“Moving into an apartment and opening the café isn’t fun.” Jo squeezed Amy’s shoulders. “Take a walk on the wild side, Sis.”
“You sound just like Jacques, and here we are talking sin standing in front of a church. I’m telling Preacher Mark on you.” Doing her best not to weaken, Amy shooed her children toward the church school. That was all she needed — her family approving of a fling.
She cast a glance at Elise, who was commandeering Jacques, the mayor, and two councilmen. For just a moment, she was jealous, but not of Elise and Jacques, she assured herself. They were handsome together, admittedly, but what she really wanted was to be self-assured and competent like her friend.
“I wuv you, Mommy.” Louisa pecked her cheek as Amy set her down in a roomful of toddlers.
For kisses like that, she would forgo being businesslike.
“And I love you both.” Kneeling, she hugged them. “How about we spend the night in Aunt Jo’s apartment tonight? We’ll have pizza and cupcakes.”
They shouted in agreement — not really understanding how drastically their lives were about to change.
* * *
Jacques refrained from wincing when the mayor called him “Zack” for the third time. Zack was better than Gene or Jack or the Saint Stevie he knew the locals had been calling him. Apparently, sometime during the turkey shoot, he had been promoted to Zack, a graduate summa cum laude of the manly man school.
They could call him whatever they liked if they’d only let him get back to Amy. He knew she’d scurried away as soon as his back was turned, but he wasn’t a man to quit once his interest was aroused. No other woman had held his fascination as this one did. She was even more intriguing than the pattern cards. His pulse picked up just watching her.
He couldn’t keep his mind from returning to Amy as she’d appeared this morning, flushed from the heat of the oven and humming while she decorated muffins with raisins and sugar crystals. She’d looked as delectable as the muffins in her ice-cream-white shorts and golf shirt, her hair curling in the humidity. But the best part had been when she’d looked up to see him standing there with underwear on his head and children hanging off his arms, and she’d flushed with as much pleasure as if he’d just made love to her.
Transforming her persistent worried frown to lighthearted laughter made him feel as though he’d just won the Olympics. He didn’t know how else to describe the incredible joy her smile aroused. He would have stood on his head and sung the “La Marseillaise” if she’d asked it of him.
Which meant he was probably losing all perspective, if not his entire mind, he reflected. Right now, he didn’t care. He was on the prowl, and his prey lay ahead. Following the mayor into church, Jacques scanned the sanctuary, locating Amy’s shiny hair as she sat in a pew beside her nephews.
He disengaged the claws of the woman on his arm. Cold women like Elise were wonderful business partners and very bad bed partners. He needed a woman who gave in the soft, generous ways that Amy displayed in every word and action.
Shaking hands with his companions, Jacques escaped and slid into the pew beside his hostess. Amy glanced up at him in surprise and with what he hoped was a little blush of pleasure. From the far end of the pew, her brother-in-law acknowledged him with a nod.
“Where is your sister?” Jacques whispered.
Amy nodded toward the choir. “Listen. You can’t miss her.”
Sure enough, when the congregation settled down, the piano struck a chord, the choir swung into the first note of a hymn, and a clear soprano carried the melody soaring to the vaulted ceiling, raising goose bumps up and down his arms. Jacques located Joella in the front row, garbed in somber choir robes instead of her usual spangled bright colors. The choir director very rightly singled her out to drag the rest of the lackluster voices triumphantly into song.
“She ought to be on CD,” he marveled, whispering into Amy’s ear.
“She is,” Amy acknowledged proudly. “It came out a few months ago and did very well on the country music charts for a first album.”
Jacques sat back and pondered that marvel. He had grown up in Europe and visited his mother’s country only briefly, with quick hops to New York City or D.C. for business. His mother’s parents had died when he was young, so he’d never seen the mountains where she’d been born. She’d spoken disparagingly of ignorance and poverty and prejudice. He had never had any urge to learn more.
Only a desperate need for distraction from the painful memories of Europe and his stale life had dragged him into rural America. He hadn’t wanted anything more than unfamiliar faces and new sights. But here he was, in the presence of the American equivalent of royalty — an entertainment star and her family. He saw no evidence of ignorance, poverty, or prejudice. Just people living their lives as they did everywhere else on the planet.
Jacques had lived all his life in cities with art and museums. He had never known a country music singer. Or a woman who put icing on muffins and pigs’ faces on icing because her little girl loved pigs. He’d never known a woman who short-circuited machinery when she was upset — he didn’t have any trouble believing it. She short-circuited him every time she came in view.
He grinned hugely. Losing the Porsche had been an expensive lesson, but he now knew never to upset Amy near delicate equipment.
Her jasmine scent drifted around him, and he could sense all those lovely curves just an arm’s breadth away. She tried not to touch him, but every time one of her nephews squirmed, she had to adjust her position. Jacques deliberately shifted closer when she did, until his arm brushed hers, and she had to sit up very straight so their hips didn’t touch.
He crossed his leg over his knee and let his shoe tip nudge her stockinged calf. She had changed into a taupe suit with a short jacket that was very attractive on her shapely figure.
She shifted her leg out of his reach. He put his foot back down and slumped so his hip and leg pressed along hers. Oo-la-la. He liked that position.
She elbowed him — hard.
Yes! She was as aware of him as he was of her. Jacques nearly laughed out loud.
He had not been to church in a very long time, but even he knew he shouldn’t be thinking about sex in church. Politely focusing his attention on the preacher, he sat up and placed his hand on Amy’s knee.
She dug her fingernails into a small piece of his skin and pinched.
He decided right there and then that a woman who did not give in easily had a lot to give.
* * *
“You are moving your beds in here?” Jacques asked in evident dismay after limping up the stairs to the loft apartment against Amy’s wishes. “There are no rooms!” He swept his arm dramatically to indicate the dusty box-cluttered studio.
“It’s an adventure, like camping out.” Amy stoically dropped her box of kitchen utensils on the tiny Formica counter. “I need to figure out how much I can leave boxed up and how much I absolutely have to have to get by until we find a new place.”
Elise’s teenaged nanny and her boyfriend entered with cartons of linens and towels, and Flint’s middle-school boys carried up bed parts, showing off for Elise’s gorgeous nine-year-old daughter. Amy directed the kids’ beds to be placed in the corner where Jo’s piano had once stood. She didn’t want the children climbing the ladder into the loft.
Jacques stalked through the apartment growling at the lack of room and disparagingly wiping dust off fixtures. Good. Maybe once she saw him as the snobby rich boy he was supposed to be, she wouldn’t tingle all over every time he looked at her. His kiss yesterday had turned her head so badly that she couldn’t see the wolf in him any longer.
His behavior in church hadn’t helped any. She hadn’t heard a word the preacher spoke with Jacques’s muscular legs deliberately rubbing hers. She’d wanted to laugh and giggle like a teenager. And touch him back.
Keeping him distant from her children was the smart thing to do. They needed a man in their life too much. And apparently, she wa
sn’t any less susceptible.
“I thought I was to be your bed-and-breakfast guest. How will you feed me if you are here?” he demanded, hitting his cane against the old wooden floor and glaring out the windows at the lovely mountain view.
Amy winced guiltily. “I promised the kids pizza and cupcakes tonight. I can’t feed you that. I’ll come up and heat one of the meals I froze for days like this. Just think, you’ll have the whole house to yourself. You can wear your own underwear on your head if you like.”
He snorted, but she didn’t think it was with laughter.
“If I wished to eat by myself, I would have stayed at the motel. And breakfast? Do you leave me a box of cereal?”
He almost sounded hurt. She had hurt him? How was that possible? The whole world was his oyster, and she was just an irritating grain of sand.
“You have an entire entourage who will jump if you call. I have air mattresses that can be used for beds.” She’d left the master bedroom furniture for Jacques and moved the smaller guest set down here for herself. “Tell Luigi to stay with you. I’ll feed both of you and not charge extra. And if you don’t want to eat at the café in the morning, I’ll set the coffeepot on automatic and prepare breakfast sandwiches and muffins you can heat up. We’ll work something out.”
“Your house will not be sold for weeks! Surely I did not drive you from your lovely home with my presence?” He looked disturbed at the implication.
So much for seeing him as spoiled and demanding. He was not supposed to care if he’d driven her out of her own home.
If she was honest, she’d have to say he had. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before, knowing he was under the same roof, so close, but so far away….
But that sounded too much as if she were running away, when she was actually running forward. This was her life now. If she quit thinking about the past, there was a certain amount of excitement in finding her own place.
To ease his conscience, she offered, “You will only be here until the bid decision is made on Tuesday. If you like, we can stay until then. I just thought you’d prefer to be alone.”
“I am always alone,” he said grumpily, opening the door of the small refrigerator. “I will call Luigi. You need not worry about us. We can feed ourselves.”
Now she really did feel guilty. It was easier to feel guilt than acknowledge the twinge of pleasure from knowing he desired her company. “I will prepare your meals, don’t be silly. We’re not moving the family room, so you’ll have the stereo and television. You can have your entire team up to work on whatever you work on all day. It’s just more convenient for me to work and look after the kids if I stay here.”
“Hey, Aunt Amy, where do you want this?” Johnnie held up a bed lamp, distracting her from the argument.
By the time she’d sorted out the lamp and various other pieces of furniture she’d carried down in the pickup she’d traded for with Flint, Jacques had disappeared.
There were only so many hours in the day. She couldn’t allow guilt to occupy them. She’d changed back into her white shorts after church, and later realized she was paying for her vanity in choosing her sexiest casual outfit when she discovered the dirt smeared across her rear.
When Jacques still hadn’t returned by the time the beds were set up and boxes arranged against one wall, Amy went in search of him. She had to pick up the kids at Jo’s, order a pizza, and run up to the house to fix his dinner. The Hummer was still parked in the street. He couldn’t have gone far. Perhaps he’d been unwilling to climb those rickety stairs again with his stiff leg.
“Did you see which way Jacques went?” she asked the nanny as the girl climbed into Elise’s Mercedes with Flint’s boys.
“Zack?” the nanny repeated. “I saw him walk up Canary.” She nodded toward the side street that wound up the hollow behind the town’s business district.
Amy didn’t think walking up hills was a good exercise for torn ligaments, but she wasn’t the man’s keeper. Waving the kids off, she climbed into the pickup and drove around the corner to see if she could find him. He had his own transportation, but she didn’t want to drive off after their brief argument. She knew she should hate a man who could destroy the town, but she wasn’t any good at hating. If she wasn’t so terrified about losing her home, she’d enjoy Jacques’s playful humor and seductive flattery. She enjoyed his way with children far too much already.
Her heart sank when she found him in the yard of a familiar old house with a faded For Sale sign out front — the mill cottage.
He was prying loose the aluminum siding with his cane like a man on a mission.
As she climbed out of the truck, he looked up and grinned in delight. “I think it is an original Craftsman!”
She didn’t think there was one man in this entire town who recognized the architectural significance of her secret gem — except this one. He was too damned perceptive and clever —
Giving him the power to steal still another of her dreams.
Fifteen
“It is not a Craftsman,” Amy argued, wrapping her arms around her middle to prevent herself from flinging them around the solid porch posts and screaming — Mine, mine, you can’t have it!
“Of course it is. Look at the huge bungalow porch, the posts that are wider on the bottom than the top, and under here.…” Jacques jimmied up the tacky old vinyl. “Cedar shakes!”
“Bungalows don’t have two stories, with an attic,” she pointed out, then wanted to smack herself. Instead of pointing out all the obvious features, she ought to be wooing him away with promises of food. Why on earth was he looking at houses?
And if he won the mill and knew how valuable this house was, she’d never be able to buy it cheaply. Her heart sank down to one of her little toes. She’d kissed this man, thought the unthinkable even knowing he would be leaving soon. Someone really ought to just slap her.
“The previous owners popped up the top story, probably when they added the vinyl.” Jacques tilted back his head so the blunt-cut hair at his nape fell over his collar. “Look, the chimney is stone. Halfway up, the color and size changes. They made it taller. I don’t suppose the seller would let us see it tonight?”
“It’s Sunday night. I don’t suppose they would,” she said as briskly as she could, while her heart bled. “I need to pick up the kids. Do you want me to fix your dinner now or after I get them?” Now, now, she prayed fervently. Get away from my house.
“Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to see inside? Do you think they kept the built-in cabinetry?” Instead of answering her question about dinner, he climbed on the sloping porch to peer in the dirty windows, for all the world like a boy who’d just discovered a secret cave.
Amy wanted to cry. She didn’t think there was a single man in the entire county who recognized the gem behind the dilapidated exterior. Why did this frustrating, fascinating man have to be so smart? Even Evan hadn’t known what this house was, and he’d run the mill that owned it.
She’d tried to persuade him to live here when they’d first moved back to town, but Evan had insisted on all new everything. She’d understood. He’d grown up in ticky-tacky housing as she had. She just admired the timeless quality of handmade, and he preferred the planned obsolescence of technology.
Opposites didn’t attract. They just annoyed each other to death. The humor of that observation steadied her nerves enough to argue.
“I thought you didn’t like old things,” she said, remembering Jacques’s comments on Europe being old and her kitchen being modern. And then she mentally kicked herself again. He worked with historic designs. Duh.
“I like modern conveniences, but they can be added anywhere. New houses do not have the quality of materials, the labor of love, the craftsmanship of old ones. The workers who built this were proud of their work. They weren’t throwing up a piece of generic rubbish.”
Right on every count, but she couldn’t let him rhapsodize about it, or with his relentless zeal, Jacques wo
uld be knocking on the Realtor’s door next, and then he would discover his company was already bidding on the gem.
She caught his muscled arm and leaned closer to distract him into listening to her. “Europe is full of monuments of craftsmanship that you can admire shortly. Would you like chicken marsala for dinner? Perhaps a small green bean salad to go with it?” She lured him away from the window, one step at a time.
Her position had Jacques looking down the cleavage exposed by her golf shirt. She had not used her femininity to distract in a long time, but apparently instinct kicked in quickly because she stuck her chest out a little more. Fine, she would sacrifice herself for a house. It certainly wouldn’t hurt. His gaze had all her juices flowing. She’d forgotten she had breasts until Jacques touched them. They swelled now, aching for a repeat of his caresses.
But despite his temporary distraction, his formidable focus remained on her house. “But can you not see?” he persisted, following her down the stairs. “This house is perfect for you. Your beautiful antiques — the styles are Mission and Stickley, exactly what this house needs!”
For her? The madman wasn’t distracted but looking at houses — for her? Stunned, she swung around to study his earnest gaze.
“I know.” Amy bit her lip to prevent saying more. She had spent years refurbishing Arts and Crafts pieces that would fit the bungalow. “But I can’t buy a house unless I have a job.” She really didn’t want to go down this path, not the way she was feeling right now. He’d have her all warm and fuzzy and trusting, and then he’d lower the boom. She refused to be that easy to push over.
“You have a job,” he protested. “Perhaps business is a little slow, but surely a place like this cannot cost much. I have just worked on land prices for the bids, and it costs nothing here compared to other places.”
Amy relaxed slightly when he didn’t stop but continued down the cracked sidewalk away from the cottage. “The café puts food on the table, nothing more.” To keep him diverted, she opened up and offered a slice of herself. “Unless the mill reopens, we’ll have to leave town so I can look for work elsewhere.”
Sweet Home Carolina Page 14
