  “Hey! Who’s arguing?” Her hands still circled his wrists, he left them there. “Then it’s settled, you’re going to dinner with me.”

  Nicole released her grasp as if his touch burned and backed away. “I will not go to dinner with you.”

  “Then you’re angry with me.”

  “I am not.”

  Jeb grinned, propped one foot over the other, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then, sweetheart, tell me why.”

  “Because.”

  “Because, why?”

  “Because I have work to do.”

  “Name it.”

  “I have to close the gallery.”

  “Annabelle just did that.”

  “I certainly did,” Annabelle murmured from her vantage point by the door.

  “Anything else, Nicky?” Jeb asked.

  “There are new paintings to catalog.”

  “I can do that,” Annabelle piped in.

  “I have some packages to ready for shipping.”

  “That, too.”

  “Annabelle.” Nicole turned to her assistant. “You need to get home to your husband. He must be disturbed with the long hours we’ve been working.”

  “No, I don’t, Harry isn’t home. That’s why I don’t mind hanging out here—it gets lonesome in that rambling old house without my hot-blooded stallion around.”

  “Give it up, Nicky. You’re surrounded, and the cavalry isn’t coming.” Jeb straightened to his full height, standing just a couple of inches under a foot taller than her five feet, two. “You avoided me this morning by skipping your walk on the beach. The evening’s another matter.

  “Unless, you want to break one of your own cardinal rules, and lose your temper.” He touched her chin, tracing the small indentation that was not quite a cleft. “Do you want to be angry with me? Do you blame me for last night?” He lifted her face to his. “Would you feel better if we pretended it never happened?”

  Annabelle made a restless move, her curiosity building to volcanic proportions. A warning glance from Jeb quieted her.

  Nicole wasn’t aware of the restlessness or the warning. She didn’t look away from Jeb, or move from the lazy, mesmerizing caress. He was right, she had avoided the beach and another chance encounter. When she’d woken with the first chirping of the birds, she was disoriented and had no memory of retiring the night before. When a headache struck, the magnitude of which only red wine could cause, she was confused. When she discovered she was still dressed in her chemise, she remembered Jeb.

  Jeb. Lounging by her door in the moonlight. Catching her glass, then scooping her up, as well. Soothing her, teasing her, listening to the debacle that had been her day.

  Jeb. His lips in her hair. The beat of his heart against her own. His hands on her as he stripped off her skirt. His angry, half-whispered curse as he found what she wore beneath.

  Jeb. His soft kiss on her forehead. His quiet wish for a restful sleep.

  Jeb. Awakening every dream she’d ever dreamed. Dreams that had lain silent, but never died.

  Jeb. Always Jeb. Her heart would never be free of him. And she was a fool.

  Since then, her day and her mood had vacillated to the extreme, the single constant had been self-contempt and humiliation. She almost welcomed a second day of Mrs. Atherton’s demands. At least it was something to think about other than Jeb and her own stupidity.

  Now there was nothing to do but face it and brazen it out if she must. “I don’t suppose there’s any need in lying. I did avoid you this morning—I thought you would prefer it that way. I...uh...wasn’t exactly myself. I hope you know that. I don’t usually do that sort of thing and to inflict myself upon you was unforgivable. We were friends in the past, but, if we’re honest, we have to admit we’re almost strangers now.”

  Annabelle gasped and made an odd choking sound.

  Jeb heard, knew exactly the connotation she’d given Nicole’s rambling monologue, and couldn’t resist the temptation to strike a flame to smoldering suspicion. “We aren’t strangers, my love.” He whispered softly, but not too softly. “We could never be after last night.”

  “I thought you would be disappointed in me.”

  “The only thing that disappoints me, is that you’ve refused to have dinner with me.” He took her hands in both of his. “Would it be so awful to spend another evening with me? This time I promise I won’t put you to bed.”

  Nicole succumbed to laughter and to him. He was teasing her, and the anger she’d heard last night was gone. “All right, it’s a deal. But this time I promise, you won’t need to put me to bed.”

  “Deal.” He kissed the tender flesh of one wrist and backed away. “I’ll browse while you freshen up.”

  Nicole hurried to a set of doors that led to a small lounge and bathroom. Annabelle didn’t have to be a clairvoyant to interpret one last tarrying look. Her cool, collected boss wasn’t so cool and collected and wasn’t sure at all what she was getting herself into.

  Jeb moved through the gallery, pausing before this painting and that. Patting the head of a bronze retriever and the nose of a perky chipmunk. When he drew near the wolf’s head, Annabelle was waiting as he knew she would be. As Mrs. Atherton said, sooner or later.

  “Ahh, Annabelle.” He smiled down at her. “I imagine you have some questions for me.”

  “You bet I do.” She jerked her head toward the wolf, a magnificent rendering that captured danger and spirit without taming either. “Judging from this little conversation, it sounds as if you might be trying to live up to your reincarnation here.”

  “In other words, you think I’m trifling with your boss lady.”

  “Are you? Did you?” Blunt question, brooking nothing but truth. Jeb would give her that, in part. He wondered what she would think of the whole of it.

  “If by trifling, you mean did I sleep with Nicole last night. The answer is no, Annabelle.”

  “But she said—”

  “She said I put her to bed. And I did. Alone.”

  The dark, Gypsy mane swayed about plump shoulders as a skeptical chin jutted at him. “Suppose you explain how that came about.”

  “All right.” Jeb traced the proud profile of the wolf, then dropped his hand away. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Nicole, and anyone who might hurt her, is my business.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” Jeb repeated mildly, “but I’ll tell you.”

  “So tell.” Annabelle’s tiny feet were planted firmly before him. With her arms folded over her considerable bosom, she was the embodiment of the immovable object. “I’m waiting.”

  “It’s simple. She’d had a rough day, little or nothing to eat. Fatigue, frustration, hunger and two quick glasses of red wine combined for an unexpected circumstance. When I arrived at her door, she was, shall we say, a bit unsteady on her feet.”

  “Nicole never drinks too much.”

  “I can’t and won’t dispute that. It wouldn’t have been too much then, if someone had seen to it she hadn’t neglected to eat.”

  “You mean me.”

  “No, Annabelle, at least not just you. Nicole herself should have seen to it.”

  “She was distracted, and then Mrs. Atherton came in spewing her ugliness.” She was quicker to defend Nicole than herself.

  “Did Nicky say what was bothering her?”

  “Nicole, Nicky as you call her, doesn’t talk about her problems. She’s a good listener if you need one, but she doesn’t expect the same in return.” Black eyes narrowed as a thought occurred. “She’s never mentioned any family, or you. I knew she was from California, because I’m good with accents, remember. We do talk about it and her schooling. Not a pleasant experience from the little I can gather. But nothing else.”

  “Does she mention her brother?”

  “Only to say you were her brother’s friend. And
that was only after I grilled her unmercifully the day you first came to the gallery.”

  Jeb wanted to hear more, but he dared not raise this astute woman’s mistrust any more. “She’s done well here.” A gesture encompassed the gallery, Charleston, the island. “How did it all happen?”

  “It happened because she’s a smart, savvy lady. Because she worked like a slave, practically nonstop from the first.”

  “What was the first? Help me understand, Annabelle.” He could have been an interested old friend, a hopeful lover. His first judgment of her career was of a wasted mind, but as he recognized her instinctive knowledge and understanding of the world of art, he viewed her choice in a new perspective.

  Annabelle inclined her head, as if she understood his burning need to know. “She began on a small scale, dealing with estate sales, taking stock on consignment. She was so young people were leery at first. But she was honest to a fault, and her knowledge of art was so incredible, so far reaching, it wasn’t long before word spread. One dowager was so pleased with her, and with the collection Nicole helped her acquire, she appointed herself Nicole’s patron. When she died, to Nicole’s complete bewilderment, she bequeathed her this building, a goodly portion of her art and the single on Jessamine Street.”

  “How long have you worked for her?”

  “From the first. With the exception of some packers called in before and after a sale or auction, there is only one other employee. Ravenel Rollins, a retired professor, who knows nearly as much about the business as Nicole.”

  “That means you have known her, how long?”

  “Seven years.”

  “In all that time, Nicole has never mentioned her family?” He was doubling back, asking the same question more than once, in different contexts. An old and tried interrogator’s trick.

  “Never.” Annabelle was adamant and unwavering.

  “Tell me of the men in her life.”

  Shoulders lifting in an expression of uncertainty, her arms spread for emphasis, Annabelle said, “Who knows? If there has ever been anyone, he was only a passing fancy. If one has ever been more than that, she kept him a dark secret. She kept you secret.”

  “There was nothing to keep secret, Annabelle. Fifteen years ago, she was fifteen, I was twenty-two. For a while we were friends, nothing more.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Jeb inclined his head once, sharply. “Certain.”

  A dark, hot gaze swept over him, the lids nearly slitted. “Then, Jeb Tanner, I think you must be a fool.”

  “You two are certainly deep in serious conversation. Private? Or can anyone join in?”

  Jeb had been so intent on his questions and the responses they elicited, he hadn’t heard Nicole until she spoke. He turned now, superimposing a smile over the frown Annabelle’s last remark had drawn from him. In an instant everything was forgotten.

  Nicole had taken the time to freshen the makeup that was a mere dusting of color over her even features. Only the jacket she’d worn had been changed for another. He wouldn’t have believed the addition of a single garment could make such a startling transformation.

  The first was loose, unconstructed, with a collar buttoned about her neck. The discarded pale blue-green silk blended with, but was not a match to the darker, full skirt. The fitted jacket that replaced it was the same, rich turquoise, completing a charming suit. From the sliver of black lace visible between its classical lapels, he knew beyond any doubt the only garment she wore beneath it was a chemise.

  Images of her strong and supple young body wrapped in scant gossamer and moonlight streaming through her bedroom window assailed him. The vagaries of memory turned silk to lace, and turquoise to sultry black. He knew before he looked that her eyes would no longer be blue.

  “You’re stunning.” He meant it literally. Looking at her dazed him. She was a vision in wonderful hues that turned her dusky skin tawny, and her ever changeable eyes to sultry green.

  “Flattery, sir?” She slipped her arm through his.

  Jeb didn’t answer. He was struck again by her complete lack of conceit.

  “Of course it’s flattery, of the best kind. The truth,” Annabelle groused. With a wave and a wiggle of her fingers she urged them to the door. “You two have better things to do than hang out here. Just remember, tomorrow I expect a play-by-play report.”

  “One question before we go,” Nicole insisted.

  “For whom?” Jeb asked.

  “Both of you.”

  “Shoot,” Annabelle chimed in.

  Nicole looked from one to the other. “There was no telephone call, was there?”

  Jeb glanced at Annabelle, and she at him.

  “Never mind,” Nicole said thoughtfully. “The two of you made this whole fiasco up as you went along.”

  “You needed to eat,” Jeb offered as his alibi. “You aren’t big enough to afford skipping meals two consecutive days.”

  “Anything to get Mrs. Atherton out of your hair.” Annabelle looked no less contrite than Jeb.

  “In other words, you’ve appointed yourselves my guardian angels, whether I like it or not.” Nicole’s tone was stern.

  “Yes,” a masculine and a gruff feminine voice declared in unison.

  The scowl on Nicole’s face faded. A radiant smile replaced it. “Thank you,” she said. “For caring.”

  Nicole was still smiling as she walked arm in arm with Jeb down the street.

  “Be careful, boss lady,” Annabelle mused as she watched them out of sight. “There’s a wolf at your door, a handsome, dangerous wolf.”

  * * *

  Where there had been sun, now there was moonlight. The city streets were quiet, subdued in the lazy gentility that seemed to descend with the night.

  After dinner, Jeb strolled with Nicole over uneven brick walks, past walled gardens with their ornate gates and lush foliage peeking from them. Old houses displaying curious earthquake bolts, cul-de-sacs with cloistered shops, and horse-drawn carriages with drivers dressed in top hat and tails, creating an aura of the past that enchanted and enfolded them.

  As they walked, Jeb could visualize Charleston as early travelers had seen it. Wooded shores, deep bays, accessible harbors. Church spires towering over Adamesque and Georgian mansions, singles with graceful porches and piazzas. He understood why they’d stayed, why Nicole had chosen the city and the island for her homes.

  Nicole equated his silence with her own wonder at the enduring memory of a gentler life-style. “You can almost see them, can’t you?”

  “The people of old Charleston?”

  Nicole looked into the facade of one of the larger singles as they passed it. “Imagine it. Supper would be over by this hour. They’ve dined on vegetables brought down the rivers from plantation gardens, oranges from Florida, pineapple from Cuba, the finest wines of France, and coffee from South America. After the table is cleared the gentlemen tarry in the dining room over port or brandy, the ladies retire to the drawing room for tea.”

  “An idyllic time, if one didn’t look too closely.” Jeb hadn’t intended the cynical edge in his comment. The evening had gone too well to blunder now. “Sorry.” He shrugged. “Didn’t mean to spoil your mood.”

  “You haven’t. The system wasn’t really so pretty. But warts and all, the golden era of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries contributed in making Charles Towne Colony the city it is today.”

  “With modern warts.”

  “Yes.” She burst out laughing and took his arm as they crossed the street to Waterfront Park. “With modern warts.”

  The park was unexpectedly deserted and they wandered alone through ancient magnolias and sword-leafed palmettos. At a railing overlooking the harbor, Nicole stopped, leaning her elbows on the iron. “I love this place.”

  “Do you come here often?”

  “Only when dashing gentlemen offer dinner at Saracen.”

  “Have there been many gentlemen, Nicole?”

  “Alas, no.” She
turned her back to the harbor, leaning again against the iron rail.

  “Why not?” It was beyond conception that the gallants of Charleston wouldn’t pursue her. If there hadn’t been men in her life, it wouldn’t be of their choosing.

  “At first, I think it was that I was too busy. Getting established in Charleston wasn’t easy. Later...” She lifted a shoulder in an eloquent expression of her loss for words. “I suppose it was the gallery then.”

  “Or that you lacked the inclination?” Jeb suggested.

  “Perhaps.” She pushed away from the fence to wander the path again.

  The subject was closed, and Jeb needed to know why. He would have his answer, but not tonight. He wouldn’t push. His subtle interrogation over dinner beneath the towering arched windows of the Saracen had been enough. He was content to know that Nicole’s version of her early days in Charleston matched her assistant’s.

  A third source wouldn’t be overlooked, Mitch or Matthew, not Jeb, must speak with Mrs. Atherton. Tomorrow, while she was still angry and would put no sugar coating on what she knew.

  Nicole moved deeper into the shadows. Away from the light, into darkness that would be her shield. Jeb mustn’t see by any telltale look she couldn’t hide that it was more than lack of inclination that destroyed any budding liaisons before they began. Far more.

  The sound of water splashing from a fountain faded, and for a while they walked side by side, neither speaking. Each lost in thoughts of guilt.

  A twig cracked. A low sweeping tree limb rustled where there was no wind. The park was suddenly still.

  Jeb caught her arm, his grip hard, commanding. A finger to his lips stopped her startled protest. He drew her closer, his body as much shield as the darkness. Not moving, not daring a breath, he listened.

  Nothing. No buzzing insects, no flutter of birds’ wings, no furtive scurrying of tiny night creatures.

  Too quiet.

  Too still.

  Something, or someone, had disturbed the natural order of the night.

  Jeb’s stare probed the shadows, distinguishing small shrubs and plants, park benches and low signs. In the concealing cover of a drooping magnolia, there was only utter blackness.