Loving Treasures (9 page)

“You look beautiful.”

She lifted her eyes to Philip’s longing gaze. “You’re blind. Look at all the elegance.” She motioned to the nearby crowd and noticed the woman who’d been on his arm now standing with a man and woman.

“Blind? Maybe I am.” His expression was undefinable.

Flustered by his look, Jemma turned back to the table and lifted a strawberry onto her plate.

“Did you try the clam dip?”

His mundane question threw her off-kilter, and she eyed the table, expecting him to point it out. “No. Where is it?”

Instead, from his plate he lifted a cracker covered with the mixture and held it to her mouth. With their eyes riveted, she inched open her lips and he slid the appetizer between her teeth. The mixture of herbs and seafood played on her palate and wakened her taste buds. She slid her tongue over her lips to capture the crumbs. Philip’s eyes held hers, and her heart stood still.

Tonight she knew for certain. She loved him. Perhaps she should feel anger or jealousy, but what she felt was longing. Locked in his gaze, Jemma stood like a shackled prisoner, unable to move.

“I’m a fool,” Philip whispered as he reached forward and slipped the plate from her hand. In slow
motion, he set both plates on a tray and took her arm. She walked beside him, wrapped in the lilting music of the small ensemble, and when they reached the parquet floor of the great room, he slipped his arm around her back and drew her to his chest.

They moved as one, swaying and sliding, turning and twirling, breathless and spellbound. Gliding in rhythm, they seemed bound by a gossamer thread of providence. Despite all that had transpired, Jemma felt at home in Philip’s arms.

Philip closed his eyes, facing an inner truth. No matter what he’d tried to do—no matter how much he had tried to spare Jemma and himself from hurt, he’d failed. He’d been a fool to ask another woman to be his date for the evening.

Jemma’s cotton dress shifted beneath his fingers, and Philip lingered on the softness of the cloth, imagining the softer skin beneath. Drawn by longing, he’d taken her in his arms, knowing he had no business tempting himself or her.

He’d sensed that she cared for him. And the fear of hurting her pierced his thoughts. That’s perhaps what he feared the most. Yet what had he done this evening? Her face had said it all. He was a fool. He should let her go. Let her live. Philip fought his own emotions. A little hurt now would save her from a deeper wound. He scanned the room over Jemma’s shoulder and caught Ian’s eye.

With an understanding nod, Ian moved across the floor and tapped Philip’s shoulder. “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all,” he said, fabricating his response and his gracious smile.

Jemma’s expression knifed his heart. He’d insulted her by giving her away so easily. More thoughtlessness.

Philip’s hands trembled as he shoved them in his pockets and hurried across the room to the French doors that opened to the balcony. His date wouldn’t miss him. He stepped through the opening, dragging air into his burning lungs.

When he looked up, he realized he wasn’t alone. A few couples were bracing their backs against the wall or leaning against the balustrade. In the dim light, he eyed his wristwatch and realized the time. They were waiting for the fireworks display from the waterfront grandstands—a magnificent sight from his apartment.

Remembering his etiquette, he stepped back through the door and invited the others to join him outside. His guests followed his lead and drifted onto the terrace or stopped in the doorway. Philip waited as his date headed toward him, then he guided her to the railing with a vague excuse for his absence.

Unable to concentrate, Philip gripped the balustrade until Ian’s voice sounded behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Jemma, buried in the crowd, too short to view the display. Philip shifted sideways to make room, and Ian encouraged Jemma forward. Her perfume rose on the air and wrapped around Philip’s heart.

Silent, she stood with her hands clasped to the handrail until the first colorful shower lit the sky. She gasped, and he saw her face light as brilliantly as the heavens.

One after another, the colors burst into the darkness, spiraling hissing tendrils and dazzling strands blossoming into shapes like red and orange chrysanthemums. Sprays of gold dust sprinkled from the sky.

Philip’s guests fluttered with pleasure, and his date captured his arm, murmuring her delight. But Philip’s hearing and sight were mesmerized by the petite woman in front of him.

With a quick apology, Philip edged away from his date and left the balcony. Inside the room, away from his guests and alone with his thoughts, he knew he needed to make a prayerful decision. Either stay away from Jemma or admit he loved her. He’d never known such deep longing as that which lured him to her side. Yet, a soft unwanted voice urged him to resist her charm…for her sake.

Jemma tucked her notes inside her case and leaned back in Ian’s luxury car. They’d been involved in Philip’s research for nearly two weeks. How many more resorts would they visit? How many brochures and pamphlets would they scour for tidbits of information? But she had one more idea of her own.

Turning to share her thought with Ian, she stopped herself. No, not Ian. She wanted to talk it over with Philip. He’d avoided her since the fireworks—since
even before then. For a while the situation had roused her jealousy. She’d thought negative things, but then, she’d thought again. Even though he’d been with another woman, Jemma believed in her heart that he’d wished he were with her.

Each day her mind drifted back to the music and to Philip’s arms around her, his gentle touch against her back, the shiver of yearning in his eyes. He was fighting his feelings. She sensed it. Was it her lack of education and money? Whatever it was, his absence pressed against her mind and dampened her spirit. She could handle it no longer.

“Let’s stop for a drink and toss around some ideas,” Ian suggested.

Jemma grasped for an excuse—even a lame one. “It’s been a long day. Aren’t you tired?”

“Not really. Are you? Coffee will give you a little oomph.” He flashed her a friendly smile. “Work and no play isn’t good. And you work too hard…for what?”

“The same reason as you, Ian,” she said, wanting to shift the focus of the conversation. “You should be out enjoying yourself instead of working so many hours.”

He chuckled. “I am trying to enjoy myself…if you’d let me.”

Surprised at his bluntness, she looked at him and noticed a flush of discomfort. Her guilt got the better of her. “Sure, that would be nice. I’d like some coffee.”

He pushed up his glasses and gave her a grateful smile.

Jemma had seen it coming—Philip pushing her and Ian together, concocting team projects like this. Did he actually believe that he could dupe her into falling in love with his assistant? If so, Philip Somerville had another think coming.

She was positive Ian had no idea what Philip had contrived. Though he was a good-looking man, Ian seemed somewhat of a loner. Not a recluse, but a man on the fringe of things. A thinker. A planner. Reading a book or browsing the Internet seemed more Ian’s style.

Jemma had watched him in action these past weeks. He hovered in the background, keeping a low profile. When they’d visited the other resorts, she’d been the one to step forward to interview the desk managers and rooms supervisors. Ian took notes and remained the quiet spectator.

Now she feared Ian had deluded himself into thinking she might be interested in him—or that he was interested in her. Poor Ian didn’t know his own mind.

A despicable idea drifted into her mind. A shameful plan that might teach Philip a lesson. She wondered what God would think of her now? Since Philip had manipulated this pitiful attempt at a romance between her and Ian, what would he do if he thought his plan had been successful?

Jemma was desperate, but she needed to think. Misleading Ian wasn’t what she wanted to do, but maybe…just maybe she could find a way to force Philip to realize how much she meant to him.

M
ottled August sunlight flashed through the window as Ian drove along the tree-lined highway. On the outskirts of Spring Lake, Ian pulled into a restaurant parking lot. Exiting, he came around to open Jemma’s door. She followed him inside, dragging along her notes since he’d suggested they talk.

The menu listed the typical small-diner fare, but the desserts caught her fancy. One day she’d find herself too big for her sheath dresses and then she’d be in trouble, but until then, Jemma loved a good piece of cream pie.

“Coconut cream,” she said to the waitress, and Ian ordered chocolate cake. The woman returned in a moment with two steaming coffees.

They sipped their drinks and chatted until the desserts appeared, then concentrated on eating.

Finally Jemma pushed away her empty plate and
pulled out her notes. “Do you want to go over this now?”

Ian looked surprised and fingered the edge of his eyeglass frames before answering. “I forgot my notes, but go ahead. What are you thinking?”

She rattled off her likes and dislikes. Eventually, they both agreed that nothing had crossed their paths but twists on what they’d already implemented.

“I’m not sure what Philip is looking for,” Ian admitted. “The only thing he told me was that the resort has to keep growing.”

“Why?”

His head jerked upward. “I don’t know.”

“I think the business is good. More clientele than we can handle most of the time,” Jemma said. “You’d think Philip would want to enjoy a quiet winter. He could rev up for the busy summer.”

“You’d think,” Ian agreed.

“Does Philip travel?”

“Sails once in a while.”

“That’s not traveling,” she said. “I meant to Europe or somewhere exotic.”

Ian shook his head. “Philip sticks close to home.”

“He should take a cruise to an exotic island. Run along a quiet stretch of sand, drink in the sun, get a tan.” Her heart skipped as she envisioned Philip lolling on the beach beneath a stand of palm trees. She pictured herself cradled in a net hammock, swaying in a tropical breeze.

“A cruise would be nice,” Ian said.

His comment jerked her from the enchanting fantasy, and he gave her a puzzled look.

Embarrassed at being so distracted, she apologized. “I was daydreaming.”

“I figured,” he said.

“Has Philip dated much?” The words were out before she could stop herself. She peered at Ian’s knowing face. She was being too obvious.

“You mean, since Susan died?”

“Naturally,” Jemma said, then immediately felt sorry for her brusque tone. “I doubt that he dated before that.”

“Right.” He sent her a foolish grin. “Not…until the last party. He was devoted to…well, he was always at the resort.”

Ian’s words sent a ripple of concern through Jemma. What had caused Philip to ask a woman to the party? Had Jemma sent him a message that she was chasing him? Was the woman his self-defense? She hoped that wasn’t it.

She realized Philip was tied to the resort. He’d told her himself that he was married to his work. But Jemma didn’t think he was anymore. His work ethic had become a habit, and she didn’t believe that he loved it as he once had.

Jemma sensed a hunger in Philip, an emptiness that she wasn’t sure he understood—but she saw it. He wanted more from life. And Jemma wanted to be the one to give it to him.

Philip looked toward the doorway. Where was Jemma? She was always on time. He turned back to Ian. “So how are things going with you and Jemma?”

Ian shifted in his chair, then pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I suppose. We’re not learning much that we didn’t already know.”

“Really?” Philip said, realizing his question had missed the mark. He rose and came around the desk, deciding to get to the point. “How have you two gotten along?”

Ian jammed on his glasses, his answer slow in coming. “Okay. Although, she spends the whole time talking about—”

“Can I come in?”

Both sets of eyes turned to the doorway. Jemma stood in the threshold, one hand holding her notes and the other clasped around the doorknob.

“Sure. We’ve been waiting for you.” Philip gestured to the empty spot as he walked behind his desk. “Have a seat.”

Jemma gave Ian a warm smile and eased into the chair.

Philip watched as she smoothed her skirt, adjusted the hem and crossed her slender legs.

“Well, now,” he said, guilt rising up his neck as if he were a voyeur. “I suppose we can begin.” He dropped into his chair.

Ian flipped through his notes, appearing to avoid
direct eye contact. Finally, he settled on a page and looked up. “Oh, are you waiting for me?”

“Either one of you,” Philip said, feeling like a reveler who’d arrived too late for the parade. Since Jemma had entered the room, Philip had felt a strange uneasiness, and wondered why.

Ian didn’t responded, so Philip turned to Jemma. “What did you think? Anything unique we might want to consider?”

“Not really. Ian and I’ve spent a lot of time together—” she sent Ian a sweet smile “—and both of us agree that Bay Breeze is tops.”

“Really?” Philip didn’t like the smile; nor did he like the goofy expression Ian had on his face. “You both agree, then?”

Ian nodded. “Jemma said it all. We reviewed our notes the other night and—”

“The other night?” To Philip’s dismay, he had verbalized his thoughts. “You mean here?”

Ian fidgeted. “No, well, uh, we were—”

“If you’re asking where we talked,” Jemma said, “I think
that
evening we ate at a little café on Spring Lake. Isn’t that where we were, Ian?”

“Right,” he said, fidgeting with his glasses frame.

“A café?”

“If you’re concerned about overtime, Philip, it was after work,” Jemma said.

Philip shot from his chair, cringing at his ridiculous jealousy. “No, no. I was only thinking…that
I’ve worked both of you far too hard on this project.” The lie rolled off his tongue.

“No problem,” Ian said, “it’s been fun.”

“Yes, but…we’ve done enough researching, I think. You both seem to agree that we—” Philip faltered, realizing he’d been pacing in front of his desk. Where was his mind? Instead of fretting, he should be pleased that they’d fallen so easily for his plan.

Jemma lowered her head, attempting to hide a grin. A scowl distorted Philip’s good looks, and watching him pace like a distraught lawyer filled her with delight…along with a smidgeon of guilt. Still, he deserved every minute of it.

Ian had jumped into the conversation, piling on details without any knowledge of Jemma’s strategy. She couldn’t have rehearsed him better.

Philip clamped his hands behind his back, and Jemma noticed a tic in his clamped jaw. “I suppose we’re finished…if you have nothing new to add.”

“It was a waste of time, really,” Jemma said.

Seeming on edge, Ian rose. “If that’s it, I’ll get back.” He strode toward the door, then paused and focused on Jemma. “Are you coming?”

“You go ahead, Ian.”

He hesitated a moment, then turned and left the office.

Jemma rose, feeling awkward and miserable. Her emotions, she was sure, had emblazoned themselves on her face. But when she gathered the courage to
look at Philip, he didn’t seem to have noticed her discomfort.

“I’m glad…I mean, it’s nice that you and Ian are, uh, becoming such…good friends,” Philip said, his hands jammed in his pants pockets. “You need to have fun, Jemma.”

“I manage,” she said, wanting to fall on her knees and confess her terrible lie.

“How’s Claire?” He pulled his hands from his pockets and folded them in front of him.

“She seems fine. She mentioned calling you one of these days.” Jemma prayed Claire wouldn’t forget.

“I’ve meant to call her.”

“Now that I’m in the flat, I don’t see her that often myself. Last Sunday we went to church together.”

“Church…that’s a place I haven’t been in a long time. I joined United a long time ago, but it’s difficult to escape this place on Sunday mornings.”

Jemma studied his face, wondering if it was only an excuse or if Philip really meant what he said. Lyle had so often handed people a line. He had sounded like a deacon, but Jemma had realized finally that Lyle didn’t know the Lord at all. With Philip, time would tell, and in the meantime, she’d pray.

Tension seemed to slip away from Philip’s shoulders, and he motioned for her to sit again. He moved to her side and sank into the chair Ian had occupied, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands
again. “I’m sorry that I sent you and Ian out on a wild-goose chase. I suppose it was silly.”

“It’s not a problem. I enjoyed seeing some of the other resorts, and I meant what I said. Bay Breeze is tops. We have nice rooms, great views, a sandy beach, and so many other activities. You hardly need to worry about all the other amenities I suggested.”

“It sounds nice to hear you say ‘we.’ You’ve added some interesting features, but I feel I’m wasting your time here.”

She grinned. “Where else would I be? At Claire’s boutique?”

“At Jemma’s boutique.” He reached over and cupped her hand in his. “That’s what you deserve.”

“You’re not going to offer to buy me a boutique, are you?” She arched an eyebrow to make a point.

“No. I’m a slow learner, but I’m not stupid.”

Jemma chuckled. “By the way, I do have another idea. One I thought of before the ‘goose chases.”’

“You do? You amaze me.”

His tender smile stirred Jemma’s heart. Rather than letting her emotions get carried away, she forced herself to be lighthearted. “I bet you’re happy that other guy left.”

“Other guy?” He looked at her curiously.

“The person who had my job before me. Did you forget?”

He lowered his eyes, and something niggled. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. What’s your new idea?”

She laughed at the enthusiasm in his voice and hurried to tell him about her good-morning basket idea—but she didn’t want his approval as her employer.

She wanted Philip…to have and to hold.

Philip pressed the telephone to his ear, filled with disappointment. “I’m sorry, Claire, I’m sure the concert will be nice, but I really can’t join you.”

“Oh,” Claire said, her disappointment evident in her tone, “I’d hoped you could. I don’t see much of you.”

With her comment, she’d tugged on his guilt. “This time of year is terribly busy…and if you hadn’t been under the weather, I would have seen you at my Fourth of July party.”

“I know,” Claire said, “but that was mainly business, anyway.”

He chuckled, hearing how right she was. “Yes, good public relations, Claire. You know about that.”

“Maybe you could come by next week for cake. It’s Jemma’s birthday.”

Jemma’s birthday.
Philip absorbed the information.

“Like she put it last Sunday,” Claire continued, “when I asked her why she was moping around. ‘In two weeks, I’ll be thirty-three going on thirteen.’ She believes everyone thinks of her as a child.”

Her sentence jabbed Philip’s consciousness. Hadn’t he let Jemma know that he’d been wrong?
Didn’t she realize in his eyes she was a desirable woman? A woman too tempting for her own good…for
his
own good.

Philip’s chest tightened. Only thirty-three. The difference in their ages struck him again. Seventeen years. An impossible time span. But knowing it was Jemma’s birthday, he was led to do something. “What’s the date?”

“Date?” Claire’s puzzled voice met his ear.

“Her birthday? Shouldn’t we do something special?”

“Oh, it’s August tenth. This Friday.” A pause filled the line, then Claire spoke. “I suppose I ought to do something more than cake.”

“I said
us,
Claire. Have you ever been out on a boat? How about a day sailing?”

“Me? On a boat? I can’t imagine it, Philip. I’d be seasick, I’m sure.”

“Oh,” he said, hoping his disappointment wasn’t too obvious.

“But don’t let me stop you. Why don’t the two of you go alone. Jemma would love it.”

The picture sent Philip’s heart on a gallop. Alone with Jemma on the boat for the entire evening…he couldn’t trust himself. Not anymore.

“Let me give it some thought, Claire. Maybe we could combine a sail with dinner later and you could join us.”

“Now that sounds like something I could handle,” she said.

After promising to call her back when he’d made arrangements, Philip hung up the telephone. His mind snapped with ideas and concerns. If he took Jemma out on the boat and arranged for someone to bring Claire to dinner, who could he trust? Who wouldn’t make too much out of his relationship with Jemma?

There was only one possible person.

Concerned, Jemma stood outside Philip’s office door. He’d sent for her, and now she wondered if he’d changed his mind since their last conversation. She hadn’t implemented her newest idea yet; she was still waiting for the baskets. But once they were in, she’d have a basket outside every room in the morning filled with doughnuts or sweet rolls, the morning newspaper, and juice. No other resort treated their guests as well.

In the outer office, Philip’s secretary waved her through. But at Philip’s door, she tapped first and waited to be admitted. Around him, her confidence always seemed to fade.

When she heard Philip respond, she pushed open the door.

“Jemma,” he said, rising.

He gestured toward a chair across from his desk. She crossed the oriental carpet and sat.

“How are the morning baskets going?” he asked, settling into his desk chair.

“I ordered them.” She eyed him, wondering if he
would give her a warning before putting the ax to her latest idea. “I can’t do anything until they’re in.”

“Right. It shouldn’t be long, then.” He settled into his desk chair and smiled at her. “Every time I look at those logo mugs, I’m amazed. I’m not sure why we didn’t think of something like that earlier. And what’s a resort without fresh flowers in every room?”

“The bouquets are lasting at least three days. That’s what the florist guaranteed. I’ve asked the housekeepers to pluck out the dead blossoms and—”