woman,” Adam commented, coming back to the table.
“Yes, exceptional.” The simple agreement had no undertones of envy or spite.
“How do two women, two exceptional women, of totally different types, remain friends?”
“By not attempting to change one another.” She picked up the wood again and began to roll it around in her hands. “I overlook what I see as Melanie’s faults, and she overlooks mine.” She saw the pad and pencil in his hand and lifted a brow. “What’re you doing?”
“Some preliminary sketches. What are your faults?”
“Too numerous to mention.” Setting the wood down again, she leaned back.
“Any good points?”
“Dozens.” Perhaps it was time to test him a bit, to see what button worked what switch. “Loyalty,” she began breezily. “Sporadic patience and honesty.”
“Sporadic?”
“I’d hate to be perfect.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “And I’m terrific in bed.”
His gaze shifted to her bland smile. Just what game was Kirby Fairchild playing? His lips curved as easily as hers. “I bet you are.”
Laughing, she leaned forward again, chin cupped in her hands. “You don’t rattle easily, Adam. It makes me all the more determined to keep trying.”
“Telling me something I’d already concluded isn’t likely to rattle me. Who’s Stuart?”
The question had her stiffening. She’d challenged him, Kirby conceded, now she had to meet one of his. “A former fiancé,” she said evenly. “Stuart Hiller.”
The name clicked, but Adam continued to sketch. “The same Hiller who runs the Merrick Gallery?”
“The same.” He heard the tightening in her voice. For a moment he wanted to drop it, to leave her to her privacy and her anger. The job came first.
“I know him by reputation,” Adam continued. “I’d planned to see the gallery. It’s about twenty miles from here, isn’t it?”
She paled a bit, which confused him, but when she spoke her voice was steady. “Yes, it’s not far. Under the circumstances, I’m afraid I can’t take you.”
“You may mend your differences over the weekend.” Prying wasn’t his style. He had a distaste for it, particularly when it involved someone he was beginning to care about. When he lifted his gaze, however, he didn’t see discomfort. She was livid.
“I think not.” She made a conscious effort to relax her hands. Noting the gesture, Adam wondered how much it cost her. “It occurred to me that my name would be Fairchild-Hiller.” She gave a slow, rolling shrug. “That would never do.”
“The Merrick Gallery has quite a reputation.”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, Melanie’s mother owns it, and managed it until a couple of years ago.”
“Melanie? Didn’t you say her name was Burgess?”
“She was married to Carlyse Burgess—Burgess Enterprises. They’re divorced.”
“So, she’s Harriet Merrick’s daughter.” The cast of players was increasing. “Mrs. Merrick’s given the running of the gallery over to Hiller?”
“For the most part. She dips her hand in now and then.”
Adam saw that she’d relaxed again, and concentrated on the shape of her eyes. Round? Not quite, he decided. They were nearly almond shaped, but again, not quite. Like Kirby, they were simply unique.
“Whatever my personal feelings, Stuart’s a knowledgeable dealer.” She gave a quick, short laugh. “Since she hired him, she’s had time to travel. Harriet’s just back from an African safari. When I phoned her the other day, she told me she’d brought back a necklace of crocodile teeth.”
To his credit, Adam closed his eyes only briefly. “Your families are close, then. I imagine your father’s done a lot of dealing through the Merrick Gallery.”
“Over the years. Papa had his first exhibition there, more than thirty years ago. It sort of lifted his and Harriet’s careers off at the same time.” Straightening in her chair, Kirby frowned across the table. “Let me see what you’ve
“Yes, exceptional.” The simple agreement had no undertones of envy or spite.
“How do two women, two exceptional women, of totally different types, remain friends?”
“By not attempting to change one another.” She picked up the wood again and began to roll it around in her hands. “I overlook what I see as Melanie’s faults, and she overlooks mine.” She saw the pad and pencil in his hand and lifted a brow. “What’re you doing?”
“Some preliminary sketches. What are your faults?”
“Too numerous to mention.” Setting the wood down again, she leaned back.
“Any good points?”
“Dozens.” Perhaps it was time to test him a bit, to see what button worked what switch. “Loyalty,” she began breezily. “Sporadic patience and honesty.”
“Sporadic?”
“I’d hate to be perfect.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “And I’m terrific in bed.”
His gaze shifted to her bland smile. Just what game was Kirby Fairchild playing? His lips curved as easily as hers. “I bet you are.”
Laughing, she leaned forward again, chin cupped in her hands. “You don’t rattle easily, Adam. It makes me all the more determined to keep trying.”
“Telling me something I’d already concluded isn’t likely to rattle me. Who’s Stuart?”
The question had her stiffening. She’d challenged him, Kirby conceded, now she had to meet one of his. “A former fiancé,” she said evenly. “Stuart Hiller.”
The name clicked, but Adam continued to sketch. “The same Hiller who runs the Merrick Gallery?”
“The same.” He heard the tightening in her voice. For a moment he wanted to drop it, to leave her to her privacy and her anger. The job came first.
“I know him by reputation,” Adam continued. “I’d planned to see the gallery. It’s about twenty miles from here, isn’t it?”
She paled a bit, which confused him, but when she spoke her voice was steady. “Yes, it’s not far. Under the circumstances, I’m afraid I can’t take you.”
“You may mend your differences over the weekend.” Prying wasn’t his style. He had a distaste for it, particularly when it involved someone he was beginning to care about. When he lifted his gaze, however, he didn’t see discomfort. She was livid.
“I think not.” She made a conscious effort to relax her hands. Noting the gesture, Adam wondered how much it cost her. “It occurred to me that my name would be Fairchild-Hiller.” She gave a slow, rolling shrug. “That would never do.”
“The Merrick Gallery has quite a reputation.”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, Melanie’s mother owns it, and managed it until a couple of years ago.”
“Melanie? Didn’t you say her name was Burgess?”
“She was married to Carlyse Burgess—Burgess Enterprises. They’re divorced.”
“So, she’s Harriet Merrick’s daughter.” The cast of players was increasing. “Mrs. Merrick’s given the running of the gallery over to Hiller?”
“For the most part. She dips her hand in now and then.”
Adam saw that she’d relaxed again, and concentrated on the shape of her eyes. Round? Not quite, he decided. They were nearly almond shaped, but again, not quite. Like Kirby, they were simply unique.
“Whatever my personal feelings, Stuart’s a knowledgeable dealer.” She gave a quick, short laugh. “Since she hired him, she’s had time to travel. Harriet’s just back from an African safari. When I phoned her the other day, she told me she’d brought back a necklace of crocodile teeth.”
To his credit, Adam closed his eyes only briefly. “Your families are close, then. I imagine your father’s done a lot of dealing through the Merrick Gallery.”
“Over the years. Papa had his first exhibition there, more than thirty years ago. It sort of lifted his and Harriet’s careers off at the same time.” Straightening in her chair, Kirby frowned across the table. “Let me see what you’ve
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