Hearts Of Fire: Fantasies And The Future Part 5

Everything's fine,' he announced on returning to the studio. 'I'm free for the entire day.'

'You shouldn't be putting yourself out so much,' she said, though not meaning a word of it. 'I could have called Byron. He'd have come home to look after me. Or sent someone round. . .'

'Don't be silly. I'm rather enjoying playing Good Samaritan. It's not my usual role, I can a.s.sure you.'

'Oh? What's your usual role?'

He laughed. G.o.d, he had a beautiful laugh. And a beautiful smile. And a beautiful everything. Sometimes life could be so unfair, Ava thought with a sudden stab of pain.

'Probably something akin to your Byron,' he said ruefully. 'My family says I've become a tyrant in the years since Dad died. They think the power has gone to my head.'

Ava frowned. 'The power? What power? What do they mean?'

He shrugged. 'Being head of the family, I suppose. Having to be responsible. To make decisions. Whatever. By the way, since I'm going to be here for a few hours, you wouldn't have a T-shirt I could borrow, would you?'

Ava couldn't very well tell him that she would much rather he stay exactly as he was. With his request, her eyes automatically went to his bare chest, one last hungry glance encompa.s.sing everything from the glorious bronzed colour to the rippling muscles to the arrow of golden curls that directed her gaze down to the flat planes of his stomach, not to mention the cheeky navel peeping above the waistband of his almost indecently tight jeans.

Ava stopped her wandering eyes right there, but she could not stop her imagination, or the heat creeping up her neck and into her face. 'Of course,' she said hurriedly, hoping Vince was interpreting her high colour as embarra.s.sment and not what it really was.

'I'm sorry,' she went on hastily. 'I didn't think. I should have offered you something to put on before. I'm really sorry. . .'

'No, I'm- the one who's sorry. I've embarra.s.sed you by bringing your attention to my half-dressed state.' His sigh showed regret, his expression similarly apologetic. 'You're a genuine lady, Ava Whitmore, and you make me feel a heel.'

'A. . .a heel?'

'For the way I spoke to you when I first arrived, not to mention the things I thought.'

'What did you think?' Ava asked, both puzzled and intrigued.

'd.a.m.n, but it's hard to explain without sounding incredibly arrogant. . .' he groaned at the bewildered look on her face. 'One look at those innocent eyes should have told me the truth but I guess I've become cynical over the years. And you did waylay me with one of the usually reliable warning signs.'

Warning signs? Warning signs for what?

Her eyes widened further.

'I jumped to conclusions and I d.a.m.ned well shouldn't have. I'm really sorry.'

Ava's confusion and curiosity made her speak out with a most uncharacteristic impatience. 'Vince! For pity's sake, stop apologising and just tell me the truth, whatever it is.'

'All right, all right, I'm simply trying not to shock or offend you, that's all. I can see how far off the mark 1 was now. I guess I'm a little rusty at recognising the truth now that I'm not mowing lawns any more.'

He wasn't? Ava wondered what he was doing here, then, but she didn't like to distract him at this moment by asking. There were far more important things to find out.

'You've got no idea, Ava,' he continued with a grimace of distaste, 'just how many bored and neglected rich women there are around Sydney, and a lot of them look upon men like me as easy meat.'

'Easy meat?' she repeated with a suddenly dry mouth.

'There must be a type of grapevine among some of them,' he swept on, ignoring her raspy murmur. 'These women find out which of the tradesmen working in their area are young and reasonably attractive, then they deliberately go out of their way to hire you. The first sign you have that your primary function in being there is not to fix the taps or mow the lawns or clean the pool is when they answer the door first thing in the morning all glammed up. Full make-up, jewellery, perfume, s.e.xy clothes, the works!'

Ava's mouth went dry when she thought of her attention to her appearance that morning, and the way Vince had looked her over when she'd answered the door. She recalled the coldness that had come into his eyes, then his later flashes of wariness. My G.o.d, he actually had thought for a while that she. . .that she. . .

'Then ,' he stated with a contemptuous curl of his top lip, they purr at you to call them by their first names, they hang around so that you're within view all the time and finally, when you're finished, they try to get you to come inside or stay longer on some thinly veiled pretext. They offer you a cool drink, or the use of the shower. I've even had them suggest a refreshing dip in their pool. But believe me, you're not expected to do any of those things alone, and if you're stupid enough to fall for one of those lines then you've crossed an invisible line, and you're not expected to leav e till the lady of the house is well satisfied with your services. If you do leave, you lose that client pretty d.a.m.ned quickly!'

'R-really?' Ava croaked out, not sure if she was shocked or fascinated that there were women in this world who actually made their fantasies come true. Of course, she didn't condone such tacky and immoral behaviour, but it did have a certain appalling appeal.

'Really,' he confirmed. 'Which is why when you answered the door looking so smart at nine o'clock this morning, I thought. . .' He broke off with a shrug. 'Yes, well, I've already apologised for what I thought and now that you understand why I thought what I thought, I think we'll finish with that unfortunate topic, don't you?'

All he could do was nod.

His smile seemed relieved, as though he was glad to get that off his chest, his still deliciously bare chest. Ava started wondering if he'd ever accepted any of those women's offers, if he'd ever crossed that line, but she didn't dare ask him. His derision over their behaviour suggested that he hadn't, but when that scathing remark of his mother's popped back into her head Ava had second thoughts. What ladies' beds had Mrs Morelli been referring to? Regular girlfriends, or some of his rich-b.i.t.c.h women employers?

Ava's gaze focused once more on Vince's semi-nude male body and she swallowed convulsively. Clearly, it was in the interests of her sanity if he put something on. p.r.o.nto!

She sat up, swinging her feet over the side of-the divan.

'What in h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?' Vince growled, rushing over to pick up her sandalled feet and place them back where they came from.

'You're not ready to get up yet. Lie back down. And you shouldn't have these still on. . .'

Ava froze when he started removing her sandals, gritting her teeth each time his fingers brushed against her flesh.

'There's blood on this one,' he said brusquely. 'I'll wash it for you.' He glanced up at her, eyes narrowing. There are some spots of blood on your top too. We'd better get it off as well and I'll soak it in cold water. Blood can be the devil to get out if you let it set in for too long. I'll just go and find you something to change into.'

'Oh, but you can't! I mean. . .I. . .I. . .'

He sighed at her obvious fl.u.s.ter, her reaction seeming to exasperate him mildly. 'Really, Ava, I realise you might not be keen on my rifling through your drawers but this is no time for excessive modesty. Agreed? Not only that, I have to find something for myself. I presume you have some of those one-size-fits- all T-shirts among your clothes?'She was back to nodding. Her T-shirts would easily go around his broad shoulders and chest.

'Good. That is your bedroom on the other side of the bathroom, isn't it?'

Another nod.

'I thought as much. You just lie here and rest. I'll be back shortly. You won't jump up the moment I turn my back, will you?'

She shook her head.

'Lost your voice, have you?' he teased softly.

Her smile was pained. She had an awful feeling she'd lost more than her voice. She just might have lost her heart as well.

'When I get back we'll see if we can find it again. I want to know all about you, Ava Whitmore,' he said warningly, beautiful brown eyes glancing around the studio. 'You're a very intriguing lady. But most of all I want to know what's behind those mysterious d.a.m.ned canva.s.ses stacked up against that wall over there!'

CHAPTER FIVE.

A COMBINATION of cold common sense and healthy cynicism came to the rescue of Ava's heart while Vince was absent from the room. This wasn't love, she told herself sternly. It was fascination. Infatuation. Desperation and frustration. Not only was Vince Morelli a walking dreamboat, a fantasy in the flesh, a real live Latin lover, he was also the first man in years to be this nice to her. So of course she was smitten by him. Any idiot woman would have been, but especially her brand of idiot who was already besotted with Italians anyway.

So Ava lay there on the divan, bravely determined not to harbour any false hopes where Vince's excessive attentions were concerned. She was well aware that her unfortunate - or was it fortunate? - accident had sparked an uncharacteristic Sir Galahad instinct in him which he was unexpectedly enjoying. Hadn't he virtually said as much? But it wouldn't last. Dreams never, did. Neither did fantasies. There always came that awful moment when one woke up and reality returned.

Her stomach curled over when Vince reappeared. Her black T-shirts had never looked anything like that on her.

'This do for you?' he asked, holding out a thankfully slimming black and white striped shirt that had been one of the mainstays in her casual wardrobe for years.

'Fine,' she said, taking it from his outstretched hand. 'Could you -er -turn away while I change?' The thought of him seeing what she was hiding under her clever clothes made her shudder inside.

'Of course,' he agreed, though Ava thought she detected a hint of dry amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes as he turned away. No doubt not too many of the women he knew wanted his eyes averted from their bodies. And neither would she. . .if she felt for a moment he could look upon her semi-bared flesh with admiration and not revulsion.

Her fingers fumbled with the b.u.t.tons of her jacket and she almost swore at her clumsiness in doing such a simple task as removing one top and putting on another. Her eyes kept darting to Vince's broad back. So nervous was she that he might turn around before she was finished that when he did make a sudden move, she gasped. But he kept his back to her as he walked across the studio floor towards the stack of unfinished, turned-around paintings leaning against the far wall. 'Do you mind if I have a look at these?' he threw back over his shoulder.

She did. But if she said so, he might stop and turn around and she was only just now struggling into the black and white blouse. In her defence, it wasn't easy undressing and dressing half lying down and she hadn't done the b.u.t.tons up yet. 'Not at all,' she said breathlessly 'But none of them is properly finished and they're not very good.'

He didn't say a word to that, simply picked up the first and turned it around to stare down at it. Gradually, he turned them all around, spreading them along the wall till Ava's watercolours formed a highly original if embarra.s.sing border.

I told you they weren't very good,' she murmured uncomfortably when his silence continued. His head twisted round to throw her a frowning look. 'And who the h.e.l.l told you that?' he said sharply, before sighing his irritation. 'No don't tell me. I can guess. Dear old Byron -'

'No!' she protested, quite fiercely, feeling guilty that somehow she had given Vince the wrong idea about Byron. Her brother might occasionally be a pain, as Vince had suggested, but he was never deliberately cruel. He'd actively encouraged her in her painting, told her she was very talented. Her not really believing him was not his fault! 'Byron has always praised my paintings,' she defended staunchly.

'Then who?' Vince demanded to know. 'Who was ignorant enough, or mean enough, to criticise your work to such an extent that you've never finished even one of these truly glorious pictures?'

'G-glorious?'

'Yes, glorious !' He s.n.a.t.c.hed one up and strode back over towards the divan. 'Take this one for instance. Look at the light you've captured. . .the sense of peace and utter stillness. Look at it, woman! This is sheer exquisite beauty!'

Ava stared, wide-eyed, at the gentle landscape of the valley in the national park behind Belleview, painted in the soft greys and blues of a pre-dawn light. It was the closest she had ever come to really finishing one of her paintings, only a small patch in one corner needing some work to be complete. Ava recalled she had been especially happy with this one. Happy enough to maybe show it to someone. Till Irene had come in one day, taken a quick look and made a scoffing sound.

'Good G.o.d, Ava,' she'd said, that horridly scornful note in her voice, 'when are you going to try painting something other than these pathetic little bush scenes? It's not as though you ever finish any of them. Still, I suppose you've got nothing else to do and it's not as though anyone other than the family ever sees them. Just as well, eh?' she'd laughed, then swanned out of the room and off to one of her charity luncheons.

All the optimistic joy had drained out of Ava and she had put down her paintbrush, stood up and carried the painting over to where she'd put all her other unfinished canva.s.ses. Vince was the first person to have looked at it since.

Now she stared at it again herself and, while her eyes told her it was rather good, something deep inside her refused to believe it. Surely Vince was exaggerating. He'd been flattering her all day. A bitter resentment flared, making her snap at him.

'Please don't patronise me. It's not necessary. That picture is sheer unadulterated rubbish. Why don't you just say so? I can take the truth.'

His straight brown brows lifted in surprise then drew together. 'Can you?'

'Yes,' she retorted, her small rounded chin lifting indignantly.

Not that I can see." he countered. 'I've just told you the truth.'

'Oh, for pity's sake!"

His searching gaze grew more thoughtful on her race 'You really think this painting is rubbish, do you?'

Yes. of course it is. I just said so, didn't I?'

And all these others?' His free arm swept round in a circle to encompa.s.s the rest of her work.

'Those, even more so!' she spat contemptuously.

'Then why haven't you got rid of them?' he persisted with merciless logic. 'Why would you want to keep a motley collection of unfinished rubbish? Any reasonable person would have thrown them away. Or is it that you need a constant reminder that you're an artistic failure?' he threw at her with sudden harshness. 'That you have no talent at all!'

His sneering words launched Ava on to her feet, her blue eyes blazing. 'I do have talent!' she burst out, hating him for making her admit it, hating him for making her face the unfaceable, that she had allowed Irene to destroy her confidence and faith in that talent, had allowed that horrid woman to spoil the artistic future she might otherwise have had.

'Yes, you d.a.m.ned well do!' Vince reiterated strongly. 'So why haven't you finished any of these? What in h.e.l.l's the matter with you, Ava Whitmore? Are you a coward or simply a fool, to believe whoever it was who told you differently?'

Ava plopped back down in the divan, stunned by her own outburst as well as Vince's relentless inquisition. The unexpected surge of angry defiance that had propelled her to her feet flowed out of her as quickly - as it had come, replaced by a bleak misery. 'Both,' she sobbed. 'Both. . .' And her head dropped down into her hands.

Yet no tears came. Perhaps she was beyond tears, beyond anything. G.o.d, what a hopeless mess she'd made of her life.

'Go away,' she croaked out. 'Oh, please just go away. . .'

Vaguely, she heard Vince mutter something that sounded suspiciously like a four-letter word. Then he was squatting before her, taking her hands away and forcing her dry-eyed but haunted face out of hiding.

Tm sorry,' he said gently. Tm an insensitive blithering idiot, going at you hammer and tongs like that. But I'm not sorry for what I said. I meant every word. And at least you admitted you do have talent. Believe me, Ava, when I tell you that I do not patronise people. Or flatter them. I'm far too egocentric for such niceties. If you doubt me, ask my mother. Or my sister. Or even my brothers! They'll vouch for my nasty side.'

'You could never be nasty,' she husked, shaking her head from side to side.

His laughter was low. 'You'd better believe it. I can be a real mean son of a b.i.t.c.h when I want to be. But you seem to bring out the best in me. I hope I can also bring out the best in you.'

He^ eyes lifted, long lashes blinking. 'What. . .what do you mean?'

'I mean I hope I can restore the confidence in your talent that that b.a.s.t.a.r.d - whoever he is -destroyed so thoughtlessly.'

'b.i.t.c.h,' she muttered bitterly. 'She was a b.i.t.c.h, not a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

Vince's sigh was expressive. 'Of course. 1 should have guessed. A woman. A jealous b.i.t.c.h of a woman.' He sounded even more vehement in his condemnation than Ava. 'And does this b.i.t.c.h have a name?'

'Irene.' she whispered, as though just saying her name might conjure her up like a bad spirit.

'Irene. . .' Vince came up off his haunches and sat down on the sofa beside her, still holding her hands.

'Tell me about this Irene. Who she is and what she did to you.'

Later, Ava was to wonder how she could have told a virtual stranger so many personal details, but at the time she would have told him anything. Maybe the brandy on an empty stomach had loosened her tongue, or maybe it was having a sympathetic listener at long last. Whatever, she must have spoken for over twenty minutes, telling Vince quite a lot about her growing-up years, but especially the part Irene played in forming the person she was today.

'But surely Byron must have known that his own wife was a wicked witch?' he asked, frowning. 'You make it sound as if he was ignorant of her true nature.'

'He was, in a way. She was so clever, Vince, so very clever. Byron never witnessed her real wickednesses, only her occasional black mood. But then, Byron made allowances for her moods, because of her being diagnosed a manic depressive.'

'Manic depressive, my foot! The woman was just a jealous vindictive b.i.t.c.h.'

'Jealous? But what did she have to be jealous of with me? Irene was a highly intelligent and beautiful woman- whereas I'm. . .' She broke off, shaking her head. 'That doesn't make sense, Vince. She couldn't have been jealous of me. And surely not of her own daughter! Remember, she was just as mean to little Jade as me.'

'Maybe jealous is the wrong word. Maybe warped and twisted better describes her. Who knows what makes some women sour on life, Ava? But I've known quite a few who are. They seem scared that other people might find the happiness they think they've been cheated out of, so they make sure everyone around them is as miserable as they are. Reading between the lines, I would say your brother did not love his wife, Ava. Not as she wanted to be loved. But I would say she loved him obsessively. Tell me, was Byron a faithful husband?'