Carole Mortimer Romance Collection. Carole Mortimer

have been since I got home last night.’ He was also looking at the painting. ‘But it wasn’t just that.’ He moved to gently clasp her shoulders, his expression intense as he looked down at her. ‘While I was working on the painting time seemed to stand still, go nowhere, and I—’ He shook his head. ‘When I told you earlier I’d forgotten our date, I didn’t mean I’d really forgotten it, only that the time had slipped away from me. God, I’ve been longing to see you again since I left you last night. Do you believe in destiny, Cyn?’ he prompted forcefully, shaking her slightly when she didn’t immediately answer him. ‘I’m not sure that I did. Until last night. Painting is my life, Cyn, I’ve wanted to do nothing else—have done nothing else—since I can remember.’ He was talking quickly, desperate in his need to make her understand. ‘And I’ve been satisfied, even pleased at times—no mean feat, believe me; I’m my own hardest critic!—with some of the work I’ve done in the past. But last night, when I could finally get away from the party, I was inspired. I knew I had to put you on canvas, knew exactly how I had to put you on canvas too.’ He gazed across the room at the painting. ‘It’s good, Cyn.’ His face glowed with the satisfaction of knowing he spoke the truth.

      And he did, Cyn couldn’t argue with that. The painting was beautiful, hauntingly so. But what did it mean? Why had Wolf painted her in that way?

      ‘I’m getting these paintings ready for my first exhibition due to take place in the summer,’ he told her now. ‘I wanted—needed—something special as the main subject of that exhibition.’ He looked back at the painting. ‘This painting is going to be it.’

      Cyn dragged her own gaze away from the hauntingly hypnotic painting, looking up at Wolf as he once again became engrossed in the half-completed canvas; it was obvious, even now, that it was going to be a painting worthy of the title ‘something special’, and that had nothing to do with the fact that Wolf had painted her to look so beautiful. There was a magic quality about all Wolf’s work, but this one...! Cyn didn’t doubt that the exhibition was going to be a success for him, that the name Thornton was going to be associated with much more than the business world by the end of the year, that Wolf Thornton, the artist, was going to become known worldwide.

      ‘I’m glad meeting me was able to give you that,’ she told him shyly.

      He turned to look at her, shaking off the hypnotic quality of the painting, a warm smile lighting his perfectly hewn features as he once again clasped her arms. ‘Oh, it gave me much more than the painting, Cyn,’ he assured her firmly. ‘It gave me the woman I’m going to marry!’

      She felt as if all the breath had been knocked from her lungs. Her mouth went dry, every muscle in her body was tense with disbelief. He couldn’t really have said...

      ‘Destiny, Cyn,’ he reminded her teasingly, laughing down affectionately at her pole-axed expression. ‘I wasn’t just talking about the inspiration for the painting,’ he rebuked gently. ‘It was meeting the woman I wanted to make my wife that gave me that inspiration!’

      ‘Me?’ she squeaked. She couldn’t believe this man—his background as a Thornton apart, if it ever could be!—a man who, if he really believed in destiny, must know he was destined to be one of the greatest artists of the day, actually wanted to marry her.

      He didn’t know anything about her, or her early years in an orphanage, even more years than that in different foster-homes, the time after that when she had struggled to attain even enough secretarial qualifications to get suitable work. Her job as receptionist at Thornton’s Hotel was her most prestigious yet. And now the man who half owned that hotel was telling her he had taken one look at her and decided he wanted to marry her. It was unbelievable!

      ‘You, Lucynda Smith,’ he confirmed determinedly. ‘And before my exhibition goes on I’m going to convince you that you want to marry me too!’

      * * *

      And he had convinced her, effortlessly; it had been impossible not to fall in love with him, to be there when he needed her. The two of them spent every moment they could together from that very first night, to make sure he didn’t forget to eat altogether when he became engrossed in his painting—she had finally gone out that first evening and bought them a take-away Chinese meal!—to marvel in the passion of his lovemaking, their physical response to each other almost overwhelming in its intensity.

      By the end of their first month together the painting of Cyn had been completed even to Wolf’s own exacting demands—and Cyn had proudly worn his engagement ring on her finger.

      She knew exactly what had happened to that sapphire and diamond engagement ring; she had given it back to him only weeks later.

      But what had happened to the painting of her? And the other paintings he had had completed in his studio too? Because there had been no exhibition of Wolf’s work during that summer, or any other as far as Cyn was aware. And she had looked out for Wolf Thornton paintings during the following years, had both dreaded, and longed, to see his work again. But there had been no Wolf Thornton paintings on display, ever.

      What had happened to Wolf...?

CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘WOLF can be—difficult,’ Rebecca told her awkwardly.

      Tell me about it, Cyn thought ruefully, remembering all too clearly that last conversation she had had with him. Not that she could tell this girl about that.

      The two of them had met for lunch as arranged, and almost as soon as their food had been ordered Rebecca had launched into an explanation as to why she had thought it best to talk to Cyn in privacy concerning her wish not to hurry the wedding arrangements. Cyn had sat quietly and listened to it all during the soup course—the claim again that there was plenty of time yet until the wedding, that the invitations didn’t need to go out for weeks yet, that Rebecca knew exactly what sort of wedding-gown she wanted, bridesmaid’s dresses too, and they could all be made a bit nearer the time. Besides, Rebecca had added lightly, she wanted to lose a bit of weight before the wedding, which only meant the wedding-gown would have to be altered to fit her if it were made now.

      Looking at her, at Rebecca’s slenderness already bordering on delicacy, Cyn didn’t think the other girl needed to lose any weight at all, just as she didn’t think any of these excuses had anything to do with Rebecca’s request for space and time over the wedding arrangements. Although she still hoped the young gardener wasn’t the real reason for Rebecca’s reluctance to get the wedding arrangements under way.

      ‘Difficult?’ she echoed the girl’s description now, Rebecca having once again been defending the fact that she would rather Wolf knew nothing of this conversation.

      A flush darkened Rebecca’s cheeks, almost the same vivid red as her shoulder-length hair. ‘He wouldn’t understand my need for—well, less haste,’ she explained awkwardly. ‘He might think it was a reluctance to marry him at all that’s prompted these—feelings.’ She couldn’t quite seem to meet Cyn’s sympathetic gaze.

      ‘And might he be right?’ Cyn prompted gently.

      ‘Certainly not!’ Rebecca protested instantly—too instantly? ‘I’ve told you my reasons for not wanting to be rushed.’ She was becoming agitated now, absently crumbling the bread roll that had accompanied her soup, seeming unaware of the fact that she was totally demolishing it. ‘Wolf is a wonderful man. Wonderful,’ she repeated shakily. ‘And he cares for me very much.’

      ‘And you?’ Cyn watched the younger girl with narrowed eyes; there was something very wrong here, no matter what Rebecca might try to claim to the contrary. ‘Do you care for him very much in return?’

      ‘Of course,’ Rebecca told her defensively, her eyes deeply blue. ‘Why else would I be marrying him?’ she asked lightly.

      Why else, indeed? Cyn’s feelings of unease about the whole situation had increased as she