by Piper Rayne
"Mr. Scott, I just got the call. Should I head to the Marina?"
"Yeah, Barnes. I'm famished."
"Yes sir, Mr. Scott."
Arched eyebrows were the only indication that Jillian had questions about the familiarity in his chauffeur's tone.
"Your call sounds intriguing," Jillian said. "Am I involved?"
* * *
Scott smiled, pleased at her curious tone, hardly able to contain his anticipation at seeing her face when they arrived at the Marina. "Indeed, you are involved, my lady! But no more questions. Have patience."
Because they'd driven away from the lake during their ride around the city, it took twenty additional minutes to arrive at the West End marina. Barnes stopped the limo before a boat slip, where an elegant yacht was moored. Drawing in an excited gasp, Jillian sat motionless. Smiling in approval, she turned to Scott. He returned her smile with one of his own.
As Barnes swung the car door opened, Scott stepped out onto the dock, then reached inside and handed her out, Jillian allowed her gaze to roam her surroundings. Outlines of sailboats and yachts, secured in their slips, caught her attention. Two were lit, and seemed occupied with party-goers. Tall palm trees added a tropical flavor to the evening, and the yacht, sleek, long, and inviting, sent a feeling of deja vu through her.
Jillian had grown up around such trappings, and she didn't realize she missed this lifestyle. Yet, Scott, by whatever means, had recreated what she had once known.
"Are you impressed yet?"
"Um...ah...is this all you have to offer?"
Scott laughed at her impish tone. "My golden goddess, your jaded personality is showing itself."
Lights brightened the yacht from stern to bow, a gleaming jewel against the dark waters.
"Come, beautiful lady, perhaps I can still show you something that will meet with your approval."
* * *
Beaming a smile at him, Jillian allowed Scott to steer her toward the yacht. Normally, she would have been shivering at wearing such a skimpy little outfit. But with Scott so near, her temperature was running way above normal. The brisk breeze blowing off Lake Pontchartrain cooled her skin to a comfortable degree and the trees and plants gave the setting a lush ambience. Even the stars in the night sky glittered, as they twinkled and danced around a full, yellow moon.
They reached the boat. Smiling enigmatically, Scott helped her on deck, then led her into the main cabin.
"Oh!" Jillian managed.
Spacious and splendor came to mind as she immediately recognized the finely appointed French furnishings of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The floral drapes hanging on the window were opened, allowing a magnificent view of the dusky night. The Louis XVI style sofa sat between two richly carved tables, accentuated by brass candelabra lamps that cast soft light around the room. Surprised yet again by the tender planning Scott put into this evening, the thickly sweet fragrance of the single red rose laying on the coffee table wrapped around her insides.
An intense look on his face, Scott picked up the rose and presented it to her with flourish.
She would have commented, but two men, dressed in black and white waiter's uniforms came in.
"Evening, sir," the bearded one said. "Would you like a glass of wine? Or anything else?"
"Jillian?"
"What do you have?" she asked, nonplussed at this show of wealth. It dawned on her that everyone from the limousine driver to the two waiters acted as if they knew Scott personally.
"Anything you want, ma'am."
"Yeah, Jillian, if you name it, we should have it. Or someone will damn sure get it."
* * *
This was a new Scott, one she had never seen. From what she knew of him, he always seemed to be a take-charge, no-nonsense man—her complete opposite in fact—but this Scott reeked of power, position, and pretentiousness. She wasn't sure if she liked that, even as she reminded herself how much she'd missed her old lifestyle and he'd did all of this just for her.
For now that was enough to overlook any discomfort she felt, had always felt, at being wealthy, and enjoying that wealth.
"Jillian?"
"Oh, uh, I'll take a gl-glass of white wine."
"And I'll take Beaujolais."
"Will you and Miss Jillian be ready to eat soon?" the older one asked.
Scott looked at Jillian for the answer.
Her eyes wide, she shrugged with a nonchalance she didn't feel. "What's on the menu?"
"Nothing fancy, ma'am," the older one answered. "Cook didn't have time to prepare a feast. The basics. Soup, appetizer, salad, entree, and dessert."
"I see," Jillian said. "Sounds good. I believe I can handle the basics after we're through with our wine."
"Good," Scott intoned.
Within moments, the bearded one had brought the requested drinks to Scott and Jillian. Once they were alone, Scott glanced at her, a question in his eyes.
"It looks like you've moved up in the world in a matter of hours," she teased. "I'm duly impressed."
"At last!" Scott exclaimed, leading her to the sofa. "Get comfortable, Jilly. Whenever you say the word, we'll eat."
As Jillian tasted her wine, the boat was slowly moved from its berth. Some minutes later, it was sailing away from the dock with a gentle rocking motion.
"Where are we going?"
* * *
"I'd like to sail to an island with you, Jillian, but I can't," Scott answered, the regret in his voice setting her heart to pounding. "So we'll just traverse Lake Pontchartrain tonight."
"I'd like that," Jillian responded softly. Setting her glass on the side table, she touched his cheek. "Scott, thank you. To go to such expense...just for me. I-I don't know what to say."
Scott brushed her lips with his own. "The look on your face is gratitude enough, sweetheart. And don't think about the expense. I assure you, I can afford it."
Jillian smiled dreamily. "Let's stop somewhere in the middle of the lake to eat—"
"We'll probably drift."
"Who’s at the helm now?"
"Don't worry, sweetheart, there's a very skilled yachtsman steering Splendor.” He caught Jillian's questioning look. "The name of the boat," he clarified.
Taking another sip of wine, she skimmed her finger around the rim of the glass. How could she have left her heart so unguarded after Douglas, and fall so completely for Scott?
She’d chastised herself a gazillion times for speculating on the turn her emotions had taken, and she certainly wouldn't at the moment. Not if she wanted to continue to enjoy her evening. Somehow, she had managed to ignore that wedding ring on his finger, but if she started thinking about how she felt about him....
No, she would continue to just relish Scott's kindness. And nearness. And...and devastatingly impossible good looks.
Face it, girl. You're in love with the man. Rave immediately came to mind and she smiled.
"Let's go on deck and look at the stars," she suggested.
* * *
"How compatible can two people be, Jilly?" Scott asked. "Or did you simply read my mind?"
Scott led Jillian out on deck, and Jillian breathed in the fresh air. The calm waters allowed for practically smooth sailing, and the receding shoreline was alive with bright lights.
Leaning against the railing, Scott looked striking, his profile strong and sharp, dark against the moonlight.
"I've been thinking, Jilly," he began. He blew out a breath, then took a sip of wine before continuing. "Hear me out before you make a decision. Deal?"
Intrigued by Scott's wary tone, Jillian nodded. "Sure, Scott. I'm listening."
"You're in dire need of help at the Breakfast Nook..."
"Scott—"
"Hear me out, Jillian!" Scott interrupted. "I want to help you. An ad will begin tomorrow, for help for you. I'm going to hire a parking attendant, a housekeeper, and a cook for you. As a matter of fact, the cook tonight is here as trial for you. He's an ex-sous chef from one of the top re
staurants here, just out of a job for two days."
"And he's agreed to work at the Breakfast Nook?" Jillian asked incredulously. "Why?"
"Because his pay will be fantastic, and with your gracious hospitality the two of you together can put your inn in the four-star category."
"I can't let you do this! There's absolutely no way I'm going to accept your charity. I've been handling the obligations at the Breakfast Nook quite well with Marley's and Rave's assistance and—"
"And you can't expect them to continue that, no matter how much they may want to. They have their own lives, Jillian.” He straightened to his full height and moved closer to her.
* * *
Jillian smelled his cologne, felt his glare.
"Don't let your damn pride get in the way of my help!"
Her temper flaring, Jillian stormed back inside. With a vicious curse, Scott followed close on her heels.
"It's charity, Scott. Not help! I can't accept that."
"You damn well know the difference, Jillian!” Scott thrust his fingers through his hair in frustration. His tone calmer, he said, "Timmy's going to be out of school soon, and we're going to be leaving, so I can oversee this job in Memphis. But I want to make sure that you have the help you need."
"You're leaving New Orleans?" Of all the things Jillian expected to hear, it wasn't that. But weeks ago he had mentioned to her about an out-of-state job he was hiring a crew for. She hadn't thought much of it then. "When?"
"In a couple of weeks. As soon as the Breakfast Nook is completed. Ever since the death of my father, I've wanted to bring T & C national, and here's my opportunity to do it."
"Mr. Scott, Cook sent me in to inform you that your meal is about to begin."
It was the bearded waiter again, who gave Jillian an odd look. Maybe he noticed the strain on her face. Or the hurt she felt that made tears rush to her eyes. It could have been a host of things, but Jillian didn't care.
She allowed Scott to escort her to a dining cabin that had a table in it, set intimately for two. A large bouquet of ivory tea roses served as the centerpiece and was framed by two feather candles, which cast flickering light around the dimly lit room.
The ambience was meant for romance and seduction, but Jillian's mood was ruined by Scott's revelation.
"Are you okay, Jillian?" Scott asked with concern, as he held out a chair for her.
* * *
Not willing to admit that she wasn't okay, she merely nodded and took her place at the table. Once she was comfortably situated, Scott took his own place.
He attempted conversation, but she answered in monosyllables and soon he fell quiet.
The basic meal that the older waiter spoke of turned out to be a gastronomic feast of vichyssoise, lobster wraps with garlic sauce, avocado and blue cheese salad, stuffed flounder with braised carrots and onions, and for dessert, caramel pecan custard pie.
For two hours, Jillian feasted on the food, while sitting in stony silence. When the meal ended, she was stuffed.
"What do you think?" Scott asked. He sounded weary and disappointed. "Does Sloan have a job?"
"May I think about it?" Jillian responded. She felt guilty for ruining the evening, but his announcement took her off-guard. "I'll let you know tomorrow."
"Sure. Would you like to see the rest of the Splendor, and enjoy after dinner aperitifs?"
Jillian swallowed. They were entering dangerous territory. If she stayed longer and allowed him to escort her around the yacht, it would inevitably lead to other things. The hunger in his gaze, the vulnerability she felt, told her that.
"I-I'm sorry, Scott. I'm afraid I must leave. Please, can we return to the harbor?"
Without speaking, Scott nodded, his expression closing.
An hour later, Barnes pulled up in front of the Breakfast Nook. Scott handed her out and stood while she got safely inside. But neither of them said anything else. Not even goodbye.
13
By the time Jillian left her apartment at ten-thirty the next morning to go to the Office of Motor Vehicles, Scott still hadn't arrived nor had he phoned. Now, as she stood in line at the remodeled office, alive with activity and sunshine, even the telephone call she'd made to her mother or their twelve o'clock lunch date didn't dominate her thoughts. It was Scott. She hated to think that he was punishing her for asking to be brought home.
Not knowing what to expect from him, she hesitated to call his company. She would hear from him eventually, once he overcame his pique. He still had work left to do in the kitchen. He still had to tell her goodbye before he left for Memphis. Besides, he didn't strike her as a person who sulked when things didn't go his way. Yet if he wasn't angry, then what was wrong with him?
She hated speculating. But under the circumstances of the parting, she couldn't help wondering if Scott's absence was because of her.
"Next!"
A nudge from behind told Jillian she was next. Glaring over her shoulder at the freckle-faced girl, she stepped forward.
"Fill this form out, then step over here."
The form in question was shoved into her hand. It didn't take long for Jillian to answer the personal questions that would go on her license. Finished with the task, she handed it back to the lady who was serving her. The name on her badge read A. Nelson.
Squinting down at the form, Mrs. Nelson said, "Would you like to become an Organ Donor?”
"Yeah, sure."
Mrs. Nelson checked off the appropriate box, then once again handed pen and form back to Jillian. "Initial there, please."
After she completed the application process, Mrs. Nelson indicated the two eye lenses that Jillian had to peer into. "Read the bottom line please."
The bottom line that only an owl should have been able to read, but Jillian kept that comment to herself as she looked into the viewer and said, "P G J W E R A V Z M L."
"Good.” Mrs. Nelson punched two holes in the application, then pointed to a door which led to another room. "Bring the form to the cashier's desk and she'll direct you from there."
An hour later, Jillian was walking to her car, an up-to-date license securely in her purse, and, a half hour after that, she was sitting in The Cheesecake Bistro on St. Charles Avenue, fidgeting. Wondering if her mother would show up, yet apprehensive that she would, she sipped her sparkling water.
She told herself not to feel apprehensive. Camille, after all, was her mother, but she couldn't help it. They had always been at odds and once Camille discovered how right she'd been about Douglas, what would she say to Jillian?
To ease her nerves, Jillian contributed her ambiguity to not having seen either of her parents in nearly four years. Glancing toward the door, she looked at her watch and her apprehension increased. Her mother was nearly half an hour late.
She gazed around the pink and teal, art deco styled room. This was one of her favorite places, but she'd been so wrapped up in her problems, she hadn't been here in months. But the friendly, adept waiting staff, as well as the hip atmosphere, and delicious food, welcomed her.
She tasted her water again, and frowned. She wasn't really thirsty. In fact, she felt as if she'd drown if she took another sip. Pushing the glass aside, she looked toward the front entrance again, just as her mother breezed flamboyantly through the glass doors.
Jillian drew in a breath. Wearing a wide brim, black hat, her hair flowing to her shoulders, her mother was as beautiful as ever. The thigh-length black and white checkered dress she wore was both fashionable and flattering.
As Camille scanned the room, Jillian stood and waved to her, giving her a tremulous smile. Looking ten years younger than her forty-seven years, Camille rewarded Jillian with a dazzling smile.
Her heart swelling, Jillian forced herself to remain calm and not run to her mother and throw her arms around her. She had to remain focused. There was still a lot to be discussed between the two of them.
"Hello, Mom," Jillian said around the lump in her throat, as Camille approached her. "You l
ook stunning.” Feeling like a small child again in blue jeans, silk t-shirt, and sneakers, she faced her mother, a smile pasted on her face. This morning, after speaking to her mother briefly, she'd dressed with a bit of defiance. Her mother, rarely, if ever, wore denim, and she hated Jillian in it. But, today, Camille didn't seem to care what Jillian wore.
She stared at her with a teary gaze. "Is hello, mom all I get after four years?" Camille asked, her voice breaking. She stepped closer to Jillian and threw her arms around her.
"Oh, Mom!” Jillian clung fiercely to her mother, forcing her tears to stay at bay. Such a public display was so uncharacteristic of them both, but she didn't care. Her mother always allowed her actions to speak for her, and, at the moment, her actions were speaking volumes.
"Let me look at you, darling.” Camille stepped back, and swiped a few stray tears from her cheeks.
Jillian stood silent as Camille perused her up and down.
"You look wonderful," she chimed, hugging her fiercely once again.
It seemed the years had changed them both.
"Thank you, Mom," Jillian managed. "So do you."
"Sit down, Jillian," Camille said, the commanding tone that had once so rankled Jillian firmly in place. "Tell me why it took you so long to contact your father and me."
With a smile, Jillian realized how much she'd missed that autocracy. Complying with her mother's wishes, she sat as did Camille. Immediately, a waiter rushed to their table, where they both ordered the day's special.
"Now where were we before we were so pleasantly interrupted," Camille said, gazing around the room. But instead of making some offhanded comment, she said, "My, I'm famished."
"So am I," Jillian agreed. "And as for me not contacting you, I wasn't sure if you would welcome me. My leaving home wasn't my idea, Mom. You and Dad sort of insisted, remember?"
Camille nodded, and her eyes clouded with emotion. "That's true, dear. Your father and I didn't think Douglas was suitable for you. Apparently, we were wrong. You and he must be doing well. Otherwise, you wouldn't have called. You've always been too proud for your own good.” She paused and placed her hand on top of Jillian's, the diamond ring on her manicured finger glittering. "We've missed you, but I guess we were being as proud and stubborn as you. I had intended to contact you for Christmas if we hadn't heard from you. But your father and I had a nice talk after you called this morning. If Douglas is the young man you've chosen to spend your life with, we can adjust to that. Besides, your father wants to give you away in marriage whenever you two set the date."
