"Of course not. It was a pleasure to meet you both."
After they'd retreated, Annie checked out a few more Sauveur landscapes, but her attention kept wandering. She couldn't focus on cliffs and waves and dramatic mountain ranges, all, it seemed to her, designed to make her homesick, never mind their gripping mix of romanticism and harsh reality. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Garvin MacCrae laughing with a group of men and women, their gold watches and jeweled necklaces glittering in the careful, expensive lighting. She tugged Gran's shawl around her, no illusions that she was on her home turf.
Garvin caught her eye, smiled, and started toward her. Annie couldn't tear her eyes off him. It wasn't as if he'd changed in the last twenty minutes. He hadn't. His tuxedo, his lean ruggedness, his dark hair and deep dark green eyes were all the same. Yet she couldn't stop herself from staring at him, from feeling a rush of anticipation as he came closer, even as she warned herself that being attracted to Garvin MacCrae would likely get her nowhere but deeper into the morass of Linwood troubles.
"Sorry to abandon you," he said as he eased beside her.
"I didn't feel abandoned."
"No?"
She smiled. "Not my style."
He studied her, seemingly unaware of the powerful paintings in front of him, the crush of San Francisco elite. He had an uncanny ability to make the person he was addressing believe nothing else would or could interfere with their conversation. Annie felt she had his complete attention. It wouldn't be easy to hide anything from him for long, she thought. And probably not smart to try.
He settled in close to her. "Used to getting along on your own, aren't you?"
She gave him an amiable smile. "I expect we both are."
"Yes." His narrowed eyes penetrated her, as if trying to gauge how much he really didn't know about her. She met his gaze dead-on, not afraid of what he might see inside her. He gave her a quick smile, and shifted his gaze, taking in their surroundings. "I noticed you met John and Cynthia Linwood."
"Yes, they seem very nice. You told John Linwood we'd worked things out?"
"Just that we'd reached an understanding. Which we have, after a fashion." His mouth twitched in a wry half smile. "I know you haven't told me everything, and you know I know."
"I do, do I?"
"Without a doubt."
Without giving a reply, she moved on to a final painting, a smallish, for Sauveur, landscape of a Nova Scotia bog enveloped in fog. But Garvin caught her by the elbow and drew her close to him, just a few inches, enough to set her blood boiling but not to attract attention. "So innocent, Annie." His voice was low, deep, probably at least as sexy as he intended, and suddenly she knew he was aware of her attraction to him. "I know damned well you bought that painting for Sarah."
"Garvin—"
He touched a finger to her mouth. "Not now. We'll talk later."
The brief, intimate contact had her reeling. Her shawl slid down her arms and brushed the floor. She scooped it up, wrapped it over her shoulders, and clutched its edges with cold, shaking hands. "Please try to understand—"
"Later, Annie."
His mouth almost touched hers, and his eyes had taken on the color of an evergreen in the Nova Scotia fog of the painting beside them, sending a mix of sparks and chills through her. He didn't back off, paid no attention to the whirl of activity around them.
He hooked her arm into his and drew her back into the crowd before she could come to her senses and march out, get a cab, walk home—do anything she had to do to get away from him. But he gave a relaxed smile as he approached two couples in their thirties and introduced her without a trace of suspicion or nastiness.
"People seem surprised to see you here," Annie half whispered as he dragged her off to meet more people.
"They are."
"Why?"
"Because I don't usually come to this sort of thing."
"Then why are you here tonight?"
He didn't answer.
And she knew.
"You didn't come to my apartment to make sure I was all right," she said. "You wanted to sweet-talk me into coming here with you. Why? What's the point? Do you think you'll get your way by preying on my vulnerabilities?"
He regarded her without a hint of apology. "I thought coming here might help you to realize what you're up against."
"I'm up against you!"
"Not me. Two murders that are unsolved. A past that's not going to go away." His tone softened ever so slightly. "Annie, if you're in cahoots with Sarah Linwood, you know she has nothing to fear from these people. They are her family, her friends—"