Born in Fire (26 page)

So instead of a quiet, perhaps intimate late-night conversation, he’d left a terse message that would, no doubt, annoy Maggie as much as it annoyed him.

God, he wanted her.

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see.” Cheerful as a robin, Joseph popped into the room. “I’ve sold
Carlotta.
” Joseph’s self-satisfied smile faded into curiosity when Rogan turned. “Bad day, is it?”

“I’ve had better.
Carlotta,
you say? To whom?”

“To an American tourist who strolled in this morning. She was absolutely enthralled by
Carlotta
. We’re having her shipped—the painting, that is—to someplace called Tucson.”

Joseph sat on the corner of the love seat and lighted a celebratory cigarette. “The American claimed that she adores primitive nudes, and our
Carlotta
was certainly primitive. I’m quite fond of nudes myself, but Carlotta was never my type. Too heavy at the hip—and the brush strokes. Well, the artist lacked subtlety, shall we say.”

“It was an excellent oil,” Rogan said absently.

“Of its type. Since I prefer something a bit less obvious, I won’t be sorry to ship
Carlotta
off to Tucson.” He pulled a little flip-top ashtray out of his pocket and tapped his cigarette in it. “Oh, and that watercolor series, from the Scotsman? Arrived an hour ago. It’s beautiful work, Rogan. I think you’ve discovered another star.”

“Blind luck. If I hadn’t been checking on the factory in Inverness, I never would have seen the paintings.”

“A street artist.” Joseph shook his head. “Well, not for long, I can guarantee that. There’s a wonderfully mystical quality to the work, rather fragile and austere.” His tooth flashed in a grin. “And a nude as well, to make up for the loss of
Carlotta.
More to my taste, I’ll have to say. She’s elegant, rather delicate and just a bit sad-eyed. I fell hopelessly in love.”

He broke off, flushing a little around the collar as he saw Patricia in the doorway. His heart trembled hopelessly. Out of your reach, boy-o, he reminded himself. Way out of your reach. His smile was dashing as he rose.

“Hello, Patricia. How lovely to see you.”

Rogan turned, decided he should be flogged for putting those shadows under her eyes.

“Hello, Joseph. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all. Beauty is always welcome here.” He took her hand, kissed it, and called himself an idiot. “Would you like tea?”

“No, don’t trouble.”

“It’s no problem, no problem at all. It’s near to closing.”

“I know. I’d hoped…” Patricia braced herself. “Joseph, would you mind? I need to have a moment alone with Rogan.”

“Of course not.” Fool. Dolt. Imbecile. “I’ll just go on down. I’ll put the kettle on if you change your mind.”

“Thank you.” She waited until he’d gone, then shut the door. “I hope you don’t mind my coming, since it’s so near closing.”

“No, of course not.” Rogan wasn’t prepared, again, he discovered, to handle himself. “I’m glad you came.”

“No, you’re not.” She smiled a little as she said it, to ease the sting. “You’re standing there, frantically trying to think of what to say, how to behave. I’ve known you too long, Rogan. Can we sit?”

“Yes, of course.” He started to offer a hand, then let it fall back to his side. Patricia lifted a brow at the movement. She sat, folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve come to apologize.”

Now his distress was complete. “Please, don’t. There’s no need.”

“There’s every need. You’ll do me the courtesy of hearing me out.”

“Patty.” He sat as well, felt his stomach lurch. “I’ve made you cry.” It was all too obvious now that they were close. However careful her makeup, he could see the signs.

“Yes, you did. And after I’d finished crying, I began to think. For myself.” She sighed. “I’ve had much too little practice thinking for myself, Rogan. Mother and Daddy took such close care of me. And they had such expectations. I was always afraid I couldn’t meet them.”

“That’s absurd—”

“I’ve asked you to hear me out,” she said in a tone that had him staring in surprise. “And you will. You were always there, from the time I was what—fourteen, fifteen? And then there was Robbie. I was so in love there was no need to think, no room for it. It was all him, and putting the house together, making a home. When I lost him, I thought I would die, too. God knows I wanted to.”

There was nothing else Rogan could do but take her hand. “I loved him, too.”

“I know you did. And it was you who got me through it. You who helped me grieve, then move past the grieving. I could talk about Robbie with you, and laugh or cry. You’ve been the best of friends to me, so it was natural that I’d love you. If seemed sensible for me to wait until you began to see me as a woman instead of an old friend. Then, wouldn’t it be natural enough for you to fall in love with me, ask me to marry you?”

His fingers moved restlessly under hers. “If I’d paid closer attention—”

“You’d have still seen nothing I didn’t wish you to see,” she finished. “For reasons I’d rather not discuss, I decided I’d take the next step myself, last night. When I kissed you, I expected to feel, oh, stardust and moonbeams. I threw myself into kissing you, expecting it to be everything I’d been waiting for, all those wonderful, terrifying tugs and pulls. I wanted so much to feel them again. But I didn’t.”

“Patricia, it’s not that I—” He broke off, eyes narrowing. “I beg your pardon?”

She laughed, confusing him all the more. “When I’d finished my well-deserved bout of weeping, I thought through the whole episode. It wasn’t just you who was taken by surprise, Rogan. I realized I’d felt nothing at all when I’d kissed you.”

“Nothing at all,” he repeated after a moment.

“Nothing more than embarrassment for having put us both in such a potentially dreadful situation. It came to me that while I love you dearly, I’m not in love with you at all. I was simply kissing my closest friend.”

“I see.” It was ridiculous to feel as though his manhood had been impugned. But he was, after all, a man. “That’s lucky, isn’t it?”

She did know him well. Laughing, she pressed his hand to her cheek. “Now I’ve insulted you.”

“No, you haven’t. I’m relieved we’ve sorted this out.” Her bland look had him cursing. “All right, damn it, you have insulted me. Or at least nicked my masculine pride.” He grinned back at her. “Friends, then?”

“Always.” She let out a long breath. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that
that’s
over. You know, I think I’ll take Joseph up on that tea. Can you join us?”

“Sorry. We’ve just gotten in a shipment from Inverness I want to look over.”

She rose. “You know, I have to agree with Mother on one thing. You’re working too hard, Rogan. It’s beginning to show. You need a few days to relax.”

“In a month or two.”

Shaking her head, she leaned down to kiss him. “You always say that. I wish I thought you meant it this time.” She tilted her head, smiled. “I believe your villa in the south of France is an excellent place not only to relax, but for creative inspiration. The colors and the textures would undoubtedly appeal to an artist.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. “You do know me too well,” he murmured.

“I do. Give it some thought.” She left him brooding and went down to the kitchen. Since Joseph was in the main gallery with a few lingering clients, she began to brew the tea herself.

Joseph came in just as she was pouring the first cup. “I’m sorry,” he said. “They wouldn’t be hurried along, nor could they be seduced into parting with a single pound. Here I thought I’d end the day by selling that copper sculpture. You know, the one that looks a bit like a holly shrub, but they got away from me.”

“Have some tea and console yourself.”

“I will, thanks. Have you—” He stopped when she turned to him and he saw her face in the full light. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Why, nothing.” She brought the cups to the table, nearly dropping them both when he caught her by the arms.

“You’ve been crying,” he said in a tight voice. “And there’re shadows under your eyes.”

On an impatient breath she set the jostling cups down. “Why are cosmetics so damn expensive if they don’t do the job? A woman can’t indulge herself in a good weeping spell if she can’t depend on her powder.” She started to sit, but his hands remained firm on her shoulders. Surprised, she looked up at him. What she saw in his eyes had her fumbling. “It’s nothing—really nothing. Just some foolishness. I’m…I’m fine now.”

He didn’t think. He’d held her before, of course. They’d danced together. But there was no music now. Only her. Slowly, he lifted a hand, brushed a thumb gently over the faint smudges under her eyes. “You still miss him. Robbie.”

“Yes. I always will.” But her husband’s face, so well loved, blurred. She saw only Joseph. “I wasn’t crying for Robbie. Not really. I’m not sure exactly what I was crying for.”

She was so lovely, he thought. Her eyes so soft and confused. And her skin—he’d never dared touch her like this before—was like silk. “You mustn’t cry, Patty,” he heard himself say. Then he was kissing her, his mouth homing to hers like an arrow, his hand scooping up into that soft swing of hair.

He lost himself, drowning in the scent of her, aching at the way her lips parted in surprise to allow him one long, full-bodied taste of her.

Her body gave to his, a delicate sway of fragility that aroused unbearable and conflicting needs. To take, to protect, to comfort and to possess.

It was her sigh, part shock, part wonder, that snapped him back like a faceful of ice water.

“I—I beg your pardon.” He fumbled over the words, then went rigid with regret when she only stared at him. Emotions churned sickly inside of him as he stepped back. “That was inexcusable.”

He turned on his heel and walked away before her head stopped spinning.

She took one step after him, his name on her lips. Then she stopped, pressed her hand to her racing heart and let her shaking legs buckle her into a chair.

Joseph? Her hand crept up from her breast to her flushed cheek. Joseph, she thought again, staggered. Why, it was ridiculous. They were no more than casual friends who shared an affection for Rogan and for art. He was…well, the closest thing she knew to a bohemian, she decided. Charming, certainly, as every woman who walked into the gallery would attest.

And it had only been a kiss. Just a kiss, she told herself as she reached for her cup. But her hand trembled and spilled tea onto the table.

A kiss, she realized with a jolt, that had given her those moonbeams, the stardust, and all the wonderful and terrifying tugs and pulls she had hoped for.

Joseph, she thought again, and raced out of the kitchen to find him.

She caught a glimpse of him outside and darted past Rogan with barely a word.

“Joseph!”

He stopped, swore. Here it was, he thought bitterly. She’d slap him down good and proper, and—since he hadn’t made a quick enough exit—in public as well. Resigned to facing the music, he turned, tossed his streaming hair back over his shoulder.

She skidded to a halt inches in front of him. “I—” She completely forgot what she’d hoped to say.

“You’ve every right to be angry,” he told her. “It hardly matters that I never meant—that is, I’d only wanted to…Goddamn it, what do you expect? You come in looking so sad and beautiful. So lost. I forgot myself, and I’ve apologized for it.”

She had been feeling lost, she realized. She wondered if he would understand what it was like to know just where you were, and to believe you knew where you were going, but to be lost just the same. She thought he might.

“Will you have dinner with me?”

He blinked, stepped back. Stared. “What?”

“Will you have dinner with me?” she repeated. She felt giddy, almost reckless. “Tonight. Now.”

“You want to have dinner?” He spoke slowly, spacing each word. “With me? Tonight?”

He looked so baffled, so leery, that she laughed. “Yes. Actually, no, that isn’t what I want at all.”

“All right, then.” He nodded stiffly and headed down the street.

“I don’t want dinner,” she called out, loudly enough to have heads turn. Almost reckless? she thought. Oh, no, completely reckless. “I want you to kiss me again.”

That stopped him. He turned back, ignored the wink and encouraging word from a man in a flowered shirt. Like a blind man feeling his way, he walked toward her. “I’m not sure I caught that.”

“Then I’ll speak plainly.” She swallowed a foolish bubble of pride. “I want you to take me home with you, Joseph. And I want you to kiss me again. And unless I’ve very much mistaken what we’re both feeling, I want you to make love with me.” She took the last step toward him. “Did you understand that, and is it agreeable to you?”

“Agreeable?” He took her face in his hands, stared hard into her eyes. “You’ve lost your mind. Thank God.” He laughed and swooped her against him. “Oh, it’s more than agreeable, Patty darling. Much more.”

Chapter Fourteen

M
AGGIE
dozed off at her kitchen table, her head on her folded arms.

Moving day had been sheer hell.

Her mother had complained constantly, relentlessly, about everything from the steady fall of rain to the curtains Brianna had hung at the wide front window of the new house. But it was worth the misery of the day to see Maeve at last settled in her own place. Maggie had kept her word, and Brianna was free.

Still, Maggie hadn’t expected the wave of guilt that swamped her when Maeve had wept—her back bent, her face buried in her hands and the hot fast tears leaking through her fingers. No, she hadn’t expected to feel guilty, or to feel so miserably sorry for the woman who’d barely finished cursing her before she collapsed into sobs.

In the end it was Lottie, with her brisk, unflappable cheerfulness who had taken control. She scooted both Brianna and Maggie out of the house, telling them not to worry, no, not to worry a bit, as the tears were as natural as the rain. And what a lovely place it was, she’d gone on to say, all the while nudging and pushing them along. Like a dollhouse and just as tidy. They’d be fine. They’d be cozy as cats.