Country Roads(47)

Instead of a black horse, Paul’s face formed in her mind’s eye, and a prickling sense of anticipation danced through her. He would be here in a few hours. She would see his silver-gray eyes darken as she pressed herself against him, feel his hands tangle in her hair, savor the pressure of his lips against her throat. Heat jazzed through her and made it hard to breathe. She gave herself to the daydream, letting her eyelids drift downward.

The electronic notes of her cell phone startled her so much she knocked into the canvas, barely catching it before it toppled off the easel. By the time she had it safely back in place, the call had transferred to voice mail. She checked the caller ID, the pictures in her mind so vivid, she was sure she would see Paul’s name on the screen.

It was Carlos.

She felt like someone had upended a bucket of ice water over her head, dousing all the swirling warmth and sensation. She had hoped to put off talking to her uncle for another day, fearing the guilt he could evoke would overshadow her pleasure in Sanctuary.

Then she thought of Paul. Last night she had felt she was his equal. He had been considerate and generous, but he had let her feel the full force of his physical need. And she had found an answering power in herself.

She dialed her uncle back.

“Julia! When are you coming home?” Her uncle’s usually slight accent was pronounced, which meant he was upset.

“I’m staying for the week.” She decided to forestall any more pointless arguments by issuing her invitation. “I want you to come to a reception for me on Friday here at the Gallery at Sanctuary. Claire Arbuckle is organizing it. You remember her; she used to be Claire Parker. It would mean a lot to me if you were there.”

It was true, even if the thought also set her nerves fluttering like a flock of startled pigeons.

“A reception? For what purpose?”

“To show off my new paintings. The Night Mares.” She stifled the urge to add, the ones you refused to show anyone.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Claire’s very excited about the new direction of my work.” It was amazing how difficult it was to contradict him. Her throat was so tight she had to work to force the words through it. “She finds it powerful.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not the sort of thing people wish to have in their homes, to live with. Even you call them nightmares.”

“Come to the reception. See what the patrons and critics say.”

“I wish to come up there tomorrow and speak with Mrs. Arbuckle.”

“No!” Her throat seemed to have reopened, partly because she didn’t want her uncle around to interfere with her fling with Paul. “I need some time.”

“Time for what?” Carlos sounded baffled and hurt.

Time to make love to a hot lawyer as often as she could before next Sunday, when she had to go back to her real life. “To…to rest. You know I need that.” She winced as she played the card of her condition, but it was the only excuse she could think of that would keep her uncle away.

“Then I will speak with Mrs. Arbuckle by telephone.”

“All right, but let me tell her to expect you.” She softened her voice. “Remember when Claire took my paintings for her New York gallery? We were both so excited. This is a wonderful way to thank her for believing in my work.”

“You feel this is the right way to repay her?”

He had to jab at her with his doubt again. She was almost grateful when a spurt of anger ripped through her. “She and I have total confidence in the Night Mares.”

“An hour, and then I will call.”

A thought struck her. “Please don’t mention my epilepsy to her.”

The silence drew out before her uncle spoke again. “I wondered that she would put you in such a stressful situation, given your condition.”

She had to convince him not to expose her secret to Claire. “Even if you don’t believe I’m cured, you always told me not to share the information with anyone in the art world. Claire is well connected; someone might find out.” Not for a moment did Julia believe Claire would reveal a secret she was asked to keep, but Carlos didn’t know that.

“And you will come home right after the reception?”

“Two days after it. I promised to donate a painting to a charity auction the following night. Claire thinks my presence will push the painting’s value up. It’s for a good cause.”

Her voice had taken on a pleading note, despite her efforts to sound firm and in control. That’s what her uncle could do to her.

“I will stay until Sunday to take you home,” Carlos said.

Now he wanted to intrude on her last night with Paul. How had everything gotten so complicated? She squared her shoulders and cleared her throat, injecting all the authority she could into her tone. “Thank you, but I’ve already arranged my transportation home.”