Marked by Passion (16 page)

"Gabri—"

I started to tug my shirt over my head.

"Eep."
He disappeared in an embarrassed poof.

Cleaning up and changing as quickly as I could, I headed out before Wu reappeared. I walked up to 16th Street, caught the 22, and rode it all the way to Pacific Heights. I got off the bus at Clay, intending to walk the rest of the way to Madame's house. But on impulse, I made a detour to Alta Plaza Park first.

Ignoring all the yuppie parents, the kids in trendy Gap clothing, and the large dogs, I found a patch of grass where the sun shined. In January the sun never felt warm, but I needed the light. It felt clean.

As I did a few exercises to calm my thoughts,
tu ch’i
came to life. It met the pulse of nature around me, and suddenly I was part of every tree. I was every blade of grass and could feel the energy of every living thing in the soil.

What I couldn't feel was my own body.

Panic rose in my chest.
Tu ch’i
crested on it, choking me. I felt myself drowning with energy, unable to stem its tide.

The ground below me began to tremble.

"No."
I clenched my eyes shut, determined to get it under control. The rumbling stopped right away, but
tu ch’i
raged inside me, dangerously volatile for much longer.

By the time I opened my eyes, I felt depleted.

That's when I noticed a creepy guy sitting on a bench, watching me.

I wouldn't have thought anything about it, except I had the same menacing sensation I'd had the night Rhys picked me up. He slouched, wore baggy clothes, and had a hat pulled low over his face.

Talk about obvious.

Normally I would have marched over there and confronted him. But normally I wouldn't feel as wiped out as I did now—if he attacked me, I doubted I'd be able to hold my own.

Because I didn't want to lead him to Madame's house, I walked to Fillmore and waited till a free cab careened up the street. Flagging it at the last possible moment. I jumped in and had the cabbie drive me around in circles until I was certain we'd lost the tail. Then I had him drop me off in front of Madame's.

I staggered up the walkway. God, I hoped she had something sweet. I needed something to revive me.

She met me at the front door.

"Do you have cake?" I asked before she said anything. I took off my coat and tossed it on a chair that was probably worth more than I made all year, tips included.

"Of course." She waved to the kitchen.

Fortunately, she waited until we were seated and I'd scarfed down a huge piece before she started in on me.
"Gabrielle, je m'inquiète."

"Why are you worried?" Though I could probably make an accurate guess.

"Something is not right. I feel it here." She patted over her heart. "I fear what bothers you will prevent you from success."

A portent? I shuddered. I forced a smile to my lips. "I'm fine. In fact, now that I've had some sustenance I think I can paint."

She didn't look like she believed me.

Leaning over, I kissed both her cheeks. "I swear I'll do this.
Je vous jure, Madame."

"Oui, je sais.
I go so you can work." She stopped as she reached the kitchen doorway and turned around.
"Et Rhys? Vous avez parlé?"

"Yes, we've talked." I rolled my eyes. "You're all hot and bothered about me finishing the series. You shouldn't be encouraging me to see him."

"I think he is good for you. Perhaps he will inspire you.
Parce que ta muse, elle est en vacances, non?"

"No, my muse isn't on vacation." I huffed in exaggeration. "I'll finish the paintings, okay?"

"Okay." She shrugged in her expressive French way that conveyed exactly what she thought and toddled away, waving a hand over her shoulder.

"Like the doubts are helping me," I muttered as I piled my dishes in the sink. After I washed them, I dragged a stool over to the corner where I'd deposited all my stuff. I rolled the wheeled table Madame cleared for my supplies and perched on the stool to examine my work.

Hours later, I hadn't made any progress. Yeah, I'd picked up a brush, I'd dabbled some paint on a palette. But no progress. Every time I tried to get in the zone,
tu ch’i
started to roil. Slowly, like thick, heavy lava—not so I felt as out of control as I did at the park, but enough that I knew I could get to that point in the blink of an eye. What if I caused another earthquake, this time strong enough to bring Madame's house down? I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.

Rhys's offer was tempting. Hell—Rhys was tempting. It'd be so easy to let him help me.

Easy, but not necessarily right. He didn't make the offer out of altruistic impulses. He didn't get to where he was by giving away his expertise. I couldn't underestimate what his price might be. Factor in my attraction for him...

Tossing the brush aside, I cleaned up and went to find Madame, who was reading in her living room.

"Fini?"
she asked, setting her book aside.

Not even close. "For today."

She lifted her cheeks for me to kiss them.
"Done,
I will see you tomorrow?"

"I'll let you know." I didn't know when Rhys would call or want to meet.
"A bientôt,
Madame."

Instead of lecturing me about how my deadline loomed Closer by the hour, she just picked up her book again.
"Au revoir,
Gabrielle."

Strange.

I considered hopping a cab again, but I opted for the California because there was one approaching when I walked down Fillmore. Besides, I didn't have that creepy sensation of being watched.

Not knowing where the penthouse suite was, when I arrived at the Fairmont I went straight to the concierge. Despite my ratty jeans in the posh hotel, he politely escorted me to the elevator and swiped me up. After calling Paul to check.

Paul met me at the elevator with open arms. "I'm happy you're here, Gabby."

Even his casual attire was expensive-looking. As I returned his hug, I tested his shirt. "Silk?"

"So they say." He wound his arm around my waist and pulled me through a doorway. "I just called down for dinner, so it'll be here in half an hour. I thought maybe we could look at Mom's photos while we wait. I have them in the living room."

I had to swallow a couple times before I could reply. "I'd love that."

He tugged my ponytail and guided me to a fancy couch like the ones in Madame's house. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"A Coke would be great." I took off my coat and was about to drop it when I actually noticed my environment.
"Holy shit."

Paul glanced up from the wet bar and grinned. "Not bad for a hotel, is it?"

"My entire apartment would fit in just one corner of this room." I turned in a circle, gaping at the crazy opulence. I walked to the French doors that led to the terrace. Beyond, half the city was on display. "Hey, I recognize this place. Isn't it the room where Sean Connery got his haircut in
The Rock?"

"Yes." My brother walked over and held out my drink. "The bathroom fixtures are all made out of twenty-four-carat gold, and there's a two-story domed library."

"You've come up in the world." I took a sip of the Coke. Even that tasted better than usual. "Is dinner going to be like the spread in
The Rock,
too? Because I could get behind that."

He laughed and gestured me to sit down next to him. "I have Mom's pictures here." Pulling out a bundle from under the coffee table, he methodically arranged them in front of us. "I didn't know how many you'd want, so I brought them all. Pick whichever ones you want."

I set my drink on a side table and leaned forward to pick one up. But I stopped just short, hesitating. Feeling like I wasn't worthy to touch her work.

"Gabby, she loved you." Paul took my hand, infusing me with comfort. "She would have wanted you to have them, despite everything. She loved you best."

Tears sprang to my eyes. It took me a moment before I had them under control enough to reply. "She loved us equally, just in different ways."

"Aren't you going to look?" He nudged my shoulder with his.

"Yeah.'" I inhaled deeply and let it all go. Then I reached for the first one.

A rose in bloom, probably from her garden. Mom loved gardening. There were more still nature pictures, followed by portraits of random people I didn't know. I set a few aside to take home.

The next picture froze me. It was a black and white of Mom with me as a teenager. We sat on the top step of our porch, laughing, her arm squeezing me tight and a bag of M&M's dangling from her hand. For a second, I swore I could hear her rich laugh and smell her familiar vanilla scent.

"You've got so much of her in you. The shape of your eyes, their color." Paul fingered the photo. "Soften your cheekbones and lighten your hair and you'd be her spitting image."

I shook my head. I had too much of Wu in me for that.

"Yes, it's true. Your fingers, too." He picked up my hand and studied it. "You have Mom's fingers. I bet that's where your creativity comes from."

Touched by the sentiment, I smiled faintly as I traced over her image. "I like that."

"You should have this one, too. To remind you how much of her still lives." He added it to my small pile.

Tears pricked my eyes. Blinking them back, I picked up the next one in the pile.

One of me and Paul.

I had no idea when it was taken—maybe I was around five? Which meant Paul would have been nine. It was taken at the beach, the ocean a hazy blur in the background. My spindly legs looked even skinnier in baggy shorts, and my ponytail was a crooked mess on the side of my head. I had a bucket in one hand, a shovel in the other, and a lopsided pile of sand in front. Paul stood over me, obviously trying to show me how to make a sand castle. He had that exasperated look he used to get when he got fed up with my stubbornness. Still, I beamed up at him with my gap-toothed smile.

He must have been on the same wavelength, because he said, "I probably still get that look when you don't listen to me."

I face him. "You're still trying to help me, though."

Nodding solemnly, he chucked under my chin. "I always will, too."

T
he next day, I woke up to the picture of me and Paul, which I'd propped against the broken lamp at my bedside. Seeing it, a sense of belonging I hadn't felt in longer than I could remember blanketed me. I felt such peace that I decided to go to Madame's and paint, after all. I thought I was in a good space—mentally unburdened.

Wrong. I couldn't focus at all. An hour after sitting down, I dropped my brush onto the easel's tray and got up to pour myself some more coffee. Like I needed to get more jacked up.

In my defense, my inattention was partly Madame's fault. When I arrived, she was all over me, questioning me not only about why I was having a hard time painting, but also about what my deal was with Rhys. It took half an hour of fast-talking on my part to reassure her enough that she left me alone to work. For the painting issues, I convinced her I had a major case of nerves. I didn't even bother to explain what I had going on with Rhys.

Actually, I couldn't explain what I had going on with Rhys. Stirring sugar into my coffee, I frowned. Maybe after I met with him today I'd have a better idea.

If he called.

Resisting the urge to check the clock for the tenth time in the hour, I went back to my workstation. At least I had a place to paint until I figured out what to do about the scroll and Wu. Paul's offer hung heavy over me. In a way, I wanted to give him the scroll because he deserved it so much more than I did.

Which I was also guilty about. Mom always said that life was big enough for only one passion, and art was mine. Still, I couldn't banish the niggling feeling that said I was letting everyone down, including myself, by not fully taking responsibility as a Guardian. I was doing okay with
tu ch’i
—as long as I stayed away from my house.

My cell phone rang, startling me out of my thoughts. Setting my cup down, I reached for it and looked at the screen. My heart began to pound when I saw it was Rhys. Flipping it open, I answered it coolly. "Yes?"

Silence greeted me. Then, his voice warm with sympathy, he said, "Having a bad day, love?"

His concern drained the fight right out of me. Sighing, I rubbed my temple. "A little."

"Can I do anything to make it better?"

A million ideas popped into my head, and all of them involved us getting naked. "I don't know how to deal with you when you play the nice guy."

He laughed, a low rumble that I felt deep in my core. "I'm hardly nice."

"No, you wouldn't think that, would you?" But somehow I knew he was. Which was at such odds with his ruthless businessman persona. I sighed again. "So what's the plan for tonight? I work until ten."

"I'll meet you at the bar." He paused. "Gabrielle?"

"Yes?" I asked suspiciously.

"I look forward to it," he said, and he hung up.

I shivered as I closed my phone—in anticipation or portent, it was a toss-up.

One thing was certain: I definitely wasn't going to get any work done. I took my time putting away my materials, said good-bye to Madame, and rushed out of the house before she could quiz me again. I went home to clean up and change, lingering in the shower to avoid running into Wu. No sign of him, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Not looking forward to starting the week off with Vivian, I took my time walking to the Pour House. But I had a pleasant surprise when I walked in and saw Carrie.

"Vivian switched tonight for Sunday," she explained as I slipped behind the bar and wrapped an apron around my waist.

I smiled genuinely for the first time all day. "Excellent."

She laughed as she slid a beer across the bar top to a patron. "She's not that bad. As long as you keep your boyfriend out of here. But then, I don't threaten her like you do."

"I don't do anything to threaten her," I said sullenly.

"You don't have to. Your entire being threatens her. You're stunning, smart, talented, and everyone loves you." She shrugged. "Vivian has to try especially hard to be everything you are without trying. She hates that. I'm surprised you don't have a knife sticking out of your back."