The Art of Deception

big marble tub with her.
    “Where’s that wretched girl?” Fairchild demanded from behind him. “She’s been hiding out all day.”
    “Having a bath,” Adam told him.

    “She’d better have a damn good explanation, that’s all I have to say.” Looking grim, Fairchild reached for the doorknob. Adam blocked the door automatically.
    “For what?”
    Fairchild glared at him. “My shoes.”
    Adam looked down at Fairchild’s small stockinged feet. “I don’t think she has them.”
    “A man tugs himself into a restraining suit, chokes himself with a ridiculous tie, then has no shoes.” Fairchild pulled at the knot around his neck. “Is that justice?”
    “No. Have you tried Cards?”
    “Cards couldn’t get his big British feet in my shoes.” Then he frowned and pursed his lips. “Then again, he did have my suit.”
    “I rest my case.”
    “The man’s a kleptomaniac,” Fairchild grumbled as he wandered down the hall. “I’d check my shorts if I were you. No telling what he’ll pick up next. Cocktails in a half hour, Adam. Hustle along.”
    Deciding a quiet drink was an excellent idea after the day they’d put in, Adam went to change. He was adjusting the knot in his own tie when Kirby knocked. She opened it without waiting for his answer, then stood a moment, deliberately posed in the doorway—head thrown back, one arm raised high on the jamb, the other at her hip. The slinky jumpsuit clung to every curve, falling in folds from her neck and dispensing with a back altogether. At her ears, emeralds the size of quarters picked up the vivid green shade. Five twisted, gold chains hung past her waist.
    “Hello, neighbor.” Glittering and gleaming, she crossed to him. Adam put a finger under her chin and studied her face. As an artist, she knew how to make use of the colors of a makeup palette. Her cheeks were tinted with a touch of bronze, her lips just a bit darker. “Well?”
    “You look better,” he decided.
    “That’s a poor excuse for a compliment.”
    “How do you feel?”
    “I’d feel a lot better if you’d stop examining me as though I had a rare terminal disease and kiss me as you’re supposed to.” She twisted her arms around his neck and let her lashes lower.
    It was them he kissed first, softly, with a tenderness that had her sighing. Then his lips skimmed down, over her cheeks, gently over her jawline.
    “Adam…” His name was only a breath on the air as his mouth touched hers. She wanted it all now. Instantly. She wanted the fire and flash, the pleasure and the passion. She wanted that calm, spreading contentment that only he could give to her. “I love you,” she murmured. “I love you until there’s nothing else but that.”
    “There is nothing else but that,” he said, almost fiercely. “We’ve a lifetime for it.” He drew her away so he could bring both of her hands to his lips. “A lifetime, Kirby, and it isn’t long enough.”
    “Then we’ll have to start soon.” She felt the giddiness again, the light-headedness, but she wouldn’t run from it. “Very soon,” she added. “But we have to wait at least until after dinner. Harriet and Melanie should be here any minute.”
    “If I had my choice, I’d stay with you alone in this room and make love until sunrise.”
    “Don’t tempt me to tarnish your reputation.” Because she knew she had to, she stepped back and finished adjusting his tie herself. It was a brisk, womanly gesture he found himself enjoying. “Ever since I told Harriet about your help with the Titian, she’s decided you’re the greatest thing since peanut butter. I wouldn’t want to mess that up by making you late for dinner.”
    “Then we’d better go now. Five more minutes alone with you and we’d be a lot more than late.” When she laughed, he linked her arm through his and led her from the room. “By the way, your father’s shoes were stolen.”
     
    To the casual observer, the group in the parlor would have seemed a handful of elegant, cosmopolitan people. Secure, friendly, casually wealthy. Looking beyond the sparkle and glitter, a more discerning eye might have seen the pallor of Kirby’s skin that her careful application of makeup disguised. Someone looking closely might have noticed that her friendly nonsense covered a discomfort that came from battling loyalties.
    To someone from the outside, the group might have taken on a different aspect if the canvas were stretched. Rick’s stuttering nerves were hardly