Jewell (A Second Chance Novel Book 2)

by Tina DeSalvo

  “With Elli and Ben off in the marsh to train the St. Bernards for water patrol rescue, you don’t think you need to supervise the moving crew?”

  “I learned to delegate what I could long ago. I know when to be there and when I’ll get in the way and slow things down. Slowing things down will cost Elli more since she’s paying the workers by the hour.”

  She waved a hand so he'd move out of her way. Beau stepped aside to let her pass. He smelled soap, shampoo and warm woman. He also smelled that unique, smoky lightly sweet fragrance he would forever associate with her. She went back to kneel in front of the open chest. “Besides, I just checked on them. T-Bob is amazing. He’s so careful handling the furniture, he has everyone wearing gloves. He’s smart.”

  So, that was where she was coming from when he saw her walk by the kitchen. “Of course he’s smart. He’s a Bienvenu.”

  She laughed softly. “You all say that as if it a mark of honor, a title. Like a Lord or Duchess of…whatever. T-Bob the Bienvenu of Cane and Lord of Haulin’ As…” she laughed. “He told me to leave off the rest of his business name, As You Wish. He only added the rest of it to make Tante Izzy happy.”

  Beau bit back on a smile and ran his hand through his hair. How in the hell did she do that? Make him angry one moment and want to laugh with her the next. He sure as hell wouldn’t fall into her charming web. He knew a thing or two about using a smile and friendly quip to win someone over. Hell, he was infamous in Cane for it. He did it because he liked the people he was messing around with, having fun with them. He would never tease nor charm them with ill or evil intent. That, he suspected, was exactly what Madame Historian was doing.

  “Well, Tante Izzy wields a lot of power in the family,” he said, kneeling in front of the chest beside her.

  “You should kneel on a cloth or the top from one of the cardboard boxes so you don’t get dust on your dress slacks from the dirty floor.” She started to get up to get it for him. Even if she was scheming against him and his family, he knew in this instance, she had acted spontaneously. Jewell was used to taking caring of her grandmother.

  “No need.” He touched her arm to stop her and looked at the years of grime all around them and shrugged. “So, it’s just children’s clothes in that chest?”

  “Yes.” She reached into her tool belt and took out a second pair of white cotton gloves and handed it to him. “Put these on so your hands don’t contaminate the evidence I’ve already contaminated.”

  “Funny girl.” He slipped on the gloves, but they didn’t quite fit his long, slim fingers and large palms. “I feel like OJ Simpson. Got another size?”

  “No. I keep this extra pair for me in case I soil one pair and need the spare.” She shrugged. “If you want to work with me, you’ll have to buy your own. Only touch the items with the parts of your fingers that are covered.”

  He picked up the bonnet, using his index finger and thumb like tweezers. It looked like coffee stains were on the edges. “Once again, this looks like dirty old junk to me.”

  Jewell sucked in a breath. “How can you say that?” She took it from him and pointed to the hand stitching. “You see this detail? The way the stitches are crossed and looped? It dates the garment. It was a popular stitching of a certain date.” She wet her full lips. “The ladies of the day would have embroidery and hand sewing socials. They would show each other special techniques that usually were only done in a particular region or time period.”

  “Kind of like Tante Izzy’s quilting club, huh?”

  She smiled. “Exactly. The quilts they’re producing will be studied and dated by some future historian.”

  Beau couldn’t believe it, but she actually sighed. Damn, if he didn’t know better, if he wasn’t on to her scam, he’d believe she actually was really loving this stuff. Hell, maybe she did and she was still running a scam.

  “These items were created by grandmothers, aunts and mothers-in-waiting,” she smiled a Mona Lisa smile—not at him, but in her reverie. “These ladies would’ve made this bonnet or this receiving blanket,” she lifted a pale blue, cotton blanket from the chest and gently unfolded it, “while waiting for the baby to be born.”

  She carefully ran her hand over the top like a whisper, the tips of her fingers fluttering like a lover’s stroke. Beau’s heart began to pound harder. His mouth went dry. He all but felt her fingers whisper soft on his naked chest. She looked up at him, her eyelids heavy, her eyes dark sable beneath them.

  “In the twilight of the ending day, the wives would gather in the ladies’ parlor in front of the warm fireplace, hand sewing each tiny stitch as their young toddlers played on the floor near them. They would tell stories of the household staff, their children, their husbands…who would be in the next room discussing the politics of the day, the price of sugarcane and sharing an amber-colored whiskey.”

  Beau sat on the floor next to her. This was interesting, but not enough mental and physical activity for him. Oh, hell, his brain went right to an activity he would enjoy doing right now with sexy Little Miss Historian near him.

  She looked at him, rubbed the back of her neck again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you. I get lost in thinking about these…treasures.”

  “Bore is a strong word.” He smiled. “So is treasure.” He frowned. “Your neck hurts? You keep rubbing it? I saw you do that yesterday, too.”

  “Nah. I just slept in an odd position. It’s fine...” She placed the receiving blanket in the open lid. “It’s in really great shape.” She pulled out a smocked dress from the chest. “Another blue item. Probably for Ben’s father. The clothes in the chest are either blue or boy styles.”

  “Looks like dresses to me.”

  She laughed, a soft honest laugh that had him thinking of feathered pillows, cool smooth sheets and…oh, hell.

  “Yeah, well,” she continued, obviously unaware what her laugh did to him. “The young boys wore dresses back then.”

  He winced. “I guess it’s better than when I was a baby and didn’t have on anything more than a stained T-shirt or no shirt at all when I crawled around unsupervised in my diapers while my parents were passed out drunk. At least that’s what I was told by a number of people who used to see Jackson and me like that when we were babies. Yeah, a dress would’ve been better than dirty shirts and diapers.”

  “I don’t think it was the stained T-shirts and diapers that were the problem,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

  He’d heard it loud and clear. There was no criticism in her tone. She wasn’t judging. She’d made an observation. Yet when Jewell’s eyes settled on him, there was sympathy, concern and maybe even empathy in their depths. His heart constricted in his chest. He sucked in a breath and immediately was embarrassed. Damn. She saw too much. Why in the hell had he told her even that little bit about his pathetic childhood? She had distracted him with that damn laugh of hers. This was all insane. He was too idle. Too much in his head. Too much in her space. He needed to move. He needed to do something other than sit around listening to her melodic voice and laughter while surrounded by her intoxicating scent.

  “Some of us aren’t fortunate enough to get the elegant plantation mothers and fathers, are we?” She asked but it was intended to be more of a statement. “But some of us still manage to be blessed with people who love us like our parents are supposed to.” She exhaled and he saw it in her expression that she knew more about him than what he’d told her.

  “Us? Or me? You are talking about my life, aren’t you, Jewell?” It was damn uncomfortable thinking the expert and formidable historian looked into his history, uninvited. “I don’t like you digging into my personal history. How did you find out about me?”

  “It’s not that difficult,” she admitted. There was no apology in her voice. “I told you I researched the Bienvenu family history when I knew I was coming for this job. You’re in this family.” She paused and he nodded for her to continue. “I just did a simple search. Read some newspaper art
icles, birth announcements, obituaries. I saw no birth announcements for Ronald and Bernice, your parents, yet when Bernice passed away, the obituary had her survived by her two sons, Beauregard and Jackson.” She shrugged. “I put two and two together. It’s what I do.”

  “So much for private adoptions.” He didn’t like this one bit.

  “Nothing is private or secret.” She sighed. “Almost nothing.” She looked away and changed the subject. “I think we’re just about finished with this chest once I take some photos of the items and catalog them.”

  She paused before snapping her first photo to glance at him. It was obvious that she realized he’d noticed her staring at him. Her cheeks colored a pretty pink. In his experience, Beau had never known a woman to fake blushing.

  He sat quietly, thinking about how if she found out information on him, she certainly could have found information on Martine. “What other private or secret information did you discover about my family?”

  “I don’t think there was anything else,” she said, her voice distant as she took photos and typed each item into her iPad, all the while patting and loving each piece. “I didn’t have much time to look too deeply. I searched for what I thought I might need for the job interview, the job and for my search for Twinnie.”

  “And did you find anything that helped?”

  “No. Yes. No.”

  Beau looked at her a moment and realized she answered in order of his questions. No, it didn’t help with her job interview. Yes, it helped with her job. No, it didn’t help with her search for Twinnie. Interesting. Was she telling the truth? Half-truths? Lies?

  He mulled that around awhile, until he came around to thoughts of how Dr. Jewell Duet had revealed a little about herself when she offered an understanding of how not all parents were elegant plantation mothers and fathers. It wasn’t only a revelation about him. He’d definitely check more into her past, not only Mignon’s.

  “How much longer?” he asked, growing anxious again now that he had a plan of action. Her scent, her body, her sideways glance and those loving pats with the items in the chest were too intoxicating to a man who was aroused by her smooth dancing a little while ago. “Do you have any games I can play on your iPad?” She looked at him as if he'd grown two heads. “I need some stimulation.” Wrong word. His body immediately responded.

  “I’m stimulated enough for both of us.” Her response was quick, automatic. He wondered if she was as distracted as she looked, typing into her iPad, or had her words been purposefully intended?

  “Are you now?” His voice had lowered and his accent deepened, noticeable even to his own ears.

  Her eyes widened, then she looked down the bridge of her nose at him. “How and why do you do that?”

  He sat back. “Do what?”

  “Disrespect, belittle and hate on me and then flirt with me and give me that look like you want to jump my bones?”

  He leaned back on his hands, extended his legs and crossed his ankles. “Because I do want to jump your bones.”

  “You want to what?” Jewell asked, not sure why she had. She’d heard him the first time. He’d said he wanted to jump her bones, but his posture, as he remained leaning back, was so relaxed and comfy that it said he didn’t want to jump anything. His dark, hooded eyes rimmed with only a sliver of bold green gave away his desire, however. That, there was no mistaking.

  “Jump your bones,” he answered, looking like he was enjoying the bantering too much in his smoldering way. It was so disconcerting to hear him say it again and to see him looking so self-assured…and ridiculously sexy.

  She looked at him a long minute, trying to act every bit as carefree as he was, but her heart was beating so hard in her chest, she was afraid she would start hyperventilating. “I want to call you a liar,” she began, making sure her voice was smooth, even. “The logical thing would be to say, you can’t possibly want to have sex with someone whom you loathe and mistrust.” She shrugged. “But, logic isn’t always a guidepost. Obviously, you do want to have sex with me. I can see it in your eyes. The way the muscle in your jaw is straining and the cords in your neck are pulled tight.”

  He sat up. Rubbed his jaw with one hand. “I thought I wasn’t being obvious.” He smiled easily, and her shoulders tensed. His eyes moved over her face, settled on her lips. Oh, yeah. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was totally toying with her. If she wasn’t struggling to keep her breathing steady, she would’ve laughed. He leaned in toward her.

  She held up her hand to stop him from advancing. “I know a man doesn’t need to trust or have any feelings of good intent toward a woman to have sex with her.” She shook her head. “I’ve studied biological anthropology.”

  “Biological anthropology, huh?”

  “Yes, and I’ve observed human behavior my entire life.” She frowned. Damn, he was good at this seduction game. She was onto him. Still, it didn’t mean he didn’t affect her on some primal level. He was a good-looking man, and she was human, after all. Still, she knew what he was doing. She’d seen her mother do this to men. If she knew what was happening, then why wasn’t it easy to brush off the attraction? “Your playful, charming game doesn’t affect me one bit,” she said, knowing he wasn’t buying it by the way he lifted one brow. “Save it for someone you’ll have a better outcome with.”

  He leaned in, inches from her lips. He kept his eyes locked on hers. “Are you challenging me, Boots?”

  She felt his breath on her mouth. Smelled its sweet scent. She shook her head and her lips brushed against his. Her eyes widened in surprise. He eased in a little closer.

  ***

  “Oh, chère, that was sweet,” Beau whispered, just above her lips. Was that look of surprise part of her game to play the unwilling partner? To make him want the forbidden? He wanted her. His tongue slid and tasted, moistening her full dry lips. He ran his thumb along the inside of her wrist, felt her racing pulse. “Your body’s telling me it desires. Did you learn anything about that in your anthropology classes?”

  Even if she’d perfected the scam, the tease, she couldn’t fake her body’s response, could she? She shifted. He held her arms to keep her close.

  “Do you really want to go, Boots? Or do you want this?”

  He kissed her. He moved his lips over hers, feeling the soft flesh of their fullness, of her womanliness. She was soft where he was hard. She didn’t kiss him back, but she didn’t stop him from ravishing her, from caressing her neck to feel her pulse there. It was as strong as his own. She whimpered then. It was contained. A woman trying not to give in to what she wanted. Not to be vulnerable. It made him want her even more.

  He lifted her into his arms and sat on the floor with her. He kissed her again, pulling her on top of him. She moved to get off him, but then stopped, sighed.

  And kissed him.

  “Oh, hell,” he said, deepening the kiss.

  Heat trickled over him like warm rain. He slid his hands down her back, felt the ridges of her spine and the curve of the small of her back. He ran a finger inside the waistband of her jeans. He wanted to feel her flesh. Wanted her to touch his. He yanked the soft knit shirt from her pants, touched her velvety back, and she arched. Long silky strands of hair slipped from her ponytail, brushing his cheek. There was so much to feel. Her heat against him, her soft flesh beneath his hands, her cool silky hair on his face.

  “Sweet. You’re sweet and desirable as that forbidden praline you wanted to withhold from me.”

  Jewell jerked away.

  She cupped his face with her hands, her elbows braced on his shoulders as she held him at a distance and stared into his eyes. Searching. But what was she searching for? Her pupils were black and dilated and aroused. She inhaled deeply and exhaled. Damn. The moment was gone.

  He was both relieved and annoyed as hell. He wanted her. But he didn’t want to want her.

  If she hadn’t stopped them, they would have…What?

  She moved off of him. Sat up, pulling her knees to
her chest. “That was…”

  “Just physical,” he said, completing her sentence. “Biological anthropology stuff, just like you said, Professor.” He sat up, took her hands into his. “Don’t read any more than that into what happened. It changes nothing between us.”

  She laughed without humor. “Of course it doesn’t.” She dropped her head onto her knees and said something in French about a praline. Then she spoke to him in English. “You, sir, have won that challenge. You’re good at seducing a woman. Now that I have seen you in action, it will not happen again. Not with me.”

  “I don’t feel like I won anything.” He let go of her hands. “And, for the record, you’re the one who’s been seducing me since we first met.”

  Her head popped up. “What? Are you crazy?” She shook her head. “Typical male.”

  “You’ve been giving me those vulnerable sideways looks, and walking with that sexy swagger. And you talk about stimulation and…”

  She stood. “I am just being who I am, Beau. You’re the one who has an overactive libido and ego. Those things were never directed to seduce you. Get over yourself.”

  He stood. Damn. She was right. He’d had an overactive libido the instant she walked into Sugar Mill. Never had he gone from 0 to 100 in two seconds over a woman before. “It’s your scent. It must be a voodoo scent,” he shouted, pointing at her. “What in the hell is that bewitching scent you wear?”

  “Bug repellent,” she snapped back.

  She walked to the chest, turning her back to him. Again, she mumbled something in French. Cul was the only word he understood. Ass.

  Bug repellent? That couldn’t be. Was he that drunk in wanting her that he thought a lousy bug repellent was some kind of aphrodisiac fragrance? His ears burned with anger at himself. And, at her. He’d better not say another damn word until he got himself unaroused and his temper under control.