Nobody's Angel (6 page)

“Why didn't you tell me you had a cousin who makes stoneware?” she hissed as they skirted the benches and wheels.

Adrian threw open a door and flipped on the light switch. “I didn't realize you were interested in local artisans. He
makes the stoneware for tourists, but he dabbles in porcelain as well.”

Faith held her breath as she gazed around the shelves of finished pottery.

A quick glance didn't reveal anything, but the shelves were crowded and the overhead glare of fluorescent lighting didn't help. She started with the corner on her right, looking for saleable pieces as well as the flash of brilliance she craved.

The heavy, dense stoneware with its duller glazes was interspersed occasionally with a few fanciful animal figurines of translucent, hand-painted porcelain. The bright traditional cobalt, orange, and yellow of Mexican earthenware mixed with a few contemporary experiments in forest greens and earth browns. Juan apparently preferred experimenting in all forms rather than specializing in a few. She could understand that.

She cradled a wide bowl glazed in a blue-green mist that almost matched her memory of the brilliant vase now locked in her storage shed. The color didn't have the same translucence, and the design lacked the surety paired with an almost mystical irreverence of form that her vase possessed, but still—there was something.

“The color is extraordinary,” she commented, holding the bowl up to the light.

“Not clair de lune,” Adrian said dryly, appearing at her shoulder.

“Well, now I see how you know about pottery. Was your cousin attempting to create clair de lune? I don't think it's possible with the glazes available today, and in today's kilns.”

“Juan copies everything. He should spend more time creating his own.” Dismissively, Adrian strolled along the shelves, picking up one piece after another, discarding them all.

“One can learn by copying, and in this case the result is better than anything I've found recently. He has an interesting sense of design.”

“The tourists want Indian pots.” Juan grunted with annoyance as he strode through the doorway. “You can't sell decorative bowls like that. If they want fancy glass, they buy it at the mall.”

“People have to be taught art appreciation,” she replied. “They're more receptive when the economy is good and they're told art is an investment that can increase in value. That's what I try to get across in my gallery.” Faith handed him the blue-green bowl. “I'd like to buy this outright. If you're interested, I could try to sell the animal figurines on consignment. Some people collect animal figures, but I don't know how willing they are to pay art prices, and your work deserves the recognition of a good price.”

Juan looked at his cousin. “You're the negotiator. Negotiate.”

Faith opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. She wanted the bowl. She just didn't want to argue with a dangerous male animal over it. She watched Adrian's reaction suspiciously.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and contemplated the bowl, but his casual appearance didn't fool her. Beneath that long ponytail lurked the mind of a shark.

“I can draw up a consignment contract, no problem.” He shrugged. “The lady knows gallery prices better than I do. Judging from what she has in that shop of hers, anything she sells them for will bring a whole lot more than you're making in Asheville. Name her a healthy price on the bowl. She'll sell it for twice as much in the city, and you'll have some cash in your pocket.”

Faith couldn't believe it was that easy. “I have a standard consignment contract in my case.” She nodded toward the slim leather bag she'd left by the door. “Don't overestimate my abilities to obtain high prices. The higher they are, the longer it takes to sell, and you're a newcomer to the market.”

“Come inside, eat with us, and we'll talk money after we're full.” Juan lifted the bowl from her hands and carried it to the shop to wrap in bubble plastic. “I've not been able to duplicate this color since I made it. It's a rare piece.”

Faith smiled. The negotiation had begun, just a little more subtly than most. “I don't want to impose. I need to call the garage and see if my car is ready. We had a little trouble on the way over.”

She nearly jumped from her shoes as Adrian clapped a
hand on her shoulder. “I would give my left foot for some of Isabel's enchiladas. We'll stay.”

As if he had anything to say about it. She remembered what it had been like obeying a man's whims all the time. Moving out from under his presumptuous hold, Faith yanked her cell phone out of the case. The phone wasn't an extravagance but a healthy business expense, given the capricious hours of the artists with whom she dealt. Consulting the business card the driver had given her, she punched in the numbers. She had better things to do than listen to the cousins exchange family stories. She really didn't want to know that much about Adrian Quinn Raphael.

She paled as the voice on the other end of the line answered her inquiry. “You don't understand—” she protested into the receiver.

Adrian caught her shoulder again and steered her toward the door as she hung up, disbelieving. “I could have told you,” he whispered in her ear, “but you wouldn't have listened. They don't stock anything but tires for American-made trucks up here. You'll have to wait until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? She stared at him in dismay. Surely he wasn't saying she'd have to spend the night here?

The look of challenge in Adrian's dark eyes verified her worst fears.

Chin tilting, she stalked away from him. Nope. Not in a thousand million years. She'd learned to survive on her own. Men made it easy to be weak, but she knew better than to trust or rely on their support now.

She was getting the hell out of here if she had to walk home.

First, she wanted that bowl.

Four and a half years earlier

In disbelief, Faith stared at the cruise ticket bearing the name of Sandra Shaw. Tony never took so much as a secretary on trips, and he never scheduled conferences in the Caribbean. He was extremely tight with money on things like that. It was one of the reasons they'd never gone anywhere for vacation unless it involved a business meeting that he could write off. He'd explained that business meetings out of the country were not as easily tax deductible.

There had to be some mistake. Perhaps someone had mixed up names. She picked up the phone and dialed the travel agency. To her shock, they readily verified the dates and credit card and names. Sitting at Tony's desk, she stared at the tickets in bewilderment. They had to be hers. Nothing else made any sense. The date corresponded with their anniversary. St. Thomas had been her destination of choice. Tony would have to straighten it out.

She dialed the office, but Tony was out. Tony was always out.

The depression that nagged her more and more often these days threatened to swamp her now. She had a wonderful home, a loving husband, but resentment built day after day, until sometimes she couldn't deal with it. Sometimes it was easier to let things slide.

This wasn't one of those times. Deciding action was better than letting resentment tumble her into misery, she pulled out the telephone directory. There had to be some logical explanation for the stranger's name on the tickets. Who was she,
anyway? Perhaps the agency had sent her own ticket to Sandra Shaw.

There were dozens of Shaws in Charlotte alone. Half a dozen or so used the initials S. Tony even had an old friend named Shaw, but he was male and, as far as she knew, still lived in that small country town where Tony had grown up.

The beautiful spring day faded to twilight and her gourmet meal went forgotten. Tony didn't come home to eat it.

How many nights did Tony not come home?

Biting her bottom lip to keep from screaming in fury or weeping hysterically, especially when this still could be a product of overactive imagination or resentment, Faith dug in the desk drawer until she found the combination to Tony's safe. He'd never tried to hide it from her. They had no secrets from each other. Or so she'd thought.

She had always respected his privacy. Tonight, privacy could go to hell. She was just angry and depressed enough to believe anything.

Pulling back a designer print from the wall, she spun the lock until the door opened. Removing the stacks of papers inside, she sat down and began to read.

By midnight her eyes were too blurry with tears to discern the payees on any more of the canceled checks in the bank account she hadn't known Tony possessed. Even through her blind fury and despair she could recognize her husband's signature.

For years she had fought loneliness, unhappiness, and resentment. She'd dearly loved Tony, and, convinced that her bitterness over her infertility had warped her thinking, she'd never blamed him for her inability to cope. She had even tried counseling.

Staring now at the proof of Tony's perfidy, rage crashed through her foolish, lovestruck bubble, washing away eager, obedient Faith and replacing her with a savagely determined woman. Tony had thought her loving obedience meant stupidity. He was about to find out how damned wrong he was.

The Present

“Faith?” An elbow nudged her ribs. “Care to join us?”

Furiously reliving the anger and sheer disbelief that had molded her hard-won independence, Faith jerked back to the moment. Following Juan and Adrian toward the farmhouse, she glared at the man beside her as if he were the cause of all the trouble that had begun that horrible spring day. How dare he come here and shake loose all those ancient horrors?

Deep brown eyes looked at her with what could almost pass for concern. He had disgustingly long lashes, but what could she expect from a man with hair longer than her own?

She forced a brittle smile. “I would rather be getting on with my life than staying here,” she said.

Adrian's proximity reminded her all too uncomfortably of how barren her life was of close human contact. She hadn't been brought up that way. Her family had been given to hugging and kissing on any and every occasion. Tony hadn't been averse to hugs and kisses and more when he was home. But for four years now she'd lived in a world where an occasional handshake passed as a close encounter with humankind. She'd wanted it that way, but she was seeing the downside now.

Adrian casually wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her into a kitchen steaming with mouth-watering scents. Just that common touch ripped open a longing so deep and wide inside her that Faith nearly wept from the shock of it. She'd been managing so well until this man came along. She didn't dare trust herself with any more fast-talking lawyers, and a dangerous ex-con with an agenda was a time bomb waiting to go off.

Why couldn't he be someone else? A sexy artist not looking for a long-term relationship maybe. Someone who would expect nothing of her and would demand nothing in return.

Adrian Raphael wasn't that man.

She eased away from his casual gesture and smiled blankly
at the rounded, rosy woman stirring pans of mysterious ingredients at the stove.

She would have a rental car delivered.

Lounging in Isabel's porch swing after dinner, replenished with good food for the first time in years, Adrian narrowed his eyes and watched the woman he desperately needed to do his bidding. She had glazed up as solid as one of her china figurines when she'd discovered rental cars couldn't be delivered this far into the hills. Her gray eyes went blank and she yanked her bouncy hair into a tight knot. He could scarcely believe this was the same woman he'd seen on stage, shouting and singing and worming her way into the hearts of men. Despite the casual attire, this was the woman he'd seen in the courtroom. She looked as if she could shatter at a loud noise.

He might be a desperate man clinging to a crumbling cliff of sanity, but his mama had brought him up better than this. Faith Hope wasn't a dummy. He had her trapped, and she knew it. He could keep her for days, or force her into a car and back to Charlotte. He could even seduce her, and the temptation to do that was so overwhelming that he glued himself to his chair rather than get up and hold out his hand to her.

He didn't think she was totally unaware of the charged vibrations bouncing like balls of electricity between them. He might be out of practice, but she was an easy target. A soft touch, a whispered word, a hot kiss ……

Hell, he could speculate until his pants popped, but he'd never know because he wouldn't try. He wanted her body, yeah, but she'd cut out his liver if he used her that way. And his mama would cut off more vital parts should she hear about it.

She wouldn't hear about it, a tiny voice nagged in his head. He was a desperate man, and Faith Hope was a deceitful devil in angel's disguise. And it was for his family's own good that he needed what she possessed.

He'd rather have her warm and flushed beneath him than sitting here like a lifeless doll, as she was now.

With a growl of disgust, Adrian shoved aside the swing and stalked into the house. He didn't know what the hell Juan and Isabel thought they were doing, leaving him alone with a woman like Faith. They should know better.