Tasting Fear (42 page)

“I didn’t mean to insult you. Nor did I succeed in seducing you, evidently.” He got up out of the pool, and she whipped her gaze away.

“Keep your back turned,” he said. “I want to take this wet underwear off before I put on my jeans.”

“Do as you like. I’m leaving.”

Vivi made her way up the flower-lined, moss-choked streambed. She could barely see where she was going. Slowly, the path came back into focus. The cleft of rock she had to clamber past. The thicket of posion oak. The tunnel of blackberry brambles to slither through. Then back down to the riverbed, for the rock hopping.

She was mortified. He melted her down. Turned her into hot goop. And then made her feel cheap and easy for giving in to it.

Hell with him. It was a mistake she would not make again.

Her knee-jerk instinct was to gather up her stuff and her dog and get the hell out of there, but her van was still stuck, and the Fiend was still out there, and she had no place to go, except back to New York, to park on her sisters’ lives. Once she’d started planning her hideout in the flower bower, she’d ceased to send in registration fees for upcoming crafts fairs, or to churn out new stock. So she couldn’t even do the circuit, at least not for a while. Working the crafts fairs took a certain amount of lead time and advance planning.

So even if her van were unstuck, if she left now it would just be for aimless, money-draining, gas-guzzling wandering the road. And she would be too scared to stop. The gas would run out when the money did. And it wouldn’t take very long.

And there she’d be, a sitting duck.

No. She was a grown-up. She’d been through hell in her life, and come out battered, but okay. She would not be chased away like a stray cat. Her safety was more important than her hurt feelings.

But neither would she play the nymphet sex toy for that arrogant prick. Thank God she hadn’t gone down on him. She’d be feeling ten times worse about it all if she had the taste of his come in her mouth.

And she’d come so close, too. Her mouth had been watering. Bad enough that he’d spent all that time with his face between her legs.

That took the strength out of her wobbly legs. She sat down heavily on a rock. Clenching her thighs around pulses of remembered pleasure.

Only the thought of him finding her there on his way back was scary enough to nudge her up off her ass and get her stumbling home.

“S
o. Your own store, hmm? What a lovely idea. Jewelry, pottery, art objects, gift items? Pebble River is just right for a place like that, now that the windsurfers found it. Lots of tourism. Windsurfers have money, you see.” Margaret poured Vivi another cup of tea out of a rose-spattered teapot and nudged the plate of pecan puffs toward her. “Come on, dearie! Indulge! Heaven knows, you can afford the calories!”

“Margaret, I’ve eaten five already, and they’re not small.” Vivi gazed appreciatively at the heap of sugar-glazed cookies.

“I could help you find a place, you know,” Margaret offered. “I ran a cross-stitch shop in Pebble River for thirty-five years. We can get started right away.”

“I would, but my van’s still stuck,” Vivi explained. “Dwayne keeps putting me off because of the rain, but it’s been sunny for days, so—”

“Well, now! Speak of the devil. Look what’s coming up the road!”

Vivi peered through the floral print swags of Margaret’s window. A tractor chugged up the road. A big, round man with a cowboy hat was behind the wheel. “Is that Dwayne?”

Margaret hobbled to the window and lifted her spectacles. “It is. I told him all about you. He runs the gas station at the exit for Pebble River. Put some cookies in a napkin for him, would you, dear?”

Vivi soon found herself on the road, shaking the hand of a smiling guy with several chins. “You’re the artist? Good to meet you.”

“Same here.” She handed him the cookies with a smile.

“I thought you might be coming by, Dwayne, so I baked your favorite,” Margaret said. “Vivi, let me know when you want to go to Pebble River. Maybe we should all go together.”

“All? All meaning who?” Vivi asked.

“You, me, and Jack,” Margaret said brightly. “I’m sure Jack will have wonderful ideas.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to bother Jack,” Vivi said hastily.

“Bother me about what?”

Her heart jumped up, to her throat. She turned. Oh, boy.

She’d managed to avoid him since the hot springs incident, and she’d been fondly imagining that her feelings were back under control. Nope. Vivid images of the hot springs incident blazed through her body.

Her face turned pink. No. Her whole body was turning pink.

“Hi.” Jack nodded to Dwayne and Margaret. “Heard the tractor.”

“I figured it was dry enough by now,” Dwayne said.

“I’ll walk down with you,” Jack said.

Oh, God. All she needed. Vivi swallowed her dismay. “Okay.”

Fortunately, the rumble of the tractor chugging ahead of them made their silence less embarrassing on the walk. Vivi had been using the quiet days while the weather dried up to hang pictures, write down goals, make shopping wish lists for some future when she had money to spend. She’d set up her portable studio on the floor, and had made several trips back and forth to the van to haul back her work supplies.

It was a new artistic era. She had to beef up her stock, dream up new designs. Scrounge for pretty rubbish. She liked to incorporate what people thought of as garbage into her work. Part of her artistic philosophy. Making garbage beautiful. All in the attitude.

Her first investment would be a big worktable. Then some metalworking equipment. Big pieces of stained glass to play with. She was eager to spread out. Everything in her life for the past six years had been miniature; from her income to her camper-van home all the way to her artistic ambitions. She was sick of being miniature. She wanted to sprawl. Take up space. Breathe big breaths.

Not that she regretted the choices she’d made. Her back straightened up at the thought. The traveling jewelry business had been good to her. Her jewelry sideline had started one day when Nancy admired a sculpture Vivi was making out of beads, wire, and glass.

“This is beautiful,” Nancy had said. “If it were jewelry, I would wear it.”

The comment had given her an idea, and for each of her sisters’ and Lucia’s next birthdays, she’d made personalized earrings. Then necklaces to match. Then she’d tried a couple of brooches. It was fun. Ideas for designs flowed easily.

Her art school buddy Rafael had persuaded her to try selling them in his booth at the open-air market down on Sixth Avenue. She had sold several, to her surprise and Rafael’s glee. The profit had almost paid her rent that month.

Brian had been disdainful of her “craftsy hobby,” and resentful of the time it took from the work he demanded from her, but she’d kept quietly on with her sideline. And after things exploded with Brian, the jewelry gave her something to fall back on. Not what she’d dreamed of, but it was creative, and it paid for her gas, her car insurance, her food.

She’d been trying to use some of these long, silent days to churn out some more work, but she’d had no luck. She’d chalked it up to exhaustion, worry, and unsatisfied lust. And Haupt, and John the Fiend, of course. That zesty pinch of mortal dread, just to liven things up.

She hoped it wasn’t artist’s block. She’d experienced a bad period of that some time after she’d signed the contract with Brian’s gallery.

Working with Brian had been great, at first. He sold a bunch of her pieces, the wilder, angrier ones. Money started coming in, and she’d quit her cocktail-waitressing job and basked in the thrill of being the hot new thing on the art scene. She spent a lot of the money she made on clothes, preapproved by Brian, of course. Then she started experimenting with another style. Brian didn’t like the new pieces. He demanded that she make more of the old series that sold so well.

“But I’m bored with them,” Vivi protested. “They’re so angry and negative. I’m not as pissed off now as I was a year ago.”

“They sell, babe. The new ones aren’t right for our catalog, and they’re not right for our clients. I need more pieces like
Scream
and
Howling Skeleton.
You’re making your name. Ride the market trend.”

Vivi chose her words carefully, already afraid of making him angry. “But inspiration doesn’t depend on market trends. It—”

Slam.
Brian’s hand slapped down into his desk. “Don’t even start,” he snarled. “I’m already bored.”

She jumped back. An ebony goddess figurine teetered and almost fell on her substantial behind. He stared at her, his gaze menacing. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said. “You’d better fulfil your contractual obligations to me. Or else.”

She was shocked by his ugly tone. “But…but I just—”

“You signed that contract, Viv. Don’t forget. Your future as an artist depends on it.”

She gaped at him. Brian leaned back in his chair and leafed casually through a big glossy catalog of Wilder Gallery artwork.

“What do you mean?” she finally managed to force out.

His smile did not reach his eyes. “We discussed this, remember? Before you signed. You agreed not to play the diva.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean that I would be a—”

“I need more pieces like the old series. End of discussion.” He slapped the catalog shut. “Another thing. Our date tonight. I can’t make it. Something’s come up. Since you have the evening free, I suggest you get to work. I have clients asking for your work. I mean to satisfy them.”

He got up and stood in front of his desk, hands twitching in the pockets of his tailored suit. He sighed and tilted her face up to his. His cold, hard lips brushed hers. She flinched from his touch. “I know you’re upset, but it will have to wait,” he said, sounding bored. “I’m busy today.”

She’d done as she was told. Trotted to her studio, tried to make pieces that would please him. Vivi cringed at the memory of how hard she’d tried to satisfy his demands. How pointless her efforts had been.

She’d run dry immediately. She’d cranked out a few things, but they were obviously bad, flat. Her output ground to a total halt.

Brian had been furious. He was convinced that she was doing it on purpose, to spite him. That was when sex with him started to go from tense and problematic to outright scary. Brian used sex to punish.

The only thing she’d still been able to work on was the jewelry. It was the one thing that Brian had never tried to control, so she’d gone with it. Thrown herself into it, heart and soul. What else could she do?

She cast a covert sideways glance at Jack, walking silently beside her, trying not to think about how he looked soaking wet. How he tasted. The solidity of his shoulders when she sank her nails into him.

Brian might have derailed her artistic career and given her a closetful of stupid sexual complexes. But he had never driven her out of her mind with breath-stealing, toe-curling lust.

The tractor chugged on until the van came into view. Dwayne and Jack attached the chain, and Vivi got in the van and started the engine.

They pulled and pulled. The van shuddered and strained. Dwayne whooped in triumph when it rolled out of the deep ruts.

Vivi felt like cheering herself when she felt those wheels turning, bumping over the ruts. She got out and strode over to the tractor with a huge smile of relief. “Thanks so much, Dwayne. How much do I owe you?”

“Ah, nah,” Dwayne said bashfully. “Just being neighborly.”

He pushed away the banknotes she held out, so she folded them back into her wallet, peeking to make sure he had a wedding ring.

“Well, bring your wife over one of these days to pick out a necklace or a pair of earrings,” she offered. “I’d love to meet her.”

Dwayne agreed to that plan cheerfully, and Vivi and Jack watched the tractor chug up the road and disappear around the bend.

Vivi got into the driver’s seat. Jack climbed in. They sat in silence. “So?” she said finally. “Where do we stand? I’m mobile again. Do I need to get lost? I could be out of here in ten minutes. Just say the word.”

“Please don’t be so defensive,” Jack said.

Vivi put the van in gear. It lurched forward, bumping over ruts, and crawled gamely up the hill. “That’s hard, under the circumstances.”

“I have an understanding with Duncan. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you have this security problem,” he said. “If you can stand it, that is. I doubt you’ll be staying that long anyway.”

“And why is that?”

“Your kind never do,” he said calmly.

The van crested the hill. Vivi stared out the windshield with hot eyes. “My ‘kind’?” she repeated.

“I don’t mean that the way you’re taking it. But I can see from the kind of person you are that you won’t settle in one place for long.”

“Ah.” The van lurched violently over the deep ruts, making her teeth jar painfully in her head. “Indeed.”

“It’s a valid lifestyle choice,” he went on. “I’m not judging you.”

“The hell you’re not.” They crawled slowly up another steep hill. “I’m going in to Pebble River after lunch,” she announced. “I’m going to a furniture store. I’m buying a bed. A table. A bookcase. And I’m going start looking for a place to open my shop.”

“Shop?” He turned to her, frowning. “What’s this about a shop?”

“I mean to open a shop. Pebble River is a perfect place for the kind of business I have in mind—”

“Hold on, here. Wait a fucking minute. I thought you were in hiding. I thought these bastards were trying to kill you. I thought that was the whole point of being here. Now you’re talking about opening a shop? Public records, databases, the Internet? What the fuck are you thinking? You’re out of your mind!”

She blew out a long breath. She’d been going back and forth about this issue into the wee hours every night. “How long can I huddle in a hole and shiver?” she exploded. “I can’t afford this! I have to support myself somehow, and this is the—”

“Are you doing this to prove something to me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you self-absorbed jerk!” she yelled at him. “This isn’t about you! I’m just going about my business!”

They arrived at the house. Vivi pulled in next to Jack’s truck, got out, and slapped the door shut. Her eyes glanced over the painting on the side and winced away. Jack was looking at it. And judging her for it, too.

She’d always been ambivalent about that painting, but Rafael would have been so hurt if she’d painted over his masterpiece. And he’d been so sweet and supportive after the Brian debacle, sharing his booth, showing her the crafts fair ropes. The writhing serpent and muscle-bound warrior on her van was a small price to pay.

Jack was following her up the stairs. She glared over her shoulder. “Excuse me? Where do you think you’re going?”

“I just want to see what you’ve done with the place,” he said.

“I haven’t done much of anything. It looks about the same,” she said. “Please excuse me. I want to make myself lunch.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and waited. Vivi sighed, and fitted the key in the lock. “Whatever. Come on in. I imagine you want lunch, too?”

“Lunch would be nice,” he said, blandly.

The first thing he did was check the seedlings. She’d been watering them, afraid to kill them by planting them incorrectly, but even more afraid of asking for help. But he just stroked the little plants with his fingertip. “We should set these out today,” he said.

“Fine.” She got to work making the grilled cheese sandwiches, so she could have an excuse to keep her back to him.

He walked into the living room. She’d been doing inventory, and her current stock was spread across the green velvet drape on the floor: earrings; pendants; brooches; her compartmentalized boxes of beads; her stash of chunks of broken hand-blown glass, coils of silver and gold wire, hooks and clasps; her boxes of fun and colorful collected junk. The walls were decorated with hangings, paintings, drawings.

“Did you do these pictures?” Jack asked.

“No,” Vivi said. “I’ve met lots of artists in the past few years. I collected my favorite pieces. The ones I could afford, anyway. This is the first chance I’ve ever had to hang them up and look at them properly.”

Jack walked slowly around the room. “And your stuff?”

“There’s not a lot of my work here,” Vivi said, feeling defensive. “Just what’s on the floor. My favorite meda are bronze and blown glass, but you can’t do that in a camper van. I got sidetracked by my jewelry sideline, but I’m tired of it. I want to get back to sculpture.”