For the Love of You (8 page)

Jewel's stomach instantly knotted at the mention of the cottage. She swallowed. “Um, I'll take a look and let you know.” She forced a smile. She knew what Minerva was trying to do.

“Whatever you could spare I know would be appreciated.”

Jewel watched Minerva walk away and realized that her heart was racing. She couldn't remember the last time she'd set foot in the cottage that she'd converted into her home studio. After New York her life spiraled downward. Her relationship with Simon imploded along with her career, and she couldn't bring herself to cross the threshold of a place that represented all that she'd lost—especially her confidence. She'd lost confidence in herself as an artist and as a woman that a man wanted to commit to.

Minerva was right in some respects. She'd turned off the lights of her life, and for the first time in longer than she cared to remember, the switch turned on when she met Craig Lawson. Maybe it was time. She got up and walked out.

* * *

The cottage was situated behind the main house. Several generations ago it served as home for the servants who lived on and worked the land. She'd modernized it, adding plumbing, insulation and electricity. After a few coats of paint and some personal touches she'd made it her own. When she was in the throes and frenzy of a new project, she would sequester herself in her studio for hours and days at a time until she collapsed from exhaustion. Her father would come to look for her only to find her curled up on the floor with a drop cloth as a quilt. Eventually, she added a cushy couch and stacked sheets and blankets on a shelf for those nights when she couldn't make it the few hundred feet to her bedroom.

Those days were behind her. She knew there was nothing beyond these doors for her, even as she stood motionless in front of the cottage entrance. She swallowed down her reticence then reached into the pocket of her shift and took out the key. Her hand shook ever so slightly as she aimed the key at the lock.

Slowly she turned the key and pushed the door open. She expected to be hit with a blast of dust, cobwebs and stale air. Instead there was a lingering scent of jasmine. She stepped fully into the space and shook her head sharply in disbelief. Everything was just as she remembered it. She walked, trancelike, to her wood and metal worktable and gingerly ran her fingers across her sketchpads and the glass jars where she kept her pencils and brushes. Turning, her gaze scanned the walls that held her paintings—some completed, others mere shadows of ideas—then to the easels and the shelf that held her cameras, the cabinet where she kept her molding clays, tools and wood for her sculptures.

She pressed her nose against the stacked sheets and inhaled their recently washed freshness. That was when she noticed the vase of fresh flowers on the small table by the couch where she often slept.

Her eyes welled, and the tears slid down her cheeks. She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. She planted her hands on the curve of her hips and took another slow turn around her space. “Damn you, Minerva!” she whispered in grudging gratitude.

* * *

Jewel was frosting a wedding shower cake when Minerva sauntered into the kitchen. She'd been able to avoid Minerva for the better part of the day, but she knew it couldn't last forever.

“Dad okay?” she asked without looking up.

“He's napping. I want to get started on his dinner.” She walked to the refrigerator, sidestepping the elephant in the room.

“How long?”

Minerva glanced over her shoulder. “How long for what?”

“How long have you been taking care of the cottage?”

She removed a package of chicken breasts and shut the refrigerator door. She shrugged. “'Bout six months, I suppose.”

Jewel blinked away her disbelief. “Six months?”

“Hmm. About that.” She ripped open the package and turned on the water in the sink.

Jewel plopped down in a chair. “Why?”

Minerva turned and faced Jewel. “Because I believe in you even though you've stopped believing in yourself.”

Jewel lowered her head. “I guess I have in a way.” She pushed out a breath. “I feel like I lost my passion.”

“It's still there. Buried under all the other mess that you've let pile up on you.”

“Maybe.”

“You'll never know unless you give it a try.”

Jewel shook her head. “I...don't think I can go back down that road.”

“You been tellin' yourself that nonsense for so long you actually believe it.” She made a noise with her teeth. “Well, if you ain't gonna use that stuff in there, I'll just pack it up and take it on over to the church to distribute to the school.” She opened the overhead cabinets for the seasonings and began humming something Jewel was sure was a spiritual under her breath. She seasoned, and she hummed. She prepared the chicken in the pan, and she hummed. She cut up fresh string beans, and she hummed.

“Fine!” Jewel conceded after ten long minutes of humming, the ghosts of her ancestors having challenged her with every note and a reminder that she had no idea about real hardship.

Minerva looked over her shoulder with a wide-eyed expression of innocence. “I'm sorry. What?”

“I said...fine. I'll keep my things.” She took the frosted cake and put it in the secondary refrigerator that she used for her baking clients.

“Well, now, that's a start.” She turned back to the stove.

Jewel planted her hand on her hip, slowly shook her head then walked out of the kitchen.

Chapter 5

J
ewel stepped out of the shower and rubbed the fogged mirror clear with the edge of the towel. She stared at her reflection. Physically, she hadn't changed much in the past five years.

At thirty-two, her skin was still smooth and even, though not as bright as it once was. A stray strand of gray would pop up in her hair every now and then, which she quickly made disappear. Her eyes, wide and deep brown, haloed with long dark lashes, were reflective of her mother, her father would always say, and her thick, wild curls had been a nightmare to contain when she was growing up. Now she simply let the mass of mayhem do what it wanted. She did manage to exercise on a regular basis and she ate well, so her body maintained its original design, with a bit of extra padding around her hips and the swell of her breasts, which she attributed to age and maturity. Fortunately gravity hadn't gotten its grip on her as of yet.

It wasn't the outside that had changed. Anyone that hadn't seen her in years would surely recognize her. It was beneath the exterior that was different. There was a huge empty space inside her that she tried to fill with the running of the house, taking care of her father and baking for a growing clientele. But when she lay alone in bed every night, the longing in that empty space mushroomed. Even when she'd been lonely or hurt or confused in the past she'd had her art to fall back on. But for the past five years she hadn't even had that to console her.

What would be so wrong in snatching a bit of happiness? Craig's kiss reminded her that she was still a desirable woman, a woman with needs. She turned away from her reflection to get ready for her evening.

* * *

It was a little after five when Jewel went to check in on her father. Minerva was removing the dinner dishes when she walked into his bedroom.

Every time she saw her father her heart twisted. She fully understood the meaning behind the phrase
a shell of a man
. Augustus Fontaine was once a robust six-foot one, two-hundred-plus-pound man, muscled from his years of hard physical labor with a spark in his eyes and hearty laugh that was infectious.

Unlike Jewel, anyone who had not seen her father in many years would never recognize him, except perhaps in those moments that were becoming more rare, when the spark of recognition lit up in his eyes and he smiled. Those moments were what she longed for each day.

“Hey, Daddy,” she greeted him and pushed a smile across her lips as she walked over to where he sat by the window.

“He's having a good day,” Minerva whispered as they passed each other. She patted Jewel's shoulder and walked out.

Jewel sat on the windowsill next to her father's recliner. He was staring at the apple tree outside his window. “Need to pick some of those apples before the frost sets in. Have Estelle make some pies,” he said more to himself than to Jewel. “I love her apple pies.”

Jewel swallowed and blinked back tears. Her mother, Estelle, had been gone so long that the only memory Jewel had of her was from pictures and the stories her father told her. She reached for her father's thin hand and brought it to her cheek. He looked up at her with muddy brown eyes.

“It's me, Daddy,” she said softly. “It's Jewel.”

He stared at her for what seemed like forever. He smiled. “Jewel is sho' a pretty name.” His forehead tightened and his face tensed as if he was straining to grasp something just out of reach.

She caressed his hand.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said clear as day. “You have dinner yet? I just finished. Pretty good today.”

Jewel's heart pounded. “Hey, Daddy. No, I haven't eaten yet. I will. Wanted to check on you first.”

“Don't wait till late.” He shook his head. “I read somewhere that it's not good to eat late.” He looked at her and frowned. A cloud dulled his eyes. “Need to get the horses in. Storm's coming.” He pulled his hand out of her grip. He turned his head and stared out the window.

Jewel squeezed her eyes shut then leaned down and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. He looked at her with a mixture of confusion and gratitude. “I'll come back and check on you later, Daddy.”

“Storm's coming.”

She offered a faint smile. “You may be right,” she murmured and walked out.

* * *

“I'm not too early, am I?” Craig asked when he stepped across the threshold.

“Not at all. I'm getting set up in the kitchen. Have you eaten?” Jewel shut the door behind him.

“Uh, not really.”

She threw him a smile over her shoulder. “Follow me.” She led the way into the kitchen. “I'm trying out a new recipe.”

“If it's anything like your muffins, I'm sure it'll be spectacular.”

Jewel laughed. “We shall see. You'll be my taste tester.”

His brows rose in mock alarm. “What are you fixing, exactly?” He placed the envelope with the documents on the table.

“Grilled, stuffed red snapper with a mushroom risotto and fresh green beans.” She eyed the ingredients on the island table.

“I'd offer to help, but I'm not very handy in the kitchen. More of a grill man.”

“Perfect. When I'm done you can slide the snapper in the grill.”

“Touché.”

“You can pour some wine or something stronger, if you like. The stronger stuff is in the glass cabinet in the living room. Help yourself.”

“What can I fix for you?”

“There's a bottle of white wine in the fridge.”

“Got it.” He went off to grab the bottle of bourbon then fixed Jewel a glass of wine.

She sipped while preparing the snapper, all the while commanding her fingers to stop shaking and her pulse to slow down. If she didn't get too close to him or allow him to look right into her eyes, she would be fine. Even as she chatted mindlessly—about what, she had no idea—she simultaneously questioned why, in heaven's name, she had invited him to dinner.

“I wanted Norm, my technical director, to come by tomorrow to take some of the exterior shots of the house, the grounds and the rooms on the lower floors,” Craig was saying.

Jewel took a swallow of wine. “Tomorrow. Sure.” She used baking thread to sew the snapper closed. “So it begins,” she said before setting down her glass of wine. She went to the sink and washed her hands. “The grill is the bottom shelf. Already preheated,” she said while keeping her back to Craig.

Craig lifted the tray with the snapper and put it in the oven grill with a flourish. “How's that for grilling?” he teased. “Told you I had talent.”

Jewel turned, and he was right behind her. Her breath caught in her throat. She could see the reflection of light in his eyes and the way his dark lashes framed the intensity of his gaze.

“Need me to do anything else?”

His question sounded innocent enough, but what lurked around the corners of his mouth said something completely different. God, he smelled good. Her heart thumped. She swallowed, tried to look away but couldn't.

“I haven't stop thinking about the other day,” he said. The deep timbre of his voice strummed her insides like a plucked guitar string.

“Oh,” she managed. There was no room to escape without their bodies brushing and colliding with each other. That was a no-no.

He reached out and ran his hand slowly down her arm. “It's all I've been thinking about. That's new for me,” he confessed. With his other hand, he caressed the curve of her jaw. Her lids fluttered. Her heart raced.

“What about you? Has our kiss crossed your mind at all?”

She should lie. She should pretend that it was nothing. “It has,” she admitted.

“Hmm. We should do something about that.” His gaze moved slowly over her face.

Jewel felt her body heat, and it had nothing to do with the oven.

And then his mouth was on hers and his arm drew her close; with his other he threaded his fingers through the explosion of her curls and pulled her to him. The tip of his tongue teased her lips, and she felt a shot of current race through her limbs.

She gave in. Gave in to the sensations, the feel of him, the taste of him. Her mouth parted to welcome him, and she felt more than heard the moan that rumbled deep in his throat.

Craig eased back, and Jewel felt bereft, as if she'd been suddenly left alone in the dark and she didn't want to be there. She wanted to step back into the warmth of light that radiated around him. She draped her fingers around his neck and leaned in, confident in her role of aggressor. But not for long.

Craig pressed her back against the sink, the hard lines of his body commanding hers to relent and merge with his. His lips worked hers; his tongue teased and danced in her mouth.

Jewel allowed herself to float on a magical ride of sensual pleasure. Every nerve ending stirred. She felt as if she'd finally been awakened after a long sleep. So what if whatever happened between them was only temporary? She deserved to feel like a woman, a desirable woman whose long-unattended needs would be satisfied.

“Jewel,” he murmured against her lips before resting his forehead on hers. He released his hold on her and placed his hands on the curve of her hips. He looked into her eyes. The edges of his mouth flickered with the beginnings of a smile. “We'll never get through dinner at this pace.”

His gaze was low and lazy, as if he'd been stirred from a cozy dream, Jewel thought. She pressed the tip of her finger against his bottom lip. “You're probably right.” She stepped out of the space he'd cocooned them in and went to sit at the island counter. She reached for her glass of wine. Her hand trembled ever so slightly. She drew in a breath then took a long, much needed swallow.

Craig reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass. He straddled the chair and rested his forearms across the back.

“Ply me with wine? Is that the plan?” Her fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

“I wish I could say I had a plan.” He zeroed in on her. “I don't. I hope you understand that.”

Jewel lowered her head for a moment then looked at him. “What if
I
did?”

His brow rose in question. “Have a plan?”

She ran her tongue across her bottom lip. “I wouldn't exactly call it a plan, but more like a proposal.”

“Now I'm really curious.”

She shook a stray curl away from her face and drew in a breath of resolve. “I'm...attracted to you.” She swallowed. “And I believe you're attracted to me.”

“Very much.”

Emboldened by his reply, she continued. “You'll only be here for a couple of months at best. I'm not looking for commitment, or long term, or empty promises. I'm not in a position to ask for what I can't give in return. Once you're done here, you'll go back to your life. I get that. Totally. But...in the time you're here...let's get to know each other, explore whatever this is...until it's time for you to leave.”

There, she'd said it, taken a leap of faith. She had absolutely nothing to lose—besides her pride, of course.

“Wow.” He shifted in his seat and then studied her for a moment. “Two, three months...”

She nodded.

“And you're good with that?”

She nodded again. Her pulse raced.

“My time is not my own, especially when I'm in the middle of a project like this. But... I'll make it my business to make as much time for this as I can.”

“Fair enough.”

He gave her a lopsided grin and reached out and stroked her chin with the tip of his finger. “Best negotiation I've ever been involved in.”

Jewel released a laugh of relief. She pushed up from her seat and stood over him. She knew what she was doing was just this side of crazy. But for once she wasn't going to plan something to death—she was going to go with the flow. So far she liked how things were flowing.

“You want to show me the contract?”

He grinned. “I want to show you a lot of things, but we can start with the contract.”

* * *

Jewel served up their plates and suggested that they eat on the back veranda. Craig carried the plates, and Jewel brought the glasses and the bottle of wine.

“Oh, I forgot the salad,” Jewel said. “Be right back.” She darted off into the house, which gave Craig a few moments to process what had transpired.

No doubt he was totally attracted to this woman. More than he'd initially realized. But he'd never expected that she was the kind of woman who would be willing to get involved in a relationship that was transient at best. He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he kissed her, or when he made the unnecessary trip to her home. It certainly wasn't her very unorthodox proposal. He didn't know how he felt about that. A part of him, the rogue playboy part, was thrilled. But that other part that secretly longed for something that went beneath the surface wasn't as certain.

Jewel returned with a large salad bowl and placed it on the center of the circular wrought-iron table.

“Everything okay?” she asked and sat down.

“Yeah.” He pushed a smile across his face. “Some work stuff I was thinking about.” He relaxed in his chair. “I know you can't wait to experience how well I grilled the snapper,” he teased.

Jewel giggled. “It's all in the wrist, I'm sure.”

“Exactly, exactly.” He cut into his fish and put a forkful in his mouth. Slowly he chewed to savor the incredible combination of flavors. “Man...this right here—” he pointed to the fish with his fork “—needs to be on one of those cooking shows or in some book. Wow.”

Jewel grinned. “Glad you like it. After all, you did have a hand in the preparation.”

He cut into another piece. “You bake, you throw down in the kitchen...what other talents do I need to know about?”

Her buoyant expression deflated by degrees. She focused on the food on her plate. “That's pretty much it.”

“I doubt that,” he said softly. “You're an artist in every sense of the word.”