Ryan's Revenge

‘One special one?’

‘Yes.’

His heart sank. Several lovers that didn’t really matter was one thing… One special lover that, judging by her face, mattered a great deal was another.

Remembering Virginia’s reaction to the dark, powerful-looking man who had come into the gallery that afternoon, he said, ‘It was Ryan Falconer, wasn’t it?’

Moistening her dry lips, she nodded.

He drew her over to the settee and when she sank down on the soft cushions, took a seat by her side. ‘I think you’d better tell me about him.’

The last person she wanted to talk about just at that minute was Ryan, and half hoping for a reprieve, she stammered, ‘I—I don’t know where to start.’

‘Start at the beginning,’ Charles suggested quietly.

Seeing no help for it, she gathered herself, and began. ‘It’s getting on for three years since we first met. I’d left art school and was working in the Trantor Gallery, when late one morning a man came in…’

While she told him the bare bones of it, memory fleshed out the details and she relived the past as though it was the present…

The gallery was quiet, as it usually was towards noon, just an elderly couple browsing, and a small group of men in business suits discussing the relative merits of two abstract paintings.

Sitting behind the polished-wood reception desk, Virginia was checking the contents of a catalogue when the smoked glass door opened and a man came in and strolled across.

Tall and well-built, with thick dark hair that tried to curl a little, he was dressed in the latest smart-casual De Quincy jacket and handmade shoes.

As he got closer she could see he was somewhere in his early thirties, with a tough, masculine face, strong features and a beautiful mouth.

He was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. No, more than just attractive, he was what Marsha would have termed drop-dead gorgeous.

‘Miss Adams?’ The most incredible blue-violet eyes, with faint laughter lines at the corners, smiled into hers.

Virginia found it quite impossible not to stare into those eyes and, instantly captivated, her mouth went dry, and her heartbeat quickened.

Wits scattered, she stammered, ‘Y-yes.’

‘My name’s Ryan Falconer. I’m acquainted with your parents.’

‘They live in New York,’ she said stupidly.

White teeth flashed in a smile. ‘Yes, I know, I had lunch with them a couple of days ago, and they told me where to find you…’