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Posted: 01 Aug 2011 04:42 AM PDT

Chapter Ten

As soon as Jonathan left for his office, M left the sanctuary of her room. With a pad of paper and a pencil in hand, she headed out back to the poolside.

Time to get serious and put some thought into the meal she'd cater for Jonathan and his colleagues. Kicking off her flip flops—cheap rubber with big, gaudy flowers—she curled into a chair.

She needed to take a moment and let the sound of the water, from both the pool pump and the nearby fountain, ease her twisted thoughts. Where did she stand with Jonathan Davenport? Last week he'd kissed her like a lover—albeit an angry one—but a lover all the same. Then today; one moment he's calling her a friend and a little while later he's looking angry and talking about Summer and his father's other wives. Did he lump her in with the money hungry women he obviously considered beneath him? He couldn't. Not if he thought of her as a friend. He'd never once looked at her with, or treated her with, contempt. And for all his talk of social circles, she'd never tag him as a snob. Of course, what examples of his treatment of others did she have? Well, there was Estelle. He treated her with love, compassion, and tenderness. And she was his housekeeper. Granted, he'd known her for most of his life, but still, she was his employee.

M thought back over the last few weeks. She'd arrived at his door looking like a bum, and he'd offered her refuge. He'd offered his business services—free. He'd helped her to reaffirm her abilities and restored her faith in herself. He was giving her a chance to cater a meal. And so many times, in so many ways, he'd proved to her that he wasn't the life sized ice sculpture she'd first thought he was. No, for all that Jonathan wanted to trick the world—and himself—into believing he was emotionless, he disproved it time and again.

And even if she took all of those things out of the equation she'd still love him, just for the way he looked after his sister. He never treated her like a responsibility he'd rather pawn off. He'd taken over the role of father and applied himself to it one hundred percent.

Would he focus that kind of energy on a wife?

M shook her head, the long pigtail spilling from her crown slapping her as she did so. She didn't have time for fairy tales. Jonathan Davenport was the king of the castle and she was nothing more than the dirty rascal. Did she really want to set herself up for another fall? She'd walked—all right, she'd run—away from Stephen and decided that hermetically sealing off her heart was the safest route to go.

The sound of her pencil scratching across paper suddenly invaded her consciousness. Unbelievable. She'd been sitting here, her mind in the clouds, writing JD and MMM and encircling the initials with hearts. What was she? Twelve?

She ripped the page off, crumpled it in a ball and shoved it in the pocket of her denim cut-offs. But hiding the proof of her thoughts didn't change them. On some level, she knew that Jonathan was different from Stephen. And she knew that however hard he might be fighting it, this attraction was not one-sided. And if there was any chance of something happening between the two of them, she'd gladly put up her heart as collateral. She'd put aside her belief that being alone for the rest of her life was the best—the safest—thing for her.

Later that night, after exhaustion overtook Alicia, and she wound down after the excitement of her day enough to sleep, M knocked on the door of Jonathan's office.

After hearing a distracted sounding "Come in," she opened the door a bit and poked her head around it.

Jonathan stood at a drafting table that hadn't been there the last time she was in this room. He had a set of drawings spread out before him.

"Is this a bad time?"

He turned he head slightly toward her, and she caught sight of the pencil he had gripped between his teeth. He shook his head, and motioned her in.

My moved up behind him and peeked around his arm to see what he was working on. Wow. It was the house she'd seen before.

"That's beautiful. Who are you designing it for?"

He shoulders tensed slightly, and she heard him sigh. He took the pencil out of his mouth and set it down. "No one. It's just something I play around with occasionally."

She caught a wistful tone in his voice and wondered at it. "Oh? You're very good. You like to design things?"

He pointed her toward the couch at one end of his office, then sat at the other end of it once she'd seated herself.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just frowned, cupped the back of his neck with a palm, and gazed at a point over her shoulder. Finally, he sighed and looked directly into her eyes. "When I was young…when I was young I wanted to be an architect. I didn't want to just design houses; I wanted to design something significant, something revolutionary."

He shook his head and let loose a mocking little laugh. Then didn't say anything else.

M couldn't let it go. "What happened? I don't know anything about architecture, but from what I just saw, you know what you're doing. How did you end up as an accountant?"

"I grew up."

After curling her legs up under herself, she cocked her head and bent slightly toward him. "I don't understand. How did growing up make you leap from architecture to accounting?"

He flopped back, resting his neck on the back of the couch and staring at the ceiling. His hands fisted for a moment before he laced his fingers together on his stomach.

M remained silent, waiting him out.

Finally, he spoke. "My dad was an artist. Did you know that?"

What did that have to do with anything? "Ah, no. Was he famous?" Not that that would mean anything to her. She hadn't exactly had any education in the arts.

Jonathan shook his head. "No. Not famous. He mostly dabbled, but he was quite good. Several of the paintings throughout the house are his. He did the seascape in your room. And the portrait of my mother in the formal dining room."

M turned around so she faced him completely, then pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her shins. "Really? Wow. They're beautiful. But, um, what does that have to do with anything? Was he the one that didn't want you to become an architect?"

"No. He was actually happy that I'd inherited some of his talent. I loved to draw as a kid…" He turned and grinned at her. "And I don't just mean the crayon on newsprint kind of drawing, although I guess it all started there. Give me some charcoal and I could draw free-hand for hours. Anyway, one thing led to another. By the time I was a teenager I'd decided I was going to get my degree in architecture."

He did a little squirming and fell silent.

"Soooo….what changed your mind?" M prompted.

A shrug, a compression of his lips, and then, "My mother died. My parents were perfect for each other. They loved each other. And…well, I told you earlier. He just went a little nuts after she died. You have to understand, my father was a…" He grimaced. "…sensitive kind of guy. Emotional. You can see it expressed in his art. Anyway, I don't know what happened, it's like his brain shut down one day and his heart took over. That was okay when it was him and my mom. It wasn't okay with the rest of them."

He still hadn't given her a direct answer, but reading between the lines, M was able to draw her own conclusions.

Installment 33 Coming Soon!

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