"That's neither here nor there. Who do you think you are, ordering me about, telling me what to do without a will you or a won't you?"
He bent down and pulled her to her feet. "You're here, aren't you?"
"I'm here, you swine, to tell you that I won't tolerate it. Here it's been nearly a month since you walked away from my door whistling, and—"
"You missed me."
She hissed at him. "I did not. I have more than enough to keep my time filled. Oh, straighten that silly tie. You look like a drunkard."
He obliged her. "You missed me, Margaret Mary, though you never bothered to say so whenever I managed to reach you by phone."
"I can't talk on the phone. How am I supposed to say anything to someone I can't see? And you're evading the issue."
"What is the issue?" He leaned back comfortably against his desk.
"I won't be given orders. I'm not one of your servants or one of your staff, so get that through your head. Mark it down in that fancy leather notebook of yours if you need reminding. But don't you ever tell me what to do again." She let out a short, satisfied breath. "Now that I've made that clear, I'll be on my way."
"Maggie. If you'd no intention to stay, why did you pack a suitcase?"
He had her there. Patiently he waited while annoyance, dismay and confusion flitted across her face.
"Maybe I've a mind to stay in Dublin for a day or two. I can come and go as I please, can't I?"
"Mmm. Did you bring your passport?"
She eyed him warily. "And what if I did?"
"Good." He circled around his desk, sat. "It'll save time. I thought you might have been stubborn and left it at home. It would have been a nuisance to go back and get it." He leaned back, smiling.
"Why don't you sit down? Shall I ask Eileen to bring in some tea?"
"I don't want to sit, and I don't want tea." Folding her arms, she turned away from him and stared hard at the Georgia O'Keeffe on the wall. "Why didn't you come back?"
"There were a couple of reasons. One, I've been swamped here. I had several matters I wanted to clear up so I'd have a block of free time. Second, I wanted to stay away from you for a while."
"Oh, did you?" She kept her eyes trained on the bold colors. "Did you now?"
"Because I didn't want to admit how much I wanted to be with you." He waited, shook his head. "No response to that, I see. No I-wanted-to-be-with-you-as-well?"
"I did. Not that I don't have a life of my own. But there were odd moments when I would have liked your company."
And he would, it seemed, have to settle for that. "You're about to get it. Would you sit now, Maggie? There are some things we need to discuss."
"All right, then." She turned back, sat in front of his desk. He looked perfect there, she thought. Dignified, competent, in charge. Not at all like a man who would have indulged in a wild tussle on the office rug. The idea made her smile.
"What?"
"I was just wondering what your secretary might be thinking out there."
He lifted a brow. "I'm sure she assumes we're having a civilized business discussion."
"Hah! She looked like a sensible woman to me, but you go right on believing that." Pleased by the way his eyes flickered to the door, she propped her ankle on her knee. "So, what business are we about to discuss?"
"Ah—your work over the last few weeks has been exceptional. As you know, we held back ten pieces from the first showing with the purpose of touring them over the next year. I would like to keep a few of your newest pieces in Dublin, but the rest is already on its way to Paris."
"So your very efficient and very sensible Eileen told me." She began to tap her fingers on her ankle. "You didn't call me all the way to Dublin to tell me again—nor do I think you called me here for a spot of hot sex on the office rug."
"No, I didn't. I would have preferred discussing the plans with you over the phone, but you never bothered to return my calls."
"I was out a good deal of the time. You may have exclusive rights to my work, but not to me, Rogan. I do have my own life, as I've already explained."
"A number of times." He could feel the temper seeping back into him. "I'm not interfering with your life. I'm managing your career. And to that purpose, I'll be traveling to Paris to oversee the display, and the showing."
Paris. She'd barely had an hour with him and he was already talking about leaving. Distressed by her own plummeting heart, she spoke crisply. "'Tis a wonder you keep your business thriving, Rogan. I'd think you'd be hiring people capable of handling details like that without you feeling the need to peek over their shoulders."
"I assure you, I have very competent people. As it happens, I have a vested interest in your work, and I want to handle those details myself. I want it done right."
"Which means you want it done your way."
"Precisely. And I want you to come with me."
The sarcastic little comment that had sprung to her lips slipped off. "With you? To Paris?"
"I realize you have some artistic or possibly moral objection to promoting your own work, but you did well enough at the Dublin show. It would be advantageous to have you appear, however briefly, at your first international show."
"My first international show," she repeated, dumbfounded as the phrase sank into her head. "I don't—I don't speak French."
"That won't be a problem. You'll ha
ve a look at the Paris gallery, dispense a bit of charm and have plenty of time to see the sights." He waited for her answer, received nothing but a blank stare. "Well?"
"When?"
'Tomorrow."
Tomorrow." The first skitter of panic had her pressing a hand to her stomach.
"You want me to go with you to Paris tomorrow?"
"Unless you've some pressing previous engagement."
"I don't, no."
'Then it's settled." The relief was almost brutal. "After we've satisfied ourselves that the Paris show is successful, I'd like you to go south with me."
"South?"
"I've a villa on the Mediterranean. I want to be alone with you, Maggie. No distractions, no interruptions. Just you."
Her eyes lifted to his. 'The block of time you've been working on for these weeks?"
"Yes."
"I wouldn't have shouted at you if you'd explained it to me."
"I had to explain it to myself first. Will you come?"
"Yes, I'll come with you." She smiled. "You'd only to ask."
An hour later she burst into the gallery, only to stop and simmer with frustration as she waited for Joseph to finish with a client. While he charmed a woman old enough to be his mother, Maggie wandered around the main room, noting that the American Indian display had been replaced by a selection of metal sculptures. Intrigued by the shapes, she lost her sense of urgency in admiration.
"A German artist," Joseph said from behind her.
"This particular work is, I feel, both visceral and joyous. A celebration of elemental forces."
"Earth, fire, water, the suggestion of wind in the feathering of the copper." She put on an airy accent to match his. "Powerful indeed in scope, but with an underlying mischief that suggests satire."
"And it can be yours for a mere two thousand pounds."
"A bargain. A pity I'm without a farthing to me name." She turned, laughing, and kissed him.
'You're looking fit, Joseph. How many hearts have you broken since I left you?"
"Nary a one. Since mine belongs to you."
"Hah! A good thing for us both that I know you're full of blarney. Have you a minute to spare?"
"For you, days. Weeks." He kissed her hand. 'Years."
"A minute will do me. Joseph, what do I need for Paris?"
"A tight black sweater, a short skirt and very high heels."
"That'll be the day. Really, I'm to go, and I haven't a clue what I'll need. I tried to reach Mrs. Sweeney, but she's out today."
"So I'm your second choice. You devastate me." He signaled to one of his staff to take the room.
"All you need for Paris, Maggie, is a romantic heart."
"Where can I buy one?"