by Carol Caiton
Hannah stared at him. He was right. She shouldn't have taken Jessica's refusal as a personal rebuff.
"I'll try again and see how it goes," she said.
But why had Simon suddenly spoken with her so amicably? Why was he speaking with her at all?
He started toward the door.
"Simon?"
He turned, one hand on the doorknob.
"Why did you defend me?"
He looked back at her. But he was silent for so long, she began to wish she hadn't asked.
"Because I'm the only person who's allowed to make you cry," he said at last. Then he opened the door and walked out.
Stunned, Hannah stared after him. What on earth had he meant by that?
CHAPTER 12
On Friday morning Simon stopped by his office, then headed over to Urns & Leaves, as was becoming the norm. Every day since the afternoon Jessica Breckenridge slapped his face, he'd come to work, checked his messages, then left his office to watch her move from table to table, taking orders, smiling, and speaking quietly to her customers. It was part of his routine now and was an interesting diversion even if the reasons for it disturbed him.
As soon as he stepped outside, the moist fragrant air of flowers and oncoming summer filled his lungs. Every path throughout RUSH carried that same seductive fragrance, or one that was similar. Depending on the season, it might be the smell of blossoming fruit trees, frangipani, swaths of honeysuckle, gardenia, or the millions of flowers bordering the various paths that drifted through the air. It didn't matter which time of year, color and soft fragrance surrounded the senses. But the noticeable humidity this morning was a clear indication of summer settling in. It wouldn't be long before temperatures soared into the nineties and walking the short distance to Urns & Leaves would be uncomfortable.
Making his way to the food court, he nodded in response to anyone who greeted him and continued on. Then he entered the coffee bar where, just inside the door, a bank of machines lining both sides of the vestibule offered a wide selection of popular newspapers.
He reached in his pocket for the required change and selected the Orlando Sentinel. Then he stood in the entrance, breathing the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffees, and perused the dining room until he saw Jessica Breckenridge.
Her resemblance to Hannah was evident. She and her sister both possessed the kind of soft femininity that caught a man's attention, and that was before his eyes dropped below the neck. But this young woman was nineteen years old. Nineteen. Even thinking of her as a woman and not a girl was a stretch. Maybe it was the smallness of her frame. She didn't even look nineteen. Seventeen maybe.
He was in his thirties. How was he supposed to reconcile an age difference like that? There was still a chance Hannah was his blue link, but as the days passed he became less convinced of that, particularly after having eavesdropped on her conversation with the ex-cop.
Hannah had taken it in stride when Falkner gave a good account of the male attitude toward women. In fact, she'd defended the integrity of high-ranking links, as though knowing already that Jessica had nothing to worry about because that's exactly what her sister applied for. And based on what he'd heard, it was Jessica who wanted, even needed, to surround herself with love and family. Evidently she'd had a close, trusting relationship with her father. But now he was gone and she lived in a city, a country, where she knew very few people. The fact that she spoke fourteen languages said she wasn't accustomed to being alone. And she'd come to work at RUSH because she wanted to get to know her sister.
As far as Simon was concerned, she fit the profile of someone who would see an opportunity to use RUSH's linking system as a tool to find a husband . . . someone with whom she could fall in love, raise a few children, and build a life. Hannah, on the other hand, had worked here for nearly three years without activating her file. Why would she do so now, especially if Malcolm was right and she was planning to leave?
Hannah seemed to be sufficient unto herself, as was he. If not for his faith in the linking system, he wouldn't give a second thought to accepting a blue icon. He wasn't looking for a wife. He didn't need to surround himself with love and family as did Jessica. But Ethan had said something several months ago that still lingered in the back of his mind.
When you work and play at a place like RUSH, the opportunity to meet someone—someone you can have a meaningful relationship with—doesn't exist.
And it sure as hell didn't get much better than a status-2 blue.
So he stood in the entrance of Urns & Leaves watching Jessica work the station at the far side of the dining room. His one consolation—his only consolation—was the fact that she wouldn't have applied for a blue link because of an interest in his bank account. Clearly, she had money of her own. And, as was the case with her sister, she didn't even like him.
When he approached the hostess's podium, the young woman smiled and said, "A window table?"
She knew by now that he not only wanted a window table, but that he wanted it in Jessica's section. She also knew not to bother with a menu. He didn't want one because he always ordered the same thing.
"Yes. Thank you."
Newspaper in hand, he followed her to the far side of the dining room. It wasn't crowded now that is was past nine o'clock. The biggest onrush occurred before the beginning of each shift. Jessica's shift began at eight and ended at twelve-thirty, overlapping half an hour with the next shift in order to provide the lunch crowd with prompt service. Urns & Leaves didn't offer a varied food menu as did the other eateries. Fresh pastries were available throughout the day and a small selection of sandwiches between eleven and two. That was the extent of it. But every flavor of coffee and tea imaginable was the specialty here and when Jessica approached his table, a small tablet PC in hand, he met her eyes and launched into their oddly amusing routine.
"Good morning, Jessica."
"Good morning. What may I bring to you?"
He smiled. She knew exactly what he wanted, but she stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.
"Black coffee, standard brew, please."
He asked for it exactly the same way every day. But she nodded and tapped it in as though she'd never seen him before. Then she smiled politely and turned away.
He watched as she crossed to one of the many coffee urns, prepared his order, then brought it back in a china cup and saucer. When she left again, he opened the newspaper and pretended to read while he observed her at work instead.
Other than her refusal to acknowledge him as anything more than a passing customer, he'd seen nothing of the little termagant he knew she could be. To her customers she spoke quietly and served them with a smile. Toward her co-workers she appeared friendly.
But to him she was courteous and nothing more. It left him feeling edgy, as though he stood on the sidelines waiting for the next explosion that didn't happen. Which only served to reinforce the belief that she was the Breckenridge chosen for him by the linking system. She was unpredictable, putting him on alert and guarded whenever he was near her. But that was all part of the plan, part of the scheme fate had decided would keep him happy over the years. Hell, she never said more than a handful of words to him each morning, but he always walked back to his office feeling as though she'd put him through half a dozen hoops. It was just one more of the million twists and challenges she was guaranteed to curse him with through the remainder of his life.
Did she turn him on?
He was going to lose an entire six months of uncomplicated sex if he accepted a link with her, so he focused on her body and allowed himself to indulge his imagination.
Working his way up, he started with her legs. They were slender. Well-shaped. The short blue skirt she wore was an invitation to stare and it was an enticing view. Her waist nipped in and appeared small because of the flare of the skirt and because of her generous breasts. Moving upward, he studied the shape and size of those mounds, but as soon as he lifted his gaze to her face, the discomfort he felt with the be
ginning of an arousal eased and faded. Her youth was going to be a problem.
He hadn't been attracted to a female as young as she was for years. Her sister might not be much older, but the sensory response that shot straight to his groin whenever Hannah's voice drifted his way, or the jingle of all those bracelets she wore caught his attention, was a lust so powerful, there were times he'd had to retreat back to his office. And when he looked into Hannah's eyes, it wasn't her youth and inexperience he saw, but rather a woman he was intensely eager to initiate into the pleasures of sex . . . a woman who would writhe with need in response to his particular preferences.
He didn't know how he knew that. He didn't know why he even suspected it. He'd never been with a virgin before and until RUSH, he'd known very few experienced women who enjoyed what he wanted.
He realized then that he'd been openly staring at Jessica. She'd already caught him at it and began to approach his table again.
"May I get something else for you?"
"Simon."
"Pardon me?"
"My name is Simon."
"Yes, I know."
He searched her face, looking for that same something he saw when he looked at Hannah.
"Sit with me for a minute, Jessica."
"I'm sorry," she promptly replied, "but I'm not supposed to do that."
"I'm the boss," he said, making that the second time in as many days that he'd played his ownership card. "Take my word for it—you can sit."
"If I choose not to sit, will you fire me?"
By God, she'd have him pulling out his hair within a year.
"No," he said. "I won't fire you. Asking you to sit with me isn't a corporate order. It's a request."
She glanced at the tables in her section, probably hoping for a new customer as an excuse to decline.
"It's not crowded," he said.
She met his eyes again. Then with stiff formality, she slid the opposite chair from beneath the table and sat perfectly straight on its edge.
"Jessica."
"Yes?"
"I can't make amends if I'm not given the chance."
She gave that a few seconds of consideration. "You should be making amends to Hannah."
He almost laughed. "I'm working on it. But she doesn't want to listen either."
"That's because you've been a bully to her for many months."
He did smile then. "Don't you know you're not supposed to tell your boss he's a bully?"
"Then I choose not to sit with you."
She began to rise and he reached across the table to snare her wrist. "That was supposed to be a teasing remark. A jest. Are you always this literal?"
She looked down at his hand holding her wrist and frowned. "Do you want me to speak honestly with you?"
What in God's name was he getting into?
Releasing her he said, "Yes I want you to be honest with me. Always."
"All right then. I apologize for misinterpreting. English hasn't been my native tongue since I was a small child. I lose words sometimes and I have to think before speaking." She sat back down.
"But you're American."
"Yes."
"Wasn't English spoken where you lived?"
"Yes, of course. When necessary."
"What about television? With satellite availability didn't you watch American television?"
She made a small shrugging motion. "Sometimes. But not in English. Neither was it always available."
"Then you're re-learning it very quickly."
He got his first smile. "Thank you for noticing. You should compliment Hannah as well, whenever appropriate. Many times."
"Many times?"
"Yes. To make amends. To compensate for . . . being a bully."
He chuckled. "Are you testing me?"
"Just a little."
"Maybe more than a little."
When she smiled this time, all the dining room seemed suddenly brighter. Her eyes warmed with pleasure and joy seemed to radiate from her. She was beautiful when she was happy.
He thought about the man who had tried to buy her. Then he wondered where the sonofabitch was right now, at this moment. But he couldn't ask because he wasn't supposed to know about that yet. Nor would she approve of the way he'd gained that knowledge. The ex-cop, Kyle Falkner, was obviously a good friend since she'd confided the details of her life to him. Hell, the guy was twenty steps ahead of him.
He took a breath. "I'll try to make amends," he said.
"That's good. Very good." She said it approvingly, as though she was the one who had fourteen years on him instead of the other way around.
"All right then. I'll have a wafer of shortbread when you have a chance."
CHAPTER 13
Jessica stood looking out at the city lights through the balcony doors inside her small apartment. Friday and Saturday nights were more active than other nights of the week and she watched the red taillights of slow-moving cars crawl alongside the many people milling about the sidewalks. In cities all over the world she'd stared out at the night. It was always fascinating. Always mysterious. Always beautiful.
Every city had its own texture, woven by its people, by their beliefs, their architecture, and their history. She considered herself fortunate to have lived the life she had, to have seen the world and experienced the cultures of its people. And in the quiet of night, staring through the glass, she'd always been reminded of her own insignificance while at the same time, knew she was more than a bystander in the great design of humanity.
She had participated. She'd sat in the boardrooms of nations and corporations and she'd been instrumental in guiding the financial decisions of powerful leaders and businessmen. Oftentimes it had been from the background, through her father, but not always. And yes, prideful as it was, it had pleased her when some of those powerful men came to rely on her opinion after having first dismissed her as insignificant . . . unwelcome even. She'd been a female, a truly young female, in the midst of a very male-dominant society. But as time passed and she and her father conducted business with the same people through the years, not only had her gender and youth become inconsequential, but some of those very same men eventually greeted her with honor and respect and listened when she spoke.
She had excellent instincts backed by knowledge and up-to-the-minute information. She knew the markets and could recite the net profits and losses of most major companies at the close of any fiscal period during the last three years. It was a skill her father had relied on many times, along with her talent for languages, and sometimes she missed the intellectual challenge, the exchange of ideas and information, and the easy discussions in which she and her father had often engaged.
Tonight, for some reason, was being more difficult than most. It was true that she'd retreated from the business community by necessity. But it had been by choice as well. Too many memories were etched in her heart and grief had taken the place of pleasure. Loneliness had changed the direction of her life, the substance of her needs. But the connection—the something inside that joined her to the rest of humanity—seemed missing now, as though she was no longer a participant but had traded places with the bystander. She knew what she wanted though, what her soul yearned for that would ease the ache and eventually bring contentment again. But the waiting was difficult while she stood so alone beneath the stars.
When her cell phone rang, the soft jingle surprised her. The day after her arrival in the United States she'd purchased a new one and only a handful of people had been given her number. So it didn't ring often.
Making her way over to the sofa, she reached for her purse and sat down. She pushed aside her dictionary of idioms and her computer tablet, sifting through the remaining contents while suspecting the call was from Hannah. They were planning a day of shopping together and no one else she could think of would call her on a Friday evening.
When she looked at the display screen, however, it was to find the number of an unknown caller. Pressing the Talk button, she an
swered cautiously.
"Hello?"
"Hi, honey."
Her heart skipped a beat. This caller wasn't unknown at all.
"Kyle?"
"Is there another man on the planet who calls you honey?"
"No. No, of course not."
"Glad to hear it."
"Kyle—"
"It's Friday night," he said.
"Yes, I know this."
"Do you have plans?"
"Plans for what?"
"For tonight. Are you going out?"
"No. A woman shouldn't be out in the night alone."
"Smart thinking."
"Kyle, how is it that you have my telephone number?"
"I got it off your phone last week."
She thought back to him rummaging through her purse for her telephone. "When you wanted to call the junkyard heaven?"
"Yeah. The junkyard heaven. So, do you think you'd feel safe outside at night with me? I thought we'd go for a walk."
A walk. She'd love to go for a walk with him. And because of that, she should say no. If she went with him he would call her honey again and put his arm around her. She knew he would. Something had happened that day when they shopped for his car. He looked at her differently now. It had happened while he examined the tires, when she'd questioned him. She didn't know why it had changed, but that was when it happened. His eyes had become so dark. They'd focused on her as though until that moment she'd only existed on the outer periphery of his consciousness. Then suddenly she'd been singled out of the millions of people walking the same earth as he. She'd become an individual, a female individual, and she'd gone tingly all over.
Now, she couldn't look at him without seeing him differently as well. The scar high up on his cheek suddenly worried her. It was so close to his eye. His hair, dark and uneven and shaggy, all at once made him seem edgy and rough, which made no sense because he was a policeman and always protective. There were too many things about him that she liked, most of all the depth of his caring for others. The fact that he'd left his job in Philadelphia said much about his capacity to love, whether it was because he'd shot and killed a young boy or because that boy had been special to him, it didn't alter the significance of his decision. And he'd held her in the parking lot after taking her to dinner, just held her, as though knowing she mourned her father and wanted to show his understanding, to comfort her when there was no one else to offer such comfort.
