“Oh. I thought maybe it meant oil that had been aging on the shelf for a long time. Like some poor spinster who has never had a lover.”
Verity could not halt the fierce rush of blood into her cheeks. He was just making a crude joke. He could not possibly be aware of her sexual status.
“That’s a typically chauvinistic remark. I hate to break this to your male ego, but there are worse things in life than never having had a lover,” she declared rashly.
Jonas’s mouth curved faintly at the corner. “Such as?”
“Such as discovering you just hired someone who doesn’t know the first thing about something as basic to a good kitchen as olive oil!”
“Don’t worry, boss. I’m a fast learner.”
Chapter Two
Life in the gourmet vegetarian lane wasn’t half bad, Jonas decided on Sunday night as he finished off the last of the dishes and prepared to help Verity close the restaurant. He’d worked in worse places. The clientele at the No Bull Cafe was trendy but harmless. They tended to be clean, chic, well behaved, and definitely upwardly mobile. And they tipped well. A man could do worse.
On several occasions in his life, Jonas reflected, he had done worse. Much worse.
The crowd had been light that evening, but Verity ran out of broccoli bisque around nine nonetheless, and that had caused her to fret somewhat. Jonas had experienced an almost overpowering compulsion to cuddle her a bit and kiss the tip of her lightly freckled nose and tell her not to worry about the miscalculation on the soup. He had resisted the temptation. He was no fool.
Kissing the boss would no doubt be a good way to get himself flayed alive. The lady had a cutting edge on her tongue that made the knife in his duffel bag appear dull in comparison. Verity had a temper and she had no compunction about delivering an admonishing scold when she felt it was required. There was, in fact, Jonas had decided after due consideration, a side to Verity’s nature that brought the word shrew vividly to mind.
It was not a scolding Jonas wanted to elicit from her. What he wanted was to be allowed to overdose on her smile. Verity had a smile that dazzled the senses. He was fascinated by it; captivated by it. When it appeared—brilliant, warm, sensual, and genuine—he found himself staring at her in bemused wonder. There was a sweet, feminine honesty in that smile that drew a man the way honey drew bees. A man could be excused for thinking he was the most important male in the universe when Verity smiled at him. That smile drew Jonas more compellingly than even the dangerous secrets of his past.
That smile declared Verity to be a woman who would give herself to a man completely. At the same time, it proclaimed her to be a woman a man could trust with his life, his passion, and his honor. Verity’s smile was a temptation to believe that chastity could walk hand in hand with an earthy sensuality. It was a smile of indescribable innocence and a haunting vow of total surrender. That smile promised everything and furthermore promised to deliver it with such innocent, passionate generosity that a man could not be blamed if he committed a few small murders to possess the owner of that smile.
But that smile left Jonas wondering why there weren’t men standing ten deep around the No Bull Cafe begging for the chance to commit murder. It was hard to believe that every available male in the vicinity was so afraid of the shrew that they had given up trying to possess the sensual angel. But that appeared to be the case. Jonas didn’t understand it; after all, what were a few thorns when you were hunting a real treasure? But he was grateful he didn’t have to worry about a lot of competition.
Jonas figured the reason he had the field to himself probably involved more than Verity’s shrewish tongue. It was probably that part of her basic nature that hinted at a certain fastidiousness. A man sensed instinctively that this was a woman who would never be promiscuous. In the short time he had been working for Verity, Jonas had clearly noticed that she had a remarkably prim and proper and unadventurous lifestyle. What was more, she seemed quite content with that lifestyle.
The weekend rush was over and Jonas felt he had acquitted himself well. At least his lady boss was not complaining too loudly.
He knew enough about her by now to realize that she certainly would complain if he didn’t fulfill his duties to her satisfaction. She ran the little kitchen like the redheaded tyrant she was and she did not tolerate any laxity in cleanliness.
“The last thing I need is to have some of my customers get sick because the kitchen help failed to properly reheat the soup,” she had told Jonas as she instructed him in soup preparation. “Everything has to be either chilled or hot. I don’t want to see any food left sitting around at room temperature, and neither do the health authorities. They have a habit of paying unannounced visits, you know.”
“We didn’t worry too much about the health authorities down in Mexico,” Jonas had remarked as he obediently stirred the soup.
“I’ll bet you didn’t worry about them in most of the places you’ve worked.”
“True. A reasonable bribe usually took care of awkward health regulations.”
“Things are different here,” Verity had explained loftily.
“I’m learning.”
And he was, Jonas thought on Sunday evening as he watched Verity walk up the path to her small cabin in the trees. No doubt about it. He was learning a lot about Ms. Verity Ames, skilled chef, small-time tyrant, and savvy businesswoman.
One of the things Jonas had learned was that he wanted her. Badly. He had sensed it first down in Mexico, but ever since he had arrived on her doorstep Friday afternoon, the need had been growing within him. He had told himself at first that it had nothing to do with sex. The need within him was all tied up with the mystery of the earring and the strange compulsion that had made him fellow Verity out of Mexico.
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.