Best of Nora Roberts Books 1-6: The Art of Deception / Lessons Learned / Mind Over Matter / Risky Business / Second Nature / Unfinished Business

“I’d paint you anyway,” he murmured. He left the room, giving them both time to think about it.

She did think about it. For nearly thirty minutes, Kirby sat perfectly still and let her mind work. It was a curious part of her nature that such a vibrant, restless woman could have such a capacity for stillness. When it was necessary, Kirby could do absolutely nothing while she thought through problems and looked for answers. Adam made it necessary.

He stirred something in her that she’d never felt before. Kirby believed that one of the most precious things in life was the original and the fresh. This time, however, she wondered if she should skirt around it.

She appreciated a man who took the satisfaction of his own desires for granted, just as she did. Nor was she averse to pitting herself against him. But… She couldn’t quite get past the but in Adam’s case.

It might be safer—smarter, she amended—if she concentrated on the awkwardness of Adam’s presence with respect to the Van Gogh and her father’s hobby. The attraction she felt was ill-timed. She touched her tongue to her top lip and thought she could taste him. Ill-timed, she thought again. And inconvenient.

Her father had better be prudent, she thought, then immediately sighed. Calling Philip Fairchild prudent was like calling Huck Finn studious. The blasted, brilliant Van Gogh was going to have to make a speedy exit. And the Titian, she remembered, gnawing on her lip. She still had to handle that.

Adam was huddled with her father, and there was nothing she could do at the moment. Just a few more days, she reminded herself. There’d be nothing more to worry about. The smile crept back to her mouth. The rest of Adam’s visit might be fun. She thought of him, the serious brown eyes, the strong, sober mouth.

Dangerous fun, she conceded. But then, what was life without a bit of danger? Still smiling, she picked up her tools.

She worked in silence, in total concentration. Adam, her father, the Van Gogh were forgotten. The wood in her hand was the center of the universe. There was life there; she could feel it. It only waited for her to find the key to release it. She would find it, and the soaring satisfaction that went hand in hand with the discovery.

Painting had never given her that. She’d played at it, enjoyed it, but she’d never possessed it. She’d never been possessed by it. Art was a lover that demanded complete allegiance. Kirby understood that.

As she worked, the wood seemed to take a tentative breath. She felt suddenly, clearly, the temper she sought pushing against the confinement. Nearly—nearly free.

At the sound of her name, she jerked her head up. “Bloody murder!”

“Kirby, I’m so sorry.”

“Melanie.” She swallowed the abuse, barely. “I didn’t hear you come up.” Though she set down her tools, she continued to hold the wood. She couldn’t lose it now. “Come in. I won’t shout at you.”

“I’m sure you should.” Melanie hesitated at the doorway. “I’m disturbing you.”

“Yes, you are, but I forgive you. How was New York?” Kirby gestured to a chair as she smiled at her oldest friend.

Pale blond hair was elegantly styled around a heart-shaped face. Cheekbones, more prominent than Kirby’s, were tinted expertly. The Cupid’s-bow mouth was carefully glossed in deep rose. Kirby decided, as she did regularly, that Melanie Burgess had the most perfect profile ever created.

“You look wonderful, Melly. Did you have fun?”

Melanie wrinkled her nose as she brushed off the seat of her chair. “Business. But my spring designs were well received.”

Kirby brought up her legs and crossed them under her. “I’ll never understand how you can decide in August what we should be wearing next April.” She was losing the power of the wood. Telling herself it would come back, she set it on the table, within reach. “Have you done something nasty to the hemlines again?”

“You never pay any attention anyway.” She gave Kirby’s sweater a look of despair.

“I like to think of my wardrobe as timeless rather than trendy.” She grinned, knowing which buttons to push. “This sweater’s barely twelve years old.”

“And looks every day of it.” Knowing the game and Kirby’s skill, Melanie switched tactics. “I ran into Ellen Parker at 21.”

“Did you?” After lacing her hands, Kirby rested her chin on them. She never considered gossiping rude, particularly if it was interesting. “I haven’t seen her for months. Is she still spouting French when she wants to be confidential?”

“You won’t believe it.” Melanie shuddered as she pulled a long, slender cigarette from an enameled case. “I didn’t believe it myself until I saw it with my own eyes. Jerry told me. You remember Jerry Turner, don’t you?”

“Designs women’s underwear.”

“Intimate apparel,” Melanie corrected with a sigh. “Really, Kirby.”

“Whatever. I appreciate nice underwear. So what did he tell you?”

Melanie pulled out a monogrammed lighter and flicked it on. She took a delicate puff. “He told me that Ellen was having an affair.”

“There’s news,” Kirby returned dryly. With a yawn, she stretched her arms to the ceiling and relieved the stiffness in her shoulder blades. “Is this number two hundred and three, or have I missed one?”

“But, Kirby—” Melanie tapped her cigarette for emphasis as she leaned forward “—she’s having this one with her son’s orthodontist.”

It was the sound of Kirby’s laughter that caused Adam to pause on his way up the tower steps. It rang against the stone walls, rich, real and arousing. He stood as it echoed and faded. Moving quietly, he continued up.

“Kirby, really. An orthodontist.” Even knowing Kirby as well as she did, Melanie was stunned by her reaction. “It’s so—so middle-class.”

“Oh, Melanie, you’re such a wonderful snob.” She smothered another chuckle as Melanie gave an indignant huff. When Kirby smiled, it was irresistible. “It’s perfectly acceptable for Ellen to have any number of affairs, as long as she keeps her choice socially prominent but an orthodontist goes beyond good taste?”

“It’s not acceptable, of course,” Melanie muttered, finding herself caught in the trap of Kirby’s logic. “But if one is discreet, and…”

“Selective?” Kirby supplied good-naturedly. “Actually, it is rather nasty. Here’s Ellen carrying on with her son’s orthodontist, while poor Harold shells out a fortune for the kid’s overbite. Where’s the justice?”

“You say the most astonishing things.”

“Orthodonture work is frightfully expensive.”

With an exasperated sigh, Melanie tried another change of subject. “How’s Stuart?”

Though he’d been about to enter, Adam stopped in the doorway and kept his silence. Kirby’s smile had vanished. The eyes that had been alive with humor were frigid. Something hard, strong and unpleasant came into them. Seeing the change, Adam realized she’d make a formidable enemy. There was grit behind the careless wit, the raw sexuality and the eccentric-rich-girl polish. He wouldn’t forget it.

“Stuart,” Kirby said in a brittle voice. “I really wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, dear.” At the arctic tone, Melanie caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Have you two had a row?”

“A row?” The smile remained unpleasant. “One might put it that way.” Something flared—the temper she’d been prodding out of the wood. With an effort, Kirby shrugged it aside. “As soon as I’d agreed to marry him, I knew I’d made a mistake. I should’ve dealt with it right away.”

“You’d told me you were having doubts.” After stubbing out her cigarette, Melanie leaned forward to take Kirby’s hands. “I thought it was nerves. You’d never let any relationship get as far as an engagement before.”

“It was an error in judgment.” No, she’d never let a relationship get as far as an engagement. Engagements equaled commitment. Commitments were a lock, perhaps the only lock, Kirby considered sacred. “I corrected it.”

“And Stuart? I suppose he was furious.”

The smile that came back to Kirby’s lips held no humor. “He gave me the perfect escape hatch. You know he’d been pressuring me to set a date?”

“And I know that you’d been putting him off.”

“Thank God,” Kirby murmured. “In any case, I’d finally drummed up the courage to renege. I think it was the first time in my life I’ve felt genuine guilt.” Moving her shoulders restlessly, she picked up the wood again. It helped to steady her, helped her to concentrate on temper. “I went by his place, unannounced. It was a now-or-never sort of gesture. I should’ve seen what was up as soon as he answered the door, but I was already into my neat little speech when I noticed a few—let’s say articles of intimate apparel tossed around the room.”

“Oh, Kirby.”