by Piper Rayne
He nodded in response, a frown creasing his forehead as he took in the trays of unbaked pastries on the counters. His russet hair gleamed in the light, and the after-shave he wore tantalized her nostrils.
"Excuse me for a couple of minutes, will you? I have to get dressed."
"No problem," he grumbled. But as she started to walk away, he asked, "Do you have anyone to help you to cook in the mornings?"
"Um...I had to let my cook go," Jillian answered, and made a hasty retreat to her apartment. She wouldn't tell him how dire her situation was. The last thing she wanted was Scott Martin's pity.
For long moments after Jillian departed, Scott remained motionless, his aggravation at her grouchiness leaving him. Visions of her in her bathrobe, her long hair in glorious disarray, her lovely face showing signs of sleep, flickered through his mind. The oversized robe hadn't revealed much, but he wouldn't soon forget the sight of her calves teasing him. Or her small feet neatly pedicured, her brown toes sporting red polish.
Damn! What was wrong with him? She was just another client. No one to get serious over and set up housekeeping with. But she appealed to him, and he wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to touch her physically and reach out to her emotionally. Yet, he'd decided he would never marry, and he didn't want to lead Jillian on. He had plans for his company. His life had no room for a wife.
Still, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind all weekend, and couldn't wait to see her again, barely sleeping the entire night. Finally, at four a.m., he'd given up and gotten out of bed. Scott could barely wait to leave when Mrs. Benson pulled in front the door at her normal five-thirty.
The sooner he finished at the Breakfast Nook, the better, for all concerned. With that in mind, he surveyed the room. Seeing all the food about, he wondered exactly where he would begin his work. Noting how sturdy the room looked, he found himself eager to get started, which, he told himself, was the reason for his early arrival. He snorted. Well, partly anyway. The other reason was in her apartment, peeling a terrycloth robe from her delicate skin.
Moving about with restless energy, Scott decided to use his time doing something helpful, until he could get started on the job he was hired to do.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Sco—"
Bounding to a stop next to him, Jillian looked around the kitchen. Scott smiled sheepishly. He must have looked ridiculous in the too small, frilly apron. But he loved to cook, and he thought to surprise her by starting the pastries and coffee.
Her cheeks were rosy and fresh-scrubbed; sheer willpower kept him from reaching out to discover if she was as soft as she looked. Her hair was combed back into her usual ponytail, and she smelled like wildflowers.
"What are you doing?"
The aromatic scent of coffee and the tantalizing smell of baking bread filled the air. It should have been obvious what he was doing. Watching Jillian's rigid stance, Scott's smile faded.
"Helping out," he answered. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Invading," Jillian hissed. "I didn't ask for your help."
Scott removed the foolish apron and threw it on the counter. "It won't happen again."
He stalked to the table and jerked the chair from beneath it, then seated himself. Wondering what set her off, he glared at her as she put on her apron, partially covering her form-fitting coral dress, but looking stunning all the same. She opened the oven and looked in on the buns and croissants. Finding them barely brown, she closed the door, then moved to her skewered fresh fruit. Her ponytail bounced and swayed with every move she made. Somehow that seemed awfully sexy to him, and he had never been fond of women in ponytails. What was so different about Jillian's?
She moved to the big, convention-sized coffee maker, where he had lined up cups and saucers. Cartons of cream sat in on the counter, waiting to be poured into the server.
She gripped the counters, and her huge sigh reached his heart.
"I'm sorry," she said. "It's seems I woke up on the wrong side of the table.” Turning to face him, she smiled. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Miss Riley," he said softly, wanting to ask her what had so disturbed her, realizing how badly he wanted to kiss her. "It's my fault you're in such a bad mood.” Surprise crossed her pretty features. "I should have told you how early my days start."
"Oh, well, um, that may present a problem. We can't both work in here at the same time, especially considering the different kind of work we do. It won't be very sanitary to have you plying your trade around all the food. Something might get into it."
"Granted," Scott said, remaining in his seat when all he wanted to do was go to her. "But I noticed foil or cellophane covered everything. I don't see a worry there."
"Not when they're covered," Jillian countered, "but" – she gestured to the oven— "as you know, everything must be uncovered to bake, then prepared to bring in the dining room."
Scott laced his fingers behind his head, at ease with her, despite her surliness. "Then, in essence, you're telling me to come in later. After eight a.m.?"
In an instant, Jillian stood next to him. "Oh Scott, would you mind?"
Not when she said his name in her husky tone, calling out to his baser instinct. Her dark brown eyes were wide and devastating, reminding him of a cloudless summer sky.
Her soft hand caressed his arm, and he shuddered at the contact.
"I hope it doesn't present—"
"Another problem?" Scott said with a forced chuckle, all too aware of Jillian.
"Yes," Jillian said with a soft laugh.
"Not really," Scott said, and stood to put distance between them. "I only thought if I came early and stayed late, it wouldn't take me as long to complete the job.” He shrugged to pretend nonchalance. "But you're the boss, Miss Riley. I shall abide by your decision."
Without answering, she returned to the stove. She removed the bread from the oven, then rearranged her fruit and placed them in the oven. Scott watched the movement of her long neck, and finely shaped back; the slimness of her hips didn't escape his eye nor did the firmness of her buttocks.
"Are you listening to me, Scott?"
Jillian frowned at him, and he stifled a grin. She seemed so prim and proper. What would she think if she knew what he had been thinking?
"I beg your pardon," he said, giving no clue to his thoughts. "Would you repeat that?"
"I said would you mind coming at nine instead of eight?"
"Not at all, Jillian. I wouldn't want to upset your normal routine around here.” Since he would be working in the kitchen alone, the later hours would add more days to the job. More days would give him more time with Jillian.
"Thanks, I appreciate your understanding," Jillian murmured. "Would you care for a cup of coffee?"
"Sure.” He went to the window and gazed out. The sun gleamed higher in the sky and the morning already appeared hazy. Scott noticed Rave walking in the garden next door, his only attire, boxer shorts, modest and in contrast to the rest of him. The high-heeled gold boots he wore reached halfway up his thighs; a cigar hung from his mouth, and smoke curled in the air around him; a red-haired wig sat askew on his head, and the dress he must have been costumed in rested on his arm. "Uh, is there anything I can help you—"
Remembering how Jillian reacted a little while ago, Scott trailed his voice off as he turned from the window.
Jillian thought of denying Scott. Or just plain ignoring him. She needed his help, because he seemed to know his way around the kitchen much better than she did. But it was just too cozy for her comfort, and too dangerous for her sanity.
She could so easily forget what Douglas had done to her, forget Scott was married, and allow her fantasies to run amok. Her attraction to him wasn't a rebound thing, since she and Scott weren't romantically inclined. He was married with a son, which left her hardly able to comprehend her confusing emotions and understand her inexplicable attraction.
Probably if she and Douglas had still been together, she would stil
l be attracted to Scott, although maybe in a different way. He seemed every bit as sensitive as he'd said he was on that first meeting, and just as caring and charming. And those dimples were simply irresistible.
Jillian joined Scott in a quick cup of coffee. When she began to assemble the various dishes of food on the long sideboard in the main dining room, Scott helped out without her consent. She remained quiet, stoic in her determination to dissuade his friendliness, but secretly thrilled.
Together, they placed the bread in their warmers, the grilled fruit on trays, and the cream and sugar in the silver holders. They set out butter, Philadelphia Cream Cheese, jams and jellies for the warm breads, as well as water, juice and milk. By the time everything was in place, the guests had begun to emerge for breakfast.
But several guests asked for a heavier breakfast, and Jillian turned a horrified gaze to Scott. One couple wanted Eggs Benedict. An older lady wanted eggs overeasy, sausage, and hash browns. Another couple asked for the same, but wanted grits in place of the hash browns.
Jillian returned to the kitchen, panicked, a calm Scott on her heels. "I can't cook all of that!” She neglected to say she couldn't cook any of that. She would burn the house down if she tried! Sure, she wanted to learn to cook, but she also wanted to take it one step at a time.
"Relax, Jillian," he said. "See if anyone needs a newspaper. I'll take care of this."
Within a half-hour, satisfied guests were being served their requests. And an hour and a half after that, breakfast over, Jillian and Scott began tidying up everything. "Scott, you were terrific," Jillian admitted, "I'm very grateful to you."
"It was my extreme pleasure, Jillian," Scott said, not looking at her but making a show of placing another plate in the dishwater. "I enjoyed it. I love to cook."
"I suppose you'll want to get started now," Jillian said, wishing he would look at her, watching the muscles rippling in his arms. "As soon as I finish tidying the rooms, maybe there's something I can help you with."
Scott paused in his placing of a glass on the dishwasher rack and looked at her, his eyes like molten gold, filled with need and promise. But he cleared his throat and broke the moment.
"Payback, huh?” He laughed as he finally put the glass where it belonged. "If you wish, you can come back and keep me company."
No. But instead of saying the word galloping through her mind, she said, "Okay," then left him to start her myriad of chores, hoping she finished in time to take him up on his offer.
4
At midmorning the next day, Jillian sat at the kitchen table scanning a site listing jobs on her tablet. She hated to be obligated to anyone, and it seemed she had become mired in debt and obligations. Only a miracle would save her. A miracle or hard earnest working.
She couldn't ask for better friends then Howie and Marley. Yet the thought persisted she was taking advantage of their generosity, which wouldn't do at all. When the inn was full, her paying guests generated enough cash flow to keep the business afloat. But it was seldom full to capacity. Added to the business expenses were her own personal debts, as well as the repairs she was having done to the kitchen. It was too much on her already taxed finances.
She glanced outside and the bright, cloudless day soothed her restlessness. A robin landed on the bird-bath in her well-tended garden and Jillian smiled.
Until she built up a steady clientele, she would have to find a way on her own, to make up her financial gap.
* * *
That meant finding a part-time job! She would simply have to go to work and rely on Lucy to pick up the slack. Jillian certainly wouldn't have her work additional hours for no pay. Lucy had readily agreed to lend a hand and wait until Jillian got back on her feet to get paid. Still, Jillian's most fervent hope, her most fervent need, was Lucy’s agreement to work the extra hours at the Breakfast Nook, and Jillian would be working...wherever.
She came across a familiar ad. Experienced diamond cutter. Riley’s Gems & Imports. Her father’s company was advertising for a diamond cutter. She wondered what had happened to Poppa Jack. He’d been her family’s gem cutter for so many years, she’d lost track. He had to be ancient by now. Perhaps, her father had finally insisted Poppa Jack retire.
Glancing at the ad, Jillian sighed. She loved her parents and missed them terribly. In what she called weak moments, she’d thought about calling her mother. Several times, she’d even gone so far as to dial her parents’ telephone number, but always hung up before someone answered the phone.
She knew if she ever contacted them, however, she’d be forced to give in to each and every one of their demands. She wanted to live her life her way, not how they wanted her to live it.
Grimly, she pushed her tablet aside and stood from her chair, wondering
where Scott was. Sometime ago he'd gone out to his van because he brought in the wrong tool. Well, while he was absent from the room this would be a good time to clear out. She wasn't able to accept his invitation yesterday—her work had been overwhelming—and this morning he appeared slightly aloof. Almost annoyed.
She should have been happy he hardly spoke to her, other than to ask necessary information. He continually upset her balance. Like a giddy schoolgirl, she found every excuse to go into the kitchen since the time he'd arrived this morning. He would be gone in three or four weeks, and out of her life for good.
That thought should have cheered her. Instead, it left her with an odd twinge of disappointment. Pshaw! As a married man, she couldn't have him anyway, so she would have to learn to live with her odd feelings.
Reaching her apartment, she sat on her comfortable couch, situated near her private entrance door.
She had once been involved in a very different world, but she had scorned its money, its social circles, and even its politics. She’d felt guilty she’d been born into so much, when others had so little. As a result, she’d done her absolute best to make up for the unfairness of it all—and alienated high society, her parents included. The last she’d achieved with stunning success. Of course, where her parents were concerned, Douglas had helped matters along quite nicely.
* * *
She was fully ready to admit how ridiculously self-indulgent she had been. In her teenage years, while wallowing in wretched guilt at being born into obscene wealth, she'd had the resources to do as she pleased, and had done so with not a care in the world.
If she really was as philanthropic as she'd always insisted, she wouldn't resent her lack of resources now. She would take comfort she was finally free of the excesses of wealth. Now, however, she desperately needed money. The circumstances had become extreme. Not only wouldn’t she be able to expand the inn if she didn’t find extra money, she’d have to close the inn entirely.
With a snort, she returned to her seat and grabbed her tablet again, deciding to search for a position as a business assistant, even a virtual one. As a matter of fact, virtual would be better. She could work from home and still run her inn. The ad that caught her attention was for a business that was taking in person applications between ten and twelve today. Some typing, some filing.
If she was hired, it would be the first job she'd ever had.
Which was all right with her. There was a first time for everything anyway. Seeing she had an hour left to get to the Poydras Center, she bounded from her seat and got her purse, then rushed to the kitchen entrance door. Swinging it open, she ran right into Scott.
"Whoa, Miss Riley.” His earlier annoyance gone, Scott laughed as his arms went out to steady her. "I've never seen you move so fast."
Jillian chuckled, ignoring the rush of heat surging through her at the feel of his strong fingers on her bare arms. "I'm sorry, Scott. I was preoccupied. I have to...um...run an errand.” No way would she let Scott know she needed a job. He might believe she couldn't afford to pay him. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"I'm afraid I have to make a run too, Jillian. My drill head is worn. I have to
replace it. Guess, I'll see
you later."
"Right.” Wondering what brought Scott back inside, Jillian hurried to her Honda. She unlocked the car door and slipped into the driver's seat. Slamming the door closed, she put the key into the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still, nothing.
"Wha..." Jillian sputtered in alarm. She tried the ignition again. Nothing! Nil! Nada! Damn, damn, damn! Pounding the steering wheel in frustration, she shook her head in disbelief and opened the door to get some air. This couldn't be happening. Not today. Her luck couldn't be so rotten.
"Having problems, Jillian?" Scott asked, appearing at her side and leaning down.
Jillian tapped the accelerator. "I don't understand. It was fine the last time I drove it. Now it won't even turn over.” Her life was turning into a badly written novel. Things were happening to her for no rhyme or reason, just to aggravate her.
"Scoot over, Jillian. Let me try."
"Of course," Jillian agreed with a smirk. Scott to the rescue again. One more thing she would be obligated to him for.
She scooted over to the passenger seat, which wasn't real easy to do, since the shift panel divided the two seats. She had barely sat when Scott tried the key. Nothing happened. The damned car was dead! Truly, this was all she needed to top the cake!
She was afraid to speculate on what would happen next. A few days ago she had, and the electricity had suddenly gone off, bringing out her worst fear—and making her more aware of Scott as a man than she ever could have been.
Scott popped the hood before getting out of the car to fully raise it. Jillian followed him, watching as he fiddled with wires and other things she couldn't name. After a few minutes, he slammed the hood back down. Dusting his hands off against each other, he shook his head.
"Is...is it that bad?"
"Not really. The alternator is bringing your battery down. You'll need to replace it."
