by Shirley Jump
Her cell phone rang, and before she could think about checking the caller ID, she flipped it open, using the call as an excuse to avoid Jake. “Hello?”
“When are you going to end this insanity?”
Her father’s voice cut across the phone line with the precision of a knife. Even from the other side of the world, she could hear the disapproval in his tone.
She glanced at Jake, wishing he would leave so she could take the call alone. But he didn’t take the hint, and remained in the gallery, a few feet away, yet still close enough to overhear anything she said.
“Are you going to answer me?” None of the sweetness her mother had in his tone.
“How are you feeling?” Mariabella asked, instead of answering the question.
“I’m fine. I’d be better if you were back here. It’s been ten months, Mariabella. More than enough time for you to get this craziness out of your system.”
She put her back to Jake. “I have until February.”
“What difference will two months make? Really, Mariabella, this has gone on long enough. Your place is here, preparing for the throne. Not playing…whatever game you’re playing.”
“Can we talk about this later?”
“I’ve sent you an airline ticket by overnight mail. It will arrive tonight, if it hasn’t already. I expect to see you here for Christmas. And here to stay.”
“But—”
“Your obligations have waited long enough, Mariabella. And so have I.” Her father hung up. Discussion over.
Edict issued by His Majesty. No arguments allowed.
Mariabella sighed and tucked her cell phone into her pocket. She would deal with her father later. Somehow.
“Trouble?”
She spun toward Jake and put on a smile. “Everything is fine.”
“Good.” He slid the papers across the front desk. “About my offer…”
She stared at the purchase and sales he’d put before her. In a few pages, she could sign over the gallery, go back to Uccelli and wash her hands of her life in America. Put it all behind her, dismiss it like a dream she’d once had.
Jake had impeccable timing, she’d give him that. He’d presented her with the way out she needed. The path her father expected her to take.
And take it today.
“What was that yesterday? Who was that man? Because he is not the same one I see today.”
Jake scowled. “Forget what I said yesterday. Dreams like that don’t make for a successful business.”
“And this success you keep talking about, it will make you happy?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Mariabella glanced around her gallery, at all that she would soon give up, and relegate to a memory of a time when she had been happy. A man like Jake Lattimore, who had never lived a preordained life of expectations like she had, didn’t appreciate what he had. “Happiness fulfills you in a way no amount of money, or privilege, ever can.”
He folded the papers into thirds and tucked them inside his jacket. Then he crossed again to the portrait of She Who Knows. For a long time, Jake said nothing, then, finally, one quiet sentence. “Have dinner with me.”
She hadn’t expected that response. “Dinner? With you?”
He pivoted back. “I know there are a hundred reasons why we shouldn’t go out again. A hundred more why you probably wouldn’t want to see me ever again, especially because I still want to buy your gallery.”
“Then why go out at all?”
“Because…” His gaze went past her to the window that looked out over the ocean, to the vast horizon beyond them. “Because my life is complicated, too. And yesterday, when I was with you, it felt a little less complicated for the first time in a long time.”
She couldn’t say no to honesty like that. Yesterday, she had met a different man. And just maybe, at dinner, she could bring that man back, and persuade him to build the right hotel for this town, before she was forced to meet the demands waiting for her just an ocean away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“IF YOU don’t wipe that smirk off your face, I’ll fire you.”
The grin widened. Will’s smile matched that of the elf’s on his blue tie. “Hey, the tie worked, didn’t it? You just don’t want to admit a bunch of snowmen had more charm than you did.”
Jake chuckled. “Okay, so you were right. Half right, anyway. She didn’t kiss me. Not that night.”
Will arched a brow. “So you have kissed her?”
Jake just grinned.
“See? The suggestive power of fun. Give it a day or two and you’ll be in love, curled up in front of a fire with her, all cozy for the holidays.”
Jake snorted. “It’ll take more than that. She’s stubborn.”
Will glanced at the ceiling. “Like someone else I know?”
“What is this world coming to when the chauffeur is telling the boss what to do?”
“Hey. I prefer the term ‘travel director,’” Will said.
Jake laughed again. “Fine. I’ll have business cards sent to your office at the front of the limo.”
Will’s grin had a certain gleam to it, a tease in his gaze, reflected in the rearview mirror. “If you don’t mind me saying—”
“You’re going to say it either way, so go right ahead.”
“—that woman is trouble.” Will turned and rested his arm on the back of the leather seat. “Exactly what you need.”
Jake scowled. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t need any trouble. I need to get this deal done, then get out. I have another property south of San Francisco to look at, then one in Saint Kitts, another in—”
Will mocked a yawn. “Aren’t you tired yet?”
“It’s six o’clock in the evening, Will. Hardly my bedtime.”
“Tired of this grind. Tired of conquering buildings. And going home to…nothing. You don’t even have a cat.”
“I don’t like cats.”
“Then get a dog. A goldfish. A parakeet. Something that breathes air into that box you call an apartment.”
“Technically, it’s a condo. In a building that’s netting a fifteen percent return on my—”
Will put up a hand. “Right there. That’s the problem. Where do I go on the few days I don’t drive you some place?”
“Home.”
“Exactly. A real, honest-to-God house. It’s nothing much, and I’ve got a Honey-Do list a mile long, landscaping as overgrown as a rain forest and a dog that my wife walks more than I do, but there’s a recliner there with my name on it and a woman who knows exactly how I like my coffee. It’s a—” he paused and met Jake’s gaze “—home.”
“My apartment is a—” Jake stopped. Will was right. The place where Jake put his feet up for a few days a month, the place where he stored his clothes and the books he’d been meaning to read, was a box of walls and windows.
He had once thought he could have a home. Then given up on the idea. Some days he wondered if maybe—
But no. He had a company to run.
Will put out his hands, in a see-what-I-mean gesture. “That’s why this woman is trouble.”
“Because she has a home?” Jake shook his head. “You are spending too much time sitting in this car, inhaling carbon monoxide.”
His friend let out a sigh, the kind that said his boss had yet to get the point. “Listen, I have no idea if Mariabella Romano lives in a house or a shoebox. What I’m saying is that she’s the type of woman who inspires a man to stay home. For a nanosecond, you were that kind of man. And then you became Jake Lattimore, CEO. Apartment guy.”
“Then what’s the trouble?”
“You’re already falling for her.” Will turned back around and put the car in gear, pulling away from the curb of the Harborside Inn and heading for the art gallery. The subject closed, but still hanging in the air.
Mariabella stood in the gallery, checking the placement of the paintings for tomorrow night’s show, and refusing to check her app
earance. Again.
She had already done more than enough primping for an evening that wasn’t even a date. It was—
One more opportunity to manipulate Jake Lattimore into leaving Harborside. To convince him he would find bluer waters elsewhere. She had come armed, not just with a dress that showed off her figure—thereby assuring his attention wouldn’t wander from her—but also a sheaf of papers in her purse, documenting areas up and down the East Coast that lacked vacation venues.
He wasn’t the only one with a few resources up his sleeves.
Except, she fretted, pacing the gallery one more time, dimming the lights for the night as she did, making that call to Reynaldo might have been a mistake. Before, only two people had known her exact location. Now, three did. That multiplied her chances of being found.
Being exposed.
Losing her haven, her serenity.
Mariabella headed into her office, and stopped before a watercolor of a castle. The painting was simple, the lines of the building sparse and stark, but the stone building atop the grassy hill was one very similar to the one where she’d grown up. A local artist had painted it—something the artist had imagined, as a fan of all things fairy tale—and Mariabella had bought the piece for her personal collection because the image was so close, it could have passed for home.
A bone-deep ache bloomed in her chest. She closed her eyes, picturing her parents, wishing she could simply teleport herself back there for one more hug, one more kiss.
Have the best of both worlds. Her freedom, and loving arms.
The bell over the door of the gallery rang, and Mariabella drew herself up. Jake had arrived. And that meant she had to get her game face on, and get down to business. With one last glance at the castle that had been both home and captor, Mariabella strode out of her office and into the main room of the gallery.
She refused to let him know how much he affected her. How she had been thinking, nearly nonstop, about that kiss back in that room in New Jersey.
No. She had to think like a woman in charge, one taking back what was hers—
Harborside.
And that meant using whatever tools she had. She’d learned a long time ago, in dozens of lessons on deportment and protocol, how to make an entrance. She took her time making the walk from the doorway to the center of the room, lengthening her strides, ensuring that the strappy red high heels she wore made her legs look longer, sleeker, beneath the knee-length black dress. Head up, shoulders back, gaze connecting with Jake’s.
Commanding the room before she’d even reached him.
His eyes widened, then a smile spread across his face, and she knew, as she’d known in dozens of state visits and endless balls, that she had his attention. And then some.
“You look…amazing,” he said. His voice had dropped into a deeper range, the syllables almost a caress. He took two steps forward, closing the gap between them, and handed her not the traditional chocolates or flowers, but a dozen paintbrushes.
“What is this?”
He smiled. “Carmen told me you paint, too, and I thought this might be a better sign of a truce than a white flag.” He pulled a postcard from his jacket pocket and gave it to her. A picture of the inn. “This goes with it.”
He’d given her a gift that mattered to her. One that spoke to her passions, and made her remember that day at the inn. Because he was interested in her? Or because he was trying to win her over to his side of the real estate argument by making her think he was on her side, when she knew he wasn’t? “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He turned and gestured toward the door. “Are you ready to go?”
She left the gift on the counter, grabbed her coat off the rack, then led the way out of the gallery, locking the shop behind her. Will waited outside the limo, holding the door, a grin on his face. “Good evening, ma’am.”
“Hello again, Will.” She slid inside the limo. The door shut, sealing Mariabella temporarily in the leather cocoon alone. What was Jake up to tonight? Every time she thought she knew, he reversed course. She found herself wavering between falling for him—and wanting to run him out of town.
Which was the real Jake Lattimore? The one who walked into her gallery that first day, or the one at the inn?
Either way, she knew her only key to getting what this town needed was by appealing to that man she’d glimpsed for a second in the inn. That was the man she had to reach tonight, not the one who had built that New York hotel.
Jake got in on the opposite side, and took the seat across from her. A moment later, the limo pulled away from the curb and began its smooth journey toward the restaurant.
“We could have walked, you know,” Mariabella said. “It is only two blocks.”
“And it’s only about three degrees out. This way, I don’t have to worry about you catching pneumonia.”
“But then you could take advantage of my weakened state.”
He smiled. “Ah, a business strategy I haven’t thought of yet. Pump the flu virus into the room, and then bring in the contracts.”
“I am sure worse tactics have been employed.”
“Not by me.” The limo slowed to a stop. “I’m an ethical businessman, regardless of what you might think of me.”
She smiled. “I think I will reserve my judgment until after dessert.”
He chuckled. “And what if I ask you to go dancing after the crème brûleé?”
“Then poor Will will have an awfully late night, because the closest place for that is Boston.”
He leaned forward. “I have all night, Miss Romano, to make my case.”
The notes of his cologne carried in the heated air between them. She tried to ignore the dark, woodsy scent, to keep it from affecting her. To keep her gaze from connecting with his cobalt-blue eyes, because in their depths, she saw a heat—
An unmistakable heat, as ancient as the shores that lined the Eastern seaboard. As rocky and treacherous to navigate as the rocky shoals that held Harborside like a north and south cocoon. Desire drew her in, made her forget everything—her goals for this town, her duties back in Uccelli, everything but Jake and how wonderful his kiss had been.
The door opened, ushering in a burst of cold air, and burst of sense. Mariabella jerked back, drawing her coat closed. Like that put any real distance between them. Still, it was enough to give her mental space, and get her back to reality.
She stepped out of the limousine, thanking Will as she did. “Enjoy your evening, ma’am,” he said, then turned to Jake. “Shall I wait, sir?”
“No—” Jake began.
“Yes,” Mariabella cut in. “I do not expect us to be out late, Mr. Lattimore. We both have work to do tomorrow, do we not?”
Sending him the clear-cut message with both her words and the use of his last name that this was no date. And he shouldn’t expect some endless evening of romance with her.
“As the lady wishes,” Jake said, then nodded toward Will, who returned to the driver’s side of the limo and pulled it into the parking lot. Jake moved to hold the door for Mariabella, but she had already entered the building herself.
A year ago, she would have waited. Would have expected the man—anyone, really—to treat her in accordance with not just her sex, but her station. Except, after a while, that treatment had grated on her nerves. As if people were treating a title, not a person. Every time Mariabella had tried to do something herself in the castle, she’d been stopped—a princess wouldn’t do that; a princess wouldn’t behave like that. Since moving to Harborside, Mariabella had enjoyed a sense of self-reliance and strength that went far beyond simply opening her own doors.
She’d opened her own shop. Owned her own home. Mowed her own lawn.
Such simple things, but things she never would have been allowed to do in Uccelli.
“Hi, Mariabella. Table for one? In your usual spot?” Paula, the hostess, asked Mariabella.
“I have a reservation. For Lattimore, table for two, please,�
� Jake said, coming up behind Mariabella and placing a hand lightly on her waist. The familiar gesture, something any date would do, sent a thrill through Mariabella. It was so ordinary, something that wouldn’t have happened, had he known she was the princess. There would have been all that stumbling “Your Majesty” stuff in the way.
Paula raised an eyebrow. She stood there for a good three seconds gawking before recovering her hostess manners and managing to look at her reservation book. “Oh, yes, it’s right here.” She picked up two merlot-colored leatherbound menus. “Uh…right this way please.”
“Dine here often?” Jake asked as they made their way toward the dining room.
A hot flush invaded Mariabella’s cheeks. She might as well hang a sign around her neck that said Blatantly Single.
“I assume you have a date every night of the week?” she said to Jake. “Some young beautiful woman ready at your beck and call, whenever you jet back to New York?”
“Not quite.”
He didn’t expound on the answer, and she didn’t press. Mariabella got the feeling Jake Lattimore had a few table-for-one evenings in his life, too. Interesting. So she wasn’t the only one. Curiosity nudged at her, but she ignored the persistent urge to press him for personal details.
A fire crackled in the wide hearth of the gas log fireplace against the far wall, bathing the room in a soft glow. Pine garland festooned with red bows hung in swags across the mantel, accented with thick vanilla candles sandwiched between pinecones. Wreaths had been hung on the mullioned windows, with electric candles on the sills. The effect was homey and simple, done, Mariabella knew, by the owner herself, complete with all the imperfections that came with homespun décor.
“Can I take your drink order?” Sandy, one of the half-dozen college students who worked at the Captain’s Galley in the winter, bounced up to their table, her blond hair back in a ponytail. “The wine list is on the back of the menu.”
“Thank you, but I brought along something special of my own. It was an important evening, and I wanted to share my favorite wine with this beautiful lady.” Jake flashed Mariabella a smile, then flipped out his cell phone. “Will, could you deliver the 1978 Pinot to the bartender? Thank you.”