Loving Treasures Page 9

  He'd be stupid if he didn't. He shook his head and chuckled. "Claire, subtlety is not your forte." And looking at her latest 1920s getup, his comment had a double meaning. He grinned at her dress covered in bright-red fringe and her tousled hair escaping from beneath a cloche hat.

  At his comment, she gave her throaty laugh and swung out from behind the counter, nabbed Bodkin in her arms and sashayed to the new display. There she dropped her furry friend. She unfurled a white cashmere shawl, seeded with fresh-water pearls. "What do you think?"

  "Very nice, Claire…and obviously expensive."

  She gave him a knowing grin and refolded the cloth, just as the door tinkled and two women swept into the shop.

  "I'd better find Jemma," Philip said, turning toward the doorway. But he faltered when Jemma stepped into the room. Dressed in blue and white, she looked so fresh and appealing. Confusion shivered through him.

  "I'm ready," she said. "I already grabbed a bite to eat."

  Her comment checked his plan to take her to dinner. Maybe he would stop for coffee later so they could talk. "I parked in back."

  She turned toward the side door, and he followed.

  Once on the road, he alerted Jemma that he needed to make a stop, without offering an explanation. She didn't ask. He followed the highway that led to the resort, but before reaching the sprawling complex he turned onto a residential street.

  Jemma remained quiet. She kept her head turned away from him, looking out the passenger window. He suspected she was annoyed with his stop, but she didn't make a comment until he pulled in front of a two-story house.

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  "This is the stop I mentioned." He jumped out, rounded the car and opened her door.

  She gave him a questioning look.

  "Come with me. We're expected."

  Her eyes narrowed, sending him the signal that she was irritated. He waited for the worst but was pleasantly surprised. Jemma slid from the car and followed him.

  When the door opened, an elderly woman beamed a smile and pushed open the screen door for them to enter. Philip stepped into a narrow foyer with stairs leading to the second floor.

  The woman pulled her door closed. "Here we go," the woman said, flagging Jemma to follow and climbing the stairs in front of them. "I'm Jeanette Luddy."

  "Philip Somerville," he said, trying not to sound out of breath as he trudged up the stairs. At the top, he gestured. "This is Jemma Dupre. She's the one looking for a place."

  Jemma only gave a slight nod.

  "How do you do?" the woman said, selecting a key from a small ring. "Here, we go." She turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, stepping aside to allow them entrance.

  Jemma lingered in the hallway, her face tight with displeasure.

  "Come. Come," the woman said, motioning her inside.

  With her hands jammed into her sweater pockets, Jemma stepped into the room. When she was inside, her frown nailed Philip to the spot.

  "Take your time," Jeanette said, "and when you're ready, just tap on my door." She grabbed the knob and pulled the door closed as she backed out of the room.

  Jemma just stood there.

  "I heard about this place and thought it would be perfect. It comes furnished," Philip said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I know you've been looking and—"

  "And you had to help. You can't learn to let people make their own decisions, can you. I'm not your child, Philip. I have a brain. I can find my own place."

  He stepped toward her, wanting to calm her, but her expression warned him off. He backed up a step. "I'm sorry, Jemma. I thought you might like the place."

  "It has nothing to do with liking or disliking. It has to do with making my own decisions—solving my problems."

  He ached for her and for himself. When would he learn that Jemma didn't want his help. She hated it. "I know you can make your own decisions. I'm not trying—"

  "You know?" Her voice reeked with sarcasm.

  "I'm sorry. I made a mistake."

  "A big mistake," she said.

  He tucked his hands in his pants pockets to shackle the longing to take her in his arms. "Listen if you want to leave, we can. But we're here, so why not look at the place. It's close to work. You could walk if you wanted."

  For the first time since they'd entered the flat, Jemma's face softened, and she focused on something other than him. She scanned the room—a large furnished sitting area and a small alcove with a table and four chairs.

  She wandered across the room and entered the kitchen. He followed and stood at the door. The kitchen was small but useful. When she turned around, she brushed past him and headed for the opposite doorway. He didn't follow but leaned against the doorjamb and waited.

  She took her time. He could hear her open the closet door, then the linen closet, then her heels tapping on bathroom floor tile. When she returned, she paused in the doorway. "It's very clean. Pretty wallpaper in the bedroom. I'm surprised."

  He wanted to ask her why she was surprised, but he figured he'd done enough damage, so remained quiet. She reminded him of Andrew in a way. His brother didn't want anyone's help, either. He struck out on his own…and failed. But at least he'd had his independence. Jemma wouldn't fail. In that way, she was different.

  Jemma headed toward him, and he stepped out of her way. She returned to the kitchen. This time, she looked through the cabinets, tested the stove, ran water in the sink and sniffed the refrigerator like a bloodhound.

  Watching her detailed inspection, Philip kept his smile at bay. In his opinion, the place was perfect and the price was even better.

  When she was finished, she stood for a moment in the center of the room, her eyes scanning the surroundings. Then she focused on him.

  As he waited, his chest tightened.

  "It's nice," she said.

  He nodded.

  "Do you know how much rent she wants?"

  He nodded. "Four hundred a month."

  Her eyes widened. "That's all?"

  "That's all. No hidden costs, except your own telephone."

  "Only a fool would pass this up."

  That's what he'd thought, but he clamped his mouth shut.

  "Thanks. You were thoughtful to bring me here."

  "I was, wasn't I."

  She gave a quiet chuckle. "I guess I can tap on Jeanette's door."

  "Guess you can." She linked her arm in his, and he looked toward heaven with a humble thank-you.

  Jemma slid the menu behind the metal napkin holder and shifted her gaze toward Philip. He meddled and he pushed. Sometimes he was impossible. And for once, she didn't care. Looking at him took her breath away. Though she'd tried not to fall in love, she'd finally admitted to herself that she had done just that. Now all she had to do was get Philip to love her in return.

  She suspected he did. He just didn't know it yet.

  Philip eyed her over the menu. "What are you having?"

  "Death by Chocolate. I figure if I have to go, it might as well be a memorable experience."

  His face broke into a bright smile. He'd been so tense all evening that Jemma felt guilty.

  "I might go for the peanut butter pie. I can hear my arteries screaming as I speak."

  Laughter cured many ills, and Jemma allowed herself to enjoy the moment. "Philip, I'm sorry I was so awful."

  "Awful? Which time?"

  An unexpected guffaw slipped from her throat. She gave his arm a playful smack and lowered her head, peeking around, praying that no one had heard her loud laugh. She would have given money for a photograph of his delightful expression.

  "Now that we've resolved that," Philip said, "I'm glad you agreed to come with me."

  "Me, too. It's been…interesting."

  "And productive. By the way, if you need help moving, I'd be glad…" His voice faded as she glowered.

  A waitress stepped to the table, took their order and moved away. Alone again, he shook his head as if defeated. "I'm sorry
, I seem to step on your toes all the time."

  "I understand. It's just you. You can't help the way you are."

  "That sounds dire."

  "It is at times. I don't know if we're friends or strangers."

  Sadness washed over his face. "I'm sorry about that. Sometimes I don't know if I'm my own friend."

  "When I'm with you, like we are right now, you make me laugh and I feel comfortable, but sometimes I'm confused. At the office, you're my employer so I don't know how to behave. I don't know if boss-employee friendships are allowed."

  "We don't have rules regulating friendships at Bay Breeze. Loving is too small a village for that." He leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table. "Is something bothering you…at the resort?"

  Jemma's chest tightened. Was this the time to tell him her concern? Carrie wasn't the only one who prodded her with an occasional question or gave her a carious glance. "I get looks from people sometimes."

  "Looks?" The tenderness vanished and he tensed.

  "Questioning looks. It's probably just me. I worry that everyone assumes you gave me the job because I'm a friend. I wasn't here long enough for a promotion."

  Philip knotted his fingers together. "Most people don't realize that you are a…friend, do they?"

  "I've been discreet, Philip. I've told no one."

  His jaw tightened and he narrowed his eyes. "Even if they know, it's not anyone's business but ours. You have the position because you deserve it. You're creative and dependable."

  His angry defense startled her. "Thank you," she said, flustered by his compliments.

  "From the beginning, I admired how hard you worked. Latrice always keeps me posted on new employees. You deserved the promotion."

  Jemma lowered her eyes, feeling foolish that she'd worried. Why did she assume people were talking about her? From the first day she took the job, everyone had been pleasant. Since her promotion, some asked about her education and acted surprised when she explained she'd never gone to college. But they'd been nothing but kind.

  "Jemma."

  Pulling herself back, she refocused on Philip. "Sorry, I was thinking."

  "Thinking about how confusing I am?"

  She shrugged. "Life's confusing, I guess. I just wonder what you're thinking. I wonder if I'm deluding myself and if you're just putting up with me for Claire's sake."

  "Don't be foolish."

  "But sometimes you're so distant, and I don't understand why. If it's my job, I'll find something else. I enjoyed our rela—friendship. I don't want to lose it."

  Philip was stung by her words. He watched her eyes mist and longed to hold her in his arms, to brush the tears from her eyes. "Please don't cry."

  He didn't know what to say. Glancing over his shoulder, Philip hoped customers hadn't noticed her tears—she would be embarrassed. He was miserable. How could he explain his feelings to her? What could he tell her other than that he wished he were fifteen years younger.

  Jemma brushed her eyes with the back of her hand and straightened her back. "I don't expect you to take care of us anymore. Claire's doing well with the store. Since the tourists arrived, she's busy. I even have to help her sometimes in the evenings."

  "I'm glad. Really."

  "I just want us to be natural, Philip. Not like two strangers talking at a bus stop. Since I've moved to Loving, I haven't made a lot of friends, and the few I have are precious."

  Precious! The word lit the sky. She'd compressed the reason for his struggle into that one word. She was the most precious thing in his life. From the day they'd met she'd dragged his emotions out of hiding. Her smile sent his pulse on a chase, made his limbs weak. But he stifled the sensation.

  "I treasure your friendship, Jemma. I do." Philip struggled to keep himself from saying more.

  She lifted her misted eyes, but before she could respond, the waitress arrived with their coffee and Jemma's Death by Chocolate, saving him from digging his own grave.

  Chapter Eight

  "What do you think?" Philip asked.

  Ian shifted in the chair, apparently weighing the idea. "You're the boss. But…"

  "But what?" Philip rose from his chair, came around his desk and propped a hip on its polished surface.

  "I don't understand your strategy. It would help if I saw the need for all of this."

  Philip understood his strategy but he couldn't explain it to Ian. "I think you should pick Jemma's brain. Maybe the two of you could scout out some of the other resorts and see what they're doing to draw in guests. That seems clear to me."

  Ian frowned and stared at the floor. As if in thought, he propped an ankle across his knee and tugged at his navy-blue dress sock. "I know she has some interesting ideas…but we don't need to bring in more guests, do we?" He lifted curious eyes to Philip's. "We have a full house most of the time."

  "Most of the time, yes. How about the winter months? We want to grow, Ian, not stand still…and that's what we're doing."

  Philip could see from Ian's expression that he didn't agree, but being a good employee he pushed his opinion aside.

  "Like I said, you're the boss." Ian lifted his hand and, in his characteristic gesture, adjusted his eyeglass frames. "So then, what is it you want me to do?" He leaned forward. "Don't get me wrong, Philip. I don't mind spending time with her. She's a good-looking woman… That is—" he looked pointedly at Philip "—if you're not interested."

  The words hit Philip like an arrow, and he reminded himself of his reason for continuing with his plan to make a match between Jemma and Ian. "Look at me." Philip touched his more-salt-than-pepper hair. "What would a young woman want with an old codger like me?"

  "Codger? Don't be ridiculous! You're in your prime. You need to get away from this place more often. Have you ever looked at the women around you? And their come-hither eyes? You're a good catch—nice-looking, respected and wealthy. What more could they want?"

  Philip knew what more they wanted, and it wasn't a man like him. "Nice try, Ian." He swung back around his desk and sank into the chair. "Now, let's talk about the Fourth of July."

  "The Fourth of July?"

  "Right. I'm working out details now, and I've decided to have Jim Mason on as manager so you're free to help with my party upstairs. You and Jemma, that is."

  Ian frowned. "Why Jemma?"

  "Why not? I figured you could meet guests at the door. You know, help me out. That's why I have assistants."

  With a look of resignation, Ian shrugged. "Sure if that's what you want. I'd rather spend the night looking at her face than my own."

  Philip felt the same, but he wouldn't let it happen. "Okay, that's settled. Now, let's get back to visiting the resorts."

  Ian opened his notepad, scribbling the instructions as Phillip reviewed what needed to be done. When he finished, Ian closed the folder, rose and headed toward the door. "Are you talking with Jemma about this or should I?"

  A weight fell against Philip's chest. "You can go over things with her. I'm counting on both of you."

  Ian gave him a thumbs-up, opened the door and exited, leaving Philip feeling very much alone.

  Pivoting in his desk chair, Philip faced the dark water outside his window. What was he doing? Pushing two people together who he thought were good for each other. He was playing God and he knew it.

  He closed his eyes, hearing Ian's words ricochet through his mind. You're a good catch—handsome, respected and wealthy. He eyed his vague reflection in the night-shrouded window. He wasn't confident about the good-looking part, but two out of three wasn't bad. Ian was correct. Philip guessed a few women out there didn't care about companionship and children as long as the man was respected and wealthy.

  After Susan died, he'd pretty much dismissed romance from his life. First because of grief, and later, self-pity, and now… He shrugged. He should look for an older woman who'd raised her children and now wanted some of life's luxuries. Maybe he'd enjoy a woman's company.

  Maybe? He chided himself. He'
d enjoyed Jemma's companionship more than he could admit. Sailing, talking over dinner, laughing at anything. And longing to kiss her. He'd rethought that night a thousand times. The image showered him with pleasure and pain. His hand tingled with the memory of her silky skin and the affection in her eyes. But most often he was nailed by pain and guilt. He knew better than to tempt himself. He had to get his floundering emotions under control.

  The time had come. He had to push himself to socialize again. Philip's mind trudged through the past years, older women he knew—women who made it clear more than once that they would enjoy spending time with him. If he spent time with a woman his age, perhaps Jemma would fade from his thoughts. His Fourth of July was an annual highlight of the summer. He'd ask someone to be his guest. But who? He had no idea.

  He'd never ask Jemma. She deserved more. He didn't know much about her life with Lyle. But he knew Lyle. A smooth operator. He was like a sleight-of-hand artist. Now you see it, now you don't Philip was sure Lyle had Jemma under his spell and married before she realized that it was all tricks.

  How did Claire birth such a son? She was eccentric but a good woman. A Christian woman. Sluggish in her faith perhaps, but he could remember her speaking about her beliefs, and he knew she prayed. Lyle Senior had to be the flawed genetic factor. Not Claire.

  Sadness filled him, thinking of sweet, innocent Jemma in a bad marriage with a man who tried to do magic with flawed props. He had failed. And Jemma? She was left with nothing. No husband, no children, no home—but a whole truckload of distrust and insecurity. And a tremendous drive to be free and independent. Philip couldn't blame her for wanting to stand on her own.

  So why did he continue to manipulate her life? He rubbed the back of his neck, tensed by his own guilt. Because he had as strong a drive to make up for his past—to prove he could be generous, to prove he could take care of someone…and to prove he could care for someone—love someone—as much as he loved himself.

  But who was he trying to convince? Himself or God?

  Jemma hung her robe on the hook inside her closet and closed the door. She gazed around her cozy bedroom, at home for the first time in too long. Though she wished Philip would learn not to manipulate her life, she was pleased that he'd found the flat for her. A comfortable feeling warmed Jemma. Philip cared about her, no matter what he said.