Jemma shook her head. "No, Phi—Mr. Somerville said Rooms Division."
Carrie shrugged. "Oh well, it doesn't matter. You got a promotion. I'm so happy for you."
Jemma rang up the clutch bag, but after Carrie paid for her purchase and departed, Jemma felt unsettled. She sensed her friend was jealous of the promotion, and Jemma didn't like the way that made her feel. Would others react as Carrie had and think that Jemma had received special treatment? Most of her co-workers had no idea she and Philip knew each other. She'd been very careful about that.
Was it possible Carrie knew? Her reaction had the definite ring of jealousy.
Philip held the door for Claire and Jemma as they exited the Porte Bello Restaurant on the first floor of Harborfront Place. He'd wanted to kick himself— erase the moment he'd made the offer to celebrate. What kind of a fool was he? Recently, he'd begun concocting a scheme to push Jemma and Ian together, hoping they'd fall in love—but at the same time, he was setting himself up for grief. And when Jemma glowed after he told her about the position, and he couldn't hold back his own excitement.
"That was a treat," Claire said. "The food was delicious, and my new dentures feel wonderful." Stepping from the air-conditioning into the warmer outside air, she pulled the purple shawl from her shoulders.
"I'm glad you took care of that," Philip said, pleased that he'd cautioned Bill Barrow to give her a low price.
Philip was also pleased that Claire had worn one of her more subdued outfits that evening—an ankle-length, purple print dress. The most outlandish part of her costume was a large silk orchid she'd pinned behind her ear.
Jemma paused on the walk, looking toward the Grand River across the street. "What's that grandstand for?" She pointed to the weathered structure on the waterfront.
"Musical Fountain," Philip said. "The show doesn't begin until after dark."
She turned toward him, a scowl wrinkling her forehead. "Musical fountain? What's it do?"
As he'd done so often, Philip ignored his common sense and looked at his wristwatch. "Would you like to stick around and see?"
"I'd love to, if it's all right with everyone." She shifted her focus to Claire.
Her mother-in-law gave a deep yawn. "It'll be nearly ten before it starts, don't you think, Philip?"
"Probably," he agreed. "Is that too late, Claire?"
She gave him a one-shoulder shrug. "The shop opens early. Would it be too much trouble to give me a ride home first?"
He knew he should offer a rain check, but he'd already muzzled his good sense. "Not at all, Claire if you're sure."
"No, please." Jemma held up her hand, waving away his words. "Don't go through all that trouble for me. Some other time would be fine."
"No, you two enjoy yourselves," Claire said.
With Claire helping the decision, Philip led them back to the car and headed toward Loving, calculating that he had plenty of time to return before show time.
When they pulled in behind the boutique, Jemma again protested going back, but Claire stifled her argument. After saying good-night to Claire, Philip watched her safely into the apartment, then drove the few miles back to the waterfront stands.
A small crowd had gathered on the boardwalk, while others had selected seats in the bleachers. Philip noticed some had jackets and a few carried car blankets. Since the sun had set, a cooler breeze drifted off the river, and he eyed Jemma's short sleeves.
"Will you be too cold?"
"No, it's pleasant." She turned to him, her face stressed. "But I still feel badly that you came all the way back here just for me."
"I haven't seen the fountain show in years, and I'll enjoy it as much as you." He supported her elbow as she took the steps into the bleachers and settled on a plank seat.
Alerted by a cool breeze that fluttered across his back, Philip again eyed Jemma's bare arms. "Wait here, and I'll run back and—"
"I'm not a child, Philip." She shook her head, teasing him and yet making a point. "It's summer. I won't freeze."
Her playful smile sparked a trail of warmth to his belly. Philip closed his mouth. Why press the issue? Jemma was not a child. She was pure woman. That was his problem.
Thinking back, Philip remembered his first meeting with Jemma. He'd enjoyed her inexperience and freshness. At the time, he'd thought she was like a child. But he'd been totally wrong. Now he was suffering the consequences of giving his emotions free rein. He had to be more watchful.
At dinner that evening, Philip had let down his guard and unsettled himself by the thoughts that lingered in his mind—no matter how much he fought them. Now, he pictured her at Porte Bello, poring over the menu, wisps of her upswept hair trailing on her neck. He had yearned to run his fingers through her natural curls, to hold her in his arms and feel her lips against his.
Gooseflesh rose on his arms. How long had it been since he'd kissed a woman? How would her mouth feel pressed against his? Would Jemma part her lips for him while he reveled in the pliant softness of her mouth?
After dinner when she sneaked her lipstick from her bag and subtly drew it across her lips, he'd been captivated, unable to look away. Even the remembrance produced a longing deep inside him.
As a cold gust flapped the hem of Philip's suit jacket, lights rose along the river's distant bank and a solitary geyser shot into the air. The water spray ascended as a bright-red glow, and a voice pierced the darkness, announcing the start of the performance.
While the fountain-voice offered statistics to the viewing audience, another puff of wind passed them, and Jemma shivered. Without asking, Philip tugged his arm from his jacket, slid it off the other, and wrapped it over Jemma's shoulders.
She sent him a frown. "No, Philip."
"I'm not going to let you freeze."
She swung the jacket from her shoulders and held it on one finger. "Put this back on or I'll drop it."
He'd never met such a stubborn woman. He eyed the darkness below the bleacher seats and nabbed his coat before she let it fall. He slipped his arm into one side and tried to put the other shoulder around her for warmth.
"Put your jacket on," she demanded.
Her voice triggered his own determination. "All right, but let me put my arm around you, then."
She didn't argue about that, and when he'd donned the coat, he nestled her against him and covered her arm with his. He felt her burrow into his side, and a part of him was pleased that she'd insisted on remaining coatless.
Music filled the air, and with the rise and fall of the melody, the water sprays dipped and swirled washed in varied colors. Jemma oohed and aahed at the display, vocalizing appreciative utterances in the night.
Jemma's sweet scent swept passed him on the breeze, and Philip buried his cheek in her hair and drew in the intoxicating aroma. For once, Jemma didn't inch away, but seemed happy in his arms.
Philip allowed his hand to explore the satiny texture of her skin, the soft down of her arm prickling upward with the cooler air. Garnering courage, he rested his palm over her hand and wrapped her chilled fingers in his. His reward was Jemma's delicate squeeze, seeming to let him know his boldness was approved.
How much would this cold night unloose their restraints? A love song filled the night sky, accompanied by the muted greens and blues of the water's spray, and Jemma's body pulsed to the music's rhythm. As the passion of the melody swelled, the hues danced on the water like red and orange flames.
As the song faded, Jemma tilted her head upward, and Philip was lost in her shadowed gaze. He slid his hand up the silk of her arm and lifted her chin. He longed to kiss her, but drew away.
Jemma's surprised, expectant eyes caught his, and he felt like a high school boy sitting on the bleachers, trying to sneak his first kiss.
He opened his mouth to apologize, to tell her he would never try to kiss her again, but he swallowed the words. He would not say he was sorry. No promises. In his heart, he knew apologies and promises might someday be broken.
&nb
sp; Disappointment swirled in Jemma's mind. Confused, she directed her eyes to the fountain for the finale. After the last melody ended, they made their way down the bleacher stairs.
Philip had withdrawn as he so often did. When they reached the car, he opened the door for her, then headed for the driver's side and climbed in. She sensed he wanted to speak, but only his eyes seemed to reflect the words her heart longed to hear.
Why had he drawn back? He'd been so sweet and caring. She'd been positive that he'd wanted to kiss her. Her own heart yearned to have his lips against hers. But something had stopped him.
Now in the driver's seat, Philip kept his hands on the wheel, his eyes focused on the highway. In the quiet, Jemma relived the gentle touch of his hands and the longing look in his eyes. She realized how long it had been since she'd felt such emotion.
When she dug into her vague memories, regret evaded her. Lyle had never stirred her heart as it had been stirred tonight. His passion had been selfish and fleeting. Though she had always honored her duty as a wife, she'd felt unfulfilled.
Tonight in Philip's company, she had felt like a woman—loved and needed. But now that he'd nearly kissed her, things would be different. How could she see him at Bay Breeze and not remember that moment when she'd been cooled by the wind yet warmed by desire?
She studied his profile, silhouetted by the passing streetlights—his eyes staring straight ahead, his jaw tense. What would happen now?
Instead of feeling hope, Jemma was washed by despair. Dear Lord, please don't let this dream of happiness become a nightmare.
Chapter Seven
Jemma hadn't slept well. Every few minutes during the night, she had stared at the illuminated clock hands and wondered where her life was headed.
Caught up in the romantic moment, she'd allowed her good sense to vanish. No matter how kind and tender Philip was when they were together, it changed nothing. He was a workaholic, and, for all she knew, a non-believer.
She thought back over their conversations and tried to recall if he'd ever spoken about God's saving grace. Her question sat uneasily in her mind. Had she ever talked with Philip about her own faith? If having a relationship with the Lord was truly important to her, she'd not been a good example. Her faith was hanging by a weak thread most of the time.
Still, she wanted to know. How could she announce that she was unwilling to form a lasting relationship with a man who didn't live according to God's rules? She'd sound like a fool. Philip had never claimed he wanted anything more than a friendship.
Jemma knew from experience that she wanted a Christian husband. Shame lodged in her heart when she thought about Lyle's wasted money and misguided adventures. He'd lead others astray with his advice and take their money for ill-conceived investments. And Jemma had been aware of it, but hadn't known what to do. How could she turn her back on her husband, when God's law opposed divorce?
The church said that marriage was for better or worse—and yet, what did a woman do when the worse went against God? She'd been caught in the middle. How could a wife win in that situation? Still, she should have spoken out and warned Lyle's unsuspecting friends of his recklessness.
After tossing throughout the night, Jemma woke with heavy eyes and swung her legs over the edge of her small bed in Claire's apartment. Rather than worry about things that didn't affect her—things from her past and hopeless dreams of the future— she had to take action. She wanted her own place, and she needed to unleash herself from Philip. Somehow, along the way, she'd forgotten her goal.
Independence.
Slipping on her robe, Jemma made her way to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker, then dumped cereal into a bowl. After filling her cup, she sank into the chair and faced her breakfast.
Noise came from the hall, and Claire came through the doorway. "I'm following my nose," she said, heading straight for the liquid energy. She poured a cup and sank into a chair.
"Not feeling well?" Claire asked, looking concerned. "I hope you're not catching a cold. I imagine it cooled off last night and you didn't have a coat."
"I was fine." With Philip's arms around her. "I'm just a little tired. I didn't sleep well."
"That's too bad. Did you enjoy the fountain? I haven't seen it in years, but I can remember how pretty it is."
"It was lovely."
"Good," Claire said. "Then, you had a nice time."
Jemma lifted the cup and took a slow, thoughtful sip. She had had more than a nice time. It had been wonderful…until reality set in.
"Philip's a good man, Jemma. He's a little older than you, but he has a lot to offer a woman. You should give that some—"
"Claire, don't plan my life, please." Jemma slammed her cup onto the table, and coffee sloshed over the edge. "Look, I'm sorry, but—"
"It's okay," Claire said with hurt in her eyes. She bit her lip and looked at the splotch of coffee.
Filled with remorse, Jemma wadded her paper napkin and daubed at the spill. Claire was good to her, and all she'd done was cause Claire extra work and worry.
"You don't need me adding stress to your life," Jemma said, patting Claire's tensed hand. "I need to look for my own place one of these days. Instead of worrying about me, you should be taking care of yourself. What about a man for you?"
"Me?" Claire's eyebrows arched above her widened eyes. "I've been alone for years…and Like it. But you're young, Jemma. You should have children and a husband who'll take care of you."
"I can take care of myself." Her voice rang with confidence—but could she? She'd muddled things too often.
"I know you can, but wouldn't it be lovely to find someone who could take care of you?"
Jemma understood what she meant, but she didn't agree. Yet she saw no sense in disagreeing with Claire. "If I ever fall in love again, I want a man who loves the Lord as much as he loves me."
Claire's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Jemma figured that perhaps for the first time in Claire's life she'd been rendered speechless.
"Lyle went to church once in a while," Jemma continued, "but he didn't know the Lord. Not really. This time I want a man who's walking the same path I'm walking." She shook her head. "The same path I'm trying to walk. I know I'm a failure, but at least I know what God expects…and I feel remorse when I break the commandments."
Claire's face sagged with her own grief. "I know, Jemma. You didn't have a chance with Lyle. He was too much like his father."
Rising, Claire brought the coffeepot to the table and filled their nearly empty cups. Finished, she returned the pot to the counter, her words tumbling out. "Philip went to church years ago, I recall. His mother was a good Christian woman. Maybe some rubbed off."
Jemma didn't comment, and when Claire returned to the table, Jemma explained her concern. "I don't think Philip goes to church, and he's never talked about his faith to me."
"Men don't much. They probably think it's weak to lean on anyone. Even the Lord. But I'd guess he knows Jesus more deeply than you suspect."
"Maybe," Jemma said, wondering if Claire was right. And if she faced the truth, how much did Jemma lean on her own faith? She needed to get back to church more regularly…to lean on God for guidance. Heaven knows she didn't have the answers. Not a one.
Philip parked behind the boutique and sat for a moment. He'd come so close to alienating Jemma. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He cared for her…loved her. If he were a younger man, he'd offer her his love and every good thing that he could. But it was impossible.
He'd learned an important lesson in his marriage to Susan. She'd expected so much of him, and Philip had been unable to be the husband she wanted. He had watched her spirit sag as illness took over. By then it was too late to change. Too late to make up for the hours of loneliness and longing she'd endured in silence.
Silence. A smile came to his lips, tugging him from his reverie. Jemma would never be silent. That's one thing no man would have to fear. She'd speak her mind whether a husband c
ared to hear it or not. She'd pull and push until she got what she wanted. Along with her innocent charm, Jemma had been given the gift of spirit…and determination. She was a fighter in her own modest way.
Philip pushed open the car door and swung his legs to the ground. The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he shoved the door closed and drew in a deep breath. Whether Jemma wanted his aid or not, he planned to help her in every way he could.
Yesterday, he'd gotten the lead on an apartment that he wanted her to see, and then he hoped to play cupid. Jemma and Ian. Jemma deserved a good man who could give her a good life. If Philip couldn't be that man, he'd see to it that he found her one. His annual Fourth of July party was an opportunity for him to play matchmaker. He prayed Ian and Jemma would hit it off. The prayer punctured his heart like a dagger. But that's how it had to be.
Philip entered the side door and, hearing voices, passed the workroom as he headed for the boutique.
When he stepped inside, Claire caught his eye with a wave. He looked around the shop, searching for Jemma. She wasn't there, but he spied Bodkin strutting toward him. He assumed Jemma was getting ready.
He wandered through the rows of displays, the cat at his heels, noticing the new merchandise—silk T-shirts, shawls and attractive knit sweaters. Claire's personal taste might be considered over the top, but her inventory had class.
With her bright smile and chatter, Claire moved from customer to customer with an eccentric cheeriness that mesmerized the patrons. Their conversation was punctuated by laughter and an animation that gave him a sense all was well with Claire's business.
"Philip," she said, waving a breezy goodbye to the last customer. "I hear you're taking Jemma out this evening."
Her arched eyebrow triggered his concern. He should set Claire straight, but his words would be repeated in Jemma's ear, so he could only agree. "Nothing special. I have something to show her." Seeing Claire's inquiring look, he added, "It's a surprise."
"Ah. But it's good to see you and Jemma together. She's a lovely woman, and a man like you has a lot to offer…if you know what I mean."
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