It made no sense, of course. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She was drawing too close to the fire of Jacob Latimer. The allure of him, the mystery, was confusing her.
She looked up when Cyril patted her forearm.
“You look bereft, you’re making me feel horribly guilty. I’m just being practical, Harper. Jacob is my friend,” Cyril said softly. “I’m glad to see him let down his guard with a woman. He looked happy when he walked into that room earlier and kissed you. Happy, right there in the moment. Trust me. That’s a rarity. That’s what counts. The present moment. I’m just being honest when I say that if you insist upon learning more about his past, it’s not going to make either of you happy.”
Harper nodded, taking a deep breath. She understood Cyril’s point. She did. But something told her it was more complicated than that. Jacob was more complex than that. She heard the terrace door open and turned in her chair. Marianne had come to clear their dishes. There was no more talk between Cyril and her about Jacob’s carefully buried past.
• • •
Sometime during the hours she spent with Cyril that afternoon, he finally managed to get her to officially commit to writing the screenplay with him. Harper found herself not only getting excited about the prospect, but invested in it. She also began to really like her future writing partner. Cyril was a perfectionist by nature and very demanding, but also savvy, energetic, brilliant, compassionate . . . not to mention completely irreverent. It was hard not to be affected by his enthusiasm for the project. By the time he left at six o’clock that evening, Harper was exhausted, but inspired.
She hadn’t heard from Jacob all afternoon, but assumed they were still on for diner at seven thirty. There was still no sign of him in his bedroom suite when she went up to get ready. While she was in the shower, she reflected on everything that had transpired over the past month: starting a new job as an editor, upending her entire life and moving to a strange town, agreeing to write a screenplay with a world-renowned director . . .
Meeting Jacob on that beach.
She certainly was coming a long way in emerging from her shell of grief and shaking up her life. Even if Jacob decided to end their relationship tomorrow, he would have had a permanent effect on her.
But she wouldn’t think about their relationship ending now. Not when she felt so invigorated about her life. Not when she was anticipating the evening with Jacob so hugely.
She’d saved a new dress for tonight: a stunning green silk that fastened around her neck and left her shoulders and arms bare. She wore her hair down, adding some soft curl to the waves. When she examined herself in the mirror just before seven that evening, she smiled at the result. The color of the dress looked striking against her skin and hair. Her eyes shone with excitement. Her loose hair felt good, spilling down her back and sliding against her bare shoulders and upper arms. She felt sensual . . . sexy. She owed all that to Jacob’s influence.
The sound of a door shutting in the distance got her attention. Was it Jacob, returning? A few seconds later, she heard another door shut quietly, and was pretty sure it was the one to his private bathroom. Her heart racing, she chose a pair of long, dangly gold earrings and finished her makeup. When she walked into the suite five minutes later, she thought she’d have to wait for him to finish showering. He was coming out of his bathroom at the same moment as her, however, looking freshly showered and devastating in a black suit and black striped tie. He glanced up and noticed her.
“Hi,” she said.
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he approached, his gaze sliding down over her.
“What? Why are you smiling like that?” she asked. She sounded breathless. His tiny, sexy smile and smoldering gaze had made her that way.
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a black leather box.
“I was just thinking it was serendipity. I thought they’d look pretty with your hair, but I didn’t guess . . .”
He faded off, shrugging, and handed her the box. Harper’s pulse began to throb at her throat as she opened the black Bulgari box.
“Oh my God,” she muttered, stunned.
“You don’t like them?” he asked. Guilt swept through her when she saw the flash of disappointment and worry on his face.
“Are you kidding? They’re gorgeous,” she exclaimed. She looked down dazedly at the emerald pendant earrings. The oval drop stones were enormous—almost an inch wide at the base and glittering with inner fires. They looked like they’d come from the royal family’s cache or from the treasure chests of some Arabian prince.
“Then put them on,” he said. She blinked and looked up. He’d come close, and he was wearing that deadly small smile again.
“Jacob, I can’t,” she whispered, but he’d taken the box and was removing the earrings from their fastenings.
“Of course you can. I got them specifically for you. They’re insured, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, fluidly sidestepping the issue by focusing on a topic she hadn’t even thought of, as yet. He held the earrings up next to her face and hair. His smile grew slightly in smug satisfaction, but then he sobered.
“What?” she wondered.
His fingers touched her hair. Nerves along her neck danced with pleasure at the light caress. His gaze ran over her face. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said shakily, her heart squeezing tight in her chest at something she read in his expression.
“Put them on? For me?”
Of course she couldn’t say no then. She came out of the bathroom a moment later wearing the earrings, her heart full in her chest. She beamed at him at the same time she shook her head in remonstrance.
“I shouldn’t accept them. They must have cost you a small fortune,” she murmured.