by Piper Rayne
"It's okay, Jillian," Scott whispered into her hair, his voice soft and soothing. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
She detected no condescension in his tone, but still her pride was seriously bruised and she didn't dare trust he wouldn't tease her about it later. Body tense, she pulled herself away from him and swiftly went to her desk and clicked on the flashlight. Taking this time to compose herself, she lit the hurricane lamp kept there for just this purpose, then faced Scott.
The flickering light threw Scott's profile into bold relief, but she saw the bewilderment on his handsome features. "There's certainly not anything for me to be afraid of, is there? But unfortunately, I have always had a fear of the dark," she announced with a challenge. "Imagine! At my age, I've still not overcome it."
* * *
She placed her hands on her hips, waiting for an offhanded joke. None came. He nodded and said, "Any phobia is awful to have and you shouldn't be ashamed of it."
Jillian thought the heat scalding her face would erupt into flames. First he'd eavesdropped on her and heard her talking to index cards, then he'd witnessed her weakness. He must think her a total nut!
"Um. . ."
"Now, if you need to finish consulting your 'board', Jillian, I'll just wait outside," Scott continued teasingly, sudden laughter lacing his words.
"Ohh," Jillian groaned. If he thought to ease her embarrassment about her fear, it was working. "How could you? You spied on me! I should fire you before I hire you."
Scott's laughter deepened. "Then it's safe to assume, as CEO, you've overruled your board, and I've just been hired."
Remembering Rave's suggestion, Jillian swallowed hard, feeling oddly deflated. To have to ask Scott what she was about to further bruised her ego. She cleared her throat as rain pounded against the shutters. "Only if you can set up a time pay plan for me, Scott."
Scott sighed, the vulnerability in Jillian's voice hitting him in the gut. He was still adjusting to his impulsiveness at taking her into his arms, but she'd been genuinely frightened and comforting her had seemed as natural as all the times he comforted Timmy. He thought about how Timmy was faring with Rave, and vice versa. Luckily, the darkness didn't bother Timmy, so he hadn't had to abandon Jillian in her time of need.
The lights blinked, remaining on for brief seconds before going out once again. Jillian moved to the other side of the room and lit the other hurricane lamp that sat on the end table next to the chaise lounge, illuminating the room even more.
* * *
She remained silent, her eyes questioning, her hair falling about her shoulders in a soft cloud. Its fresh scent wafted through his memory. The feel of her feminine form remained indelible, and left him foolishly giddy. His gaze searched her face. "You really have your heart set on re-doing your kitchen?"
"Yes, I do," she said quietly. She sat down on the chaise. Re-doing her kitchen would bring her a step closer to fulfilling her goals. She’d intended to have Douglas alongside her, helping out and working with her. Instead, she was faced with going on without him—and her parents. But this was her chance and she was determined not to screw it up. In order to reach one goal, she needed Scott Martin’s help, so she said, "Don't you think it's needed, in comparison to the rest of the house?"
For a brief moment, Scott studied her, his gaze hooded, his expression closed. Finally, he nodded. "All right, Jillian, I'll work something out for you.” He wondered what really guided his decision. Was it his true desire to help her out or his own need to know her better? Or a little of both? "After the work is completed, we'll figure in the total cost, and break the amount down into four payments. How does that sound?"
"Good," Jillian said with a nervous laugh. Four monthly payments would still over-extend her budget. Perhaps, to see her dreams fulfilled of having The Breakfast Nook remodeled and turned into an inn, she needed to consider outside employment for herself. "It would sound even better if the payments were spread out over six monthly payments."
"Really?” Scott raised an eyebrow, a smile spreading across his face. "These are concessions I never make, Jillian. I haven't even asked you for a down payment."
"I realize that, Scott, and I wouldn't ask you if I didn't need the extra time. However, I do understand your position.” She extended her hand, an obvious dismissal. "Thank you for coming."
"Am I being dismissed?"
"Well, of course not.” She shifted her weight. "I-I mean I can't afford what you're asking for at this time so. . .um. . .I guess you are. But—"
"It's okay, Jillian. I know where you're coming from.” He should accept her decision, find Timmy, and leave. "I'll do it for you. I've been where you are now. If I do it myself without help from my crew, I can eliminate the middleman, so to speak, and cut down on cost there—"
"Oh no, Scott!" Jillian protested. "I couldn't ask you to do that."
* * *
Another perfect opportunity for him to walk away before he found himself in a dilemma he wouldn't care to be in.
"Will you be quiet?" he said almost in a shout, more to his thoughts than to Jillian. "I am trying to figure out a way to save you some money, Miss Riley.” Scott rubbed his hand across his chin. "It will probably take longer to complete the job by working alone, but you shouldn't mind if it'll save you up to three thousand dollars."
Jillian's smile nearly blinded him. "I don't know what to say. I think it's awfully nice of you to do this for someone you've just met."
Scott smiled guiltily. "Yes, it is," he agreed. "Didn't I tell you I was a nice guy?"
"Yes, you did," Jillian said with a laugh, the sound crystal clear and contagious, as the lights flickered back on. Relief swirling through her, she asked, "When can you start?"
"Monday," he replied quickly, her beauty even more breathtaking now that the lights were on again. There was something quite intimate about the rain beating against the window, the closed draperies shutting out the bad weather, the air dewy from the rain and cool from the central air. And just the two of them alone, very aware of each other. "Right now, I've got a date with McDonalds’s."
"You're a man after my own heart," Rave said, as he walked in with Timmy trailing behind him, chewing happily on a chocolate chip cookie. "Big Macs were my favorite, until they introduced the Cajun McChicken. Melba doesn't cook since the little accident in the kitchen, so if we don't get our meals from Jilly, we go to McDonalds’s. Care for a mimosa, honey?" he asked Jillian.
Jillian shook her head, her gaze fastened to Timmy.
"You, Scott?" Rave continued, a gleam in his eyes as he looked at Jillian.
"No, thanks, man," Scott said. "Hope Timmy wasn't any trouble."
"Honey, please. He had me wrapped around his little finger as soon as I met him.” Rave winked at Scott, then smiled at Jillian. "He's a cutie, isn't he, Jilly?"
"Er. . .yes quite."
"Timmy is as well, huh, honey?"
Jillian pulled her gaze from Timmy. "Out, Rave!" she said through clenched teeth, her embarrassment obvious. "Now! How does Melba put up with you?"
"One day at a time," Rave said, as he headed out the door.
"I'm sorry," Jillian said shyly. "I hope you didn't take any offense at Rave's teasing."
"Of course not.” Unsure of what else to say, Scott looked at Timmy. "Timmy, say hello to Miss Riley."
"Hello, Miss Riley," Timmy said, popping his last piece of cookie into his mouth.
Taken aback from the moment she'd first seen Scott's son, Jillian smiled nonetheless. "Hello, Timmy, nice to meet you," she said, successfully keeping her surprise from registering in her tone. She’d had no idea Scott was married, let alone a father. The child was his mirror image and as cute as a button.
"This weekend belongs to Timmy," Scott told her. "The past couple of weeks have been hectic, and I haven't been able to spend much time with him. But today, it's just us guys, even with the rain outside. Right, dude?"
"Right, dude," Timmy said enthusiastically. "And we're going to
rent a movie, and eat popcorn and—"
"All that, son," Scott said with fatherly tenderness, ruffling the child's russet colored hair.
Scott's golden brown eyes met hers, alive with something Jillian couldn't define. He offered her a secret smile, and her heart pounded.
"Right now, I'm ready for something else."
Jillian's mouth went dry at Scott's husky words, sure they were intended for her, and not Timmy. His look caressed her, reached out to her. The presence of the little boy prevented her from taking a closer step to Scott. But relief that Timmy stood in their midst relieved her. Otherwise, she might have acted on impulse and given in to the urge to kiss Scott.
"Like that Big Mac Rave spoke of. Let's get out of here, before the hungries overtakes us. Grrrr."
Timmy laughed, and raced toward the door. "Bye, Miz Riley," he shouted.
"G'bye, Timmy," Jillian said, her knees weak.
"Slow down, tiger," Scott called as he started after his son. "I'll see you Monday, Jillian. So long."
"So long, Scott.” Left alone, Jillian went to her desk and sat in her chair, lonely all of a sudden. Why did she feel like she'd just lost someone very dear to her? And why didn't she at least speculate a man like Scott could be spoken for? Pshaw! She wouldn't feel sorry for herself. But, in truth, she hadn't felt this disappointed two months ago when Doug left. The scumbag.
Hadn't she sworn off all men? No matter how nice and charming Scott seemed, he must’ve had some hidden worthlessness he’d store away until he'd reeled her in.
That toad she almost married taught her that, and no man would ever again do to her what Doug had.
But Scott was already married. Wasn’t he? Maybe, she should ask him. Yeah, right! Such a question screamed desperation. Besides, Timmy represented a walking, breathing clue Scott had a son. He must have someone in his life. If not a wife, then a significant other. A man as devoted as Scott seemed to Timmy had to be involved.
Married or not, Scott’s personal life wasn’t her business. Besides, she’d just met him. Why, then, did she feel so attracted to him?
3
Abruptly, Jillian's eyes flew opened.
With a groan, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 3:39a.m. Unable to sleep, she went to bed after midnight, then had barely slept. Now less than three hours later, she was wide-awake again. And all because it was Monday morning, mere hours away from Scott Martin's arrival to begin work on the kitchen.
Flinging the lacy coverlet aside, Jillian sat up. Scott had a wife and a son, which made him off-limits. Her reasoning was logical enough, but the prospect of seeing him again excited her more than she liked. In the two days since she'd seen him, he had remained in the back of her mind while she was busy and in constant demand of her thoughts when she wasn't. Marley and Howie hired a babysitter for their two kids, to spend the weekend helping Jillian clean the rooms, launder the linen, serve the guests, bake pastries and tend the gardens. For the past two weekends, ever since Jillian's four other helpers, beside Lucy, quit, Marley and Howie came to help out at the Breakfast Nook. She appreciated their help, and had looked forward to their company. Because her bed and breakfast had been expanded to include dinner, she needed all the assistance she could get. But thoughts of Scott made her a bundle of nerves. Now, she was hours away from gazing into his gold-flecked eyes again, hours away from hearing the rugged depth of his voice, and being charmed by his smile.
Her pulse accelerated, and she smiled grimly. She told herself maybe it wasn't Scott who caused her heart to trip like a jackhammer. It was probably due to the anticipation of the kitchen finally being refurbished.
"Yeah, right," Jillian almost snarled, "and Mona Lisa was a unicorn!” Angry with herself for the direction her heart was trying to steer her emotions, she got out of bed and stomped across the room to where her robe lay on her paisley print barrel chair. Deciding sleep would elude her for the rest of the night, she jerked on her terrycloth robe. She would go to the kitchen and get a headstart on some phases of the day's meal.
Lucy had taken over the cook's position as well, along with Rave, who was trying to teach Jillian the art. But, unfortunately, Jillian's skills included having a head for numbers, an eye for detail, and an ability to relate with people, but not cooking. Still, Jillian knew good food when she saw it and how she wanted it done for her inn, which was all that guided her now as she crept into the darkened kitchen. She turned on the lights.
Four trays of rolls and croissants lined the kitchen cabinets, waiting to be baked. Fresh fruit, cut and skewered, were ready for grilling. The coffee and water were already measured in the maker and was placed on the sideboard in the dining room, along with cups and saucers.
None of this would be hard to do, and starting the tasks at 3:51 in the morning, four hours and eight minutes before breakfast would be served was pushing it. Jillian knew, however,she wouldn't get to sleep anytime soon. Spying a cookbook on the baker's rack, she grabbed it, then sat at the table. She would thumb through the pages until she found a recipe that caught her eye. Tomorrow, for breakfast, she would pleasantly surprise her guests with a culinary treat from the owner.
The continuous rap-rap-rapping on the side entry door of the kitchen drew Jillian out of a deep sleep. She raised her head from the kitchen table and glanced around, the light from the ceiling fixture burning her eyes. Everything was as she left it when she'd sat down. She felt like she'd only slept twenty minutes, but the first rays of early morning light peeked through the curtains.
Still in a fog, she stood and stretched, then rubbed her hand across her neck to remove the kinks. She glared at the cookbook and snapped it shut.
The rapping went on, annoying and persistent. Stiffly, she pulled her robe tighter and wobbled to the door, vowing to murder Rave for waking her up. This was the third time this month he'd come over before seven.
Reaching the door, she threw it open, preparing to give Rave an earful.
"Good morning, Miss Riley," Scott Martin greeted cheerily. "Did I wake you?"
Her admonishment died in her throat. "Scott!" Jillian managed, inwardly groaning. He looked freshly-showered and clean-shaven, and his mood appeared as full of sunshine as his looks. Massive shoulders filled the white t-shirt he wore and his tight denims added to his rugged appearance. He definitely had a monopoly on masculinity. She, on the other hand, barely slept the night before and stood before him in a knee-length, oversized, faded pink, terry cloth robe. "What time is it?"
His light brown eyes twinkled. "Why, it's about five forty-five, Jillian."
"Five forty-five?” Jillian ran her fingers through her unkempt hair, a nervous gesture. She attempted a smile. "Already?"
Scott's gaze roamed over the length of her body, and Jillian's smile faded when she saw his expression close. She wondered what he thought of her appearance, and wished she had the nerve to ask. But she couldn't face rejection, not this early in the morning.
He held her glance, his shuttered expression remaining. "Already?" he asked, a hint of a smile playing about his lips.
Jillian stifled a yawn, unable to prevent it. A balmy morning breeze washed over her, but didn't soothe her rioting senses. "I-I mean I feel as though I've just gone to bed.” Heat flamed her cheeks as images of Scott in bed with her rose in her mind. Some of those same images had kept her awake for most of the night. A gleam catching her eye, she glanced at Scott's fingers. He wore a thick gold band on the ring finger of his left hand, one he hadn't worn at their previous meetings. Her heart plummeted. "How long have you been married?" she blurted, surprising herself with her eager curiosity.
At Scott's surprise, she wanted to eat her words.
Yet, he shook his head, and said, "I'm not married."
His expression closed and Jillian perceived it as guilt. She narrowed her eyes. She didn't believe him. His look attested to his lie. However, what reason did he have to lie to her? But she'd thought the same about Douglas, and look what he'd done to her.
&nbs
p; Jillian's glance moved from Scott's face and back to his ring finger.
Noticing where her gaze rested, Scott said, "I almost forgot to take this off."
"Why would you take it off?" Jillian asked sharply. "It shouldn't be hidden."
"This ring has a lot of meaning behind it for me," Scott answered just as caustically, sliding the ring off and slipping it into the pocket of his jeans. "I don't want it damaged, so when I'm working I don't wear it. It’s my father’s."
Jillian took a deep breath to calm herself. She shouldn't have snapped at Scott, even though he deserved worse for claiming not to be married when every sign suggested otherwise. But it wasn't his fault she was attracted to him. It was the fault of her fickle emotions. She had wasted fours years on Douglas because of them. By now, she should have learned something. However, claiming to wear his father’s ring was a line she’d never heard before. How much more obvious could the signs be to prove his marital status?
Granted, having a child and wearing a wedding ring still wasn’t the gospel proof of matrimony. But such clues could certainly rouse one’s suspicions. She’s been hurt enough. Unless she was a glutton for punishment and her attention to detail was still as flawed as it had been before, it was best to remain on a professional footing with Mr. Scott Martin.
Yet, for most of the weekend, she relived the moments she was in Scott's arms, sheltered from her fear of the darkness. But she realized she had read more into that embrace than she should have. She promised herself she would stay clear of Scott as much as possible.
"Are you going to make me stand out here all morning?"
"Oh! Please forgive me," she blurted, his irritated voice jolting her to her senses. She stepped aside and allowed him entrance, then closed the door after him. "I didn't know what time you planned to come this morning, but I'm glad it's now. I needed to get up by six in order to have everything ready for eight. I'm still somewhat tired, however."
