Her Brilliant Cowboy Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Cove Book 5) Page 4

  “May I come in?” Jamon leaned in the doorway.

  “Of course. This is your house.”

  Jamon laughed. “Yes, but this is your office.” His steps were accompanied by a strange jingle. When they’d gotten home earlier, they’d spent sixty minutes going over Gemma’s questions while Jamon scarfed down his meatball marinara foot-long. Then he’d excused himself, and Gemma had dived into her work.

  “What’s that sound?”

  “My spurs?” Jamon approached the side of her desk and lifted the heel of his boot, where a strap of leather and a piece of metal with a spinning thing were attached.

  “Spurs?” Gemma studied the odd accessory, trying not to get swept up in Jamon’s heady scent of woods and spice. Mr. Moreau’s cologne never affected her this way. She must be losing her edge.

  “Yeah. They help when you’re working with horses, and I’m headed out to the barn.” He backed up, and Gemma exhaled. “I just wanted to check with you and make sure you had what you needed for the next couple hours.”

  “Yes, thank you. I’ve downloaded your contacts and I’m now going over the list. I’ve also got your household staff information, and as I mentioned earlier, I think you’re understaffed in many areas—but we can discuss that when you get back.”

  “Okay, sure.” Jamon grinned, and Gemma wished he didn’t smile like that all the time. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  “May I ask you something?”

  Jamon nodded. “Sure, shoot.”

  “Are you always in a pleasant mood?” Gemma hadn’t met anyone who seemed so at ease with himself.

  He laughed. “Not always, but when I get a chance to head out to the barn, it’s hard not to be happy.”

  “But I’m looking at your schedule, and you’re trying to accomplish so much. You’re even planning to go back to school and complete your degree. How do you have time to ride horses?”

  “Because none of this matters if I don’t. Riding grounds me, and I forget about everything else just for a while. Besides, I plan to become a top breeder in performance quarter horses. There’s big money to be made there.” Jamon crossed his arms. “Haven’t you got something in your life, you feel passionate about? Something that lifts your soul?”

  Gemma swallowed back her emotions. “I did, once upon a time ago. I was a professional ballerina and on my way to becoming a principal dancer when I was injured.” She paused, the pain almost as fierce as the day the surgeon had told her that her ankle would never hold up to the rigorous demands of ballet. Tears stung her eyes, making her blink quickly.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Jamon’s soft voice sounded sincere. “I’m not sure what I’d do if I couldn’t ride horses. That must be very difficult for you.”

  She cleared her throat and pushed down the disappointment. Gemma sat up tall and squared her shoulders. “It’s over and done with, and I’ve moved on.” She didn’t mention that she’d let herself be distracted by a man and hadn’t kept to her strict regiment, which resulted in her injury. No matter now. She’d learned her lesson, and there was no point in dwelling on what might have been. Moving to Seattle was part of her recovery process, to get away from NY and anything that reminded her of ballet. “I was fortunate. The company director hired me to handle the PR, and that’s how I was introduced to Mr. Moreau.”

  “You didn’t want to stay with the ballet company?” Jamon sat on the corner of her desk.

  “No. It was painful to be surrounded by dancers, and Mr. Moreau offered me more money.”

  “And the distance? Do you have family back in NY?”

  Gemma’s heart ached for the world she’d left behind and could never live in again. “Yes. My parents still live there.”

  Lines furrowed across Jamon’s forehead, and his eyes dimmed. “You must miss them.”

  “I do, but they’re both successful attorneys and they’re very busy, so it wasn’t like I saw them every day anyway.”

  Jamon got up. “Well, if you ever need time off to visit them, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Family comes first.”

  Her heart felt lighter, having shared a slice of her past with someone, yet she wondered why she’d chosen Jamon. She’d made other acquaintances in Seattle but had never told anyone about ballet. Something about him softened her defenses, and she wasn’t sure she liked it or not. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He headed to the doorway and paused. “You know what you need?”

  “No, what’s that?” Gemma glanced up.

  “A horse.” He grinned. “You’ve heard the saying, ‘There is nothing so good for the inside of a man as the outside of a horse’?”

  “I can’t say that I have.”

  “Take it from me, it’s true.” His dark eyes lit up, like a full moon in a night sky. Watching Jamon and the way his face beamed, she almost believed him.

  Chapter Five

  “I went over the notes you given me, and I don’t think there’s going to be anyone at this thing I can shoot the bull with.” Jamon put his hands on his knees. He and Gemma sat in the back seat of a limousine he now owned, at Gemma’s recommendation, as Charles, his new chauffeur, drove them to the charity auction.

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” Gemma glanced over at him.

  Her auburn hair, which she usually wore pulled back, cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves. Her porcelain skin looked smooth and creamy against the simple light blue dress. The gown was floor length, accentuating the lean curve of her body, and the sheer material sparkled with every movement. A coral hue glossed her full lips, and her eyelashes fluttered when she spoke, making him feel like a herd of wild horses had been turned loose in his gut. Jamon wrestled with his thoughts, trying desperately to see her as his assistant and not the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He went over the list of influential people in his mind at least five times to distract himself from the way the color of her dress set off her eyes. Gemma was his employee. Sure, it was natural for a guy to feel some attraction to a pretty lady. He wasn’t embarrassed about that. But he needed to keep his eye on the prize, and the prize was not Gemma.

  When reciting the Gettysburg Address didn’t cool his jets, Jamon tried to occupy his mind with conversation. “How long do we have to stay?”

  “Long enough to mingle with the people I highlighted on the list. James Conrad and his wife, Nadine, should be your top priority.”

  “Who are they again?” Jamon asked, although he already knew the answer. The idea of schmoozing strangers all night was what finally got his mind off Gemma and the current of attraction pulsing through his veins.

  “Head of Conrad Plastics. Their connections reach far and wide. I’ve been told that if you’re in their good graces, there’s not anyone they can’t put you in touch with.”

  Jamon nodded and closed his eyes briefly. He needed to focus on the task at hand, not get distracted by the fit of her dress or the shimmering glow of her skin.

  “We’ve arrived,” Charles announced as he pulled up to the curb. He got out and walked around the car to open their door and let in the sound of a party.

  The event was held at the Chihuly Garden and Glass museum, next to the Space Needle. Charles opened the door and Jamon got out. He reached for Gemma as she slid across the seat and set her sparkling shoes on the ground. She placed her hand in his, and a sensation of coming home rippled throughout his body. He should have expected that reaction, since he’d done nothing but notice how attracted he was to her tonight. But the feeling of belonging, like he’d been missing a piece until she touched him, was too strong to deny.

  Jamon’s throat hitched, and he couldn’t speak. Gemma tilted her head and stared up at him. Her eyes widened, and her lips slightly parted. Did she feel something too?

  “Thank you,” she said softly, and she stepped to the side.

  Jamon remembered his manners and his reason for being here tonight, and offered his arm. She linked hers through his, and they strolled at a leisurely pace t
o the entrance of the museum. There were other couples making their way inside too, all dressed to the nines. Jamon didn’t recognize any of them. His stomach churned.

  Inside they were guided through exhibits of blown glass, each one more amazing than the last. People spoke in hushed tones, as if the glass would shatter should they exclaim too loudly.

  He and Gemma spent a full fifteen minutes circling the ocean sculpture. He was fascinated with the glass turtles; their golden and black shells were so realistic. Eventually they entered an all-glass building. Magnificent glass pieces shaped like flowers in brilliant yellows, oranges, and reds were suspended from the vaulted ceiling like a rippling ribbon in the air. Backlit with soft lights, they glowed—creating a sense of magic and possibility.

  “This is amazing.” Jamon gazed up at the ceiling, and although the sight was breathtaking, the main attraction was Gemma’s hand on his arm. She hadn’t left his side, and he appreciated her nearness. Relocating was harder than he’d thought, and being in a room full of strangers he was supposed to befriend was intimidating. He’d rather face a black stallion in the round pen for training than try to get these people to like him. Gemma’s closeness gave him courage. She stood tall with a back that was slightly curved in. A dancer’s posture, to be sure. If she was uncertain or nervous, she didn’t show it. Her slight smile was welcoming, and yet it didn’t come from her soul. Still, he wouldn’t be half as comfortable here if it weren’t for her.

  “I know. This was one of the first places I visited when I moved here. I’ve always been fascinated by the art of blown glass.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like this.” Jamon continued to look upward.

  “Let’s check out the art pieces in the auction.” She gently led him towards the first painting, expertly weaving through the throng. Jamon tried to smile at people as they passed. He didn’t see anyone on the list of “must meets” Gemma had given him. Then again, the thumbnails were a blur and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to match the pictures to the real people.

  About a dozen easels were placed around the room, each holding a canvas of an original painting done by various world-renowned artists, Gemma explained. Jamon nodded to keep her talking. No matter how long he stared or how much money he had, some of the paintings looked like a five-year-old had gotten hold of a paintbrush; a squiggly line was a squiggly line.

  “If I buy one of these, do I have to keep it?” Jamon frowned at the picture in front of them. Three thick purple lines circled in and out of one another. A light grey line slashed through all three, and a half dozen thinner ovals, grouped in threes, made up the final product.

  Gemma stared at the image with appreciation. Something in her expression had changed. Her eyes held a note of serenity he had yet to see in her hard-nosed business persona. He stepped closer, and her vanilla and lace fragrance filled his head.

  He glanced back at the painting. Anything to put that look on her face was worth any price tag. “You like this?”

  She swallowed as if she were trying to hold back her emotions and nodded. “It reminds me of dancing. Expression through the ebb and flow of the lines, the extensions and points, the eloquence.” Gemma seemed lost in a world of her own, one he couldn’t begin to relate to. His only experience with dance was the country swing. While he had a good time doing it, the movement didn’t evoke any emotional ties.

  “I love it,” she whispered.

  Jamon’s world suddenly shifted. He wasn’t seeing the painting in a new light; he was seeing Gemma. The real Gemma. A woman who was passionate about dance, who loved it with her whole soul and could find pieces of it in swirls and lines. The love transformed her, and seeing her soul, Jamon was transformed too. He suddenly wanted to get closer, to see this side of her again, to feel her next to him. He gazed at Gemma. The soft flesh of her neck was exposed, and Jamon’s mouth puckered with the need to press a kiss to her soft skin. He’d lie down and let this temptress walk all over him if he wasn’t careful. “Let’s make a bid on it.” Jamon let his arm fall and catch her hand as if the action were the most natural thing in the world. “Where do I go?”

  Gemma’s concentration refocused on Jamon. “No, you haven’t seen the other pieces. You’ve got to buy something you like.” She glanced down at their clasped hands and gently pulled hers free.

  Disappointment overcame him, but he couldn’t expect anything else. If there was one thing he knew about Gemma Stonewall, it was that she was a professional. “You said this would be good PR for me to purchase a painting. I can already promise you that none of these paintings would be something I’d choose to hang on my walls. I might as well get one that one of us likes.”

  Gemma’s body stiffened. The opening into her soul closed off, and she was once again masked in professionalism. The change was disheartening and sent a chill across his skin. “Please don’t get this one on my account. We can donate whichever piece you choose to a museum.”

  “That way I don’t have to look at it,” Jamon joked, and Gemma’s shoulders relaxed.

  “That way you don’t have to look at it.” She smiled softly, and even that lit up his night. “See the woman over there with the tablet? She’ll enter your bid, and at the end of the evening, they’ll announce the winner.”

  “Oh crap, we have to stay until the bitter end?” Jamon groaned.

  “Don’t say crap.” Gemma chuckled. “And yes, we should stay.”

  “I hope they’ve got good food and not just tiny appetizers. They make me hungrier than I was to begin with.”

  “You mean hors d’oeuvres.” Gemma tucked her arm through his.

  His gut reaction was to place his hand over her smaller one and hold on, but he refrained. She’d already pulled away from him once; pushing the limits wasn’t going to win him any points.

  “Let’s place your bid and then see what we can find for you to eat.”

  “Sounds like a plan, but make sure I don’t have anything in my teeth before I go around trying to impress people.”

  “Of course. It’s listed on the bottom page of my job description.” She grinned and tugged on his arm.

  Jamon’s heart leapt. “Did Gemma Stonewall just make a joke?”

  Her mouth curved into a smile. It wasn’t a full smile, but it was genuine and sent him into a tailspin. “I think she just did.”

  “I think I’m rubbing off on you. Won’t be long before you’re pulling up a chair on the front porch, wearing cutoff jeans with a glass of sweet tea in your hand.”

  Gemma shook her head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps the sweet tea, but cutoff jeans? That’s something I don’t see myself ever wearing.”

  “We’ll just have to see about that.” Jamon imagined her in denim shorts, her long legs stretched out in front of her and her toes painted in the same coral polish as they were tonight. He cleared his throat and tried to calm his thundering heart. He was in serious trouble.

  * * *

  A little while later, Gemma followed Jamon onto the dance floor. Nothing about dancing with her boss resembled keeping a professional distance, but that didn’t really matter when Jamon took her hand. A look passed between them, and she felt a zing of attraction. From the way he focused on her, she believed she wasn’t the only one who felt something.

  “I think we’re almost to the finish line.” Jamon put one hand on the small of her back and held on to her hand with the other. “I’ve talked and smiled at more people tonight than I have in the past week.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The last thing she wanted was for this evening to end. The warmth of his hand on her and the closeness of their bodies robbed her of coherent thoughts. She must be lonely, homesick for New York and her parents, and she needed to be close to someone. That painting had spoken to her. She’d heard people use that phrase before but had never experienced it for herself until she stood before the canvas. The use of colors and the swooping lines made her want to lift her arms, point he
r toes, and move. She hadn’t had that strong of a yearning in a long time.

  Gemma had dated a few times since moving to Seattle, but never anything serious. She certainly hadn’t yearned to spend an evening on a dance floor, held tightly in her date’s arms. Not that this was a date. Because it wasn’t. No matter how much it felt like a date. Jamon’s arms were strong and sure, different from her ballet partners. With them, the dance had nothing to do with the man, and everything to do with his technique and the thrill of being on stage. Not even her brief distraction, as she liked to call him, compared to dancing slowly with Jamon, his woodsy aftershave filling her senses.

  “Aren’t your feet killing you in those shoes?” Jamon swayed to the music.

  Gemma glanced down to remember what she had on. “No.” She smiled softly. “After years in ballet slippers en pointe, anything is comfortable.”

  “Hmm.” He raised a brow. “I don’t know much about ballet. Maybe we could attend a performance sometime.”

  “Really? You’d do that?” Gemma was more confused by the second. Jamon West was as Texas cowboy as they came. He admitted to not liking art and not caring to learn about it. He drank sweet tea and ran out of his house in a pair of boxers and cowboy boots. The ballet was as far out of his area of interest as Pluto was from the Earth. For him to want to go, just for her, was … well, it was big. Bigger than anything anyone had done for her before. Then again, Jamon was kind to everyone from his cook to the driver. Perhaps she was reading more into his invitation than he meant to imply. “I would think going to the ballet would be a form of torture for you.”

  He grinned and tiny lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to do here? Refine the redneck into a gentleman? I’m sure ballet is considered a high-class form of entertainment.”

  Her racing heart slowed and she sighed. Jamon wasn’t interested in her; he was interested in fitting in. She couldn’t allow herself to be attracted to him. In reality, they had nothing in common, and half the time she didn’t understand what he was talking about. Falling into her boss’s arms wasn’t like her. She was just lonely. But loneliness had never bothered her before, so why now? Jamon’s easygoing ways must’ve seeped through the cracks of her professional exterior. She’d have to put a stop to that before she did something audacious, like believe she had romantic feelings for the man.