Gift of Gold

tolerate any laxity in cleanliness.
    “The last thing I need is to have some of my customers get sick because the kitchen help failed to properly reheat the soup,” she had told Jonas as she instructed him in soup preparation. “Everything has to be either chilled or hot. I don’t want to see any food left sitting around at room temperature, and neither do the health authorities. They have a habit of paying unannounced visits, you know.”
    “We didn’t worry too much about the health authorities down in Mexico,” Jonas had remarked as he obediently stirred the soup.
    “I’ll bet you didn’t worry about them in most of the places you’ve worked.”
    “True. A reasonable bribe usually took care of awkward health regulations.”
    “Things are different here,” Verity had explained loftily.
    “I’m learning.”
    And he was, Jonas thought on Sunday evening as he watched Verity walk up the path to her small cabin in the trees. No doubt about it. He was learning a lot about Ms. Verity Ames, skilled chef, small-time tyrant, and savvy businesswoman.
    One of the things Jonas had learned was that he wanted her. Badly. He had sensed it first down in Mexico, but ever since he had arrived on her doorstep Friday afternoon, the need had been growing within him. He had told himself at first that it had nothing to do with sex. The need within him was all tied up with the mystery of the earring and the strange compulsion that had made him fellow Verity out of Mexico.
    But by Sunday night Jonas knew better. He wanted her in some way that was both sexual and psychic. He was beginning to wonder if taking Verity to bed might solve some of the mystery she held for him.
    A quote flickered in his mind—a short passage from Castiglione’s
Book of the Courtier.
Something about whoever possesses a woman’s body also wins the fortress of her mind and soul.
    It had been a while since Jonas had studied the sixteenth century Renaissance guide to gentlemanly behavior. He seemed to recall there had been a counterargument made in response to that particular statement about dealing with women, but he couldn’t remember exactly what it was. At the moment he didn’t care. The old words suddenly seemed to make excellent sense to Jonas.
    Jonas sat on the steps that led up to the deck of his small cottage and fingered the earring in his pocket. He listened to the soft sigh of the breeze in the dark pines. He was waiting to see if Verity would follow her usual nightly routine.
    This was the third night he had watched her walk back to her cabin alone. The first night, he had offered to escort her but she had just laughed and told him to get some sleep. She was quite accustomed to seeing herself home.
    She was telling the truth, Jonas knew. It was becoming more and more obvious that Verity did not have a lover. Nor did she seem to care about the lack of a love life.
    He had discovered her nightly routine on Friday when he had glanced out the window of his cabin after turning off the lights. Verity didn’t turn off her own lights as quickly as he had expected. He had stood at the window and watched and after a few minutes he had been rewarded with the sight of his new boss coming back out of her cabin.
    She had changed into a bathing suit and terrycloth robe and she made her way briskly along the unlit path toward the resort.
    Jonas’s first thought was that his boss lady had a midnight swimming rendezvous with a man. The idea had made him strangely restless. He had been unable to resist the impulse to follow her.
    He had discovered, to his secret, overwhelming relief, that Verity was not meeting a man. She was using the resort’s spa pools after hours. The bathing rooms were distinctly marked with a “closed for the night” sign, but Verity had let herself in through a back door and had walked right into the women’s section. Jonas had been fascinated as he stood out of sight and watched Verity ease into a steaming, bubbling pool. It had amused him that she wore a swimsuit into the spa bath, even though she had the place to herself.
    It was a very prim and proper little bathing suit. It was cut high across her small, rounded breasts and it even had a modest ruffled skirt around the hips. It made Jonas think of the bottle of extra virgin olive oil that occupied a shelf in Verity’s kitchen.
    Tonight he had decided to join the tyrant in her after-hours relaxation program. Jonas figured he deserved it after the way she had lectured him