Summer Vows

by Rochelle Alers

“When are you going to have time, son? Thirty is in the rearview mirror and you’re fast approaching forty and you’re still single. I would like to have a couple of grandkids before I die.”

  Exhaling an audible sigh, Jacob closed his eyes. Every time he had a conversation with his mother invariably the topic of his single status would come up. He wanted to tell her he had yet to celebrate his thirty-sixth birthday, but then she would come back with “I happen to know the year, day and hour you were born.”

  “You’ll be the first to know when I find the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “Jacob?”

  “What is it, Mom?”

  “Nelson was picked up by the police yesterday.”

  “Picked up or arrested?”

  “He was arrested.”

  “What did he do this time?” His stepbrother couldn’t stay out of trouble if someone paid him a million dollars.

  “They claim he and some other boys stole a car and then robbed a convenience store. A cashier was shot—”

  “Stop right there, Mom,” Jacob interrupted. “I’m not getting involved with this. Nelson Deavers is trouble and the sooner you and Henry accept that fact the better you’ll sleep at night. The last time I intervened and got the police to drop the charges Nelson promised me he wouldn’t get into trouble again. Stealing cars and shooting people are not misdemeanors and that means he’s going to prison. Tell Henry I’m sorry, but his boy is on his own.” He saw movement out the side of his eye and picked up the telephone receiver when Ana walked into the kitchen. “Mom, can I call you back later?”

  “Of course you can. Please don’t forget to call me.”

  His eyes met those of the petite woman in a tank top, shorts and flip-flops before glancing at the swell of breasts in the revealing top. Jacob didn’t want to believe that an oversize T-shirt and jeans had concealed a lush, tiny, curvy, compact body. Even Ana’s legs and feet were perfect.

  “I won’t.” Jacob hung up, unaware that he’d been staring.

  Ana’s hand went to her head as she attempted to fluff up the short, wet hair clinging to her scalp. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

  “It’s all right. I was going to hang up anyway.” Even if Ana hadn’t come into the kitchen Jacob had planned to end the conversation he had with his mother. It hurt Jacob that she only called when she needed his help with her stepsons. “Did you need something?”

  She nodded. “I don’t have enough hangers.”

  He forced himself not to look at the outfit that showed a little too much skin while hoping Ana wasn’t going to make it a habit of prancing around in next to nothing because it was going to make it hard for him to remember why she was living with him.

  “How many do you need?”

  “I’m not certain, but it has to be at least another twenty.”

  “What?”

  A slight smile touched the corners of Ana’s mouth when she saw his shocked expression. “I’ll take ten, but that would mean doubling up some of my things.”

  “I have a few. But if you need more then you’ll have to wait until tomorrow when I go out.”

  Ana lifted her shoulders. “I suppose I’ll have to wait to hang up what’s leftover.”

  “Why did you bring so many clothes?”

  She took several steps, bringing them closer. “I didn’t know whether you’d have a washing machine—”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered if I did or didn’t, because you claim you don’t know how to use it.” Jacob saw a wave of color darken her face. “If you want I can show you how to use the washer and dryer.” When Ana stared at him, he thought of the saying that if looks could kill then he definitely would’ve stopped breathing. “Suit yourself,” he mumbled under his breath, “if you don’t want to grow up.”

  “I’m definitely grown, Jacob. I can’t get any more grown, just older,” she retorted.

  “Grown women I know do laundry, shop for groceries, cook and clean up after themselves.”

  Ana didn’t intend to get into a verbal confrontation with Jacob over a lifestyle that had served her well with a minimum of angst. She knew who and what she was—privileged—and she wasn’t about to apologize to anyone about it, and especially not to him.

  “Can you please tell me or show me where the hangers are?”

  “You’ll find more in the bedroom across from the bathroom.”

  Ana flashed a dimpled smile. “Thanks.” Spinning on her toes, she turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  Jacob felt as if he’d been punched hard in the solar plexus when he gaped numbly at the firm roundness of her bottom in the revealing shorts. There was hardly enough fabric to conceal her buttocks.

  “Ana.”

  She stopped but didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

  He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. Jacob wanted to tell his houseguest that what she considered something cooler was downright indecent. And it wasn’t that he was a prude—far from it—but seeing her dress like that made him aware of how long it’d been since he’d slept with a woman.

  “Would you be opposed to dining outdoors?” he said instead.

  Ana peered at him over her shoulder, smiling. “Of course not, Jacob. In fact I was going to suggest it. As soon as I finish hanging up my clothes I’ll be down to help you put dinner together.”

  “Make certain you put on sunscreen before we go outside. You’ve exposed a lot of skin,” he explained when she gave him a questioning look, “and the UV index is quite high today.”

  A frown marred her smooth forehead. “I didn’t bring any. Do you happen to have some?”

  Jacob’s smile was triumphant. “No, I don’t.” It faded as quickly as it’d appeared. “Did you bring a cover-up with you?”

  Ana chewed her lip. “No. In fact I didn’t bring a swimsuit. But you may be able to help me out.”

  “How’s that?” Jacob asked.

  “If you’re willing to give up your rather garish shirt it could double as a cover-up.”

  He glanced down at his shirt. “My shirt may be a little colorful, but it’s hardly garish.”

  Ana bit back a smile. “Surely you jest. It’s loud and gaudy.”

  His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “It’s garish, gaudy and loud, yet you want to wear it?”

  She extended her hand. “I’ll take it now if you don’t mind.”

  “You want me to take it off now?”

  “Why not? It’s only going to take me a few minutes to hang up the rest of my clothes before I come back and set the table. You do use the table on the deck, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” Jacob countered. “I’m not into lap trays.” Ana reached out to unbutton his shirt, but he caught her wrist, holding it in a firm but gentle grip. “I’ll give you another shirt and I’ll make certain it’s somewhat less loud.”

  Coward! Jacob silently berated himself. Why couldn’t he just tell her that seeing her dressed that way made him uncomfortable? In fact he was quite turned on by her curves. First the call from his mother had disturbed him, and now it was seeing a woman with whom he would spend days or perhaps even weeks with who thought nothing of dressing provocatively that had him on edge.

  “I’m not going to strip for you, Ana. Go upstairs and hang up your clothes. And when you come down I’ll have something for you to put on.”

  Ana wrested her wrist from his loose grip with a minimum of effort. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  Jacob’s expression became a mask of stone. “Do what?”

  Going on tiptoe, she thrust her face close enough for him to feel her moist breath on his jaw. “Talk to me as if I were either a child or an idiot.”

  Seeing her close-up, inhaling the subtle scent of her perfume made him aware of things that he hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes weren’t dark, but a clear brown with glints of gold. The color amber came to mind. She was short, much shorter than she appeared because of her slimness, and her damp hair was coal-black, the perfect contrast
to her olive complexion. Not only was she beautiful, she was exotic.

  It was Jacob’s turn to swallow the acerbic words poised on the tip of his tongue. Diego had cautioned him that Ana was going to be defiant and challenging. She’d chosen a career dominated by men and she’d somehow learned to navigate the testosterone-filled waters with relative ease. That is until now. She’d run into a juggernaut when dealing with Basil Irvine, because apparently the man had not taken kindly to a woman besting him.

  “I am not one of your employees or a performer in the Serenity Records stable, so however you interpret what I say to you is a personal problem, Ana. I’m also not accustomed to dealing with spoiled brats who expect people to genuflect before them. I am giving up the next two months of my life, where I’d planned to sleep as late as I want, fish, sail down to the islands and if I feel the need for female companionship, then I’d find a woman to spend some quality time with who won’t bitch and moan because things aren’t going her way.

  “I promised Diego that I would look after you, and I always keep my promises. Not to do so would make me less than honorable. And that’s not going to happen because you decide to throw a hissy fit. Now, please finish putting your clothes away, and when you come back I’ll have something for you to put on that will give you some protection from the sun.” He paused, watching the expressions on Ana’s face change from anger to shock. “Does this meet with your approval, Princess?”

  * * *

  Ana engaged in what could only be interpreted as a stare-down when she glared at Jacob. Not only was he arrogant, but also insufferable, and she wondered how long she would be able to live with him before calling her father and telling him she was willing to go to Brazil. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have other options, because she did. There was her cousin’s horse farm in the western part of Virginia. Security on the farm was so tight, no one entered or left without being monitored.

  If not Nicholas, then she could stay with another cousin in a remote region of North Carolina. Celia and her husband, FBI special agent Gavin Faulkner lived in a mountain retreat near the Tennessee border. In fact she had family members all over the country where she could stay in relative anonymity. Her brother Gabriel lived on Cape Cod with his ex-DEA agent wife, her sister’s husband was a training specialist for the CIA, and there were enough former military intelligence relatives to set up their own agency. But her father and cousin had decided U.S. Marshal Jacob Jones would be the better candidate to protect her in the States because he wasn’t family.

  She continued to glare at Jacob. “I’m immune to bullying,” she whispered, then turned on her heels and walked out of the kitchen, feeling the heat from his gaze on her back. If her host was looking for a fight, then she was going to disappoint him and not give in to his goading. If Ana had learned anything in life, it was how to deal with men with enormous egos coupled with an overabundance of arrogance.

  First and foremost there had been her grandfather. Samuel Claridge Cole put the a in arrogance. Purportedly the first black billionaire—his actual wealth a closely guarded family secret—he used intelligence and intimidation to build his empire. His drive for success was passed along to his offspring who refused to accept defeat. And for Ana it was the same. She wasn’t that bitch, skirt or any other derogative term attributed to women in positions of power, but someone ready and willing to conduct business in the most professional way possible.

  She didn’t entertain gossip, read the tabloids or grant interviews. What she did do was attend most music industry award shows with her brother, while wearing haute couture and mouthing the appropriate phrases. Once she’d assumed control of Serenity Records her love life and her personal life were kept out of the spotlight, leading entertainment journalists to create whatever spin needed to sell magazines or increase TV ratings.

  If Jacob thought he was going to browbeat her or break her will, then he was in for a shocker. After all, she was a Cole woman and they ruled while their men served.

  Ana found the hangers in the master bedroom’s walk-in closet. Heavy mahogany furniture, furnishings and accent pillows in dramatic colors of chocolate, sand-beige and sea-foam-green pulled it all together. She found the space as masculine as its occupant.

  A wide smile crinkled the skin around her eyes. She’d misjudged Jacob. He had a good sense for fashion. She counted at least half a dozen beautifully tailored suits in different colors. Racks held shoes ranging from slip-ons to wing tips. Shirts with monogrammed cuffs, slacks and jackets were hung neatly on racks along with a collection of ties. When, she mused, did he have the time to wear the tailored clothing and where? It was apparent her protector wasn’t what he presented to her.

  He claimed he knew everything about her when she knew nothing about him other than his name, occupation and marital status. “Okay, Mr. Jones,” she whispered as she gathered the remaining hangers, “now it’s time for me to find out what you’re all about.”

  Ana returned to the bedroom she would occupy during her stay in Long Key, hung up the remaining garments tossed on the bed and then retraced her steps along a catwalk to the staircase leading to the first floor.

  She had to admit to herself that she liked the layout of the house. Unlike many homes built in the state it contained two levels. Her parents’ home was constructed in three one-story sections. They occupied one section, which included a guest wing. Four bedroom suites, one for each of their children, took up another section, and the third contained a state-of-the-art recording studio and what had been Serenity’s corporate office before David moved it to a Boca Raton downtown office building.

  Although she knew Jason was more than capable of running the company, Ana wanted to be there just to feel the pulsing energy from prerecorded music playing softly throughout the offices. It hadn’t mattered whether it was soft jazz, R&B, blues, pop, country, classical, hip hop or occasionally gospel, Serenity was always about music.

  Her thoughts returned to her host and protector. Jacob had admitted he cleaned his own house and she had discerned at least one thing about him: he was a neat-freak. The floors were spotless; there was no dust on any flat surface and even her adjoining spa-inspired bathroom was impeccable. It was no wonder he didn’t have a wife or girlfriend. He was more than capable of taking care of his own needs. And she didn’t want to believe he could be so vulgar to mention that if he needed a woman to take care of his physical needs, then he’d just go out and find one to spend some quality time with. She would never go out and pick up a man if she felt the need for sexual release, because engaging in risky behavior was against her principles. It didn’t mean she didn’t have urges, but that was only when she was sexually active. But lately she’d undergone a sexual drought, because she loathed hooking up with a man just for sex. The women she’d planned to accompany on their vacation to Puerto Rico had made a pact that they would sleep with at least one man before returning to the mainland. She’d been the only one who hadn’t agreed. They hadn’t begrudged her for not going along with their scheme, and that’s why she’d remained friends with them for so long. The motto between the five women was: judge not. They were very supportive of one another, and whenever one had a crisis they came together as one to provide emotional support.

  Well, right about now Ana needed their support more than at any time in her life. Just seeing their faces or hearing their voices was like a soothing sedative. She’d promised Jacob she would help prepare dinner, but first things first. She had to call one of her girlfriends and let her know she would not be accompanying them to Puerto Rico.

  * * *

  Jacob was at the cooking island, chopping onions and red and green bell peppers. Several cloves of garlic were next to the colorful, finely minced veggies. His head popped up when she walked into the kitchen. Ana noticed that he’d exchanged his Hawaiian shirt for a white tee. Her jaw dropped, and mouth gaping she stared mutely at the breadth of his broad shoulders and muscular upper body. She was transfixed, watching the flex of muscle
in his bulging biceps as he deftly diced strips of peppers.

  Smiling, Jacob gestured to his colorful shirt hanging on the back of a high stool. “You can either use the loud and garish shirt, or there’s a tee on the seat of the stool.”

  Ana forced her feet to move as she walked woodenly to pick up the T-shirt and pulled it on. The sleeves came past her elbows and the hem inches above her knees. “It’s just a trifle bit large.”

  Jacob went back to cutting the garlic into minute pieces. “It’s enough to protect your skin.”

  “It’s the perfect nightshirt.”

  “I have more if you need nightshirts.”

  Ana walked over and stood next to him. He’d exchanged his jeans for a pair of khaki walking shorts. “No, thanks. I have my own.” She stared at his large hands with long, slender fingers, noticing his nails were groomed. One of her pet peeves was men who either bit their nails or didn’t file them. Jacob’s were smooth and square-cut. “I’d like to use your phone to call someone.”

  He stopped chopping, placing the sharp knife on the butcher block countertop. “Whoever you talk to, please do not divulge where you are.”

  Resisting the urge to salute him, Ana wrinkled her nose instead. “I think I know the drill.”

  “My number will not be displayed on their caller ID, so they won’t be able to call you back,” he called out as she walked to the wall phone.

  “That’s okay,” she said over her shoulder. Resting a hip against the countertop, she removed the phone from its cradle and punched in the number of her friend who operated her business out of her home and was available 24/7.

  Ana counted off the rings before she heard the familiar greeting. “Good afternoon. You have reached Creative Editorial Services. This is Samantha.”

  “Sam, Ana.”

  “Ana! Where the hell are you? And why haven’t you been answering your cell? You know I’ve been worried sick when I saw the news about someone shooting your cousin.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. She’d met Samantha Mickelson when both were in the same college freshman English class. The fast-talking former book editor was open, friendly, spontaneous and her best friend. Ana had graduated and enrolled in law school while Samantha moved to New York City with the dream of becoming an editor. She’d managed to secure a position with a major publisher, working her way up from editorial assistant to an associate editor.