by Piper Rayne
"Thank you, Rave. I don't know what I would do without you and Marley."
* * *
"You'll never know, Jilly.” Rave's expression turned serious, then he swept her into a bear hug. "We love you! Don't you know you'll never get rid of me?"
"I know a way," Marley chimed as she walked in. "We can hire a hit man."
Rave glared at Marley. "Oh girl, how cruel can you get?” His feigned indignation provoked laughter all around.
Scott got up and walked to where Jillian stood near the door. "Never fear, Rave. The Breakfast Nook wouldn't be the same without you. You give it character."
Placing his hand on the door, Scott looked at Jillian, the message in his features full of sensual promise. Her heart raced, even as disappointment assailed her. He seemed ready to leave, and she'd wanted to talk to him.
Nodding with satisfaction and approval, Rave winked at her. "He's a keeper, Jilly. And smart too. I knew I would like him the moment I saw him."
"How's Melba?"
"She's already contacting every Interior Designer in the city to plan the baby's nursery. Nothing but the best for little Moratorium."
"Moratorium?” Jillian and Marley chorused in horror.
Rave nodded. "If it's a boy. Her granddaddy's cousin on her momma's side was named Moratorium, and it's an old family name. Tradition. Who am I to stomp tradition? Although I would like to kick the tar out of whatever idiot first introduced that horrid name into Melba's family line."
* * *
Biting her lip to keep from laughing at the ridiculous name and unsure of what to say, Jillian remained quiet. Marley shrugged, her eyes watery in an effort not to laugh. Scott shook his head at their antics and said, "So the two of you worked everything out?"
"Yeah, pretty much. She finally realized how unreasonable she was being and decided that we would take things day by day."
"Oh Rave, I'm so happy for you," Jillian said.
"Yeah, honey, that's fantastic," Marley agreed. "I know how worried you were that she would leave."
"Yeah, I was," Rave admitted. "But she's already having wild mood swings. Tomorrow, she might want my head on a platter."
"Just take it day by day," Marley said. "When I was pregnant, poor Howie couldn't do anything right, but I've never met a man more patient. Whatever I demanded, he gave to me."
"What about you, Scott?" Rave asked. "What did you do when Timmy's mother was pregnant?"
All eyes turned to him, and Jillian waited breathlessly for his answer.
"Whatever she wanted," he answered. "But I mostly stayed out of her way. Besides that, my dad was there. We leaned on each other for support when she was pregnant because it got pretty rough at times."
Marley laughed. "And your mother, did she help any?"
"Nah. Wasn't of a mind to do anything. But, we thought she was pretty remarkable to overlook a lot of what we did during that time."
The information her friends got out of Scott amazed Jillian. She'd learned more about him in two minutes because of their questions than she had in the weeks she'd known him. Yet he went no further. Once their questions stopped, so did his narrative. She was now more curious than ever.
Why ever would Scott's father help out, while his mother seemed to have distanced herself from the entire matter?
"Say, Marl, why don't we leave Jilly and Scott alone?"
* * *
"Nonsense, man," Scott said. "I was just leaving."
Pulling the door opened, he paused and faced Jillian. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable, even boyishly shy. "Uh, Jilly...Jillian, I know this is short notice, but would you go out with me tonight? I'll pick you up for 8:00 and—"
"That's less than four hours away, Scott, and I have my guests—"
"Girl, pul-leaze!" Rave said, nudging her.
Marley narrowed her eyes at her, her look one of dire consequences if she refused. Yet why was she thinking about declining Scott's invitation now? Hadn't she decided she was going to ask him out?
"That's all right, Jillian. It was a bad idea—"
"No!" Marley interrupted. "She'll go. Won't you?"
"Yeah, and don't you dare worry about the food," Rave said sharply. "Me, Marley, Bobbie Q., Ally Gator, and Jesse will cook for everyone else."
"Jillian, I've heard from everyone else but you," Scott said quietly.
He watched her, his tall figure imposing and masculine. Yet this would be the defining moment. If she declined, Scott would walk away. If she accepted the invitation, then she would be taking the step she'd wanted to make for weeks.
"I'd love to go, Scott," she answered succinctly.
His relieved smile turned her insides to jelly. Tonight, there would be no bedlam to deal with, no Bobbie Q. and Ally Gator, and especially no Douglas.
Tonight, there would only be her and Scott.
12
At exactly eight o'clock, a shiny, white stretch limousine stopped in front of the Breakfast Nook.
A half-moon hung in the cloudless sky, surrounded by a myriad of brilliant stars. Streetlights and the lights on Jillian's property provided brightness all around her house. The leaves rustled from the warm, evening breeze as the driver hurried out of the elegant car and rushed to open the door.
* * *
Jillian stood on the veranda, waiting, expectant, breathless. Although the grandeur of the moment reminded her of her parents, without question, she knew it was Scott. He had gone through the expense and trouble of hiring a car and driver for her. Suddenly, she was glad she'd taken matters into her own hands and dressed to the nines for the occasion. Rave had wanted her to go leather for the evening, while Marley suggested prim and proper.
She had done neither. Douglas stopped taking her to really nice places months ago, and whether or not Scott had dressed up for this hastily planned occasion, she wanted to. The gold-colored, silk slip dress swirled with sequins and beads represented a new beginning for her. Her four-tiered, golden beaded choker, earrings, and matching bracelets gave the illusion of command and power. She felt as if she could conquer the world on her own two feet.
Yet her friends were the reason she'd abandoned her apartment and left them inside. Their advice had begun to make her head spin, and their well-wishes and offhanded jokes had taken their toll.
No, she didn't need condoms, as Ally had suggested; yes, she'd hissed to Rave, she was quite certain there would be no "hanky-panky" between them. Finally, she'd given up and came outside.
The only way she could take firm control of her own life was to stop allowing her friends to push her around. But, somehow, with them around, things usually resulted in her total loss of control.
Scott disembarked from the vehicle and her breath caught, her senses spun, and her thoughts of the past hours dissipated completely.
His appearance took her completely off-guard. The dark suit he had on, so completely different from the way Jillian usually saw him, seemed tailored to fit him perfectly. His trousers emphasized his long, muscular legs with alarming perfection, and massive outline of his shoulders strained against the rich fabric of his coat.
With nonchalant grace, he started toward her, commanding and self-confident. Reaching the steps, he smiled.
"You're stunning," he said, the gold flecks in his eyes smoldering.
* * *
"Thank you," Jillian responded breathlessly. "You're quite stunning yourself."
Scott didn't respond to that. Instead, he held out to his arm to her and said, "Shall we?"
Jillian tried to relax as he looped her arm through his, but it was nearly impossible. Her body vibrated at his nearness, and she felt fully, blissfully alive.
They made the short walk to the beautiful car in silence. As the driver stood sentinel at the door, Scott handed her in, then got in beside her. Moments later, the driver pulled the car away from the curb.
She sank into the dark blue leather, touched by the two bouquets of long-stemmed red roses sitting on each side in the glass holders. The
door of the small sidebar stood open and a bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket, along with two crystal flutes. A tray with pâté, crackers, grapes and succulent, chocolate-covered strawberries rested in the middle of the side seat, and soft music floated through the overhead speakers.
Scott stared at her, searching. She wasn't sure what to say, how to express her amazement at the trouble he'd gone through for her.
"Does this meet with your approval, Jillian?"
His words came out as a velvet murmur.
"More than words can ever express, Scott," Jillian answered softly. His nameless cologne made her giddy, evoking a powerful response deep within her. A tingling began in the pit of her stomach. "Where are we going?"
"I'd like it to be a surprise. For the moment, Barnes is just going to drive around the city, while we enjoy one another's company. With no Timmy or Rave or Marley; and without the inn and the guests and the repairs."
* * *
Relishing his consideration, Jillian smiled. How did he know she needed time away from her well-meaning friends? Still, she was quite aware of Scott’s neglect in mentioning Kayla. If he didn’t, she certainly wouldn’t
The dim lights around the doors and the bar glinted off Scott's hand—and the wedding ring he wore. The gold sparkled and flashed, and served as a bitter reminder about what exactly stood between her and Scott. He said he wasn't married, but he seemed to be holding on to whatever had been between him and Timmy's mother tenaciously. He’d also said that the wedding ring had been his father’s.
Maybe Kayla wasn’t Timmy’s mother or Scott’s wife. Exactly who was she? Scott’s significant other? Kayla implied something was going on between her and Scott, and Scott referred to Kayla as super wonderful and the bright spot in his life.
She almost asked Scott about his ring and why he still wore it. But she was afraid she would ruin the evening. Instead, she’d armor up and shield herself from giving in to the overwhelming desire she felt for him.
"Just trust me, Jillian, to show you a good time tonight."
She nodded.
Scott forced himself to remain where in his spot and not gather her into his arms then strip the beautiful little dress from her long limbs. She was stunning, and graceful, and elegant, her look, her mannerism, a far cry from the teenager he'd mistook her for.
She was all woman, a perfect, golden goddess, with not a hair from her shiny, upswept tresses out of place.
The many facades of Jillian crossed Scott's mind. Each side of her fascinated him. His resistance to a long-term, committed relationship of marriage had been eroding steadily. But fear continued to plague him. He'd made up his mind so long ago about never marrying and turning that thinking around wasn’t easy; it was quite hard to realize that though nothing was ever guaranteed in life, a catastrophic event didn't befall everyone.
The unexpected silence vibrated between them, filling the air with tension. He'd thought they would have more to say to one another, but Jillian seemed introspective, while he wanted to discover everything about her.
"Would you like a glass of champagne?"
* * *
Her throaty voice broke into his thoughts.
He smiled sheepishly at her, wondering if she'd read his thoughts, realizing that the best way to start conversation between them was to simply talk. "I've been remiss, and without the manners I was taught."
"I forgive you this time," she said lightly.
Grabbing the bottle, he shook his head. "This time, huh?” With skilled expertise, he silently removed the cork, then poured a glass of champagne for her. "So you're saying I'd better not allow that to happen again?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Jillian said with a laugh as she accepted the glass.
Her light tone sounded forced and her hand trembled as their fingertips brushed.
Pouring a glass for himself, then setting the bottle back in its bucket, Scott raised his glass in salute. "To you, Jillian, and whatever your heart desires.” He would have much preferred saying to us, but wasn't sure how appropriate that was, considering the mood between them.
They touched glasses, and the crystal made a soft tinkling sound. Scott tasted his champagne, the sparkling spirit deliciously cold. The soft sultriness of the alto-sax playing on the radio lulled him to a sense of euphoria, of desire.
Jillian sipped her champagne, ran her tongue across her full bottom lip, and created madness within his loins.
The car moved slowly. Scott had asked Barnes to drive around the city to give the chef time to prepare dinner; to give him a chance to glory in Jillian's nearness; to make him wonder if she would appreciate what he and the cook had in mind. Or would she be calling for his blood?
He took another swallow of champagne.
* * *
"You're supposed to savor champagne," Jillian chastised. "Not swallow it in three gulps."
Glad to have something else to focus on besides his lust, Scott drained his glass, turning it bottoms up for effect. Jillian laughed.
"Do excuse my manners, milady," he said, the upper-class English accent he mimicked, amusing. "I'll try to do better next time 'round."
"You're incorrigible," she said, still laughing.
"I do try.” He poured himself another glass and took a sip, holding his little pinky out as he did so. "Was that better, my dear?"
"Much," Jillian said with approval. She leaned over and picked up the tray, then sat it between them. Picking a grape from its stem, she popped it into her mouth.
Following her suit, Scott took a handful of grapes and devoured them. "Who taught you to savor champagne?"
"My parents," she answered without hesitation. "My mom especially."
Her parents? This was the first time she'd ever mentioned them. Scott wondered if they were still alive. But he wouldn't pry, not if he expected to keep the conversation about his parents at bay.
"I think they would approve of you," Jillian continued. "Unlike Douglas, whom they hated, and probably still do."
That caught his interest. Unable to resist, he asked, "They don't know he's history?"
Jillian shook her head. Casually, she picked up a strawberry and bit into it. "How could they?" she asked, saddened. "I defied them to be with him. After years of rebellion on my part, that was the clincher. In the end, not only did Douglas leave, but my parents disowned me."
* * *
Picking up the tray, Scott slid closer to her, then placed it down where he'd sat. The hurt note in her voice wouldn't allow him to stay detached. If she needed a shoulder to cry on, he wanted to be close to her, without a damn tray sitting between them. And if in return for his interest in her family life she asked questions about his? So be it. He would answer them.
"They haven't contacted you, not once?" he asked incredulously.
She sipped her champagne. "No. I haven't seen them in nearly four years."
"Do they live out of state?"
"No. They live on Betz Street."
Few things in life surprised him, but at the mention of Betz Street, he nearly choked his drink. Betz Street. In Old Metairie. Or better yet, Old Money. Where mansions that resembled noble estates straight out of the countryside of England sat, and servants waited at beck and call.
That explained Jillian's inability to cook. And, maybe, even the reason she was so hesitant about starting a relationship with him. After all, he was from working class. He doubted she even realized he had a fortune of his own. Still, he wondered why her parents disowned her for making choices they didn't approve of.
What this revelation didn't explain, however, was the reason she was so down to earth. She had Rave as a friend, for heaven's sake.
"But I've decided I'm going to call Mother to do lunch with her."
Scott frowned and studied the contents of his glass. His concern for Jillian's intentions were very real. After nearly four years, would Jillian's mother even want to see her? "Are you sure you want to do lunch with her, Jilly?" he asked finally. "She'
s your mother! You haven't seen her in quite a while. Why don't you invite her over to have dinner with you?"
"To the Breakfast Nook?" Jillian screeched in horror. "My mother would simply faint! Her daughter, reckless as usual, waist-high in bedlam! No way, Scott.” She drained the last bit of champagne from her glass.
"Okay, you know what's best," Scott said. "Now, what about your father? Why—"
"We've always been at loggerheads. Mother is usually the one..."
* * *
Jillian's eyes widened, as if some great revelation hit her at that moment.
"Scott," she whispered, "do you know what I was about to say? Do you realize that for most of my life my mother handled everything for me? Today, I made the decision to take charge of my life, but I was about to let my mother handle Daddy for me, so I wouldn't have to face the difficulty of the situation."
"Jillian, I think you're being too hard on yourself," Scott soothed. "Change doesn't happen overnight, and the fact that you've made the decision to stand on your own two feet is commendable in itself."
But what exactly did that mean for him? Certainly, a woman discovering her independence wouldn't want to be saddled with a love affair.
"Thank you, Scott," Jillian said, calmer now. She held up her glass. Before she said anything, he refilled the crystal with champagne.
"When's the lunch going to take place?"
"I'm calling her tomorrow. I hope to set it up for Monday afternoon. I'll probably be in the Office of Motor Vehicles awhile."
"Probably so," Scott answered, disappointed that she didn't ask him to come with her, as they'd originally planned. He should be pleased. Who wanted a dependent mate?
Just then, Barnes's voice came through on the intercom.