“I’d love to go to a barbecue. When?”

“They leave Friday, after work.” He wanted to sketch her in those pearls. Just those pearls. Though he rarely worked in anything but wood, he thought he might carve her in alabaster. “We can go when you’re ready.”

“I should be able to get home and changed by six. Six-thirty,” she corrected. “All right?”

“All right.” He took her shoulders, holding her a few inches away from his damp clothes as he kissed her. “Natasha will like you.”

“I hope so.”

He kissed her again. “I love you.”

Emotion shuddered through her. “I know.”

“And you love me,” he murmured. “You’re just stubborn.” He toyed with her lips another moment. “But soon you’ll pose for me.”

“I…what?”

“Pose for me. I have a show in the fall, and I think I’ll use several pieces of you.”

“You never told me you had a show coming up.” The rest of it hit her. “Of me?”

“Yes, we’ll have to work very hard very soon. So now I leave you alone so you can work.”

“Oh.” She’d forgotten all about files and phone calls. “Yes, I’ll see you in an hour.”

“And this weekend there will be no work. But next…” He nodded, his mind made up. Definitely in alabaster.

She ran the damp towel through her hands as he walked to the door. “Mikhail.”

With the door open, he stood with his hand on the knob. “Yes?”

“Where does your sister live?”

“West Virginia.” He grinned and shut the door behind her. Sydney stared at the blank panel for a full ten seconds.

“West Virginia?”

CHAPTER NINE

She’d never be ready in time. Always decisive about her wardrobe, Sydney had packed and unpacked twice. What did one wear for a weekend in West Virginia? A few days in Martinique—no problem. A quick trip to Rome would have been easy. But a weekend, a family weekend in West Virginia, had her searching frantically through her closet.

As she fastened her suitcase a third time, she promised herself she wouldn’t open it again. To help herself resist temptation, she carried the bag into the living room, then hurried back to the bedroom to change out of her business suit.

She’d just pulled on thin cotton slacks and a sleeveless top in mint green—and was preparing to tear them off again—when the knock sounded at her door.

It would have to do. It would do, she assured herself as she went to answer. They would be arriving so late at his sister’s home, it hardly mattered what she was wearing. With a restless hand she brushed her hair back, wondered if she should secure it with a scarf for the drive, then opened the door.

Sequined and sleek, Margerite stood on the other side.

“Sydney, darling.” As she glided inside, she kissed her daughter’s cheek.