The Art of Deception by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

to paints and brushes and canvases, there were knives, chisels and mallets. There were slabs of limestone andmarble and lumps of wood. Adam’s equipment was the only spot of order in the room. Cards had stacked his gear personally.
    A long wooden table was cluttered with tools, wood shavings, rags and a crumpled ball of material that might’ve been a paint smock. In a corner was a high-tech stereo component system. An ancient gas heater was set into one wall with an empty easel in front of it.
    As with Fairchild’s tower, Adam understood this kind of chaos. The room was drenched with sun. It was quiet, spacious and instantly appealing.
    â€œThere’s plenty of room,” Kirby told him with a sweeping gesture. “Set up where you’re comfortable. I don’t imagine we’ll get in each other’s way,” she said doubtfully, then shrugged. She had to make the best of it. Better for him to be here, in her way, than sharing her father’s studio with the Van Gogh. “Are you temperamental?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say so,” Adam answered absently as he began to unpack his equipment. “Others might. And you?”
    â€œOh, yes.” Kirby plopped down behind the worktable and lifted a piece of wood. “I have tantrums and fits of melancholia. I hope it won’t bother you.” He turned to answer, but she was staring down at the wood in her hands, as if searching for something hidden inside. “I’m doing my emotions now. I can’t be held responsible.”
    Curious, Adam left his unpacking to walk to the shelf behind her. On it were a dozen pieces in various stages. He chose a carved piece of fruitwood that had been polished. “Emotions,” he murmured, running his fingers over the wood.
    â€œYes, that’s—”
    â€œGrief,” he supplied. He could see the anguish, feel the pain.
    â€œYes.” She wasn’t sure if it pleased her or not to have him so in tune—particularly with that one piece that had cost her so much. “I’ve done Joy and Doubt as well. I thought to save Passion for last.” She spread her hands under the wood she held and brought it to eye level. “This is to be Anger. ” As if to annoy it, she tapped the wood with her fingers. “One of the seven deadly sins, though I’ve always thought it mislabeled. We need anger.”
    He saw the change in her eyes as she stared into the wood. Secrets, he thought. She was riddled with them. Yet as she sat, the sun pouring around her, the unformed wood held aloft in her hands, she seemed to be utterly, utterly open, completely readable, washed with emotion. Even as he began to see it, she shifted and broke the mood. Her smile when she looked up at him was teasing.
    â€œSince I’m doing Anger, you’ll have to tolerate a few bouts of temper.”
    â€œI’ll try to be objective.”
    Kirby grinned, liking the gloss of politeness over the sarcasm. “I bet you have bundles of objectivity.”
    â€œNo more than my share.”
    â€œYou can have mine, too, if you like. It’s very small.” Still moving the wood in her hands, she glanced toward his equipment. “Are you working on anything?”
    â€œI was.” He walked around to stand in front of her. “I’ve something else in mind now. I want to paint you.”
    Her gaze shifted from the wood in her hands to his face. With some puzzlement, he saw her eyes were wary. “Why?”
    He took a step closer and closed his hand over her chin. Kirby sat passively as he examined her from different angles. But she felt his fingers, each individual finger, as it lay on her skin. Soft skin, and Adam didn’t bother to resist the urge to run his thumb over her cheek. The bones seemed fragile under his hands, but her eyes were steady and direct.
    â€œBecause,” he said at length,” your face is fascinating. I want to paint that, the