The Golden Valkyrie (10 page)

“It was late afternoon when you went out yesterday,” he said grimly. “The sun was a good deal lower.” When she didn’t answer, he let out an impatient imprecation. “For heaven’s sake, will you open your eyes? I feel like I’m talking to a corpse.”

She reluctantly did as he asked, and then wished she hadn’t. He was standing only a few feet from where she was lying, and he looked much too disturbing. The tight faded jeans he wore, hung low on his hips and molded the powerful column of his thighs with loving detail. He was shirtless, and her eyes were drawn compulsively to the beautifully sculptured muscles of his shoulders and chest. He was almost copper-colored, she noticed dreamily, and the thick russet thatch of hair on his chest was burnished by the sun to a shimmering vitality. He was unfolding a white sheet that he was carrying, and the muscles of his arms and shoulders rippled with a supple beauty as he shook out the material and dropped it over her.

“I’ll smother under this,” she protested, pushing the fabric aside impatiently as he dropped to his knees beside her.

“Too bad,” he said coolly, drawing the sheet up to her chin again. “It’s better than second-degree burns. Perhaps it’s wiser that you don’t wear a bikini. The more of you that’s covered, the better, if you’re always so criminally careless on the beach.”

“Aren’t you overreacting?” she asked crossly, sitting up and brushing her hair away from her face. The movement caused the sheet to fall to her waist, and she brushed his hand aside as he attempted to pull it up again. “And this suit isn’t all that staid,” she said huffily.

“So I noticed,” he said dryly, his eyes on the lush swell of her cleavage. “When I glanced out of the studio window, I thought you’d decided to go skinny-dipping after all. It was quite a shock to my nervous system. That color is as erotic as hell.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d even notice,” she snapped, and then could have bitten her tongue. She had meant to be cool and completely uncaring and not even refer to the past twenty-four hours of loneliness. She rushed on brightly, trying to mend the break. “Alex said he would send Nate down later this afternoon to see if you’d be free for dinner this evening.”

He sighed gloomily, running his hand restlessly through the fiery darkness of his hair. “I really blew it, didn’t I?” he asked ruefully. “I suppose it’s too late to apologize. Will it help if I promise you that it won’t happen again?”

“According to Alex, it isn’t a promise that you’re likely to keep,” Honey said huskily, not looking at him. “And you certainly don’t have to make me any extravagant promises. You don’t owe me that courtesy; I just work for you.”

“Ouch!” he said, making a face. “If that particular prevarication didn’t annoy the hell out of me, it would really hurt.” His blue eyes were serious as he continued quietly, “Look, you have every right to be upset, because I give you that right. I’d be bloody well furious if you went off and forgot about me for that long.” He shrugged wearily. “I don’t even have a reasonable excuse. I just got involved and worked through the night. I only meant to take a catnap this morning, but I guess I must have passed out.” His voice was curiously grave. “Will you forgive me?”

She looked up, about to deny the necessity for the apology, when she encountered the seriousness in the blue eyes. “Yes, I forgive you,” she said instead. Then, with a reluctant honesty, she admitted, “I was lonely.”

“God, I’m sorry, Honey,” he said, drawing a little closer to her so that they were only inches away. He reached out and took her shoulders in his hands, holding her with a careful gentleness that gave her a richly treasured feeling. “I should have realized that I’d get carried away.” His lips curved ruefully. “I guess I couldn’t believe that I’d fall into my usual bad habits with you only a few yards away. I sure as hell couldn’t think of anything else the night before.”

“But then I had no competition,” she said lightly. “How could I expect to rate your attention when genius was burning and the muse whispering in your ear?”

“I’d rather have you whispering in my ear,” he said with a twinkle. “And I don’t lay claim to any special talent; it’s just a pleasant hobby.”

“Not according to Alex,” Honey said slowly, gazing at him earnestly. “And not if that painting in Alex’s study is an example. You’re absolutely fantastic, Lance.”

“Alex must have been in a very talkative mood this morning. And it’s not my artistic talent that I want you to appreciate. Would you like to know what else I’m fantastic at?”

“No,” she said promptly, frowning at him reprovingly. “That particular talent is a matter of public record. I’m more interested in your unpublicized talent. Why haven’t you had a show? It’s not fair to hide a gift like that from the world. A talent of that magnitude carries a certain responsibility.”

He sighed and shook his head resignedly. “I should have known you’d fasten those gorgeous white teeth on the subject and worry it until you pried it out of me.” His expression sobered. “The truth is, I can’t exhibit. It would blow the whole caper.”

Honey’s eyes widened. “Caper?” she asked.

He nodded unhappily. “One of those art experts would be bound to recognize my technique, and neither Alex nor I have a fondness for jail cells.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Sedikhan Petroleum went broke two years ago,” Lance said, not looking at her. “It’s only the money Alex and I have been able to pour into it from our scam that’s kept it from becoming public knowledge. We couldn’t let old Karim lose face with his people.”

“Scam?” Honey asked, subdued.

“I do the painting, and Alex takes care of passing it discreetly into the right hands to set up the miraculous discovery of another lost masterpiece. You know the Rembrandt they found buried in that cellar in Munich eighteen months ago?”

She nodded.

“That was one of mine,” he said sadly. “One of my best works. I hated to let it go.”

“A forgery?” Honey squeaked. “You’re a forger?”

“You needn’t put it so crudely,” Lance said, flinching. “It takes a great deal of work and a certain flair to imitate another artist’s techniques. I spent more time and effort on
my
Vermeer than he ever did on his.”

“Vermeer?” Honey repeated dazedly, feeling as if she were going mad.

“
Woman at the Mirror,
” Lance supplied tersely. “Discovered last summer in Antwerp.”

“Oh, my God,” Honey breathed. All that incredible talent wasted on a shoddy confidence game. It made her physically ill. “That one too?”

He nodded slowly, still not looking at her, but she could see that his eyes were suspiciously bright. This confession was evidently not easy for him.

He said thoughtfully, “I suppose my greatest challenge was the Mona Lisa. The subtle shading for that one required great…” He glanced down at her shocked face and gaping lips and couldn’t go on. He burst into great whoops of laughter, bent almost double with the force of the convulsions that shook him. “Oh, Lord, it’s like taking candy from a baby,” he gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You’re totally unbelievable, Honey. Tell me, have you ever bought the Brooklyn Bridge?”

“It was all a joke?” Honey asked blankly, and when he nodded, she felt a surge of hurt and anger of stunning strength. To think that she’d actually felt sorry for him. “You must have thought me very stupid, Your Highness.”

The laughter was quickly wiped from his face and replaced by concern. “Honey,” he started, “I never meant—”

“I suppose I am rather gullible,” Honey interrupted, the stupid tears rushing to her eyes. “It must have been great fun for you. I should be honored to have provided you with an amusing anecdote to laugh about with Alex.” She drew a quivering breath. “Do you know that I was even dumb enough to feel sorry for you? How absurd could I be to think that you could feel deeply about anything? Butterflies don’t think or feel, they just flit on the surface of life and look pretty.” Her voice rose bitterly. “No one expects them to be taken seriously or be anything but what they are. I just made the mistake of forgetting that. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

She jumped to her feet and was several yards away before he caught up with her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and whirled her to face him. “I’m not a butterfly, damn it!” he said forcefully, giving her a little shake. “I may be a blind, stupid fool not to realize that I was hurting you by my teasing, but I’m not the callous bastard you think me. I’ll match my sensitivity against yours any day. What the hell is wrong with not wanting to lay your emotions out in the open for everyone to see?”

“Nothing. Not as long as you’re willing to admit that they exist,” she spat back. “But you’re not, are you? I know very well your paintings must be important to you, but you won’t admit even to Alex that it’s more than an amusing pastime. Why don’t you face up to the fact that what you could give the world is very special, and stop hiding it as if it were something to be ashamed of?”

His face was as taut and stormy as hers. “What do you know about it?” he asked roughly, his blue eyes blazing. “Okay! So it’s important to me. Maybe it’s the single most important thing in my life. Does that satisfy you?”

“No!” she shouted. “Why the hell don’t you have a show?”

“Because it
is
important, damn it,” he said, with equal force. “Do you think I want to be known as just another celebrity artist? My work means something. I won’t have it held up as a playboy’s idle dabblings.”

“But the critics won’t do that,” Honey protested. “They couldn’t. All they’d have to do is to take one look and know that you’re exceptional.”

“Would they?” he drawled cynically. “I think we’ve established that you’re a bit naive. Starving artists may be taken seriously, but not princes of the blood. I don’t doubt that my work would sell, but I’d never know whether it sold because someone wanted a conversation piece by Lusty Lance to hang on the wall. Well, I’ll be damned if I’ll give it to them. I’d rather let the canvases pile up in a deserted warehouse.”

There was such passion in his face at that moment that it took her breath away—passion and a painful bitterness that caused her to ache for him. “You’re wrong,” she whispered huskily. “So wrong. It wouldn’t be like that.”

“No, you’re the one who’s wrong,” he said tersely. “I’ve seen it happen often enough. Believe me, I’d find the kind of success you’re wishing on me a hell of a lot more frustrating than keeping my work strictly sub rosa for the rest of my life.”

“But it’s such a waste,” she said, and suddenly the emotions that had crowded one upon another in the past few minutes took their inevitable toll, and two tears brimmed in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. “Such a criminal waste.”

There was a curiously startled look on his face as he slowly lifted his hand to her wet cheek and gingerly traced the path of her tears. “For me?” he asked wonderingly. “I don’t believe anyone’s ever shed tears on my behalf before. I think I like it.”

“Why would anyone cry for you?” she asked brokenly. “Have you ever shown anyone that there might be someone who was worth a few honest emotions, beneath that clown’s mask you wear?”

“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t like it,” he said huskily. “Stop it, Honey. I can’t stand what it’s doing to me.”

“Too bad,” she said, the tears falling faster. “I can’t say that I like it either. I don’t want to cry for you. You don’t deserve it.”

“I know,” he said, almost humbly, as he drew her into his arms and cuddled her comfortingly. He pressed his lips to her temple. “But you can’t take those tears back. You gave them to me and they’re mine now. I’m going to keep them in a special place somewhere near my heart, and take them out when I feel particularly wicked or sad.” He was rocking her gently. “I’ll look at them and say to myself, ‘See, you can’t be all that bad, Lance, old boy. Honey cried for you.’”

“You fool,” Honey sobbed, her arms sliding around to clutch at him fiercely. “Damn, you’re such a crazy fool. Why am I letting you do this to me?”

His hand was stroking her hair now. “Because every Harlequin has to have a Columbine,” he said softly. “And I think I’ve found mine at last. God, you feel right in my arms, love.”

Her face was buried in the springy russet hair of his chest, and it felt deliciously rough against the smoothness of her cheek. He smelled of clean soap and salt and a slight muskiness that was potently virile, but oddly enough, for the first time in their relationship, she was not experiencing that almost overpowering physical magnetism. She felt only a magical sense of being protected and cosseted and an almost painfully poignant tenderness.

Lance tilted her head up, and the expression on his face was oddly stern. “Honey?” he asked gravely.

She shook her head bewilderedly. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking of her, but she had an idea that it was more than she could yield in the turbulence of the moment. “Not yet, Lance. Please, not yet.”

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, before nodding slowly. “I can wait a little longer,” he whispered, “but it’s getting more difficult all the time. Remember that, will you, Honey?”

She nodded, her expression as serious as his. “I’ll remember.”

“Good,” he said, and bent to take her lips with infinite tenderness. “Lord, you’re sweet to love.”

So was he, Honey thought dreamily as he reluctantly released her. Strong and beautiful and wonderfully tender.

“Come on,” he said gruffly, slipping an arm about her waist and turning her firmly toward the cottage. “My willpower is eroding rapidly. My parents may have had the bad taste to throw in a Lancelot with my other more sedate names, but I can assure you that I’m no knight in shining armor.”

He looked very much like one to her at the moment. Patience and restraint weren’t among the qualities for which Lance was noted, making his control all the more praiseworthy.

“Well, do you want to go up to the Folly for dinner?” he asked, arching an eyebrow mockingly. “I promise that I’ll be the perfect escort, to make up for my bad manners, which you’ve so graciously forgiven.”

Honey shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “You don’t really want to go.” She shot him a sidelong glance, her lips curving in an amused smile. “I think you want to get back to your studio, don’t you?”