To Marry Mcallister

She looked different again today, was wearing faded denims and a white cropped tee shirt, her long hair secured in a single braid down her spine, her face appearing bare of make-up. Brice had no idea how old she was, but at the moment she looked about eighteen!

‘You’ll have to excuse me, I’m afraid.’ She indicated her casual appearance with a grimace as she turned to face him once the two of them were alone in the sitting-room. ‘I’ve just got back from the gym.’

Brice raised dark, sceptical brows. ‘Just?’

She met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Can I offer you some tea?’

‘No, thanks,’ he refused dryly. ‘I’ve telephoned you several times this last week,’ he added hardly.

Her gaze shifted slightly, no longer quite meeting his. ‘Have you?’ she returned uninterestedly.

Damn it, this really shouldn’t be this difficult. Richard Latham was the one who had come to him with this commission—Brice hadn’t even wanted to do it.

Until he’d seen Sabina…

‘You know damn well I have,’ he snapped impatiently.

She shrugged. ‘I’ve been so busy this week. A trip to Paris. Several shows here. A photographic session with—’

‘I’m not interested in what you’ve been doing, Sabina—only in why you’ve been avoiding my calls,’ he rasped harshly.

‘I’ve just told you—’

‘Nothing,’ he bit out tersely. ‘Even if you haven’t been here—’ of which he was highly sceptical ‘—I’m sure the efficient Mrs Clark has informed you of each and every one of my telephone calls.’

‘Perhaps,’ Sabina conceded noncommittally. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer you any tea?’

‘I’m absolutely positive,’ he bit out between clenched teeth. A neat whisky would go down very well at the moment, but as it was only four o’clock in the afternoon he would give that a miss too for the moment. But the coolness of this woman was enough to drive any man to drink! ‘Now, about that appointment—’

‘Please, do sit down,’ she invited lightly.

‘Thanks—I would rather stand,’ he grated harshly, this woman’s aloofness doing nothing to alleviate his temper.

Sabina shrugged off his refusal before sitting down in one of the armchairs. ‘Strange, but I was under the impression you were an artist of some repute?’ she murmured dryly.

Brice eyed her guardedly. ‘I am.’

‘Really?’ she mused derisively. ‘And do you usually go chasing after commissions in this way?’

She was meaning to be insulting—and she was succeeding, Brice feeling the tide of anger that swept over him.

But at the same time he questioned why she was trying to antagonise him into refusing to paint her portrait before walking out of here. Because he knew that was exactly what she was trying to do.

He drew in a deeply controlling breath. ‘Perhaps I will have that cup of tea, after all,’ he drawled, before making himself comfortable in the armchair opposite hers.

But his gaze didn’t leave the cool beauty of her face, meaning he missed none of the dismay at his words that she wasn’t quick enough to mask. And Brice knew, despite having invited him to have tea in the first place, that Sabina actually wanted him out of here as quickly as possible.

Because Richard Latham might return at any moment and put paid to any effort on her part to elude having Brice paint her portrait…?

‘I’m not in any hurry.’ He made himself more comfortable in the armchair.

‘Fine,’ Sabina bit out in clipped tones, standing up gracefully. ‘I’ll just go and speak to Mrs Clark.’

And also take time to compose herself, Brice easily guessed. He knew he wasn’t mistaken now, was absolutely sure that Sabina had no intention of letting him paint her portrait.

Why? What was it about him that she didn’t like? Although Brice was sure it wasn’t actually dislike he had seen in her eyes in that brief unguarded moment. It had been something approaching the fear he had sensed when he’d first seen her a week ago…

Sabina didn’t go straight to the kitchen, running up the stairs to her bedroom first to splash cold water on her heated cheeks.

It had never occurred to her, when she’d refused to take any of Brice’s telephone calls this last week, that he would actually come here!

But now she realised that perhaps it should have done; there was a ruthless determination about Brice McAllister that clearly stated he did not like to be thwarted. And never being available for his calls would definitely fall into that category in his eyes. Sabina now realised her mistake, knew that she should have taken one of his calls, if only to put him off coming here in person.

Well, it was too late now. Richard should be back within the hour, which meant she would have to hurry Brice McAllister through his tea, put up all sorts of obstacles to any immediate appointment to go to his studio, and then continue to cancel them thereafter.

Because she was even more convinced by this second meeting with him that she did not want Brice McAllister to paint her. She knew that he was every bit as good an artist as he had been proclaimed, and she also knew the reason that he was so good; Brice McAllister was exactly what she had thought him to be last week. He was a soul-searcher.

Those green eyes saw beyond the layers of social façade, past the protective barriers, straight into the soul, and deep into the real emotions that made a person exactly what they were, and what had made them that way. What had changed her from being happily sociable into a woman who now put up a protective barrier she was determined no one would penetrate?

‘Tea will be through in a moment,’ she announced lightly a few minutes later when she rejoined him in the sitting-room. ‘Richard tells me that you have painted a rather magnificent portrait of your cousin’s wife, Darcy McKenzie?’ she prompted politely as she sat down.

He nodded abruptly. ‘So I’ve been told.’

Sabina gave a bright, meaningless smile. ‘I think he’s hoping you will do as magnificent a one of me.’

Brice McAllister looked across at her with narrowed eyes. ‘And what do you hope, Sabina?’ he drawled.

He didn’t really need to ask her that. Sabina was sure he already knew exactly what she hoped—that he wouldn’t paint her at all, that he would just go away, and leave her with her barrier intact…

‘The same thing, of course,’ she returned smoothly, meeting that continuous probing gaze with a completely blank one of her own.

‘Of course,’ Brice finally echoed dryly. ‘I—’

‘Ah, tea.’ Sabina turned to smile at Mrs Clark as she came into the room, the tray she carried, as Sabina had instructed the housekeeper a few minutes ago, containing just the tea; she did not intend offering Brice McAllister cake as well and delaying his departure by even a few minutes!

‘No sugar for me, thanks,’ Brice McAllister murmured as the housekeeper left the room and Sabina sat forward to pour milk and tea into the cups.

‘Sweet enough already’ didn’t quite apply to this man, Sabina acknowledged wryly. Tough, determined, slightly arrogant, very insightful, but Brice McAllister was definitely not ‘sweet’!

‘You seem quite at home here,’ he drawled mockingly.

Despite being caught slightly off guard by the abruptness of the statement, Sabina managed to continue to calmly pour her own tea into the cup. ‘Why shouldn’t I? It is my home,’ she returned coolly, once again sensing that disapproval of the fact that she lived here with Richard.

Which was slightly old-fashioned coming from a man who was probably only aged in his mid-thirties. Or perhaps it was the age difference between herself and Richard that Brice McAllister disapproved of…?

‘So when are you free to sit for some sketches for me?’ he prompted suddenly.

She shook her head regretfully as she sat back to drink her tea. ‘I have a very busy schedule for the next few months—’