Charade Read online

  “Fine.” Mark stood and quickly dressed in jeans, a linen sweater and a windbreaker. Ready for anything. “We’ll swing by your hotel and then I’ll accompany you where you have to go.”

  Mark could actually see her mind whirring. It would, yes, be nice to have a car and a driver at her disposal. Paris was a busy city and hard to get around in. But the car and the driver came with him.

  Did she want him?

  Yes and no. He could read it clearly. She wanted to spend more time with him. But she also wanted to get her business done.

  “I won’t be in your way,” he said quietly. “Promise.”

  She looked away then back at him. “It’s not really that,” she said with a sigh. “I have some research to take care of at the Louvre. I’ve already booked my ticket but it would take you hours to get in. Sometimes people book a week in advance, otherwise you have to spend a couple of hours waiting in line. I’m really sorry, but we need to split up.”

  Mark kept a deadpan face though inside he was grinning. It was as if the universe were pointing a huge red arrow at Harper. It was a coincidence that no one would possibly believe.

  “Well, that’s interesting.” He lifted his briefcase, opened it and, yup. There it was. He’d been annoyed to find the printout of the entry ticket to the Louvre with a Post-it—A little culture will do you good.

  But right now? Right now, he could kiss his secretary on the mouth, blue lipstick and piercings and all.

  He unfolded the printout and showed it to her. Her eyes widened. Just in case she missed it, Mark tapped the date of the ticket. Today. An all-day pass.

  “Isn’t that a coincidence?” he said cheerfully. “I was planning on going to the Louvre anyway. I won’t bother you. I’ll just tag along and look at what’s on the walls while you do your thing.”

  He met her annoyed eyes and smiled. “And this evening, I’d love to take you out to dinner.”

  Harper should have been peeved that Mark was tagging along. This trip was crucial to her future and to freeing herself from her nasty boss. The article she was going to write based on her research at the Louvre was due to be published in her museum’s newsletter and would be referenced in the inaugural edition of N/DESIGN, a new quarterly design magazine she was co-founding with three young designers. They had advertising lined up and a good distribution platform.

  Maybe even in museum shops, including the Louvre shop. She had a four o’clock appointment with the head of the Louvre bookshop, among other things.

  None of this had anything to do with Mark, who would be a distraction. No thinking about sex while planning her future, it would just muddy things when she had to be absolutely clear in her head.

  She explained this to him and he nodded in agreement, all reason. It didn’t change his plans to stick by her all day, though.

  But it turned out he wasn’t a distraction. He was like…a superhero assistant who knew how to shut up.

  He insisted on her sitting down to a warm breakfast, politely not budging when she said she didn’t have time. Everyone has time for breakfast, he said, and sat her down at a table in the glorious Ritz breakfast room. Turns out she did have time, after all.

  She had a caffé crème, a warm croissant, a tiny plate of perfect scrambled eggs, and yogurt with homemade blueberry jam. It was perfect. Her closed stomach opened up and she knew instinctively that she’d face today better for having warm food in it.

  When she stood, he put his hand to her back and walked her to the car and driver, who took her to her hotel where she quickly changed clothes. By the time they made it to the grand entrance of the Louvre, she was right on schedule and feeling good.

  She walked to the glorious Pyramid, Mark at her side, and descended the escalator into the brightly illuminated space beneath it, happily breathing in the air of her favorite place in the world.

  It was at the close-packed entrance that Mark was worth his weight in gold. He made sure they made their way steadily through the line of people with reserved tickets while also making sure that the energetic and enthusiastic crowds didn’t impinge on her in any way. Harper got mildly claustrophobic in crowds, but not today.

  Today they were through the stiles in no time. Security guards checked her bag and Mark’s backpack and they were in the great hall in record time with minimum fuss.

  Amazing.

  Harper pulled out her map. She’d been to the Louvre many times but the huge building—the largest museum in the world—confused her every time.

  She put the unfolded map on a side table, studying how to get to where she wanted to go.

  Mark planted a big hand by the map. “Where are we going, honey?”

  Whoa. She jumped at the endearment, blushing a little, then scolded herself for blushing.

  “I want to make it to the Grande Galerie, where the Italian Renaissance paintings are. Where the Mona Lisa is, in a side room. We can look at it if you like. You’re tall enough to see over the heads of the crowds. Have you seen it before?”

  “Nope.”

  She smiled up at him. “You’ll like it. If you get more than a glimpse, its mysterious beauty just shines through. At first you think it’s just a dark and foggy portrait of a lady but it becomes much more than that. I hope you get a chance to see it properly.” He probably would. Not only was he taller than most people, but he also knew how to create vital space around him.

  She bent again over the map, trying to chart the fastest path to the Grande Galerie.

  “Looking forward to it.” He lay a big hand on her shoulder gently. “You can put that map away. We won’t need it.”

  “What?” She frowned at him. “Of course we do. Didn’t you say you’d never been to the Louvre before? It’s a massive building. It’s over 60,000 square meters. That’s—” She paused, struggling with the figures.

  “That’s about 652,000 square feet.” He was folding her map and tucking it into the side of her tote bag. “I know. But I studied the map and I’m pretty good with directions. I won’t lead you astray.”

  The entrance to the Louvre was busy and confusing but Mark set off at a determined pace and as she followed him, she realized that he knew where he was going.

  The terrible thing about orienting oneself in the Louvre was that there was stupendous artwork everywhere you looked and it scrambled the brains. Specifically, it scrambled the direction lobe in her brain.

  It didn’t scramble Mark’s, though. He led them unerringly through the crowds up the spectacular grand staircase with a magnificent headless Nike at the landing.

  Harper loved that statue and could stand gazing at it forever, at the elaborate wings and the folds of the peplum, at the grace and strength. Pure strong womanhood.

  Winged Victory.

  He had seen that she needed to stop and had somehow found a small corner of the landing that wasn’t overwhelmed with people. Harper stared at the beautiful statue, mesmerized.

  A young girl screamed with laughter and broke the spell. Harper had to shake her head and focus.

  She looked up at her companion, feeling guilty. “If you’ve never been to the Louvre, it’s a little overwhelming. Would you like me to give you a guided tour? Put some of the artworks in context for you?”

  He dipped his head. “Nothing I’d like more. It would be an honor. But not today. Today is important to you, and you need to get your stuff done. That takes priority.”

  Of course, he was right. Something about the museum, which held a goodly portion of humanity’s art, overloaded her neurons. She was hardwired to react to the artwork, but Mark was right. Not today. Today she had things to accomplish.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I sometimes get carried away and distracted. Like maybe you do at a plumbing supplies trade fair.”

  He smiled and said nothing. They continued on their way, Mark somehow making sure that they weren’t crowded, magically evading the endless numbers of guided tours and student tours. It seemed everyone going up and down the spectacular stairc
ase was excited but she and Mark seemed to move in a bubble of calm.

  It was great.

  When it became clear that Mark knew exactly where he was going, she relaxed even further, starting to organize her thoughts, getting ready to take notes.

  Even let her mind drift a little.

  She was going to get a lot done today, she could feel it. Tomorrow, she had a meeting with a French printing company for a possible French edition of N/DESIGN. She was really revved for that. Everything was running smoothly, according to her plans and according to her dreams.

  If she worked hard today she would be all caught up so there wouldn’t be anything she had to do this evening except go out to dinner with Mark. Hoping he’d let her pay, though that seemed pretty farfetched from what she’d seen of him. He seemed to be pretty old school that way, not sitting down until she’d taken her seat, gently taking her elbow when they walked.

  Like when he’d insisted on having his car and driver take her to her hotel after they’d deplaned. She would never have accepted ordinarily but there was a taxi strike and it was raining. He’d made his driver wait while he’d accompanied her to the taxi stand with no taxis and simply stood there while she looked in dismay at the teeming crowds fighting for places on buses into town.

  Today he was somehow creating space around her in the crowded museum so she could work.

  Unerringly, he guided her to the beginning of the Grande Galerie and, as it always did, it lifted her spirits. A large, long, vaulted portico with a glass ceiling, walls covered in paintings that were the pride of humanity. Any wall with ten paintings would have been enough for a museum in any other city. It was a priceless cornucopia of beauty spread out in lavish display, almost as far as the eye could see.

  She could spend the entire day right here, and probably would have. By now she knew that Mark would stay quietly by her side and make sure she had water—she’d seen a couple of bottles of water in his backpack at the security station—and that no one disturbed her. He wouldn’t complain and he wouldn’t distract her. For some reason, she was absolutely sure about that.

  She relaxed, aware now of how tense she’d been. She was walking a professional tightrope, about to leave a good job as assistant curator of a small but prestigious museum, for a flying leap into the unknown. Yet, for the first time, she was sure that it would work out.

  At her side was a man she didn’t know well, with whom she had nothing in common, but who pleased her.

  She was going to get a lot of work done today, they were going to go out to dinner, and apparently there would be some more of that amazing sex on offer.

  All in all, things were looking up. Life was pretty good.

  “This place makes you happy,” Mark said in a low, quiet voice.

  She glanced up at him, startled. She wasn’t used to the men in her life being perceptive about her moods. Men were mostly about their own moods.

  “Why, yes. Yes, this place makes me very happy. I love it here.”

  “And you’re happy about your project.”

  Harper blinked. “Are you a mind reader?”

  His mouth curled up. “Maybe. Though no one has ever accused me of being capable of reading minds before. But you fascinate me, Harper Kendall.”

  Harper’s mouth opened and closed. She had no idea what to say.

  Mark touched her shoulder. “Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t distract you. We’re at the Grand Gallery and you have work to do.” He lifted his palm. “It’s all fascinating. I’ll just walk beside you and take it all in.”

  “We can—” Harper took a deep breath. It felt like she was taking a plunge. “We can come back sometime. Day after tomorrow, if you want. So you can see things at your pace.”

  Wow. It was a rule for her, not to talk about the future until the fourth or fifth date. No entanglements in the beginning was her mantra. And here she was, offering to take him around the Louvre some other day.

  The smile dropped from his face and he looked at her intently. “I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

  O-kay.

  A small commitment further along than dinner tonight had been made. Oddly, she didn’t feel trapped or hemmed in.

  Well, she was here for a reason, might as well get to it. She pulled out her Florentine marbleized paper notebook, easier for taking notes on the fly than any electronic device.

  Mark stood slightly behind her, to the side. Standing completely still, never fidgeting, patient and solid.

  He looked so…so sane. So reliable. And, well, hot.

  She hesitated for just a second, and then told him her plans. No one else in the world knew except for her future partners, not even her parents. The art and design world was small and she and her partners had planned the launch of the magazine with the secrecy of those planning D-Day.

  But she wanted this man to know. To know her plans, to know her.

  “Um, I have some plans.” His gaze honed in on her face, as if he instinctively knew she was talking about something important to her. His gaze never wavered.

  “Leaving the boss from hell.” Mark’s deep voice was grim.

  Well, Ivan wasn’t that bad… Yes, he was, she decided. He was petty and vindictive and hated talented workers. He was awful. “Absolutely. Leaving the boss from hell.” She smiled at the thought.

  “I don’t know much about design, but I’d bet you anything you want that the project will be successful. What’s the plan?”

  “I have three partners and we’re planning on founding a new design magazine. The online version will be interactive.” She turned to the wall of magnificent paintings. “I want to go out in style, so my last article for my museum’s magazine will be how elements of fantasy in artwork presaged changes in the way people were going to live. Some deep chord in humanity only rings for the creative mind, attuned to the coming changes.”

  It was something deeply hidden in humans and it fascinated her.

  Mark’s gaze never left her face.

  “Take, for example, color on walls. Medieval paintings often have walls that are colored red and yellow, yet most walls at that time were whitewashed. Mainly because whitewash is a disinfectant and there were epidemics of cholera, diphtheria, even pockets of plague at regular intervals. People saw white walls every day of their lives, yet paintings started depicting richly colored walls, something that was not to be a regular feature in homes for another couple hundred years.”

  Color as stimulant, she wrote in the notebook. The hook on which she would hang the article.

  As she made her way from painting to painting, she was dimly aware of Mark. He kept out of her way, out of even her line of sight, as if he didn’t want to distract her at all. Nobody distracted her. In the crowded rooms full of enthusiastic art lovers, bored gaggles of school kids, dutiful tourists ticking off a major attraction, no one bothered her. No one invaded her space. She was able to…wander from painting to painting, and it was smooth and painless.

  Thanks to Mark.

  She was almost at the end of her notebook. Thank God she had three more just like it. This was so exciting. The article was going to write itself and it would be her ticket out from under the sharp claws of Ivan. It was going to work. It was going to rock.

  The next side room held the Mona Lisa. She was sure Mark would enjoy it. And it was sort of a litmus test. A lot of people saw a very small, very dark portrait of a woman who wasn’t beautiful by modern standards. A lot of people were disappointed when they saw it.

  Everyone took photos because…well, the Mona Lisa. You had to show that you’d been there. But not everyone understood it or appreciated it. It would be interesting to get Mark’s take.

  She smiled up at him. “You’re being really patient. Thanks. Now you get your treat. In that room is the—”

  She stopped, mouth open. There’d been a loud booming noise with a background tinkling. And now staccato noises. What—

  Harper found herself slammed against the Gallery wall, M
ark leaning against her so hard she found it hard to breath. His arms were against the wall, head bent over hers, shielding her.

  She looked up, alarmed. His face had lost that bland, pleasant look. He looked hard, features pulled tight.

  The staccato sounds were getting closer and she could hear screams.

  “Mark, what’s happening?” she whispered.

  Other people in the Grand Gallery were milling, starting to get agitated. The screams and ripping sounds came ever closer.

  “Unless I miss my guess, that was the Pyramid blowing up.” He spoke without looking at her, head swiveling as he took in the crowds, close to panic. “And those are AK-47s. The Louvre is under attack.”

  Goddamn!

  It was a terrorist attack! This was the kind of thing he’d trained all his adult life to handle, but right now he was hamstrung. Mark had Harper to protect and he was fucking unarmed.

  He lifted his head, listening closely. There was no way to tell how many attackers there were but they were running. And shooting. And killing. The ripping sound of machine gun fire was punctuated by the screams of the wounded and the dying.

  Mark consulted his inner map. Right now, a pack of terrorists was running up that monumental staircase, maybe the forerunners were at the top of the stairs by now.

  The tourists in the huge Gallery were panicking outright, running away from the sounds of violence toward the other end of the Gallery, the exit. Perfectly normal behavior for untrained civilians. But the exit from the Gallery wasn’t the exit from the building. They were far from anywhere they could get out of the building.

  The shots were coming closer. Mark did not want to be caught in the big open space when they arrived. They were sitting ducks. But there was nowhere to hide. All the rooms were large, open, without any furniture except a few benches. Nothing that could remotely be considered concealment.

  There were more screams now. Whoever was attacking was mowing tourists down by the dozens. Separate guns could be heard. Mark estimated at least twenty separate firearms.