“Down with the stick . . .” He joined in with her with a smile that was fake.
“Yes!” Mona said enthusiastically. “Now . . . if you’ll excuse me,” she said, waving her slender fingers at him.
And here we go . . .
“You know I think you might be on to something with this whole spontaneity thing,” he said, turning to press his back against the wall as he crossed his strong arms over his chest. “You go ahead and enjoy the pool.”
“I’m ready to get out, though.”
“Okay,” he said, not moving one inch.
Mona gripped the edge of the pool. “I’m naked,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, I know. You were being spontaneous, right?”
Mona’s eyes shifted to her clothes, then up to the seemingly innocent expression on Anson’s face, and then back down to her clothes. She chewed the corner of her bottom lip as she squinted her eyes in thought.
“It must be amazing to live life without rules—no worries, no concerns, no cares,” he said, his tone slightly mocking. “No inhibitions.”
Mona tilted her head to the side and arched one brow.
He arched his brow as well.
Mona released a heavy breath. “Anson—”
“Yesss,” he responded, loving her discomfort.
“Anson,” she repeated sharply.
“Not feeling very spontaneous, are you?” he asked, pushing up off the wall to leave her alone. “Judge not, Mona. Judge—”
She lifted her eyes up out of the water with her eyes locked on his as his slowly widened in complete shock. He looked up at the glass ceiling over the pool, but it didn’t matter. The sight of her naked body dripping with water was imprinted on his brain.
Her soft laughter mocked him.
He knew from every hair on his body standing on end that she was within inches of him, but he could only imagine what she was doing because he kept his eyes looking to the sky above the ceiling.
He jumped when her soft hand lightly patted his cheek. “Judge not, Anson. Judge not,” she said with smugness.
The hand slid away.
The hairs on his body relaxed.
His heart continued to pound.
Anson looked over his shoulder. He could just make out the sight of the small of her back, her smooth brown buttocks and endless legs as she raced down the hall with her clothes balled up in her hands. He chuckled as he limped out of the pool room and wisely decided to give her space by heading back to his bedroom.
Mona tapped her fuchsia stylus against her chin and looked out the window of the breakfast nook at the stretch of emerald grass and towering trees surrounding Anson’s house. She couldn’t believe she had climbed from that pool in front of him naked as the day she was born. She loved that he had challenged her and hadn’t been expecting her to do it. Hmph, don’t dare me . . .
She wasn’t a nudist by any means, but she wasn’t a prude about the naked body either. Still . . . she had just flashed a man who technically could still be considered a stranger. Thank God it’s all right and tight . . . and clean shaven.
Bzzzzzz . . .
She picked up her iPhone. “I’m outside,” she read, before setting the phone down and making her way out of the kitchen and down the hall to the front door.
Mona had just stepped out onto the porch as her sister pulled a large Tupperware bowl from the rear seat of her car. “Thanks, kiddo,” she said as she watched Reeba climb the stairs.
“This house is freaking amazing,” she said, pushing the Tupperware into Mona’s hands as she breezed past her inside.
“Reeba,” Mona said harshly, motioning with her head for her to leave.
“What?” she asked, tossing her bone-straight hair over her shoulder. She wore a black strapless maxidress and patent leather flip-flops. “Do you know how long I have waited to get a look inside Chloe freaking Bolton’s house?”
“It’s not her house anymore, and he said he redecorated, so it probably doesn’t look a lot like it did before he moved in,” Mona said, briefly wondering if she’d been this annoying to Anson that first day she pushed her way into his house.
“Chloe freaking Bolton,” Reeba repeated, excitedly jumping up and down in one spot.
“Okay, you gots to go,” Mona stressed, using her hip to push the front door open wide.
Reeba rolled her eyes. “I feel so used,” she said, eyeing the Tupperware of oxtail stew Mona held.
“Not used. Loved and appreciated. Very loved and appreciated,” Mona said as she nudged her sister toward the door.
“Okay, okay,” Reeba said, stepping out onto the porch. “But if this situation goes left—as it may—then you keep this near you.”
Mona hung her head as Reeba pulled a container of pepper spray from inside her bra.
“To unlock it, flip the little red switch to the right and have at it, Mo. Have. At. It.” Reeba punctuated each command with a snap of her fingers.
“Thanks, sis,” Mona said, looking on as she sat it atop the Tupperware container.
“So, is he fine?” Reeba asked, raising up on her toes to look over Mona’s shoulder. “What have you two being doing all day? When are you going home?”
“Text me,” Mona said, again using her hip to push the door closed.
Mona was picking up on Anson’s need for privacy; one Ballinger sister bombarding his life was enough.
Heading to the kitchen, she washed her hands and set about warming the stew on low in a large copper pot. She reclaimed her seat and pushed her glasses up higher on her nose as she continued her search through her database for dates for Mr. Davies.
She was finding it hard to focus though, and in a few minutes she pushed her glasses up atop her head and tapped her stylus against the top of the island. Is he sleeping? Awake? Hiding? Annoyed? Embarrassed?
Just what did Anson think of her stunt? She meant it to be cute and funny. Did the uptight Mr. Tyler agree? He had looked away as if the sight of her naked body would burn his eyes.
She stood up and posed as she took a selfie with her phone. “Hmph, who wouldn’t want to see all of this?” she said, doing a snakelike move as she studied her photo. “No shame in my game.”
“If that is a part of your work, I have an office you could be using.”
Mona closed her eyes at the sound of Anson’s voice behind her. Okay, a little shame.
Holding her chin high, she turned to face him. “Umm, you also have a bed you could be using,” she reminded him, reclaiming her seat at the island and knocking her glasses back down onto her nose.
“I will literally become a bedbug if I don’t get the hell out of that bed,” Anson said, hobbling over to sit down at the island.
Mona fought the urge to cover her breasts with her arms as she pointed her thumb over her shoulder toward a pot simmering on his Viking stove. “There’s oxtail soup,” she said.
Anson looked skeptical.
“My sister Reeba is the cook in the family and she made it,” she told him. “Your tummy is safe.”
“No, I didn’t mean . . .” He could see Mona’s skeptical expression, and the rest of his words trailed off. “Okay, yes I did,” he admitted. “I’m not hungry yet though.”
“You really should put your foot up,” she reminded him. “And maybe up on the island so it’s higher than your heart.”
Anson nodded. “Doctor’s order, huh?”
“Yes,” she said, turning her attention back to her iPad.
“What are you working on?” he asked.
Mona arched a brow as she paused the stylus above the screen and cut her eyes up to look at him. She forced a smile. “I am going through my database of beautiful, professional women to see which one is the best match for a new client.”
“And they will go on dates . . . because you say so?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s the basis of you know . . . matchmaking. You know, the very essence of my business. Modern. Day. Cupid,” she said with emphasis.
&nbs
p; “Right,” he said, and then looked away dismissively.
Mona pierced the back of his head with her eyes. She closed out the screen she was in and opened the one with her female clients. Humming lightly, she waved her stylus around the screen.
“Maybe I should get some work done,” Anson said, beating a rhythm against the top of the island with his good hand. “I’m going stir crazy.”
Mona continued to hum as she swiped through each photo. She paused on one. Turning the iPad around, she pushed it toward him. “What do you think?” she asked, setting her chin in her hands as she eyed him.
Anson looked over at her and then down at the iPad. “She’s pretty,” he said, picking it up with one hand to study closely. “Why?”
“She’s a banker from Savannah, Georgia, who I think could be someone you could have a lot of fun with,” she said, using one finger to pull the iPad back across the table.
“How can you say that when you don’t even know what I like in a woman?” he balked.
“Her profile, build, and background are similar to Carina’s,” she said simply, with a one shoulder shrug.
“Well, I was mistaken in thinking Carina was the perfect woman for me.”
Mona continued to swipe through profiles.
“Just as mistaken as you are in thinking you can—”
“Can what? Have an over seventy percent success rate? Have a large majority go on to wed and to have children?” she said proudly. “Are we judging again, Anson?”
She looked up at him.
He looked over at her.
A few seconds ticked by between them before they both looked away.
Mona licked her lips and brushed a curl from her cheek. “Have you ever been in love, Anson?” she asked, even as her heart continued to flutter in her chest with some feeling she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
“No,” he admitted. “I haven’t. Have you?”
She smiled softly and shook her head. “I’ve loved . . . but I’ve never been in love. The difference between us, I think, is I want to know what that feels like. I want to lay up in it and cherish it and enjoy it and become fulfilled by it. I can’t wait to fall in love.”
“I’m good,” he said, again dismissive.
“I know,” she said with a touch of sadness in her softly spoken words. She reached over to lightly grasp his hand and squeeze it. She closed her eyes. She waited. Too many seconds passed. Nothing came to her. Nothing showed behind her lids but darkness.
That was a first. Was he so against love that he had no soul mate?
Drawing her hand away, she sat up straighter as she eyed him.
“What?” he asked, studying her.
Mona shook her head and forced a smile. “Nothing,” she lied.
Her brain couldn’t reconcile that touching him drew nothing at all. She blinked away tears filled with the sadness she felt for him.
Anson squinted his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.
“I . . . I can see a vision of a person’s soul mate when I touch them. Always . . . always I can see that vision. Always. Except right then when I touched you,” she said, rising to run from the room.
Chapter 7
Anson felt a throbbing in his foot that was increasing in intensity, but he grabbed his crutch and went in search of Mona. He was confused as hell by the little bomb she’d dropped before running from the room. Visions? Soul mates? The hell?
He turned his head to the right at the sound of the front door softly closing. He headed that way, hoping she hadn’t left.
Anson opened the front door. She looked up from her seat on the padded bench as he stepped out onto the porch. He stopped himself from frowning at her wiping tears from her cheeks. He sat beside her on the bench.
“You should lie down and put your foot up,” she said, still sniffing.
It is throbbing like crazy.
“Put your foot in my lap and then lay flat,” she offered, patting her thighs.
And he did because there were no pillows to stack beneath it.
“Thanks,” Anson said, as she crossed her legs to lift his foot even higher, above his heart.
They fell silent.
“We have the weirdest friendship ever,” he said.
“So we’re friends now?” she asked, her hand lightly resting on his shin.
“Well, I have my legs in your lap . . . and you’re hanging out here crying about my soul or something,” he said lightly.
“And you’ve seen me naked,” Mona added with humor in her voice.
Anson nodded. “Yeah, yeah. There’s that,” he said, thinking of how the design of his pool with its intricate emerald, turquoise, and cobalt mosaic tile on the floor was beautiful. Stunningly so. But topping it easily was the sight of Mona Ballinger’s naked body coming up out of that pool with tan lines from a string bikini that emphasized the sweet spots. No comparison.
Lawd have mercy.
He shook his head and wiped his mouth with his good hand.
“I shouldn’t have told you that,” she said.
Anson bent his arm and settled his head on top of it so that he could see her clearly. “Because it’s not true?” he asked.
Mona made a move to rise and he pressed his leg down against her lap to stop her. “Broken foot,” he reminded her.
She relaxed. “Do you really not care about falling in love?” she asked, glancing over at him.
“Do you really believe you have premonitions about soul mates?” Anson countered.
“Yes,” Mona admitted, meeting his stare with her own.
So that’s why she stormed out last night.
Anson remembered his words clearly.
“What’s next? You going to tell me you use your magic powers to make your love matches?”
Moments later she was gone.
“All of the women in my family on my father’s side—going back many, many generations—have like a sixth sense about love,” she said.
His skepticism must have shown on his face.
“It’s true,” she insisted, looking at him.
“So what happened in the kitchen just now?” he asked, to steer away from revealing that he was a complete skeptic.
“Nothing. That’s what happened, and I don’t know what it means,” she said. “Is my gift broken or are you?”
Another tear fell.
Anson’s heart ached and he maneuvered to sit up and catch the tear with his thumb. “Let’s have some wine,” he said, wanting to steer her away from the whole foolish conversation. He refused to even waste precious moments on witches and visions and soul mates. Oh my.
“You can’t take wine with your pain pills,” she reminded him.
“I’m not taking the pain pills,” he said.
Mona eyed him in exasperation. “I swear you have got to be the most bullheaded man I have ever met,” she said. “Hands down. No question.”
“I don’t want to be a junkie like my parents,” he said, surprising even himself.
Mona opened her mouth.
Anson held up his hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” she said, holding up her hands.
He sat up and grabbed his crutch to rise. “I need that wine,” he said.
“Me too,” she agreed, rising as well.
She placed a soft hand to his back as he limped into the house. It felt comfortable and familiar.
“What a day it’s been,” he said as they entered the kitchen.
She retrieved wine goblets from his glass front cabinets and Anson moved over to a large wine rack on the counter to select a bottle. “Yes, it has,” she agreed.
He didn’t miss that her eyes rested on him for a few moments before she looked away. He wondered about her thoughts as he opened the bottle and poured them each half a glass. “Did I get over you hitting me with a car too quick?” he asked, glancing up at her.
“Probably . . . but I appreciate it,” she said, smiling broadly.
Anson eyed
her deep dimples.
“Here’s to forgiveness and healing,” she said, raising the wine to him.
Anson noticed the tattoo on her inner wrist. “Believe,” he read aloud. “Believe in what?”
“Love,” she answered without equivocation, touching her glass to his with a light ding. “Maybe you need a tattoo too, so that you can believe in it.”
“I believe in love,” he said.
“True love? Made for each other love? Destined love?” she asked, looking up at him.
Anson felt uneasy. He set his wineglass down on the island and moved over to wash his hands at the sink. Talk of visions. Soul mates. Destiny. It wasn’t his cup of tea.
“This stew smells delicious,” he said, after raising the glass lid.
“The worst part of having this gift is not being able to use it on myself or anyone in my family, for that matter,” she said from behind him.
“I’m starving,” he said, choosing to ignore her. What’s next? She’s going to tell me she see can see dead people? Or she’s like the little blonde off Long Island Medium—the Holtsville edition?
“Don’t you think that’s a curse and a blessing?” she asked, coming to stand beside him at the stove. “To be able to help others, but you can’t help yourself ?”
Anson released a heavy breath as he turned to face her. “Listen, I’m trying not to say something to make you angry again or to hurt your feelings. So can we just talk about something else?” he asked, looking down into her bright eyes.
“Yes, if you want,” she said, reaching over to lightly touch his hand.
When she closed her eyes and her brows drew in like she was concentrating, he jerked his hand away. “Mona,” he snapped.
“Sorry,” she said. “Just trying again to get a read.”
“You really believe all of that?” he asked, his skepticism obvious.
“Yes,” Mona stressed. “My aunts in Baton Rouge are the best at it. I promise you. Maybe they could get a premonition on you.”
Anson’s eyes widened. “No,” he said at the sight of her face becoming reflective. He didn’t doubt that Miss Spontaneity wouldn’t call in the aunts.
She held up her wrist to him and tapped her tattoo with the index finger of her opposite hand.
Want, Need, Love Page 8