For The Love Of You

“He’s my father! What choice did I have?”

“Taking care of your father is one thing—not living your own life is quite another.” She pushed up from her spot and looked down at Jewel. “It’s your decision. Make sure you come to it for the right reason. Your father is going to go through what he will go through whether you let them film here or not.” She patted Jewel’s stiff shoulder and walked back inside the house.

Jewel glanced at the confident face of Craig Lawson staring up at her from the newspaper, almost as if he was challenging her. Was Minerva right? Was it her father that she was trying to protect—or herself from the soul-stirring attraction she felt for Craig Lawson?

* * *

While his team scrambled to get the project back on track and into his good graces, Craig headed out. He was unaccustomed to not getting what he wanted when he wanted it. He never allowed anything or anyone to stop him cold—Jewel Fontaine would not become the exception. Everyone had a price, something that could be bargained for. All he needed to do was find out what Jewel’s something was. He fastened his seat belt, put the Suburban in gear and pulled out of the hotel garage.

As he cruised along the streets of New Orleans, the landscape of his youth unfolded in front of him. A great deal had changed since he was last here. Signs of gentrification were evident everywhere that he looked, from the small neighborhood shops that had transformed into internet cafés and outdoor eateries to the once debilitated homes that were in the throes of restoration. He was sure it was great for business—but whose business, and where did the people that once owned and lived here go? That was the story that he wanted to tell, the real history of his home and the people who made it.

His dashboard lit with an incoming call. He pressed the phone icon, and Anthony’s voice came through the speakers.

“Yeah, Tony, what’s up?”

“Where did you go off to?”

“I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

“Paul and Diane are out scouting the alternate locations. I should have some news this afternoon.”

“All right. Stay on it. I’ll be back to the hotel in a couple of hours.”

“You’re going to see Ms. Fontaine, aren’t you?”

Craig bit back a smile. He never could hide much from Anthony. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Why are you so dead set on this place? I know it fits the specs, but there are plenty of places to choose from without having to twist the owner’s arm to do it. So I know there has to be another reason.”

“I don’t like being told no. Reason enough?”

“If you say so. Just know that I know you, and I know better. Good luck.”

He snorted a laugh. “’Preciate it.” He disconnected the call.

Anthony was right. It wasn’t as cut-and-dried as being told no, even though that was a big part of it. If he would allow himself a moment of honesty, he would admit that the real reason was that he wanted to see her again. See if on the morning after, she still managed to seep into his pores and flow through his veins. Best way to do that was face-to-face. He took a quick glance at the folder on the passenger seat. The documents inside, once signed, would give him access to the mansion and Jewel Fontaine for the next two months. He had no plans to return to the hotel empty-handed again.

The ride over to the Garden District, where Jewel lived, was about a twenty-minute ride from the center of town. Her home was on the edge of the district, set back and away from the street in a cul-de-sac that separated it from view of other homes in the area, which was ideal for the project.

He made his approach to the Garden District. This historic location was home to the some of the most iconic mansions in the state, all of which had been plantations during slavery. Anne Rice, of vampire fame, had a house there, along with the likes of football giant Peyton Manning, who grew up in the district.

Craig turned onto Prytania Street, which was lined with homes in the Gothic style. He reached the end of the lane and turned down the winding path that led to the Fontaine home. An unexpected knot of anxiety suddenly twisted in his gut when the mansion came into view. Or was it anticipation?

He took the path slowly and came to a stop at the top of the line of trees that umbrellaed the grounds. He turned off the ignition. For a few moments, he sat in the car, staring at the old-world majesty of the home and imagining the rich history that slept behind the walls and wafted among the rafters. What did the beautiful and difficult Jewel Fontaine add to that picture?

Craig snatched the folder from the passenger seat, got out and strode purposefully toward the sweeping entrance. Just as he put his booted foot on the first step of the landing, the double front door opened.

Jewel stood framed in the doorway, a mixture of past grandeur and present-day class.

Craig didn’t realize that he’d actually frozen midstep until she spoke his name.

“Mr. Lawson. I wasn’t expecting you.”

He couldn’t tell from her even tone if her words were a reprimand or ones of pleasant surprise. He climbed the three steps until he was inches in front of her. Something soft and inviting spun around her in the morning breeze—her scent combined with the aroma of fresh baking that drifted to him from the interior of the house.

Craig cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of what he wanted to say. “Um, good morning, Ms. Fontaine. I apologize for not calling.”

She didn’t budge, a sentinel protecting her domain.

“What can I do for you? I thought we concluded our business yesterday.”

“I was hoping that we could talk.”

“About?”

He ran his tongue lightly across his dry lips. “The house.”

Her lids lowered ever so slightly over her deep brown eyes, then she looked directly at him. She tipped her head slightly to the side. Her right brow rose. “Have you had breakfast?”

For a moment he was thrown. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “Actually, no. I haven’t.”

She drew in a short breath, opened the door farther and stepped to the side. “Come in.”

Craig walked past her. Her scent clouded his thoughts.

Jewel shut the door. “This way.” She led him through the large foyer that was appointed with an antique hall table upon which sat an oversize glass vase filled with lilies. On the walls hung several oil paintings that he recognized as her work. The highly polished wood-plank floors gleamed with their reflections and echoed their footsteps. She made a short right turn, and the space opened onto a kitchen that rivaled any master chef’s.

Every size pot and pan hung from black iron ceiling hooks over a polished-cement island counter that boasted a sink and a six-burner stove with cabinetry beneath. The far end of the island was for seating. The double oven and restaurant-size stainless steel refrigerator were in sharp contrast to the perfectly restored potbellied stove that sat like a Buddha at the far end of the kitchen.

“Coffee or tea?”

Craig blinked. “Coffee. Please.”

“Have a seat.” She went to the overhead cabinets and took out a bag of imported Turkish coffee and prepared it. Within moments the scent of fresh-brewed coffee mixed with the tempting aroma of the blueberry muffins that sat in a cloth-lined basket, waiting to be devoured. She took out a plate and retrieved jam and whipped apple butter from the fridge and placed them both on the table.

“You have an incredible home.”

“Thank you.” She poured his coffee and brought it to the table. “Cream, milk, sugar?”

“I take it black. Thanks.”

Jewel took a seat opposite him. “Help yourself to a muffin if you want. They’re fresh.”

His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t make these?”

“Actually, I did.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “A woman of many talents.” He reached for a muffin and put it on his plate. “I noticed your artwork out there. Stunning.” He cut the muffin in half and slathered it with apple butter. He glanced up when she didn’t comment. He took a thoughtful bite and experienced heaven. His eyes closed in appreciation. “Wow, this is incredible.” That brought a smile to those luscious lips of hers.