The Determined Virgin. Daphne Clair
Rhiannon said to Gabriel’s shirt-front, ‘How did you want to pay?’
Reaching for his credit card, Gabriel experienced a flash of annoyance. From her manner, he could have been any stranger off the street. And seeing Peri had shaken him a bit. When Rhiannon mentioned an assistant he’d assumed a female one, not a hunky young guy who believed in making the most of his obvious assets.
It called into question all Gabriel’s guesses and assumptions. If she didn’t mind having that around every day she was hardly man-shy.
Just shy of certain men. Him, for instance.
Handing over the card, he studied her bent head as she processed the payment, remembering with a certain relief that she’d denied being in a relationship.
The Japanese couple were holding a murmured debate over a large wooden bowl, turning it over and running their fingers across the smooth finish. Rhiannon handed back Gabriel’s card and said dismissively, ‘Peri won’t be long,’ then went to speak to them.
Peri reappeared with the mosaic encased in sturdy cardboard. ‘Here you are, mate. I mean, sir!’ He threw a comical glance at Rhiannon, but she was concentrating on the tourists, who didn’t have much English. ‘Want me to carry it? How far to your car?’
‘No thanks,’ Gabriel assured him shortly, not keen on following all that splendid musculature along the street. ‘Just leave it here for now. I’m waiting to speak to your boss.’
‘Sure.’ Peri leaned the parcel against the end of the counter, giving him a rather sharp glance.
The couple decided to buy the bowl and, as they approached the counter with Rhiannon, she asked Peri to find a box and prepare it for posting.
While he bore the bowl off to the back room and Rhiannon patiently deciphered where the couple wanted it sent and took their payment, Gabriel stood by. After they had bowed their way out, she turned to him and indicated the wrapped mosaic. ‘Is Peri going to carry that for you?’
She made to turn, presumably to call the assistant, and Gabriel reached out a hand but dropped it before his fingers touched her arm. ‘I don’t need Peri.’ As she paused, he said, ‘Have you eaten?’
‘On Saturday we’re usually very busy, and I don’t bother until the shop closes.’
‘Have something with me?’
‘Why?’
Hadn’t she ever heard of a date? He raised his brows and she looked flustered, biting her lip as her cheeks coloured.
Gabriel went to Plan B. ‘I want to discuss a possible commission.’
Her eyelids flickered. ‘What kind of commission?’
‘Let me buy you a late lunch and we can talk about it.’
Her gaze lowered, and he saw the front of her blouse—teamed with dark green jeans—flutter as she took a breath. Then she raised her head and her eyes met his. ‘All right.’
Gabriel was unprepared for the surge of triumph that made him want to grab her and kiss that gorgeous, tempting mouth. Instead he nodded and said, ‘When you’re ready.’
He found them an umbrella-shaded outdoor table at a café-bar. Rhiannon was glad to be offered the choice instead of going inside.
Over her Niçoise salad and Gabriel’s curried kumara fritters he asked her, ‘How long has Peri been with you?’
‘Since I moved into the new place. I’d sold some carvings for him over the last couple of years, and he helped out before Christmas.’
‘He’s a carver?’
‘His uncle taught him traditional Maori carving, and Peri’s particularly interested in incorporating Maori motifs into modern design. But it doesn’t pay enough to live on, and I figured I’d need an assistant when I moved into town, so I offered him the job.’
Peri had jumped at it, and she’d had no qualms about employing him.
Gabriel’s look was oddly penetrating. ‘I guess he’s an asset to the shop.’
‘He’s keen, and strong.’ Some of their stock, like the mosaic Gabriel had bought, was heavy and awkward; she’d been glad of Peri’s muscle. ‘And he did his degree in art.’
Gabriel nodded, spearing a potato chip with his fork.
Rhiannon ate a shiny black olive and carefully placed the stone on the side of her plate. ‘What’s the commission you wanted to talk about?’
Reminding himself he’d told her it was a business lunch, Gabriel said, ‘There’s a blank concrete wall in the Angelair Building.’ There was, since yesterday when he’d decided the huge tapestry hanging there was dusty and dated, and had it taken down. ‘It needs some kind of artwork—like a mosaic.’
If he’d thought she’d jump at the opportunity to decorate the pride of his company, which had won a building industry award, he would have been wrong. She went very still, her fork poised with another olive on it. ‘Why me?’ she asked quietly.
Because I can’t get you out of my mind. Because he wanted to pin her down, make sure she couldn’t easily escape him while he delved under that fragile shell she adopted in public, and discovered what was beneath it. Because he wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t back away from him when she found out just how intensely he wanted to know her—in every sense of the word.
And because he had a hunch his supposedly irresistible charm wasn’t going to work its magic with this woman.
He said, ‘I like your work.’
‘You want an unknown artist to do this?’ She sounded sceptical.
‘I’ve found out quite a lot about you, and—’
‘What?’ The fork in her hand lowered, and the skin on her cheeks went taut and pale. ‘How?’
‘Just by asking around,’ he answered, pausing as her eyes widened and darkened, ‘among people in the art scene.’ And in the business world. Anywhere he could think of. Alerted by her reaction, he didn’t mention how many feelers he’d put out in various directions. ‘You’re a young artist to watch, they said.’ Which was about all he’d been able to discover.
She looked surprised, but the colour gradually returned to her face. Pushing her fork into her salad, she stirred the frilled lettuce leaves. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have someone who’s a big name?’
‘I’d get more satisfaction out of sponsoring an emerging artist.’ He smiled at her. ‘When you’re famous I can say I spotted your talent early.’
‘What if I never become famous?’
‘Don’t you believe you will?’
‘I haven’t really thought about it. I just like doing what I do.’
She’d told him she wasn’t driven by ambition, despite her successful retail business. What did drive her? Love for her art? Or perhaps a simple need for money. He might turn that to useful account. ‘Will you consider my proposal? I expect to pay a good price for it.’
‘I don’t have a lot of time right now, with the new gallery, and I have to finish my present commission.’ She still seemed uneasy.
‘I can wait.’ If he had to. Not naturally patient, Gabriel had learned that sometimes patience was necessary in order to get what he really wanted. Deferred gratification, they called it. He had the distinct impression that Rhiannon had been deferring for a long time.
Absently stirring her salad again, she inquired, ‘What size is the space?’
‘Approximately three by five metres.’
Her eyes lifted. ‘That big?’
He saw the spark of interest in her expression and pressed