“Actually this urge hit last night,” she told him.
“Let’s see if you’re any good at it,” he said as he retrieved one of the scones and broke off a bite. He put it in his mouth, then closed his eyes.
“Not bad,” he said eventually, then gave her a sly look. “This will get you five minutes to look around. Promise to leave the bagful and you can stay for ten.”
“There are a half-dozen scones in that bag. That ought to buy me a half hour at least,” she bargained.
Ben regarded her suspiciously. “Are you here just to satisfy your curiosity?”
Kathleen hesitated on her way to the first stack of paintings that had caught her eye. She had a feeling if she told him the truth, he’d hustle her out the door before she got her first glimpse of those tantalizingly close canvases. If she lied, though, it would destroy whatever fragile trust she was going to need to get him to agree to do a show.
“Nope,” she said at last. “Though what art dealer wouldn’t be curious about a treasure trove of paintings?”
“Then you still have some crazy idea about getting me to do a showing at your gallery?”
Kathleen shrugged. “Perhaps, if your work is actually any good.”
He frowned. “I don’t care if you think I’m better than Monet, I’m not doing a show. And your ten minutes is ticking by while we argue.”
She smiled at his fierce expression. “We’ll see.”
“It’s not going to happen,” he repeated. “So if that’s your only interest, you’re wasting your time.”
“Discovering an incredible talent is never a waste of my time.”
“In this case it is, at least if you expect to make money by showing or selling my paintings.”
She walked back to the counter where he sat, now crumbling one of those scones into crumbs. “Why are you so vehemently opposed to letting others see your work, Ben?”
“Because I paint for the joy it brings me, period.”
She gave him a penetrating look. “In other words, it’s too personal, too revealing.”
Though he quickly turned away, Kathleen saw the startled look in his eyes and knew she’d hit on the truth. Ben put too much of himself into his paintings, he exposed raw emotions he didn’t want anyone else to guess at.
“Bottom line, it’s not for sale,” he said gruffly. “And your time has just run out. I can live without the scones. Take the rest and go.”
Kathleen cast a longing look in the direction of the paintings she had yet to glimpse, but she recognized a brick wall when she ran into it. Maybe Destiny had been right, after all, and she should have waited longer before coming back out here. Ben’s defenses were solid and impenetrable at the moment.
“Okay then,” she said, resigned. “I’ll go, but I’ll leave the scones.” She walked around until she could look him directly in the eyes. “And I’ll be back to claim that half-hour tour you promised me.”
“It was ten minutes, but don’t bother. You’ll be wasting your time,” he said again.
“My choice,” she said pleasantly. “And fair warning, you have no idea how persuasive I can be when I put my mind to it. This morning was just a little warm-up.”
Her gaze clashed with his and it gave her some satisfaction that he was the first to look away.
“I think maybe I’m getting the picture,” he muttered.
Kathleen had heard him perfectly clearly, but she feigned otherwise. “What was that?”
“Not a thing, Ms. Dugan. I didn’t say a thing.”
“It’s Kathleen,” she reminded him.
This time he caught her gaze and held it. “It’s Kathleen if this thing between us is personal,” he told her. “As long as you think it’s business, it’s Ms. Dugan.”
There was another hint of challenge in his low voice. Since she knew he wasn’t looking for a relationship any more than she was, it had to be deliberate. A scare tactic, basically. Just like that kiss on Thanksgiving.
She kept her own gaze steady and unblinking. “Then by all means, let’s make it Kathleen,” she taunted, throwing down her own gauntlet.
Surprise lit his eyes. “Obviously you’ve forgotten about that kiss we shared or you wouldn’t be quite so quick to tempt me.”
Kathleen trembled. Her blood turned hot. That kiss hadn’t been out of her mind for more than a minute at a time for the past couple of nights. What the hell had she been thinking by throwing out a dare of her own? She should be concentrating on getting those pictures of his, not on reminding him of the chemistry between them.
“You don’t scare me,” she said with sheer bravado.
“I should.”
“Why is that?”
“Because even though I’m sadly out of practice, when I want something—someone—I usually get exactly what I go after,” he told her, his gaze steady and unflinching.
He made it sound like fact, not arrogance, which should have terrified her, but instead merely made her knees weak.
“You still don’t scare me,” she repeated, half expecting—half hoping—for a wicked, dangerous kiss that would immediately prove her wrong.
As if he’d guessed what was in her head, he backed away a step and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Stay away, Kathleen.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Please.”
She should do as he asked. There was no question about that. It would be smart. It would be safe. If it weren’t for the art, maybe she could.
If it weren’t for the man with the torment burning in his eyes, maybe she would.
As it was, there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d do the smart, safe thing.
5
“It’s Sunday. Where on earth have you been? Not at that little shop of yours, I hope,” Prudence Dugan said the minute Kathleen picked up her phone.
It was typical of her mother that she could manage to inject so much criticism, petulance and disdain into so few words. Kathleen wasn’t in the mood to be drawn into an argument. All she really wanted to do was take a long, hot bath and think about the quicksand she was playing in
