‘Perhaps I am old-fashioned.’
Her glance probably told him more than she wanted it to, for he sent her a bland smile.
‘That sounds rather sweet,’ she said kindly, then nodded in the direction of the buses. ‘I’m going this way, so goodbye.’
‘Aren’t you using Brent’s car?’
She felt a tightness in her chest. ‘No,’ she said shortly.
It had been a mistake to move into Brent’s apartment. But his offer of a place to stay while she found a new home had seemed a lifesaver. However, it hadn’t taken her long to realise he’d seen it as a step forwards in a relationship she’d been at pains to keep at a friendly level.
So she had to find new lodgings by the time he got back from his unexpected holiday.
Kain’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I’ll give you a lift back.’
Turning her face away from his too-keen scrutiny, she shook her head firmly. ‘No, thank you,’ she said, and strode towards the waiting bus.
Kain watched the sun gleam across the ebony satin of her hair, its sleek chignon setting off her fine features and that wanton mouth, now firmly under control.
Playing it cool. Well, he’d expected that; she’d be stupid to ditch one prospect until she had the next one—the richer one—hooked and reeled in. A humourless smile curved his mouth as he walked towards the members’car park. He knew how this game went, and he’d enjoy playing it for a while.
‘Sable, who is that? Oh—my—God, he’s faaaabulous.’
‘Hang on,’ Sable said absently without taking her eyes from the computer screen. The boss’s daughter habitually spoke in italics, and fell in love with a new man every couple of days.
‘He’s coming here!’
‘Well, this is the reception area.’
Poppy’s voice dropped to a low whisper. ‘Oh, oh, oh, I know who he is.’
‘Hush, he might hear y—’ The word dried on her tongue when she looked up and saw Kain Gerard strolling towards her, breathtakingly masculine in a formal city suit.
Literally breathtaking; she had to force her lungs to drag in some air, and beneath her ribs her heart set up a wayward rhythm that echoed in her ears.
‘Sable,’ he said with a devastating half-smile. ‘How are you?’
Hearing Poppy take a swift indrawn breath, Sable hastily said, ‘Hello, Kain. Can I help you?’
‘You can show me the pictures that will be sold in the charity auction.’
The Russell Foundation held an annual art auction, and because one day she planned to work as an events manager, Sable always volunteered her services to organise the evening. This year it was to be held in the ballroom of a huge modern mansion, the perfect place to show off the avant-garde pictures and sculptures now waiting in the Foundation’s warehouse.
Her first impulse was to hand Kain over to Poppy, but the slight emphasis on the first word of his answer made her hesitate and look up at him. The moment her eyes met his warning gaze she realised he understood what she intended to do—and was warning her against it.
Poppy was young and untried enough to be hurt by rejection. And although the paintings and sculpture weren’t yet officially on exhibition, Kain Gerard knew—as Sable did—that no one would refuse to show them to him.
Money talks, she thought, unable to show her chagrin, and big money talks big.
Evenly, her voice aloof, Sable replied, ‘Yes, of course.’
Heart skipping into an uneven rhythm, she closed the computer and straightened up to walk towards him, glad that she’d worn a dress in the bold, clear red that gave colour to her pale skin and made her eyes dark and deep and—she hoped—impossible to read.
She was fiercely aware of Kain on a level so basic she had no command over it. Every cell seemed to recognise him, as though his touch had imprinted her for life.
And that ridiculous overreaction scared her.
‘Come this way,’ she said in her most modulated voice, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her tension.
Silently he surveyed the exhibition with an impassive face. This year the committee that oversaw the choice of artists had chosen those with postmodern credentials, and because the exhibition and auction gave them excellent publicity most had really let themselves go.
Sable kept her features controlled. Somehow, she didn’t think Kain would be impressed—unless he was buying an investment. You didn’t have to like investments.
He surprised her by asking, ‘What do you think of them?’
‘My opinion isn’t worth anything,’ she evaded.
‘You don’t like them.’
How had he noticed that? Uneasily she said, ‘I don’t know anything about this sort of art so my personal opinion means nothing. I can get an expert to discuss them with—’
He stopped her with a glance and a single word. ‘No.’
For the next half hour he strolled along the row of pictures, standing back occasionally to get a better view, looking more closely at others. Sable wondered just what was going on behind that handsome face.
Finally he said, ‘Tell me what you really think.’
Exasperated by his persistence, she returned shortly, ‘The only useful comments I could make would just be parroting what I’ve heard.’
‘I don’t want that—I want your opinion. You must have some idea—wasn’t your father an artist? Angus Martin? The Art Gallery has several of his pictures and one stunning watercolour.’
Touched—and made extremely cautious by the fact that he’d heard of her father—she said, ‘If you’ve seen it you’d know that he didn’t paint like this.’
‘But you must have heard him discuss art.’
Oh, yes, endless discussions that had degenerated into maudlin regrets that his skills no longer matched his vision, that he’d drunk away whatever talent he’d once had…
Faced with a determination that matched her own—and because Kain Gerard might be prepared to spend a lot of money on this very good cause—she said reluctantly, ‘I don’t understand the artists’ visions or their objectives, and I don’t know enough about art to relate to their techniques.’
‘Why does that annoy you?’
You annoy me, she thought, irritated with him and with herself for being so affected by him.
Shrugging, she returned lightly, ‘Because I feel as though I’m missing out on something—on some secret that others understand.’
He
