Photon smiled benignly. "You illuminate us with the radiant light of your kindness." Chapter 6
The row of shops that lined the street across from the pier was dark and silent at this hour. The last rays of the summer sun were veiled behind the thickening layer of clouds. Whitecaps danced on the slate-gray waters of the bay.
Nick parked in the small lot. When he climbed out from behind the wheel, a snapping breeze tugged at his wind-breaker. Storm on the way, he thought. Summer squalls were not unusual for this time of year here on the coast.
Octavia was already out of the passenger seat. The bouncy wind whipped her hair into a froth and caused her long, full skirts to billow around her legs. She laughed a little as she grabbed a handful of her skirts to keep them from blowing up around her thighs. Her eyes were bright. He got the feeling that she was savoring the raw energy of the approaching storm. Maybe she tapped into it for her fairy magic or something. Seemed logical.
"We'd better hurry," she said. "The rain will hit any minute."
"Right."
With an effort he wrenched his attention away from her flying hair and skirts and opened the rear door of the BMW. He reached inside and hoisted the painting. Octavia had wrapped the picture in old newspapers before leaving Thurgarton's cabin.
Carrying the painting under one arm, he walked with her to the door of Bright Visions.
"You really think this thing is worth a quarter million?" he asked.
"Between you and me? Yes. But we'll all feel more secure once we've had a second opinion."
She continued to struggle with her skirts with one hand while she withdrew her keys from her shoulder bag. She opened the front door and stepped quickly into the darkened interior of the shop to punch in the code that deactivated the alarm system. Then she flipped some switches to turn on the lights.
"Who'd have believed that old Thurgarton would have possessed a valuable work of art?" He carried the painting into the shop. "He was no collector. You saw how he lived. How the heck do you suppose he got hold of it?"
"I haven't got a clue." She led the way across the showroom to the long counter. "As I told you, there isn't a lot of Upsall's work around. It's amazing to think that one of his pictures has been sitting out here on the coast all these years."
"Who says we're not a bunch of real sophisticated art lovers here in Eclipse Bay?"
"Certainly not me." She opened the back room and turned on more lights. "You can put it there with that stack of paintings leaning against the far wall."
He surveyed the crowded back room. Rows of paintings were stacked five and six deep against every wall. Empty frames of all shapes and sizes were propped in the corner. The workbench was littered with tools and matting materials.
"No offense," he said dryly, setting down the painting, "but this place looks almost as cluttered as Thurgarton's cabin."
"Gallery back rooms always look like this."
He straightened. "The finding of a previously unknown Upsall should make for an interesting story in some of the art magazines."
She smiled. "I can see the headline now. Conspiracy Buff, New Age Cult Leader and Porn Shop Proprietor Inherit Lost Upsall."
"Be interesting to see what they do with the money." He walked back to where she stood in the doorway. "Well, so much for tonight's thrilling adventure in the world of art. Are you ready for dinner? I'd take you to Dreamscape, but Carson is there and we wouldn't be able to talk in peace. How about the Crab Trap? It's not as good as Rafe's place, but it's not bad."
"You do realize that if we dine in any of the local restaurants, there will be a lot of talk tomorrow?"
"So what? Hartes are used to being talked about in this town."
"I know."
Belatedly it occurred to him that she was not accustomed to being the subject of local gossip. "Look, if this is a problem, we can go back to my place. I've got plenty of food in the house. Comes with having a growing boy around. I'm not saying that it will be what anyone would call gourmet, but—"
She cleared her throat. "I bought fresh asparagus and some salmon fillets this afternoon."
Fresh asparagus and salmon were not generally purchased on a whim. He considered the possibilities.
"You planned to invite me back to your place?" he asked finally.
"To be honest, it struck me that it would be more comfortable to eat there rather than in front of an audience composed of a lot of the good and extremely curious people of Eclipse Bay."
He smiled slowly. "Fresh asparagus and salmon sound great."
The atmosphere was making him very uneasy, but for the life of him, he could not figure out what was wrong. On the surface, everything was perfect.
Dinner had gone smoothly. He had taken charge of the salmon while Octavia had dealt with the asparagus and sliced some crusty bread. They had sipped from two glasses of chardonnay while they worked together in her snug, cozy kitchen. They had talked easily, for all the world as comfortable as two people who had prepared a meal together countless times.
It was almost as if they had already become lovers, he thought. A deep sense of intimacy enveloped them and it was starting to worry him. This was a far different sensation than he had known with other women in the past. It was not the pleasant, superficial sexual awareness he had experienced on previous, similar occasions. He did not understand the prowling tension that was starting to leave claw marks on his insides.
Maybe this had not been one of his better ideas. Then again, looking back, he was pretty sure he'd never had much choice. If you went hunting fairy queens, you took a few risks.
He stood at the sink in her gleaming, white-tiled kitchen and washed the pan that had been used to steam the asparagus. Nearby, Octavia, a striped towel draped over her left shoulder, went up on her tiptoes to stack dishes in a cupboard. When she raised her arms overhead, her br**sts moved beneath the thin fabric of her blouse.
Damn. He was staring. Annoyed, he concentrated on rinsing the pan.
She closed the cupboard door and reached for the coffeepot. "Black, right? No cream or sugar?"
"Right."
She poured coffee into two cups and led the way into the living room. He dried his hands, slung the damp towel over a rack, and followed her, unable to take his eyes off the mesmerizing sway of her hips.
What the hell was wrong with this picture? he wondered. This was exactly how it was supposed to look, precisely how he had hoped it would look at this point.
She curled up in a corner of the sofa, one leg tucked under the curve of her thigh, mug gracefully cupped in her hands. The fire he had built earlier crackled on the hearth.
