was surprisingly light as they drove toward the restaurant. Gliding the car to a halt in front of the valet stand, Marcus quickly alighted and went around to Avery’s door to help her from the vehicle, relishing the opportunity to watch her long slender legs as she swung them out of the car. Avery gracefully rose on silver spike-heeled sandals that did all kinds of wicked things to his imagination, and Marcus was struck anew by her almost ethereal beauty.
Heads turned as they were ushered in through the front door. The maître d’ greeted them both by name. He shouldn’t have been surprised. While his research had told him that Avery grew up every inch a privileged, although shy, sun-kissed California girl, she’d spent considerable time the past few years on the charity circuit between L.A. and here. Until her father’s sudden illness, that was. After that, she’d dropped out of circulation, not reappearing in the public eye until now, months after Forrest Cullen’s death. An unexpected surge of protectiveness welled up inside him as those turning heads, one by one, swiveled back to their dinner companions, the buzz of conversation suddenly rising in the rarified atmosphere of the restaurant.
Always one to take the bull by the horns, Marcus inclined his head to Avery’s and whispered in her ear, “Looks like you’ve just become the main topic of conversation, hmm?”
She nodded, a brief jerk of her slender neck. The action seemed totally at odds with her innate poise and beauty. “Some people never did have anything better to do.”
Even though she’d brushed off the reaction of the restaurant patrons, the hint of bitterness in her tone spoke volumes and he realized what an ordeal it had been for her to walk past the other tables. Her hand had tightened on his arm the moment she’d been recognized and he’d felt her relief when they were shown to their table for two, set off in an intimate alcove near the rear of the restaurant.
“From their reactions I’d say it looks like it’s been a while since you’ve been in circulation,” he said carefully after they’d been seated and provided with menus. He didn’t want her to know that he’d investigated her so thoroughly.
“I haven’t been out much,” she said carefully. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be—to drop out of circulation, I mean.”
He reached a hand across the table, lightly brushing her forearm. “Thank you for coming out with me tonight.”
He felt, rather than saw, her reaction to his touch. The way her skin tautened beneath his fingertips, tiny goose bumps rising as if a shiver had passed through her body. Her gaze locked with his and he saw the flare of sensual awareness that blazed deep within her eyes. Eyes that were suddenly molten, before she obviously shut down the feeling as effectively as if she’d been doused in a glacier-fed lake. Giving an internal shrug, Marcus decided not to pursue her reaction just yet. After all, it didn’t take him closer to his goal and it had clearly disturbed her. He wasn’t quite sure which of those reasons struck him most strongly—his need to secure the sale of the Cullen Collection, or the near overwhelming urge to further explore the burgeoning awareness that pulsed between them.
* * *
“It was nice to be asked,” she said, simply fighting to maintain her composure.
Inside, however, was a different story. She was shocked at how such a simple gesture could cause such a riotous reaction. His caress had been light, impersonal even, and yet it felt as if a thousand tiny energy bolts danced under her skin. Her eyes flew up to meet his. In the subdued lighting of the restaurant they were a darker green than she remembered, more like the mesmerizing glow of a flawless emerald. She felt her internal muscles clench on a rise of intense physical interest.
Marcus Price was dangerous. Not only was he a threat to her equilibrium, he was very definitely a man on a mission. She couldn’t afford to lower her guard or who knew what he might get her to agree to do.
It had been a long time since anyone had shown her attention that wasn’t aimed at garnering something back for the donor. She never used to care all that much. She had a few close friends and a far wider group of acquaintances who she could rely on for a fun time. But when her father became ill, and the seriousness of his illness became apparent, she’d realized how shallow she’d allowed her life to become. And it had opened her eyes to the truth that the only person she honestly could rely on was herself—provided she remained true to herself all the time.
She’d meant what she’d said. It was nice to be asked. Prior to her father’s illness, her group of friends had formed a habit of directing her to wherever they happened to be. Her sheltered upbringing had only served to feed her natural shyness and insecurities and she’d initially welcomed their direction. Perhaps her behavior had been born out of her own desire to be a part of something, anything—to simply belong. But they’d been using her in their own way, and she’d let them. Convincing herself she enjoyed their company, the endlessly dull nights of partying, picking up the tab at the end of the evening without so much as batting an eyelid. Oh, yes, she’d been popular all right.
A hint of bitterness lingered on her tongue at the memory. She’d been so hopelessly naive. Would Marcus be any different than the others? she wondered. Would he expect her to pick up the tab for tonight? Well, she could only wait and see. He’d stated his reasons for seeing her right from the start and despite her rather unnerving reaction to him, she knew exactly where she stood. Marcus Price was in for a surprise if he thought he could railroad her into doing anything she didn’t want to.
He was unexpectedly good company and Avery was impressed by Marcus’s astute observations on the art world. She could hear it in his voice, his enthusiasm for his profession and his determination to succeed. But there was more to his drive to move up the ranks within Waverly’s—he genuinely loved and appreciated the works he handled. His appreciation for them was obvious in his every word.
Growing up as she had, she’d been surrounded by genuine art lovers as well as those who only saw art as an investment opportunity. She knew well how to tell the difference. Her father had been an intriguing combination of the two, a fact that had made him sought out by individuals, museums and galleries alike for his opinion on specific works.
Marcus seemed to have many of her dad’s qualities when it came to discussing specific works. He was knowledgeable and perceptive in his remarks, but most of all—perhaps most disconcertingly—he was passionate, too. By the time they were sipping coffee and lingering over the simple dessert of mixed fresh berries and cream he’d ordered for them to share she found herself not wanting the evening to end.
Nothing like her usual escorts, he’d only had one glass of wine through dinner and, more importantly, hadn’t pressed her to continue drinking when he himself had stopped. His solicitousness had come as a surprise. From the brief phone call she’d had from him last month, and the subsequent calls and emails she’d avoided, he’d struck her as being both pushy and persistent. And yet tonight he’d been anything but.
As he gestured to the waiter for their bill she found herself wishing she’d met him under different circumstances. Circumstances that didn’t involve his trying to procure her father’s collection. On that thought she realized she’d allowed herself to be lulled into beginning to think there was more to this evening than there could be. But, she reminded herself sternly, the Marcus Prices of this world usually operated on one agenda. She was a conduit to what he wanted. She had no illusions about that.
The waiter laid the discreet black-leather wallet containing their bill on the table between them. Avery went to reach for it, out of habit, but Marcus’s hand settled heavily upon hers.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, an odd expression on his face that was part
