From This Day

  “Your word!” Taylor muttered, taking a step toward her. B.J. streaked to the bath and locked the door.

  “Go away!” No longer able to control the sobs, one small fist pounded impotently against the panel. “Go away and leave me alone. I gave you my promise, now I’m off duty.”

  “B.J., open this door.”

  She recognized both anger and exasperation in his tone and wept more desperately. “No, go away! Go keep Miss Perfect company and let me alone. Your orders will be carried out to the letter. Just go. I don’t have to answer to you until morning.”

  Taylor’s swearing and storming around the room were quite audible, though to B.J. his muttered oaths and comments made little sense. Finally, the bedroom door slammed with dangerous force. In an undignified huddle on the tiled floor, B.J. wept until she thought her heart would break.

  Chapter 8

  “Well, you did it again, didn’t you?” B.J. stared at her reflection as the morning sun shone in without mercy. You made a total fool of yourself. With a weary sigh, she ran a hand through her hair before turning her back on the accusing face in the mirror. How could I have known, I’d fall in love with him? she argued as she buttoned a pale green cap-sleeved blouse. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it.

  “Blast,” she muttered and pulled on a matching skirt. How can I control the way he makes me feel? The minute he puts his hands on me, my brain dissolves. To think that I would have let him stay last night knowing all he wanted from me was a quick affair! How could I be so stupid? And then, she added, shame warring with injured pride, he didn’t want me after all. I suppose he remembered Darla. Why should he waste his time with me when she’s available?

  The next ten minutes were spent in fierce self-flagellation as B.J. secured her hair in a roll at the base of her neck. These tasks completed, she squared her shoulders and went out to meet whatever task the day brought.

  A casual question to Eddie informed her Taylor was already closeted in the office, and Darla Trainor had not yet risen. B.J. was determined to avoid them both and succeeded throughout the morning.

  The lunch hour found her in the lounge, conducting an inventory on the bar stock. The room was quiet, removed from the luncheon clatter. She found the monotony soothing on her nerves.

  “So, this is the lounge.”

  The intrusion of the silky voice jolted B.J.’s calm absorption. She whirled around, knocking bottles of liquor together.

  Darla glided into the room looking elegantly businesslike in an oatmeal colored three piece suit, a pad and pencil in perfectly manicured hands. She surveyed the cluster of white clothed tables, the postage stamp dance floor, the vintage upright Steinway. Flicking a finger down the muted glow of knotty pine paneling, she advanced to the ancient oak bar.

  “How incredibly drab.”

  “Thank you,” B.J. returned in her most courteous voice before she turned to replace a bottle on the mirrored shelves.

  “Fix me a sweet vermouth,” Darla ordered, sliding gracefully onto a stool and dropping her pad on the bar’s surface.

  B.J.’s mouth opened, furious retorts trembling on her tongue. Recalling her promise to Taylor, she clamped it shut and turned to comply.

  “You must remember, Miss Clark,” Darla’s triumphant smile made B.J.’s hand itch to connect with ivory skin, “I’m merely doing my job. There’s nothing personal in my observations.”

  Attempting to overcome her instinctive dislike, B.J. conceded. “Perhaps that’s true. But, I have a very personal feeling about the Lakeside Inn. It’s more home than a place of business to me.” She set the glass of vermouth at Darla’s fingertips before turning back to count bottles.

  “Yes, Taylor told me you’re quite attached to this little place. He found it amusing.”

  “Did he?” Feeling her hand tremble, B.J. gripped the shelves until her knuckles whitened. “What a strange sense of humor Taylor must have.”

  “Well, when one knows Taylor as I do, one knows what to expect.” Their eyes met in the mirror. Darla smiled and lifted her glass. “He seems to think you’re a valuable employee. What did he say . . . rather adept at making people comfortable.” She smiled again and sipped. “Taylor demands value from his employees as well as obedience. At times, he uses unorthodox methods to keep them satisfied.”

  “I’m sure you’d know all about that.” B.J. turned slowly, deciding wars should be fought face to face.

  “Darling, Taylor and I are much more than business associates. And I, of course, understand his . . . ah . . . distractions with business.”

  “How magnanimous of you.”

  “It would never do to allow emotion to rule a relationship with Taylor Reynolds.” Drawing a long, enameled nail over the rim of her glass, Darla gave B.J. a knowledgeable look. “He has no patience with emotional scenes or complications.”

  The memory of her weeping spell and Taylor’s angry swearing played back in B.J.’s mind. “Perhaps we’ve at last reached a point of agreement.”

  “The first warning is always friendly, Miss Clark.” Abruptly, Darla’s voice hardened, throwing B.J. momentarily off balance. “Don’t get too close. I don’t allow anyone to infringe on my territory for long.”

  “Are we still talking about Taylor?” B.J. inquired. “Or did I lose part of this conversation?”

  “Just take my advice.” Leaning over the bar, Darla took B.J.’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “If you don’t, the next place you manage will be a dog kennel.”

  “Take your hand off me.” B.J.’s tone was soft and ominous, as the well-shaped nails dug into her flesh.

  “As long as we understand each other.” With a pleasant smile, Darla released B.J.’s arm and finished her drink.

  “We understand each other very well.” Taking the empty glass, B.J. placed it under the bar. “Bar’s closed, Miss Trainor.” She turned her back, to recount already counted bottles.

  “Ladies.” B.J. stiffened, and watched Taylor’s reflection enter the room. “I hadn’t expected to find you at the bar at this time of day.” His voice was light, but the eyes which met B.J.’s in the glass did not smile.

  “I’ve been wandering around making notes,” Darla told him. B.J. watched her hand rub lightly over the back of his. “I’m afraid the only thing this lounge has going for it is its size. It’s quite roomy, and you could easily fit in double the tables. But then, you’ll have to let me know if you want to go moody, or modern. Actually, it might be an idea to add another lounge and do both, along the lines of your place in San Francisco.”

  His murmur was absent as he watched B.J. move to the next shelf.

  “I thought I’d get a good look at the dining room if the luncheon crowd is gone.” Darla’s smile was coaxing. “Why don’t you come with me, Taylor, and you can give me a clearer picture of what you have in mind?”

  “Hmm?” His attention shifted, but the imperceptible frown remained. “No, I haven’t decided on anything yet. Go ahead and take a look, I’ll get back to you.”

  Well arched brows rose at the dismissive tone, but Darla remained cool and composed. “Of course. I’ll bring my notes to your office later and we can discuss it.”

  Her heels echoed faintly on the wooden floor. Her heavy perfume scent lingered in the air after she faded from view.

  “Do you want a drink?” B.J. questioned, keeping her back to him and her voice remote.

  “No, I want to talk to you.”

  With great care, B.J. avoided meeting his eyes in the mirror. She lifted a bottle, carefully examining the extent of its contents. “Haven’t we covered everything?”

  “No, we haven’t covered everything. Turn around, B.J., I’m not going to talk to your back.”

  “Very well, you’re the boss.” As she faced him, she caught a flash of anger in his eyes.

  “Do you provoke me purposely, B.J., or is it just an accidental talent?”

  “I have no idea. Take your choice.” Suddenly, she was struck by inspiration. “Taylor,
” she said urgently. “I would like to talk to you. I’d like to talk to you about buying the inn. It can’t be as important to you as it is to me. You could build a resort farther south that would suit you better. I could raise the money if you gave me some time.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” His abrupt words cooled her enthusiasm. “Where would you come up with the kind of money required to buy a property like this?”

  “I don’t know.” She paced back and forth behind the bar. “Somewhere. I could get a loan for part of it, and you could hold a note for the rest. I’ve some money saved . . .”

  “No.” Standing, he skirted the bar and closed the distance between them. “I have no intention of selling.”

  “But, Taylor . . .”

  “I said no. Drop it.”

  “Why are you being so stubborn? You won’t even consider changing your mind? I might even be able to come up with a good offer if you gave me time—” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

  “I said I wanted to talk to you. At the moment I don’t care to discuss the inn or any part of it.”

  He gripped her arm to spin her around, connecting with the flesh tender from Darla’s nails. B.J. gave a cry of pain and jerked away. Taylor loosened his hold immediately, and she fell into the shelves, knocking glasses in a crashing heap on the floor.

  “What the devil’s got into you?” he demanded as her hand went automatically to nurse her bruised arm. “I barely touched you. Listen, B.J., I’m not tolerating you jumping like a scared rabbit every time I get close. I haven’t hurt you. Stop that!” He pulled her hand away then stared in confusion at the marks on her arm. “Good Lord. I didn’t . . . I’d swear I barely touched you.” Astonished, his eyes lifted to hers, darkened with emotions she could not understand. For a moment, she merely stared back, fascinated by seeing his habitual assurance rattled.

  “No, I did it before.” Dropping her eyes, B.J. busied herself by resecuring the pins in her hair. “It’s just a bit sore. You startled me when you grabbed it.”

  “How did you do that?” He moved to take her arm for a closer examination, but B.J. stepped away quickly.

  “I bumped into something. I’ve got to start looking where I’m going.” She began to gather shards of broken glass, fresh resentment causing her head to ache.

  “Don’t do that,” Taylor commanded. “You’ll cut yourself.”

  Like an echo to his words, B.J. jerked as a piece of glass sliced her thumb. Moaning in pain and disgust, she dropped the offending glass back into the heap.

  “Let me see.” Taylor pulled her to her feet, ignoring her struggles for release. “Ah, B.J.” With a sigh of exasperation, he drew a spotless white handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at the cut. “I’m beginning to think I have to keep you on a very short leash.”

  “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, fighting the warmth of his fingers on her wrist. “Let me go, you’ll have blood all over you.”

  “Scourges of war.” He brought the wounded thumb briefly to his lips, then wrapped the cloth around it. “You will continue to bind up your hair, won’t you?” With his free hand, he dislodged pins, clattering them among broken glass. Studying the flushed face and tumbled hair, his mouth lifted in a smile which brought B.J. new pain. “What is it about you that constantly pulls at my temper? At the moment, you look as harmless as a frazzled kitten.”

  His fingers combed lightly through her hair, then rested on her shoulders. She felt the sweet, drawing weakness seeping through her limbs. “Do you know how close I came to kicking in that foolish bathroom door last night? You should be careful with tears, B.J., they affect men in strange ways.”

  “I hate to cry.” She lifted her chin, terrified she would do so again. “It was your fault.”

  “Yes, I suppose it was. I’m sorry.”

  She stared, stunned by the unexpected apology. In a featherlight caress, he lowered his mouth to brush hers. “It’s all right . . . It doesn’t matter.” She backed away, frightened by her own need to respond, but found herself trapped against the bar. Taylor made no move toward her, but merely said, “Have dinner with me tonight. Up in my room where we can talk privately.”

  Her head shook before her lips could form a refusal. He closed the space between them before she could calculate an escape.

  “B.J., I’m not going to let you run away. We need to talk somewhere where we won’t be interrupted. You know that I want you, and . . .”

  “You should be satisfied with your other acquisitions,” she retorted, battling the creeping warmth.

  “I beg your pardon?” At her tone, his face hardened. The hand which had lifted to brush through her hair dropped back to his side.

  “I’m sure you’ll understand if you give it a bit of thought.” She lifted her own hand to the sore flesh of her arm as if to keep the memory fresh. His eyes followed her gesture in puzzlement.

  “It would be simpler if you elaborated.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Just don’t let your ego get out of hand, Taylor. I’m not running from you, I simply have a date tonight.”

  “A date?” He slipped his hands into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. His voice was hard.

  “That’s right. I’m entitled to a personal life. I don’t think it’s included in my job contract that I have to spend twenty-four hours at your beck and call.” Adding salt to her own wound, she continued, “I’m sure Miss Trainor will fill your requirements for the evening very well.”

  “Undoubtedly,” he agreed with a slow nod. Stung by the ease of his answer, B.J.’s ice became fire.

  “Well then, that’s all decided, isn’t it? Have a delightful evening, Taylor. I assure you, I intend to. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do.” She brushed by him, only to be brought up short by a hand on her hair.

  “Since we’re both going to be otherwise engaged this evening, perhaps we can get this out of the way now.”

  His mouth took hers swiftly, and she could taste his smoldering fury. She made a futile attempt to clamp her lips tightly against his. Ruthlessly, his hand jerked her hair. As she gasped in pained surprise he invaded her mouth, conquering her senses one by one. Just as she had abandoned all semblance of resistance, he drew back, his hands moving with slow insistence from her waist to her shoulders.

  “Are you through?” Her voice was husky. Despising the longing to feel his mouth again, she forced herself rigid, keeping her eyes level.

  “Oh no, B.J.” The tone was confident. “I’m a long way from through. But for now,” he continued as she braced herself for another assault, “you’d best tend to that cut.”

  Too unnerved to answer, B.J. rushed from the lounge. She had left dignity to lay with the scattered pieces of glass.

  She felt the kitchen would be the quietest sanctuary at that time of day and entered on the pretext of wanting a cup of coffee.

  “What did you do to your hand?” Elsie’s question was offhanded as she completed the assembly line production of apple cobblers.

  “Just a scratch.” Frowning down at Taylor’s handkerchief, B.J. shrugged and advanced on the coffee pot.

  “Better put some iodine on it.”

  “Iodine stings.”

  Tongue clucking, Elsie wiped her hands on her full apron before foraging in a small cabinet for medical supplies. “Sit down and don’t be a baby.”

  “It’s just a scratch. It’s not even bleeding now.” Helplessly, B.J. dropped into a chair as Elsie flourished a small bottle and a bandage. “It’s nothing at all. Ouch! Blast it, Elsie! I told you that wretched stuff stings.”

  “There.” Elsie secured the bandage with a satisfied smile. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

  “So you say.” B.J. rested her chin on her hand and stared into the depth of her coffee cup.

  “Miss Snooty tried to get into my kitchen,” Elsie announced with an indignant sniff.