spent only four days on them, working all weekend and late into the night last night, but she still felt woefully unprepared. And she’d agreed to have this meeting on Topher’s territory, cognizant of the steep stairs up to her office above the boutique and still a little guilty for calling him out on his inability to scale the lighthouse stairs.
But she’d taken care of that problem in her design, adding an elevator and turning the lighthouse into a castle-like tower at the corner of the house.
The roses in Ashley Scott’s garden were alive with butterflies and bees as she headed toward Rose Cottage. The heavy scent hung in the moist, hot air, making the humidity seem a little worse than it was. Her hands were sweaty, and she wiped them on her graphite-gray sheath dress before knocking on the cottage door.
She told herself she would do fine with this presentation. Her designs were unfinished, but she had made an earnest attempt to capture his vision of a castle at the mouth of the harbor.
The door opened, and for a strange, timeless instant as their gazes met and held, a weird vertigo swept through her. Topher’s stare frightened her, but not because of the scars on his face. In truth, the fear was inexplicable. She couldn’t even put a name to the disquiet he created, but she pushed through it and forced herself not to look away from him.
She would not let this rich, powerful man intimidate her. Last Thursday she’d stared down Caleb Tate; she could do the same with Topher Martin.
“Hey,” he said, setting time in motion again.
Only then did she notice how he’d cleaned himself up. The big, bushy beard had disappeared, replaced with a casually trimmed scruff that showed off the line of his jaw and the blades of his cheekbones. With the beard trimmed back, more of his scars showed through the stubble like silvery swirls across his tanned skin.
Yes, that was different too. He looked sun kissed today, as if he’d been spending more time outside. And his crisply ironed linen shirt exposed a tanned neck and a few masculine hairs at the open neckline.
“Morning,” she said.
He turned his back on her and moved into the cottage’s sitting room. “Come in,” he said gruffly over his shoulder. “If you brought drawings, put them on the table.”
He was used to giving commands, wasn’t he? She tried not to hold it against him. As the CEO of a successful investment fund, he was probably used to having people jump to his every word.
He strode past the small table into the kitchenette. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked in a tone that verged on civil.
“No,” she said, even though her mouth was dry. But her hands were trembling, and she didn’t want to run the risk of spilling water over a long weekend’s worth of work.
He kept his back turned as she laid her drawings on the table. “I thought we could start with the elevation,” she said, waiting.
He finally turned and stepped closer, bringing his body heat with him, along with the scent of some kind of herbal soap. The aroma was deep and rich…and oddly pleasant. That knocked her sideways. She didn’t want to discover anything about Topher Martin that was pleasant.
He leaned over the table and studied the rendering of his castle, showing not the slightest bit of emotion.
Anxiety clutched at Jessica. She’d never had a client respond this way. Usually at this stage, the reaction was mixed. They’d like some things and want changes. But they never stood by stoic and silent and brooding.
“The walls are…” He started but never finished the sentence.
What? She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, and his silence hung over her like a sword.
Defensiveness sprang up in her like a fountain. “I checked the zoning restrictions for the island, and I’m precluded from putting up a sea wall. So instead, I borrowed the concept of a curtain wall from medieval castle design. Those walls will provide some protection against storm surge without disturbing the marine environment.
“And of course they serve as wind breaks. Which, I believe, is what you said you wanted.”
“Oh,” he said, but he didn’t sound excited or enthusiastic.
“Why don’t I show you the plan view,” she said, pulling a few more drawings out of her portfolio and laying them on the table. “I’ve given you a great room with a vaulted ceiling here.” She pointed to the room on the