A Calculated Romance (13 page)

"Whatever you say, Kumquat," he said with a smirk.  "One for the money, two for the show, three—"

Ireland threw both arms around his neck and clung for dear life.  She could only think of the humongous waves crashing fifty yards out, not their two-foot remnants swirling around Jim's legs close to shore.  He more than enjoyed the way she plastered her torso against his bare chest.  Her high-pitched screams caused the bones in his ear to vibrate, but it was worth it.  He dropped to his knees, allowing the water to rush over her while still maintaining his tight grip.  She screamed even louder, digging her fingers into his back and almost throttling him with her arms.

"All right," he said, rising.  "No need to get hysterical."

As he trudged back through the surf, she brought up sharks, large waves, and riptides.

"I could have done without that last hurrah, James," she said, perturbed, when he finally lowered her to the sand beside their blanket.  "Plus, I'm freezing," she added.

She found her feet quickly and gave him a penetrating stare.  His eyes danced as she made note of their deep blue color.  So, he enjoyed pranks.  Before she could think up a way to get back at him, he pulled her into an embrace.  She tried to break free, but his strong arms kept her pinned against his chest.  He rested his chin on the top of her head, further restricting her movements.  A brief panic overtook the girl, and she inhaled deep draws of oxygen, trying to calm down.  James held her, not Rick, she told herself—James with laughing, azure irises, not the dark brown, brooding eyes of her former beau.

"Time for your secret," he growled in a low tone and loosened his hold.

She pulled away and said, without missing a beat, "I've always wanted a brother."

Ireland watched as James began packing up the beach gear.  She'd seen a strange look flash across his face before he turned and yanked at the corner of the blanket, folding it into a jumble.  Then, he jerked his cooler from the sand and trudged towards the car.

"Time to get you home," he rumbled over his shoulder without looking at her.

Jim stewed all the way to her apartment.  He regretted agreeing to attend church with her the next day.  A brother she did
not
need.  Her words had stung.  He jerked his car to the curb and stomped the brakes, eager to be rid of the girl.  He didn't bother getting out to open her door or see her in.

Instead, he said, "I've got bachelor pad, a regular love nest, in the local mountains," glaring in her direction.

His words hung in the air for several moments.  Ireland, unsure of his meaning, fixed her eyes on his, trying to get a read on the man. 

"Is that your secret?" she asked, finally.

James felt relief.  He had begun to whither under her silent, intense gaze.

"Yes," he snarled.

Ireland smiled and opened the car door, breathing in the cool afternoon air.  Her fears allayed, she sauntered to her apartment.  His surreptitious lair might be sleazy, but at least his declaration was not a proposition, as she'd first thought.

Chapter 11
-Hellfire and Brimstone-

Great
.

Jim adjusted his position.  Was it hot in here?  Instead of preaching a sermon on love, the minister roared about sin and repentance.  The man's piercing dark eyes flitted around the congregation, but they seemed to always land on him. 

Why does he keep staring at me?

He withdrew a handkerchief from the pocket of his slacks and swiped it across his slick forehead.  Ever since his last tour of duty, he'd had the problem of his face breaking out in a sweat at odd times.  He imagined the eyes of the parishioners focusing on him.  James cast a side glance at Landi, who seemed calm, cool, and collected.  The girl smiled sweetly at the pastor.

She obviously has little to repent of.  No wonder she's enjoying this.

He began to suspect she knew about the sermon topic before inviting him. 

Now you sound paranoid
, he told himself.

"If you don't break yourself on the Rock, the Rock will break you!" Old Brown Eyes yelled at the crescendo of his message, giving the pulpit a good thump with his fist for effect.

James shifted his eyes around the congregation.  Heads nodded while a few people said
Amen
.  He appeared to be the only person agitated.

They filed from the sanctuary, the line of church goers plodding along up the main aisle.  From a distance, he could see the light at the end of the tunnel, literally—open doors on the other side of the foyer.  Jim couldn't wait to get out of the building.

"This is my friend, James Crimshaw," Ireland introduced him to the minister.

Jim hadn't seen the pastor lurking just out of view in the large entryway.  The man appeared much smaller now that he wasn't behind a pulpit.  He smiled at James with warm eyes, not the hawk-like glare he'd fixed upon him during the sermon.

Ambushed! Trapped!  Bushwhacked!

"Nice to meet you, young man.  What did you think of my message?" the older man asked in a pleasant, almost affectionate voice, offering a handshake.

It wasn’t often Jim was at a loss for words.  He cast a quick glance at Landi who kept a saccharine smile plastered in place, beaming at the minister.  She obviously admired the guy.  James stumbled and stuttered before answering, distracted by the surprisingly firm grip of the preacher.

"Very, uh,
relevant
."

"Thank you," the pastor replied, his eyes twinkling with light as he released his grasp and placed his hand on Jim's shoulder.  "I hope you'll come again," he added as the couple shuffled past him.

Fat chance.

Outside, he took a welcome gulp of fresh air before grabbing Landi's hand and leading her to the car.  He couldn't wait to put some distance between himself and that minister.

"Did you notice how hot it was in there?  I think they exceeded the fire marshal's capacity limit, for sure.  Why did your preacher keep staring at me during the sermon?" he asked in quick succession as they drove away.

He looked askance at his companion.  James guessed she'd shared information about him with the man.  Why else would he focus on him during the message?  Yesterday, her comment about wanting a brother had hurt his pride.  He'd mentioned his mountain home as a way to get back at her, show her he didn't care for her while making her jealous.  He wanted a reaction from the girl, but he got nothing.  Calling it a
love nest
and
bachelor pad
had been a stretch.  The only female guest he'd ever invited had been his sister.  Now, he suspected she'd blathered the information to her pastor and church friends.

"He did not."

"Yes, he did.  Other people in the congregation did too," he said, scowling and growing agitated with her denials.

Silence reigned in the car for a few minutes as Jim sped towards her apartment.   Landi began to snicker quietly under her breath.  He could see her shoulders bouncing up and down out of the corner of his eye as she attempted to stifle her laughs.

"What's so funny, Kumquat?"

It was bad enough she thought of him as a brother. Now, she mocked him as well.

"It's called
conviction
, James.  You felt guilty because the sermon dealt with sin, unconfessed sin in particular.  Therefore, you thought all eyes focused on you, and you felt uncomfortable."

He wanted to protest, but before he could say anything, she continued.

"That's actually a good thing.  If you felt nothing, it would mean you were beyond caring.  Is that why you kept squirming in the pew?"

He never realized he'd wriggled during the service.

"You'd squirm too if some hawk-eyed gent kept planting his beady eyes on you!"

He turned his head and allowed his gaze to rake up and down her body for effect.  His efforts were lost on her, and he had to jerk his eyes back to the road, slamming his brakes when a car cut in front of them.  The force sent Landi forwards, rocketing towards the dash board.  James threw his arm in front of her before her seat belt locked, keeping her in place.  She didn't miss a beat and continued as if the near accident never happened.

"Reverend Smith?  He's a dear, sweet man.  See, you
are
under conviction!  You'd better repent, James, of whatever you've been up to that's wrong—the sooner, the better.  I'm hungry.  How about lunch?"

Jim shook his head.  He hadn't intended to spend another unnecessary moment with this girl.  He gave her a sideways glance.  Her green eyes fixed on the road ahead, she looked striking.  His eyes darted from traffic to her profile.  He'd never seen a girl more stunning or more unaware of her own beauty.  His gaze roamed to her form.  A lavender dress, constructed of a thick, pique cotton hugged her figure yet somehow managed to remain demure.  The jewel neckline and peplum almost seemed from another era. 

"Why don't we try the Beach Grill out in Malibu?" he heard himself say.

The restaurant's open air dining area provided a stunning ocean view.  A maître d' led them to a small, round table in a corner.  The din from the large crowd meant they had to raise their voices to be heard or whisper directly into each other's ear.  James chose the latter.

"Can you suggest something?" Landi said, struggling to be heard above the noise.  "I don't have much experience with seafood," she added.

He nodded.  When the waiter returned, Jim ordered a seafood sampler that included lobster, crab, scallops, shrimp, and other delicacies, along with iced teas.  The server pouted when he discovered they would not be drinking alcohol.

"Why does he care if we don't have a cocktail?" Landi asked after the man had gone.

"Booze has a large profit margin.  The restaurant makes more money, the bill is higher, and so is the tip.  I worked as a waiter one summer in high school."

"Oh," she said, nodding.

He watched the girl's eyes scan the restaurant as if looking for someone.  Jim scooted closer to her, his leg making contact with hers.  He draped his arm over her shoulder.  Several male patrons had been staring at her, and he wanted to send a message to them, loud and clear.

"So, why do you think I need to repent?" he whispered directly in her ear.

Landi felt his breath tickle her neck as electricity coursed through her body.  Every nerve ending stood at attention when he came this close.

"That's between you and God, James.  Only He knows your heart, and honestly, I'd rather not think about your . . . your activities," she said, avoiding eye contact.

"You mean proclivities," he said, wagging his brows up and down.  When she ignored his facial acrobatics, he added, "All right.  I'll reflect on it."

He noted the girl growing agitated.  She played with her napkin and rearranged the flatware.  Maybe she hadn't shared information with her pastor about his
love nest
after all.  This whole situation had gotten him off track.  He determined to wrap his assignment up as fast as possible and move on with his life.  Ireland would just have to get along without him.  She'd done okay so far, at least since she came to Los Angeles.  He withdrew his arm and put a little distance between them. 

Landi noticed frown lines taking hold at the corners of his mouth and a granite glint emanating from his clear blue eyes.  Those eyes possessed the clarity of a determined man.  She watched as his jaw set like cement and wondered what he was thinking.  He sat ramrod straight with a military bearing that gave him a strong, masculine presence.  She understood how he could easily dominate all those around him.  His sister had mentioned something about his iron will.  Whatever decisions he made now, she knew he'd stick to them.

She tried to ignore whatever mental machinations he went through and enjoyed the mammoth plate of seafood delivered to their table.  He took pleasure in watching her experience something for the first time.  James showed her how to crack the shell fish open and dunk their succulent meat in clarified butter or the other tasty sauces provided by the restaurant.  By the time they'd polished off their meal, a few tiny bits of crab clung to his blazer.  While paper bibs protected most of their clothing, the hammer and metal grips provided by the place did manage to fling a few chunks of meat onto the diners.  Ireland laughed as she tidied him up with her napkin.

He tried to brush her hand aside, but she wouldn't allow it.

"You did all the work, cracking the crab and lobster open.  The least I can do is clean you up," she said, laughing.

When he dropped her off that afternoon, she'd thanked him profusely—for lunch and for attending church with her.  She confessed that she'd stayed so busy with school and work that she hadn't made many friends in LA.  She appreciated the time they spent together.

James didn't have the heart to tell her he'd be leaving town.

Chapter 12
-Alone-

Ireland arrived, anxious to spend the afternoon with James.  A note next to her computer stated that he'd been called out of town for work.  She felt the blow as she slumped onto the sofa and buried her hands in her face.

How could I allow myself to become so attached to him?

The phone ringing jolted her from her misery.  She didn't know how long she'd been sitting in the dark apartment.  She grabbed the receiver, hoping it was James.

"Hello, Jim?"

"Uh, no, Landi. It's Kiki.  Were you expecting to hear from Katrina's brother?"

The girl inhaled a deep breath, holding the air in her lungs until she felt ready to answer.

Exhaling, she said, "No, not really.  He's out of town on business.  What can I do for you, Kiki?  It's great to hear from you."

"I was wondering if you were free for lunch today?"

"Boy, am I ever!  Where do you want to meet?"

They ate at an Italian trattoria in West LA, not far from the mall on Pico.  Kiki noticed right away that Ireland seemed a bit listless.

"Is everything okay?  You're not working too hard, are you?" she asked.

"I have been working a lot and playing a lot too," she said, shifting her gaze to the floor.

"What does that mean?" Kiki asked. Suspicious, her thoughts immediately turned to James.

It didn’t take much probing from the Hawaiian to get the full story out of the girl.  She listened with a raised eyebrow as Landi recounted the time she spent with Jim, both in and out of the apartment. Ireland took care not to reveal any
secrets
or pass on the information that he had never re-enlisted.  She didn’t want to betray his confidence or hurt her new friend's feelings. 

Kiki didn't know what Katrina's brother was up to, but she had to admire the speed at which he worked.  She tried to keep an open mind regarding the man, but she had her doubts.  She felt certain Kate knew nothing of her brother operating out of her home or pursuing her assistant.

"You say he's moved on to some job elsewhere?"

"That's what his note said.  He doesn't know when he'll be back.  The thing is, Kiki, I got used to having him around.  I'm going to miss the company."

"Well, you'll just have to spend more time with me!  I'm lonely too, with Noble back at the ranch." 

Kiki smiled at the younger girl, trying to offer encouragement.  She genuinely liked Ireland and hoped their friendship would continue to grow.  She had time on her hands with her new long-distance relationship and didn't mind investing it in Landi. 

Over the next week, Landi cleaned the apartment, worked on the next blog, and continued answering messages from the fans of Violet Sparks.  People sent in photos of their jewelry and asked
Violet
to comment or identify the manufacturer or the type of stones present.  She'd spent quite a bit of time identifying someone's 1950s bracelet made by the Har Company.  She determined that its large, dark blue stones, called Dragon's Breath Glass for the red light that seemed to radiate from their centers, brought its worth to about eight hundred dollars.

Her personal email pinged each night around six with a message from James.  He always started by asking her if she'd had a good meal that day.  Then, he'd require her to share a secret.  His messages made her day.  She confessed a few things from her childhood, her dreams for the future, and her penchant for caramel.

He answered with tidbits of information about his time in Afghanistan, pranks he'd played on Katrina when they were kids that she still hadn't figured out, and how he broke out in uncontrolled cold sweats.  By the following week, he'd begun calling her each night.

At first, he phoned when she was still at his sister's apartment, but by the next week, he began contacting her later in the evening, at home.  Their conversations sometimes stretched for hours.  She told him how she spent more time with Kiki and hoped to grow their friendship, an idea that made him a tad uncomfortable.  He went on to explain how he'd been put on a long-term project with a big client.

"Where are you?" she asked one night.

"The East Coast," he lied.

"Jim, are we ever going to see each other again?"

"Maybe not."

She caught her breath and tried not to cry.  The thought of him not being a part of her life hurt.

"But we can still be friends, right?" he asked.

She remained silent for a moment, his question hanging in the air, creating a heavy atmosphere.

Eventually, she answered, "Yes."

Unaware he'd been holding his breath for her response, James exhaled.

"Good, because I'd miss our talks.  I feel I can share things with you, Landi, that I can't with anyone else."

Speaking with the girl did prove cathartic.  He missed her more than he cared to admit and wondered how he could have gotten so attached to her when he should have maintained a professional distance.  He'd gone about everything the wrong way, but even the guilt he felt each time he picked up the phone couldn't stop him from contacting her. 

"Me too," she confessed without thinking. 

"Well, I guess that's our secret for the night," he said.

Ireland continued putting together weekly blogs for Katrina from the files she'd left her.  Keeping the place clean, paying bills, and depositing checks took almost no time.  Without laundry or errands to run, she had a hard time filling an entire afternoon.  She took to putting in extra hours at the Gemology Institute, working for one of her instructors, skipping lunch and going home early.

Often, she'd stop in Santa Monica and stroll the beach before returning to her apartment.  She started allowing Sizzle inside on a regular basis, and he expressed his gratitude by depositing dead animals on her stoop most mornings.  Sometimes, she'd find a mouse, and sometimes, a large insect.  Occasionally, he left a bird, the sight of which always saddened Landi.  As the alley cat became more tame, she determined to give him a bath, put a collar on him, and take him to a veterinarian.

James laughed when she described the scene in her bathroom with Sizzle.  Before she'd managed to get him washed, he'd gone berserk, splashing suds all over the walls and ceiling and attempting to climb the shower curtain.  Trying to attach a collar to his neck that sported a small bell in order to warn birds of his presence proved even more challenging.  None too happy, the cat disappeared for a day.  He returned with a peace offering, a dead praying mantis.

They continued exchanging secrets. Landi was too naïve to realize it was an easy way for James to extract information.  Within a month, he'd learned what might take years in a normal relationship.  Her trusting nature made it easy.

One night, when he asked for her daily secret, she'd said, "I don't think anyone has ever loved me."

James knew better, and it tormented him not to set her straight.  He drew on all the self-control he could muster, fighting the urge to confess the facts to her.  He barely managed to keep his thoughts to himself, replying, "I'm sure that can't be true, Ireland."

"My parents never even tried to adopt me.  Once, in high school, I overheard them talking about it.  I don't know how they came to have me, because I wasn't their foster child either."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, James.  People get paid for caring for foster kids.  They never received any checks from child services, nor did any social worker ever visit us.  Don't you think that's strange?"

"Did you ever ask them?"

"I tried a couple of times.  When I was younger, they sent me to my room if I brought up the subject.  By the time I was in high school, they said that my parents hadn't wanted me and that I was lucky they'd agreed to take me in."

"I doubt all that's true, Ireland."

"Whatever the truth is, Hatti refuses to discuss it now, and with her heart condition, I don't dare upset her."

"Did they take good care of you?  While you were growing up, I mean?" he asked in as gentle a tone as he could muster.  The thought of Hatti and Bill saying such things to Landi made him see red.  The fact that he couldn't comfort her frustrated him to no end.

"As good as they were capable of.  I know where you're going with this.  I'm not sure their caring for me is the same as loving me.  I never felt they had my best interests at heart."

As she poured out her heart, his began to break for the girl.  He couldn't imagine anyone more loveable than Ireland, yet she felt unloved.  What a mess.

She continued, "I'm only telling you this because we aren't going to see each other again.  If I had to face you, I couldn't say such things."

"Landi, I want you to be able to share everything with me."  The words escaped his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

She didn't know what to make of the sentiment.  Was he just trying to be nice?  To be a good friend?  She went on as if she hadn't heard him and changed the subject, signing off soon thereafter.

When James called the next night, she didn't answer her phone. He continued ringing every fifteen minutes, finally giving up after one in the morning.  Landi sat at her sewing machine, stitching away on a new dress, and tried to ignore the irritating buzz.  Eventually, she curled up in bed, wrapping a pillow around her head to muffle the sound of the telephone.   She cried herself to sleep.

She slept in late the following day. 
Things always look better in the morning
, she told herself, throwing open her curtains.  It was a phrase she often repeated, although she didn’t know where it came from.  It certainly wasn't Hatti's mantra.  Outside, it looked like a gorgeous Southern California weekend was in the works.  The sun already shone and the sky appeared smog-free. 

She'd decided on a clean break with James.  That's why she didn't take his calls the night before.  Katrina should be back from her honeymoon soon, and things would return to normal.  Landi felt too dependent on her boss's brother, who obviously didn't return the feelings she held for him.  After nearly two months, it was time to move on and stop mooning over the man. 

She examined her handiwork from last night.  She'd wrecked the hemline of her new dress with uneven stitches that didn't even form a straight line.  She would need to start over, but after ripping the seam out, she realized she was not in the mood for sewing.  She decided a change of scenery might do the trick. 

Ireland splashed cold water on her eyes, still puffy from last night's cry.  She slipped her favorite dress over her head, one purchased from a store with her first paycheck from Katrina, dabbed on some concealer to hide the dark circles that appeared under her eyes whenever she didn't get enough sleep, and headed out for an adventure.  She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror before leaving.  She appeared gaunt.

The girl shook her head and determined to start eating more.  James had been correct about that.  Her pale, barely pink, tailored dress made her hair appear even redder than normal, her green eyes brighter, and her skin translucent.  She grabbed a hair clip from the dresser and pinned her unruly locks in a bun behind her head, lending her a professional air.  Cream pumps with a wide pink stripe across the toe and one-inch, clunky heels added to the business look of her outfit. 

A change was definitely in order, she told herself as she headed for the Heller Museum.  They had an exhibit of paintings by California artists on display.  She glanced around the foyer as she waited in a long line for a ticket.  She only spotted couples or families.  She pondered whether she'd always be alone just as someone squeezed her shoulder.

"Ireland, I didn't know you'd be here today," Barry greeted the girl.  "You look wonderful!" he exclaimed, giving her a once-over.  "Come with me," he whispered, grabbing her hand and leading her to his office.

She'd met the director of Special Exhibits several times and often spoke to him on the phone.  Sometimes, she dropped in with a proposal from Katrina or picked up something Barry wanted her boss to have.

"Have a seat while I dig out a pass for you," he said, rummaging through a drawer in his desk.

Landi sat down and smiled.  Knowing Mr. Bronson had its perks.  Plus, he was easy on the eyes and always pleasant to be around.  His accent didn't hurt either.

"I didn't realize you worked Saturdays," she said.

"Oh, I often pop in to tie up loose ends or see that everything's running smoothly.  No rest for the wicked, you know," he said with a grin and handed her a special year-long pass.

"What do you think of the California artists exhibit?" she asked, glancing down at her ticket.

"Why don't I show—"

"Oh, this is too generous, Barry," she interrupted, recognizing he'd just given her free admittance to the museum for the remainder of the year with a VIP pass.

"Twaddle, Ireland.  Let's take a spin through the exhibit together, shall we?  I'm all done here," he said, glancing around his office.

The director led Landi through the paintings, educating her on each artist and the history of their work.  Her tour proved quite educational.  After they'd dissected each piece, he insisted on treating her to lunch in the café.  Even though a line existed at the restaurant, the maître d' ushered them to a corner table with no wait. Before long, their food arrived, a scrumptious lasagna for Ireland and gazpacho for Barry.