Gift of Gold (4 page)

But by Sunday night Jonas knew better. He wanted her in some way that was both sexual and psychic. He was beginning to wonder if taking Verity to bed might solve some of the mystery she held for him.

A quote flickered in his mind—a short passage from Castiglione’s
Book of the Courtier.
Something about whoever possesses a woman’s body also wins the fortress of her mind and soul.

It had been a while since Jonas had studied the sixteenth century Renaissance guide to gentlemanly behavior. He seemed to recall there had been a counterargument made in response to that particular statement about dealing with women, but he couldn’t remember exactly what it was. At the moment he didn’t care. The old words suddenly seemed to make excellent sense to Jonas.

Jonas sat on the steps that led up to the deck of his small cottage and fingered the earring in his pocket. He listened to the soft sigh of the breeze in the dark pines. He was waiting to see if Verity would follow her usual nightly routine.

This was the third night he had watched her walk back to her cabin alone. The first night, he had offered to escort her but she had just laughed and told him to get some sleep. She was quite accustomed to seeing herself home.

She was telling the truth, Jonas knew. It was becoming more and more obvious that Verity did not have a lover. Nor did she seem to care about the lack of a love life.

He had discovered her nightly routine on Friday when he had glanced out the window of his cabin after turning off the lights. Verity didn’t turn off her own lights as quickly as he had expected. He had stood at the window and watched and after a few minutes he had been rewarded with the sight of his new boss coming back out of her cabin.

She had changed into a bathing suit and terrycloth robe and she made her way briskly along the unlit path toward the resort.

Jonas’s first thought was that his boss lady had a midnight swimming rendezvous with a man. The idea had made him strangely restless. He had been unable to resist the impulse to follow her.

He had discovered, to his secret, overwhelming relief, that Verity was not meeting a man. She was using the resort’s spa pools after hours. The bathing rooms were distinctly marked with a “closed for the night” sign, but Verity had let herself in through a back door and had walked right into the women’s section. Jonas had been fascinated as he stood out of sight and watched Verity ease into a steaming, bubbling pool. It had amused him that she wore a swimsuit into the spa bath, even though she had the place to herself.

It was a very prim and proper little bathing suit. It was cut high across her small, rounded breasts and it even had a modest ruffled skirt around the hips. It made Jonas think of the bottle of extra virgin olive oil that occupied a shelf in Verity’s kitchen.

Tonight he had decided to join the tyrant in her after-hours relaxation program. Jonas figured he deserved it after the way she had lectured him earlier that afternoon about the evils of fast food. It had been his own fault, of course. He should have been more discreet with the greasy hamburger he had brought back from the chain restaurant in town.

The problem was that there were occasions when he couldn’t resist deliberately provoking the little tyrant. He was rapidly learning just what sort of provocation it took to get a rise out of Verity. A part of him had guessed that the sight of the hamburger would do it and he had blandly let her see him eating it.

Jonas was perceptive enough to realize that provoking the lady was a poor substitute for what he really ached to do with her. He wondered if she would fire him on the spot if she realized that while he scrubbed her pots and pans he was fantasizing about taking her on the kitchen floor.

Once again Jonas wondered if he really could get faster answers to the mystery of Verity Ames if he did get her into bed. He was turning that over in his mind when he saw her cabin door open. Right on schedule. He pulled himself out of his reverie and watched her as she stood silhouetted for a moment in the light that shone through the open doorway.

She was dressed in her usual discreet bathing suit and robe, her red hair caught up in a loose cluster of curls on top of her head. As Jonas watched she closed the door behind her, not bothering to lock it, and started down the path to the lodge.

Jonas gave her a few minutes and then got to his feet. He reached down to pick up the two cans of beer he had put on the step earlier and then he set out after her.

As he paced down the path behind her, Jonas studied the sweet, unconsciously seductive sway that characterized Verity’s stride. No doubt about it, the lady had one hell of a sexy tail. There was a gentle glide to her movements that appealed to him on a visceral level. It made him wonder how she would feel moving beneath him in passion. He could visualize those nicely curved legs wrapped around his waist, and he had no trouble at all imagining the lush globes of her buttocks filling his hands. Now he wanted to know the reality of what it would be like to make love to Verity Ames.

Jonas had tried to be realistic during the past three days. He had told himself that, objectively speaking, Verity was not a great beauty, not by a long shot. She could have been a little taller, for one thing. Furthermore, she was a bit small on top, and overall she was much too thin, although Jonas didn’t fault her tiny waist. Verity’s slenderness was a direct result of the fact that she worked too hard, in his opinion.

Her features were delicate but not classic. Her aqua-green eyes tilted up at the corners like those of a playful cat, and her nose was a bit sharp. There was a stubborn, feminine strength in the line of her jaw and firm little chin. It was a face that reflected intelligence and energy and a unique kind of sensuality.

Jonas’s fingers tightened around the cold cans of beer and he quickened his step as Verity disappeared through a door at the back of the resort’s main building.

Verity eased herself into the hot, bubbling water of the spa pool, sank down onto the bench seat, and leaned back against the white tile. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, a long, satisfied sigh of relief. Her feet hurt tonight. A peril of the restaurant business. The weekends were moneymakers but they took a lot of energy. She was never really sorry to see the arrival of Monday. Monday was the one day of the week the No Bull Cafe was closed during the summer and early fall. Soon she would start closing Sunday evenings, too. Winter was a quiet time in Sequence Springs.

As Verity let the frothing hot water soothe and relax her weary muscles, she mentally chastised herself for running out of broccoli bisque earlier that evening. Jonas had seemed to think it was no big deal. But then, it wasn’t his restaurant.

Nevertheless, he had handled the situation with casual aplomb. He had simply removed the item from the chalkboard that listed the evening’s specials and informed anyone who asked that there hadn’t been enough good broccoli to make more than a limited quantity of soup. That last bit had been a small fib. There had been plenty of excellent broccoli. Verity simply had not properly estimated the amount she would need for Sunday night.

Mistakes such as that generally annoyed her. But Jonas’s calm attitude had made it easier for Verity to take the miscalculation more or less in stride tonight. It was almost as if Jonas had somehow shared the responsibility with her. That was a highly unusual sensation for Verity. She was accustomed to assuming all the responsibility for everything that happened in her life. Growing up as Emerson Ames’s daughter had taught Verity how to take responsibility early on. Odd that Jonas had given her the impression she could share with him some of the difficulties of running the No Bull Cafe. From every indication he was just another irresponsible drifter, like her father. A man with too much intelligence and too little personal motivation. The combination of ability and lack of drive never failed to irritate Verity. But Jonas was giving her her money’s worth and more at the No Bull, so she supposed she shouldn’t be too critical. After all, he would soon drift back out of her life the same way he had drifted into it. Men such as Jonas never hung around any one place too long.

The realization brought an unexpected rush of unhappiness. She wondered how she could have already gotten used to having Jonas around. It was a dangerous sign.

But then, she had known from the beginning that Jonas Quarrel was a dangerous man. She had seen the ghosts in his eyes and she had felt the pull on her senses the first time she had opened the door to him. Instead of slamming that door in his face, she had allowed him to push his way into her serene, carefully controlled life.

A wary part of her was beginning to wonder how big a price she would pay for her recklessness. But another part of her was already wondering just how reckless she could be with Jonas Quarrel. She had never asked that question in regard to any other man; had never needed to ask it; had never wanted to ask it. A thrill of anticipation went through her at the thought. Verity fought and failed to suppress it.

“Is this a private party or can the hired help join in?”

Verity’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Jonas’s dark, lazy voice. She blinked and saw him lounging with the grace of a Renaissance courtier against a white stone pillar, two cans of beer cradled in one lean hand. He was wearing his usual outfit of faded jeans and work shirt, but somehow he looked very much at ease in the elegant blue and white spa room.

It struck Verity that Jonas had a knack for looking at ease, regardless of his attire or his surroundings. That indefinable air of nonchalance had been a prime goal of every Renaissance aristocrat, she knew. Whole books had been written during those years giving instruction on how to obtain the proper aura of casual power. The man who had it was quietly telling the world that he could and would handle everything that came his way. It betokened a controlled strength that did not need to be flaunted. It was the four-hundred-year-old version of the modern desire to appear cool. She wondered if Jonas had picked up the technique through his studies of Renaissance history or if it just came naturally to him. She strongly suspected the latter.

“The spa is officially closed at this time of night,” she said rather stiffly. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted to invite him into her private bathing retreat. On the other hand, he was already in the room. “This is the women’s section, you realize.”

“I’ll take the risk of getting caught trespassing. I’ve been thrown out of better places than this.” Jonas smiled faintly and came away from the pillar with a lithe movement. He strolled to the edge of the pool and crouched down near Verity. Then he popped the top off a can of beer and held it out to her.

Automatically, Verity reached up to accept the beer. He was just being friendly, she thought. Perhaps he was a little lonesome. She eyed him warily and then thought about how hard Jonas had worked this weekend.

“I’m sure Rick and Laura wouldn’t mind if you used one of the pools,” Verity said with studied politeness. “And I guess it really doesn’t matter that this is the women’s section. At this time of night, resort guests aren’t allowed down here. But Rick and Laura have always allowed me to use the place after hours.”

Jonas glanced around at the half-dozen pools in the tiled room. “I’ll use your pool,” he announced. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. Then he rose and tugged off his low boots. His hands dropped to the buttons of his jeans.

Verity took a much larger swallow of the beer than she had intended. She choked as she looked up at the expanse of hair-covered male chest above her. It was obvious that Jonas was every bit as hard and lean and smoothly muscled as she had guessed.

“Uh, didn’t you bring a pair of swimming trunks?” she asked weakly.

“No.” He was already stepping out of the jeans, revealing a snug-fitting pair of white briefs.

For an instant Verity was half-mesmerized by the full, heavy male shape outlined by the white cotton briefs. Then she jerked her eyes back to her can of beer. She told herself the briefs covered as much as a pair of swimming trunks would. Then she reminded herself that she was twenty-eight years old; too old to be startled by the sight of a man in his shorts.

“The water’s very warm,” she cautioned thickly.

“Yeah.” He put one muscled leg into the bubbling pool. “Feels good.” He settled down close beside her on the underwater bench. “Damn good.” He leaned back and rested his arms along the tiled edge of the pool.

One sinewy forearm stretched out behind Verity’s head. She was vividly conscious of its proximity. She was very conscious of the rest of Jonas’s body, too. She considered sidling away from him and decided that that would look silly. The man was tired after a busy night, just as she was. He only wanted some relaxation. She could hardly blame him.

“How long have you been running the restaurant?” Jonas asked conversationally.

Verity gave him a sidelong glance and realized his eyes were closed. She relaxed. “A couple of years. I worked in several restaurants including the one here at the spa before I got the money and the nerve to open my own.”

“Where else did you work besides Sequence Springs?”

“Oh, here and there,” she answered carelessly.

“Here and there?” Jonas opened one eye. “Such as?”

“Well, there was Claude’s place on Martinique. I learned a lot of French techniques there. Then there was a little cafe in Spain where I picked up a few pointers on vegetables. I spent a few months studying Mexican cooking at a restaurant in Mazatlán. I learned about wine while working for a woman who owned a little hole-in-the-wall place just outside of Rio de Janeiro and I learned to wash dishes all by myself.” Verity smiled. “I told you, you aren’t the only one who’s had a well-rounded education. I just don’t have any formal degrees to go along with mine.”

“What did your father do? Drag you around the world behind him?”

“Ever since my mother died when I was eight,” Verity confirmed. “Sequence Springs is the first real home I’ve ever had. When I settled here three years ago I decided it would take an act of God or an economic disaster to uproot me. What about you, Jonas? Think you’ll ever settle down?”