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Chapter Five
“Hello, Gretchen,” Jake said stiffly when the city councilwoman made it clear she expected an audience. “How are you?”
Gretchen Halifax was not on his list of favorite people. The tall, severe-looking woman with the cold gray eyes and pale blond hair was self-righteous, humorless and demanding. He’d gone toe to toe with her a time or two at city council meetings when she’d refused to see reason and failed to compromise.
“I’m wonderful, Jacob.” She smiled, all gleaming white teeth and politician sincerity. She’d perfected that sincerity along with her manipulative ways and somehow had managed to build a large circle of influence in the city.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she added with barely a glance at Chris, “but I saw you sitting over here and knew I simply must stop by and say hello.”
Not on my account, Jake thought but made nice anyway. “Gretchen, this is Chris Travers. Chris, Gretchen Halifax.”
With a cool smile Gretchen turned to Chris and extended her hand. “My pleasure, Ms. Travers.”
“Gretchen is on the city council,” Jake added as Chris extended her hand and said a soft, “Hello.”
“Should I know you from somewhere?” Gretchen asked after swiftly appraising Chris.
“I do some volunteer work for the Historical Society,” Chris said. “We worked together a couple of times on the Edgar Halifax exhibit.”
“Oh, of course. I’m so sorry. Forgive me for not recognizing you. I saw the finished display on Edgar at the museum this afternoon. It’s marvelous, don’t you think?”
“Display?” Jake asked, not because he was particularly interested in Halifax but because he was interested in Chris’s part of it.
“Of my great-great-great-uncle Edgar’s historical artifacts,” Gretchen explained, oozing self-importance. “It’s so exciting that he’s been given his rightful place in Royal’s history as one of the city’s outstanding leaders.
“Edgar was the mayor of Royal in the late 1800s and early 1900s,” she added when Jake made an I’ve-got-no-clue-what-you’re-talking-about face.
She beamed while telling the story, making it sound as if old Edgar had come over on the Mayflower.
“Unfortunately Edgar was killed by the outlaw, Jessamine Golden, over a stolen shipment of gold. Speaking of Jessamine Golden, Jake, dear, I heard that you purchased something at the auction the other night that may have belonged to her.”
“Where did you hear that?” Chris asked, sounding a little shocked. Clearly she’d hoped to keep the contents of the box between the two of them, Jake thought. At least until he handed it over to her.
“Why, I believe it was your secretary, Jake, who said something to mine over lunch yesterday,” Gretchen said, dismissing Chris. “I’d love it if you’d show it to me.”
“I can’t imagine that you’d be interested in a box of musty old junk.”
“Interested? In something that belonged to the woman who killed one of my ancestors? Why, of course I’m interested. Actually I was hoping you’d be willing to part with the items.”
“Even if I were, Gretchen, I already have another interested party.”
“That’s easily solved. I’ll double any offer you’ve got on the table.”
He shook his head and from the corner of his eye saw Chrissie’s shoulders sag in relief. “If you wanted it so badly, you should have been at the auction and bid on it.”
“I would have, but I had a meeting I simply couldn’t miss. Okay. I’ll triple what you paid for it,” Gretchen said, pouncing on him in such a demanding voice, other diners turned to see what was going on.
“Sorry,” Jake said, puzzled by Gretchen’s almost desperate bid for the box. Even more puzzled about why she was so determined to have Jess Golden’s things—if they even were indeed the outlaw’s things. “It’s not about money.”
“Then what would I have to do to get you to part with it?”
He imagined that Gretchen perceived her smile as seductive. He perceived it as predatory. And when she leaned toward him, blatantly inviting him to a view of her cleavage and in effect putting the moves on him without any regard for the fact that his date was watching, he’d had enough. “Give it up, Gretchen. This conversation,” he cautioned when he sensed she was about to push a little harder, “is history.”
He sat, dismissing her. Gretchen’s gray eyes heated in anger, then cooled by slow degrees as she visibly got control of herself. She smiled. Calculated. Tight. And patted her perfectly coiffed hair. Clearly she was not happy that both of her offers had been rejected, but she was determined not to let her anger show.
“Speaking of history,” she said, attempting to save face by changing the subject, “I plan to make a little myself. I’ve officially announced that I’m running for mayor of Royal. Isn’t it exciting?”
“Very,” Jake said, then covered his obvious lack of excitement with a question. “Who are you running against?”
“At the moment? No one. The incumbent, Maynard Willis, isn’t going to run again. Isn’t that marvelous?”
Jake shrugged. “Depends on your platform.”
“Why, tax reform, of course.”
“Tax reform?”
“Specifically as it applies to the oil fields. We’ve been far too lax in that area—with other local businesses, as well. As a result, we’ve missed considerable revenue for the city.”
The woman was too much. “From where I stand, the local businesses—oil companies included—already are digging pretty deep into their pockets. You get too heavy-handed, they may just decide to relocate to a lower tax base.”
“Jacob,” she said, as if addressing a rowdy child, “you might want to leave politics to the politicians. All you need to be concerned about,” she added with a cheeky smile as she slipped him a business card, “is that a vote for Halifax is a vote for progress.”
“Progress my ass,” Jake muttered under his breath when she finally walked away.
Christine had listened to—and watched—the exchange between Jacob and Gretchen with interest. Not just because it was a welcome respite from the ridiculous conversation that Jacob—Jake—had insisted on pushing past the limit, but because Gretchen had been so interested in Jess Golden’s things. Christine supposed there would be some natural curiosity over items belonging to a woman who had allegedly killed one of her ancestors, but Gretchen had gone a little over the top with her insistence that Jake sell them to her.
Speaking of over the top, could Gretchen have been more obvious making a play for Jake?
The penetrating looks, the subtle brush against him when she’d handed him her card. Christine had seen enough women in action to recognize a come-on when she saw one, even if Gretchen’s had been veiled by talk of politics.
Even more amazing than Gretchen making a pass at a guy when he was on a date with another woman was that it hadn’t even fazed Jake. He hadn’t seemed to care that Gretchen, for all her brassy, fake sincerity and sharp features, was still a very attractive and powerful woman.
“I’m sorry about that,” Jake said.
Christine set her salad plate aside. And the words were out before she was aware she’d been thinking them. “Sorry that she was flirting with you?”
He grunted. “Ballsy, huh?”
Took the words right out of her mouth.
“In any event, don’t let it bother you. Gretchen flirts with everyone.” He scowled at the business card, then tossed it on the table. “As a matter of fact, it’s one of the things she does best. Too bad she’s not as capable as a city leader.”
“So, you wouldn’t support her bid for mayor?”
“Hell no. If she gets in, there’s no telling what kind of chaos she’ll create.”
“Because she’s a woman?”
“Because she’s Gretchen. Whatever gave you the idea that I’m gender biased?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Could be the ridiculous conversation we were having earlier.”
“Darlin’, that wasn’t about gender bias. That was about gender equity. I want you to experience some of the fun I have.” He waggled his brows. “Show you what it’s like to take a little walk on the wild side.”
He was incorrigible. And, drat it, he had her smiling again with his silly words. And, yeah, part of the reason she was smiling was because he so clearly was not fazed by Gretchen Halifax’s cool sexuality.
Until Gretchen had arrived at the table, Christine had actually started to feel a little less…what? Tense? Self-conscious? Less defensive maybe, despite Jake’s questions about her history. She’d even enjoyed his silliness. That had come as a big surprise. Much of this evening had been a surprise—starting with his reaction to seeing her when she’d opened the door. The way he’d looked at her made her feel warm all over, aware, aroused even. And that was the biggest surprise of all.
Their entrées arrived and for a little while they ate in silence. Christine contemplated the way Gretchen had tried to put the moves on Jake. Witnessing Gretchen in action—smooth, sophisticated, worldly—had reminded Christine of one unalterable fact.
While she could enjoy tonight for what it was—one single night—the truth was she wasn’t only way out of her element but also was way out of her league. Fancy French restaurants were not on her usual flight path. Men like Jake Thorne moved in privileged circles; she moved in stagnant squares.
She felt let down suddenly. Evidently the power surge sparked by her outfit was officially over. But she decided she was going to make the most of the evening since she’d probably never enjoy the pleasure of Claire’s again. With a blissful sigh, she enjoyed a bite of her fish. The wine sauce smothering the whitefish was absolutely decadent.
“Now that’s a look you ought to have on your face more often.”
She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes while savoring the rich explosion of flavor saturating her taste buds. “This is delicious.”
“And a very sensual experience from where I’m sitting.”
She blinked at him, saw the hot appreciation in his gaze and felt herself blush. Again. “How’s your steak?”
“Exceptional. And rare. Just the way I like it.”
And just the way he liked his women, she figured. There was nothing rare about her. And yet she couldn’t quite stall a little shiver of awareness as his gaze swept from her face to her neck, then dropped ever so subtly to the swell of her breasts before he smiled into her eyes.
“Have another bite of your fish. I want to watch you indulge some more.”
He’d done it again. Managed to make her face burn with a fire that wasn’t fueled as much by irritation as it should have been. Awareness…of him as a man…of herself as a woman, played a bigger part. And it was time to get on top of the situation.
“I think I’ve waited long enough. It’s time to talk about your other condition for turning over Jess Golden’s things.”
“You haven’t been paying attention,” he said, that maddeningly amused grin tipping up one corner of his mouth. “I already named it. The condition is we strike a deal. I’ll agree to do something you deem as adult and you’ll agree to do something I deem as juvenile.”
He insisted on pushing. Okay fine. She’d push back. But how?
And just like that, it came to her how she could call his bluff.
“Okay. You’re on.”
He did a double take. Then sat back in his chair and considered her with a pleasantly disbelieving look. “For real?”
She nodded. “For real.”
“Well, okay then, Chris-tine,” he said, drawing out her name, “what do I have to do?”
“Run for mayor.”
That wiped the smile off his face. “What?”
“You’re so confident that Gretchen Halifax will make a lousy candidate? Then you need to make sure she doesn’t get the position.”
“Hell, sweet cheeks, I’m no politician.”
“All the better. You already run a business. It’s not much of a stretch to run a city.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Oh. Now it’s ridiculous. Now that I’ve called you on it.”
“But it’s my game,” he whined with the express intent of making her laugh.
And she did. It just sort of bubbled out, surprising her more than it surprised him.
“Lord, that’s sweet,” he said. “You really ought to do that more often.”
“You make me sound like I’m a stuffy old curmudgeon,” she grumbled, but she was still grinning.
“There is nothing stuffy about you, darlin’. And nothing old. Everything’s new—especially that laugh. Did you know your eyes sort of dance in that beautiful face when you laugh?”
His eyes had turned dark again, fueled by a fire that was far too warm and far too intimate for her comfort. She felt exposed…and as alive with sensation as if he’d physically touched her.
“You’re full of charm, Mr. Thorne. And you do so love to use it, don’t you?”
“When it gets results like that, yes, ma’am. I truly do.” He reached across the table, took her hand in his. “You have the most kissable mouth. I bet you didn’t know that, either, did you?”
Yikes. Okay. Time out. He was way too fast on his feet for her. And the way she was feeling about him was too confusing.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, pulling her hand from his. “I’ll be right back.”
Then she hightailed it to the ladies’ room while her bones were still in solid form. Another few minutes under his seductive gaze and said bones might just fold like licorice. And then where would she be? Believing he didn’t say those things to all the girls, that’s where. That belief would be a mistake of major proportions.
She knew that for a fact. But knowing it didn’t take the sting out of the truth that a teeny, tiny part of her wanted to believe he really thought she was special.
Wasn’t that just the most asinine thing? She didn’t even like him. Well, she hadn’t liked him. She still didn’t want to like him. And yet…she was having fun tonight. Kind of. When the mood struck him, he could be very sweet and attentive and…Stop!
Just stop. This was the same man who had tormented her for the past five years. For all she knew, tonight was just a precursor to another kind of torment. The kind that could leave her wounded instead of just ticked off.
“Had a good time tonight, Chrissie,” Jake said as he pulled up in front of her apartment.
As he walked her up the sidewalk to the door of her first-floor apartment, his hands were tucked oh-so casually into his trouser pockets. Of course, to accomplish that he’d had to brush his suit jacket aside. So, of course, Christine’s peripheral vision was filled with the way his white dress shirt hugged an abdomen that, if memory served, exemplified the term six-pack abs.
“The dinner was excellent,” she said, aware of the warmth of the July night, ultra-aware of the height and the rich scent of the man walking beside her.
“Exceeded only by the company.”
When she’d returned to the table after her trip to the ladies’ room, she’d very quickly steered him away from the topic of dancing eyes and kissable lips. Fortunately he’d taken her cue and backed off all the Mr. Charm talk. They’d discussed the weather, her work at the hospital and the Royal Museum. When she’d pressed, he’d reluctantly told her about his business—if you counted, “It’s doing well,” as talking about it.
