alternative funding,” Rose argued with a snort.
“Rose,” Tory began slowly. “All you’ll find in that directory is a bunch of weird stuff. Scholarships for blue-eyed women with Spanish surnames born in the month of May. Grants for anyone born under the same star as some philanthropist’s Maltese.”
She followed the sound of the deep, throaty chuckle. Having J. D. Porter laugh when her whole world was shattering didn’t sit well.
“Amused?” she asked tartly. “I’m so glad you find my crisis funny.” She stood and braced her hands on her hips. “I need some air,” she told Rose. “If I don’t get away from him, I might just take out my frustrations on your useless son.”
She stormed out of the room, the vision of J.D.’s dancing gray eyes vividly etched in her brain. He had laughed at her! She fumed as she stepped into the early-June humidity. What kind of unfeeling jerk would laugh at a time like this? “Jackass Deluxe,” she grumbled as she stalked through the overgrown gardens behind the property.
The tall, damp grass licked at her ankles above her socks, leaving a sheen of moisture on her white aerobic shoes. The air was thick with the scent of the wild vines growing along the brick exterior of the dependency.
The scent inspired memories from the past. Memories of when her family had owned this place. She had been a ten-year-old princess and this had been her kingdom. Her hand reached out to touch the coolness of the weather-beaten stone wall. A small lizard skittered along the surface, then disappeared behind the growth of vegetation threatening to overtake the dilapidated building.
She was thrilled that Rose and Shelby had decided to restore the outbuilding of the Charleston single house. The dependency, which had once served as both kitchen and servants quarters, had been neglected for more than a hundred years. Her only misgiving was the man hired to do the work.
J. D. Porter was an architect known for his dramatic, modern structures. She frowned, imagining what Mr. Steel-and-Glass Towers might do to this historically significant structure. Cringing, she allowed her fingers to admire the stone. J.D. didn’t appreciate or even understand historical preservation. He didn’t appreciate Rose, either. He was charging his own mother an hourly rate for the renovation. “That man is a piece of work.”
“Thanks.”
Tory spun around and her hand flew to her mouth. Wide-eyed, she looked into the relaxed face and instantly felt her cheeks burn. “I didn’t...hear you,” she stammered.
J.D. shifted so that his large body cast a long shadow over Tory. Deep lines appeared on either side of his eyes as he squinted against the sunlight.
“I take it you’re being squeezed out of the world of academe.”
Tory felt her shoulders slump forward. “It seems that way.”
“What will you do?”
She shrugged and dropped her gaze to the front of his shirt. It was a stupid move, she realized too late. Her eyes lingered at the deep V where he’d neglected to button his shirt. A thick mat of dark hair curled over solid, tanned skin. She swallowed and forced her eyes to the ground.
“I may have to wait a year or so until I can get another grant.”
He shifted his weight again as his thumbs looped into the waistband of his jeans. “What about your family? Can’t they help with your tuition?”
“Interesting concept, coming from you,” she said as she met his eyes. “I don’t really have any family.” Needing to change the subject, Tory asked, “How can you charge your own mother top dollar?”
His expression grew dark, and something vaguely dangerous flashed in his eyes. “I’m a businessman, Tory. Not a philanthropist.”
Heartless creep! her mind screamed. “She’s your mother.”
“Biologically,” he qualified.
“It still counts,” Tory told him with a saccharine smile.
Lifting sunglasses from the breast pocket of his shirt, J.D. placed them on the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. Tory was left to view her own reflection in their mirrored lenses.
“Want to give me a hand?”
“What?” she fairly squealed.
Her voice caused an immediate smile to cut the sharp angles of his face. “Assist me?”
“Doing what exactly?”
“I’m open for suggestions,” he countered with a wolfish grin.
“And I’m outta here,” she answered as she took her first step.
“Hey,” he said as his large hand closed around her arm. “I was just teasing you. No need to get huffy.”
“I don’t care for your brand of teasing, J.D. Everything that comes out of your mouth has some sort of sexual meaning behind it.”
“I’ll behave,” he promised, one hand raised in an oath.
“I’ll bet,” she told him wearily.
“Honest. I just want you to hold the tape while I measure.” He produced a shiny metal tape measure in support of his statement. “I need to get the dimensions of the outhouse so I can finish that ream of paperwork the historical society requires.”
“It isn’t an outhouse. It’s called a dependency. And the forms are necessary,” she told him with great hauteur in her voice. “We have to maintain the historical fabric of the city.”
His mouth thinned in a definite sneer. “Just because something is old, that doesn’t make it worth saving.”
“I’d save you, Mr. Porter.”
“Think I’m old, huh?”
“Not old,” she said with an exaggerated bat of her long lashes. “Historically significant.”
The skin of her upper arm tingled where his fingers gently held her. It was annoying that she felt herself respond to him, but she silently vowed not to show any reaction. She suspected J.D. would enjoy knowing his touch affected her—and she wasn’t about to give him that much power.
“Will you?”
“What?” she answered, wondering if he had psychic powers in his arsenal.
“Help me measure.”
“It’s almost noon,” she hedged. “The lunch crowd cometh.”
“So does Susan.”
“Susan isn’t working this shift.”
“She is now,” he stated. “Rose thought you might like to take the afternoon off in light of your sudden financial upheaval.”
“How is losing a day’s tips supposed to make me feel better?”
Nodding his dark head, J.D. used his free
