Born in Fire (29 page)

The notion of strolling through the great museum pleased her. She topped off Rogan’s coffee, then heated up her own cup of tea. “I’d like to wander about, I suppose. As for shopping, I’ll want to find something to take back for Brie.”

“You should have something for Maggie as well.”

“Maggie doesn’t need anything. Besides, I can’t afford it.”

“That’s absurd. You’ve no need to deny yourself a present or two. You’ve earned it.”

“I’ve spent what I’ve earned.” She grimaced over her cup. “Do they have the nerve to call this tea?”

“What do you mean you’ve spent it?” He set down his fork. “Only a month ago I gave you a check in the six figures. You can hardly have frittered that away.”

“Frittered?” She gestured dangerously with her knife. “Do I look like a fritterer?”

“Good God, no.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean? That I haven’t the taste or style to spend my money well?”

He held up a hand for peace. “It means nothing more than no. But if you’ve wasted the money I gave you, I’d like to know how.”

“I wasted nothing, as if it were your business to begin with.”

“You are my business. If you can’t manage your money, I’ll do it for you.”

“You’ll not. Why you pompous, penny-pinching ass, ’tis mine, isn’t it? And it’s gone, or most of it. So you’ll just have to see that you sell my work and get me more.”

“That’s precisely what I’ll do. Now, where did it go?”

“Away.” Infuriated, embarrassed, she shoved back from the table. “I’ve expenses, don’t I? I needed supplies, and I was foolish enough to buy a dress.”’

He folded his hands. “You spent, in a month’s time, nearly two hundred thousand pounds on supplies and a dress.”

“I had a debt to pay,” she raged at him. “And why should I have to explain to you? It says nothing of how I spend my money in your bloody contract.”

“The contract has nothing to do with it,” he said patiently, because he could see it wasn’t anger so much as mortification that was driving her. “I’m asking you where the money went. But you’re certainly under no legal obligation to tell me.”

His reasonable tone only pinched harder at her humiliation. “I bought my mother a house, though she’ll never thank me for it. And I had to furnish it for her, didn’t I? She’d have taken every stick and cushion from Brianna otherwise.” Frustrated, she dragged both hands through her hair and sent it into fiery tufts. “And I had to hire Lottie, and see they had a car. And she’ll have to be paid every week, so I gave Brie enough for six months in salary and for food and such. Then there was the lien, though Brie will be furious when she finds I’ve paid it off. But it was mine to pay, as Da took it out for me. So it’s done. I kept my word to him and I won’t have you telling me what I should or shouldn’t do with my own money.”

She’d stormed around the room while she spoke and came to a halt now by the table where Rogan continued to sit, silently, patiently.

“If I might summarize?” he said. “You bought a house for your mother, furnished it, purchased a car and hired a companion for her. You’ve paid off a lien, which will displease your sister, but which you felt was your responsibility. You’ve given Brianna enough to keep your mother for six months, bought supplies. And with what was left, you bought yourself a dress.”

“That’s right. That’s what I said. What of it?”

She stood there, trembling with fury, her eyes sharp and bright and eager for battle. He could, he mused, tell her he admired her incredible generosity, her loyalty to her family. But he doubted that she’d appreciate the effort.

“That explains it.” He picked up his coffee again. “I’ll see that you get an advance.”

She wasn’t at all sure she could speak. When she did, her voice came out in a dangerous hiss. “I don’t want your bloody advance. I don’t want it. I’ll earn my own keep.”

“Which you’re doing—and quite well. It’s not charity, Maggie, or even a loan. It’s a simple business transaction.”

“Be damned to your business.” Her face was pink with embarrassment now. “I’ll not take a penny until I’ve earned it. I’ve just gotten myself out of debt, I won’t go into it again.”

“God, you’re stubborn.” He tapped his fingers on the table as he thought her reaction through, trying to understand her display of passion. If it was pride she needed so badly, he could help her keep it. “Very well, we’ll do this another way entirely. We’ve had several offers on your
Surrender,
which I’ve turned down.”

“Turned down?”

“Mmm. The last, I believe, was thirty thousand.”

“Pounds!”
The word erupted from her. “I was offered thirty thousand pounds for it, and you turned it down? Are you mad? It may seem like little or nothing to you, Rogan Sweeney, but I could live handsomely on that amount for more than a year. If this is how you manage—”

“Be quiet.” And because he said it so casually, so absently, she did just that. “I refused the offer because I intended to buy the piece myself, after we’d toured it. I’ll simply buy it now and it will continue on the tour as part of my collection. We’ll make it thirty-five thousand.”

He tossed off the amount as though it was loose change casually dropped on a bureau.

Something inside her was trembling like the heart of a frightened bird. “Why?”

“I can’t, ethically, purchase it for myself at the same amount offered by a client.”

“No, I mean why do you want it?”

He stopped his mental calculations and looked up at her. “Because it’s beautiful work, intimate work. And because whenever I look at it, I remember making love with you the first time. You didn’t want to sell it. Did you think I couldn’t see that in your face the day you showed it to me? Did you really think I couldn’t understand how much it hurt you to give it up?”

Unable to speak, she simply shook her head and turned away.

“It was mine, Maggie, even before you finished it. As much, I think, as it was yours. And it’ll go to no one else. I never intended it to go to anyone else.”

Still silent, she walked to the window. “I don’t want you to pay me for it.”

“Don’t be absurd—”

“I don’t want your money,” she said quickly, while she could. “You’re right—that piece was terribly special to me, and I’d be grateful if you’d accept it.” She let out a long breath, staring hard through the glass. “I’d be pleased to know it was yours.”

“Ours,” he said in a tone that drew her gaze back to his like a magnet. “As it was meant to be.”

“Ours, then.” She sighed. “How can I stay angry with you?” she said quietly. “How can I fight what you do to me?”

“You can’t.”

She was afraid he was right about that. But she could, at least, take a stand on a smaller matter. “I’m grateful to you for offering an advance, but I don’t want it. It’s important to me to take only what I make, when I make it. I’ve enough left to get by. I want no more than that for now. What needed to be done is done. From this point on, what comes will be mine.”

“It’s only money, Maggie.”

“So easy to say when you’ve more than you’ve ever needed.” The edge in her voice, so much like her mother’s, stopped her cold. She took a deep breath and let out what was in her own heart. “Money was like an open wound in my house—the lack of it, my father’s skill for losing it, and my mother’s constant nagging for more. I don’t want to depend on pounds for my happiness, Rogan. And it frightens and shames me that I might.”

So, he thought, studying her, this was why she’d fought him every step of the way. “Didn’t you tell me once that you didn’t pick up your pipe each day thinking about the profit on the other end of it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you think of it now?”

“No. Rogan—”

“You’re arguing against shadows, Maggie.” He rose to cross to her. “The woman you are has already decided that the future will be very different from the past.”

“I can’t go back,” she murmured. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go back.”

“No, you can’t. You’ll always be one to go forward.” He kissed her softly on the brow. “Will you get dressed now, Maggie? Let me give you Paris.”

He did. For nearly a week he gave her everything the city had to offer, from the magnificence of Notre Dame to the intimacy of dim cafés. He bought her flowers from the tight-lipped street vendor every morning until the suite smelled like a garden. They strolled along the Seine in the moonlight, Maggie with her shoes in her hand and the river’s breeze on her cheeks. They danced in clubs to poorly played American music, and dined on glorious food and wine at Maxim’s.

She watched him pore over the sidewalk art, searching always for another diamond in the rough. And though he winced when she bought an undoubtedly bad painting of the Eiffel Tower, she only laughed and told him art was in the soul, not always in the execution.

The hours she spent in the Paris gallery were just as exciting to her. While Rogan ordered, directed and arranged she saw her work shine under his vigilant eye.

A vested interest, he’d said. She couldn’t deny that he tended his interests well. He was as passionate and attentive to her art during those afternoons as he was to her body during the nights.

When it was done, and the last piece was set to shine under the lights, she thought that the show was every bit as much a result of his efforts as of her own.

But partnership didn’t always equal harmony.

“Damn it, Maggie, if you keep fussing in there we’ll be late.” For the third time in as many minutes, Rogan knocked on the bedroom door she’d locked.

“And if you keep bothering me, we’ll be later still,” she called out. “Go away. Better yet, go on to the gallery yourself. I can get myself there when I’m ready.”

“You can’t be trusted,” he muttered, but her ears were sharp.

“I don’t need a keeper, Rogan Sweeney.” She was breathless from struggling to reach the low zipper of her dress. “I’ve never seen a man so ruled by the hands of a clock.”

“And I’ve never seen a woman more careless of time. Would you unlock this door? It’s infuriating to have to shout through it.”

“All right, all right.” By nearly dislocating her arm, she managed to fasten the dress. She wriggled her feet into ridiculously high bronze heels, cursed herself for being fool enough to take Joseph’s advice, then twisted the lock. “I wouldn’t have taken so long if they made women’s clothes with the same consideration they make men’s. Your zippers are within easy reach.” She stopped, tugged once on the short hem of the dress. “Well? Is it all right or not?”

He said nothing at all, only twirled his finger to indicate he wanted her to circle. Rolling her eyes to heaven, she complied.

The dress was strapless, nearly backless, with a skirt that halted teasingly at midthigh. It glittered, bronze, copper, gold, sparking fire at every breath. Her hair echoed the tone so that she seemed like a candle flame, slim and bright.

“Maggie. You take my breath away.”

“The seamstress wasn’t generous with material.”

“I admire her parsimony.”

When he continued to stare, she lifted her brows. “You said we were in a hurry.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Her brows lifted higher as he started toward her. “I’m warning you, if you get me out of this dress, it’ll be your responsibility to get me back in.”

“As attractive as that sounds, it’ll have to wait. I’ve a present for you, and it seems that the fates guided my hand. I believe this will complement your dress nicely.”

He reached into the inside pocket of his tux and took out a slim velvet box.

“You’ve already bought me a present. That huge bottle of scent.”

“That was for me.” He leaned over to sniff her bare shoulder. The smoky perfume might have been created with her in mind. “Very much for me. This is for you.”

“Well, since it’s too small to be another answering machine, I’ll take it.” But when she opened the box, the chuckle died in her throat. Rubies, square flames of them, simmered with white-hot diamonds in a three-tiered choker tied together by twists of glinting gold. No delicate bauble, but a bold flash, a lightning flash of color and heat and gleam.

“Something to remember Paris by,” Rogan told her as he slipped it from the box. The necklace ran like blood and water through his fingers.

“It’s diamonds. Rogan, I can’t wear diamonds.”

“Of course you can.” He brought it to her throat, his eyes on hers as he fastened the clasp. “Not alone perhaps. They’d be cold and wouldn’t suit you. But with the other stones…” He stepped back to take in the effect. “Yes, exactly right. You look like a pagan goddess.”

She couldn’t stop her hand from reaching up, from running across the gems. They felt warm against her skin. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Say thank you, Rogan. It’s lovely.”

“Thank you, Rogan.” Her smile bloomed and spread. “It’s a great deal more than lovely. It’s dazzling.”

“And so are you.” He leaned into the kiss, then patted her bottom. “Now get a move on, or we’ll be late. Where’s your wrap?”

“I haven’t got one.”

“Typical,” he murmured, and pulled her out the door.

Maggie thought she handled her second showing with a great deal more panache than she had the first. Her stomach wasn’t nearly as jittery, her temper not nearly as short. If she did, once or twice, think wistfully of escape, she covered it well.

And if she pined for something she couldn’t have, she reminded herself that success sometimes had to be enough in itself.

“Maggie.”

She turned from the heavily accented ramblings of a Frenchman whose eyes had rarely left her cleavage and stared dumbstruck at her sister.

“Brianna?”

“It certainly is.” Smiling, Brianna gathered her astonished sister in an embrace. “I would have been here an hour ago, but there was a delay at the airport.”

“But how? How are you here at all?”

“Rogan sent his plane for me.”

“Rogan?” Baffled, Maggie scanned the room until she found him. He only smiled at her, then at Brianna, before returning his attention to an enormous woman in fuchsia lace. Maggie nudged her sister to a corner of the room. “You came on Rogan’s plane?”

“I thought I would have to let you down again, Maggie.” More than a little overwhelmed by the sight of Maggie’s work glittering in a roomful of exotic strangers, Brianna slipped her hand into her sister’s. “I was trying to think of how to manage it. Mother’s fine with Lottie, of course, and I knew I could leave Con with Murphy. I even asked Mrs. McGee if she’d look after Blackthorn for a day or two. But then there was the how to get here.”