Loving Treasures (12 page)

He touched the doorknob, and Jemma’s eyes shifted toward the sound. When she saw him, a gentle flush rose up her neck, and he saw her look past him beyond his shoulder, afraid, he was sure, that someone would see him.

He pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. “Indecision or practicing?” He grinned at her expression.

“I want this to be perfect. I told Latrice and the foods manager that I’d train someone to handle this…so I have to know what I’m doing.”

She draped the gingham over the basket edges again, tucked and poked the items, adding her imaginary sweet rolls, and topping the basket with two more colorful napkins. “There. What do you think?”

“It’s almost as pretty as you are,” he said, sliding his arm around her shoulder.

She pulled back and glanced toward the doorway. “Philip, please, someone will see you.”

“Do I care?”

A puzzled look shot to her face. “I thought you did. Remember, discretion?”

“That was years ago,” he said. Though their dinner at Bil-Mar’s had been only four days earlier, it
seemed he’d wanted to shout his feelings from the housetops forever.

She laughed and gave him a jab. “You have a warped sense of time.”

He did. How long would it have taken for him to face his feelings and admit his personal fears? He loved this woman, and he’d yet to say the words aloud.

“I don’t suppose you came in to watch me fill this basket, did you.”

“No, I came by to invite you upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” She tilted her head with a quizzical look. “Top floor?”

“Penthouse.” He gave her a wink, and his pulse did a two-step.

“Now?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Having problems with your hearing?”

“No, but…you mean in front of others. Should I stand at your private elevator? Or do you want me to take the emergency stairs?”

He laughed at her caution; she was nearly as bad as him. “I want you to wear a sign.”

Her face brightened and his spirit soared. He backed away, his hand reaching for the doorknob. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She nodded.

“About seven?”

“Okay.”

“And don’t have dinner.”

J
emma felt shy standing in front of the bank of elevators. She could hardly believe that Philip had suggested she come up this evening. She’d only been in his apartment the night of the party. Never alone.

Nervous, she glanced over her shoulder, wondering if someone she knew might ask her what she was doing. What would she say? And how would they react?

The elevator chimed, and she entered, still not knowing the answers to her “what ifs.” She pushed the top button. The door closed and the cage ascended, along with her jitters.

The door slid open and she stepped into Philip’s foyer. Through the archway, she saw his reflection in the broad window. He turned at her footfall and came toward her. Her heels clicked on the marble flooring, and then she stepped into his open arms.

“Was it so bad?” he asked.

“No, just a little…weird.” She tilted her head upward, and he pressed a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Join me,” he said, guiding her into the living room. “I poured some wine.”

He led her to a large sofa and she sank into its deep cushions. Philip handed her a stemmed glass filled with a crystal-clear wine. She sipped and allowed the tang to lay on her tongue.

“Good?” Philip asked.

She nodded, though truly her judgment of wine was poor. Her past had offered little occasion for celebrating. The thought brought a question to mind. What special occasion were they toasting tonight?

Before she asked, a tantalizing aroma drifted into the room. She drew in the scent. “I smell something wonderful.”

“Dinner,” he said.

“It’s here already?”

“Already?” He looked puzzled.

“From the kitchen. I assumed you have your meals sent up.”

“You assume wrong, my dear. Tonight, I prepared this myself.”

She fell against the sofa with a grin. “You?”

“I left my chef’s cap in the kitchen.” He rose and beckoned her. “You haven’t seen my kitchen.”

“I haven’t,” Jemma said, filled with curiosity. She had no idea if he was serious or teasing, but she
followed, pattering behind him into a vast kitchen. Pure white cabinets, floor, walls, appliances.

“I’d never have the courage,” she said, imagining the damage she could do to the pristine room.

“Soap and water works wonders,” he said, grinning. “But you don’t think I clean this place myself, do you?”

The luxury of having a housekeeper and a chef, she could only fantasize about. “What smells so delicious?”

“My specialty. Thick pork chops cooked in my own special sauce.”

She laughed. “Your own special sauce! It sounds like a fast-food ad.”

“Wait until you taste it.”

He sent her back to the living room while he remained in the kitchen to finish the meal.

Jemma placed the goblet on a table and wandered through the open French doors. In the rosy glow of the setting sun, she saw the balcony for the first time unhampered by party-goers and darkness. She sat in a wrought-iron chair arranged beside a matching table, and looked out across the water. The view was beautiful—and so was the life, she imagined.

A few minutes later, Philip’s call roused her from her chair and she headed back inside, following the enticing aroma to the dining room. In candlelight, she slivered tender pieces of pork and tasted his rice pilaf mingled with herbs. The meal was delicious—the company, exquisite.

“More Riesling?” he asked.

She nodded, and when he filled her glass, she asked the question that had occurred to her earlier. “What are we toasting? Anything special?”

His gentle smile warmed her more than the wine. “Very special.” He lifted his glass.

“Give me a hint,” she said, following his salute.

“To us.”

The crystal tinkled at their touch.

Us.
The sweet word fluttered through her chest. She recalled making that blatant toast on the boat, but this time the word wrapped around her heart. Still, she longed to know what he meant.

Jemma finished the scrumptious food quickly on her plate. She placed her knife and fork on the rim and folded her hands. “My compliments to the chef. This was exceptional.”

“I’ll give him your message, but we’re not finished yet. Dessert and coffee will be served on the balcony.”

Ignoring his protests, she carried the dishes into the kitchen, then he shooed her off while he finished. She wandered outside again, leaning on the railing and enjoying the August breeze. In moments, he came through the doorway.

“The coffee’s on. I thought maybe you’d like to sit a while and watch the sunset.”

“Yes, I would.”

He slipped his arm around her waist and guided her to a cushioned bench.

Feeling more comfortable than she’d felt in years, Jemma nestled in the crook of Philip’s arm and gazed at the glowing horizon as the fiery colors melted into the shimmering gold water. The brilliance couldn’t hold a candle to the joy blazing in her heart.

Philip shifted, and she turned to him, sensing he wanted to talk.

“Could we go back in time and start again?”

“Back? How far?” She wondered what he was suggesting.

“Probably the first time I hesitated to do what my heart told me to do. That was about day two.”

Heat warmed her cheeks, and she was pleased that the orange sky camouflaged her flush. “I can’t bear to go that far back.”

He couldn’t bear to go back that far, either, but they had to. “How about the night on the boat?”

“What part of that night?”

He noticed her tender blush even in the glow of the setting sun. “The part where you kissed me.”

“You mean you want me to—”

He nodded before she finished. She hesitated, shifting on the bench and sliding her hands along his arms, and his muscles tensed with anticipation. When she reached his neck, she lifted her hands and caressed his jaw, his cheek, and let her fingers play along his lips.

Longing rose in him at her touch. A flame kindled in his chest and spread to his limbs.

She tilted her full mouth toward his and slid her
hand to the back of his head, pulling him down to meet her lips.

In pure abandon, he surrendered. Jemma’s stifled gasp melted to a moan, and Philip’s hopes were answered. Her lips parted against his, the warmth radiating from her heart. He captured her against his chest, longing to make her his own.

Temptation.
Like a neon sign, the word lit in his head and he warned his eager heart. He would do nothing to hurt her, nothing to destroy the purity of their love.

Jemma eased away, trembling and breathless, and for once he opened his heart and let out the words he’d hidden for so long.

“I love you, Jemma.”

Surprise filled her face as she searched his eyes. “I love you, too,” she said in a whisper. “I’ve never loved anyone as much.”

His own thoughts echoed her words even as guilt and sorrow nipped at his conscience. He’d been unfair to Susan. He’d loved her, but not like this.

Jemma’s expression told him she was sensing something wrong. “What is it?”

Weighing whether he was wise to tell her, he decided honesty was the beginning of a pure, untainted love. He’d messed up earlier with his evasiveness. Somewhere along the line, he needed to tell her the truth about her position at Bay Breeze. But not tonight. He wanted nothing to ruin this important moment.

“I was thinking about my relationship with Susan,” he began. She listened as he poured out his heart, and he looked toward heaven, thanking God that Jemma seemed to understand.

When he had finished baring his soul, she kissed his cheek and then his lips. He turned her face toward him and kissed her moist eyes, his heart bursting with love.

“I was thinking as you talked,” she said, “how we learn so much from experience. You’re not alone, Philip. I made mistakes in my marriage—things I wish I could change. There are sorrows that I feel deep inside.”

She slid into the crook of his arm and talked into the darkening sky.

“I don’t know if things could have been different. Sometimes I think we tune out God and make our own decisions without his guidance. If I’d listened, I’m guessing the Lord would have told me marrying Lyle was a mistake.”

He nodded thinking of his own experience, wondering if he, too, had tuned the Lord’s voice from his mind and bungled along his own path.

“I don’t know if Lyle was as miserable as I was. And you don’t know about Susan. Maybe she accepted your marriage, like the vow ‘for better or worse.’ We never know which it will be, but we accept it. That’s what I did.”

Philip had done the same, but still felt he should have tried to make things better.

“‘What ifs’ aren’t constructive,” Jemma said.

His pulse surged at her comment, almost as if she’d heard his thought.

“What we need to hang on to is God’s guidance. If you and I learned from our mistakes, we can be better marriage partners. We realized our mistakes, and we’re repentant.”

“And forgiven,” he said, surprised that he’d spoken aloud.

“I think God’s forgiveness is something you and I haven’t accepted.” She tilted her head and looked into his eyes.

“I think you’re right.”

“Does that mean we don’t trust the Lord?”

Philip shook his head. “No, it’s more like we feel unworthy.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Her soft laugh surprised him.

“How can we be unworthy,” she asked, “when God created us and loves us? Even more than I love you…and you love me.”

The concept was unbelievable. Philip rose, taking Jemma’s hand and drawing her to his side. With his arm around her waist, he stepped toward the railing. “You’re a true disciple, Jemma.”

“Only inspired,” she said.

He saw the love in her eyes and he knew they had so much more to talk about. He prayed they had a lifetime to do so.

Philip stood outside the Fellowship Church, surprised he’d agreed to attend. But he realized he was there for Jemma…and for himself.

Too much time had passed since he’d sat in the Lord’s house and listened to God’s Word. Philip believed, he prayed, he followed the commandments, but he didn’t worship publicly. He’d tossed rationalizations around in his head often—time, inclination, lethargy.

When he did go to church, he would sit in the service and his mind would drift, planning the day’s activities and solving his business problems. When the service was over, he felt no different than he had before he walked in—except maybe resentful for having wasted his time. Not resentful of God. God never wasted his time. God had provided him with gifts beyond his belief. But the
service
had wasted his time. He left feeling spiritless.

Attending this church today was important to Jemma, so it was important to Philip. And that’s why he’d come with her despite his responsibility at the resort. Someone else would handle the crises.

“Come on,” Jemma called, halfway up the stairs before he had stepped around the car.

Grinning at her eagerness, he helped Claire from the back seat, and she swept out, dressed in one of her colorful Indian print dresses.

“You’re a vision, Claire,” he said, taking her arm as they headed for Jemma.

“Seeing you here is a vision to me,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Jemma waited at the door until Philip and Claire caught up with her. Her face glowed, and he wished he’d been more genuine with his faith sooner. Her questions about his belief had no doubt caused her concern. She deserved so much more.

As soon as Jemma opened the door, Philip heard the difference. Music from an organ and piano sailed to greet them with a spirited hymn. The vitality caught in his chest, and he looked around, amazed at the smiling faces that greeted them as they passed through the entrance to the worship area.

“Good morning,” voices called, as he followed Jemma down the aisle to the front. Once they were seated, he peered through the morning program, reading lists of meetings and events, amazed at how active the congregation seemed.

The opening hymn brought him to his feet, and on all sides hands lifted in praise as voices rang through the sanctuary. When he was seated again, Bible verses were read, and the choir sang, filling his heart with unexpected comfort at their message.

Today he understood what it meant to praise. He heard it in their voices and saw it in their faces. Why hadn’t he realized before that this is what he needed? He smiled, seeing how God works in mysterious ways, not only bringing Jemma into his life, but bringing Jemma’s pure, simple wisdom into his heart.

When the preacher came forward for the sermon, Philip waited with curiosity. Would he drift off again to solve resort concerns…or think about the wonderful moments with Jemma in his arms? Even on a good day he had a difficult time keeping thoughts of Jemma from occupying him.

The pastor opened the Bible and looked at the congregation. “Listen to God’s Word from the third chapter of Proverbs. ‘Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains understanding, for she is more profitable than silver and yields better returns than gold. She is more precious than rubies—nothing you desire can compare with her.”’

Gooseflesh rose on Philip’s arms.
Wisdom.
He felt the soft flesh of Jemma’s arm beside his, her eyes directed at the preacher. Jemma had become Philip’s wisdom, telling him that age didn’t matter, that the important thing in life was learning from experience to be a better Christian and a more loving mate.

She is more precious than rubies; nothing you desire can compare with her.
His heartbeat quickened, and he slid his hand to hers, winding their fingers together as one. He needed to know this wasn’t a dream—that it was real.

Philip felt her warmth against his hand, the blood pumping through her veins. She turned once and sent him a smile that anchored him to the truth. Young or old, God had meant for them to be together.

And what was seventeen years? A heartbeat in God’s time. They would manage…more than man
age. They would live and be a family. And if Jemma wanted children, then…he would be a good father. He imagined himself at fifty-five or fifty-six playing ball with a young son, combing a little girl’s hair. The picture hung in his thoughts, alien but sublime. He sensed this was God’s plan for him and prayed that Jemma was hearing the same message.