Susan Crosby - Forced to the Altar

“What about the work he gives you?”

“Not only have I not been given a task to perform, I haven’t even seen him. Can you make arrangements for me to go someplace where I can have a life?”

“Let me see what I can do.”

“If you don’t, I’ll find a way myself. I swear.” At least now she had ID with her new name. It would make getting another job easier.

Since she hadn’t been given permission to use the computer, she hand wrote a letter of resignation to her elusive boss after she hung up with Jamey. At dinnertime, she carried the folded paper with her, intending to give it to Mr. Moody.

“Dinner will be served in the dining room tonight,” Mrs. Moody said when Julianne reached the kitchen.

Since she had stopped asking for a reason why things were done the way they were, she went to the dining room without question and was surprised to see two place settings, one at the head of the table, and one next to it.

Company at last. She tucked her letter behind a bowl of shells when she heard footsteps, a steady pace along the hall of the second floor above her, down the long staircase, then the downstairs hallway. A man came through the door. It couldn’t be Zach Keller—this man was too young, only about thirty. And he wasn’t the dark man who walked the bluff at night, because this one had golden blond hair and bright blue eyes. He extended his hand.

“I’m Zach Keller. Welcome to the Spirit Inn.”

Zach watched Julianne’s expression transform from surprised to…mutinous? Her crossed arms indicated the latter. Her sweet, citrusy perfume distracted him, reminded him of something. Someone?

“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself until now,” he said.

“Are you?”

He wasn’t used to anyone questioning his actions. He could and often did sidestep answering a question, but whatever words came out of his mouth were the absolute truth. Most of the time, he qualified mentally.

“It was rude of me,” he said, not rising to her bait. Her stunning hazel eyes didn’t flicker. She kept herself so still, her blond curls didn’t move but rested against her shoulders. She clamped her mouth shut.

He decided to wait her out, which gave him a moment to recall why her perfume jarred him. Last week, after Mrs. Moody had unpacked the boxes sent ahead by Julianne, he’d climbed the tower stairs and searched through what she’d sent, trying to get a handle on what she was like, this person who was so important to Jamey. He’d fingered the garments hung in the wardrobe and folded neatly in the dresser drawers, the distinctively lemon fragrance lingering subtly in the fabric and less subtly in his mind.

He’d pictured the body that fit the brightly colored clothing—the impractical abbreviated T-shirts, skirts and shorts; the neon-green bikini bathing suit, and the flimsy lingerie, a lacy rainbow of color that he’d resisted touching. An image of Julianne had formed in his mind—shapely, womanly. Mouthwatering.

Zach often endured long periods of celibacy by choice, this latest bout hitting the seven-month mark. But he’d always been capable of denying his needs, and he didn’t expect this time to be any different, even though in person she was even more tempting, her body even more curvy.

“Obviously it took a phone call from Jamey to force you to meet me,” she said at last, breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence. “I feel so welcome.”

It didn’t matter to him whether she felt welcome. He hadn’t wanted her here, had taken her in because for thirteen years he’d owed Jamey a favor, one Jamey hadn’t called in until now. “I haven’t spoken with him,” he said honestly.

She frowned. “Then why are you here?”

“Because it was time. Past time.”

She looked him up and down. “I expected an older man.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed. I meant, I just figured you were old, since you take naps in the afternoon.”

“Sometimes I’m up all night. When that happens, I sleep during the day.”

“What do you do?”

“I don’t discuss my work.”

Judging by her expression, he’d just lost more points. Tough. He would keep his word by giving her a safe haven until her brother’s trial was over, even if it meant locking her in a tower.

“You don’t discuss your inn?” she asked, challenge in her voice, as if she’d figured out the Spirit Inn didn’t really cater to vacationers. “Then how am I supposed to work for you?”

“You will have tasks.” He didn’t like how she drilled him with her gaze, as if she could see inside his head, but he maintained eye contact.

“Will these tasks have anything to do with the helicopter that arrived last night and left this morning?”

He’d wondered if the sound had awakened her.

“I guess the answer to that is no,” she said finally. “I have something for you.” She grabbed a folded sheet of paper from behind a large glass bowl on the sideboard.

When she reached, he wondered if she wore something red and lacy under her sweater and jeans…

Her hands shook as she handed him the paper. Zach noticed her cheeks were pink, but he didn’t know her well enough to know if it was because of makeup or because she was blushing. Had she caught him admiring her body when she’d turned away?

He read the note, her letter of…resignation, for lack of a better word. Then he folded it and passed it back to her. She crossed her arms again, not accepting the paper.

“You’ll stay,” he said calmly, tucking the note in his back pocket.

Her brows lifted. “You can’t make me.”

“I promised Jamey I would look out for you. I don’t break promises.”

“Jamey is going to find me another position. I’ll box up my clothing. I would appreciate it if you could send them to me when I’m settled somewhere else.”

“No.” He was surprised at her stubbornness. Jamey had told him that Julianne was sweet, a little naive and honorable. Zach would make up his own mind about that. All he knew at this point was that she was more assertive than he’d been led to believe. “I realize that you’re lacking the normal amenities and companionship you’re accustomed to, but my understanding is that you won’t be here for too long.”

“I’m not some pampered princess, Mr. Keller. I just want to be useful and to stay busy. I thought I was here to help you, but you’ve totally ignored me.”

“Call me Zach. And that will change now,” he said, ending the discussion as Mrs. Moody arrived with the first course. “Please, have a seat, Julianne.”

After a moment, she sat. She snapped open her napkin and laid it in her lap, her irritation still obvious, but she also thanked Mrs. Moody and smiled at her, indicating good manners.

Minutes ticked by in long, tense silence, except for the crunch of lettuce. He would’ve put on some music if he’d anticipated the awkwardness of eating in a total absence of conversation. To turn on the stereo now would be a triumph for her. He couldn’t let her get the upper hand.

“I’ve enjoyed hearing you play the piano,” he said after Mrs. Moody exchanged the salad plates for the main course of grilled halibut, rice pilaf and steamed zucchini and carrots—simple food prepared exceptionally well.

“Thank you.”

More silence. At first her loftiness amused him. Even though she’d said she wasn’t pampered, he knew she must have been indulged for most of her life, first as the daughter, then sister, of a crime boss. She’d likely been sheltered, as would’ve been necessary. Zach understood this was a transitional time for her. But enough was enough. He set down his fork.

“I acknowledged that you are a fish out of water here, Ms. Johnson. I have apologized for not greeting you sooner. I would appreciate it if you would accept my apology and let us be civil for as long as you’re here. That would include dinner conversation.”