“Of course,” Harry said with a genuine smile. “Good luck. I’m always rooting for the hometown team.” He gave her a little wave and headed down the hall.
Caleb straggled behind a bit, turning to look at her in a way that made her want to run away like a scared rabbit. But she held her ground and stared right back at him until he turned around and hurried after Harry.
* * *
Jessica walked down the crushed-shell path of the Howland House garden on Tuesday morning with her portfolio tucked under her arm. Her design concepts for Topher Martin’s house were finished, even if they were a bit on the sketchy side.
She’d spent only four days on them, working all weekend and late into the night last night, but she still felt woefully unprepared. And she’d agreed to have this meeting on Topher’s territory, cognizant of the steep stairs up to her office above the boutique and still a little guilty for calling him out on his inability to scale the lighthouse stairs.
But she’d taken care of that problem in her design, adding an elevator and turning the lighthouse into a castle-like tower at the corner of the house.
The roses in Ashley Scott’s garden were alive with butterflies and bees as she headed toward Rose Cottage. The heavy scent hung in the moist, hot air, making the humidity seem a little worse than it was. Her hands were sweaty, and she wiped them on her graphite-gray sheath dress before knocking on the cottage door.
She told herself she would do fine with this presentation. Her designs were unfinished, but she had made an earnest attempt to capture his vision of a castle at the mouth of the harbor.
The door opened, and for a strange, timeless instant as their gazes met and held, a weird vertigo swept through her. Topher’s stare frightened her, but not because of the scars on his face. In truth, the fear was inexplicable. She couldn’t even put a name to the disquiet he created, but she pushed through it and forced herself not to look away from him.
She would not let this rich, powerful man intimidate her. Last Thursday she’d stared down Caleb Tate; she could do the same with Topher Martin.
“Hey,” he said, setting time in motion again.
Only then did she notice how he’d cleaned himself up. The big, bushy beard had disappeared, replaced with a casually trimmed scruff that showed off the line of his jaw and the blades of his cheekbones. With the beard trimmed back, more of his scars showed through the stubble like silvery swirls across his tanned skin.
Yes, that was different too. He looked sun kissed today, as if he’d been spending more time outside. And his crisply ironed linen shirt exposed a tanned neck and a few masculine hairs at the open neckline.
“Morning,” she said.
He turned his back on her and moved into the cottage’s sitting room. “Come in,” he said gruffly over his shoulder. “If you brought drawings, put them on the table.”
He was used to giving commands, wasn’t he? She tried not to hold it against him. As the CEO of a successful investment fund, he was probably used to having people jump to his every word.
He strode past the small table into the kitchenette. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked in a tone that verged on civil.
“No,” she said, even though her mouth was dry. But her hands were trembling, and she didn’t want to run the risk of spilling water over a long weekend’s worth of work.
He kept his back turned as she laid her drawings on the table. “I thought we could start with the elevation,” she said, waiting.
He finally turned and stepped closer, bringing his body heat with him, along with the scent of some kind of herbal soap. The aroma was deep and rich…and oddly pleasant. That knocked her sideways. She didn’t want to discover anything about Topher Martin that was pleasant.
He leaned over the table and studied the rendering of his castle, showing not the slightest bit of emotion.
Anxiety clutched at Jessica. She’d never had a client respond this way. Usually at this stage, the reaction was mixed. They’d like some things and want changes. But they never stood by stoic and silent and brooding.
“The walls are…” He started but never finished the sentence.
What? She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, and his silence hung over her like a sword.
Defensiveness sprang up in her like a fountain. “I checked the zoning restrictions for the island, and I’m precluded from putting up a sea wall. So instead, I borrowed the concept of a curtain wall from medieval castle design. Those walls will provide some protection against storm surge without disturbing the marine environment.
“And of course they serve as wind breaks. Which, I believe, is what you said you wanted.”
“Oh,” he said, but he didn’t sound excited or enthusiastic.
“Why don’t I show you the plan view,” she said, pulling a few more drawings out of her portfolio and laying them on the table. “I’ve given you a great room with a vaulted ceiling here.” She pointed to the room on the drawing. “It’s the largest room in the house, with southern windows. They have storm shutters, of course. The master bedroom is here.” She tapped on the drawing.
She’d purposefully roughed in some furniture. In the case of the bedroom, she’d drawn a circular bed like the one in the captain’s cabin on Bachelor’s Delight.
“There are two more smaller bedrooms and an elevator in one of the spires to take you to an observation deck.” Again she pointed. “With the pool here, the observation deck, and an outside kitchen, I think you’ll be able to throw some fabulous parties.”
When his silence continued, she ventured a look at him only to discover that he was staring at her, not even focused on the drawings.
And that stare made every synapse in her body fire at the same moment. Was this fear or something else? Something so unwanted it frightened her. How could she find him attractive? How could she be drawn to him?
He’d ruined her life with the stories he’d told of Colton’s drug use. He’d stood by the day Caleb Tate had publicly called her a slut. He was gruff and silent and damaged. And he was the kind of domineering person that Momma had married.
She took a small step back, trying to escape the aura that had so utterly captured her attention. “Okay. So I’m getting the impression you don’t like these ideas,” she managed to croak.
“Where on earth did you get the idea I wanted to throw parties out there?”
“Well, um.” She took a deep breath. “I may have drawn some conclusions from your yacht. It looks like the quintessential party boat.”
“My yacht?” He seemed utterly surprised.
She nodded. “You know, the black leather, the gold faucets, the red bedspread in the captain’s quarters—”
“You looked at the captain’s quarters?”
She blushed for no reason at all. “I poked around below decks. Just to get a sense of your style.”
His lips pressed together briefly before he asked, “And the castle walls?”
“You said you wanted sea walls. You said you wanted…” She swallowed back the rest of her defense and took a deep breath. “Um, look. I’m sorry. You obviously don’t like these concepts. Maybe I should go.”
She reached for the drawings, intent on putting them away and hiding them forever. But before she could shove any of them into her portfolio, he grabbed her by the wrist.