Marked by Passion (7 page)

Ignoring the piercing sense of loss at the sudden withdrawal of his touch, I tensed as I waited for
tu ch’i
to come crashing back. But nothing happened. The light feeling of being unburdened persisted. Weird.

As it was, I hid my wrist behind my back. "You obviously don't follow the masses. You ended up at the Pour House."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

I suppressed the urge to trace his scar with my tongue by busying myself wiping the counter. "I doubt it's your usual type of haunt."

His gaze flickered down my body for a brief instant before returning to my eyes. "It has its charms."

"Enough to appeal to a man like you?" Raising my eyebrows, I looked him up and down too.

"What kind of man am I?"

The kind that's trouble. Tossing the rag aside, I said, "The kind who knows what he wants."

He swirled the scotch, studying me. "Astute."

"I'd be able to figure out what that is if I were astute." Because he wanted something. From me. An egotistical thought, yes—but I knew in my gut he was here for me and me alone.

The way he looked at me—warm and intrigued and possessive—confirmed it. "It shouldn't be difficult to ascertain," he said.

"Maybe not." Except with everything that had happened lately, I had a hard time believing this was simply masculine pursuit. "Maybe the real question isn't what you want but why you want it."

"Perhaps." He watched me over the rim of his glass, like a predator waiting for his prey to make a wrong move so he could pounce. "Although the more interesting question is what I'll do when I get it."

His husky, accented reply conjured images of sin. I could just see what he'd do, and it involved a gigantic bed with billowy silk sheets. Hot, wet kisses. Maybe even dark chocolate licked off smooth skin, but that might have been wishful thinking on my part.

Resisting the urge to fan myself, I said, "Excuse me," and headed to a group of people waiting to be served.

Coward? Maybe. But I needed a moment to regroup. I was already in over my head with everything in my life— I didn't need another complication. Rhys definitely fit in the complications category.

I glanced at him from under my lashes as I reached for a lime wedge. I needed to stay away. Though somehow I didn't think he'd stay away from me. At least not until he got what he wanted.

Call me paranoid, but this had the scroll written all over it. I couldn't discount the fact that he'd shown up almost exactly when I received it. Coincidence? My gut said there was no such thing.

"Hey." Carrie sidled up to my left. "It's tapering off a bit. It's cool if you want to leave early." She nudged her chin in Rhys's direction.

I smiled. "I'd like to leave early, but not because of that."

Her grin dimmed. "A major hottie and you're going home alone? Are you feeling okay?"

Chuckling, I untied my apron and tossed it in the bin under the counter. "Just a little tired. Are you sure you can handle it till closing?"

"Manuel and I have it covered."

I ducked out from behind the bar, keeping my eyes forward so I wouldn't catch anyone's eye—namely Rhys's. I'd slip out before he knew I was gone. With any luck, he'd think I was taking a break. All I needed was a few minutes' head start.

Bundling up, I sneaked out the back door and pulled it closed. I turned to make my getaway when I felt someone watching me from the right. I whirled around to find Rhys waiting for me.

Not sure whether I should be angry or wary, I tipped my head and blinked at him benignly. "You'll get your suit dirty leaning on the wall like that."

"I'll buy another."

I wrapped my scarf around my neck, taking my time because I was rattled. Had he been the one spying on me all along? Intuition said no. The feeling of being watched was different this time. Not menacing—just hot. "It's a nice suit. Custom-made, isn't it?"

"Of course." He straightened and walked toward me.

"You know, lurking in alleyways is a good way to get yourself mugged." I steeled myself, ready to attack.

But he only took my arm and began to walk with me. "Are you telling me you're dangerous?"

If only he knew. I waited till we were on Mission in view of all of humanity before I disengaged my arm. "Thanks for the escort. I can make it on my own from here."

"My car is over there." He pointed to something sleek and black and so expensive-looking I was amazed its wheels hadn't been stolen. "Let me give you a lift."

I shook my head. "I pride myself on being a little bit smarter than that."

"Now it sounds like you're saying
I'm
dangerous."

Laughing, I edged away. "That's an understatement, I think. Good night."

He grabbed my hand before I could hightail it out of there. "Meet me tomorrow."

Caught off guard by his abrupt command, I sputtered for a second before I said, "No."

"Why not?" He gazed at me calmly, obviously waiting for my arguments so he could coolly dispel them.

There were hundreds of reasons I shouldn't ever see him again, starting with the paintings I had due and ending with the scroll. But what came out of my mouth was "I don't know you."

"I'm offering the opportunity to get to know me." He drew me closer. "And I'd like to get to know you."

I shook my head. "I can't imagine I'd be all that interesting compared to the type of women you usually meet."

"The fact that you're resisting is reason enough for me to be interested." His thumb whispered over my pulse, as if to point out that I wasn't unaffected.

The fact that I
was
affected was the issue here. And tempted. I tugged my hand. "Thanks, but I have to pass."

Surprisingly, he let me go. Slipping his hands in his pockets, he studied me. Then he said, "If you change your mind, I'll be at Ocean Beach. One o'clock."

Before I could respond, he walked to his car. I gaped after him, admiring his boldness (and the rear view). He glanced at me over the roof of his car before he got in. I stood in the cold night air and watched him drive off.

Because I was somewhat paranoid, I headed in the wrong direction and doubled back—twice—before I headed home. Just in case.

He didn't follow me home. Call me crazy, but it disappointed me. As I let myself inside, I vowed I wouldn't meet him tomorrow afternoon. That'd just be stupid.

I
can't believe I'm this stupid," I muttered to myself as I got off the 5 Fulton at Ocean Beach. I glanced at the time on my cell phone: 1:20. Maybe he'd have given up hope that I'd arrive. Maybe he'd be gone.

I refused to analyze the pang of disappointment that thought brought on.

Wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck, I walked down to the sand. It was good that I came, even if he was gone. The rhythmic crash of the waves soothed
tu ch’i
to a lull, and the tang of the air pacified me. What we San Franciscans called a beach didn't even qualify compared to Southern California, but I always found comfort in the familiarity of the sound and smell. Who cared that it was frigid and overcast most of the year?

Certainly not Rhys. I looked left and saw a lone figure sitting on a dune farther down. The fluttering in my stomach told me it was him, so I took a deep breath and went to face the music.

He knew I approached—I was sure of it—but he stared at the waves, one leg out straight and the other bent with an arm resting loosely on his knee. Even wearing a thick sweater, dark jeans, and a casual jacket he looked expensive. And mouthwatering.

Rhys looked up, a hint of a grin lifting his lips, as if he could read my thoughts. "Gabrielle," he said when I reached him.

Tu ch’i
surged, as if excited by Rhys's presence, but then quietly receded again. Odd. Frowning, I plopped down close but not too close. "I shouldn't be here. I should be working on my next painting."

"Then why are you here?"

Good question. But no way was I ready to answer it. "Why are
you
here?"

"Perhaps for similar reasons."

"I doubt that," I muttered. All night I'd thought about it. A man like Rhys didn't come after a woman like me unless she had something of value, and the only valuable thing I had at the moment was the scroll. Paranoid? Yeah. Wu raised me that way.

Rhys picked up my hand and studied it. "Will you tell me about your painting?"

I tried to suppress a shiver as he traced my lifeline with a long finger. "I thought I was here to get to know
you."

"I did say that, didn't I?" He smiled and turned his body to face me instead of the water. "What would you like to know?"

Why he was here. Why he found me so fascinating. What he looked like without any clothes on. How his hands would feel on my ... Clearing my throat, I jerked my chin toward him. "How did you get that scar?"

He automatically touched it. "It's not such an interesting story, love," he said lightly. "It was long ago. I was conducting a business transaction that didn't go as smoothly as I would have liked."

The part of me that had a thing for bad boys jumped in excitement. The saner part of me said
run.
"Business sounds hazardous."

"It can be cutthroat at times."

"I bet." I stared at his scar, wanting to run a finger over its raised surface.

Before I could ask any of the hundred other questions in my head, he said, "Tell me about your art."

"There's not much to tell." Especially at the moment, since I hadn't painted anything in days. I winced. "I have my first gallery showing in a couple months."

"That's quite an accomplishment. Perhaps you'll invite me to attend."

My stomach twisted at the thought of Rhys looking at my work. Normally I wasn't fazed by other people's opinions (except Madame's, of course), and it unnerved me that his opinion could matter.

Needing some distance, I pulled my hand from his. A chill stole over me and I huddled in my coat, hugging my knees. "Most people would call coming to the beach in the middle of winter insane."

"It reminds me a bit of where I grew up." Taking off his jacket, he draped it across my shoulders and pulled it closed under my chin.

Burrowing into it, I furtively inhaled. It smelled like him—mysterious, warm, and forbidden. "Where did you grow up?"

"Wales. In the countryside. Not on the ocean, but close enough to feel its pull."

"You're a country boy?" I pointedly stared at the ca- sual clothes that cost more than my entire wardrobe put together.

"I grew up in the country," he clarified. "I haven't lived in the country since I was seventeen."

"But you miss it?"

"Not at all. The only thing that made living there tolerable was the distant thunder of the waves," he said in a way that I knew that topic was closed for discussion.

That didn't mean I wouldn't pry. "You don't miss it, but you come here because it reminds you of it?"

"Sometimes it's good to be reminded of the past." He brushed back the wind-loosened strands of hair from my eyes. "To remember how much is at stake in the present."

Caught in his quietly intense stare, I could barely swallow. My words were a whisper. "How much is at stake?"

"More than I'd care to admit." He massaged my furrowed forehead until I relaxed. "I have a treat for you."

I blinked at the segue. "A treat?"

Eyes on mine, he slipped his hand into the opening of his coat at my neck. It hovered over my pulse, a teasing caress that set my heart pounding. Slowly, he slid the back of his hand down over my scarf, over my collar, not stopping until it rested over my chest.

Despite the layers I had on, I could feel the heat radiating from his hand. My nipples hardened into tight, needy peaks, and I had to fight the impulse to rub myself against his knuckles. I held my breath to avoid the slightest contact, not releasing it until he reached into his coat's inner pocket and drew out a small white bag.

He held it out to me.

"Do I want it?" I wasn't sure if I meant the little bag or the passion he offered.

"I think you do," he said in his low, sexy accent.

Afraid he was right on both counts, I took the bag. It bad a small sticker seal—Teuscher. Teuscher chocolate was like manna from the gods. I glanced up at him before I broke into it. "What if I didn't like chocolate?"

"It's dark and sinful. It went without saying that you'd like it."

Picking a piece, I ignored his burning gaze and bit into it. I sighed at the smooth, rich taste. I popped the rest, savoring each chew. M&M's were everyday food, like a hamburger, but Teuscher was like splurging on filet mignon.

Rhys turned my chin so I faced him. "You have some on your lips."

Before I could do anything, he leaned forward and I felt his breath caress my skin.

My heart thundered in my chest. I wanted to get up and run far away from him. I wanted to close the distance and take him into me, physically and emotionally.

And it scared me. I'd seen what loving Wu had done to my mom. I hadn't wanted anyone like that—ever. Hands on his chest, I pushed him back. "I need to go."

He studied me, entirely too knowingly, before he dropped his hand and sat back. "Sometimes, Gabrielle, one needs to accept one's fate."

If I didn't know better, I'd think he was talking about more than what was going on right here. But now wasn't the time to get into that. I shrugged out of his coat and handed it back to him as I stood.

"I'll take you home," he said, standing.

"I'll take the bus." The last thing I needed was to be enclosed in a small space with him. Because I knew I sounded ungrateful, I softened my voice and said, "Thanks. This was"—Exciting? Illicit? Foolhardy?—"interesting."

The corner of his mouth hitched in amusement.

"Well. Um. See you." I waved and started to walk away as quickly as the sand let me.

"Gabrielle."

Freezing, I turned around.

"You forgot this." He strode to me, holding out the Teuscher bag.

I looked at the chocolate, just as tempted to leave it as I was to take it with me, because I knew with every bite I'd think of him. Which is what he wanted. I narrowed my eyes. "You're evil."