The Art of Deception

essence of woman—power and frailty and that elusive, mystical quality of sex. Aloof, alluring. She was both. Now, more than ever, he understood it.

    Hours passed without him giving them a thought. His model, however, had a different frame of mind.
    “Adam, if you’ll consult your watch, you’ll see I’ve given you more than the allotted time already.”
    He ignored her and continued to paint.
    “I can’t stand here another moment.” She let her arms drop from their posed position, then wiggled them from the shoulders down. “As it is, I’ll probably never pole-vault again.”
    “I can work on the background awhile,” he muttered. “I need another three hours in the morning. The light’s best then.”
    Kirby bit off a retort. Rudeness was something to be expected when an artist was taken over by his art. Stretching her muscles, she went to look over his shoulder.
    “You’ve a good hand with light,” she decided as she studied the emerging painting. “It’s very flattering, certainly, rather fiery and defiant with the colors you’ve chosen.” She looked carefully at the vague lines of her face, the tints and hues he was using to create her on canvas. “Still, there’s a fragility here I don’t quite understand.”
    “Maybe I know you better than you know yourself.” He never looked at her, but continued to paint. In not looking, he didn’t see the stunned expression or the gradual acceptance.
    Linking her hands together, Kirby wandered away. She’d have to do it quickly, she decided. It needed to be done, to be said. “Adam…”
    An inarticulate mutter. His back remained to her.
    Kirby took a deep breath. “I love you.”
    “Umm-hmm.”
    Some women might’ve been crushed. Others would’ve been furious. Kirby laughed and tossed back her hair. Life was never what you expected. “Adam, I’d like just a moment of your attention.” Though she continued to smile, her knuckles turned white. “I’m in love with you.”
    It got through on the second try. His brush, tipped in coral, stopped in midair. Very slowly, he set it down and turned. She was looking at him, the half smile on her face, her hands linked together so tightly they hurt. She hadn’t expected a response, nor would she demand one.
    “I don’t tell you that to put pressure on you, or to embarrass you.” Nerves showed only briefly as she moistened her lips. “It’s just that I think you have a right to know.” Her words began to spill out quickly. “We haven’t known each other for long, I know, but I suppose it just happens this way sometimes. I couldn’t do anything about it. I don’t expect anything from you, permanently or temporarily.” When he still didn’t speak, she felt a jolt of panic she didn’t know how to deal with. Had she ruined it? Now the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve got to change,” she said lightly. “You’ve made me miss lunch as it is.”
    She was nearly to the door before he stopped her. As he took her shoulders, he felt her tense. And as he felt it, he understood she’d given him everything that was in her heart. Something he knew instinctively had never been given to any other man.
    “Kirby, you’re the most exceptional woman I’ve ever known.”
    “Yes, someone’s always pointing that out.” She had to get through the door and quickly. “Are you coming down, or shall I have a tray sent up?”
    He lowered his head to the top of hers and wondered how things had happened so quickly, so finally. “How many people could make such a simple and unselfish declaration of love, then walk away without asking for anything? From the beginning you haven’t done one thing I’d’ve expected.” He brushed his lips over her hair, lightly, so that she hardly felt it. “Don’t I get a chance to say anything?”
    “It’s not necessary.”
    “Yes, it is.” Turning her, he framed her face with his hands. “And I’d rather have my hands on you when I tell you I love you.”
    She stood very straight and spoke very calmly. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Adam. I couldn’t bear it.”
    He started to say all the sweet, romantic things a woman wanted to hear when love was declared. All the traditional, normal words a man offered when he offered himself. They weren’t for Kirby. Instead he lifted a brow. “If you hadn’t counted on being loved back, you’ll have to adjust.”
    She waited a moment because she had to be certain. She’d take the risk, take any risk, if she was