A Silken Seduction

“Avery, I asked you as my guest. Even if I hadn’t, I still wouldn’t expect you to pay for anything.”

He slotted his credit card inside the wallet and nodded as the waiter returned to lift it from the table.

“Ah, yes,” she said, “this is a business expense for you, after all.”

He shot her another look, and this time there was no mistaking the irritation on his face. “Is that what you think?”

“Well, isn’t it?” she challenged.

He sat back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her face. He gave a short, sharp nod. “It might have started that way,” he conceded.

Avery felt a surge of hope swell inside her. Started that way? So where did that leave them now? Was he as attracted to her as she was to him? The waiter returned, preventing Marcus from saying anything further and she watched as he signed his name on the chit with a flourish, adding a tip in cash at the same time.

“Come on,” he said, rising from the table. “I think we should go.”

She’d offended him, she just knew it. Aside from placing his hand possessively at the small of her back as they left the restaurant and waited for the valet to bring his car around, he said nothing. He saw her settled into the soft leather of her seat before again taking the wheel and driving back toward her home. When he pulled up outside the front entrance she quickly unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face him.

“Marcus, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He looked steadily back at her and she saw the exact moment the irritation he’d been bristling with left him. He raised one hand to her cheek, his fingertips a featherlight touch on her skin. A touch that left her wanting more, wanting him.

“No, it’s my fault,” he said. “You were right. I did have an ulterior motive when I suggested we go out together. I didn’t expect it to change into something else, that’s all.”

“S-something else?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning forward to close the distance between them. “This.”

The hand that had been touching her cheek slid around to cup the back of her neck before his lips gently descended. The instant his mouth touched hers she gasped a soft sound of surrender. His kiss was sweet, almost over before it had begun but it was enough to leave her senses reeling, her breath uneven in a chest that suddenly felt constricted.

“I want to see you again, Avery,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers, his warm hand still cupping the back of her head, his fingers gently massaging her sensitized skin.

Everything inside her screamed yes! But caution urged her to refuse him. She’d sworn she wouldn’t allow herself to be used again, to be surrounded by fair-weather friends who only wanted whatever she could provide without giving anything, not even loyalty, in return. She thought carefully about how Marcus had been at dinner. Entertaining, solicitous, kind, even. Pushy? No. Nor did he badger her about the collection. Maybe he was different than the others. Maybe he genuinely wanted her. Hopefully about as much as she wanted him—as much as she had, in all honesty, since the first time she laid eyes on him. There was only one way she’d find out. Was she prepared to take that risk?

Avery drew in a shaky breath before replying. “I’d like that. Tomorrow?”

“Sure, tomorrow it is. I have some gallery visits scheduled for the morning but how about I stop by after lunch?”

“Perfect. I’ll be here.”

He waited in the car as she ascended the stairs and let herself in the front door, waving back briefly in response to her salute as she stood illuminated by the overhead light. And as he started the car and headed back down the driveway, Avery wondered whether she’d done the right thing. Was she setting herself up for failure? Or could he turn out to be the best thing that had happened to her in a very, very long time?

Four

Sleep remained elusive all night long and by the time the sun began to show its face, in all its golden splendor, Avery was relieved to be able to push back her tumbled sheets and head for the pool downstairs. A set of punishing laps would clear her head, and maybe go some way to ridding her body of the nervous tension that held her in its grip.

What had she been thinking last night? She’d had one glass of wine—one!—and yet she’d been putty in his hands. Worse, she had wanted to be putty in his hands.

Avery slipped on a jewel-blue one-piece suit and raced down the stairs to the basement lap pool her father had had installed several years ago. She dove immediately into the water and powered straight to the end, flipping neatly and heading back the way she’d come. Again and again, end over end, until her muscles were screaming for surcease. Even then, she pushed herself another four laps before dragging herself from the water and lying on the tiled edge, her chest heaving with the need for more oxygen. Eventually her body calmed, but her mind was not as acquiescent. She still couldn’t get Marcus Price out of her thoughts, and with those thoughts came that tension all over again.

She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her before heading back to her room to shower and change. Once dressed in her habitual jeans and a clean T-shirt, she went to her studio and gathered her things. The day had dawned bright and clear and she was determined to make the most of the light that Marcus had pointed out was so lacking in her painting. Never one for breakfast, she knew Mrs. Jackson would bring out fresh coffee and a muffin or scone to her later in the morning and she wanted to get a good start before then.

After yesterday’s gloom and cloud, today’s sunshine was a delightful contrast and the warmth filled her with a new vigor. The new gardener was busy already, thinning out the spent roses, and Avery could already see the progress he’d made on the weeds that tenaciously asserted their presence. Seeing her father’s favorite garden being restored to its former glory filled her with happiness although, even here, he hadn’t allowed Avery too close.

She didn’t remember her mother ever working out here—she’d died when Avery was only five. But her father had told her of her mother’s joy in planning the garden, how hands-on she’d been in its planting, how closely she’d supervised the garden staff to ensure her precious plants received the care she knew they deserved. Those memories had driven him out here again and again, striving perhaps to rediscover the closeness he’d shared with his dead wife for far too short a time.

Avery’s favorite memories of this garden had included a small but perfect marble-angel statue—one to which she’d poured her child’s heart out to as her mother grew less and less accessible. Diagnosed with cancer during her pregnancy with Avery, Sybil Cullen had eschewed treatment until her baby girl had been born, only then embracing all that the medical professionals could offer her. It had given her five years with her treasured daughter and Avery had always associated the statue with her mother. She’d been devastated to come to the garden a few weeks after her mother’s funeral to find the statue gone.

Apparently, deeply depressed after his wife’s death, Forrest Cullen had found its presence to be an angelic reminder of his own personal tragedy and that nothing ever remained the same. He’d sold it with no compunction. On finding his daughter desolately sobbing in the garden when she should have been safely tucked up in bed, he had been shaken to learn just how fond of the statue Avery had been. He’d done his best to buy it back but had eventually given up as it appeared to have disappeared from the art world without a trace. Avery had recently set up a message board on the internet to try to discover the statue. She was prepared to pay just about anything to get it back where it belonged.

Strangely enough that had been how she’d met her new gardener—through the forum, created specifically for tracing art and antiquities, where she’d established her message board. When he’d first made contact with her, he’d apparently been working on a ranch back in the States. It was only after she’d posted photos of the garden from her mother’s time, and then from today, that he’d mentioned he was planning to travel to London and offered a few weeks of his time to help her get the garden back in order.

Frustrated by her own lack of progress in the garden, Avery had gone out on a limb and hired him as a casual gardener without checking references or credentials or anything. From what she could tell so far, his only fault was the fact he was a bit of a drifter, but then establishing a home and hearth wasn’t for everyone. Being a homebody herself, she couldn’t imagine a life like his. She shook her head and wondered how strange it would feel to come from all that glorious space on a ranch to something as enclosed as a Kensington garden. Either way, she was grateful he’d made the transition. He’d already made great inroads.

She set up her easel and set to work, humming a tune while she did so.

“You sound happy,” a deep male voice drawled from the shrubbery. “Always good to hear.”

Avery watched as her newest employee straightened from beneath the foliage and rose to his full height. Astonishing clear blue eyes met hers out from under a thoroughly disreputable hat that should probably have been confiscated by border control. He looked to be in his sixties and his rangy, fit build spoke of a man who’d done some hard physical labor in his time.

He wiped one hand on a pair of well-worn denims and tipped his hat to her.

“Good morning, Miss Cullen. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Good morning to you, too, Mr. Wells. It looks as if it will be a lovely day. I see you’ve been busy already.”

“Please, call me Ted,” he corrected her with a smile that made her suddenly think of silver-screen stars from the fifties. Persuasive, perfectly handsome, yet with that edge of devil-may-care lurking about the edges. “So,” he said, rocking back on his heels, “are you always this happy when you work?”

She felt the uncomfortable heat of a blush stain her cheeks. It really was none of his business but for some reason she felt compelled to confide in him. Goodness knew she didn’t really have anyone else. She didn’t want to impose on Macy, who was busy planning her wedding and, with renovations on the inn she’d converted into a drama school complete, she was now looking at opening the school. Macy’s days were busy enough without being worried by what might or might not happen between Avery and Marcus. Avery’s only other potential confidante, Mrs. Jackson, was so protective of her she was just as likely to scold Avery for even thinking of spending time with Marcus, and she definitely wasn’t in the mood for that.

From their first meeting online in the art forum and during their subsequent discussions over the past couple of months, and then in person a few days ago when he’d arrived for his first day of work, he’d struck her as the type of guy who’d hold a confidence close to his chest.

“I’ve met someone,” she said, almost shyly. “I don’t really know if it’ll go anywhere.”

“What’s he like? Do you trust him?”

She shrugged. “Good question. I barely know him except for the fact he’s tenacious.”

“That can be a good thing.”

“And a bad one, too. He wants to represent my father’s art collection at sale, and he won’t listen when I say it’s definitely not for sale.”

“You have your father’s collection here?” Ted asked, tilting his hat back a bit off his forehead.

“No, it’s back in L.A.”

“Any particular reason you don’t want to sell it? Don’t you think he’ll do a good enough job?”

Avery pressed her lips together before answering. Why did everyone think she should just let the collection go? Didn’t they understand what it had meant to her dad?