Blame It On Christmas. Janice Maynard
Читать онлайн книгу.
loved Charleston during the holidays. The gracious old city was at her best in December. The sun was shining, the humidity occasionally dipped below 60 percent, and fragrant greenery adorned every balustrade and balcony in town. Tiny white lights. Red velvet bows. Even the horse-drawn carriages sported red-and-green-plaid finery.
She’d be the first to admit that summer in South Carolina could be daunting. During July and August, tourists had been known to duck into her shop for no other reason than to escape the sweltering heat.
She couldn’t blame them. Besides, it was the perfect opportunity to chat people up and perhaps sell them a gold charm bracelet. Or if they were on a tight budget, one of Gina’s silver bangles set with semiprecious stones.
Summer was definitely high season. Summer brought an influx of cash. The foot traffic in All That Glitters was steady from Memorial Day until at least mid-October. After that it began to dwindle.
Even so, Mazie loved the holiday season best of all.
It was funny, really. Her own experience growing up had certainly never been a storybook affair. No kids in matching pajamas sipping cocoa while mom and dad read to them in front of the fire. Despite the Tarleton money, which provided a physically secure environment, her parents were difficult people.
But she didn’t care. From Thanksgiving weekend until New Year’s Day, she basked in the season of goodwill.
Unfortunately, J.B.’s sins were too heinous to include him on Santa’s good list. Mazie still wanted to find a way to make him suffer without putting her own business in danger.
When the real estate agent called the following day with another offer from J.B., Mazie didn’t say no.
Not immediately.
Instead, she listened to the Realtor’s impassioned pitch. When the woman paused to catch her breath, Mazie responded in a well-modulated, exceptionally pleasant tone of voice. “Please,” she said politely, “tell Mr. Vaughan that if he is hell-bent on buying my property, perhaps he should come here and talk it over with me in person. Those are my terms.”
Then once again, she hung up the phone.
This time, Gina was polishing an enormous silver coffee service they kept in the front window.
She hopped down from the stepladder and capped the jar of cleaner. “Well,” she said. “You didn’t hang up on her. I suppose that’s progress.”
Mazie frowned at a smudge on one of the large glass cases. “I thought I was nauseatingly nice.”
“Most people think being nice is a good thing.”
“True. But not always. We’ll see what happens now. If J.B. wants this place, he’s going to have to show his face.”
Gina blanched and made a chopping motion with her hand.
Mazie frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”
The other woman was so white her freckles stood out in relief. And her eyes bugged out of her head. She made a garbled noise.
When Gina continued her impersonation of a block of salt, Mazie turned around to see what was prompting her friend’s odd behavior.
A gaggle of middle-aged women had entered the shop together. The tiny bell over the door tinkled, signaling their presence.
While Mazie and Gina were deep in conversation, J.B. Vaughan had slipped in amid the crowd of shoppers, topping the women by a good six inches.
“I think she’s surprised to see me,” he said. His smile was crooked, his gaze wary. “Hello, Mazie. It’s been a while.”
His voice rolled over her like warm honey. Why did he have to sound so damn sexy?
The man looked like a dream. He was wearing expensive jeans and a pair of even more expensive Italian leather dress shoes. His broad shoulders were showcased in an unstructured, raw linen sport coat that hung open over a pristine white T-shirt. The shirt was just tight enough to draw attention to his rock-hard abdomen.
Oh, lordy. She had demanded he come in person, but she hadn’t realized what she was asking for.
She swallowed her shock and her confusion. “Hello, J.B.” A quick glance at her watch told her there was no way he could have gotten there so quickly. Unless he had already decided to challenge her refusal to sell face-to-face. “Have you talked to your real estate agent this morning?”
J.B. frowned. “No. I just came from the gym. Is there a problem?”
Mazie swallowed. “No. No problem.”
At that precise moment, J.B.’s phone rang.
Mazie would have bet a million dollars she knew who was on the other end of the line. Because she saw his expression change. A huge grin flashed across his face. The Realtor had just passed along Mazie’s message.
Damn the man. She had wanted to call the shots...to make him come plead his case in person.
Instead, he had cut the ground from beneath her feet. J.B. had walked into her shop because it was his idea, not because he was toeing some imaginary line or meeting a challenge she had thrown down.
Her temper sparked and simmered. “What do you want, J.B.? I’m busy.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Cleaning a glass counter? Isn’t that above your pay grade, Ms. Tarleton?”
“It’s my shop. Everything that happens here is my business.”
Gina squeezed past Mazie. “Excuse me,” Gina muttered. “I need to check on our customers.”
Mazie should have introduced her redheaded friend to J.B. The two of them might have met at some point in the past, though it was unlikely. But Gina seemed bent on escaping the emotionally charged confrontation.
J.B. held out a red cellophane bag. “These are for you, Mazie. I remember Jonathan saying how much you liked them.”
She stared at the familiar logo. Then she frowned, sensing a trap. “You brought me pralines?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His arm was still extended, gift in hand.
It might as well have been a snake. “You realize the shop is half a block from here. I can buy my own pralines, J.B.”
His smile slipped. The blue irises went from calm to stormy. “A thank you might be nice. You weren’t spanked enough as a kid, were you? Spoiled only daughter...”
She caught her breath. The barb hit without warning. “You know that’s not true.”
Contrition skittered across his face, followed by regret. “Ah, damn, Mazie. I’m sorry. You always bring out the worst in me.” He grimaced and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “The candy was a peace offering. Nothing sinister, I swear.”
She grabbed the bag of pralines and set it on the counter behind her. She and J.B. were standing at the far back of the store in front of a case of men’s signet rings. Hopefully, all of the current customers were shopping for themselves.
“Thank you for the candy.” She straightened her shoulders. “Is that all?”
J.B. stared at her, incredulous. “Of course that’s not all. Do you really think I wander around Charleston dropping off candy to random women?”
Mazie lifted one shoulder. “Who knows what you do?”
Watching J.B. rein in his temper was actually kind of fun. It helped restore her equilibrium. She enjoyed getting the upper hand.
After a few tense moments of silence, he sighed. “I’d like to show you one of my properties over on Queen Street. You could double your square footage immediately, and the storage areas are clean and dry. Plus, there’s a generously sized apartment upstairs if you ever decide to move out of Casa Tarleton.”
The