The Determined Virgin

by Daphne Clair

  Dizzying warmth started at her toes and weakened her knees, rising to heat her cheeks and dry her mouth. She moistened her lips and Gabriel's gaze became riveted on them. Her heartbeat increased to suffocation point.

  Then he said, his voice oddly muffled, 'So. We'd bet­ ter get out of here.'

  He went just ahead of her and she hurried down the remainder of the steps, ignoring the hand he offered when he reached the bottom.

  He didn't comment on that, but something flared in his eyes, and Rhiannon didn't dare speak until he let them out of the building, using a side staff door down a short flight of concrete steps. 'This way it's a shorter walk back to your gallery,' he explained as he re-armed the alarm.

  'You'll want to collect your mosaic,' she realised.

  Once there she unlocked the door and stood by while he hoisted the bulky package into his arms.

  'I'll let you know when I've had time to consider your project,' she told him.

  'Aren't you leaving now?'

  'I have stuff to do here.' She was still setting up the back room so she could do mosaics there.

  'I'll see you again, then.' Gabriel smiled into her eyes, and then she was watching him stride away from her.

  It was seconds before she roused herself to turn the other way and head for the back of the gallery.

  Several times in the next few days Rhiannon almost phoned Gabriel's office to tell him she couldn't take on his project after all.

  She was too discomfited around him, too aware of the frailty of the protective barriers she'd painstakingly built about herself.

  He was the first man who had seriously threatened them.

  She didn't know how to deal with the occasional l gleam in his eyes, the crease of amusement in his cheek when he made some remark that seemed to hold a hid­den meaning, only to give her a bland look when she became flustered, allowing her to pretend she hadn't no­ ticed.

  The evening he'd escorted her to her car after their coffee and cake, when he bent his head and she'd known he intended to kiss her, she'd stood like a possum caught in headlights, giving him no hint of reciprocation, no encouragement, and he'd deflected the kiss to her cheek.

  Hours afterwards she'd fancied she could still feel the warmth of his lips on her skin.

  It's called sexual attraction, she acknowledged with dawning surprise on Thursday morning, as she knelt on the floor of the workroom, packing a large glass vase into a shipping box. A normal, healthy emotion.

  She sat back on her heels, incongruously struck by the revelation. It was several minutes before she roused her­ self.

  After taping the box she reached for an air-freight label, peeled off the backing and smoothed the label with its familiar embossed angel wings onto the box. Her fin­ ger traced its outline.

  Gabriel. The name of an angel, but angels were sex­ less, genderless. And Gabriel Hudson was all male.

  Rhiannon had recognised that at their first meeting. Her predictable reaction had been alarm, but when he'd shown his concern after her fall the alarm was tempered by other less expected emotions, so foreign to her that she hadn't at first recognised them.

  She was attracted to Gabriel. Not just distantly, aes­ thetically appreciative of his quite spectacular good looks, but physically affected.

  And he'd quietly but unmistakably signalled that he found her...at least interesting.

  An echo of the shock recoil she'd felt when he'd told her he'd 'asked around' about her sent out a warning signal. Reaching for a felt-tip pen, she waited a moment to steady her hand before writing an address on the Angelair label.

  She'd been mistaken about his reason. Gabriel had wanted to know if she was good enough at her craft to work on his mural. That was natural, and perfectly le­ gitimate. She couldn't go through life being suspicious of the motives of every male who crossed her path.

  Fear was a prison. Maybe this was her chance to break out of it. Many women of her age had already had sev­ eral lovers.

  The pen slipped in her fingers, making a smudge. Lov­ ers?

  She tightened her grip, took a shaky breath and com­ pleted the label with care as the door chime indicated someone had entered the shop and she heard Peri offer his help.

  Gabriel hadn't suggested he wanted to be her lover. Was she was reading too much into the warmth of his smile, the lurking appreciation in his eyes? Perhaps she'd mistaken simple courtesy and his unnecessary re­ morse for reciprocation of her own tentative and mud­ dled feelings.

  That would be a change. She stifled a nervous laugh. After all, Gabriel Hudson must have his pick of glam­ orous women, and although Rhiannon was aware she had been given an attractive face and figure, she made little effort to enhance them beyond meticulous groom­ ing. 'You could wait until you're asked,' she muttered aloud, with a small grimace.

  And if Gabriel did ask her to be his lover?

  Her head jerked up. She had to still a flutter of panic.

  She could always say no.

  Standing, she paused, slightly dizzy. Real women, women in charge of their own lives, as she was desper­ately determined to be, didn't turn their backs on op­ portunity.

  She'd thrown herself into proving she could cope in business. Leasing the new gallery had shown she was capable of breaking out of her comfort zone. She had to learn to do that in her private life.

  The gallery was busy until late afternoon, and when the pace slackened Rhiannon sent Peri home early, as she often did to make up for his not having a proper lunch-break. At the end of the day custom dwindled, everyone intent on hurrying home.

  After five only one person came in, and left without buying anything. At ten minutes to six Rhiannon decided it wouldn't hurt to shut up shop a little early, and she was at the door when Gabriel appeared.

  'Closing already?' he inquired, glancing at his watch.

  Rhiannon paused, her hand on the latch. 'I never turn away a customer.'

  'May I come in, then?'

  She stepped back, leaving the door open. 'We have some new glassware by a South Island artist.' She waved to the display.

  Gabriel hardly looked at the stand. 'Actually I wanted to talk to you.'

  'About your commission?' she asked quickly, her star­ tling discovery of this morning making her self­ consciously afraid he might read her mind.

  He said, after a second, 'Have you had time to give any thought to it?'

  'Not a lot.' She'd been giving an inordinate amount of time to thoughts about him, though. 'I have some tentative ideas.'

  'Don't let me rush you.'

  'You're not rushing me.'

  'I'm trying not to.' He gazed around the shop almost as though searching for inspiration. 'You've sold another of your mosaics?' he queried. The place where it had been was now filled by an exquisite applique hanging.

  'We had a busy day.'

  'Is that why you were closing early? You're tired?'

  'Partly. And I want to visit my father before I go home.'

  'I won't keep you, then.'

  'I need to talk to you,' she admitted. 'I'd like to know what your thoughts are before I get too carried away. Just a moment.'

  She went to the back room, and returned with a sheet of paper, placing it on the counter between them. 'I found this on the Internet. The Angel Gabriel, from an old Russian icon.'

  He shot her a questioning look before turning his at tention to the picture. 'You told me you weren't keen on replicas.'

  'I'm not suggesting that, but I'd like to use the colours and some elements of the picture as a starting point.'

  The archangel was depicted against a sky-blue back­ ground within a terracotta frame edged with crimson and blue. His long-sleeved garment was deep aqua green, the sleeves etched with gold light, and a softly crimson robe swathed his shoulder and lower body. In one hand he held a flower stem bearing a single red rose. She loved everything about it except that.

  Gabriel looked up. 'The colours are great. Quite subtle but rich.'

  'I
'm glad you approve.'

  He smiled at her, and a gleam lit his eyes. 'Oh, I approve, Rhiannon,' he drawled, 'very much.'

  Rhiannon lowered her gaze, picking up the printout. 'Then I'll work on using this, but I'll need to measure the space before I go much further.'

  'Sure. When would you like to do that?'

  'Anytime, really, out of business hours. I'll have to get a stepladder from somewhere.'

  'Leave it to me. Anything else?'

  'No, I'll bring a tape measure.'

  'Tomorrow—or is that too soon?'

  'It isn't too soon. I can't work here on the triptych I'm doing, but I may have time to do some preliminary sketches for you when we're not too busy.'

  'I'll expect you then, after six.'

  Gabriel met her as arranged at the side door and they entered the lobby and climbed the main stairs together.

  Someone had already placed a stepladder on the wide landing, and when they reached it he said, 'Can I help?'

  She had changed into jeans before leaving the gallery, not fancying climbing a ladder in a skirt. But she said, 'If you can hold the tape at the top?'

  When they were done Gabriel leaned against the step- ladder while Rhiannon noted the final measurement. Then she looked up at the wall, thoughtfully trapping the end of the pen between her teeth.

  'Problem?' he asked.

  'Mm, calculating the degree of the curve. I may need to make a model so I can tell what's visible from dif­ ferent angles.'

  'Would the original plans of the building help? I have them in my office.'

  'You do?'

  'I guess I should have thought of that before. All the measurements will be there.'

  'I would have checked them myself anyway. Plans have been known to alter during construction.' She was still studying the wall, adding absently, 'But I'd like to see them.'

  'Come on up then,' he said.

  'Now?' She snapped to attention.

  Gabriel's head tilted slightly. 'No time like the pres­ ent,' he suggested gently, his eyes questioning her hes­ itation.

  Rhiannon stilled. Being alone with him in his office was no different from being alone with him here in the spacious foyer, she told herself. His manner since she'd arrived had been perfectly neutral. She had no reason to refuse.

  Nearby a loud crash and a rumble, accompanied by a slight tremor under their feet, made them both turn to­ward the sound. The demolition team next door were working late.

  'This building is quake-proof,' Gabriel assured her as they climbed the stairs. 'A few falling bricks aren't go­ ing to do it any harm. Did you get any tiles from them?'

  'I phoned the manager. He didn't want anyone going onto the site, but they did give me a few bits they'd fished out of the rubble.'

  After passing through an outer reception area Gabriel motioned her into his office, a large room decorated in cream and brown with discreet touches of dark gold, and dominated by a desk on which a laptop computer sat among piles of paper.

  She thought of her own office-cum-workroom-cum- storage space, which had seemed blessedly large and airy when she leased the High Street premises. Now her small desk shared the space with an even smaller table, two chairs and her wide work bench, plus a pyramid of display plinths not in current use, and various boxes piled to the ceiling.

  'Something funny?' Gabriel inquired.

  She hadn't realised her momentary amusement was showing. 'I was admiring your office.'

  'I like it. It's functional and works well.'

  And also sparely elegant. They crossed a thick mocha- coloured carpet toward a corner where a pair of com­fortable sofas had been arranged at right angles to each other with a low, square table before them.

  Instead of taking the seat he indicated, Rhiannon looked about. 'You must have had a good interior de­ signer.'

  'I don't hire people whose work isn't good.'

  'Should I be flattered?'

  Gabriel smiled. 'There's no flattery in choosing the best person for the job.'

  I hope you won't be disappointed.'

  'I'm sure you won't disappoint me, Rhiannon.' Slanting a glance at her, he offered, 'Coffee?' He switched on a machine nearby.

  'Thanks.'

  Several framed architect's sketches of the building hung on the walls, along with photographs of aeroplanes and groups of people. And, over the doorway facing the desk, the mosaic Gabriel had bought from her.

  'Oh!' she said. 'I thought you'd taken that home.'

  On his way to a built-in storage bank, Gabriel glanced back. 'I spend more of my waking hours here.' Taking a thick roll of plans from a cupboard, he briskly rolled them the other way to straighten them before laying them on the table. 'One of these may help.'

  As she sat down he went to the coffee machine and came back with two steaming cups.

  He handed her one and sat on the other sofa, regarding her from beneath lowered lids.

  Rhiannon took a scalding sip of coffee and leaned forward to study the plans.

  Gabriel did the same, sorting through the sheets until they found the relevant one.

  He helped her check the plan against her measure­ ments, and began rolling up the sheets of paper. 'Will it bother you if I watch you work sometimes? I'd like to follow your progress.'

  It would bother her, but not seeing him for days on end hadn't stopped him intruding into her thoughts too often for comfort. Maybe familiarity would breed con­ tempt—or something like that. 'No,' she lied. 'After all, you're paying for it.' So she could hardly refuse.

  He'd soon get bored anyway, she guessed. It wouldn't be too different from watching paint dry.

  He snapped a rubber band onto the roll of paper. 'Do you have any idea yet of costs?'

  'I'll be able to give you a quote shortly, now that I have the exact size. But it won't come cheap,' she warned. 'To get the colours I'll probably need to buy new tiles, not rely on what I can find among used ones.'

  'I'm not interested in cheap.' He put aside the rolled paper and leaned back. 'I've always paid whatever's necessary to get what I want.'

  He looked relaxed, lounging with one arm along the back of the sofa, but a glint in his eyes made her gulp for breath and rush into speech.

  'Suppose I overcharged you?'

  The disquieting glint intensified, and his eyes nar­ rowed further. 'I'm not stupid, Rhiannon. You won't cheat me.'

  He'd made inquiries regarding her expertise. Had he also checked out her honesty?

  Or perhaps it was a warning—no one got away with cheating him, she guessed.

  Somehow it was important to know. Giving herself no time for second thoughts about discretion, she said baldly, 'You trust me?'

  It was a moment before he answered, 'Yes.' Then he asked quietly, 'Do you trust me?'

  Rhiannon blinked, and to hide her confusion drank some more coffee. 'I'm sure I can count on being paid for my work,' she said. 'Angelair has a reputation for integrity.'

  She noted the slightest movement of his lips, but she wouldn't have called it a smile. His eyes cooled. 'That wasn't quite I meant,' he said, mildly enough, even as a certain rigidity in his expression caused her a flicker of apprehension. 'I'm talking about our personal rela­ tionship.'

  The blunt approach cut through her evasion. Trying to summon a suitable reply, all she came out with was, 'Do we have one?'

  T certainly intend to. I thought that was understood.'

  Rhiannon shot him a startled glance, and was shaken by the expression on his face—the steady gaze chal­ lenging her to duck the issue, his jaw inflexible, the curve of his mouth less a smile than a potent promise.

  Taking fright, she stiffened, her chin lifting. 'Are you saying the commission depends on an understanding be­ tween us?'

  It was a second before he reacted at all. Then she saw a tightening of his mouth, the skin around it seeming to pale. He stood up so abruptly she flinched inwardly, but instead of moving towards her he took several strides away, then turned at the
desk, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers. 'I'm not in the habit of black­ mailing women.' Despite his rigid control she knew he was deeply, dangerously angry. 'I've already made my decision about the mosaic and I'll stick by it, unless you demand an outrageous price.' He cast her an almost threatening glance, as if daring her to use that as a ruse to get out of it. 'If you like we can draw up a contract right now.' He went to the other side of the desk and pulled out a drawer, tossing a sheaf of paper and a pen onto the polished surface.

  Rhiannon put down her own cup and rose to her feet. 'That isn't necessary,' she said. 'I said I'd provide a quote first.'

  For a moment he didn't move, staring down at the writing materials in front of him. Then he looked up, chillingly aloof, and in clipped tones said, 'As you wish.'

  Across the room their eyes clashed. She took a step out from behind the coffee table and stopped, her fingers worrying each other until she deliberately untangled them. 'I'm sorry,' she said.

  After a moment his mouth twisted briefly and his ex­pression thawed. 'Apology accepted. And returned,' he added. 'I shouldn't have put you on the spot. I'm not usually so clumsy.'

  'You're not clumsy.' If anything he was too sophis­ticated, too knowing. She was excruciatingly aware that his experience in the sexual minefield far outweighed hers.

  One dark eyebrow rose just a fraction. 'Thank you. I'll try to live up to that in future.' His mouth curved. 'I like being with you. I'd like to be with you often, get to know you. But of course, if you don't feel the same way...'

  She could turn him down. And he'd walk away...wouldn't he?

  Astonishingly, it was the thought of him walking out of her life that brought a clutch of dread to her throat. Some deep part of her knew she would be missing a chance that might never come again.

  'If I'm anathema to you,' Gabriel prompted as the silence lengthened, 'now is the time to say so.'

  Rhiannon dared a small smile, and even more daringly said, her voice coming out low and husky, 'You're not anathema to me.'

  His expression lightened. 'No?' He walked around the desk, but stopped in front of it and leaned back, folding his arms. 'So what's the story, Rhiannon?'

  Her gaze shifting to one of the plans on the wall, she said, 'I'm not very good at...relationships.'