by J. A. Coffey
"I'll behave," she sulked.
Arthur stood up, hands on hips. "I'll have Duncan crack her over his knee if she imbibes, boss lady."
"Ah, an upgrade to Duncan's child. That may be a promotion," Jess chided. "Not everybody gets cracked on the backside by Duncan. Not even me."
The poor girl flamed beet red. "Will you two just go, please?"
"You've tortured her enough, dear," Darius said, patting her hand as he led her towards the door. To Arthur he asked, "When does her lunch pass expire?"
Arthur read the clock. "Sixty-five minutes."
"You were early," Jess added.
"Perfect." But he smiled gently at her when he said it. Drawbridge gone. "Come, Jess, I've got a great place picked out. You're not a vegetarian, are you?"
She shook her head as they walked toward the front door, which he gallantly held open for her. "Nope, I'm not."
"Great." Outside, he indicated the direction of his car.
"You're driving?"
Her question made him grin. "Of course. I would have taken the beamer, but my father asked to borrow it today. So, I'm taking my baby girl out."
Jess halted at his Mustang convertible. Pristine white leather with the Mustang logo covered the seats and doors, and the round gauges on the dash put the car in the sixties. The candy apple red finish glowed with fresh polish. She paused as he held the door for her. "Just out of curiosity, how do I know you won't kill me, dump my body, and make off with the bounty?"
He closed and then leaned back against his car door, legs spread, and held her shoulders. "Let's see. Your staff witnessed me pick you up. I have reservations at The Upstairs, in the corner booth overlooking the street, where any number of people would see us, so that's even more witnesses. An inheritance case is already being disputed, and I'm sure you've already brought your lawyer into it."
She hadn't yet, but she nodded for him to continue, letting him think she had. She'd learned to play poker quite young.
"So, the question is, how exactly is committing murder and placing myself squarely as the prime suspect- thereby ensuring a place in prison for, oh, say, thirty years- helping me procure the 'bounty' by bumping you off?"
Jess bopped a shrug, content with his answer. "Okay."
He still held her shoulders, and she saw that sparkle in his eyes. "Besides, you're too cute to kill."
He was so good at flattery. It made little mice scurry around inside her belly. "Good to know."
He grinned and guided her into the seat, grabbing what looked like a photo album off the cushion to toss in back. "My lady." His arm swept to the front seat.
"Good grief," she muttered, but deep down, was incredibly impressed. This was what she remembered about Darius. This was the fantasy to which she had clung for a decade. But which was the real Darius? The one beside her now? Or the volcano who had erupted in her store?
She had to admit she would probably rage if she were in his shoes. But she liked that he didn't continue his rant, and had, in fact, been incredibly affectionate with her, despite his anguish.
That was the hope she harbored for today.
Unbidden memories of his father's comments filled her mind, and she wondered if hostility was an inherited trait. If so, the volcano would be the reality, and courtly mien the illusion.
She wasn't quite ready to make that decision.
Would Daddy Dearest sweep in and ruin the day twice? She found herself fidgeting on the leather seats. "I've never been to The Upstairs. Heard of it, though."
"Best American cuisine. Ollie and I ate there a lot. I think you'll love it."
She loved the grin he shared with her, and she felt his excitement as a palpable thing. "What have you been doing for ten years, Jess?"
She looked over to him and saw his smile as he watched the road, but he glanced over and raised a brow.
"Working my way up to the shop, mostly." She grinned. "I started buying some antiques at garage sales and selling them on eBay, then picking up and refinishing some pieces of furniture and selling those in the paper or online. Once I had my down-payment, I looked for a place and jumped at the one I bought."
"It is beautiful. I have to say I was really impressed with it." Honesty shone in his eyes, and she quivered. "Your displays are really nice."
But she waved a finger at him. "You didn't even walk all the way through it."
"But I noticed." His jaw was slack, no tension. "I took it all in while I scanned for the person whom I assumed was in charge."
Arthur. "Shame on you." She grinned.
"Shame on me," he agreed.
"So what have you been up to?" She clasped her hands between her knees and tried her best to look cute.
He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about me at all. You," he gave her a long, assessing, smoldering gaze, "are the sole focus of my attention today."
She guessed looking cute had worked. And how. Her cheeks flamed so hot she feared her freckles would pop out.
"How are your parents?"
Jess grinned that he actually asked after them. "My mom would be thrilled to hear you say that. They're fine, actually, thanks for asking."
"Jeremy said she's no longer county sheriff?"
She shook her head, wondering how much of her life Jeremy had already divulged. "She became a detective."
"And your dad? How's he?"
"Just got an award for marksmanship. Be afraid." She didn't know if her wicked grin would get her anywhere, but she tried.
He threw his hands in the air and said, "I surrender!" making Jess laugh out loud.
"Skeletons?" she teased.
He grinned, and it lit up his whole face. "None. On the road too much to actually use closets these days."
It was a sharp reminder that he wouldn't be here too long, and she didn't like the notion of life- again- without Darius.
"Have you traveled at all, Jess?"
The wind vacuumed up her hair as they rounded a corner, turning from the quieter streets to the inner junction of the city. She gathered it back and twirled it into a rattail while she thought back and shook her head. "I'd love to go to Europe, where my favorite antiques originated. But I've only made it to the big antique shows: Connecticut, Syracuse, Philly. You know the drill." She faced him. "You ever been?"
He shook his head, his eyes displaying his longing to go. "No. I can imagine it would be like being in a candy store."
She felt her eyes light up. "You have no idea."
All this small talk made Jess' stomach churn in knots. She wanted this to be a date so badly she ached with it. Literally ached. Her poor girl parts responded to this man with a primal need that frightened her.
Titillating, that.
Soon enough they pulled into the lot, and Darius gallantly-or was it charmingly?- held her door. Then he grabbed the photo album and led her in.
His hand print on the small of her back burned through the silk of her blouse.
"You smell wonderful," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. He guided her inside and told the hostess, "Covington-Swan, table for two."
His hand remained on her back. Her cheeks tingled, but she eyed him. "You put my name on the reservation, too?"
He grinned and his hand squeezed her side. "Just in case you thought I'd try to dump the body."
She laughed out loud, startling the hostess. "Um," she eyed them before saying, "This way, please."
They were led upstairs and out onto the balcony, and that warm hand eased her into a comfortable chair in the far corner of the dining area.
Amazing how cold that spot felt now that they were seated. "My name's Aimee. Would you like to order your drinks?"
"Coke, please?" Jess asked.
"Make that two."
She wrote it down and went downstairs.
Their eyes held for a long moment. Too long for merely business. She wanted to look away but felt snared in the depths of his warm expression. "What's that?" Jess motioned with her chin to the album.
She raised her hand to the stairwell. "Check, please."
Darius laughed and lowered her arm before anyone saw. He moved his chair beside hers and opened to the first photo. "Jess," he took a deep breath and studied her. "I wanted you to see how integral this inheritance is to me. Really. So I went through some pictures I had kicking around my father's place here and put this together." He scooted even closer, until only the album's pages separated their table space.
She felt the heat of his arm and thigh against her own and succumbed to the fuzziness that filled her head. She looked at the photos before her as instructed but instead found herself studying the long tan fingers holding the pages instead.
"This was my first night at Ollie's. Look at the bed. 1700s English oak. I slept in that bed every summer since I was seven." The next photo. "Dining room table where Ollie and I would build model planes and ships. 1890s Chippendale. This sideboard would later hold my very first ship in a bottle. Chinese, 1860."
They were beautiful fingers, long and strong. On his wrist was a Rolex, a nice one, and dark arm hairs peeked beneath the hem of his sleeve. She wondered if his arm hair was soft or scratchy and blinked hard to focus on his words.
Darius looked up at her. "My father never did those things with me. Ever." He flipped the page, and she thought she could see rue in his eyes. Or maybe regret. She tried to focus instead on his words, finding his voice as equally mesmerizing as his fingers. "Parlor table where Ollie and I would play chess. The game was stored in that bureau," he pointed to the corner of the picture. "Bombay, 1769."
That caught her. The Bombay chest was gorgeous. She could list eight buyers right on the spot.
He flipped again to the great hall, where the very first antique she had ever "met" still sat, the 1750s Rococo with gilt acanthus leaves, the one Darius had first pointed out to her, but now two Hot Wheels tracks spilled over the lip of it, with an adorable young Darius and younger version of Ollie racing their cars towards the loop-de-loops at the bottom.
She remembered hearing his voice in her ear that night, how warm his hand had been as he led her around the house, teaching her everything she treasured to this day. If it weren't for him, for his love of antiques, for his teaching, for his mentorship, Jess would be a different person today.
If she hadn't been standing by this particular piece of furniture, they might never have met.
That thought alone sobered her, and she flipped back a few pages on her own, looking with a different pair of eyes.
Joy. Peace. Love. Every picture of this young boy had him squarely surrounded by priceless antiques that practically glowed with the tender care bestowed on them by their loving owners.
Damn, she wanted to forfeit right there. She did. But she couldn't. She felt snarky when she said, "Nice to see them being used." He looked up, and she thought she could see wariness in his gaze, as if not knowing her next words. "The furniture. It's meant to be used. Opened. Shut. Pulled, slammed, moved. When was the last time anyone touched them after you moved out?"
His jaw squared, and Jess truly hated that she made it so. "I never truly left."
"You never truly stayed, either." Her level stare made him falter. "I've been to Ollie's many times over the summers since we'd met. You hadn't been there in ten years."
He closed the book, and Jess felt as if he shut her out as well. "I hadn't spent summers there in ten years. I got sent to a private school, then started traveling across Europe for my business." He glanced up at her, and his voice dropped. "We spoke, though, all the time. I called Ollie all the time."
She faced him, hating herself. "Your love for Ollie isn't on trial, Darius. We're talking about the antiques. They're furniture. Functional, beautiful pieces collecting corrosive dust in a home you haven't lived in for a decade. Probably haven't even walked in since you returned."
He looked down and mumbled, "I was just there."
She pressed him. "I have people who would buy them, love them, use them and appreciate them every bit as much as you. Maybe even more so."
Oh, she ticked him off, for his jaw had tensed, his face darkened, and he thumped his chair back across the table to face her dead on. "Impossible. No one could love or appreciate them more than I."
Jess crossed her arms and legs. "And then what? You'll toss some sheets over them and move back to England for another ten years? Leaving behind everything you love?" Oops, that slipped out. Damn, she didn't want him to go. Until she said it, she hadn't even realized how afraid she was he might leave again. She gulped down the lump in her throat, feeling the burning behind her eyes. Don't cry.
He crossed his arms, too. "Perhaps. Maybe I'll take them with me. Nothing to stop me if I win the lot."
Meaning nothing could keep him here.
She scowled as she looked over the railing to the street. Better than crying, she decided.
Their hostess paused at the table, drinks in hand. "Is... everything alright?"
"Fine," Jess shot out, then collected herself and accepted her glass. "Thank you."
Darius nodded politely and set down his glass.
"Would you like to order?"
"I don't know," Darius answered, making Jess study him. He'd send her back to work hungry? Was he really that petty and mad? "It seems my companion is as stubborn as she is beautiful. I think right now she's capable of chewing the utensils into shreds. I fear for your table."
Okay, she had to admit that was good. She unfolded her limbs and asked their server, "What are you famous for?"
"Our barbeque chicken."
"Bring it on," she waved.
"Ribs?" Darius asked hopefully.
She nodded with awe. "To die for."
He shrugged. "Looks like I'm getting killed either way. I'll have the ribs, then, please."
She wrote it down, then eyed Jess. "Do I dare bring the lady silverware?"
He chuckled, darted Jess a teasing look before answering. "Yes. Otherwise, she'll just find a slower method to end my days."
Jess faced their server. "May I get a side order of hemlock, please?"
The server laughed. "You two are great. I'll be right back with your meal." And then she was down the stairs.
Darius leaned closer, raising a brow. "Hemlock?"
She twisted her lips in an almost-smile and parted him a sly look. "Not as fast as a knife to the back, but equally effective, I'm sure."
He softened and touched her hand. "That's not my thinking, Jess. Not at all. You should know that."
She pulled away; she had to. "But, see, Darius, that's the thing. I don't know that. Or you, for that matter."
He frowned and sat taller. "You've known me for a decade."
But she shook her head and sat up as well. "I've treasured one memory of you for a decade. The question is, are you the man from my memory, or have you grown into someone else?"
This time Darius gathered her hand and didn't let go. "I will give you as much time as you need to determine that answer, Jessalyn." His thumb stroked the back of her hand. "Even if it takes years."
The breeze blew through the potted trees surrounding them. She just now realized how coveted this booth must be. Their own little forest glade, two stories over Main Street, with a beautiful skyline overhead.
"Aw, did you two kiss and make up?" Aimee served their dishes, then dropped a stack of napkins between them. "Wet wipes are in the tin," she pointed to the metal urn on the table. "Enjoy."
Oh, he was enjoying, all right. Jess' first bite of barbeque dribbled on her chin, and he wanted to lick it off. Then she kept licking her fingers, and he felt himself growing more and more aroused. "If you need help licking anything, let me know."
She gasped, angled away from him so he wouldn't see her bright red cheeks.
As if. "Just trying to be helpful."
"Doubt it."
And then she dribbled on her blouse.
Jackpot.
"Oh, no," she moaned, dabbing her napkin into her cola.
"Don't." Darius stood up and pulled two wipes from the urn. "Here. Allow me. I perfected this as a teenager."
She snatched them from his fingers and almost hissed. "Nice try, Romeo. I'll get it from here, thanks."
He stilled her fingers. "Jess, I'm not kidding. Do you trust me?"
The look she sent him was intended to scorch. "So you can look down my shirt? I don't think so."
He stood straighter and stared down at her. "I can get porn on TV if that's what I really wanted. Tick, tock, Jess. The stain is setting."
She glowered at him, then shoved the wipes into his hand. "All this to see a bra. Jeez."
He ignored the comment and opened the two packages, trying not to compare the foil squares to condoms. He slid one wipe under the V of her blouse and blotted with the second. "I can even get this out of white." He met her eyes. "Just saying." He poured all his concentration into the stain, forcing himself to ignore that his fingers were in Jessalyn's blouse.
God, he wanted her.
He couldn't help it; he peeked at her bra.
And felt the immediate reaction kick in.
It was pink satin with lace.
Alluring did not even begin to describe it.
Lust might be a better word.
The stain was gone. He had to sit to hide the bulge in his slacks. "All gone." When she looked down to check his work, he slid into his seat and wiped off his brow with great exaggeration. "Lot of work to see a pink bra."
She dipped her fingers into her drink and flicked soda on him.
He gasped, and then his eyes narrowed. "I'll get even."
"Oh, no," she warned, hers glinting with mirth. "I'm not done getting even first."
He leaned back, truly enjoying himself although they got nothing accomplished.
He had learned two things, though:
1. Jess trusted him, on a truly personal level.
2. He really needed to see more of that bra.
Chapter Twelve
He overshot her parking lot, Jess noticed, but when she opened her mouth to say so, he smiled. "I know. Less peeping toms over here."