Marked by Passion (14 page)

He came to a smooth stop in a bus zone. "You're bloody defensive."

I didn't need to be psychic to know he was pissed—it was in the tightness of his jaw. Which pissed me off, because he had no right. "Whatever. I'm outta here."

Popping open the door, I hopped out of the car before he could stop me. I slammed the door shut and started to walk away.

The car rolled forward and the window eased down. "Gabrielle."

I looked inside at Rhys, who leaned into the passenger seat. Pointing a finger at him, I said, "Don't even think about—"

"If you don't start to control the energy, you're going to drive yourself mad. Call me when you're ready to learn how." The window rolled up and he sped off, leaving me gaping on the sidewalk.

F
irst thing the next day, I went back to Madame's house. Not to paint. I know that should have been my main concern, but this was as a reconnaissance mission.

I needed information. I needed to know how Madame and Rhys were connected—and what that connection meant to me Factor in his veiled comment about
tu ch’i. .
I had this wretched feeling in my heart that she'd somehow sold me out.

Madame La Rochelle waited for me in the foyer, her gaze serious. Before I could ask her anything, she said, "Gabrielle,
la directrice de la gallerie m'a appeié hier. Elle s'inquiète. Elie voudrait lespeintures complètes."

I could understand Chloe being neivous about the paintings—she was forced to take a chance on an unknown artist—but demanding to have the completed ones seemed extreme. It probably wouldn't have seemed so extreme if I had something to show her. "What did you tell her?"

Madame shrugged expressively. "What can I say, Gabrielle? I say I will ask."

"Thanks." I rubbed my forehead.

"Moi, je m'inquiète aussi."
She turned and waddled down the hall to the kitchen. "Gabrielle, it is not only your future. It is my reputation, as well, that you risk."

Ouch. "I know, Madame. I swear I'm going to finish the series."

She nodded as she set a pot of water on the stove.
"Je sais. Et tu ne travaillespas aujourd'hui, n'est-ce pas? Tu peux peut-être finir lapeinture que tu as commencé."

"Um. Yeah." She looked so hopeful that I hesitated telling her I didn't come here to paint. "Actually I just wanted to ask how you know Rhys."

"Rhys Llewellyn?" She perked up.
"J'adore Rhys."

She looked so enthusiastic, I felt guilty for doubting her. "He showed up at the bar. A few times."

"Oui, je sais."

"You know?" I gaped at her.

"Of course, Gabrielle. I sent him."

"You?"

"He collects much art, and he has influence over many people. I am happy he takes an interest in your exhibition."

I groaned. She was looking out for my career. It didn't explain Rhys's mention of
tu ch’i
—that still wigged me out—but at least Madame didn't play a nefarious role in this.

"I was much pleased when he called to ask about you," she said as she readied the press pot.

"Wait a second." Frowning, I shook my head as she offered me a coffee cup. "I thought you said you told him about me."

"Yes, Gabrielle. After he asked if I knew you." She shrugged expressively. "He is connected in art,
non?
News of your talent reached his ears."

Given his parting remark, I doubted it was my talent he was interested in. Question was, how had he tracked me? Arid what did he want? "Do you know how I can reach him?"

"Mais oui, bien sûr,
I know how to contact Rhys. I write his number for you." I watched her scribble onto the pad she kept close to the phone. She tore the piece of paper with a flourish and held it out to me.
"Voilà."

"Merci,
Madame." I slipped it into my jeans pocket.

"I admit, I am surprised you desire to call him. You were not very nice yesterday,
n'est-ce pas?"

I recognized the subtle reprimand. "He deserved it."

"He deserves many things, but your anger was not one of them." She studied me. "He's also had a difficult life."

I stiffened. She didn't know anything concrete about my past—I wasn't exactly chatty about my youth—but it still chafed big time that she compared my youth to his. "I've got to get out of here. Thanks for the info."

"Always you run, Gabrielle. One day all will catch you,
non?"

I had a flashback of Wu saying the exact same thing to me. I wanted to grimace, but I smiled jauntily as I bent to kiss Madame's cheeks. "Then I'll just have to run faster, won't I?"

Shaking her head, she shooed me.
"Vas-y. Appelle Rhys et puis viens finir tes peintures."

"A toute à l'heure,
Madame." I left before she could launch into another full-scale rant about my lackadaisical work ethic.

At the moment, I needed to figure out what to do about Rhys. I believed Madame when she said she sent him to me because of his art expertise, but that didn't explain how he knew about
tu ch’i.

I pulled out the scrap of paper as I walked to the bus stop. No time like the present. I flipped open my cell phone and called before I could chicken out.

No answer. Wouldn't you know it? I left him a short message asking him to call me and hung up. I was about to put away the phone when it rang.

Paul. Aw, hell I reopened it. "I haven't called you to arrange dinner yet."

He laughed. "Which is why I'm calling you."

I rubbed my head. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Gabby. I didn't call to chastise you. I was thinking about you and thought I'd see how you were."

"Oh." I blinked. "That's nice, then."

"Are you okay? You sound strained."

"I'm peachy. Just tired."

"Understandable. You're burning the candle at both ends." He paused. "I'm just offering this because I want to help, so don't get defensive and think I don't think you're capable."

I chuckled. "Am I that bad?"

"Always have been," he said cheerfully. "The fact that you haven't changed is actually reassuring. Anyway, the offer for a grant still stands. I can have it expedited. Being sister of the CEO should have some perks."

"I'll think on it, Paul. I appreciate the offer," I added so he wouldn't think I was an ungrateful brat.

"I'm happy to take the scroll off your hands, too. I bet that'd alleviate much of your stress." He continued quickly, probably thinking I was going to jump down his throat. "You don't have to surrender it to me if you want to take on the responsibility. We can just place it in my safe for security."

"Let me get back to you on that. My bus is here." I pulled out my Muni pass. "How about dinner Sunday? Are you free? I'm not working."

"I'll have my assistant free my schedule. Shall we say seven? I can send a car to pick you up."

Scummy bus or chauffeured ride? Tough decision. But I really didn't want him or his driver to see the hovel where I lived. "That's okay. I can meet you."

"Are you sure? It's not an inconvenience in any way."

"I'm positive. Where do I meet you?"

"How about my suite? I'll have them send up dinner. That way you can look over Mom's pictures, too. Sound good?"

I cleared the lump from my throat. "Sounds great."

"I'm staying in the penthouse at the Fairmont. See you at seven."

I hung up. At least my rekindled relationship with Paul was going well. Now if only I figure out Rhys's deal, learn vo control
tu ch’i,
and
finish my paintings in time.

Sigh.

Because going home held no appeal, for obvious reasons, I headed to the bar. I wasn't supposed to work today, but there was always stock work to do. The extra hours wouldn't kill me, and keeping busy would help me figure things out.

It didn't occur to me that Vivian might be there until I reached the Pour House. I paused outside the door, wondering if I should just go somewhere else. But I had no place to go, so I braced myself and walked inside.

When I saw Carrie behind the bar, I felt like I was being rewarded. I smiled in relief. "Thank God it's you. I thought Vivian would be working."

She laughed as she stacked clean glasses. "No wonder you were so happy to see me. I'd rather face a pop quiz than Vivian."

"Tell me about it." I ducked under the bar and dumped my stuff beneath the register.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you, Gabe, but what are you doing here? Isn't today your day off?"

"I needed to get away from painting." And everything else. "I thought I'd come take care of the stock orders. I noticed we were getting low on tequila last night."

Leaning against the counter, she folded her arms and studied me. "Painting not going well?"

More like it wasn't going at all. I swallowed the burst of panic. "That's one way of putting it."

Carrie nodded, turned around, and poured two cups of coffee. She doctored one up with lots of sugar and left the other black. Pushing them across the counter, she slipped out from behind the bar and waved me to join her on the other side. "Girls' time. Come on."

For a second I was transported back in time. Mom stood in front of me, concern on her face and a bag of M&M's in her hand.
Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé, ma douce?
she'd say as she escorted me to the porch for our special girls' times.

"Gabe? Gabe? Is it that bad?"

Carrie's worried voice brought me back to the present. I blinked away the tears in my eyes and joined her. "I'm fine."

"You didn't look fine." She stared at me in sympathy. "You looked like your heart was broken. Is this about a guy?"

Looking into her guileless eyes, I wondered what she'd say if I told her the truth—that I was plagued by a scrap of paper that gave me the ability to draw energy from the earth, and that it came with a ghost.

If someone told me a story like that, I'd think they were off their meds.

"Did some jerk hurt you? Want me to beat him up?" She pursed her lips. "Come to think of it, you'd probably do a better job of that than I would. But I could sit on him to help you out."

I laughed at the image of perky little Midwestern Carrie helping me take someone on.

She frowned. "It wasn't that funny."

"Oh, it was." I picked up my coffee and sipped some. Enough sweetness to restore me. I sighed happily. "How did you know how I take it?"

"I'm quite observant." She picked up her own mug, making a face as she drank. "So tell me about your guy trouble. Is it the British hottie?"

"Rhys?
No."
I felt my cheeks begin to burn. "Well, yeah. But not in that way. He's not my guy."

"I don't know if I believe that." Carrie grinned. "But first tell me what he did."

"It's not what he did." I slumped on the stool, warming my hands on the mug. "I just don't know what he wants."

"Sex," she said with the surety of an expert.

I blinked. "Sex?"

She nodded. "And then some."

"What does that mean?"

"He totally wants you. You guys smolder together. But it's more than that, too." She shrugged as she lifted her cup. She took a sip, shuddered, and set the coffee back down. "He looks like an all-or-nothing kind of guy."

"I think he has ulterior motives," I admitted, hoping she wouldn't ask me what.

"Maybe." She shrugged again. "But the fact that he wants you trumps all."

Did it? I wasn't sure. Especially if the scroll was involved.

If.
I snorted. There was no
if.
He'd sought me out, finagled his way into my life, and then mentioned
tu ch’i.
There was no doubt.

"You need to ask him what he wants," Carrie said, as if reading my thoughts. "Right now."

"Now?"

"Okay, maybe after we finish drinking our coffee." She wrinkled her nose at her mug and took another evidently agonizing sip.

I shook my head. "You obviously don't like it. Why are you drinking it?"

"I love coffee. I just like it sweet. Like yours." She sighed deeply and gazed at my cup like it was her long-lost love. "But I've got to cut down my sugar, or else my butt's not going to fit in my jeans. I should have become a gym teacher instead of a scholar."

Smiling, I pushed my cup toward her. "Live a little."

"Oh, you're evil." She stared at it like it was a gigantic hairy spider. "And here I've been trying to help you by listening to your woes."

"Why is that?" I asked cautiously.

"Because we're friends."

She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jesse always said I closed off. Maybe it was time to let someone in. I thought about it a moment and then nodded. "You're right."

"Of course I am." She took a quick sip from my cup, closed her eyes in ecstasy, and then reluctantly gave it back to me. "I've got to get back to work. You call Mr. Hot Stuff and talk to him. It'll be one less thing on your plate, and then you can get back to being productive."

She made it sound so simple. "What if he doesn't answer?" I asked.

"Call him again." Carrie looked at me like I was loony. "You're a warrior. Warriors don't stop until they've taken care of business."

I nodded, not sure I agreed but willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Pulling out my phone, I hit redial.

It went directly to voice mail.

Three hours later, I'd finished all the stock work, and since Carrie had the steady flow of customers under control I had no excuse to stay. But before I gave up and went home, I decided to call one last time. I turned my back to the bar and waited for his voice mail to kick in again.

"I didn't picture you as the type to wait by the phone," a too-familiar British voice said from behind me.

I stiffened, annoyed that my erogenous zones instantly leapt to attention. Slowly, I turned around and tossed my phone onto my pile of stuff. "Don't flatter yourself."

He smiled. "Never."

"Where have you been all day?" I asked before I could stop myself.

The satisfaction that lit his eyes really pissed me off. "Meetings," he said as he sat down on a stool. "Miss me that much?"

Maybe just a little. Not that I'd admit that to him. "I have some questions. About your offer."