by BJ James
Ruefully patting the mattress, Valentina laughed. “Anyone would look small in this bed. Patrick McCallum must think everyone who sleeps here will be the giant I’ve heard he is.”
“You would never be a giant anywhere, in any bed.”
“I know.” Valentina agreed with her laughter lingering. “Because I’m a ‘tad skinny.’”
“A condition I shall do my best to remedy.”
“Most immediately, I suspect, with a breakfast cart fit for a queen and enough for a stevedore.” Along with everything else, it hadn’t taken long for Valentina to see that Hattie Boone was nothing short of amazing in any and all things. Like magic she could produce the most spectacular meals, or the most splendid flower arrangements, or the most constructive wisdom. Yes, she was happiest when she was working, and she made it look easy. And yes, there was nothing she was more adept at than sensing the needs of people. And nothing she liked more than meeting those needs.
One look at Valentina, soaked and shivenng from the storm and its ordeal, and every protective and motherly instinct in her amazonian frame leapt to attention. In the week since, she’d never intruded, never presumed, and would have cut her tongue out before she would have questioned. But neither was she ever far away.
“There is a cart waiting on the balcony,” Hattie admitted blandly. “But not so much, and not so heavy.”
“Just something to tempt the fickle appetite?”
“Fresh fruit and juice. And, mayhap, a scone or two?”
“Two!” Valentina crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled in mock annoyance. “Don’t push it.”
“Ahh.” The heavy earrings swung fiercely now, and Lucifer gave up on his favorite perch. Leaping to the floor, he scampered away. “One wonders how you can resist my special scones. They are...”
“As good for the soul as for the stomach,” Valentina finished in unison with her. “Manna from heaven. Patrick’s favorite.” On her own she continued the list, adding, “If one is good, how much better would two be?”
“Exactly,” Hattie boomed, undaunted by hearing her own words given back to her. “Particularly for a wisp of a girl like Valentina O’Hara.”
Stretching, with her arms over her head and reaching for the sky, Valentina sighed. “A bit more substantial than a wisp, and not a girl in a long, long while.”
“Ha!” A dramatic toss of the sleek, tightly coiffed head, and the sea shells played music of their own. Somewhere in the distant regions of the sprawling house a ringing telephone added another note. The determined caretaker of Eden House ignored it. “Tell that to the Creole who paces the beach like a panther when he’s not with you, and watches you like a beam of sunlight could shatter you when he is.
“Hold that thought.” A pointing finger emphasized Hattie’s directive. “I shall return.”
As she disappeared through the open doorway to answer the persistent summons of the telephone, Valentina leaned back against the mountain of pillows she’d declined before. Warmed by the sunlight, soothed by the harmony of the island, she let herself dream of the man who was swiftly becoming the focus of all her dreams.
Rafe.
Beautiful, barbaric, elegant Rafe. Every inch the panther to which Hattie likened him; the dashing Creole she’d named him. Quiet, loyal, as deadly as the panther in the face of danger. Fascinating and intriguing. Everything Valentina O’Hara wanted. Everything that frightened her.
He’d come into her life as only he ever had. Strong, bold, indomitable, challenging her. Questioning not her proficiency, nor Simon’s choice, but the quality of compassion. Yet, with doubt still shadowing his brilliant green eyes, he’d held her in the desert, listened to the ranting secrets of sleep, lending his strength, offering silent support. In the end, he’d seen her clearly and judged her fairly. As he’d left her on a bleak and barren mountaintop, it was with a promise.
When he’d come to her, keeping that promise, sensing needs only Simon and her family understood, he’d worked with her, beside her, and for her. Then, showing her the way that life could be, he’d brought her into the home and lives of Jeb and Nicole. And for a time of healing, as she couldn’t and hadn’t before, he gave her Eden.
From their first step on the island, with Hattie waiting and armed with warmed towels and bolstering drinks, he’d moved into the background. A figure beyond the circle of the daily routine. A smiling, watching presence, never beyond reach. But never an intrusion. Never a part of her life on Eden.
“I’ve missed you, Rafe Courtenay.” The truth she hadn’t realized or faced until now rang with the knell of an insistent bell. The lethargy of the past week vanished. Suddenly she couldn’t be still, couldn’t wait to see him, to tell him what she’d discovered.
Tossing back the covers she bounded to her feet and strode to the closet, peeling away nightclothes as she went. Before the gauzy shirt of lawn drifted to the floor, she was slipping into another of a sturdier fabric, but no less provocative in the absence of a bra. A pair of faded shorts, the tails of the shirt tied at the waist, sandals, a quick comb through the heavy length of her hair, and she was done.
With a mental apology to Hattie for the clutter she was leaving behind, she dashed to the door and the balcony.
“Whoa!” Hattie steadied the smaller woman with one hand and the breakfast cart with the other as they almost collided. “Where are you running off to? Surely you aren’t so desperate to avoid my scones.”
“Of course I’m not, Hattie.” Taking her arm from the supporting grasp, Valentina backed away. “For the first time in a long time, I’m not avoiding anything. Thanks to Jeb, I see beyond the dark side of guilt to the light.”
The questions Hattie would never ask were written on her face. Taking both rapier-nailed hands in hers, Valentina explained. “Once there was another man in my life. His name was David, and I loved him very much. When he died, when his life stopped, my life stopped, as well. For reasons I won’t go into, to punish myself and keep his memory alive, I never let myself heal. Work and my family became my reasons for existing, and I told myself it was enough.
“Now I know it isn’t. Jeb made me see that David wouldn’t want it to be. Until now I couldn’t face the changes admitting it would bring. I wasn’t ready to let David become only a memory.
“I didn’t think I ever could.” She was speaking rapidly, now, the complexities simplified. “Then there was the storm and Rafe was hurt.” Valentina’s clasp tightened over Hattie’s hand. “If the swell had swamped us, if the blow he took had been even a fraction harder, I could have lost him. In another way, I still might. Maybe it’s too late already, yet I have to try, I have to tell him. But first...”
“But first?” Hattie interjected into the rambling discourse that should have made no sense, and yet made perfect sense. A worried frown formed on her face. “What could matter more than simply telling him that you love him?”
Valentina had begun to move away, now she turned back to Hattie. “You know?”
“Of course I know. Isn’t loving him and admitting it what this morning has been all about?” Arms like hams folded beneath the shelf of an intimidating bosom. “Even if it weren’t, anyone who sees the two of you together would know. Lord love a duck! A total stranger or a fool would know. So what could be more important than sharing this great mutual and public secret with the only one who really matters?”
“Proving it.” The ultimate truth faced, Valentina was eager to be away. To begin.
“You have nothing to prove. Rafe doesn’t want or need anything but the words.”
“I owe him more than that. I have to give him my trust by telling him of my part in David’s death. Then, in time, I can only hope he will trust me.”
“Valentina, don’t complicate matters.” Hattie’s unique insight warned that her newest charge was still too fragile to risk delays. One misstep, coupled with the voice on the telephone, a voice from her other life, and she could be steeped again in the self-doubt and mistrust she’d
brought to Eden. “If Rafe wanted the whole story he could have found out for himself.”
“That’s the point, Hattie. He could have, but didn’t. He respected my wishes and my privacy. I owe him the whole of the truth in return. Yes, he could have found out. A telephone call would have sufficed. But he didn’t call. He has said that what I think he must know must come from me.”
“Only because he thinks the telling is what you need, not because he wants it. You speak of trust and truth, when it’s you who needs to trust that Rafe believes in you, and will believe in you in all things. Past, present, future.”
“Hey!” Valentina retraced her steps. Pausing before Hattie, she touched a sculptured brown cheek. “I know you don’t understand, but you’re worrying when you shouldn’t. Time, all I need is time to make it work.”
Hattie bit down on her tongue, holding back the warning that time was a luxury she didn’t have. That in its stead, all she needed was the faith to trust—as she would be trusted.
“Time and Eden,” Valentina explained, taking her proviso one step further. Then she was hurrying away, with Hattie’s worried gaze following.
“Wait!” The older woman called out as she started down the steps that would lead to the path to the beach.
Her fingers lightly gripping the balustrade, Valentina halted and turned, an arching brow her query.
Realizing the futility of any argument, abandoning her intended course, Hattie sighed in defeat, saying simply, “You’re going the wrong way.”
“You said Rafe is walking the beach.”
“He was, but not anymore. He’s in the library instead.”
“The library?”
“The telephone.” Hattie halted in a rare loss for words as Valentina blanched beneath her light tan. “The call was for Rafe.”
“Patrick?”
Hattie shook her head.
Valentina’s light touch became a death grip on the balustrade. Her color descended from pale to ashen. Eyes that should have been dark, sparkling blue were as murky as coal. Tendons at her throat grew taut as she forced a name through rigid lips. “Simon.”
Hattie’s body heaved in regret. The resultant note of the sphere seemed mournfully discordant. She wanted to cry for the look of devastation that swept away the last of Valentina’s elation. “The call was from Simon.”
Valentina’s hand fell limply to her side. Her tread was heavy as she turned toward the library.
“Too soon the real world,” Hattie groused, and would have berated the fates for this importune turn of events. But nothing would change the urgency of the call, or the very real need for Valentina.
As her charge walked stiffly away, the gruff and tender caretaker of Eden watched grim faced. “The real world?” she muttered into the muted music of the island. “If this is what it does to its innocents, then the real world be damned.”
The library was deserted. Valentina found Rafe in the salon. A room of grand, unconfined and uncluttered expanses, with columns and great beams where others required walls. A striking blend of eclectic textures and structures. All in a glance from the doorway one could see the tasteful grouping and scattering of dark and pale woods, as well as wicker and cane. Stripes and florals in cottons and silks and simple brocades completed the ambience of what she had come to consider the perfect island house. Perfect in the truest sense of the word, simple, functional, beautiful. Created for a woman who saw with her senses, but never her eyes.
An island haven for Jordana. A gift of reverence and love from Patrick.
Lifting her gaze to the portrait that was, for the sighted, the pièce de résistance. she spoke, drawing Rafe from grim preoccupation. “I wish I could have known her.”
His broad back tensing, a scrap of paper crumpling in his hard grasp, he turned slowly to her. “Valentina. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I would offer the proverbial coin for the thoughts that had taken you so far away, but I’m not sure it’s a bargain I should strike.”
Rafe’s head moved once in a negative gesture as his flashing emerald gaze collided with hers. Hoarsely, he said, “I suppose not.”
An awkward moment passed. Neither wishing to address the telephone call. Neither foolish enough to think it could be avoided. Yet what harm a minute longer?
In measured steps she moved to stand before the portrait. “Tell me about Jordana.”
Rafe watched her, wondering why this question? Why now? After a moment, crushing the notepaper tighter in his palm, he asked, “What would you like to know, O’Hara?”
“Oh.” Valentina’s voice was not quite as controlled as she would have wished. “What she’s like. How she copes with a man as dynamic and difficult as Patrick.” She paused an instant in her rambling query, then began again. “Most of all, the significance of this painting.”
“You’re assuming there is some significance attached to it.”
“Of course. By its mood, by the obvious fact that in a room created for one who can’t see, it hangs here. Delicate, exquisite, a remembrance of a cherished moment for a man who can.”
Rafe was struck, again, by Valentina’s perception, the almost mystical way she understood the mood of the house, the island. And even Patrick, a man she’d never met.
“You assume correctly.” Rafe shifted his stance so they were standing side by side. His arm brushed hers beneath the upturned sleeves of his shirt. Desires held in reserve for days, but never cooled, stirred within him. The quickening beat of his heart was uneven as he looked at her, not at the portrait. His voice, when he spoke, was mercifully level. “This particular painting is more than a flattering likeness. More than a dreamy flight of artistic fantasy. The painting is Jordana. It captures the essence of all that she is.
“If you look deeper than with your eyes, you see she’s far more than beautiful. She’s good and kind and generous, and she’s given her heart only once. Only to Patrick. When he’s difficult, she simply loves him. As she knows she’s loved in return.”
Tearing his stare from Valentina, he looked at the portrait. At Jordana McCallum, all white and golden, caught in a misty sunbeam. “The Summer Girl, the incarnation of the dreams of summer. She was modeling for this project when she and Patrick met. He saw her first in a restaurant in Atlanta, and fell into instant lust. It had taken weeks of searching to find the elusive and mysterious Jordana Daniel. On the day his search ended, she was wearing that dress, carrying that hat with its silly wreath of cabbage roses. On that day he discovered for the first time that those marvelous amethyst eyes would never see him. And on that day, he fell irrevocably in love.
“It took the great stubborn Scot a while to admit it, and longer to win the lady. But neither of them regrets what the other is. Patrick would give Jordana her sight, if he could. But for her sake, not his. And as for Jordana, Patrick wouldn’t be her great bear of man if he weren’t difficult and stubborn at times.”
“The Summer Girl,” Valentina observed in a reverent tone. “Portrait of a love story.”
Realizing she’d given a summation more fitting and accurate than any ever made, Rafe added his agreement. “A love story, indeed. And in all the years I’ve known them, neither has ever faltered. I would wager my life neither ever will.”
Falling silent, he brought to an end a long, complicated story reduced to terms of honor and love. It seemed appropriate and enough.
There was pain and loss in her eyes, but Valentina felt only joy for the woman who had given her heart only once. Who knew lasting love as she never had. As she never would. “You’re right, I can see she’s beautiful, inside as well as outside No one deserves happiness more than Jordana.”
“No one?”
Before he could reach out to her, before he could destroy her resolve, Valentina backed away. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
Rafe advanced a step, but made no effort to touch her again. “What can’t you do, my love?”
“I can’t pretend I’m as deserving as Jordana.”
“Deserving?” His brows slanted in a thoughtful frown. “Must one deserve happiness?”
“I suppose not always.”
“Then what is it you feel you don’t deserve.” When she didn’t reply, he suggested softly, “Could it be love?” At her sharp gasp, Rafe moved a step closer, his look blazing. “Or have you decided to pretend you aren’t in love with me?”
Valentina retreated. There was heartache beneath the bravado in her voice. “I never said that I loved you.”
“And I’m not a fool. You aren’t the sort of woman who would have made love with me, if you didn’t.” A wry smile touched his mouth, but not his eyes. “It was love, my love. For real and forever.”
“No!” She retreated another step. He followed, his footsteps the slow, gauging tread of a stalking jungle cat.
“No?” A finger raked down her cheek, lingered at the corner of her mouth, before closing into a fist and lifting away. A shattering reminder of the touch of his lips against hers. “Will you lie to me and say that I’m wrong?”
“This isn’t about what I feel or what I felt. It’s what I am. What I will always be.” Grasping his fist in hers, she raised it between them. Opening his unresisting fingers she took the paper from him. Without a glance, as if she could divine its message, she held it there. “This is the definition of my life. If I dare forget, as I almost did today, the telephone will always ring with a summons from Simon. And I will go wherever he needs me. Because I must. I have to.”
“The hell you do!”
Valentina wasted no effort in argument. “I thought I could do it. This morning when I woke, it seemed so perfect. So easy to follow Jeb’s lead and put it all behind me. And then the call...”
“As easily as that we’re back to square one? And you’re going to spend the rest of your life atoning for God knows what?”
“It isn’t easy. Never easy. Now that you’ve come into my life—”
