Always and Forever (16 page)

“I think it’s time to get out of here,” he whispered in her ear as they swayed back and forth to Maxwell’s “Lifetime.”

“I think you’re right,” she answered. “I’m not sure I can go much longer before I just pass out.”

“Oh, you’re not going to sleep,” Jamal warned her.

The smile that tipped up the corners of her mouth was carnal, and set his blood to high boil.

Jamal took her by the hand and headed straight for the front desk, booking a night’s stay at the Biltmore. As soon as they entered their room, Jamal took her lips in a kiss that resonated throughout his entire body. Within moments of closing the door to the suite, he had her naked and spread out over the bed. With one goal in mind, Jamal proceeded to turn her body inside out. Before the night was over, this woman would know that she belonged to him in every single way.

* * *

“I still cannot believe how beautiful this place is,” Phil said, her eyes gazing out the passenger window of the rental car. “Makes me sad to think about leaving.”

“All it takes is a phone call to the airline. We can tack on a couple of days.”

“No, we can’t,” she said. “We need to get Belle Maison finished before Thursday, because I am not spending my Thanksgiving working.”

“Let me guess, you want to spend it watching all the football games.”

“Shut up.” She swatted his arm. “The furniture is arriving tomorrow, and your first guests will check in next week. Oh!” She twisted in her seat to face him. “I completely forgot to tell you this. Mya left a voice mail on my cell phone last night while we were at the wedding. She said that
Gulfscapes Magazine
has agreed to feature Gauthier, and they’re going to come down for the Christmas in Gauthier celebration to take photos.”

“Whoa, that’s pretty huge. I’m surprised news like that didn’t send her into labor,” Jamal said with a chuckle.

“Maybe if we can convince them to stay at Belle Maison, they’ll throw a little extra advertising our way,” she said.

A warm smile traveled across Jamal’s lips. “I like the way you include yourself when you talk about the bed-and-breakfast.”

She hesitated a moment. “I guess it’s because we’ve been working so closely together on it.”

“Is that the only reason?” he asked. He reached across the center console and captured her hand. “I was hoping it was because you were starting to see yourself as a part of it, and not just someone I hired to help. Because you mean a lot more to Belle Maison, Phylicia. And to me.”

His words caused a maelstrom of giddiness, excitement and downright panic to swirl in the pit of her stomach. He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, rubbing it back and forth.

“I meant what I said last night, Phylicia. I’m in love with you. And it’s not going to go away once we’re done working on the house. I’m in this. Completely.”

Her throat tightened with emotion. “What are you saying, Jamal?”

“What do you think I’m saying? I’m asking if you’re in this, too. Do you see the two of us running Belle Maison together? Living our lives together? Maybe even getting married, having children?”

Oh, God, she could absolutely see it. All of it.

Phil’s free hand shook as she brought it up to her trembling lips. After everything she had been through over these past few years, a part of her was afraid to acknowledge what appeared to be true happiness within her reach.

“I can see it,” she said. “And I
do
want all of it. With you.”

Jamal let out a deep breath she had no idea he had been holding. An enormous smile broke out over his face. He leaned over and kissed her for so long that Phil was sure he would veer off the road. He drove one-handed for the remainder of the drive, his other hand never letting go of hers.

Phil had been afraid to even imagine that she could ever feel this kind of contentment again. Even though the burdens were still there—the pressure from the bank, dealing with her mother’s illness and the rising cost of her care—the peace that settled over her made them all seem inconsequential. With Jamal at her side, giving her his love and support, Phil knew she would get through it all.

They turned off the highway and onto the road leading to the Creekside Bed-and-Breakfast. As the house came into view, Jamal’s grip loosened on her hand.

“What the hell?” he asked.

Phil spotted what had caught his attention. A shiny black Bentley was parked in front of the inn’s entrance.

Jamal slammed on the brakes and threw the car into Park. “How in the hell did he know we were here?”

Her heart pounding, Phil sucked in a deep breath. “I told him,” she admitted.

His head whipped around, his usually soft eyes shooting daggers at her.

“I told you that we spoke at the reception yesterday,” she explained. “All he could talk about was how much he regrets what happened between the two of you.”

“Dammit, Phylicia.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I told you to stay out of it.”

The Bentley’s driver’s side door opened, and Lawrence Johnson stepped out, dressed in a tailored suit. Jamal’s nostrils flared, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“You had no right to bring him here,” he bit out. He opened the door and stalked right past his father.

Phil got out of the car and ran after him. She gave Mr. Johnson a hasty greeting but didn’t stop. When she got to the room, she found Jamal pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

“I was only trying to help, Jamal. I know firsthand what happens when you allow something to come between you and your family. It can eat you alive. I don’t want you to suffer with the same regrets I’ve dealt with these past three years.”

He pointed toward the door. “You don’t know anything about what happened between me and that man.”

“I know you and your father both probably said things that neither of you meant, and by not talking it out, you’ve only made things worse. It’s the same thing that happened with me and my dad.”

“I don’t give a damn about what happened between you and your dad!” he shouted.

Phil took a step back, the ugliness of his words slapping her in the face, the ferociousness in his voice sending a tremor of unease down her spine.

“This had
nothing
to do with you,” Jamal lashed out. “You think I’m going to just forget everything and play nice because that’s what
you
think is best for me? I’ve spent my entire damn life doing what he wanted me to do. I sure as hell won’t let you come in and try to dictate what I do, too.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” she protested.

“The hell you’re not!” His voice nearly shook the windows. “I told you I wanted nothing to do with that man, yet you go behind my back and tell him where to find me? You should have just stayed the hell out of it like I told you.”

Phil tried several times before she could swallow past the lump in her throat. She blinked rapidly, hoping to avoid the wounded tears that threatened to escape.

When she spoke, she barely recognized her own voice. “You’re right,” she managed to get out. “It was none of my business. I’m sorry.”

Jamal stopped pacing and stared directly into her eyes. He didn’t acknowledge her apology, but just stood there, fury radiating from his rigid frame. The rage sparkling like fire in his eyes was unlike anything she’d ever seen in him.

There was a knock at the door.

“Can I come in?” came Lawrence Johnson’s formidable baritone.

Phil didn’t think Jamal could look any angrier than he had just a moment ago, but the sound of his father’s voice brought his fury to a new level.

She turned and walked over to the door, opening it just wide enough to slip out of the suite. The look on Lawrence Johnson’s face would have broken her heart if his son hadn’t already crushed it with his cruel, unforgivable words.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

The man expelled a harsh breath. “So am I,” he said. “He takes after his father, even though you’d never get him to admit it. We’re both stubborn asses.” The older man gave her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry if this has caused problems between the two of you. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Phil shook her head. “It’s okay.”

But it was anything
but
okay.

It was exactly what she’d feared—raw, gut-wrenching despair at the hands of the man she’d trusted with her most fragile, most treasured possession. Her heart.

“I’m sorry you drove all this way for nothing,” Phil told him.

“It was worth the drive if it meant finally getting past this with Jamal. I’ll get through to him eventually.” Mr. Johnson, with eyes so much like his son’s, took her hands in his. “Thank you for trying.”

“You’re welcome,” Phil returned.

He pulled her in for a hug, giving her an extra, reassuring squeeze. Phil closed her eyes tightly, but she couldn’t help the tears that began to flow.

How could Jamal not see how lucky he was to still have his father?

He released her from the hug, but he didn’t let go of her hands. Instead, he gripped them tighter and looked directly into her eyes. “Don’t allow my son’s stubbornness to come between the two of you. Just give him some time to cool off. Don’t let him give you the silent treatment for too long, either.”

“We have a six o’clock flight back to Louisiana. He won’t be able to avoid me for long.”

“Travel safely,” he said, then he turned and headed back for the entrance to the inn.

Phil stood outside the suite’s door for several minutes, trying to collect herself. She pulled in deep breath after increasingly deep breath, shoring up her nerve before reentering the room. But when she went back in, it was empty. The French doors to the patio were opened, the sheer curtains billowing slightly in the breeze. She walked out onto the private patio and spotted Jamal standing at the edge of the creek.

Phil made her way down the pebbled trail that stretched from their room to the creek. She stopped a few feet behind him, staring at his solid back as he stood with his feet braced apart, his shoulders rigid, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black pants.

“He’s gone,” she called in a hushed voice.

Her pronouncement was met with silence, the gurgle of the creek and squawk of a bird flying overhead the only sounds.

“Our flight leaves in less than four hours,” she said. “If we’re going to make it back to Phoenix in time, we need to start packing now.”

A long, pregnant pause stretched between them before Jamal finally spoke.

“I called a car service to pick you up in an hour,” he said.

The dull ache that had settled in her chest mushroomed into a cloud of hurt that enveloped her entire being. Phil wrapped her arms around her middle in an attempt to stop the pain from pummeling her to the ground.

“Don’t do this, Jamal,” she said in an anguished whisper. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me.”

His back remained rigid as he continued to stare out over the water.

“I’m sorry for overstepping,” Phil maintained, her voice breaking over the words. “But that is no reason for you to do this. Don’t shut me out, Jamal.”

His shoulders rose slightly with the breath he took.

“You should pack,” he said.

Phil pulled her trembling lips between her teeth. She stared at him until his body was completely blurred by the tears that welled in her eyes.

The tears cascaded down her cheeks as she returned to the suite and packed her bags. They streamed in earnest as she rode in the backseat of the hired car, as she boarded the plane in Phoenix and, hours later, as she lay her head on her pillow back at her house in Gauthier.

Chapter 15

J
amal sat on the edge of the rock-strewn cliff, looking out over the red clay that stretched for miles around him. He’d give anything to have his sax in his hand. He needed the solace that came with losing himself in a piece of music.

He rubbed at the ache that had resided in his chest for the past five days. It had started the moment he’d sent Phylicia away. No matter what he tried, the pain refused to let up.

Jamal pitched a rock into the hollow vastness that lay before him. He’d been so damn philosophic this week, he was driving himself crazy. But he could not escape the symbolism. The never-ending stretch of nothingness mimicked his life to perfection.

He’d reached a new low point. The most amazing woman he would ever have the luxury of knowing had told him she loved him, and he’d sent her packing.

Here he was, only a couple of hours from his family, and yesterday he’d spent Thanksgiving with two strangers at a bed-and-breakfast in Lake Montezuma. What did that say about the state his life was in? What did that say about him?

That he was a damn coward.

The ugly truth had hit him square in the gut as soon as he’d retuned to the suite he’d shared with Phylicia back in Sedona. She’d tried to save him from suffering the same fate she’d met, but he’d been too much of a coward to face the truth of her words. Too afraid to accept his role in the mess he’d made of his relationship with his father.

Jamal figured it was easier to just walk away, to lay the blame for his shattered relationships at everyone else’s feet. It was his father’s lack of respect that had caused this chasm to stretch between them. It was Phylicia’s dogged insistence at sticking her nose where it didn’t belong that had caused him to send her away.

But it was his own stubbornness that had him here, all alone, his mind reverberating with all the things he’d fought valiantly to keep at bay. The truth was laid bare now, demanding an audience, and Jamal could do nothing but see it for what it was. Phylicia had been right. He could spend the rest of his life coming up with projects to keep him occupied so that he could put off opening his firm. The only thing that had been stopping him was
him.

And his gut-wrenching, soul-stealing fear of failing.

It was that fear of proving his father’s prophecy right—that he would have to come crawling back a failure—that was at the root of his fear.

But what if he didn’t fail?

What if he finally put to use those ideas he’d been stockpiling for years and they actually worked? He’d crunched the numbers countless times; he knew the tide was shifting and that making older homes more eco-friendly was the wave of the future. What was he waiting for? Some other architectural outfit to step in and make a success of his ideas?

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Jamal cursed. He pushed himself up from where he’d been perched on the cliff and quickly made his way down the side of the foothill. As soon as he got in his car, he pulled up the number for his Realtor in New Orleans, hoping she wasn’t out scouring the day-after Thanksgiving sales. When she answered on the second ring, Jamal’s chest nearly burst with relief.

“Is the house on Saint Charles Avenue still available?” he asked.

“Yes, it is,” she said.

“I want it. I’ll be in New Orleans by tonight. Do whatever you can to make the sale happen quickly. I want to be in there as soon as possible.”

He returned to the bed-and-breakfast he’d found in Lake Montezuma and packed his things, booking a return flight home as he shoved his clothes into his bags.

Soon, Jamal was driving south, making his way back to Phoenix. But instead of continuing straight on I-17 toward Sky Harbor International, Jamal took the exit at Camelback Road and headed east toward the suburb of Arcadia.

He was done running away. Phylicia was right. He didn’t want to live with regrets, not when he still had a chance at making things right.

Jamal pulled up to the gates of the home he’d grown up in, modest by the standards of some of the mansions springing up in other parts of the city. He dialed in the key code, a measure of comfort washing over him at the knowledge that the numbers had not changed.

He entered the house using the key he’d kept stuffed in his wallet—the key his mother had insisted he have, even though he hadn’t lived in this house in nearly a decade. His mother was in the foyer, watering the large, fresh flower arrangement that sat in the middle of a round marble table.

She twisted around and gasped. “Jamal?”

“Hi, Mom,” he answered.

“How...why?” She walked up to him. “What are you still doing in Arizona? I thought you left the day after the wedding.”

Shame washed over him. Jamal didn’t want to tell her he’d been here the entire week and had purposely missed Thanksgiving yesterday. It would hurt her too much. Instead, he got right to the point of his unexpected detour.

“Where is he?” Jamal asked.

“Jamal, please, no more fighting,” she pleaded.

“I don’t want to fight with him,” he told her.

The hope that sprung in her eyes made her look ten years younger, and Jamal was hit with the reality of the toll this rift with his father had taken on the rest of the family.

“He’s in his office,” his mother said. Jamal started for the marble stairs that led to the second floor, but his mother stopped him before he could take a step. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for coming back.”

Jamal pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “You’re welcome,” he said. “And I promise never to stay away this long again.”

He took the stairs two at a time. Jamal stopped short as he came upon the dark wood door of his father’s home office. He gave it two short raps.

“Come in,” came the deep voice from the other side of the door.

Jamal pushed it open and stared at his father. “I think we need to talk,” he said.

* * *

“This is nice, isn’t it, Agatha?”

“Yes, it is,” Phil replied. She leaned over and peered at her mother’s canvas. Her rendering of the small gazebo surrounded by flowers was nearly an exact replication of the actual structure that stood before them in the serenity garden on the grounds of Mossy Oaks.

She tilted her head to the side as she gazed at her mother. “I’m so grateful you can still paint.”

“I don’t know for how much longer. I’m getting old. Arthritis may soon set in.” Her mother’s cagey smile warmed Phil’s heart.

“You’ve been robbed of so much,” Phil whispered. “I think God will let you paint for a while longer.”

Her mother set her brush in the easel’s tray and walked over to her. “Is that your young man?” Sabina asked as she stared at Phil’s painting.

Most of the portrait was still in outline form, an outline she’d sketched from memory. “It is,” Phil answered.

“I hope he comes back to see me soon. He is a very nice young man, Aggie. I’m so happy you found someone like him.”

Phil just smiled. She knew if she tried to talk those damn tears would start flowing.

They stayed in the garden for another hour, their conversation jumping from one decade to another. As usual, Phil tried to follow as best she could, and she embellished whenever necessary. When the nurse came to retrieve Sabina for afternoon exercise, Phil bade her mother goodbye with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to return in a few days.

On her way out of Mossy Oaks, Phil stopped in the director’s office.

“She seems to be doing well,” she said to Dr. Beckman.

“We haven’t had any more episodes,” he told her. His face took on a thoughtful, contemplative look. “Can you close the door? I’d like to speak to you privately, Ms. Phillips.”

Fear threaded down Phil’s spine. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“No. Actually, this may be the best thing that’s happened in quite some time.” He gestured for her to take a seat. When she was settled, he continued. “There is an experimental study being conducted at LSU’s medical school, and they’ve contacted Mossy Oaks for study subjects. I believe your mother would be a good candidate.”

Phil’s heart started pounding against her rib cage, curiosity and hope flooding her brain as the facility’s director gave her an overview of what the study would entail.

“This wouldn’t cure her,” Dr. Beckman was quick to point out. “But, if successful, it could significantly slow the progression of her disease.”

Phil brought a trembling hand to her mouth.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” he cautioned. “Remember, it’s experimental, and there are no guarantees, but it’s something to consider.”

“Whatever can be done, do it,” she said. “I need her here as long as possible. Even if she thinks I’m my aunt Agatha.”

Dr. Beckman nodded and smiled. “Good. I’ll keep you abreast of the study. And when it’s time, I’ll have the paperwork for you to sign.”

Phil couldn’t help it. She stood, walked over to the director and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you so much for all you do.”

Even if she had to sell her house and live on the streets, she would do whatever she had to do to keep her mother at Mossy Oaks. Moving her from this place and its amazing staff wasn’t an option.

Her cell phone started ringing as she made her way to the parking lot. Phil recognized the number; it was the real estate company she’d hired to sell the properties she owned in Maplesville. Dread climbed up her spine. What was it now? A fire? Vandals? Termite infestation?

“Hello?” Phil answered, preparing herself for the worst.

“Hello, Ms. Phillips, this is Tiffany Conner with Conner Realty. I have some good news for you.”

Phil stopped in her tracks. “Yes?” she asked, too afraid to hope.

“We have a buyer for one of your properties,” the woman said.

“Oh, my God,” Phil breathed. Her knees nearly buckled with the relief that crashed through her. “Are you serious?”

“I sure am. A husband and wife and their beautiful twin girls. They just moved down from Jackson, Mississippi. They said the house is perfect for them.”

“That’s just...it’s wonderful,” Phil said, still breathless. The anxiety that had been weighing down on her chest like a boulder slowly began to lift.

“Congratulations,” Tiffany Conner said. “Let’s hope we can move the other two houses soon.”

“Let’s hope,” Phil replied. She made plans to meet with the Realtor at her office tomorrow to go over the details of the impending sale.

After she ended the call, Phil sat in her truck for several long moments, staring at Mossy Oaks’ beautiful chateau-style exterior. An overwhelming sense of peace settled into her bones as she thought about the doctors and staff and how her mother would now be able to remain under their care for the foreseeable future.

“God, thank you,” Phil whispered, her shoulders sagging with relief.

Unfortunately, the peaceful calm that had enveloped her didn’t last very long. As she traveled along Highway 21 on her way back to Gauthier, the aching in her chest kicked up once again. She had lived with it for well over a week, through Thanksgiving. It just wouldn’t go away.

She exited the highway, coming to the juncture at Pine Street and Highway 436. She wanted to turn left toward her house. She could hole up in her big, empty bed and not surface for days. Maybe even weeks.

But she wasn’t one to hide, nor did she shirk her responsibilities.

Phil turned left and headed for Loring Avenue. The restoration on Belle Maison was nearly complete. She had no idea when Jamal would return—or even if he would return. Maybe Tiffany Conner would show up here in a few days with a For Sale sign. But Phil had been hired to do a job. She was going to get it done.

She parked in the driveway and headed for the downstairs bathroom. She would put the finishing touches on the trimming she’d restored and then take an inventory of what was left to do before guests began arriving in a few days.

As she worked, Phil thought about how her views on the house had changed over the past couple of months. When she’d first started the job, the thought of a host of strangers breezing in and out of Belle Maison made her physically ill. But as she’d worked to restore the house to its former glory, she came to the realization that this house was too special to remain uninhabited. Her great-great-grandfather’s hard labor was meant to be enjoyed. She was looking forward to seeing the reaction of guests when they crossed the grand home’s threshold.

Hurt pierced her chest as Phil accepted the likelihood that she probably wouldn’t get to see their faces. She’d pictured herself here with Jamal, inviting people into Belle Maison, showing off her family’s legacy with pride. She’d imagined the two of them sharing the history of the house and the story of how they had restored it. Even how Jamal had updated it with his quirky green technology.

“You can get that out of your head,” she said to the empty room.

She’d allowed herself to be pulled into this fantasy, and it had come back to bite her square in the behind. This was Jamal’s house. They were not the happy little couple who would spend their days running a cozy bed-and-breakfast. She was Jamal Johnson’s employee, nothing more.

She would finish her work here and get back to pulling herself out of debt. The money from the property that sold in Maplesville would help tremendously. If she was able to get a steady stream of restoration work, she would be on the right track. Except for this broken heart she was still nursing. She had a feeling it wouldn’t be healed anytime soon.

“You shouldn’t have stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong,” Phil reprimanded herself. It didn’t matter that it was with the best of intentions.

None of it mattered. She was here to do a job. She’d allowed herself to get swept away by Jamal’s charm and his incredible body, and now she was paying the price. She’d been through something similar with Kevin and had survived. She could do it again.

Although, Phil had the foreboding feeling that it would take much,
much
longer to get over Jamal. At least she hadn’t had to see Kevin after he’d picked up and run off to California. If Jamal decided to return to Gauthier, avoiding him would be nearly impossible in this small town.