Jewel Hiest

by Keller, J. J.

  “I’m glad you’re here, John.” She kissed his cheek, inhaling his clove scented skin. His aftershave had a strong spice aroma. “I like your cologne.”

  “You’re not going to distract me,” he murmured, but touched his mouth to hers. Finally!

  “I’m not trying to distract you.” Her wrists rested on his shoulders. She trailed her tongue along the outline of his upper lip, capturing his mouth with hers and adding passion to the mix. An obvious connection existed between them, so why hadn’t he shared her bed the past two nights?

  His hunger was evident as he increased the pressure of their lips. He moved his hands to cup her hips and drew her steadily closer. Unable to resist, he broke the kiss and touched her earlobe. “No climbing at all and no going outside without me by your side. Got it? Also, you can’t use the sheriff’s deputies to decorate the yard with lights. They’re here for surveillance only.”

  “Yeah, I know. We’re lucky to have them, thanks to having made friends.” Or Devon’s influence, but she dared not mention his name or a scowl would form on John’s face.

  “Mary, I hardly recognized the living room. Oh, and the dining room is perfect, exactly as I wanted,” Mrs. Landware said, entering. She fluttered her hands in front of her. “And it continues out onto the veranda. Oh, my.”

  John dropped his arms so fast, burns surely appeared on her skin. “Your house is beautiful, Mrs. Landware. I like the style. Colonial, right?”

  The sweet lady’s age-lined face brightened. Her smile had the same wattage as the recently installed string of lights. “Please call me Dorothy. Yes, the style is Colonial and I’m so pleased Mary is keeping the southern motif in the Christmas decorations.”

  Pine boughs, tiny candle-like lights, holly berries and bright red ribbon transformed the room. Traditional and in perfect keeping with the decor, Mary had added large fake magnolias and a twist of grape vines in the dining room. Fresh flowers and small pine trees were added throughout the large open house to bring in the fragrance of the season. White poinsettias against the cherry wood walls popped in glimmering sheen. Floral scents from the cut flowers, in addition to the pine, perfumed the air.

  “Please, come into the receiving area, I want you to see the tree.” Mary entwined Mrs. Landware’s arm with hers.

  “Hurry along young man, don’t dally.” Mrs. Landware urged John forward. A television broadcaster in the background indicated the ten o’clock news would be next. Made aware of the time, Mary’s energy level plummeted. Devon had told her to expect tiredness with her pregnancy. She wanted to go home and rest.

  A slight grin appeared on John’s face. The guy was a trooper. They’d been decorating the massive house since eight that morning. Tomorrow, after she put the final touches on the gilded angel, she’d be finished.

  Mrs. Landware stopped dead in her tiny tracks as they entered the foyer. “I need to sit down.”

  Gray seeped into her white face. John rushed forward and grabbed the dark green side Pulpit chair near the Scotch pine tree and placed the seat behind Mrs. Landware just as she dropped.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Landware, er, Dorothy?” Mary glanced at John.

  He shrugged.

  “Yes, dear.” Maybe because of the death grip on her arm, the woman suddenly seemed frail. Tears hovered in her pain-filled eyes.

  “I know we’ve stayed late. I’m sorry we kept you up.” Mary loosened the gnarled hand, but caressed her shoulder.

  “I’m a night owl,” Mrs. Landware whispered, as if it were to remain a secret.

  Mary knelt in front of her. “Then what has upset you?”

  “Happy.” She dug around in her pockets until she extracted a handkerchief. Dorothy had been embroidered in the corner, the red standing out on a bleached material. The finely woven cloth was misshapen with age. “Dear, you’ve made my dreams come true.”

  “The tree looks kind of plain to me,” John said. He waved a hand toward the corner. “Just a few white lights and nuts.”

  “Not plain, but filled with folk art from my past. The corn husk pigs and flowers, the pine cone and…” Mrs. Landware coughed into her hankie, then rested her hands on the arms of the chair.

  “Milk pod angels,” Mary added, and stood. “I’ve been making the ornaments for the past two weeks.”

  “Felt clowns and birds. The peanuts all strung together to create a man. You used red ribbon for the hat and scarf–Yankee Doodle Peanut Man is what the decoration is called.” She grabbed Mary’s hand. “All of it is simply beautiful. You’ve brought my childhood forward. Thank you.”

  Mary had intended to use the handmade ornaments on her own tree, but the joy multiplied by sharing. “You know which one is my favorite?”

  “The egg painted like a jewel?” John asked.

  She narrowed her eyes. What was up with him consistently dropping hints about gems? His comments made anger seethe inside her. “No. My favorite is the teasel owl.”

  She released Mrs. Landware’s hand and lifted a tiny wooden V from a vibrant green branch. “It has a tiny thistle nudged in the lower area of the oak tree stem. The eyes and nose are made from sunflower seeds, the red ribbon symbolizes love. The owl, wisdom. What more could you want than those two merged together to create a cute little Christmas adornment?”

  “What more could you possibly want?” John’s piercing brown-eyed stare was intense. She glanced away. Her heart flopped around behind her lungs. What underlying message was he trying to convey?

  “What plans do you have for Thanksgiving?” Mrs. Landware dabbed at her eyes with the lacy corner of the hankie.

  Mary lifted her gaze to John. Would she be in this city next Thursday? For that matter, would she be alive?

  “Obviously, you don’t have any plans except to eat at the Oink Cafe, so y’all come here and join my family and friends for Thanksgiving.” Mrs. Landware let a smidgen of her southern past seep through her voice.

  There weren’t any guarantees at this stage in Mary’s ever-intriguing life. She couldn’t agree. The older woman reminded her so much of her own grandmother, with her immediate and sincere hospitality and southern gentry intonation. “Mrs. Landware–”

  “I won’t take no for an answer.” Mrs. Landware energetically shot to a standing position, and waved at them as if to say leave now and come back on Thanksgiving.

  * * * *

  “We’d be delighted to join you and your family on Thanksgiving,” John responded.

  Dorothy, having regained her energy, shuffled to the front door. “Great, I’ll see you then.” She tugged the embellished silver handle opening the entrance. The jingle bells added music to the song coming from a commercial on the television.

  John grabbed their coats from the gilt bench near the door.

  “But I’ve–”

  “Next week, Mary.” Dorothy waved. “Night, John.”

  “Good night, Dorothy,” John replied. On the veranda he assisted Mary in getting her jacket in place. Her body was stiff, and she didn’t say anything. He was sure a tempest like Vermont had never experienced would come down in the form of Mary Keefe once they were en route to the guest house.

  Twenty minutes later, the silence was more excruciating than a stern lecture from his father. John had to start the conversation, to say something positive. “I like your decorating style.”

  Her lips tightened, and she turned her face toward the passenger window.

  “I expected something art deco, since your jewelry creation tends to be more deco-ish.”

  The least she could have done was comment on the word creation. Nothing. No response came from her pursed lips.

  “Do you want to talk about whatever has gotten you into a tizzy?” He drove onto the primitive gravel road. The car wheels spun and loose stones pinged against the undercarriage. “You smell like cloves. How many little bags of the stuff did you put together last night?”

  The doctor’s car wasn’t parked in front of the guest house. That, at least, was somethi
ng to celebrate. The door lever clicked to open before he’d shut the motor down. Blasted little prima donna. Who did she think she was?

  John was out of the car and inside the house, dutifully trailing her through the various excess from the job littering the living room. Pine boughs and holly berries sprinkled the small space, making it appear as if elves had scattered Christmas fucking cheer throughout the place.

  He removed his overcoat and tossed it onto the coat rack, securing the cloth on a hook as if he were a pro basketball player. Pine branches blocked his path. He’d snapped them apart for her–and at midnight–and then he’d used a stinky Brillo-pad to get the sticky goo from his fingers. He glanced at his makeshift bed on the couch. The stem ends had seeped glue onto his blankets and a glob marked the top of his laptop. She had intentionally damaged his sleeping space. The spoiled brat.

  He collected the limbs and picked up the remaining sticks. The fresh, woodsy scent didn’t excite him as it had earlier. Anger grew. Why’d she place all of the stickiness on his bed? He glanced at her. She had to have known what she was doing. Her coat dropped. The parquet floor became the perfect resting place for the pungent gummy gunk. She stood beside her self-created work bench. The welding iron heated with its red dial blinking at him, as if to say ha ha, you’re the loser here.

  Having stood silent and still for the past few minutes, she finally met his stare. He shifted his gaze to her coat, to the branches, and then back to her face. Her eyes lit like fireworks in a summer sky. Obvious from her expression she was daring him. John grabbed the remaining handful of gooey twigs from the couch. He should get her attention, put the pine on her coat. He couldn’t sleep on tacky sap. Crud she’d intentionally put on the sofa.

  Mary rushed forward and grabbed his wrist. He held fast, not giving an inch.

  Would she finally speak, ask forgiveness for her rude behavior?

  She slid her pink tongue between her cupid lips, drawing his attention. His stomach clutched as she half-closed her eyes. Two steps drew him in position, his face aligned with hers. She’d apologize, and he’d zoom in with forgiveness and seal it with a kiss.

  She snapped a few branches from his hand, and then slipped to the floor. He had to stop her. She was retrieving her Anorak. The fallen pine stems scattered into the foyer as she wrestled her jacket onto her side, tucking the slick material under her arm. John wrapped his branch laden arms around her waist. Unbalanced, they fell onto the floor, the puffy style coat softening the landing. Their tryst on the ship came fresh into his mind. His hand, which held the twigs, went over her head. His knee trapped her other arm, wrapped in the bright blue coat lining, snug to the hardwood.

  “You excite me,” he whispered into her ear. His voice, shallow and raspy, vibrated in his throat. And so unlike himself he wasn’t sure what to think. She twisted his guts into knots.

  “Then why do you sleep on the sofa instead of with me?” she responded in an equally soft, breathless tone.

  “Oh, you didn’t lose your voice after all.”

  “You infuriate me. You trot in here, holding a gun to my head, treat me like a criminal instead of a lover, so what am I to assume? That you were playing a role on board that ship and used me for a one-night hook-up while trying to get information? Did you care nothing for me? You claim a killer is trying to find me. What’s your role now? My big-bad-protector? You constantly drop hints about the stolen diamonds.” The words spewed from her mouth full throttle. She shoved his hand. A few twigs adhered to their skin. “Do you believe I was a part of the robbery, John?”

  He couldn’t respond. Each word she spoke drove a spike directly into his heart. Her viperous tongue sliced into his core. Had she never experienced real adoration? Maybe she didn’t recognize true love when it kissed her face.

  Her quick breaths pushed her breasts into his chest. John released his clutch on the pine boughs and she did as well. A toss, and the scented branches landed with the others on the foyer floor. Lifting his knee, he waited while she untangled herself from the coat. His fingers clasped hers, sticking them together like super glue, and then he moved their arms to the side stretched out, resembling the beautiful jeweled angel she’d created in the kitchen. He lowered his entire body to touch hers, while keeping the bulk of his weight off of her.

  “Mary Keefe, I’ve never met anyone like you. The moment you crashed into my room, you stole my heart.”

  A striated hiss came from her, as if all of the pent-up steam had left her body.

  He kissed her luscious red lips, a light brush. “I made love with you, but I wonder, are you really saying we banged, and anyone could have been in my place?”

  Chapter 19

  Bang Wang. Mary drew a sharp breath, feeling the wooden floorboards of the living room under her back. Scared of love, she wasn’t going to admit anything, even if being in love with John had passed through her thoughts. As her friends had clearly pointed out, her choices for love interest in the past had been imperfect. She pressed her eyes closed. Mary Keefe was flawed.

  He’d expect some sort of response. She needed to misdirect his attention. After all, she’d used the donor list, which would incriminate her. She licked her lips. “John, the night we were together I put aside all of my trepidations and goals, because I wanted to be with you. No banging, Wang or Kajiyama. The chaotic fears of the night disappeared when you touched me, and we moved in rhythm with the slow songs…your kisses.”

  The man was a fantastic kisser. If her fingers weren’t coated with pine goo, she’d touch his mouth. Just to outline and commit the shape to memory. She wanted some implanted remembrance, in case. She wouldn’t think of the future or the diamonds hidden on her purse.

  “Yes? My kisses?” He touched his lips to hers. A supple nibble, and then he shifted, disconnecting their mouths.

  The loss of his warmth was profound. Although she’d been shocked when Conrad robbed the store, her heart had quickly disconnected from him. She hadn’t experienced a pang of remorse as she’d adamantly signed the police statement naming him as the thief. But John. Her separation from John and the possibility he sought her simply to prove her guilt, for a crime she didn’t commit, hurt so much she couldn’t breathe properly. She focused on his eyes. Soft, brown, sincere, the list could go on and on. She loved him and she’d break his heart when and if he found out the truth. “Your mouth does amazing things to mine. I can’t get enough–”

  He kissed her, the same fiery lip lock as when they’d made love. Yes, she admitted she had made love with him. Not as a result of a last minute grasp for impregnation. The bartender would have been able to provide a donation, but she’d wanted to be with John. The tempest he’d started in her during the wave ride had been eased that night.

  Wanting to feel a connection again, she lifted her hips, pushing them against his. He nuzzled her neck. Her fingers remained stuck to his.

  Beneath his nimble fingers, the pearl buttons of her sweater quickly come out of the holes and exposed her lacy white bra.

  She didn’t have as much luck with his Oxford, so she changed her strategy and licked the rich light brown skin at the V of his shirt, noting he’d kept his tan. He lifted his tantalizing mouth from her belly and nuzzled a breast. The material from the undergarment brushed against her skin, stimulating her. Excitement rushed through her, making her tingle in her nether region. Her nipple throbbed, while the other crested, waiting to be laved.

  “My turn. Let me on top.” His soft leather belt opened as she unhooked the buckle. Easy enough. His cock filled, pressed against his zipper, distracting her mouth from her goal of unlatching the silver bar from the hole on his belt.

  Her efforts were futile. “Gun’s in the way, biting into my side. I can’t get the…need to touch.”

  The doorbell chimed. She whipped her glance toward the bothersome noise.

  “Ignore it.” His lips wet her nipples, striking her to the edge of manic desire.

  Three raps sounded, followed by Dane’s ear pie
rcing shouts. “Mary. Mary, are you in there?”

  “Dane won’t go away. Let me get rid of him.”

  “No. I will.” He slowly separated their hands. The sticky residue had congealed, stretching their skin during the separation. Her coat had no doubt been ruined by the pine sap.

  She smiled. “Regret that action now?”

  His hands landed on the floor beside her head, then he kissed her as hard and properly as the thump, thump, thump came from the wood door. “Not for a minute. I look forward to extending and finishing.”

  John catapulted to a stand with such grace and agility, she stared at him. He’d lost the love handles on his sides. Why hadn’t she noticed before? Over the past few weeks his body had shaped into a well-muscled, sleek masculine form. He’d been beautiful before, but now he was diamond-head-gorgeous. All females would dig him. Her heart struck rapid beats against her ribcage. She didn’t want other women to look at him, touch him, or be gifted with his exceptional kissing.

  He held out his hand and helped her to stand. A nudge to her rear and she scooted forward into the bedroom. The click of a lock and a blast of cold air entered as she rushed into the bathroom. She ran hot water, trying to remove the pine scented glue.

  He had to send Dane away. John had ignited a fire inside her, and she must get relief. The clack of a latch connecting caught her attention. She widened the door and glanced into the foyer mirror to see John’s reflection. He didn’t look happy. Crap. Sexual gratification would be delayed.

  “What’s wrong?” She strode toward him.

  John wrapped his arms around her waist. His frown concerned her.

  “Oh no, has something happened to Phoenix?”

  “Not as far as I know. It’s Waterman. He’s close. He left something on Dane’s car while it was parked at a Garden and Floral Design Center, with a warning for you. I need to take the note into the nearest station and try to get prints to qualify it as evidence.”

  She turned in his arms. “Okay, I’ll stay here and work on the angel.”