Page 4 of Passion and Deception

She stepped away from him and he wanted to call out for her to stop so that he could savor this moment. In his position, Ramit didn’t have many opportunities to simply relax and chat with an intelligent woman.

“What about this one?” she prompted, gesturing to a dual portrait of an elderly man and a woman. The man wore the white ruff around his neck, which Ramit knew was as an indication of wealth. Very few people during that time period had clean, white linen and, even if they did, they didn’t have the time to starch the linen in that style. It took a dedicated laundress to make those precise folds, not to mention the cost needed to edge the collar with expensive lace was beyond the means of most people during that time period.

“This one seems easy,” he replied, smiling smugly. “It’s just a portrait of two people, right?” He glanced at her, then back at the painting. “The couple is obviously wealthy, but there’s no sexism here, is there?”

She laughed. “Of course there is,” she replied and stepped closer to him. He couldn’t help noticing her perfume, citrus and something sweeter. However, it was difficult to focus on the painting when she was this close. Ramit wanted to wrap his arm around her, pull her to his side and feel her soft curves press against him.

Stranger, he reminded himself. The woman was a stranger. He’d just learned her name. This was not the time to pull her into his arms.

“One of the aspects of Rembrandt’s paintings that I love is his ability to use color to add light and shadows to every image. The color in these paintings is amazing, but look at the shadow on the man’s face.”

“Half of it is darkened. In shadow.” He didn’t understand why that was a problem. How could a shadow convey sexism?

She grinned and Ramit felt like he’d just won a special prize, even though he still didn’t understand. Yet. “And the woman?” she prompted him.

He examined the woman in the painting, then shook his head. “No shading.” He glanced down at her. “Why is that bad?”

She smiled ruefully up at him. “It’s not bad or good. It’s just one man’s perspective.” She nodded towards the images. “Half the male is shadowed in darkness. In Rembrandt’s mind, men are both bad and good.” She nodded towards the woman. “The woman’s face is mostly in light. There are very few shadows. In the painter’s mind, women are innocent, pure.”

He looked down at her again, startled that this would be a problem. “Aren’t they?”

There was a slow, devious expression lighting Maggie’s eyes that transformed her from lovely, to fascinating. “Of course we are. Women are incapable of deceit. We are innocent beings that need the good and bad in a male to protect us and guide us through life.” Her tone changed, becoming breathy and softer and her hand moved to cup her cheek. Ramit admitted to a bit of fascination as she fluttered her eyelashes, but recognized it for sarcasm.

He grunted, amused. “You’re mocking the male half of the world.”

Her eyes widened and he looked back at the woman in the painting. Her eyes were wide and clear while the man’s eyes were heavy lidded. As if he were hiding something while the woman, presumably his wife, was open and easily read. The woman was uncomplicated. The man had secrets.

He turned away from the painting, looking down at Maggie, enjoying her scoffing gaze. “You’re not nearly as innocent and uncomplicated as you appear, are you?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

She laughed and he felt…powerful!

“No, I’m definitely not as sweet and innocent as most men think I am.”

“Tell me more, Maggie,” he ordered, putting a hand to her back and leading her into the next room.

Maggie glanced up at the man, not sure what he meant but moved with him into the next gallery. Surely, he wasn’t asking about…her. He merely wanted to learn more about the paintings. Paintings, she told herself firmly. “Well, the Van Gough exhibit is pretty…”

They went through several more rooms in the art museum, viewing each of the paintings together and discussing what they liked or disliked about the painter’s style or color choices. She laughed at some of his observations and nodded, impressed with a couple of his insights.

It was one of the most delightful afternoons she’d ever spent in an art gallery and Maggie didn’t want it to end. She started to say something, but stopped as he glanced at his watch, then at her again.

“Will you have lunch with me?” he asked. “I’d like to know more about you. I enjoy hearing your perspective on art, but I’m also interested in you, as a person.”

The glow of happiness those words created inside of her felt like a flow of warm, chocolate lava. Yet, despite the tempting offer, Maggie's past loomed over her like a haunting shadow. As a result of the tumultuous trials of her childhood, she had acquired a keen awareness that refused to be dulled by the smooth, honeyed words of a man. She bore the scars of lessons learned the hard way, etched into her skin and soul through painful experiences of what unfolded when she allowed her guard to relax. The weight of caution, born from the crucible of past betrayals, added a moment of tension when she hesitated.

He clearly recognized her sudden wariness because he gestured toward the main hallway. “We could get lunch downstairs in the museum café. They have sandwiches and pizza.”

Maggie relaxed. The museum café was a safe place, she told herself. Safe and public. “I would be delighted to have lunch with you downstairs.”

She looked at his face, wondering if she was making a mistake. Was this some sort of trick? Was he going to scam her somehow?

She turned away so Maggie didn’t see the confusion, quickly followed by understanding in his dark, enigmatic eyes. She led the way down the stairs to the cafeteria. It was louder here, so it was hard to talk. Instead, Maggie smiled up at him, trying to tell him…what?

Efficiently, Maggie handed him a tray and, again, turned away before she noticed the confusion in his eyes. “The sandwiches are over there,” she said, pointing to the right. “I’ll meet you at the drinks station, okay?”

Maggie moved to the sandwich area and stood in line, waiting to put in her order. The teenagers working behind the counter were efficient and friendly, so the line moved quickly. She noticed that Ramit was still lingering in the doorway. It seemed that he was waiting, observing the process for the food lines. For a long moment, she just thought he was trying to decide what he wanted to eat, but after he walked over to the pizza counter, she noticed that he was hesitant about selecting slices of pizza. And he only requested one slice.

For such a large man, she doubted that one slice would be enough. Which meant that he probably didn’t have the money for two slices. That tore at her heart and she wanted to rush over to the pizza area and grab four more slices for him. But not wanting to embarrass him, she grabbed two bags of potato chips and two cookies, then waited until he joined her.

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