Loving Treasures (10 page)

“You’ve thought of everything.” Philip rose and came around the desk toward her.

Nerves prickled on the back of her neck. Anxious, she followed him with her eyes.

He stopped in front of the desk. “Why do you look so nervous?”

“I’m, uh, well, I thought something must be wrong.”

He stepped forward and knelt beside her. “You’re such a worrier. Don’t assume that life is always lemons.”

Seeing his face fill with sadness, her stomach knotted. “It’s been nice lately.”

“Then, why worry?”

She didn’t know why. Though he obviously wasn’t planning to cancel her morning-basket idea, she was still in the dark. “I don’t think you called me in to tell me you’re amazed by the logo mugs.”

Philip laughed and shook his head. “No. I wanted
to tell you that I’ve planned—I should say Claire and I have planned—something for your birthday.”

Her birthday? She was surprised and curious. “But why?” she asked, wondering what was so special about being thirty-three.

“Why?” He gaped at her. “Must we have a reason to celebrate your birthday?”

She should have said thank you. Mortified at her reaction, she shook her head. “No, but my birthday’s never been a special occasion.”

“Well, it is now.” He moved forward and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re not working Friday.”

“I’m not?”

He nodded. “Claire has all the instructions. Just do what she says.”

“Is she included in the plans?”

“How could we celebrate without Claire?” He sent her a playful smile.

His good humor made her feel more balanced. She grinned back. “You’re right. What’s a party without one of Claire’s wild getups?”

P
hilip couldn’t erase the pleasure from his face. His silly grin had been there since he’d picked up Jemma at the apartment. Why hadn’t he done this before? Why hadn’t he allowed himself to enjoy the pleasurable emotions that fluttered like a summer butterfly in his chest? He knew, but today he didn’t care.

Like a double agent, he’d coerced Claire to use Jemma’s extra key and sneak over to her apartment to pack some of Jemma’s belongings for the birthday surprise. When she’d given the bag to Philip, he’d loaded the sloop with that and everything he thought they would need.

Today Jemma’s confused expression added to his amusement. Trying to force Claire to join them, Jemma had finally yielded to leave her behind—with the promise she would join them later.

For fear of rumors, Philip had sailed the boat to
the municipal pier. Ever since Jemma mentioned her co-worker’s peculiar looks, Philip had been fearful. He would never worry about the staff’s gossip for himself, but he wanted no one to hurt Jemma—or tell her the truth about her job at the resort—until he decided a way to do it gently.

That guilt niggled daily. Philip realized, after the fact, that he should have been honest with her and explained he’d created the job especially for her. He wanted only the best for Jemma. Since her ideas were new, so was the position. It made sense. Instead, he’d hidden the truth and one day, he feared, he would reap the consequences.

When he parked at the municipal marina, Jemma did a double take. “We’re sailing?”

“Sure are.”

“Then, I know why Claire didn’t come along.”

He grinned. “You guessed it. She mentioned she’d be seasick.” He slid from the car.

“But why is the boat docked here?”

“No special reason,” he said, covering the truth. To halt any more questions, he closed his door, rounded the car and helped her out.

As they headed toward the sloop, he rattled on about the history of the municipal peer—anything to keep her mind busy while he mentally planned the rest of the day.

He might have been more comfortable with Claire along, knowing that he would have to be on his best behavior. But he’d promised himself that with Claire
or without, Philip Somerville would be a gentleman. Still, promises were sometimes broken, and since he’d thrown his caution out the window, his imagination had conjured up a thousand romantic scenarios.

Philip motored away from the marina and headed down the river. When he’d made headway toward the mouth of the lake, going into the wind, he put Jemma at the helm while he hauled up the mainsail.

He couldn’t have chosen a more perfect day. The sun burned in a cloudless sky and a steady breeze sent them over the water at an easy clip. At the wheel again, Philip looked over his shoulder at the vanishing shoreline, now only a ribbon of color on the horizon.

Claire had done her job. She’d seen to it that Jemma dressed in shorts and sleeveless top, just right for the day. Wearing oversize sunglasses, Jemma had stretched out on the cushion, her legs and arms bared to the sun, her posture the epitome of relaxation.

“You look too comfortable,” Philip said. “Want to come back here and give me a break?”

“Sorry, I can’t. Today’s my birthday.” Her generous lips curved to a teasing smile.

She looked totally content, and Philip tucked the image into his memory, wanting to hold each warm and comforting moment close to his heart.

Blanketed in sunshine, he headed farther onto the lake, until the horizon was a sheet of blue in every
direction. Occasionally, a small triangle of sail appeared for a moment, then sank into the distance.

Deciding it was time, Philip lowered the sail and dropped anchor, while Jemma questioned him like a police detective.

To keep her quiet, he gestured toward the companionway. “Go down and put on your swimsuit.”

“My what?”

“You heard me,” he said. “It’s on the bunk. Claire took care of you.”

Jemma narrowed her eyes, but kept quiet and vanished down the ladder.

Beneath his clothing, Philip had worn his bathing trunks. He slipped off his walking shorts and tossed them on the bench. Reaching beneath the seat, he pulled out the wooden ladder and hooked it over the rail.

Anxious for a swim, he pulled his knit shirt over his head and looked down at the dark hairs bristling across his chest, thankful that the hoarfrost glinted only on his head. He pictured Jemma’s golden, untarnished tresses. Why did he torment himself?

Hearing Jemma’s return, he pushed his negative thoughts aside and motioned her to the ladder. “You can swim, I hope.”

She gave him a grin. “A little late to ask me now, don’t you think?”

“I figured Claire would’ve warned me when I told her to pack your bathing suit.” He allowed his gaze to drift over her shapely frame—flawless trim legs
rising to a slender, supple body wrapped in an electric-blue bathing suit. Perfect and beautiful.

“You trusted Claire?” she asked, her voice playful. “This might be her way to get me out of her hair…permanently.”

She stepped onto the ladder, pivoted to face the lake, and dove like a knife into the glinting blue water. Fascinated, a sigh escaped Philip’s chest. Jemma was every man’s dream.

When she bobbed to the surface, Philip climbed down and joined her in the chilly water.

Side by side, they swam and jackknifed below the surface, then rose again, playing like dolphins. Emerging from below, the sun warmed Philip’s arms and his heart thumped with the exercise and exhilaration.

“Enough?” he asked, gripping the ladder.

Jemma gave an agreeing nod and swam toward him. He helped her up and waited until she reached the top, then followed. On deck, Philip reached beneath the bench and pulled out two large towels. He tossed one to Jemma and wrapped the other around his shoulders, then pulled up the ladder.

The breeze played against his damp suit, and a chill bristled down his back. “Cold?” Bathed in water and sunshine, she sparkled like the morning dew.

“No, it feels wonderful.”

Philip held his breath. She looked wonderful.

Holding the towel in front of her, Jemma tossed forward her shoulder-length hair and wrapped it in
the terry-cloth. “I hope you thought of food.” She held her hand against her flat tummy. “I hear a rumble, and it’s not thunder.”

“I think of everything,” he said, hoping she would never know the thoughts firing his emotions.

He darted to the safety of the cabin, cooling his wayward thoughts. In a moment, he carried up the picnic basket he’d brought along, and they sat together on the bench enjoying slices of roasted chicken, slabs of cheese, crusty rolls and a variety of fresh vegetables and fruit.

“You do think of everything,” Jemma said, licking her fingers and sending him a coy smile.

Hiding his desire, he opened a bottle of chilled Chablis, pouring it into the stemmed glasses he’d thought to tuck inside the basket.

When he handed a glass to Jemma, she raised it. “A toast.”

“To your birthday.” He held his glass even with hers.

“To my birthday…and to us.”

The
tink
of crystal shivered in the air and in Philip’s heart.
To us.
Her words bounced through his mind like a tennis ball. If his own fears would only let it be.

Jemma lowered her eyes, hearing her toast.
To us.
How could she have been so blatant? Sometimes she felt like a pendulum out of control. Her emotions swung back and forth, heading in wavering directions.

All day, she’d watched Philip at the helm, noticing his sunny smile, his attentiveness—just as he had been at the beginning. He’d mentioned his age so often since they met. Fifty. Why couldn’t he see himself as he was? A handsome, vigorous man with more life than many men of thirty-three. What did he fear?

What did
she
fear? Her mind drifted back to the church concert that she and Claire had attended. Philip had said he was too busy. She’d been more than disappointed—she’d been uncertain and concerned. He’d said he was a Christian, but she truly wondered.

But today—right now—she felt wonderful. She pushed her concerns aside, praying that God would take care of her fear and find a way to make things right.

Sipping the Chablis, Jemma eyed him. “Why aren’t you drinking your wine?”

“Boats and alcohol don’t mix,” he said. “I just wanted a sip to toast your birthday.”

She was touched by his honest answer and concern for safety. She leaned back, other questions whirring in her head, and pondered if she should take a chance.

“Philip, why aren’t we like this all the time?” she asked finally. “Being with you feels so good and natural. I couldn’t ask for a better day.”

Motionless, he studied her. “Do you want to know the truth?”

Her heart lurched, but she nodded.

“I don’t want to lead you on, Jemma. Getting close and comfortable implies making promises. I don’t know if the signals are different now than when I was—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear your young-old lecture again. Too many things are more important, Philip. Age is so minor.” To her it was, but maybe for once she didn’t understand him. “Is it more than age, Philip?”

Seeing the look on his face made her wonder if she’d made a mistake by asking, but she didn’t stop. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

He sat for a moment as if transfixed, then raised his head. “It’s complex. Maybe it’s not age so much as the ability to focus on what’s important. It’s being a husband and father. I ruined one woman’s life and I won’t do it again.”

Jemma swallowed the gasp that had lodged in her throat. “Ruined? How? What do you mean?” Her mind soared with questions, with fears—she wanted to hear what he had to say, yet feared what he might say.

“You know how much time I spend in the office. Sometimes I’m there from morning to night.” He dropped his napkin onto his lap. “I love my work, but a woman needs more. Young women need children. Susan needed more than I could give her. Sometimes I wonder…if God took her because I was doing such a pitiful job.”

Jemma’s head spun and color faded to black-and-white flashes. She gripped the railing. “Philip, you can’t mean that. Men get even…not God. Do you hear what you’re saying?”

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I believed that once. Not anymore.” He lowered his head and stared across the water.

“I don’t want to hear that again. How can you say you don’t give enough of yourself? Look at what you’ve done for Claire. And me. You helped Claire find a new fulfilled life for herself. You gave me a job and found that apartment for me. You’re celebrating my birthday. You’ve taught me about sailing and…and living.”

She saw his jaw flex with tension. His eyes remained distant.

“Maybe you were a workaholic once,” Jemma continued. “Maybe you should have been a better husband for Susan.” She clutched his arm until he raised his eyes to hers. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t be good for someone else.”

He didn’t speak, and Jemma didn’t know what she would want him to say if he did. She swallowed a sob that shuddered in her throat.

She let go of his arm and her hand dropped to her lap. “Philip, if it’s only friendship you want, then let’s be friends. I enjoy your company. You’ve been kind to Claire and wonderful to me. I treasure you as a friend.”

He pulled his gaze from the water, and his pene
trating eyes sought hers. “I cherish you, Jemma. More than you’ll ever know.” His palm slid across the bench and captured her hand.

“Then, we’ve agreed,” she said. “We’re friends. Dear friends.”

“The dearest.”

With her hand in his, electricity rose up her arm, and she stopped breathing for a moment. Whatever Philip wanted to call it, Jemma would agree. He said they were the dearest friends. She called it love.

The candlelight twinkled in Philip’s eyes, and Jemma struggled to keep her gaze from his. She tried to focus on Ian and Claire. Her mother-in-law’s excitement bounced over the table, her mouth going a knot a minute. Jemma grinned inwardly at her play on words.

When she’d walked into the restaurant, Claire had sparkled in a floral sequin jacket covering her hot-pink gown. She glowed like a neon sign and with as much pizzazz.

Jemma’s outfit was much more subdued. She gazed down at her plain white dress, thankful that Claire had used some discretion while packing for her surprise.

Claire had sent along a floral scarf, assuming, Jemma suspected, that she would wear it around her neck. Instead, Jemma had tied it around her waist like a sash, adding color without being too flamboyant.

Looking at the jewelry Claire had tossed in, Jemma had selected the large hoop earrings and a circular broach with colored stones that complemented the scarf. Despite Claire’s wild taste, Jemma had made everything work well.

From the moment Philip had set sail back for shore, Jemma’s head had been spinning. A damper had fallen on their conversation. If she’d been confused before about her relationship with Philip, she was doubly perplexed now.

Her mind drifted back to the table conversation. Claire had occupied Philip with tales of the shop and ideas for expanding the merchandise. Though quiet most of the time, Ian added a comment now and then.

The meal had been delicious, and the lobster bib had saved her from disaster. As they talked—and Ian smiled—the waiter gathered their empty plates and took a coffee order.

“You’ve enjoyed your day?” Ian asked.

“Yes, wonderful,” Jemma answered.

“How far did you sail?” He drew off his eyeglasses, rubbed his nose and slid them on again.

“I’m not sure where we were.” She eyed Philip, who was engulfed in Claire’s story. “Philip dropped anchor, and we swam for a while, then had a picnic before sailing back.”

His eyes widened. “A picnic?”

“On board. Philip thought of everything. Chicken, fruit…and wine.”

“Hmm. Sounds very romantic.”

It had been, until their conversation. But she chose not to respond. Let Ian figure it out himself.

“Would you like to dance?” Without waiting for her answer, he rose and extended his hand.

Jemma stared at it, realizing she could hardly refuse, but she didn’t want to dance with Ian. She sent a helpless look to Philip, but Claire had his total attention.