She swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat. If only her family thought the same way. “I appreciate your confidence. Now, tell me, where did you get that fabulous suit?”
He sat back and thankfully took the hint that she wanted to change the subject. They talked fashion and finances, art and sports. When the conversation turned to faith, he’d stiffened and she had the distinct impression by the bitter tone in his voice that something dark lurked in his past that kept him from God. That made her sad. Her own past was fraught with drama and heartache, but her faith had been the anchor in her life.
“Where did you grow up?” she asked.
“In Bangor.”
“Are your parents still there?”
A sorrowful look entered his eyes. “No. My parents died in a car accident many years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He quickly veered the conversation to other topics including her family and the factory. He asked question after question about her life in Stoneley, about her siblings and her father. She actually enjoyed regaling him with stories of her more colorful exploits as a child and a teen. She was amazed to discover the time passing without the awkward silences that usually transpired on dates.
But this wasn’t a traditional date, she reminded herself later that evening when he walked her to her car. “Thank you, Brandon. I really had a nice time,” she said as she opened the driver’s side door.
And she had. More so than she had in a very long time. She liked this man. Too bad she didn’t have room in her life at the moment for a relationship.
“I did, too. You’re a very interesting woman. And I hope you will let me know if I can set you up with my contact in Paris. I know the House of Roan would flip to have someone of your caliber.” He pulled a card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Here’s my card. Call me if you decide to take me up on my offer.”
Beneath the warm glow of the parking lot light, she studied the card. His name and a number were the only information printed in black lettering on the pale blue face.
“Juliet?”
She lifted her gaze and her breath stalled somewhere between her heart and her throat. The way he was looking at her, as if he were memorizing every curve and line of her face, was as intoxicating as if he were touching her. She swallowed. Her whole being tingled with anticipation and a powerful yearning she felt helpless against.
His head dipped until his lips hovered over hers, waiting, inviting. His hesitation was so sweet and so alluring. He was making it clear he wouldn’t proceed without her permission.
Why not? What harm could come from one kiss?
Standing on tiptoe, she closed the distance. Their lips touched. His were firm, yet molding to hers effortlessly. A delicious sensation coursed over her, melting her bones and turning her to mush.
Sure that at any moment her legs would give out, she clasped his arms. His big, strong hands closed around her and slowly eased her back. He gentled the kiss and slid his mouth across her jaw to just below her ear.
“Good night, Juliet,” he whispered as he disengaged from her, steadying her. “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.’” He smiled then turned to leave.
Leaning against the car with a dreamy sigh, she watched him walk away. She bit her lip to keep from calling him back. She wasn’t ready for him to leave, but she knew she couldn’t ask him to stay. Yes, he’d made her feel special, and yes, she was attracted to him, but both were temporary.
She had a goal, a focus, and it certainly didn’t include a romance. Proving herself capable had to stay her priority.
And no matter what, she would ignore the wistful voice in her head that hoped she’d see Brandon De Witte again one day.
Talk about a dark and stormy night, Juliet thought as she pulled up to the ornate iron gate of Blanchard Manor. Perched high on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean just outside of Stoneley, Maine, the huge, ominous house seemed to have been built for nights such as this. She lowered the window and leaned out of her orange Honda Element to reach the security keypad.
A blast of icy March wind and sleet hit her face, stinging her eyes and whipping her hair in a frenzied dance. Her gloved hands fumbled on the pad. With a frustrated yank, she ripped off her right glove and tried again. While fighting against the stiffness the cold air caused in her fingers, she finally managed to punch in her code to release the gate.
Shivering, she powered the window up and waited for the slow-moving hunk of metal to get out of the way. Before the gate was fully opened, she sped through the gap, her tires spinning slightly on the slick agate pavement.
The long, winding drive up the hill usually provided a lush and beautiful view of the gardens through the trees. On clear days, glimpses of the ocean beyond the cliffs were breathtaking.
However, on this cold winter night, all Juliet could see were the looming shadows of the trees and the large stone manor house rising up ahead like some unearthly specter waiting for its next victim.
She swallowed back the trepidation that had been looming over her for months now, ever since Leo Santiago had given her sister Bianca the picture of their late mother, dated after her death. That one act had set in motion a series of devastating events.
Bianca was convinced their mother, who supposedly died not long after Juliet was born, was really alive. Bianca had hired a private investigator to track Mother down, but he had died under suspicious circumstances. Juliet shivered even though the heat in the car was cranked on high. Inside the house her sisters waited for her with more information that they’d uncovered.
Juliet wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Part of her was scared to let her hopes rise, because if their mother was alive, then the question became why did she abandon them?
A secret guilt lived deep inside of Juliet’s soul. She knew that their mother disappeared because of her. If she hadn’t been born, then Trudy Blanchard wouldn’t have slid into postpartum depression and left.
Juliet pulled around the circular drive to the garages on the side of the manor. Popping open the glove box, she hit the button on the little black garage opener tucked inside the compartment. The third door of the six garages slid upward. Juliet pulled in behind her sister Portia’s vintage VW Bug. Her father’s Jaguar and the two black Town Cars were in their customary places.
The parking spots where Bianca’s silver sports car and Rissa’s dark blue Porsche were usually parked when the girls came home were conspicuously empty. They’d probably taken commuter flights instead of driving in because of the weather.
Bianca lived and worked in Boston and Rissa resided in Manhattan. Both women were successful in their chosen fields; Bianca was a trial lawyer and Rissa a playwright. Portia was successful, as well, with her arts-and-crafts shop. And Miranda, who still lived at the manor, wrote poetry and produced unique, handmade books. Juliet’s other sister, Delia, had gone off to college in Hawaii and only occasionally returned. Delia owned and operated a surf shop on the beach.
At twenty-three, Juliet was the only one without a career. This was why her family pressured her to agree to work at Blanchard Fabrics. At least she’d have some work experience to put on a résumé, her sister Bianca had stated as a way to mollify her reluctance.
But the reason Juliet committed to the promise was because it had seemed important to their father, a cold and distant man whose love and approval Juliet coveted, but hadn’t yet obtained.
She hoped by being the one daughter to actually work in the company, her father might finally see her capabilities and show her some respect. And for once she’d have some of his undivided attention by working with him at the factory. So she’d put her own newly found dream of fashion design on hold and had come home.
The garage door