He has never found the right woman...until now

Craig Lawson is the hottest filmmaker in Hollywood—a man who has won every award and can have any woman he wants. Now he’s ready to produce his masterpiece. But it means returning to his Louisiana roots and the real estate dynasty he walked away from almost a decade ago. In the French Quarter, he finds a historic house that is perfect for his project...and the unconventional owner is a beauty of fascinating contradictions.

Jewel Fontaine had her reasons for disappearing from the local art scene five years ago. And this reclusive sculptress isn’t about to let the famous playboy director turn his cameras on her private life. Until he awakens her hidden desires. If she gives in to his passion, will he uncover the secret she’s been so desperately hiding? Or will Craig’s own unresolved issues from the past sabotage any chance for a happy future together?

They stood facing each other, inches apart, on her front porch. Jewel’s heart thumped. “I’m glad I went.”

“Are you?” His brows tightened as he took a step closer, forcing her to look up.

Her throat worked frantically. “Very.”

“That’s good to know because I want to do it again.”

Jewel swallowed. “Lunch?”

“Dinner...and then breakfast.”

The implication was clear. Heat flashed through her limbs.

“How does that sound?”

Her head swam. “It sounds...”

Before she could form the words, he’d slid his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against the hard lines of his body, and then the world disappeared as his head came down and those lips that she had fantasized kissing covered hers. The kiss was electric, slow and sweet. She couldn’t think over the hum that vibrated deep in his throat as he deepened their kiss, teasing her mouth with a swipe of his tongue. Her entire body vibrated and felt weak all at once. Her fingers held on to the tight ropes of his arms, and all she could piece together in her head was that she didn’t want it to end.

Dear Reader,

Whether you are a returning or newly inducted fan of The Lawsons of Louisiana series, let me introduce you to another member of the family—Craig Lawson. With all of my Lawson family members, I want to bring my readers not only a great love story but also a story that touches readers, with characters that you will grow to love and root for as I have.

Freed from the reins of his powerful father, Craig Lawson has built his own legacy, but it has left him with a hole in his heart. A hole that is filled by artist Jewel Fontaine. Although she has her own demons to deal with, Craig offers her a new beginning. Of course, their journey won’t be an easy one.

At the center of all of the Lawson tales is the importance and resilience of family. I hope that you will welcome the newest members into your family of characters that help you believe in the power of love and its limitless possibilities.

I want to thank each and every one of my readers for your continued love and support throughout my years of writing.

Sit back, relax and enjoy!

Until next time,

Donna Hill

For the Love of You
Donna Hill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DONNA HILL began writing novels in 1990. Since that time she has had more than forty titles published, which include full-length novels and novellas. Two of her novels and one novella were adapted for television. She has won numerous awards for her body of work. She is also the editor of five novels, two of which were nominated for awards. She easily moves from romance to erotica, horror, comedy and women’s fiction. She was the first recipient of the RT Book Reviews Trailblazer Award, won the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award and currently teaches writing at the Frederick Douglass Creative Arts Center.

Donna lives in Brooklyn with her family. Visit her website at donnahill.com.

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This novel is lovingly dedicated to my dearest friend and mentor, Gwynne Forster. I miss you, my friend.

Acknowledgments

I wish to thank my ever patient editor, Glenda Howard, for never giving up on me.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter 1

The ten-hour flight from London Heathrow Airport landed in New Orleans, Louisiana, on time, to the delight of the weary passengers, Craig Lawson among them. His return home after more than ten years came with a mixture of regret and anticipation. Regret that for all those years he’d never felt compelled to return to the place where he’d grown up, and anticipation for the reason why he’d finally come home.

After breezing through customs and collecting his luggage, he and his business partner and lifelong buddy, Anthony Maxwell, headed for the pickup area and the car that awaited them. They passed a newsstand, and Anthony tapped Craig’s arm and lifted his head in the direction of the magazines, where Craig’s face graced the covers of Entertainment Weekly, Variety and Black Enterprise.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were important,” Anthony teased.

Craig chuckled. “As long as the importance translates into success at the box office,” he said. He took a last glance at the magazines and shook his head. When he’d broken ties with his family—his father, specifically—and headed to Los Angeles to pursue his dream as a screenwriter, it had been one of the most difficult things he’d had to do. To a Lawson, family was everything. Yet as hard as it was, looking back, he would not have done anything differently. As much as his father would like to believe that what he did for a living was nothing more than pandering, the real reason for his distaste for his son’s profession went much deeper. Craig grew weary of fighting that ghost. So he left and never looked back. Now he was one of the most successful and celebrated screenwriters and movie directors on the East and the West Coasts. He had an Oscar, a Golden Globe and an NAACP Image Award under his belt. Behind closed doors he was called the golden boy. To his face he was Mr. Lawson.

As the duo exited baggage claim, they walked by the rows of drivers holding up signs with the names of their passengers. Craig’s driver spotted him first and stepped out of the line.

“Mr. Lawson,” the female driver greeted him with a tip of her head. “I’ll get a cart for your bags.”

Craig’s right brow lifted in question, and he quickly assessed the stunning young woman in front of him. Even in her stark uniform of black slacks and jacket and a starched white shirt she was a work of art. The corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly as he watched her retrieve a luggage cart and return to them. Although he knew it was her job, the Southern gentleman in him wouldn’t allow her to do it.

“Let me get the bags on the cart. We’ll meet you at the car.”

“I can take care of the bags, Mr. Lawson,” she mildly protested.

“I’m sure that you can.” He easily hoisted the oversize bags onto the cart. “But I’d rather that you didn’t. My mama didn’t raise me that way.”

The young woman flushed, pressed her polished lips together and murmured a thank-you. “The car is this way.” She started off toward the ground transportation area.

“Don’t distract her from her driving,” Anthony teased under his breath as they dutifully followed her to the exit.

“Not my intention. But I will say, it’s a pleasure following her lead.”

Truth be told, the last thing on his mind was getting with a woman. Although he had a reputation as a ladies’ man, especially his leading ladies, it was all smoke and mirrors. The women who drifted in and out of his life were just that—transient. He found none that could excite his mind as well as his body, so he kept his relationships short, practical and amicable. For all of his numerous dalliances, there wasn’t one woman who could say she had not been treated like a lady while she’d spent time with him.

“How does it feel to be back?” Anthony asked as they settled into the air-conditioned comfort of the town car.

Craig drew in a breath and glanced out the window as the Louisiana landscape unfolded in front of them. “Still trying to process it. Feels strange. I mean, things kind of look the same but different—smaller.” He chuckled.

“You plan to see the family?”

Craig’s jaw flexed. He leaned his elbow on the armrest and braced his chin on his fist. “I don’t know. I’m sure they’ve heard that I’m back. Guess it wouldn’t be right not to check in on my sister and brother and my cousins.” He paused. “And I know that’s not what you meant.” He flashed his friend a look of censure. “I’m not going to see him.”

Anthony held up his hands. “Hey, just asking a question, man.”

Craig went back to staring out the window. The rift between father and son wasn’t some simple spat that could be rectified with an adult conversation. His father made himself perfectly clear years ago that if Craig were to pursue “this trashy movie thing,” he was cut off from the family and he didn’t want him to set foot back in his house. His father, Jake Lawson, ran his family the way he ran his international land development enterprise—with an unbending hand. He couldn’t—or rather wouldn’t—see beyond his own narrow lens to be able to accept that his dreams and goals were not everyone else’s. He kept Craig’s sister, Alyse, and brother, Myles, on a short leash, but he never could control Craig. And Craig knew that his father’s disillusionment with the Hollywood life ran deep, and his mother was at the root of it. But he wasn’t his mother.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed his location scout Paul Frazier.

“Yeah, Paul, we landed about an hour ago. In the car now, headed to the hotel. Look, I want you to be ready to take us over to the location when I arrive at the hotel. Yeah, I know I said tomorrow. I want to see it today. Cool. See you in a few.” He disconnected the call.

“You don’t want to chill for a while before going over there?” Anthony asked.

“Naw. I’ve seen pictures, and that’s about it. I know Paul is good at what he does, but if I’m going to sink my money and a helluva lot of time and people’s talent in this film, I want everything to be perfect. I’d rather find out sooner than later.”

* * *

Jewel Fontaine took her cup of chamomile tea out to the back veranda of her sprawling pre–Civil War home. The house on Prytania Street, which was once a plantation, sat on five acres of land with a creek that ran the length of the property into the wooded area beyond. One of the former slave shacks still stood on the property, but it had been converted into an art studio when Jewel’s career took off. Every time Jewel surveyed her home, she was infused with the spirits of her ancestors who’d toiled on this land and served in those rooms. As an artist she firmly believed in the sanctity of preserving the past for future generations. The constant work that had to be done for the upkeep of the Fontaine home and the cost of maintenance had all but drained her accumulated wealth from her art career, compounded with the care of her ailing father—she was on the precipice of being broke.

The idea that she might lose her home kept her up at night and dogged her steps during the day. She hadn’t worked or sold a piece of art or sculpture in several years. She’d become disillusioned following her last poorly reviewed show nearly five years earlier, and then the decline of her father’s health had turned her away from her passion. She refocused her energies on taking care of the man who had sacrificed everything for her. But in the past six months, she’d realized she couldn’t do it alone, and she’d had to hire a live-in nurse. The cost was astronomical.

Then the call came, and like a miracle, her financial problems would be solved. CL Productions wanted to rent her home for the next six to eight weeks to shoot a film and was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money for the privilege. She’d nearly leaped through the phone at the chance to lift the financial burden off her chest. The influx of cash would give her some breathing room and a chance to find other sources of revenue.

Jewel took a sip of her tea and gazed out onto the midafternoon glory. The tight churning in her stomach had finally begun to ease.

“Ms. Fontaine!”

Jewel spilled her tea down the front of her floral sundress as she jumped up at the frantic call of her name, which could only mean one thing—Daddy. She ran across the main level and up the winding staircase. The sound of something crashing and shattering quickened her steps. She reached her father’s bedroom door, and her heart stood still.

* * *

Craig didn’t waste much time at the hotel. Now that he’d arrived in Louisiana, the adrenaline of his upcoming project pumped through his veins, making him more brusque and antsy than usual. He began spouting orders to his team the minute he walked into the suite. Within moments everyone was scurrying around like their jobs depended on it.

Less than a half hour after arriving, Craig, Anthony, Paul and his assistant, along with the photographer and driver, were heading to the Fontaine mansion.

“Why the rush?” Anthony asked again. “You generally don’t get involved at this level.”

Craig adjusted his shades on the bridge of his nose. “I have a bigger investment this time. I want everything to be on point and run like clockwork. No screwups. We don’t have the usual wiggle room on time and cost overruns.”

Anthony nodded his head. “Agreed.” He clapped Craig on the shoulder. “You’ve done this countless times, bro,” he said, lowering his voice. “This is going to be your best project yet. We got your back on this.”

“’Preciate that.” He returned his attention to the script and line notes. The film chronicled a poor black family that rose from sharecropping to command the upper echelons of finance, real estate and politics, with great sex scenes and plenty of family drama and scandal thrown in. He wondered if his family would recognize themselves in the characters. Of course, he’d changed names and some professions to suit the storyline.

The driver turned the black Suburban onto a winding road that led to the Fontaine mansion. According to his location scouts’ notes, the home had once been a plantation and one of the shacks that had housed former slaves on the expansive land still remained. When the home appeared and spread out in front of him, it was like being thrown back into time to the days of Gone With the Wind. The only thing missing was the Confederate flag. The SUV came to a stop.

Craig got out and fully took in the setting, already beginning to visualize the scenes and where they would take place. It was better than any description or photograph could capture. This was exactly the setting he wanted. What he needed to do now was meet the owner and set up the official working arrangement. Generally this was something that Paul handled, but this project was his dream movie. It was his first time at bat as writer, director and executive producer. He had a lot riding on this and knew that there were plenty who wished him well and an equal amount that couldn’t wait to see him fail.

“Anthony and Paul, come with me. You guys can wait here,” he said to the photographer and Paul’s assistant. He flipped a page on his clipboard. Jewel Fontaine. It sounded like the name of someone that would live in a house like this. He strode down the pathway that led to the palatial entrance. The front was framed by six white columns, three on each side of the double front door. It was two levels with a wraparound terrace on the second floor and paneled windows.

Craig led his small entourage up the three steps to the front door. He rang the bell and made a mental note to have a temporary door knocker installed for the film.

Moments later the door opened and a woman dressed in what appeared to be a nurse’s uniform stood in front of them.

“Can I help you?”

“Craig Lawson. Ms. Fontaine?”

“No. I’m... Ms. Fontaine is busy right now. It may be best if you come back.”

“No. I don’t think that would be best. I’d appreciate it if you could get Ms. Fontaine. Please let her know that Craig Lawson is here to talk with her about the film.”

The woman in white huffed and rolled her eyes. “If you go round back, I’ll ask Ms. Fontaine to meet you there.”

“Thank you,” Craig said, his tone softening to match the smile on his lips.

“I’ll get Ms. Fontaine,” she said, her tone decidedly changed.

Craig turned and got a quick I told you so look from Anthony. He ignored it.

The trio rounded the building and found themselves in a mini paradise.

“You did good, Paul,” Craig said, slapping him heartily on the back.

“Thanks, boss. Ron was the one that actually found it,” Paul said of his assistant.

Craig pressed his lips together and nodded. What he appreciated about his staff was that they never hesitated to spread their support and share the credit. He set the clipboard down on a circular white metal table that was shaded by a huge umbrella. There was a half cup of tea on the table and a newspaper that had fallen to the ground. He reached down, picked it up and placed it back on the table. He turned at the sound of a door opening behind him.

The woman didn’t simply walk through the door. She swept in like a character from a novel. Every nerve in Craig’s body vibrated. Like the filmmaker that he was, he cataloged every inch of her, from the riotous swirl of cinnamon curls that seemed to want to break free from the knot on the top of her head to the high cheeks, wide expressive honey-toned eyes, sleek arching brows and full pouty lips all set on a flawless canvas of nut brown. The loosely flowing sundress that bared her shoulder and reached her ankles did nothing to camouflage the curves beneath.

Jewel stopped in front of him. “Mr. Lawson?”

“Yes. And you must be Ms. Fontaine.” He extended his hand.

Jewel placed her hand in his, and Craig felt the heat of their contact race straight to his groin. He shifted his stance slightly and cleared his throat to give himself a moment to recover.

“Thanks for seeing me.”

“You didn’t give me much choice, Mr. Lawson.”

“You’re right. I realize you were expecting me—us—tomorrow, but I wanted to see the estate for myself and meet you as soon as possible. I hope we can talk for a few minutes, go over the details and work out the schedule.”

Jewel lifted her chin ever so slightly, a move that Craig had seen his sister use whenever she was ready to do battle. He reflexively clenched his jaw. Craig glanced over his shoulder and angled his body. “Ms. Fontaine, this is my business partner and a producer of the film, Anthony Maxwell.”

Anthony stepped in between the standoff and extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fontaine. Your home is better than any pictures.”

She offered up a hint of a smile. “Thank you.” She turned her attention to Craig, and he felt her stare right in his center. “We need to talk, Mr. Lawson.”

His radar went on full alert, and every instinct told him that this was not going to go well. “Of course.”

Jewel stepped down off the back porch and walked toward the brook that ran behind the house. Craig fell in step next to her and wondered what that incredible scent was that floated around her.

“Mr. Lawson—” She stopped and turned to him, and he was hit in the chest again by the depth of her eyes. “I don’t know how to say this, but—” She paused, looked at the water and then at him. “I’m going to have to back out of this arrangement.”

He’d expected a discussion about more money, no Mondays or eating in the kitchen, or whatever other quirky thing homeowners wanted when they rented out their property, but not this.

Craig bent his head toward her in an almost combative move. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve changed my mind. This may be a great opportunity, but it will be too disruptive and... I can’t allow this.” She folded her arms beneath the swell of her breasts. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Craig was totally thrown. It took him a minute to process what she was saying. Months of work would go down the drain; the time it would take to find a new location would cost thousands and set the production schedule back by any number of days, possibly weeks. As the scenario played in his head, his level of pissed off rose. He’d never been one to take no for an answer, and now wasn’t the time to get started.

“Listen—” He reached out to touch her, and the instant his fingertips touched her bare arm he knew it was a major mistake. What felt like electricity brushed across his skin. “I, uh, totally get it that having a film crew in your home is a pretty big imposition.” He gave her his best Oscar-winning smile, coated with Nawlins drawl. He held up his hands. “I promise you we will totally respect your home. Whatever rules you set down...that’s what it will be.”

He watched the pink tip of her tongue peek out and stroke her bottom lip. He swallowed.

“It’s much more complicated than that, Mr. Lawson,” she said softly, the hard stance that she’d taken earlier seeming to ease somewhat. “I deeply apologize for any inconvenience—”

“If it’s about money, we can work that out. It’s a big imposition, and you should be compensated accordingly.”

“What makes you think I need or want your money!” Her hands dropped to her sides, and her fingers curled into her palms.

The 360 in her tone and body was so sudden, Craig actually took a step back. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you did,” he said, keeping his voice low and even in the hope of rescuing this rapidly sinking ship. “I’d really like to talk this out. I’m sure we can do whatever it is that you need to be comfortable.”

Jewel slowly shook her head. Her lids fluttered rapidly, and her nostrils flared even as she turned her lips inward and tightened them.

Craig took a cautious step closer. There were two things he was really good at: finding movieworthy material and noting the warning signs in a woman’s face. This woman was on the verge of tears, and he was pretty sure that it had nothing to do with the film, at least not directly.

“I’m sorry,” she managed and stuck out her hand.

Craig’s gaze ran over her face, but she wouldn’t look directly at him. He took her hand and slowly let his fingers envelop hers. “Thank you, Ms. Fontaine. I’m sorry that things didn’t work out. If you change your mind, you have the number.”

She bobbed her head, and he released her hand, turned and headed back to where he’d left Anthony.

“Let’s go,” he snapped, storming past Anthony.

Anthony double-timed it to catch up. “Yo, what happened?”

Craig slid on his shades. “We’ll talk back at the hotel and Paul can start looking for a new job.”

* * *

By the time the crew returned—very subdued—to the hotel, Craig’s ire had diminished by a fraction. At least he’d stopped cussing and tossing death stares at his crew.

“Look,” Anthony said, pulling Craig off to the side once they’d entered the suite, “go easy. We’ve been in tighter situations. We have some alternate locations on tap. We’ll find the right venue and keep it moving. Every one of us has screwed up at some point,” he added with a knowing look.

Craig grunted. “Yeah. I know. It’s just when you feel something in your gut...” He let his words drift away and wondered if he meant the location or Jewel Fontaine. He clapped Anthony on the arm. “You’re right. We’ll work it out.” He slung his hands into his pants pockets and turned to the crew, whose gazes were glued to the floor.

“Okay, look...it appears that we’re not going to be able to use the Fontaine location for the shoot. For whatever reason, the lady of the house has changed her mind.” He tossed a look in Paul’s direction.

Paul shifted his weight and looked appropriately contrite.

“Mr. Lawson...”

Craig turned his attention toward Diane Fisher, one of the assistant location scouts. “Yes?”

She cleared her throat, glanced briefly at Paul then focused on Craig. She lifted her dimpled chin. “It wasn’t Paul’s fault. He gave me my first assignment. I should have had her sign the contract.” She swallowed. “I didn’t. I guess I was a little starstruck when I realized who she was. I’m sorry. But this isn’t Paul’s fault.”

Craig held back a smile. He admired loyalty among his friends and his working crew. It was clear to him, however, that there was just a little something more than work between Paul and Diane, which was cool as long as it didn’t interfere with the job. He’d give them both a pass on this one.

“Thank you for telling me that, Diane. You’ll know for next time.”

The wave of relief in the room was palpable. There would be a next time instead of a goodbye.

“In the meantime I want Paul and Diane to get busy with the secondary locations. We can’t afford to have this project fall behind schedule.” He paused. “Thanks, y’all.” He tugged in a breath and exhaled. “I know how hard you work, and you’re some of the best in the business. I don’t say it much, but I appreciate each of you.” He turned and walked into his adjoining room, totally missing the look of outright shock on the faces of his crew.

* * *

Craig closed the door to his room and crossed the plush carpeted floor to the minibar. He poured himself a shot of bourbon on the rocks. He took a deep, satisfying swallow and allowed the smooth liquor to seep into his veins, warming them before he went to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. His eyes cinched at the corners while he rocked his jaw from side to side and looked out on the city that he’d once called home. Had anyone asked him a year ago if he would ever return, he would have said, “Hell, no.” But here he was, back home, doing the very thing that had sent him away in the first place. He snorted a laugh at the irony of it all. The prodigal son had returned. By now his father would know that he was back. Why did it still matter?

He turned away from the past, crossed back to the bar and refilled his shot glass. Jake Lawson had been very clear when Craig announced that he was uninterested in learning about, participating in or ultimately running his father’s global real estate firm. As far as Jake Lawson was concerned, Craig was on his own, cut off from the family.

It had been ten years, and though he would never admit it, even with all the success he’d attained since he’d left, what he missed was his father and his blessing on all that he’d accomplished. What hurt him the most was not understanding his father’s near irrational disdain for Craig’s chosen profession. Growing up, Jake had instilled in each of his children the belief that they could achieve anything that they wanted in this world—apparently as long as it was what Jake Lawson wanted his children to achieve.

Wallowing in self-pity and reflection was never Craig’s MO, and he didn’t plan to start now. What he needed to concentrate on was getting his movie filmed and produced. His work was what was important. It was his validation. Nothing else mattered.

His thoughts shifted to his meeting with Jewel Fontaine. She’d flat-out told him no. No was a word that never sat well with him. If he didn’t take it from his father, he wouldn’t take it from her, either. Everyone could be persuaded. Everyone had a button that could be pushed. He simply had to discover what her yes button was.

He tossed back the rest of his drink, a plan formulating in his head. He smiled. Tomorrow was another day. He might have lost the first battle, but the fight was far from over.

* * *

The house was blissfully quiet. Jewel walked out onto the back veranda and sat on a cushioned lounge chair. She placed her cup of tea on the table beside her and tucked her feet beneath her. The sound of cicadas peppered the night, and the scent of lavender from her garden helped to soothe her unsettled soul. Her nerves were still on edge, a combination of the unannounced visit by Craig Lawson and her father’s latest episode. It was hard to distinguish which event had the greater effect on her. Meeting Craig Lawson had had a visceral impact. She felt as if every sense, every nerve was suddenly jolted awake when they met eye to eye and he took her hand. It still seemed to tingle. But that was silly. It was no more than her overwrought emotions at work.

Then there was her father. Her heart ached as if it had been pounded and abused then shoved back into her chest. Watching the man that she loved, admired and worshipped slowly disappear was, on some days, more than she could manage. Today was one of those days.

Jewel got up from the lounge chair and walked over to the railing that embraced the veranda. She gazed out on the star-filled night. If only she could cast a wish upon a star. She would wish that she had her career back. She would wish that she had her father back, and she would wish that Craig Lawson had never entered her life to remind her of what she’d left behind.

The choices and sacrifices she’d had to make over the past few years had begun to pile upon her soul, weighing it down, an anchor determined to tug her into the depths of no return.

Her stomach twisted with resentment and the guilt of it. She had no right to feel those emotions. But she did. She begrudged the world that had turned its back on her. She cursed fate that had leveled its will upon her father and locked them both in a spinning cycle of decline.

She sighed heavily and searched out the heavens for a star. If only it were that easy. In another six months, she would lose the home she’d grown up in. She’d lose the ability to take care of her father. Opportunity had knocked today—literally—and yet she couldn’t let it in. What was she going to do?

Chapter 2

Jewel had spent a sleepless night tossing and turning as dozens of unattainable scenarios played in a loop inside her head. Finally giving up on sleep, she rose with the sun, checked on her father to find him comfortably sleeping, and then puttered around in the kitchen, determined to find a solution to her untenable situation.

Making something always seemed to help clear her thoughts. Had it been at an earlier phase of her life, she would have been found in her studio, sculpting her next piece of art or creating her next abstract on canvas. She couldn’t remember when she’d last molded a piece of clay or chiseled granite or stroked vibrant colors with a paintbrush. Instead her hands and her mind realigned themselves and found a new purpose in baking. The same artistry that she’d used in her work transferred itself to create unique and sumptuous cakes, pies, cookies and muffins. She sold some of her confections to a local baker from time to time and had even prepared one-of-a-kind wedding cakes. Minerva, her father’s home attendant and Jewel’s pseudoconfidante, had for the past year been encouraging her to pursue her baking—take it to the next level, build a business, she’d said. But Jewel couldn’t. She was an artist—at one time a renowned artist who traveled the world and held standing-room-only launches in galleries here in the States and abroad. Baking was a poor second cousin, an outlet for her idle hands and nothing more.

Today felt like a blueberry muffin day, she reasoned, and while the house remained under the blanket of slumber, Jewel created her other brand of magic.

By the time the sun was in full bloom, Jewel’s kitchen was filled with the warmth and aroma of a high-end bakery. She eased the tray from the oven and placed it on the counter to cool then prepared a pot of chamomile tea. With her cup of tea, she took and a plate with a muffin and homemade jam to the veranda and picked up the newspaper en route.

Nestled in her favorite spot, she opened the paper and was hit in the center of her being by the virile image of Craig Lawson, whose face graced the cover with the caption New Orleans Prodigal Son Returns.

The two-page article went on to talk about his meteoric rise in the movie industry and of course the iconic Lawson family, of which he was a part. It hinted at a rift between father and son, but the details were sketchy, giving way to more questions than answers. The one steady theme was that his return and the ensuing project would bring business to the city, as the article indicated that Lawson was a staunch supporter of employing local talent for his projects.

“A regular saint,” Jewel murmured around a mouthful of muffin. She washed it down with a healthy swallow of tea.

She gazed off into the distance. Craig Lawson. He was like many of the stars that peppered his films—larger than life. There was a magnetic pull about him, a swagger and self-assurance that was nearly impossible to resist. She’d felt it when they faced each other, when he clasped her hand in his. She’d felt herself become trapped in the undertow of his dark eyes, and it had taken all that she had to pull herself free. But at what cost?

“There you are.”

Jewel glanced up and over her shoulder and smiled. “Good morning.”

“I see you’ve been busy.” Minerva stepped fully onto the veranda.

“A little.” She laughed, but then her expression turned somber. “How’s Dad?”

“Resting. I’m going to get him his breakfast shortly. I know he’ll be happy to get one of your famous muffins to go with it.”

“Hmm.” She lowered her gaze.

Minerva sat down next to Jewel and placed a comforting hand on her knee. “There are going to be bad days,” she said softly. “You can’t let it overwhelm you. And...as hard as it is for us to accept, there will be more bad days than good.”

Jewel dragged in a breath. “I know,” she whispered. She turned to Minerva. “I’m scared, Minny.”

“Of course you are. But it’s going to be all right. It will. What you have to do is remember that and be the strong woman that he raised you to be. That’s what he needs now.”

Jewel slowly shook her head. “I don’t know if I can. We’re going broke, and fast. How will I take care of him, this house—you?”

Minerva frowned. “I thought you were going to let them do the film. They were willing to pay a pretty big sum, from what I remember you telling me.”

“I turned them down.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“After yesterday’s episode with Dad, I realized that it would be too much for him, too much disturbance. I couldn’t risk that.”

Minerva was pensive for a moment. “It that the real reason?”

“What do you mean? Of course it is. What other reason could I have?”

“Maybe it’s because you aren’t ready to reconnect with the world or forgot how. Your father has withdrawn—and not by choice. You, on the other hand, decided to live this life.”

“He’s my father! What choice did I have?”

“Taking care of your father is one thing—not living your own life is quite another.” She pushed up from her spot and looked down at Jewel. “It’s your decision. Make sure you come to it for the right reason. Your father is going to go through what he will go through whether you let them film here or not.” She patted Jewel’s stiff shoulder and walked back inside the house.

Jewel glanced at the confident face of Craig Lawson staring up at her from the newspaper, almost as if he was challenging her. Was Minerva right? Was it her father that she was trying to protect—or herself from the soul-stirring attraction she felt for Craig Lawson?

* * *

While his team scrambled to get the project back on track and into his good graces, Craig headed out. He was unaccustomed to not getting what he wanted when he wanted it. He never allowed anything or anyone to stop him cold—Jewel Fontaine would not become the exception. Everyone had a price, something that could be bargained for. All he needed to do was find out what Jewel’s something was. He fastened his seat belt, put the Suburban in gear and pulled out of the hotel garage.

As he cruised along the streets of New Orleans, the landscape of his youth unfolded in front of him. A great deal had changed since he was last here. Signs of gentrification were evident everywhere that he looked, from the small neighborhood shops that had transformed into internet cafés and outdoor eateries to the once debilitated homes that were in the throes of restoration. He was sure it was great for business—but whose business, and where did the people that once owned and lived here go? That was the story that he wanted to tell, the real history of his home and the people who made it.

His dashboard lit with an incoming call. He pressed the phone icon, and Anthony’s voice came through the speakers.

“Yeah, Tony, what’s up?”

“Where did you go off to?”

“I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

“Paul and Diane are out scouting the alternate locations. I should have some news this afternoon.”

“All right. Stay on it. I’ll be back to the hotel in a couple of hours.”

“You’re going to see Ms. Fontaine, aren’t you?”

Craig bit back a smile. He never could hide much from Anthony. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Why are you so dead set on this place? I know it fits the specs, but there are plenty of places to choose from without having to twist the owner’s arm to do it. So I know there has to be another reason.”

“I don’t like being told no. Reason enough?”

“If you say so. Just know that I know you, and I know better. Good luck.”

He snorted a laugh. “’Preciate it.” He disconnected the call.

Anthony was right. It wasn’t as cut-and-dried as being told no, even though that was a big part of it. If he would allow himself a moment of honesty, he would admit that the real reason was that he wanted to see her again. See if on the morning after, she still managed to seep into his pores and flow through his veins. Best way to do that was face-to-face. He took a quick glance at the folder on the passenger seat. The documents inside, once signed, would give him access to the mansion and Jewel Fontaine for the next two months. He had no plans to return to the hotel empty-handed again.

The ride over to the Garden District, where Jewel lived, was about a twenty-minute ride from the center of town. Her home was on the edge of the district, set back and away from the street in a cul-de-sac that separated it from view of other homes in the area, which was ideal for the project.

He made his approach to the Garden District. This historic location was home to the some of the most iconic mansions in the state, all of which had been plantations during slavery. Anne Rice, of vampire fame, had a house there, along with the likes of football giant Peyton Manning, who grew up in the district.

Craig turned onto Prytania Street, which was lined with homes in the Gothic style. He reached the end of the lane and turned down the winding path that led to the Fontaine home. An unexpected knot of anxiety suddenly twisted in his gut when the mansion came into view. Or was it anticipation?

He took the path slowly and came to a stop at the top of the line of trees that umbrellaed the grounds. He turned off the ignition. For a few moments, he sat in the car, staring at the old-world majesty of the home and imagining the rich history that slept behind the walls and wafted among the rafters. What did the beautiful and difficult Jewel Fontaine add to that picture?

Craig snatched the folder from the passenger seat, got out and strode purposefully toward the sweeping entrance. Just as he put his booted foot on the first step of the landing, the double front door opened.

Jewel stood framed in the doorway, a mixture of past grandeur and present-day class.

Craig didn’t realize that he’d actually frozen midstep until she spoke his name.

“Mr. Lawson. I wasn’t expecting you.”

He couldn’t tell from her even tone if her words were a reprimand or ones of pleasant surprise. He climbed the three steps until he was inches in front of her. Something soft and inviting spun around her in the morning breeze—her scent combined with the aroma of fresh baking that drifted to him from the interior of the house.

Craig cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of what he wanted to say. “Um, good morning, Ms. Fontaine. I apologize for not calling.”

She didn’t budge, a sentinel protecting her domain.

“What can I do for you? I thought we concluded our business yesterday.”

“I was hoping that we could talk.”

“About?”

He ran his tongue lightly across his dry lips. “The house.”

Her lids lowered ever so slightly over her deep brown eyes, then she looked directly at him. She tipped her head slightly to the side. Her right brow rose. “Have you had breakfast?”

For a moment he was thrown. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “Actually, no. I haven’t.”

She drew in a short breath, opened the door farther and stepped to the side. “Come in.”

Craig walked past her. Her scent clouded his thoughts.

Jewel shut the door. “This way.” She led him through the large foyer that was appointed with an antique hall table upon which sat an oversize glass vase filled with lilies. On the walls hung several oil paintings that he recognized as her work. The highly polished wood-plank floors gleamed with their reflections and echoed their footsteps. She made a short right turn, and the space opened onto a kitchen that rivaled any master chef’s.

Every size pot and pan hung from black iron ceiling hooks over a polished-cement island counter that boasted a sink and a six-burner stove with cabinetry beneath. The far end of the island was for seating. The double oven and restaurant-size stainless steel refrigerator were in sharp contrast to the perfectly restored potbellied stove that sat like a Buddha at the far end of the kitchen.

“Coffee or tea?”

Craig blinked. “Coffee. Please.”

“Have a seat.” She went to the overhead cabinets and took out a bag of imported Turkish coffee and prepared it. Within moments the scent of fresh-brewed coffee mixed with the tempting aroma of the blueberry muffins that sat in a cloth-lined basket, waiting to be devoured. She took out a plate and retrieved jam and whipped apple butter from the fridge and placed them both on the table.

“You have an incredible home.”

“Thank you.” She poured his coffee and brought it to the table. “Cream, milk, sugar?”

“I take it black. Thanks.”

Jewel took a seat opposite him. “Help yourself to a muffin if you want. They’re fresh.”

His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t make these?”

“Actually, I did.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “A woman of many talents.” He reached for a muffin and put it on his plate. “I noticed your artwork out there. Stunning.” He cut the muffin in half and slathered it with apple butter. He glanced up when she didn’t comment. He took a thoughtful bite and experienced heaven. His eyes closed in appreciation. “Wow, this is incredible.” That brought a smile to those luscious lips of hers.

“I learned to bake from my grandmother, right here in this kitchen. It slowly became a passion of mine over the years.”

“So you grew up here?”

“The house has been in the family for almost four generations, dating back to the emancipation. I lived here with my grandmother and my father until I graduated high school.”

Where was her mother in the scenario? He didn’t recall reading anything about her. “You attended the Sorbonne.”

Her eyes flashed. A curious smile curved her mouth. “Have you been reading up on me? I thought it was the house you were interested in.”

Both, he wanted to say but didn’t. “Any time I’m in negotiations with anyone I want to know as much as possible about them.”

“I see.” Her lips narrowed.

“If I remember correctly, the original owner, Charles Biggs, was one of the few owners of these homes that didn’t own slaves.”

“True. My great-great-grandparents worked here and earned a wage. They were free blacks. They lived in the house in the back. When the owner died, he left the house, the land, everything to my great-great-grandparents.” She huffed. “It didn’t sit well with the neighbors.” Her gaze drifted off. “My granddad told me stories about how my greats fought off threats both physical and emotional from the landowners around here. Nothing worked, and eventually they came to respect my family.”

“Lot of history here,” he said respectfully and struggled to contain his surprise and excitement about the eerie similarities of their ancestors.

“Yes, there is.” She stared into her cup of tea. “So why are you here, Mr. Lawson?” She leveled her gaze on him, and something warm simmered in his belly.

“I believe that if you hear me out, you’ll change your mind about renting out your home.”

Jewel seemed to study him for a moment, as if the weight of her reality pressed against her shoulders, and with a breath of apparent acceptance she said, “Let’s talk out back.” She led the way to the veranda.

* * *

“Please, have a seat,” Jewel said, extending her hand toward one of the cushioned chairs.

“Thanks.” Craig sat and placed his plate and cup on the circular white wrought-iron table.

Jewel sat opposite him, adjusted her long skirt and leaned back. She folded her slender fingers across her lap. “So... I’m listening.”

Craig cleared his throat, focusing on Jewel, and for a moment talking about the project was the last thing on his mind. He shifted his weight in the chair. “I believe as an artist you can fully appreciate a project of passion.” Her nostrils flared ever so slightly as if bracing for attack. “That’s what this project is for me. Everything that I’ve done and everything that I have accomplished has led me here—now.” He pushed out a breath. “It’s the story of my family, the Lawsons.”

Her lashes fluttered, but her features remained unreadable.

“Of course, I’ve changed the names, to protect the guilty,” he said, not in jest. “The story of a family that came from nothing, with a history of rising up from slavery, starting a business in a shack and building a legacy that led all the way to the seats of power in Washington.” He leaned forward, held her with his gaze.

“More important,” he continued, his voice taking on an urgency, “is that now is the time. With all that is going on in the world, with all that is happening to black lives, this is a story not only of history but of hope. It’s about resiliency, about who we are as a people and all that we can be.” He took a breath. “From what you told me about your family, we—” he flipped his hand back and forth between them “—have a helluva lot in common. This house, this land and the history of it is the ultimate backdrop for the telling of this story. It won’t only be my family story, but your family story as well.”

Jewel pushed up from her seat and walked over to the railing to gaze out at the rolling slopes. “I know about your work. I’ve read the reviews and the write-ups.” She turned to face him. “They all say good things—that you are brilliant.” She smiled faintly. “And that in an industry that is utterly jaded, you still keep your integrity intact and you never work on a project for the money but for the passion.”

Craig took the comments in stride. He got up and stood beside her. He felt her stiffen. “I’ve read all about you, too.” Her eyes widened for an instant. “You’re one of the most influential artists of your generation. But suddenly you all but vanish from the public eye. Don’t you miss it? Do you still paint, sculpt?”

“In answer to all of your questions, no, I don’t,” she practically whispered.

He watched her throat work as if she would reveal more, but she didn’t. If he knew nothing else about artists of any medium, they weren’t fulfilled if they didn’t do what they were born to do. But instead of saying what he thought, he said, “If it’s about the money, we are more than willing to pay twice what we offered, and I—”

Jewel spun her body toward him so quickly that it forced him to take a step back. Her eyes narrowed in fury.

“You think because I’m not in the limelight that I’m some kind of charity case and that I need your money!”

He reached out and gently placed his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. All I’m saying is that I understand that it is an imposition, that strangers would interfere with your regular routine for weeks and you should be duly compensated, not to mention that your home would be the centerpiece of an amazing film. That’s all worth something, and for me, having this film made at this location is more valuable than you could imagine.” A slow, endearing smile curved his mouth while his eyes danced across her face.

Jewel, by degrees, seemed to relax her body. She lowered her head for a moment then looked directly at him, and the connection was so intense that he felt as if he’d been hit in the gut.

“Okay,” she finally said. “You can shoot your film here.”

A smile like hallelujah broke out on his face. He totally kicked protocol to the curb, grabbed her around the waist and spun her in a circle. She laughed like a kid at Christmas, and it was pure music.

He finally set her on her feet, and they were but a breath apart. He saw the flecks of cinnamon in the irises of her eyes, felt the warmth of her body, the beat of her heart. He wanted to know what her lips felt like, to taste her...just a little.

“Sorry,” he said.

Jewel gazed at him while the shadow of a smile hovered around her mouth.

“Thank you,” he said, “and I swear we’ll make this as painless for you as possible.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Mr. Lawson.”

“I think maybe you can call me Craig.”

The tip of her tongue brushed across her bottom lip. “Jewel.”

“I’ll have some new paperwork drawn up and sent over first thing tomorrow,” Craig said as they walked to the front door.

They stood side by side on the landing.

“Fine. Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything,” he said, still euphoric over the positive turn of events.

“If this place and your family’s legacy are so important to you, why did you stay away for ten years?”

The question seemed to take him off guard. For a moment he didn’t respond, but he quickly regained his composure. “How about this... I promise to tell you all about it if you agree to have dinner with me, to thank you.”

Jewel swallowed and took a small step aside. “I don’t think so.”

“Lunch?” He covered the step she’d given up. He faced her. “Starbucks on the corner of wherever,” he joked.

Jewel laughed. “Fine. Lunch,” she conceded.

“Tomorrow. One o’clock. I’ll come and get you.” He jogged down the three steps. “Enjoy your day,” he said over his shoulder.

Jewel stood on the porch landing until the Suburban was long out of sight. Why had she agreed to have lunch with him? Why had she agreed to have his film crew in her home? Why was her heart racing as if she’d run a marathon, and why did she feel as if the lights had suddenly come on after much too long in the darkness? She turned and walked back inside. Craig Lawson was the answer to all of her questions.

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