by J. A. Coffey
This was way too hot for a hot flash.
Once inside, she motioned. "Please sit." Jess touched a ladder-back chair and stumbled over her desk leg as she maneuvered to perch on her own balloon-back Victorian chair. "Darn desk tripped me." Her desk was a mess. Damn.
"I saw that," Darius said, his eyes all warm and melty.
Melty? Did she really just think that? She glanced around her office, trying to see it the way he did. It was a combination office and private lunchroom, with no less than eight pieces of antique furniture in here, including an old music cabinet, where she filed everything from paid bills to employee records. It was repurposing in its finest glory. The walls were homestead tan, the carpet a Persian conglomeration of red, blue, green and yellow.
Not bad for a middle class worthless woman.
"You married?" he asked, eyebrows raised innocently.
Married? What's that? "What?"
"Married? Kids? Engaged?" He grinned at her, even tipped his head in delightful invitation, and she liked the mischievous gleam she saw in his eyes. "We haven't seen in other in ten years, Jess. People ask questions like this."
Duh. "Oh, um, no. None of the above."
"That really surprises me." He leaned forward, and the shine in his eyes intensified. "But I'm not complaining." His smoldering gaze made her bang into a rare small birds-eye maple parlor table. The one with the gleaming silver tea set on it.
At least that was clean. "Um... tea?"
"Of course." He leaned back, smiling, and crossed one ankle to the opposite knee, steepling his fingers. His voice dropped to a seductive tone. "You look good, Jess. Damn good."
She snatched up her glass coffee pot and heard it thunk into the tiny sink as Jess jumped with his compliment. Was she always such a spaz? Or was it because his voice resonated so deeply in her chest? Or because his gaze made her feel all tingly? Or because his fingers on her wrist made her all hot and achy in a place no one else ever had?
She slammed off the water, shutting up one noise, just not the one in her head. "Thanks. You, too." She rattled the pot into the black microwave situated on top of the chestnut commode with arched backsplash and slammed the door. "What about you? You married?" She shot him a coy look, feeling residual sparks of her intellect resurfacing. "Enough strapping boys to start a ball team?"
"No. None." He frowned. "Are you angry with me?"
Her fingers fumbled with the timer buttons, making her cancel her entry and try again. Not married. Not married. "What? Me? Hardly. Why?" She pressed start and was rewarded with a functioning machine.
With his chin he indicated the microwave. "Whole lot of slamming going on."
Her face warmed again, so she stared at the coffee pot spinning 'round and 'round as she heard him get up behind her. To the microwave she retorted, "You're supposed to be the angry one. Remember all the yelling from, like," she glanced at her bare wrist missing a watch, "three minutes ago?"
"Yes, well, that was before Jessalyn Swan showed up."
Her stomach literally fluttered, and she placed a protective hand against it lest he see. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"Jess," whispered softly in her ear, in conjunction with his warm and gentle fingers landing on her shoulders. "I never stopped thinking about you."
Instantly she was swept into the cobwebs of her memories, reveling in the strength of his arms as she waltzed with him across a lush and flower-laden lawn. She faced him then, searching his eyes and finding only honesty. "You were my first kiss, Darius. A girl doesn't forget that."
He smiled and drew her in, and with little hesitation Jess wrapped her arms around him, reveling in the crush of his strength around her, his chin stubble nestling into her scalp, the remnants of yesterday's spicy aftershave and the delectable scent of his own skin overtaking her senses.
He felt even better than she remembered.
His arms enfolded her, and she felt them both take and release a deep, calming breath as they stood there.
From behind her glass door, a girlish squeal of laughter filled the air as Faith ran off to tell. "She'd better run," Jess muttered as Darius released her.
Gentle fingers caressed her shoulder. "I never forgave my father for what he did to us that night. It was reprehensible."
Bereft of his warmth, Jess shrugged. "You're nobility."
His voice turned gruff. "I'm barely nobility, from an antiquated title begun eons ago in a village small enough to carpet. I'm more like a common hooligan playing at fisticuffs, if you listen to my father's version."
But she wasn't listening to his father. She listened to and voiced the concerns that had plagued her for a decade. "I was middle class when we met. Now I'm upper. Really upper. But I'm no blue-blood, so the aristocracy," she indicated Darius, "shuns me. My middle class friends have a hard time relating to me. So, now, I waiver somewhere in the middle, trying to find where I belong." She took a deep breath. "And with this, with Ollie's bequeathal, I'll be the richest woman you'll ever know. Smithsonian Magazine wants to interview me. And the local newspaper. Plus four antique magazines. Who knows, maybe I'll make the Forbes equivalent for proprietors."
"Jess...."
"Ollie wanted to see me succeed." Her heart yammered at a different pace, telling her anger now fueled it and not Darius. "He invited my parents and I, and my staff, to witness the new Will. He wanted me to have it all."
Darius wiped his face, and part of her mourned with his anguish. Darkness filled his visage, seemed to pour from him. "He was my uncle, Jess, and more than that, he was like a father to me. Remember how highly I thought of him? Don't you understand how important these are to me?"
The microwave beeped, diffusing the tension for the moment. She couldn't tell him it was already promised to the zoo, in honor of Ollie, who loved taking inner-city kids there. She had signed her promissory note with them and was under contract of silence to say nothing until the big reveal. The pachyderms that Franklin had for the summer were part of the preview, the trial period, to see how the community responded to them. If all went favorably, then Covington Cove would be the new five acre enclosure designated for elephants rescued from circuses and abusive environments. It was what Ollie wanted done.
Jess poured the water over their tea bags as she considered her next words. Orange and ginger aromas wafted to her nostrils, and she let the steam caress her cheeks. "So let me have them and I'll let you buy your favorites back." She crooked a smile at him over her shoulder. "How's buy five get one free? After I get my fifteen minutes of fame."
His jaw tightened, and his color darkened. "No good. I need them. All of them."
"Why?" She stepped closer, handing him his saucer and cup as if they were both to be thus armed. "You're just going to lock those gorgeous pieces up again where no one will see them. Do you want them or not? Can't you trust the word of a former middle-class worthless woman? Or do we need a lawyer to draw it up?"
"Jess...." his free palm extended towards her, and she could see he didn't agree with her choice of adjectives.
"No." She swatted down his hand and cradled her tea. "Why? Why should I ignore my bequeathal?"
He bit his lip, set down the tea, and ran his fingers along the ropy edge of her desk. "It's difficult to explain."
"I'm kinda smart." She plopped her hip onto the desk and sipped. "Try me."
Darius didn't look at her as he sat back down, and she had the feeling he moved with complete grace. Except right now. "A lot of those were my mother's. She's dead, too."
"Oh." Some of the anger left her.
Some.
"The night she died..." he licked his lips, stared at the painting of a young boy with a frog. "Father and mum had a huge fight." He scoffed. "Go figure." A deep breath, then, "I'm pretty sure it was about me. I heard my name mentioned a lot. My father grabbed his keys and took off. Mum went after him. It was raining, and she missed the curb. The auto was flattened when they found it the next day. Mum was...beyond help."
Moved, Jess abandoned her drink, got up and moved closer as she leaned along the desk, practically in-between his knees. "I'm so sorry."
Those soft honest eyes held hers, and she found her own drifting to his full lips, pulling them back up by sheer force. He swallowed and added, "They hold sentimental value to me."
That made her frown. "Sentimental? Aren't you rich?"
Again she watched the set of his jaw. "I am both. Father gambled most of his guilt away. Ollie paid the mortgage on our home, provided he could use it as a stay-over for his European friends."
"Nice uncle."
"The best ever." Darius' eyes filled with tears. "Won't you please reconsider?" He stayed put, not reaching for her, not leaning forward, just beseeching her to put him first.
Jess touched his shoulder the way he had touched hers. "I can't. Ollie had planned everything. The media and the mayor will be there at the disbursement. He even wrote the ceremonial letter."
Darius pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "That's Ollie." He seemed to pull emotionally away from her with those words, and she admitted- to herself- she didn't much like it.
Silence crowded into her office, its cottony presence almost suffocating in the tiny room. One fortifying breath gave her the courage to say something she would regret for the rest of her life. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll let you buy the whole lot back. There. I said it. I'll go against every desire I've ever cultivated to bring these beautiful pieces out into the world, and I'll let you buy them all back. One fell swoop." She gulped her breath, held his eyes. Please don't, please don't.
Hard eyes returned her stare. "Never."
She huffed out her breath, glad but confused and not terribly in a hurry to settle this anyway. "What? Why not? I could use the income, and you can surely afford it."
"I refuse to purchase what is rightfully mine." He glared hard at her, his accent becoming more pronounced. "What you're proposing falls more in line with blackmailing or gangster security than any idea of sharing." He set his tea down on her desk with a little more force than the task required. "Besides, they were appraised at one point eight million, Jess. I don't know about you, but I don't have an extra one point eight million sitting around."
And that was why she'd be the richest woman on the east coast. "That's my final offer, Darius."
Raw fury snapped in his eyes, and his body vibrated with anger. Tautness defined every line of his delectable body, and Jess felt herself squirm, but not out of fear. She liked his passion. She remembered his passion. Then she remembered his control. Both were huge turn-ons, but not something she would ever tell a guy. His fingers latched onto her desk and he bit out, "I want what's mine, duty and tax free. They are the only tangible proof I had even the tiniest amount of happiness in my youth and I'll not see them scattered across the globe."
Such an odd statement. It made Jess study him with wonder. "Only problem, Darius, is...they're not yours."
"I want what's mine." Somehow he was standing, his hands straddling the desk on both sides of her, pinning her between his strong arms and the rock-brown fury of his eyes.
For reasons she couldn't explain, Jess felt no fear from this man, regardless of his wrath. Handsome, charming, gallant, highly-kissable Darius had never once in all her imaginings been capable of causing her harm. And though she realized that people typically fell short of the fantasy one created of them, as it had been her reality and salvation for ten years, Jess decided to cleave to her belief, at least for another few moments.
She believed he would never hurt her, and that firm belief made her simply study him as she considered their predicament. This was not the way she planned on being in his arms again. She wanted his hugs and far, far more from Darius. Alas, "business before pleasure" was more than just a motto to her; it was her lifeblood.
The breath she inhaled felt like a final one, and she held it a moment. "They're not yours anymore, Darius. I'm sorry."
She watched the rage settle and then dissipate on his features as they squared off a mere foot apart. When neither moved, Darius scoffed and shoved upright. "I'll see you in court," he bit out as he stomped out the door.
Phew. A big non-final breath left her. And here she thought she wouldn't see him again.
After the front door slammed, Jess exhaled a deep breath. Shaken on many fronts, Jess called Jer-Bear's cell. When he answered with his usual "Hi, Cookie," she whispered, "Darius is back."
Chapter Four
There was only so much grumbling a man could do before his own lack of action made him feel impotent, Darius decided, so he stopped pacing beside his car and vacillated bringing in a lawyer.
For so many years he thought of her, kept tabs on her. After all, Jess had been the only woman he had met who had ever stood up to his father; a foolhardy and lamentable move, but memorable nonetheless. He admired the spirit he sensed in her, the willingness she displayed to jump to his assistance.
An ally.
Something he had never known before or since.
He felt his lips quirk with a reluctant grin when he realized she had done it again, racing to the defense of her staff, a man he had verbally abused in his anger. She was a woman who took her alliances seriously, and he doubted she ever stabbed her friends in the back.
Something else his life unfortunately lacked.
Blast and damn. He hadn't felt this out of control since he was a teenager, as if the last decade of purposeful breathing and movement and thought had never happened.
That, too, was due to meeting Jess. He had wavered quitting karate, but after what happened that night, he re-doubled his efforts, went into a more challenging aspect of the field.
He became a teacher, a specialized teacher.
He was damned good at it, and he loved it.
He wouldn't be where he was today without meeting Jess.
Ollie's death and Jess' sudden presence had rattled him to the teeth, and he couldn't in good conscience complain about the arrival of the latter. Just two years ago he found Jess' neglected MySpace account, and even chatted with her anonymously online in an antique forum. Her user name was Olliesgal, and she had questions about gilding on a Rococo sideboard, presumably like the one she had seen the night they first met.
He thought frequently and fondly of that night. Jess had been a rapt student. At first, he had thought she tittered at his nearness like all the other girls, but it became rather evident she shared his passion for historical pieces. The awe and reverence in her eyes had never been matched by another.
He had used that to his advantage in the forum, replying in poetic detail to her query, his heart racing with each tap of his fingers on the keys.
She had been so appreciative of his help, she had signed off with the letter J and a bunch of X's and O's.
Like a fool he had copied and saved the exchange.
He didn't know if she'd remembered him, so he had stopped shy of "friending" her online, making himself feel more and more the lowly stalker.
And now that he'd found her, touched her, crushed her in his arms, all he could think of was destroying her livelihood for his personal gain.
He felt like a monster.
He leaned against his silver BMW and stared at the Phoenix Antiques storefront, even leaning side to side to take in the width and breadth of the building. This part of town was older, and the buildings here showed a remarkable attention to detail that he frankly envied. Her business filled a large red brick building, two stories, with doubled corbels hanging under the eaves. Each window had been dressed with intricately-carved wooden frames, including the two giant display windows up front.
Beautiful gilded furniture from Louis XV period filled the left window, and whitewashed country French filled the right.
Like he had first thought, above them both a large Phoenix bird spread its wings over the flames that held the name of her store.
He couldn't help it; he smiled, proud of Jessalyn's accomplishment. And prouder still
knowing he was the catalyst in her career path.
And then like an ass for wanting to take it all away.
Seeing her again had brought so much of his repressed emotions to the surface: his doubts, his insecurities, all stemming from the night they met. He felt like he had just woken up in his seventeen-year-old body and had to relive the second worst night of his life at his father's hands, superseded only by his mother's death.
Jess resonated a chord in him, one never strummed by any other woman. It sought out his core and reverberated with a life and vibrancy he had only experienced twice now, the first being ten years ago, when she trod on his toes as they waltzed and blushed every time he met her eyes. He had wanted to impress and protect her that day, as he could not impress his father or protect himself from that same man.
He had enrolled himself in Aikido because of that night, deciding after what his father had done to them that he needed more discipline, more focus. Less time at home. Every day now was just him and an opponent. One winner, one loser. He would win this contest, too.
He felt that chord inside him twang; did he want to win the antiques, or the girl?
"Damn." He bounced his fist repeatedly on the hood. A scent teased his nostrils, so he brought his lapel to his nose. Jess' perfume. He softened. "Damn, blast, and damn again."
"Locked out?"
Darius faced a man about his age, dressed in a dark brown three-button suit with a butter-yellow dress shirt that was a surprisingly complementary hue. A blue handkerchief, impeccably folded, popped out of his suit pocket. His dirty-blond hair curled in at both sides of his forehead, and Darius noticed the man's nails were manicured. "No, just thinking."
"Well, you look quite yummy sitting there," he said, flapping his wrist like a flirtatious schoolgirl. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Wide blue eyes fawned up at him, and Darius inhaled a fortifying breath before returning his gaze to the storefront.
The last thing he needed right now was to be hit on by a gay man. "Women problems, sure you can't help me there." Darius slid him a significant glance.