“That’s not enough.”
“No?” The slow smile curved her lips. “Perhaps we’ll fix that later. Come on, Montique, let’s go find your wretched keeper.”
“Kirby…” Adam waited until both she and the puppy were at the doorway. “Just how much rent does Isabelle pay?”
“Ten mice a month,” she told him soberly. “But I’m going to raise it to fifteen in November. Maybe she’ll be out by Christmas.” Pleased with the thought, she led Montique away.
“A fascinating creature, my Kirby,” Fairchild commented.
Adam crossed the room and stared down at the huge, erratic card structure Fairchild continued to construct. “Fascinating.”
“She’s a woman with much below the surface. Kirby can be cruel when she feels justified. I’ve seen her squash a six-foot man like a bug.” He held a card between the index fingers of both hands, then slowly lowered it into place. “You’ll notice, however, that her attitude toward Rick is invariably kind.”
Though Fairchild continued to give his full attention to his cards, Adam knew it was more than idle conversation. “Obviously she doesn’t want to hurt him.”
“Exactly.” Fairchild began to patiently build another wing. Unless Adam was very much mistaken, the cards were slowly taking on the lines of the house they were in. “She’ll take great care not to because she knows his devotion to her is sincere. Kirby’s a strong, independent woman. Where her heart’s involved, however, she’s a marshmallow. There are a handful of people on this earth she’d sacrifice anything she could for. Rick’s one of them—Melanie and Harriet are others. And myself.” He held a card on the tops of his fingers as if weighing it. “Yes, myself,” he repeated softly. “Because of this, the circumstances of the Rembrandt are very difficult for her. She’s torn between separate loyalties. Her father, and the woman who’s been her mother most of her life.”
“You do nothing to change it,” Adam accused. Irrationally he wanted to sweep the cards aside, flatten the meticulously formed construction. He pushed his hands into his pockets, where they balled into fists. Just how much could he berate Fairchild, when he was deceiving Kirby in nearly the same way? “Why don’t you give her some explanation? Something she could understand?”
“Ignorance is bliss,” Fairchild stated calmly. “In this case, the less Kirby knows, the simpler things are for her.”
“You’ve a hell of a nerve, Philip.”
“Yes, yes, that’s quite true.” He balanced more cards, then went back to the subject foremost in his mind. “There’ve been dozens of men in Kirby’s life. She could choose and discard them as other women do clothing. Yet, in her own way, she was always cautious. I think Kirby believed she wasn’t capable of loving a man and had decided to settle for much, much less by agreeing to marry Stuart. Nonsense, of course.” Fairchild picked up his drink and studied his rambling card house. “Kirby has a great capacity for love. When she loves a man, she’ll love with unswerving devotion and loyalty. And when she does, she’ll be vulnerable. She loves intensely, Adam.”
For the first time, he raised his eyes and met Adam’s. “When her mother died, she was devastated. I wouldn’t want to live to see her go through anything like that again.”
What could he say? Less than he wanted to, but still only the truth. “I don’t want to hurt Kirby. I’ll do everything I can to keep from hurting her.”
Fairchild studied him a moment with the pale blue eyes that saw deep and saw much. “I believe you, and hope you find a way to avoid it. Still, if you love her, you’ll find a way to mend whatever damage is done. The game’s on, Adam, the rules set. They can’t be altered now, can they?”
Adam stared down at the round face. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”
With a cackle, Fairchild turned back to his cards. Yes, indeed, Adam Haines was sharp, he thought, pleased. Kirby had called it from the beginning. “Let’s just say for now that you’re here to paint and to…observe. Yes, to observe.” He placed another card. “Go up to her now, you’ve my blessing if you feel the need for it. The game’s nearly over, Adam. Soon enough we’ll have to pick up the pieces. Love’s tenuous when it’s new, my boy. If you want to keep her, be as stubborn as she is. That’s my advice.”
In long, methodical strokes, Kirby pulled the brush through her hair. She’d turned the radio on low so that the hot jazz was hardly more than a pulse beat. At the sound of a knock, she sighed. “Rick, you really must go to bed. You’ll hate yourself in the morning.”
Adam pushed open the door. He took a long look at the woman in front of the mirror, dressed in wisps of beige silk and ivory lace. Without a word, he closed and latched the door behind him.
“Oh, my.” Setting the brush on her dresser, Kirby turned around with a little shudder. “A woman simply isn’t safe these days. Have you come to have your way with me—I hope?”
Adam crossed to her. Letting his hands slide along the silk, he wrapped his arms around her. “I was just passing through.” When she smiled, he lowered his mouth to hers. “I love you, Kirby. More than anyone, more than anything.” Suddenly his mouth was fierce, his arms were tight. “Don’t ever forget it.”
“I won’t.” But her words were muffled against his mouth. “Just don’t stop reminding me. Now…” She drew away, inches only, and slowly began to loosen his tie. “Maybe I should remind you.”
He watched his tie slip to the floor just before she began to ease his jacket from his shoulders. “It might be a good idea.”
“You’ve been working hard,” she told him as she tossed his jacket in the general direction of a chair. “I think you should be pampered a bit.”
“Pampered?”
“Mmm.” Nudging him onto the bed, she knelt to take off his shoes. Carelessly she let them drop, followed by his socks, before she began to massage his feet. “Pampering’s good for you in small doses.”
He felt the pleasure spread through him at the touch that could almost be described as motherly. Her hands were soft, with that ridge of callus that proved they weren’t idle. They were strong and clever, belonging both to artist and to woman. Slowly she slid them up his legs, then down—teasing, promising, until he wasn’t certain whether to lay back and enjoy, or to grab and take. Before he could do either, Kirby stood and began to unbutton his shirt.
“I like everything about you,” she murmured as she tugged the shirt from the waistband of his slacks. “Have I mentioned that?”
“No.” He let her loosen the cuffs and slip the shirt from him. Taking her time, Kirby ran her hands up his rib cage to his shoulders. “The way you look.” Softly she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “The way you feel.” Then the other. “The way you think.” Her lips brushed over his chin. “The way you taste.” Unhooking his slacks, she drew them off, inch by slow inch. “There’s nothing about you I’d change.”
She straddled him and began to trace long, lingering kisses over his face and neck. “Once when I wondered about falling in love, I decided there simply wasn’t a man I’d like well enough to make it possible.” Her mouth paused just above his. “I was wrong.”
Soft, warm and exquisitely tender, her lips met his. Pampering…the word drifted through his mind as she gave him more than any man could expect and only a few might dream of. The strength of her body and her mind, the delicacy of both. They were his, and he didn’t have to ask. They’d be his as long as his arms could hold her and open wide enough to give her room.
Knowing only that