for the tea, she observed. The jasmine fragrance wafted soothingly around them as she poured. "Constance is quite correct; I'm not married. She's an exceptionally intelligent, talented child, and a delight to work with. You should be proud of her."
She took the seat opposite him and sipped the elegant tea with quiet pleasure. Maybe if she concentrated, this would all go away. She really didn't want to hear what new disaster loomed on her horizon. She merely wanted to enjoy her tea and the china and the rainbow of colors through the prisms and the lovely man trying not to frown er. And he was a lovely man: true golden-blond Nordic hair bleached by the Carolina sun, intelligent gray eyes with thick brown lashes, and a jutting cleft chin that would make Sean Connery proud. His soft Southern drawl seemed somehow out of place in a man like this, but it brought back sweet memories from long ago.
Of course, there were those thin lips and the flaring of his aristocratic nose to warn her of a lion-king's arrogance behind the knowing expression...
"Umm," he hesitated, looking for a nice way of asking his next question, "Perhaps your significant other..."
Maya laughed.
Axell watched her features light with the pure joy of her laughter. No weak trill or artificial tinkle for this gypsy. Joy rang out as melodically as the musical metal chimes overhead. Definitely high quality chimes, he observed in wonder, each one perfectly attuned to a note on the scale. He wanted to enjoy it, but the chaos of light, color, sound, and emotion swirling around him proved too distracting.
His gaze followed the prisms of color in her already rainbow-hued hair. The jasmine-scented tea combined with a potpourri of rose petals on the counter, the bouquet of flowers on the table, the pot of golden honey, and the herbal fragrance of the woman herself. The sensual atmosphere was radically different from the sterile environment of his own home.
"You would very definitely not wish to include Stephen in our conversation, even were he here, Mr. Holm. Take my word for it. Do you like the tea?"
He hated tea. From the disorder of this shop, he feared the cleanliness of anything ingested anywhere within a hundred yards of it. Still, in the interest of peace, he lifted the cup to his lips. The fragrance enticed him into sipping.
"Interesting." Calmly, he lowered the cup and sought another approach. The colorful young woman across from him was the antithesis of everything he'd expected. A teacher at the utopian after-school program should be highly intelligent, goal-oriented, efficient, independent, and eager to forestall the problems he perceived ahead. She should be grateful for his offer of help.
Instead of the rational, business-suited career woman he'd expected, she was an explosion of femininity. The thick cascade of red curls spilled over delicately boned shoulders draped in a lacy ivory shawl. A satin-trimmed wide collar of a shifting blue-green silky fabric drifted downward in points that clung to high firm breasts resplendent with pregnancy. He didn't dare look any lower. His gaze fastened on unadorned slender white fingers wrapped around the burnt-orange teacup.
"I disturb you, Mr. Holm," she said, in a voice that murmured above the pulsating tide emanating from the speakers. "You do have a first name, don't you? May I use it?"
"Axell, please do," he replied as a graceful branch of flowering forsythia dipped and caressed her fingers. The disorderly bouquet of branches, daffodils, and crushed violets reminded him of his purpose. Constance. A thump of panic struck his heart, and his determination returned.
"The mayor is dead set against the school, Miss... Maya." He set the tea cup down, adjusted the saucer so the scene of bridges and trees lined up with the edge of the table. "I suspect your liberal principles are anathema to his conservative soul, but mostly, the building occupies acreage the new shopping center needs for parking lot access."
"I have a three-year lease on that building, Mr.... Axell," she imitated him teasingly, the tip of her tongue touching her top lip with mischief. Axell blinked and tried not to wonder if her tongue tasted of tea or honey.
"The shopping center people really should have met dear Mr. Pfeiffer's selling price if they wanted the land," she continued. "Mr. Pfieffer grew up in that house. He has no intention of giving it away. My lease specifies he can't sell for three years. I don't see any problem. I trust Constance is happy with the program?"