Read Online The Collector by Nora Roberts - Free Book Online Page B

switched to a mix of hard, head-banging rock. That worked—the energy of it pumped into him. And changed the tone of the painting.
    He’d initially envisioned the mermaid lounging on a ledge of rock on the verge of a stormy sea as sexual, but now the sexuality took on a predatory edge.
    Now there came a question. Would she save the seamen who fell into that stormy sea when their ship crashed into the rocks, or would she drag them under?
    The moonlight, not romantic now, no, not romantic, but another threat as it illuminated the teeth of the rocks, the speculative gleam in her sea mist eyes.
    He hadn’t expected the violence when he’d done the initial sketches, hadn’t expected the question of brutality when he’d used the model with her tumble of ink-black hair for the early stages.
    But now, alone with the pounding music, the vicious storm at sea and the violence of his own thoughts, the painting evolved into something just a little sinister.
    She Waits,
he thought.
    When his phone rang his instinct was annoyance. He always turned off his phone when he worked. With a family the size of his, he’d be deluged with calls, texts, e-mails all day and half the night if he didn’t put up some boundaries.
    But he had felt obliged to leave it on today. Even now he ignored the first two rings before he remembered why he’d left it on.
    He set down his brush, took the second brush he had clamped between his teeth and tossed it aside, reaching for the phone.
    â€œArcher.”
    â€œOh, ah, it’s Lila. Lila Emerson. I was—are you at a party?”
    â€œNo. Why?”
    â€œIt’s loud. The music’s loud.”
    He looked for the remote, shoved at some jars, punched the music off. “Sorry.”
    â€œNo, it’s fine. If you don’t play Iron Maiden loud, there’s no point. And since you’re probably working, my apologies. I just wanted to call to let you know if you still want to come here, look at the . . . well, look from where I was that night, it’s fine.”
    His first surprise was that she’d recognized the ancient “Aces High” as Iron Maiden, and the next that she’d correctly assumed he’d had it to ear-splitting while he worked.
    But he’d think about that later.
    â€œIs now good?”
    â€œOh . . .”
    Don’t push, he warned himself. Poor tactics. “Tell me when,” he said. “Whenever it works for you.”
    â€œNow’s good. I just didn’t expect you to say it. Now’s fine. Let me give you the address.”
    He grabbed a sketching pencil to scribble it down. “Got it. Give me about a half hour. I appreciate it.”
    â€œIt’s . . .” She caught herself before she said “fine” again. “I’d want to do the same in your place. I’ll see you in about thirty.”
    Done it now, she thought. “So, what’s the etiquette for this situation, Thomas? Do I put out a nice little plate of Gouda and sesame crackers? No, you’re right. That’s just silly. Makeup? Again you’re wise beyond your years, my young student. That’s a definite yes. No point looking like a refugee.”
    She decided to change out of her going-nowhere shorts, thin-with-age bubble-gum-pink T-shirt with its retro Wonder Twins silkscreen.
    It might also help to look like an adult.
    She wished she’d made some sun tea, which also struck her as adult and responsible, but since she’d left it too late for that, decided coffee would do if he wanted anything.
    She hadn’t quite finished dithering when she heard the bell.
    Awkward, she thought. The whole thing was so damn awkward. She glanced through the peep—blue T-shirt today, and the stubble just a little heavier. Hair thick, dark, tousled—eyes smart-cat green and just a little impatient.
    She wondered if it would be slightly less awkward if he was pudgy and bald or