"You mean, since Susan died?"
"Naturally," Jemma said, then immediately felt sorry for her brusque tone. "I doubt that he dated before that."
"Right." He sent her a foolish grin. "Not…until the last party. He was devoted to…well, he was always at the resort."
Ian's words sent a ripple of concern through Jemma. What had caused Philip to ask a woman to the party? Had Jemma sent him a message that she was chasing him? Was the woman his self-defense? She hoped that wasn't it.
She realized Philip was tied to the resort. He'd told her himself that he was married to his work. But Jemma didn't think he was anymore. His work ethic had become a habit, and she didn't believe that he loved it as he once had.
Jemma sensed a hunger in Philip, an emptiness that she wasn't sure he understood—but she saw it. He wanted more from life. And Jemma wanted to be the one to give it to him.
Philip looked toward the doorway. Where was Jemma? She was always on time. He turned back to Ian. "So how are things going with you and Jemma?"
Ian shifted in his chair, then pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Okay, I suppose. We're not learning much that we didn't already know."
"Really?" Philip said, realizing his question had missed the mark. He rose and came around the desk, deciding to get to the point. "How have you two gotten along?"
Ian jammed on his glasses, his answer slow in coming. "Okay. Although, she spends the whole time talking about—"
"Can I come in?"
Both sets of eyes turned to the doorway. Jemma stood in the threshold, one hand holding her notes and the other clasped around the doorknob.
"Sure. We've been waiting for you." Philip gestured to the empty spot as he walked behind his desk. "Have a seat."
Jemma gave Ian a warm smile and eased into the chair.
Philip watched as she smoothed her skirt, adjusted the hem and crossed her slender legs.
"Well, now," he said, guilt rising up his neck as if he were a voyeur. "I suppose we can begin." He dropped into his chair.
Ian flipped through his notes, appearing to avoid direct eye contact. Finally, he settled on a page and looked up. "Oh, are you waiting for me?"
"Either one of you," Philip said, feeling like a reveler who'd arrived too late for the parade. Since Jemma had entered the room, Philip had felt a strange uneasiness, and wondered why.
Ian didn't responded, so Philip turned to Jemma. "What did you think? Anything unique we might want to consider?"
"Not really. Ian and I've spent a lot of time together—" she sent Ian a sweet smile "—and both of us agree that Bay Breeze is tops."
"Really?" Philip didn't like the smile; nor did he like the goofy expression Ian had on his face. "You both agree, then?"
Ian nodded. "Jemma said it all. We reviewed our notes the other night and—"
"The other night?" To Philip's dismay, he had verbalized his thoughts. "You mean here?"
Ian fidgeted. "No, well, uh, we were—"
"If you're asking where we talked," Jemma said, "I think that evening we ate at a little café on Spring Lake. Isn't that where we were, Ian?"
"Right," he said, fidgeting with his glasses frame.
"A café?"
"If you're concerned about overtime, Philip, it was after work," Jemma said.
Philip shot from his chair, cringing at his ridiculous jealousy. "No, no. I was only thinking…that I've worked both of you far too hard on this project." The lie rolled off his tongue.
"No problem," Ian said, "it's been fun."
"Yes, but…we've done enough researching, I think. You both seem to agree that we—" Philip faltered, realizing he'd been pacing in front of his desk. Where was his mind? Instead of fretting, he should be pleased that they'd fallen so easily for his plan.
Jemma lowered her head, attempting to hide a grin. A scowl distorted Philip's good looks, and watching him pace like a distraught lawyer filled her with delight…along with a smidgeon of guilt. Still, he deserved every minute of it.
Ian had jumped into the conversation, piling on details without any knowledge of Jemma's strategy. She couldn't have rehearsed him better.
Philip clamped his hands behind his back, and Jemma noticed a tic in his clamped jaw. "I suppose we're finished…if you have nothing new to add."
"It was a waste of time, really," Jemma said.
Seeming on edge, Ian rose. "If that's it, I'll get back." He strode toward the door, then paused and focused on Jemma. "Are you coming?"
"You go ahead, Ian."
He hesitated a moment, then turned and left the office.
Jemma rose, feeling awkward and miserable. Her emotions, she was sure, had emblazoned themselves on her face. But when she gathered the courage to look at Philip, he didn't seem to have noticed her discomfort.
"I'm glad…I mean, it's nice that you and Ian are, uh, becoming such…good friends," Philip said, his hands jammed in his pants pockets. "You need to have fun, Jemma."
"I manage," she said, wanting to fall on her knees and confess her terrible lie.
"How's Claire?" He pulled his hands from his pockets and folded them in front of him.
"She seems fine. She mentioned calling you one of these days." Jemma prayed Claire wouldn't forget.
"I've meant to call her."
"Now that I'm in the flat, I don't see her that often myself. Last Sunday we went to church together."
"Church…that's a place I haven't been in a long time. I joined United a long time ago, but it's difficult to escape this place on Sunday mornings."
Jemma studied his face, wondering if it was only an excuse or if Philip really meant what he said. Lyle had so often handed people a line. He had sounded like a deacon, but Jemma had realized finally that Lyle didn't know the Lord at all. With Philip, time would tell, and in the meantime, she'd pray.
Tension seemed to slip away from Philip's shoulders, and he motioned for her to sit again. He moved to her side and sank into the chair Ian had occupied, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands again. "I'm sorry that I sent you and Ian out on a wild-goose chase. I suppose it was silly."
"It's not a problem. I enjoyed seeing some of the other resorts, and I meant what I said. Bay Breeze is tops. We have nice rooms, great views, a sandy beach, and so many other activities. You hardly need to worry about all the other amenities I suggested."
"It sounds nice to hear you say 'we.' You've added some interesting features, but I feel I'm wasting your time here."
She grinned. "Where else would I be? At Claire's boutique?"
"At Jemma's boutique." He reached over and cupped her hand in his. "That's what you deserve."
"You're not going to offer to buy me a boutique, are you?" She arched an eyebrow to make a point.
"No. I'm a slow learner, but I'm not stupid."
Jemma chuckled. "By the way, I do have another idea. One I thought of before the 'goose chases.'"
"You do? You amaze me."
His tender smile stirred Jemma's heart. Rather than letting her emotions get carried away, she forced herself to be lighthearted. "I bet you're happy that other guy left."
"Other guy?" He looked at her curiously.
"The person who had my job before me. Did you forget?"
He lowered his eyes, and something niggled. "Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing. What's your new idea?"
She laughed at the enthusiasm in his voice and hurried to tell him about her good-morning basket idea—but she didn't want his approval as her employer.
She wanted Philip…to have and to hold.
Philip pressed the telephone to his ear, filled with disappointment "I'm sorry, Claire, I'm sure the concert will be nice, but I really can't join you."
"Oh," Claire said, her disappointment evident in her tone, "I'd hoped you could. I don't see much of you."
With her comment, she'd tugged on his guilt. "This time of year is terribly busy…and if you hadn't been under the weather,
I would have seen you at my Fourth of July party."
"I know," Claire said, "but that was mainly business, anyway."
He chuckled, hearing how right she was. "Yes, good public relations, Claire. You know about that."
"Maybe you could come by next week for cake. It's Jemma's birthday."
Jemma's birthday. Philip absorbed the information.
"Like she put it last Sunday," Claire continued, "when I asked her why she was moping around. 'In two weeks, I'll be thirty-three going on thirteen.' She believes everyone thinks of her as a child."
Her sentence jabbed Philip's consciousness. Hadn't he let Jemma know that he'd been wrong?
Didn't she realize in his eyes she was a desirable woman? A woman too tempting for her own good…for his own good.
Philip's chest tightened. Only thirty-three. The difference in their ages struck him again. Seventeen years. An impossible time span. But knowing it was Jemma's birthday, he was led to do something. "What's the date?"
"Date?" Claire's puzzled voice met his ear.
"Her birthday? Shouldn't we do something special?"
"Oh, it's August tenth. This Friday." A pause filled the line, then Claire spoke. "I suppose I ought to do something more than cake."
"I said us, Claire. Have you ever been out on a boat? How about a day sailing?"
"Me? On a boat? I can't imagine it, Philip. I'd be seasick, I'm sure."
"Oh," he said, hoping his disappointment wasn't too obvious.
"But don't let me stop you. Why don't the two of you go alone. Jemma would love it."
The picture sent Philip's heart on a gallop. Alone with Jemma on the boat for the entire evening…he couldn't trust himself. Not anymore.
"Let me give it some thought, Claire. Maybe we could combine a sail with dinner later and you could join us."
"Now that sounds like something I could handle," she said.
After promising to call her back when he'd made arrangements, Philip hung up the telephone. His mind snapped with ideas and concerns. If he took Jemma out on the boat and arranged for someone to bring Claire to dinner, who could he trust? Who wouldn't make too much out of his relationship with Jemma?
There was only one possible person.
Concerned, Jemma stood outside Philip's office door. He'd sent for her, and now she wondered if he'd changed his mind since their last conversation. She hadn't implemented her newest idea yet; she was still waiting for the baskets. But once they were in, she'd have a basket outside every room in the morning filled with doughnuts or sweet rolls, the morning newspaper, and juice. No other resort treated their guests as well.
In the outer office, Philip's secretary waved her through. But at Philip's door, she tapped first and waited to be admitted. Around him, her confidence always seemed to fade.
When she heard Philip respond, she pushed open the door.
"Jemma," he said, rising.
He gestured toward a chair across from his desk. She crossed the oriental carpet and sat.
"How are the morning baskets going?" he asked, settling into his desk chair.
"I ordered them." She eyed him, wondering if he would give her a warning before putting the ax to her latest idea. "I can't do anything until they're in."
"Right. It shouldn't be long, then." He settled into his desk chair and smiled at her. "Every time I look at those logo mugs, I'm amazed. I'm not sure why we didn't think of something like that earlier. And what's a resort without fresh flowers in every room?"
"The bouquets are lasting at least three days. That's what the florist guaranteed. I've asked the housekeepers to pluck out the dead blossoms and—"
"You've thought of everything." Philip rose and came around the desk toward her.
Nerves prickled on the back of her neck. Anxious, she followed him with her eyes.
He stopped in front of the desk. "Why do you look so nervous?"
"I'm, uh, well, I thought something must be wrong."
He stepped forward and knelt beside her. "You're such a worrier. Don't assume that life is always lemons."
Seeing his face fill with sadness, her stomach knotted. "It's been nice lately."
"Then, why worry?"
She didn't know why. Though he obviously wasn't planning to cancel her morning-basket idea, she was still in the dark. "I don't think you called me in to tell me you're amazed by the logo mugs."
Philip laughed and shook his head. "No. I wanted to tell you that I've planned—I should say Claire and I have planned—something for your birthday."
Her birthday? She was surprised and curious. "But why?" she asked, wondering what was so special about being thirty-three.
"Why?" He gaped at her. "Must we have a reason to celebrate your birthday?"
She should have said thank you. Mortified at her reaction, she shook her head. "No, but my birthday's never been a special occasion."
"Well, it is now." He moved forward and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "You're not working Friday."
"I'm not?"
He nodded. "Claire has all the instructions. Just do what she says."
"Is she included in the plans?"
"How could we celebrate without Claire?" He sent her a playful smile.
His good humor made her feel more balanced. She grinned back. "You're right. What's a party without one of Claire's wild getups?"
Chapter Ten
Philip couldn't erase the pleasure from his face. His silly grin had been there since he'd picked up Jemma at the apartment. Why hadn't he done this before? Why hadn't he allowed himself to enjoy the pleasurable emotions that fluttered like a summer butterfly in his chest? He knew, but today he didn't care.
Like a double agent, he'd coerced Claire to use Jemma's extra key and sneak over to her apartment to pack some of Jemma's belongings for the birthday surprise. When she'd given the bag to Philip, he'd loaded the sloop with that and everything he thought they would need.
Today Jemma's confused expression added to his amusement. Trying to force Claire to join them, Jemma had finally yielded to leave her behind—with the promise she would join them later.
For fear of rumors, Philip had sailed the boat to the municipal pier. Ever since Jemma mentioned her co-worker's peculiar looks, Philip had been fearful. He would never worry about the staffs gossip for himself, but he wanted no one to hurt Jemma—or tell her the truth about her job at the resort—until he decided a way to do it gently.
That guilt niggled daily. Philip realized, after the fact, that he should have been honest with her and explained he'd created the job especially for her. He wanted only the best for Jemma. Since her ideas were new, so was the position. It made sense. Instead, he'd hidden the truth and one day, he feared, he would reap the consequences.
When he parked at the municipal marina, Jemma did a double take. "We're sailing?"
"Sure are."
"Then, I know why Claire didn't come along."
He grinned. "You guessed it She mentioned she'd be seasick." He slid from the car.
"But why is the boat docked here?"
"No special reason," he said, covering the truth. To halt any more questions, he closed his door, rounded the car and helped her out.
As they headed toward the sloop, he rattled on about the history of the municipal peer—anything to keep her mind busy while he mentally planned the rest of the day.
He might have been more comfortable with Claire along, knowing that he would have to be on his best behavior. But he'd promised himself that with Claire or without, Philip Somerville would be a gentleman. Still, promises were sometimes broken, and since he'd thrown his caution out the window, his imagination had conjured up a thousand romantic scenarios.
Philip motored away from the marina and headed down the river. When he'd made headway toward the mouth of the lake, going into the wind, he put Jemma at the helm while he hauled up the mainsail.
He couldn't have chosen a more perfect day. The sun burned in a cloudless sky and a steady breez
e sent them over the water at an easy clip. At the wheel again, Philip looked over his shoulder at the vanishing shoreline, now only a ribbon of color on the horizon.
Claire had done her job. She'd seen to it that Jemma dressed in shorts and sleeveless top, just right for the day. Wearing oversize sunglasses, Jemma had stretched out on the cushion, her legs and arms bared to the sun, her posture the epitome of relaxation.
"You look too comfortable," Philip said. "Want to come back here and give me a break?"
"Sorry, I can't. Today's my birthday." Her generous lips curved to a teasing smile.
She looked totally content, and Philip tucked the image into his memory, wanting to hold each warm and comforting moment close to his heart.
Blanketed in sunshine, he headed farther onto the lake, until the horizon was a sheet of blue in every direction. Occasionally, a small triangle of sail appeared for a moment, then sank into the distance.
Deciding it was time, Philip lowered the sail and dropped anchor, while Jemma questioned him like a police detective.
To keep her quiet, he gestured toward the companionway. "Go down and put on your swimsuit."
"My what?"
"You heard me," he said. "It's on the bunk. Claire took care of you."
Jemma narrowed her eyes, but kept quiet and vanished down the ladder.
Beneath his clothing, Philip had worn his bathing trunks. He supped off his walking shorts and tossed them on the bench. Reaching beneath the seat, he pulled out the wooden ladder and hooked it over the rail.
Anxious for a swim, he pulled his knit shirt over his head and looked down at the dark hairs bristling across his chest, thankful that the hoarfrost glinted only on his head. He pictured Jemma's golden, untarnished tresses. Why did he torment himself?
Hearing Jemma's return, he pushed his negative thoughts aside and motioned her to the ladder. "You can swim, I hope."
She gave him a grin. "A little late to ask me now, don't you think?"
"I figured Claire would've warned me when I told her to pack your bathing suit." He allowed his gaze to drift over her shapely frame—flawless trim legs rising to a slender, supple body wrapped in an electric-blue bathing suit. Perfect and beautiful.
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