“I’ve got something for you,” he said.
He went to his study, where the whittled flower he’d bought from the ex-miners at Founder’s Weekend was sitting. When he came back out, she was sautéing the vegetables. He waited until she’d taken them off the burner, then came up behind her.
He pressed the flower into her hand, and she looked down at it.
“You gave me flowers today,” he said, “so I owed you one.”
If she was ticked off that he was dancing around the serious subjects, she didn’t mention it. “Where did you get this?”
He told her about the miners, even though he left out everything they’d said about her dad and her.
She smiled, running her finger over the etched petals. “It’s beautiful.”
Then she launched herself into his arms in a hug that made him feel like crap for even thinking she was going to break him again in the end.
His emotions had been on high after this morning, he told himself. That was all it was. And with the happiness and ecstasy there’d been room for some fear to sneak in.
They were going to be just fine.
He even kept thinking that as the edges of the whittled flower dug into his back while she hugged him, reminding him for an instant of another day long ago when he’d felt stabbed there by the same girl who was in his arms now.
* * *
Before Violet left that day, she and Davis had made plans to meet again the next night, after she had worked a morning shift at the restaurant then taken care of another old-timer interview.
As with most of the other interviews, this one didn’t pan out much, except for more vivid anecdotes about St. Valentine, although not about Tony Amati himself.
But she was still feeling good about life. How could she not when she was with Davis?
As the sun curved down in the sky through her bedroom window, she wiggled into a light pink cocktail dress with a delicate silver netting draped over it. Yup, she was the happiest girl in the world. Sure, when she’d talked to Davis about the possible job in San Francisco yesterday, she’d expected more of a reaction out of him, but maybe her hints about staying in town had gone over his head. Maybe she needed to smack him with a clear-cut promise to stay in St. Valentine, even if she was offered a good job somewhere else.
But something in her wanted to be sure that she was making the right choice before she nixed a position on a paper that would help her career. Most of all, though, she wanted to hear him say I love you.
Should she just say it first?
She wondered if Davis’s way of saying it had been with that flower, which even now sat on her vanity table, looking as if it was just starting to bloom.
Surely everything would work out. There was nothing to worry about, even if anxiety nipped at her whenever she thought about turning down a great opportunity like the one in San Francisco…
Fifteen minutes later, she heard a car pull into the driveway. It wasn’t the town car Davis had sent in the past but a limousine.
Davis got out of the backseat dressed in a suave gray suit that made him seem as if he’d just stepped out of a magazine ad.
She held her breath as he came to her door, then knocked. After brushing a hand down her dress and touching her upswept hair, just to make sure nothing was out of place, she went to him.
The moment she opened the door, she could tell that he’d been expecting her to look nice…but she’d surpassed even his imagination.
His gaze swept her from head to toe, leaving a thrill behind.
“You look just like a mermaid,” he said.
She touched the silver netting on her dress. “Thank you?”
“It’s a good thing. Guys have mermaid fantasies right along with French maids and Catwoman.”
Glowing with the compliment, she grabbed her handbag.
But he had something else for her. He held out a hand. A necklace with a diamond pendant dangled from it.
“I thought you might like this,” he said, and waited for her to turn around so he could fasten it around her neck. “I was in Houston for business and I saw it in a window.”
While he was doing that, she thanked him. Yet, at the same time, she felt a little bit like he was adding a finishing touch to her—as if she wasn’t quite complete in his eyes without it.
But that was silly.
When she turned back around, he touched the pendant, smiled in approval, then grabbed her hand and led her to the limo.
The interior was dimly lit, with tiny lights stretched along the floorboards, mirrored wood and a minibar. Although there were two long seats that faced each other, he sat next to her.
“A girl could get spoiled with you,” she said.
“I like to make you happy, Vi.”
And he did just that. Made her very happy.
As they drove, he poured her a glass of Sauternes that had been chilling. “I thought we’d have cocktails in here.”
She knew they were going to Houston’s Historic District, to a French restaurant he had a financial stake in. Chevalier, it was called, and from what she’d read about it, it was expensive and elegant.
The trip lasted under an hour while they drank their wine, and by the time they arrived, Violet was slightly buzzed. She didn’t think it was because of the alcohol—she was pretty sure Davis just did that to her.
He helped her out of the limo, and out of pure instinct she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, long and yearningly.
After yesterday, she was assuming this was the first night of the rest of their lives, and there was something frightening and wonderful about that.
An adventure.
He brought her inside the marbled lobby, which was charmingly decorated with crystal chandeliers, tasteful boudoir furniture and original Degas art. Then they headed to the private elevator that would take them to the roof.
When they arrived, Violet saw that there was only one table overlooking the city lights, as well as a lone violin player and a server who’d been waiting for them.
“Where’s the restaurant?” Violet asked.
“It’s downstairs, but we’ll consider this our private dining room.”
It just got better from there. He treated her to a decadent meal, and she reveled in every course—the diver sea scallops they started off with, the classic Dover sole prepared tableside and the chocolate soufflé.
She was wondering, though, if they would ever get around to sorting out their future. She tried once to bring it up, but Davis seemed intent on providing them with a fun night.
“There’s plenty of time to sort things out later,” he said, and she believed him.
Was she the one who was already taking things too fast?
Had she been doing too much assuming that he would want to just jump right into a serious relationship?
Her inner skeptic reminded her that he had never said he had loved her since she’d returned, and it remembered what their first kiss as adults had been like—angry, in need of her body.
Had he gotten what he needed from her then? Was he already becoming bored of the woman who’d gotten away—the one he’d recently caught again?
But then why was he still courting her?
By the time they’d finished their meal, Davis had even more in store for her.
“Are you ready?” he asked, looking as excited as a kid with a bunch of unwrapped presents in front of him.
“Davis,” she said, “I don’t know what you have planned, but this was more than enough.” What would it take for him to see that all these trappings didn’t mean as much to her as just being with him did?
“You’ll change your mind about that in a second,” he said.
And they were off,
heading down in that private elevator again. Except, when it landed on the ground floor, he didn’t usher her into the limo. He brought her out of the lobby and off into a hallway lined with ultra-chic stores.
He guided her into one, which was decorated in tones of deep red and velvet. “Clair de Lune” played over the speakers. A model-thin woman with patrician features and spun-gold hair wound into a high, braided bun stood by the entrance, her hands folded in front of her.
“Good evening, Mr. Jackson.”
“Evening, Norah.”
The woman inspected Violet, as if she were taking her measurements, then she smiled.
“I’m looking forward to this, Miss Osborne.”
“What?” Violet asked, although she suspected what Davis might have in mind.
He sat on a plush loveseat. “You said you didn’t have many fancy dresses, so I thought we should take care of that since you’re going to have need of them.”
Violet’s girlish side gave a little leap. Shopping. Who didn’t love that?
But there was something about the situation that made her feel…kept. Indulged, in some way, as if Davis were compensating for something else.
As if he weren’t sure how a relationship was supposed to go.
But she had to be wrong about that.
Norah brought her into a back room that was veiled with blushing, sheer material next to long mirrors. On the side, there was an entire rack of mouth-watering, sigh-inducing dresses in Violet’s favorite colors.
The shopkeeper took one, a mossy green number that would drape over a woman’s body and make her look like a Grecian goddess.
Violet allowed the woman to hold the dress against her. “How did you know what sizes I take? And what colors to choose?”
“Mr. Jackson sent me your information and a description of your coloring.”
Sneaky. He must’ve caught a glimpse of her clothes tags yesterday when she’d had them off.
“If I don’t say so myself,” Norah added, “I did rather well.” She smiled. “You’re going to stun him. Not that you don’t already. You must be special for him to do this for you.”
The words sighed through Violet. Special.
Yes, he did make her feel that way, even without a shopping spree.
To think, she’d gone halfway across the country to find a specialness within her someplace else when, all along, she’d had it in St. Valentine, with Davis.
Norah left her alone to undress then garb herself in the mossy creation. The fabric moved over her body like water. Violet hardly even recognized herself, and although it made her feel like a princess, it also made her feel…
As if it wasn’t her in the mirror.
When she returned, Norah nodded with satisfaction. “Now we show Mr. Jackson.”
Suddenly, Violet felt a shyness creep up on her. Odd, because only yesterday she and Davis had been as intimate as two people could be.
She went back into the showroom, and the second she stepped through the curtains, Davis rose to his feet.
He didn’t have to say anything—his gaze spoke volumes about wanting and needing, about what he would do to her if he had her alone.
But was that enough anymore?
Should she say what should be said next and commit herself based on one day of passion?
As he walked over to her, Norah conveniently disappeared.
“You take my breath away, Violet,” he whispered.
And your heart, too?
She kept asking herself this the rest of the night, as she tried on more dresses for him, as he took her up to the finest room in the hotel—a suite with a hot tub and a massive bed fitted with white satin sheets that had rose petals strewn over the covers.
It was heaven in so many ways, but in the morning, after they’d driven back to St. Valentine, she got the call.
And that was when everything changed, whether they were ready or not.
Chapter Eleven
“The editor of the Chronicle wants you to interview for a staff writing position?” Rita asked after Violet told her the news that early afternoon. “In San Francisco?”
“That’s what he said.” They were upstairs in Rita’s hotel, in a suite that served as her and her daughter Kristy’s quarters. Like the rest of the place, there was an Old West feel—Victorian-style furniture and antiques, lots of velvet and gilded mirrors.
From an adjoining room, the sounds of a cartoon escaped as little Kristy enjoyed her entertainment. Davis had dropped Violet off early just so she could get ready at her cabin, then fulfill a babysitting promise she’d made to Rita.
She’d gotten the call from the Chronicle editor right after stepping out of the shower. “We had a really good phone interview,” Violet said, her pulse dragging. “He wants me to fly out there this week for a second one.”
Rita stood by the door. She’d just been about to run the errands she’d been putting off during her trip out of town. “What about…?”
“I haven’t told Davis yet.”
She didn’t ever want to tell him. What she wanted to do was magically know just how he was feeling about her, aside from all the candlelight dinners and dress shopping. She wanted to be able to call up the editor and tell him that she was off the market because she would never leave Davis.
But was it too early for that? How did Davis really feel?
And what was really between them?
“Vi,” Rita said. “What are you going to do?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got to tell him. Then I’ll see how he reacts.”
“Isn’t it obvious how he’s going to react?”
If only it were that easy. Ever since she and Davis had made love the other day, something about him had been…different. And she knew that she should’ve asked him why, but it was hard for her to think of what he might say.
I had you, and I’m ready to move on… Or, It was great, Vi, but my mom was right. I’m never going to settle down. Being with you just confirmed that.
But she just couldn’t sit here thinking that way. She had to suck it up and straighten out whatever was going on with them, because thanks to Davis she knew exactly where she wanted to be now.
By his side.
It had taken one night back in his arms to drive that point home.
Rita hugged Violet goodbye, then departed with a sympathetic glance. But surely everything would go all right with Davis when Violet told him about the interview, and how she’d been tempted by the opportunity but she wasn’t going to take it if he could offer a reason for her to stay here in St. Valentine.
When she broached the subject again, would he give her more than a whittled wooden flower this time?
She dug into her purse, bringing out a ribbon that she used to loosely tie back her hair. Then she went into the family room, where Kristy was watching some kind of cartoon with a goofy fairy and her minions. Rita had told Violet that Kristy was under the weather today, although she didn’t have a fever. Nonetheless, the child was in her Dora the Explorer pajamas, her curly dark hair making her look like a teeny version of her mother.
“Hey,” Violet said. “How are you feeling?”
“Sleepy.”
She sat on the overstuffed couch, and Kristy leaned her head against her. Touched, Violet slid her arm around the girl and sank down in her seat.
For four years, Violet had sent Kristy cards every holiday and birthday, just like an aunt would. Actually, Rita had named Violet an honorary aunt, and even during her infrequent, brief visits to St. Valentine, it would take Kristy only about fifteen minutes to fully warm up to Violet again.
She thinks you’re the best, Rita would joke every time.
Now, as Kristy drifted off to slee
p, a warmth drifted around in Violet’s chest, settling in the center of it.
What would it be like to have a daughter?
Davis’s child?
Heat pricked her throat. She’d always assumed that love meant having a family, but even though she’d been intimate with Davis, even though he’d been her first love, how well did she really know him?
How much had they talked these things through before hopping in the sack together?
She thought of how he’d given her that diamond pendant necklace and those dresses last night, making her over into a far fancier version of what she actually was. Then she thought of how he had wanted their relationship to stay under the radar all those years ago.
Why did it feel as if he was keeping her a bit under the radar once again, guiding her out of her waitressing outfits or off-the-rack clothing, making her over into a society girl, the sort of woman Davis Jackson was expected to take to his social events and business dinners?
To think, she’d spent a lot of effort in erasing the miner’s daughter from her, bettering herself, and it was almost as if Davis wanted that, too—but even more so. It stung that she still might not be enough for him.
That train of thought hounded her as Kristy slept on, as Violet watched that silly fairy on the TV changing a girl frog into a princess.
When she heard someone knock on the front door, she went to answer it.
Davis stepped into the family room, and, for a moment, neither of them said anything as a powerful rush of feeling swamped her.
Gradually, though, the sound of the TV came back to her, and she thought of Kristy in the next room. Violet smiled at Davis, then lifted a finger to her lips as she went back to the little girl and covered her with an afghan that was draped over the back of the couch.
When she looked back up, she saw Davis watching her and Kristy.
Was he moved in some way? Did he like seeing her with a child, and was he imagining that they were his own family?
Or maybe that was all in her head and she’d done what she’d told herself not to do, ever.
Fallen too hard and fast again.
Courted by the Texas Millionaire Page 15
