Rich in Hope (Richness in Faith Trilogy Book 2)

by Lindi Peterson

  With well-defined muscles.

  Muscles I can’t ignore due to his total lack of upper-body clothing.

  Very few situations have the ability to leave me feeling out of control. My scar is one of them.

  And Stephen Day, who didn’t even blink at my now less-than-perfect face, is another one.

  Yes, I consider Stephen a situation.

  How else would you describe a man who hugs lions and calls a woman a cheetah?

  My brown leather purse is a bag I can handle. I sling it over my shoulder and exit the bedroom in search of my luggage.

  I find it in the foyer, sitting on the expensive marble floor.

  Stephen is not with it.

  The enormity of my now-gone-awry-carefully-made-plans hits me full force. I have nowhere to go.

  Talk about irony.

  The reality is, I do have friends in Miami, which isn’t too far from this house in Hampton Cove. I could probably call one of them and in no time have a place to crash.

  But there would be questions.

  Explanations.

  People.

  Never mind Christmas. And I need seclusion. Katherine said she and Joe would be here long enough to do the shoot, then they were going to Key West for the rest of the holidays. She had offered me the use of this house until I had to be back in New York at the first of the year.

  My foot taps out my nervous energy as I despair in this awkward moment. This awkward moment of feeling tears about to fall again.

  I have one hope of setting my life right. And I can’t blow it.

  “Cheetah,” his voice calls. “You’re welcome to come into the kitchen or living room until your cab arrives.”

  Cab arrives? He must think I’ve already called for one. Well, I guess having stood here willy-nilly for the last few minutes does indicate I’m ready to leave.

  And, he thinks I’m fast.

  I walk past the comfy living area into a gorgeous kitchen. Oak cabinets, high-end appliances and beautiful granite countertops exude elegance. A bar stool invites me to sit at the end of the island.

  “I’ve started some coffee.” He nods toward the coffee pot. “And if you’ll excuse me, Teresa will be here momentarily, so I’m going to put a shirt on.”

  Teresa? If she was a girlfriend, I doubt he’d be donning a shirt. Although, you never know. The coffee pot gurgles. To the left of the coffee pot, I see a laptop.

  My leg, not quite touching the ground, swings back and forth. I slide my purse off my shoulder and set it on the tiled floor. I also shrug off my sweater in an attempt to relieve the too-warm feeling I’ve had since I entered this house.

  I would love to kick off my boots, but that would surely give away the fact that I haven’t called a cab yet.

  And I need to stall as long as I can.

  “Hello?”

  The female voice almost startles me off the stool, but I grab the granite island counter top to steady myself. A woman, probably in her early thirties with dark brown hair, stands to my left. Her soft-soled shoes gave her the ability to arrive undetected.

  Her gray uniform indicates she’s not a girlfriend.

  “Hi.” I stand. “I’m Jenny Harris.”

  “Teresa.” She holds her hand out. “Mr. Day’s housekeeper.”

  Taking a step forward, I shake her hand. “Very nice to meet you.”

  Her hazel eyes linger too long before shifting away.

  I release Teresa’s hand and settle myself back on the stool. Heart hammering, I try to not think about how The Beautiful Agency didn’t renew my contract. How I can’t afford another elective surgery to fix this scar.

  How if I’m doomed to life behind the camera, I need to go for this career opportunity while I can. While people still know my name.

  These are the reasons I need to be alone. I don’t need any distractions.

  What I do need apparently is a model. And a photographer that photographs something besides wildlife.

  My financial situation is precarious after being out of work for months on top of trusting my life savings to an old friend’s new business venture, which failed miserably. Between that and the botched surgery, my life in no way resembles the life I had just a few short months ago.

  “Can I pour you some coffee? It’s the latest Christmas blend. A really nice flavor.” Teresa pulls cups down from one of the cupboards.

  “That sounds great.”

  DIY Jenny is on hiatus for the moment.

  And vastly relieved.

  Teresa sets the full cup of coffee in front of me. “Have you been here long?”

  She obviously hasn’t seen my luggage. “No. Just arrived, actually.”

  “You’re a lucky lady.” She winks. “So many women try to capture the attention of Mr. Day. I see you have succeeded. And just in time for the holidays.”

  The liquid burns my tongue as her words burn my heart. “No,” I sputter. “Actually, I haven’t succeeded in anything.”

  “I’m the housekeeper. You don’t owe me any explanation. I’m just glad to finally see another woman around this house besides me. It’s been far too long.”

  Before I can say anything, Stephen walks into the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Teresa.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Day.” She hands him his coffee.

  His amazing torso is now covered with a black T. It’s a snuggly fitting T which shows off his physique.

  And Teresa thinks I’m his woman.

  He nods at me as he turns on his laptop. “I see you’ve met Jenny.”

  Teresa’s eyes take on a sparkle. “I have.”

  At least he didn’t call me Cheetah. I can tell by the look on her face and in her eyes that Teresa thinks we have a relationship. But that relationship exists only in her mind.

  He’s under the impression I’m leaving momentarily.

  “Today I launder all the bedding, so I need to start.”

  With those words, Teresa leaves as silently as she appeared.

  The coffee is much stronger than I normally drink, but I find taking small sips keeps me focused on something besides Stephen messing around with his laptop.

  Totally ignoring me.

  “Cabs don’t usually take this long. Which company did you call?” He doesn’t even look away from his computer.

  One of the first things I determine about Stephen Day, besides his physical attributes, is that the man doesn’t know how to be still. Something that surprises me as I would think being still would be a necessary attribute for someone taking photographs.

  Especially photographing wildlife.

  The second thing I determine?

  He’s direct.

  Do I really want to tell him that I haven’t called a cab yet?

  Not really.

  He types for a few seconds, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, before focusing his attention on me. “Sorry. Had to send that email.”

  “Working?” Maybe my question will take his mind off the cab situation.

  “Yes, I am.” He looks at his watch.

  I need to run interference. “As you can see,” I point to my scar. “I’ve had somewhat of a career setback. I can’t model right now.”

  At my words his shoulders square. He looks at me with a confused expression on his face. “I’m sure a doctor can fix that little scar right up.”

  Little scar?

  Is he serious?

  I don’t even know how to address his lack of sympathy. Those hard angles may be great for his facial features but aren’t so great regarding the heart. “There’s a lot of trauma that comes from a facial injury. It isn’t something that is dealt with lightly.”

  “I understand facial injuries can be tough. Not trying to make light of your situation, but I could manipulate that scar out of the picture. Is that seriously holding up your career?”

  If I were a cat, my tail would be straight up and my claws would be out. Why is he talking like this is no big deal? He has no clue what the ramific
ations of this disastrous surgery have been.

  Will continue to be.

  “Even if they could brush over the scar for the photos, I still have live appearances. Shows. Our annual Christmas show was ten days ago, and I watched from backstage. Honestly, wearing a bag over my head would be the only way to brush the scar in those situations.”

  I’m not aware that I am crossing my arms until I realize I’m clenching them with a strength I didn’t know I possessed. Can you say full defense mode?

  Well, almost.

  All I need to do now is cross my legs and narrow my eyes.

  Although the ever-fidgety Mr. Wildlife Photographer probably wouldn’t even notice.

  “Somebody as pretty as you should never wear a bag over her head. You’d be robbing the world of viewing beauty. A crime in my opinion.”

  What is he seeing? “You don’t get it. I’m not beautiful right now.” I point to my face. “This ugly, protruding, huge, red scar messes up the look, you know?”

  He bridges the distance between us in a couple of steps. He leans toward me until he’s close enough that I can see his full, black eyelashes one by one.

  “Jenny.” I almost faint at the way my name falls off his lips. “With the stunning amber-colored eyes, which widen in amazement. Your seriously Rapunzel-like hair is the envy of women. Makeup artists all over the world would kill to create a lipstick the color of your full, beautiful lips. Think about it. It’s all in where you decide to focus.”

  I let out a breath, only realizing then that I had been unable to breathe during his slow-talking perusal of my features.

  I watch wide-eyed, just like he said, as his hand moves toward my face. Instinctively, I guess, I close my eyes. Seconds later I feel one of his fingers gently touching the tips of my eyelashes.

  “Long, thick, beautiful eyelashes.” He moves his finger up tracing my eyebrow from just above my nose to my temple. “Your eyebrows arch in perfection.”

  His fingers gently brush the top of my ear, before inadvertently I’m sure, tickling my ear lobe. “Pretty ears, the perfect backdrop for dazzling diamonds.”

  I know I will melt if I open my eyes.

  So I don’t.

  His fingers continue their tirade by sliding down my neck. When they stop momentarily, my flesh burns and I wonder if his fingerprints are embedded into my skin. “Smooth, silky, alabaster skin.”

  His fingertips trace the top of my shoulder, and it’s only when I feel them leave me that I open my eyes.

  He’s still staring intently at me. I don’t know what to say. Once again, I doubt my ability to speak.

  One thing is certain. This man is good for the ego.

  The other certainty?

  I still have a scar dividing the upper half of my cheek from the lower half. Why doesn’t he see that? Describe that?

  For all his inability to stay still a few minutes ago, he is now staying too still, his gaze on me. Not in a weird way. But I feel the need to shift the focus off me.

  “Katherine told me you were gone until after the first of the year. What happened to bring you home from the far-away country she couldn’t pronounce?”

  My question apparently stops his perusal of all my unmarred features. He backs up and picks up his coffee cup.

  “I got kicked out.”

  He seems so serious, I can’t help but chuckle. “Kicked out of a country?”

  “Yes. It’s not the first time. But this time Gary told me to take a break until the New Year. So I’m listening to the boss man. I’m staying put.”

  “So, what does one do to get kicked out of a country?”

  “Finds himself in places he’s not supposed to be. Restricted areas, you might say.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

  “Restricted by?”

  “Daddy. The king. Seems he is very protective of his daughter, and dinner with an American isn’t acceptable behavior.”

  This man’s ability to render me speechless is unmatched. I’m trying to picture him among royalty. I visualize a lot of tension.

  It defies reason.

  So does his explanation. “Just dinner? That’s radical.”

  “The king can be radical. It’s his country.”

  “Wouldn’t know. I’ve never met a king.” This whole scenario seems suspect. I’m not sure I believe the gorgeous photographer even though Katherine said he was a Christian. A good guy.

  Stephen Day is untamed, restless and too good looking.

  A lethal combination for the female population.

  A combination that a king would notice, would warn his daughter away from.

  Even if Stephen wasn’t an American.

  He glances at his watch again. “You might want to call the cab company and see what the problem is.”

  A sound coming from his computer saves me from answering.

  “Geez.” He looks at the laptop. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He clicks the computer mouse a couple of times. An older man appears on the screen. Stephen is Skyping.

  With someone he’s apparently not too happy to be Skyping with.

  “Gary.” Stephen looks at the screen as he speaks.

  “Don’t tell me you’re surprised to be hearing from me.”

  Stephen leans over, elbows on the granite counter. I now see his face in the small box on the bottom. The image Gary is seeing. I’m sure Stephen’s image doesn’t evoke the same response from Gary as it does from me.

  Gorgeous.

  “Not surprised.” Stephen shakes his head. “But there’s really nothing to say, is there?”

  Gary wipes his forehead. “Yes. Yes, Stephen, this time there is something to say.”

  This time? Is Stephen always in trouble with his boss?

  I watch Stephen’s amazing torso breathe in deeply.

  Exhale deeply.

  I think he’s forgotten that I’m here.

  “Say it, then.” Stephen’s voice is void of emotion.

  Now Gary’s expression looks pained. Like he’s not thrilled with what he’s about to say. “You know, Stephen, we’re used to you pushing boundaries. It’s one of the qualities we love about you because you know when it’s time to stop pushing. But this time, it seems you’ve pushed too far.”

  Stephen shakes his head, palms firmly on the counter. “Come on, Gare. I can’t explain fully, but trust me on this. It’s going to be okay.”

  The older man chuckles sarcastically. “Not too sure about that. We’re just now getting back to where we were before the economy hiccupped. Your Life, Wild Life relies on sales to generate income, and the last thing we need is bad publicity.”

  “What do you mean bad publicity?”

  “It seems the royalty of Zaunesia have threatened to go to the western media.”

  Zaunesia? Never heard of it. Must be the hard-to-pronounce country where the king and his daughter live.

  “Come on.” Stephen taps the counter with his fingers. “Zaunesia is a little, unimportant country. Who pays them any attention, Gary?”

  “More people than we thought, apparently. A couple of our investors for starters.” Gary rubs his thumb and index finger together as people often do to symbolize money.

  “This is insane and blown way out of proportion, I might add.”

  “Maybe. Unfortunately your reputation precedes you, and there’s nothing in your future indicating change.”

  Stephen stands, his handsome face no longer viewable by Gary. “What do you mean change? What kind of change?”

  Gary can’t see Stephen’s perplexed look, but I can. It in no way takes away from the handsome factor he exudes.

  And neither does the intrigue surrounding him. His reputation. Pushing the boundaries. His touch on my face, neck, shoulders, eyelashes. Even lions want to hug him.

  “Well, Stephen, because it’s come down to it, I’ll be blunt. The single status you parade around is starting to bite. King Jarvis might be willing to let this go if he thought his daughter wasn’t in dange
r of your advances. After what happened with Leah, you’re determined to remain a bachelor, aren’t you?”

  “Ah!” Stephen slams his hand down and pushes away from the counter. His hand slips slightly causing his palm to connect with the corner of the laptop. The laptop swivels as Stephen turns. The camera points directly at me sitting on the stool, and before I can duck or even think about moving off the stool, I find myself face to face with Gary. His eyes widen and his eyebrows rise seconds before a smile appears on his face.

  “Well, hello. I wasn’t aware Stephen had company.”

  The way he says the word “company” leads me to believe he’s under the same false impression Teresa is under. Katherine told me several times that Stephen was a loner and had far too many things he wanted to accomplish before ever considering a relationship or marriage.

  She never mentioned Leah.

  It appears she didn’t exaggerate the other issues though, considering my presence provokes so many remarks and assumptions.

  “Hi.” I don’t know what else to say.

  Stephen starts shaking his head and slashing his index finger across his throat. I’m interpreting his drama to mean I shouldn’t say anything else. He quickly turns the computer and the camera focuses on him again.

  “Who’s the pretty lady, Stephen?” Gary asks.

  Pretty? I guess I’m so far away he can’t make out my scar. Oh, and the fact that half the time I don’t stop my hair from falling onto that side of my face probably hides it, too.

  “Not important.” Stephen’s tone is curt.

  Cut! It’s been a long time since someone has referred to me as unimportant. Who does he think he is?

  “Are you sure?” Gary questions.

  But you’re determined to remain a bachelor, aren’t you?

  Gary’s words replay through my mind. I need something. A place to crash and attempt to salvage my life. Stephen needs something. At least according to Gary, Stephen needs something.

  To prove he’s not the eternal bachelor.

  A plan, one that seems extremely beneficial for both of us, forms in my mind. If I help him, maybe he’ll help me.

  “Hi, Gary. I’m Jenny. So nice to meet you. Well, you know what I mean, right?”

  Stephen looks at me with wild brown eyes. He steps back out of the camera’s view and mouths, are you crazy?