by Ciji Ware
“I’m serious,” she insisted. “Let’s get this booty into the safe this minute! But first, I’m putting the pistol and the ammunition under my mattress.”
She swiftly stowed the weaponry in her bedroom and returned to the kitchen to pile the jewelry boxes in her arms. J.D. walked over to the sideboard. He removed two drinking glasses, and placed them inside a silver champagne bucket he’d pulled out of their neighbor’s trunk. “Do you know what else I keep in that safe at the end of the hall?” he asked with a smirk.
“A lot of nothing, probably,” she retorted, watching him drag the fusty trunk down the corridor that led to his basement office. “Until two seconds ago, you were practically out of jack, Jack! Don’t bother denying it.”
“Amelia, you are far too pessimistic for your young years,” he said over his shoulder. “This should teach you to believe in Lady Luck. Now follow me, my dear, and step lively.”
***
J.D. placed the heavy silverware on the raw cement floor in his office and spun the new tumblers on his repaired stronghold. When the combination clicked into place, he heaved open the heavy door. Inside, the walk-in safe was empty, save for an accordion file of legal papers, two small silver bars, and a bottle of champagne.
“You bought sparkling wine when you were nearly stone broke?” she marveled.
“You never know when you might need some bubbly for a celebration.”
She hugged the stack of jewelry cases to her chest. “Well, these certainly are cause for one. It’s an absolute miracle. No, it’s a trunk full of miracles!”
“Hand them over, Miss Architect.”
Smiling, she obeyed and watched with childish delight as he stored the slim leather boxes and velvet pouch plump with loose gemstones alongside the rest of the cache. Next he stacked the gold and silver bars to one side and put the polished wooden box with the sterling silver flatware on top, along with other pieces of household silver. Champagne bottle in hand, he slammed the door shut and spun the tumblers. He indicated she should take the chair facing his desk, then popped the cork and poured them each a glass of sparkling wine.
“To the Bay View,” J.D. said, raising his glass and grinning.
“To the Bay View,” Amelia echoed more somberly, wondering, suddenly, what her grandfather would think of toasting her family’s hotel with the man who had managed to wrest it from her stewardship by means of an auspicious poker match. Nevertheless, she clinked glasses and drank in silence for a few minutes. Immediately, she felt a rush of warmth, taking it as a sign of how tired she was if only a few sips of champagne could have such an instant effect.
“J.D.?”
He took a draught of wine and looked at her expectantly. “What?”
“Why did you come back for my father and me in the Winton the day of the quake?”
J.D. took a drink from his glass and set in on the desk. Surprisingly, he didn’t ask her reasons for bringing up the unexpected subject at this late hour. “I gave you my word I’d return with help.”
“But you’d gotten safely to the Presidio and you were badly injured. Why didn’t you just direct Angus to find us?”
“I might have burned in the fire if you hadn’t helped me out of that place as you did. I figured if someone saves your life, you owe him. Or in this case—her. I wanted to be sure you escaped that inferno.”
Amelia remembered Angus saying something similar about being indebted when he and J.D. fought in the Battle of San Juan Hill.
“But I’d said all those angry things to you on the day I got back from France,” she persisted, “and you knew perfectly well that I blamed you for my father even being at the all-night poker games and also when the quake struck and—”
“You’d just been through a horrible ordeal yourself, making your way down nine stories in that ruined building, so I made some allowances for that. And besides, you’d offered to help me that terrible morning, even though I’d taken over your family’s hotel and beaten you in court. You’re a decent woman, Amelia. Not too many people like that in this world. I wanted to make certain you got to safety that day.”
“Hmm…” She took another sip of her wine. Gazing at him over her glass, she said, “You know, I’ve kept those three cards that my father had in his hand when I found him in the rubble.”
J.D. paused, his glass half way to his lips. “Really?”
“Yes. An ace, queen, and ten of diamonds. The ones he said were part of the royal flush he claimed he drew just as the quake hit.”
“Yes, I remember your telling me that at the Presidio. But you never found a jack or king of diamonds, did you?”
“No. I couldn’t see any trace of them in all that wreckage.”
“Hmm.”
“Tell me again what you saw of his hand… just before the first jolt?”
He drew pensive. “At five-thirteen that morning, with the world turning upside down, I don’t think I saw anything very clearly, Amelia.”
“I expect not,” she murmured.
He set down his glass. “All hell broke loose just as your father was playing his hand.”
…All hell broke loose…
Those had been Henry Bradshaw’s exact words describing the same instant. At least J.D. hadn’t called her father an out-and-out liar, which she certainly had done to her father’s face more than once in her life.
A few more moments of silence bloomed between them. Then J.D. said, “We’d better not let Loy and Shou Shou and the others see that dead dog.”
“I don’t want to see it either.” She allowed him to pour her a second glass. “Makes me think of poor Barbary.”
J.D. shot her an odd look. “It made me think of him too, poor fellow. He was a wonderful dog. Your grandfather raised him well.” Then he added, “The Chinese are superstitious about exhuming the dead, you know. They’ll only dig up remains if they’re sending them to China for reburial. Ancestor worship and all that, plus I don’t think we want word of buried treasure getting around. It’s still a pretty unsafe place around here.”
Amelia nodded, wondering if J.D. was also thinking about Ling Lee, buried in tons of rubble, her broken body never to be sent to her homeland for burial.
“Well, first thing tomorrow morning,” she said, “when none of the workers are on the site, I suggest that we bury the unfortunate creature in the backyard with full military honors. The dog deserves that for guarding all that booty for a year.”
J.D. smiled faintly. “A twenty-one-gun salute, at the very least.”
“And I’m also going to dedicate a memorial rose garden in his honor—and to Barbary’s.”
J.D. leaned back in his chair, a melancholy cast to his gaze. “To placate the dogs’ ancestors?”
“No, as a shrine of gratitude. It’s only right. What we’ve found tonight gives the Bay View a new lease on life.”
“You’re right. I had exactly fifty-two dollars worth of silver left in that safe.”
Amelia slowly shook her head. “James Diaz Thayer, you are a worse gambler than my father ever was.”
“’Fraid not. I always do my gambling stone-cold sober.”
“And that makes a difference?”
“Oh, yes indeed.” J.D. reached across the desk and gently seized her chin between his fingers. “I believe you will create a shrine in honor of those dogs,” he said, and then, before Amelia had any notion of his intentions, he leaned across the desk and kissed her.
It was a friendly kiss. Like his bear hug had been. Not like their first kiss in the Winton after her driving lesson.
Just friendly. At first.
Then, by mysterious mutual consent, his lips sought hers anew and despite a warning voice in her head, she leaned another few inches across the desk and responded in kind. By the time he’d finished and settled back on his side of the desk, Amelia was in a combined state of shock and arousal.
“It’s just the wine, J.D. That’s all it is,” she insisted loftily, settling back into her chair across fro
m him. “I haven’t had a glass in a year and a half. And this is champagne. It always has a curious effect on me.”
“How lucky for me.” He sought her left hand resting on his desk and held it, his callused thumb lightly grazing her palm. “Though I must beg to differ.”
“About what?” She pursed her lips to keep from smiling idiotically. It had been a lovely kiss, really. Better even than Monsieur Lamballe at his most ardent.
“It’s not just the wine,” J.D. declared. “It’s something else. What that is, I haven’t quite determined.” He smiled at her. “Old-fashioned lust, perhaps?”
Amelia burst out laughing. “You say that to all the girls.” She marveled at how deliciously light-headed she was beginning to feel.
“No. I do not say that indiscriminately.” He lifted the bottle from the desk and topped off both glasses.
“Any more of this champagne will get us into serious trouble,” she insisted, and then found that she was giggling. “I lived in France, so I’m an expert on the subject.”
“Really? How so?”
“Veuve Clicquot,” she said solemnly, taking a delicious sip. “A lethal brand of champagne. One minute I was a declared spinster. Three glasses later, I was affianced to First Officer Etienne Lamballe of the S.S. France.”
“That sounds rather romantic.”
“Romantic? If I’d drunk anymore Veuve Clicquot that last month in Paris, my French husband would have gained control of my entire life and that would have been a disaster!”
“You are… Madame Lamballe?”
She laughed at his expression of consternation. “Almost. Mais non… non! I saved myself from the jaws of matrimony at the eleventh hour. You see, I didn’t drink that last, fatal glass. I realized one night at dinner after we’d—well—after we’d lived together in Paris when Etienne had shore leave, that Monsieur Lamballe had only been pretending to support my desire to be an architect.”
“Pretending? So he could…?”
“Exactly, the cad!” She held up her glass to gaze at the bubbles floating to the top of the rim. “Any fool knows that the quickest way to an architect’s heart is to make believe you love her T square—and in Monsieur Lamballe’s case, it worked.”
J.D. exploded with laughter.
“Ah… I amuse you,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “But luckily I was just sober enough to keep my wits. You see, that night,” she continued, mesmerized by the golden liquid’s bubbles rising to the surface of her glass, “Etienne drank the lion’s share of the Veuve Clicquot and fortunately, it loosened his lips. His true ideas about women practicing architecture became only too clear, the mercenary little grubber.”
“Perhaps he believed that marriage would spare you the kind of problems you’ve faced here with—”
“‘Spare’ me?” she scoffed. “He simply planned to relieve me of my inheritance when the time came!” She pushed her glass away from her. “Wouldn’t he have gotten a surprise if we’d married and come back to San Francisco? What do you think he’d have said the morning after your poker game with my father when my family didn’t own the hotel anymore? And just how do you think he’d have enjoyed our little earthquake?”
And then she dissolved into another uncontrollable burst of mirth.
J.D. pointed to their glasses. “Does this mean you don’t want any more champagne?”
She shifted her eyes from the remains of her sparkling wine to the bottle he held in his hand. “Oh bother! You and I have done nothing but work for weeks on end and finding a trunk full of gold, silver, and jewels doesn’t just happen every day, does it? I’m not engaged to you, so there’s no danger, is there? Alors, mon ami… let’s live a little!” she declared, polishing off what was left in her glass and demanding a fill-up.
“Good girl!”
She thought of Etienne’s constant admonishments that all work and no play made Amelia a dull mademoiselle, indeed. Of course, Etienne’s philosophy that first year at L’École had also been a devilish way of persuading her to join him in bed—and he’d succeeded, masterfully.
So what? She’d enjoyed that part… and his French letters had prevented pregnancy, just as he’d promised. She returned home with most of her pride intact, though not her virtue.
“Cheers,” J.D. declared, gesturing with his glass. “I knew you had a spark of fun in you, despite those prim shirtwaists you’re always wearing.”
“Not like the dance hall girls, eh? You should see the wenches who do the can-can in Paris! Scandalously little clothing they wear.” She narrowed her eyes and again wagged her finger at him. “And speaking of scandalous behavior—drunk or sober—you needn’t go gambling anymore, Mr. Thayer. As of tonight, you’ve probably got all the money we need to finish this place, and so I’m expecting you to behave yourself, for once.” She burst out laughing again, thinking that she was the most amusing person she knew.
“Amelia…” J.D.’s tone of voice brought her up short. “I give you fair warning. Drunk or sober, I have no intention of behaving myself tonight.”
J.D. rose from his leather chair and came to stand by her side. Then, after a second’s hesitation, he reached down and put one hand lightly on her shoulder.
“I can see your intentions all right,” she murmured.
“And I can see yours.”
Amelia remained very still in her chair, exquisitely conscious of his touch. The weight of his palm felt solid, yet his strong fingers kneaded the tired muscles in her back with strokes that were slow, rhythmic, and calculated to send her either flying from the room or sink deeper into her chair. After a full minute of silence while J.D. continued his wayward ministrations, she finally rose from her seat to her full height—which came only to J.D.’s shoulder—and set her champagne glass on the desk.
“No more wine,” she said firmly. “I want to do this with a clear head.”
She reached to cup his face between her hands, his black sideburns silky to the touch. With the pads of her fingers, she lightly traced the year-old scars that slanted across his forehead, raised white welts that cut into the darker skin around them. Then, slowly and with great deliberation, she stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the lips—knowing full well that she was definitely shaking hands with the devil once again.
She allowed herself the luxury of time, of sinking deeply into his embrace, imagining that J.D. found it startling for a woman in mannish shirtwaists and work boots to be so bold as to want a kiss to last forever.
Finally, murmuring against his lips, she said, “I wanted to do exactly that on the scaffolding that day. I always feel so free when I go up there, and there you were, climbing to the very top with me. I liked that.” She leaned back in his arms and found herself staring into pools of darkness pulling her into the depths of the unknown.
“I wanted to kiss you too, that day.”
“You did?” She felt as if she were a flirtatious stranger gazing provocatively at him through her eyelashes.
“You knew that I did.” He leaned toward her, kissing her again, and now he wasn’t teasing or flip. When, finally, he released her, he whispered close to her ear. “And did you have anything else in mind when we were at the top of the scaffold?”
She shook her head. “Certainly not! As I said, I haven’t misbehaved like this since I lived in Paris.” If he thought her a hussy because she’d already been with a man—so be it.
“No? Then why are you willing to misbehave tonight?”
“I haven’t said I would.”
“Oh yes… I think you have.”
He pulled her closer so she could feel the strength of his arousal. She allowed the shock of it, the pure pleasure of it, to travel up her spine. “I suppose I’m rather tired of being such a paragon of virtue.” She blinked gravely and announced, “And it isn’t just the champagne. I very much enjoyed that kiss just now.”
“As did I. And you’re definitely some sort of paragon,” he said, his playful tone underscored by nuzzling her neck in a fashion
guaranteed to lead her into even deeper waters. “I’m delighted to hear you were a naughty girl in Paris. I would have been so disappointed to learn otherwise.”
“Believe me, I’m no girl, and if I’m not a paragon of virtue,” she replied with a deepening frown, “what kind of paragon do you suppose I am?”
“Perhaps you’re a paragon of truth. You have no idea how rare that is.” He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “With your permission, I intend to discover who you truly are this evening, Miss Bradshaw.”
“So, we’re back to last names, are we, Mr. Thayer?”
“No, indeed.” Smiling, he seized her hand and led her toward his sleeping quarters down the hallway from his office. “I rather doubt we’ll use such formality this night.”
Chapter 27
At the door to J.D.’s bedroom, Amelia hesitated, halting any forward progress past the threshold. “I’ve just had some dreadful second thoughts, J.D. Think about it! This is a terrible idea. One that we’ll both regret in the morning.”
“What if I guarantee you won’t regret it one bit?”
He leaned down and kissed her so thoroughly, she knew right then he was a man to deliver on his promises. Of course, there were plenty of pressing reasons not to embark on an intimate relationship with James Diaz Thayer, but all she could think was what Julia Morgan would say if she knew her former employee was about to be seduced by Morgan’s former client.
The next minute, she could hardly think at all because J.D. pulled her hard against the length of his body. He eased her back against the concrete hallway wall and pushed his pelvis gently against her hips. Soon, his thumb was strafing the tip of her breast through her shirtwaist, a reminder that their clothing was the only barrier between them.
“You’re a woman who deals well with the facts, aren’t you?” he whispered. “Well, what we’re both feeling right now is real, wouldn’t you agree?”
They stood entwined, surrounded by the rough, unfinished cement that she had helped to construct. She was mesmerized by his challenging stare and astonished by the raft of sensations radiating down her limbs.