The Art of Deception

with me.” She kept her eyes on his, her body still. He might curse her, but Stuart knew the truth when he heard it. “You’re a snake,” she added quietly. “And you can’t stay off your belly for long. The fact that you’re stronger than I is only a temporary advantage.”
    “Very temporary,” Adam said as he closed the door at his back. His voice matched Kirby’s chill for chill. “Take your hands off her.”
    Kirby felt the painful grip on her arms relax and watched Stuart struggle with composure. Carefully he straightened his tie. “Remember what I said, Kirby. It could be important to you.”
    “You remember how Byron described a woman’s revenge,” she countered as she rubbed the circulation back into her arms. “’Like a tiger’s spring—deadly, quick and crushing.’” She dropped her arms to her sides. “It could be important to you.” Turning, she walked to the window and stared out at nothing.
    Adam kept his hand on the knob as Stuart walked to the door. “Touch her again and you’ll have to deal with me.” Slowly Adam turned the knob and opened the door. “That’s something else for you to remember.” The sounds of the party flowed in, then silenced again as he shut the door at Stuart’s back.
    “Well,” he began, struggling with his own fury. “I guess I should be grateful I don’t have an ex-fiancée hanging around.” He’d heard enough to know that the Rembrandt had been at the bottom of it, but he pushed that aside and went to her. “He’s a poor loser, and you’re amazing. Most women would have been weeping or pleading. You stood there flinging insults.”
    “I don’t believe in pleading,” she said as lightly as she could. “And Stuart would never reduce me to tears.”
    “But you’re trembling,” he murmured as he put his hands on her shoulders.
    “Anger.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She didn’t care to show a weakness, not to anyone. “I appreciate the white-knight routine.”
    He grinned and kissed the top of her head. “Any time. Why don’t we…” He trailed off as he turned her to face him. The mark of Stuart’s hand had faded to a dull, angry red, but it was unmistakable. When Adam touched his fingers to her cheek, his eyes were cold. Colder and more dangerous than she’d ever seen them. Without a word, he spun around and headed for the door.
    “No!” Desperation wasn’t characteristic, but she felt it now as she grabbed his arm. “No, Adam, don’t. Don’t get involved.” He shook her off, but she sprinted to the door ahead of him and stood with her back pressed against it. The tears she’d been able to control with Stuart now swam in her eyes. “Please, I’ve enough on my conscience without dragging you into this. I live my life as I choose, and what I get from it is of my own making.”
    He wanted to brush her aside and push through the crowd outside the door until he had his hands on Stuart. He wanted, more than he’d ever wanted anything, the pleasure of smelling the other man’s blood. But she was standing in front of him, small and delicate, with tears in her eyes. She wasn’t the kind of woman tears came easily to.
    “All right.” He brushed one from her cheek and made a promise on it. Before it was over, he would indeed smell Stuart Hiller’s blood. “You’re only postponing the inevitable.”
    Relieved, she closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them again, they were still damp, but no longer desperate. “I don’t believe in the inevitable.” She took his hand and brought it to her cheek, holding it there a moment until she felt the tension drain from both of them. “You must’ve come in to see my portrait. It’s there, above the desk.”
    She gestured, but he didn’t take his eyes from hers. “I’ll have to give it a thorough study, right after I give my attention to the original.” He gathered her close and just held her. It was, though neither one of them had known it, the perfect gesture of support. Resting her head against his shoulder, she thought of peace, and she thought of the plans that had already been put into motion.
    “I’m sorry, Adam.”

    He heard the regret in her voice and brushed his lips over her hair. “What for?”
    “I can’t tell you.” She tightened her arms around his waist and clung to him as she had never clung to anyone. “But I am sorry.”
     
    The drive away from the Merrick estate was more sedate than the approach. Kirby sat in the