Marked by Passion (8 page)

"I've been called worse," he said with a smile. Lifting my hand, he flipped it to kiss the inside of my wrist before setting the bag in my palm.

Speechless from the sparks shooting through my body, I took a step back, and then another. Turning, I headed back to the bus stop. I could feel him watching me go, and I was overcome by the strongest urge to go back to him.

Clutching the bag of chocolates, I forced myself to walk faster away.

M
y brief reprieve from
tu ch’i
came at a cost. It was back in full force the next day, and fighting to hold it in exhausted me. I'd planned on getting some painting done before work but the compulsion to pull out the scroll was so strong that I couldn't make myself walk beyond the refrigerator.

Finally I just gave up. I sat on my futon with Rhys's little bag of chocolate, hoping it'd distract me from my headache. No luck. Not even my shower as I got ready for work perked me up.

I'd walked a couple blocks before I registered the prickle up my spine. Someone was spying on me again.

My imagination? Possible. I was either losing it or someone was actually tailing me, and I was leaning toward the latter. The only thing I knew for sure: it wasn't Rhys this time.

I glanced in a storefront window, hoping to catch whoever it was. But I was on Mission Street with half of humanity, and my shadow was too clever at staying hidden. So I did what could be a brilliant move or utterly stupid—I turned onto a less-traveled side street.

The feeling persisted. I picked up the pace, my heart pounding. There could be only one reason I was being followed. If this guy knew I had the scroll, how safe was it hidden in my fridge?

My mark stung as if punctuating my fear.

Then I got pissed. For having the scroll foisted on me. For getting sidetracked from my art. For letting a cowardly punk who couldn't even face me scare me.

"No more," I said through gritted teeth. Using a group of guys ambling toward me as cover, I ducked into a recessed doorway. I waited a couple seconds and then peeked.

There he was. Narrowing my eyes, I tried to get a better look at him, but the dim lighting of the street coupled with winter's early sunset impaired my vision. All I could see was a man, dark, about six feet tall and kind of bulky. But I knew for sure it was my tail—he looked left and right as if he'd lost someone.

Something about the way he moved was familiar. Frowning, I retreated into the alcove again. I was just about to take another peek when someone grabbed my arm and tugged me out of my hiding place.

Gasping in surprise, I automatically palmed up toward his face.

"Hey!" He blocked my strike, so instead of hitting his nose it redirected to his cheek. He grunted at the impact but caught my wrists and held me tight.

I was about to ram my knee into his groin when he said, "It's me, Gabe."

"Jesse?" I stopped my knee just in time and quit struggling.

"Who did you think I was? Jack the Ripper?" He let go of one wrist to rub the side of his face. "You pack a punch, babe."

"That's all you have to say?" I jerked out of his hold and whacked his chest with a fist. "You scared me to frickin' death! What the hell were you doing following me?"

He frowned. "Trying to catch up to you. I saw you and figured you were going to work. Wanted to walk with you."

"Why the hell were you lurking, then?"

"I wasn't." He stepped back as if repelled by my anger. "I just thought we could spend a few minutes together."

"Oh." I blinked. I was about to tell him how sorry I was for jumping down his throat—damn the scroll and its infusing paranoia—but he was already walking away. "Hey. What happened to walking me to work?"

He looked over his shoulder but kept going. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. Sorry I frightened you."

"I do—"
want you,
I finished mentally as he turned the corner and disappeared. Except I didn't—not the way he wanted me to want him—and I liked Jesse too much to lead him on that way. I thought to go after him to make sure he was okay and that our friendship still stood, but somehow I doubted he'd be receptive.

God, I sucked at relationships.

To cap off my already not-so-stellar evening, Vivian was on shift with me. But I managed to stay clear of her by doing the menial, downtime chores she hated doing. Mostly. She did her best to harass me anyway.

I was quartering limes when I heard her whistle.

"Hel-lo, handsome," Vivian drawled softly.

I rolled my eyes, not bothering to look up to see who she was talking about. She tended to go for men who didn't want her, and sometimes it was too painful to watch her get slapped down.

Though sometimes I really enjoyed it.

"Wow." She whistled softly. "His suit must have cost as much as I make in a month."

Suit? Rhys? My gut did a strange flop and my body tingled, a strange combination of excitement and
tu ch’i.
I looked up expecting to see Rhys bearing down on me.

Instead it was a wiry guy with short hair. Damn. Pouting, I cut a lime into wedges and grabbed another as I said, "A guy who spends a lot of money on clothes won't let a salivating woman near him."

"You aren't fooling anyone. I know what you're up to." She shoved me aside. "I'm serving him."

"Jeez." I glared at her. "Watch it, will you? You almost made me slice off my finger."

But she wasn't paying attention to me. Her imitation of a come-hither smile stretched her thin lips, and she leaned across the counter in a patented move to show off her ample boobs. "What can I get you?" she asked huskily.

Poor unsuspecting guy. I shook my head. Though if he was stupid enough to take her up on her silent offer, he deserved whatever he might contract.

"You can get me a Bombay Sapphire and tonic while I speak to Gabby."

I stopped midcut and looked up. No one had called me Gabby since—

The man in the expensive suit stared straight at me. He looked like a grown-up, edgy version of—

I blinked.
"Paul?"

My brother smiled. "Hello, Gabby. Long time."

Searching his eyes, I waited for the recrimination to surface. I remembered what he'd said to me after Mom's funeral—that I was to blame for Mom dying and how I wasn't worthy of the Guardianship—and my heart broke all over again. Even though he was four years older, he'd been my confidant and playmate growing up. If anyone could have understood that it'd all been an accident, it should have been him. But he'd still held me responsible.

Only I didn't see anything in his gaze but cautious greeting. Why was he here after all these years? My gut said the scroll. What else could it be?

Longing pierced my heart. Seeing him brought home just how much I'd missed him.

His smile deepened with amusement. "Don't recognize me, Gabby?"

"It's Gabe now," I replied inanely. "No one calls me Gabby anymore."

"Gabe. That suits you. Simple and to the point." He unbuttoned his suit coat as he perched on a stool. "But you'll always be Gabby to me."

"Here you go." Vivian slid the gin and tonic in front of Paul and batted her eyes at him. "My name is Vivian."

"Thank you." It was polite, but the casual dismissal was loud and clear nonetheless. He took the drink and gave me his full attention. "I'd like to talk to you. Alone."

Vivian's lips puckered into a sulky moue.

As unevolved as it was, I couldn't help smirking. In the old days, I would have given Paul a high five. "Sure. I'll take a break."

Wiping my hands on a towel, I started to slip out from the bar when Vivian's claw grabbed my arm and jerked me back. "You have to be selfish and hog everything, don't you? It'll all come back at you, and you won't be laughing then."

With a snarl, she turned on her heels and marched to the other end of the bar.

"She's delightful," Paul said dryly as he led me to a free table in the back corner. "You've got a real friend in her."

A light feeling I hadn't felt even when the gallery offered me the showing filled my chest, and I grinned. "We've been BFFs from way back."

He chuckled.

"So." I sat down. "This is a surprise."

"A good one, I hope," he said with a tinge of anticipation as he settled across from me.

"I hope so, too," I replied softly, drinking him in.

He studied me just as intently. I wondered what he saw. Was it as weird for him to see me grown up as it was for me to see him? Because he wasn't what I expected.

Yes, he looked familiar—almost eerily like looking in the mirror and seeing a masculine version of myself. We were both an equal mix of French and Chinese, sharing Wu's thick, straight black hair and Mom's lean height. We both had high, sharp cheekbones. Paul had Wu's dark eyes, though. I had Mom's.

But he looked polished, almost hardened now. The rounded edges he had as a youth were gone.

He reeked of money, too. I mean, we'd been better off than most, but we weren't rich. Now he had that ultra-rich look that I'd seen in people who went to the gallery openings Madame took me to. His black hair was perfectly cut and styled, his nails manicured. And Viv was right—his suit was expensive. I wondered what he did to earn clothing like that.

"It's amazing," he said, shaking his head. "You look so familiar but so foreign at the same time. You've grown up nicely. I like what you've done to your hair."

"My layered streaks are a far cry from your
GQ
look."

He shrugged. "You always had your own style. Remember your gypsy phase?"

"Oh, God." I laughed. "I must have held the Guinness World Record for most scarves worn at once."

He grinned. "You even used tablecloths. Which was okay until you cut down that heirloom tablecloth Mom's grandmother gave her."

At the mention of our mother, we both sobered. Frowning, I played with the frayed edge of my apron. Finally, I just couldn't hold back any further. "Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but why are you here, Paul?"

Sorrow flooded his eyes. "Dad is dead."

I blinked, startled but not sure why, since I already knew Wu was dead. I cleared my throat and asked what I hadn't been able to ask Wu. "How?"

"They say it was an accident." He took a large sip of his G and T.

"They
say?" I frowned. "Who says?"

"The coroner and the police."

"The coroner was called?" I asked incredulously. Shouldn't Wu have mentioned that? "How did he die?"

"I understand it's standard procedure for the coroner to respond." Paul took another sip of his drink, his knuckles white from clutching the glass. "He fell down in the bathtub and broke his neck last week."

The irony of him dying in a freak bathroom accident when he skirted danger with the scroll was almost humorous. But then what Paul said registered. "When did he die?"

"Last week. I didn't find out until four days ago, and it took me that long to track you down."

How was that possible? Yeah, I used my mom's maiden name and my official address was listed as the bar's, but he had money, and money bought results. It would have taken someone with research skills an hour to find me—tops.

I shook my head. It probably didn't mean anything. He'd most likely not been thinking clearly after Wu's death. He'd idolized our father, after all. He used to follow Wu around like a puppy dog. Wu never gave him the time of day—I was the focus of his mania. I'd envied Paul's anonymity, but I knew he viewed Wu's treatment as rejection. I hoped they'd patched that up after I was out of the picture. "How did you find me?"

"My private detective."

"Your private detective." I nodded like everyone had a PI at their beck and call. "What was it you said you do now?"

"I'm in business. Import-export."

"Right." It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him how many kilos of coke he moved each year, but he spoke first.

"I didn't come here specifically to tell you about Dad." He frowned at his glass, revolving it in careful clockwise circles.

He seemed like he needed prompting, so I obliged. "Why did you come, then?"

"I feel bad about Mom's funeral."

He shocked me so badly I almost fell off my chair. "Excuse me?"

Paul nodded. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. It was cruel and uncalled-for. You were suffering as much as the rest of us. Probably more."

I didn't know how to feel about this sudden confession. For the longest time I'd waited for him to call and apologize for that day when he turned on me, but after a couple years I gave up. I watched him play with his glass and wished I'd thought to bring myself a glass of water to fiddle with, too.

"I have no excuse. I should have come sooner, but I was building my business, and the years got away from me ..." He shook his head. "And then Dad died and I realized I couldn't put it off any longer. You're the only family I have left, Gabby."

The lump in my throat made it impossible to say anything.

He leaned forward, his eyes blazing. "I want to be what we used to be. Despite everything, we were best friends growing up. Do you miss me as much as I miss you?"

"I missed you." And I really did—for a long time. But I'd written him off. At the time, I'd felt justified. Now I felt like I'd betrayed him, too.

"Do you think you can forgive me for what I said?" He reached for my hand and clasped it in his. "Can we be friends again? I don't expect to walk back into your life and have everything be okay. I know I've let too many years go by. I'm just asking you to give me a chance to be your brother again."

My heart ached with longing. God, I wanted that
so badly.
I'd give anything to have a big brother again. I'd give anything to be able to talk to someone about the Guardianship—someone who knew the history and understood. Emotion clogged my throat, so I just nodded.

"Good." He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. "We'll have dinner. There's so much to talk about."

"I like food," I said inanely.

He grinned, and I caught a glimpse of the boy I used to have stick fights with. "You always did. Especially candy, just like Mom. I remember how you two used to sit on the porch and share M&M's."