Making love with Kayana excited and frightened him at the same time. Each was so attuned to what brought the other maximum pleasure, and whenever she initiated the act, Graeme feared losing complete control. And once the act was over, he was left as helpless as a newborn, while praying she would never come to know the power she wielded over him.
Turning over his hourglass, he began typing. He’d completed two-thirds of the book and planned to write until the sand ran out. Graeme had learned from the episode when he’d compromised his health by writing around the clock for days, and he vowed not to repeat it. He’d just completed a chapter when his cellphone chimed a familiar ringtone.
He tapped the screen. It was his caretaker. “Yes, Rick.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Ogden, but I thought you needed to know that we just had a violent thunderstorm, and a tree fell onto the roof of the house. Several windowpanes on the bedroom over the dining room were knocked out, and I’ve tried putting a tarp over them to keep out the rain. I know you’re going to have to call the insurance company—”
“It’s all right, Rick. I’m coming up.” He knew that, as the owner of the property, he would have to meet with the insurance adjuster to get an estimate of the cost to repair the roof and determine if there was any structural damage to the house.
“When should I expect you?”
“Tomorrow. I’m going to fly into Boston. I’ll let you know when I’m expected to arrive, because I’d like you to pick me up.”
“No problem, Mr. Ogden.”
Graeme cursed under his breath. The year before, he’d replaced all of the windows in the house with energy-saving ones to reduce the expense of heating the large house with its twenty-foot ceilings. The house was listed on the national register of historic places, and he made certain to preserve it for its historical significance.
He scrolled through his directory to find a corporate jet to reserve a direct flight into Boston. He also had to call the groomer in the morning to board Barley until his return. Forty minutes later, he got into bed with Kayana. He was surprised to find that she was still awake.
“I have to go home tomorrow.”
Turning over, she stared at him. “What’s wrong?”
He told her about the phone call from the caretaker, and that he’d reserved a direct flight to Boston with a private carrier. “I’m going to call the groomer tomorrow to board Barley until I come back.”
Kayana sat up. “You can’t, Graeme! The baby’s going to be traumatized if he’s caged up again.”
“I can’t take him with me, Kay. It would be different if I was driving.”
“I’ll take care of him. I’ll house- and dog-sit while you’re gone. Don’t forget I have a set of keys.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m volunteering.”
“What about your friend?” Graeme asked.
“What about her?” Kayana countered. “She can stay at my place at night, while I sleep here. After work, I’ll come over and check on Barley and make certain he’s being a good boy. Meanwhile, Mariah can help out at the Café. She got a lot of experience waiting tables when she worked at a restaurant in high school and college. She will ‘baby,’ ‘honey bunch,’ and ‘darling’ a customer to death and wind up with a pocket full of tips at the end of her shift.”
Graeme laughed, despite the seriousness of the scene that would greet him once he arrived in Newburyport. Many of the trees on the property were more than one hundred years old, and he realized he had to get someone to examine them for rot and/or to remove trees entirely or prune some of their branches.
“She sounds like a lot of fun.”
“She’s the best, Graeme. If everyone had a friend like Mariah, the world would be a lot happier.”
He dropped a kiss on her hair. “You’re very lucky, babe.”
“I’m more than lucky,” she whispered against his throat. “I’m blessed to have wonderful people in my life.”
Graeme wanted to admit to Kayana that he was also blessed to have her in his life. “I’m not certain how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll text or call you with updates.”
“Your house and your puppy are safe with me. What time and which airport are you leaving from?”
“Wilmington at twelve-thirty. I already called a car service to drop me off.”
“Do you anticipate a lot of damage to the house?” she asked.
“The caretaker says it’s only one bedroom, but I’ll see once I get there. One of these days, I’d like you to come up and see the house. The best time is around the Christmas holidays because everything looks like a picture postcard.”
“Maybe one of these days I’ll come up to Massachusetts to see where the American Revolution began.”
“You have to admit we were a bunch of badasses to challenge the mighty power that was the British Empire.”
“They soon found out that a bunch of Yankee farmers with muskets, hoes, and pitchforks weren’t going to roll over and submit to their tyranny.”
Graeme pressed his mouth to her forehead. “I’ve kept you up long enough. Go to sleep, babe. I promise to get you up if you oversleep.”
Kayana draped her bare smooth leg over his. “Good night again.”
Graeme held Kayana until her breathing slowed, and she finally fell asleep. Reaching over, he turned off the bedside lamp on his side of the bed. Just when he was beginning to get used to sharing his bed with Kayana, he would have to leave her and Coates Island. She wasn’t actually living with him because she hadn’t moved all of her possessions into the house, yet it was the first step in his hoping to convince her that they could live together. He had given up on the likelihood they would marry, which meant he had to be content with whatever arrangement she would agree to.
* * *
Graeme closed his eyes and shook his head when he saw the aftermath from the storm. The top third of the massive tree lay across the length of the bedroom, and if anyone had been sleeping in the bed, they would not have survived. There were leaves, glass, and tree bark everywhere, and he knew nothing could be moved or cleaned up until after the adjuster arrived.
“What do you think, Mr. Ogden?”
He turned to find the caretaker standing in the hallway behind him. Richard O’Neill Jr. was only two years older than Graeme. The son of the former gardener and housekeeper, Richard Sr. and Dorcas, Rick had elected to stay on as the property’s caretaker after his parents passed away. Graeme hadn’t had much contact with Rick during the school year, but once his parents closed the townhouse in Boston to return to Newburyport for the summer, they were inseparable whenever the Ogdens weren’t traveling abroad. When his mother chided him for spending too much time with the help’s son, Graeme realized she wasn’t as liberal-minded as she professed, but as he grew older, he’d come to understand that there was a distinct delineation when it came to social class. It was obvious Rick understood the differences because he’d gone from calling him Master Graeme to Mr. Ogden. And there was never a time when he’d slipped up and addressed him as Graeme.
“It’s a wicked mess, Rick.”
“I’d say it’s more than a mess, Mr. Ogden. That tree is going to have to be cut into pieces before it can be carted away.”
Graeme stared at the tall, slender man with bright blue eyes and strawberry-blond hair. Rick was in his early twenties when he fell in love with a local girl, but she broke his heart when she married an older man willing to give her what Rick wasn’t able to.
“You’re right about that. Once the adjuster finishes with his estimate, I’m going to call a company that will take care of everything.”
“What about the furniture?”
“I doubt it can be replaced.” All of the furnishings in the house had been appraised and authenticated for insurance purposes, but Graeme had no intention of hiring someone to go to auctions or estate sales to replace the antiques. Reproductions would have to suffice. “I believe I need a dri
nk, but I hate drinking alone. What say you, Rick? Let’s crack open my grandfather’s aged scotch and see if it’s as good as they make it out to be.”
Rick’s eyes shimmered like polished blue topaz. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as that big-ass tree that decided it was better inside the house than out.”
“I’ll go down to the wine cellar and dust off a bottle.”
Graeme lingered in the bedroom, surveying the damage for another minute before turning on his heel and taking the back staircase to the first story. His grandfather had been a collector: antique cars, aged liquor, and imported wine, and he had a penchant for younger women. Although married, he’d had several mistresses who were young enough to be his daughter, while his blue-blood wife turned a blind eye to her husband’s affairs; she loved the grand lifestyle even more than her husband.
* * *
Graeme folded his body down into a leather armchair in the library and watched as Rick poured a couple ounces of scotch into highball glasses. He’d lost track of the number of hours he’d spent in the room as a boy, sitting on a chair in the corner while his grandfather held business meetings. Laurence Jacoby Norris claimed he wanted to expose his six-year-old grandson to the way he conducted business. He wasn’t allowed to say anything but was meant to just watch and listen. Once the meetings concluded, Graeme was tested on what he’d heard and was asked if he agreed or disagreed with his grandfather’s decision to invest in or sell properties. As he grew older, he understood what his grandfather was attempting to teach him. A country’s economy wasn’t only its lifeblood; it was the heart that pumped the blood.
He took the glass from Rick, held it up in a toast, and took a sip. “Boy, that is really smooth.”
Rick nodded in agreement. “It’s the best I’ve tasted. I bet the old man would be spinning in his grave if he knew the help was lounging in his inner sanctum, drinking his ninety-year-old single-malt scotch.”
“Speaking of help, Rick. It’s time you stop calling me Mr. Ogden.”
Bright blue eyes met a pair of light gray ones. “What do you want me to call you?”
“Graeme. After all, this is my name.”
Rick bit his lip. “Why now? What happened?”
Slumping lower in his chair, Graeme stared at row upon row of books lining the wall in a built-in bookcase. “Now that I’m retired and have nothing but time on my hands, I’ve done a lot of thinking about things. For example, I realize you’re the closest thing I have to a brother.”
“Don’t forget a ‘big’ brother,” Rick teased.
Graeme smiled. Rick was the one who had taught him how to drive, bought alcohol for them before Graeme was twenty-one, and introduced him to the cousin of his then girlfriend, who’d shown him a world of sexual pleasure he never could’ve imagined.
“You’re right about that. We were brothers in crime.”
Rick grimaced. “Not quite crime, but trouble,” he said, and then gave Graeme a lingering stare. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something different about you. Maybe it’s because you’re retired and more relaxed.”
Graeme crossed his feet at the ankles. “That’s because I’m at a different place in my life.”
Pale eyebrows lifted questioningly. “Does it have anything to do with a woman?”
It was as if he and Rick had turned back the clock to when they were young boys and confided in each other about any and everything. “Yes.”
“Are you in love with her—Graeme?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Good for you. When are you bringing her home?”
Rick was asking Graeme a question he couldn’t answer. Not now. When he’d mentioned home, he knew Rick was talking about the house in Newburyport. But for him the house on Coates Island was now home. It was where he felt more alive than he had in years. It was also where he felt most creative. But, more important, it was where he’d met and fallen in love with a woman who complemented him in every way.
“I don’t know, Rick.” He set his glass on a leaded crystal coaster. “Let’s go out and get something to eat, because I’m beginning to feel the effects of Grandpa’s liquid gold.”
Rick stood up, placing his glass on a matching coaster. “I’m game. Give me a few minutes to change my clothes, and I’ll meet you by the garage.”
Chapter 18
“Do you put out a spread like this every Sunday?” Mariah asked Kayana as they carried dishes from the Café’s kitchen to the patio.
She smiled at her friend, nodding. “Yes.”
Mariah had arrived late Saturday afternoon, and after changing her clothes, she had immediately put on an apron and begun assisting the waitstaff taking dinner orders.
Kayana was shocked upon seeing her friend for the first time in six months. Although they talked on the phone every other month, Mariah had neglected to tell her that she’d gone on a diet, and the result was a loss of nearly forty pounds. She’d gone from a size twenty to a fourteen, and the transformation was complete when she’d stopped relaxing her salt-and-pepper, shoulder-length hair and adopted a close-cropped style. The result was stunning and head-turning. The weight loss had slimmed her face to reveal exquisite cheekbones in a gold-brown complexion with a faint sprinkling of freckles over her pert nose.
Mariah was married to her high school sweetheart when Kayana had met her in grad school, but the union ended once Thomas Hinton revealed he was bisexual. Following her divorce, Mariah had dated a few men until she met Haji Davis. He became the love of her life, and she talked incessantly about wanting to marry again. But it was obvious her lover avoided the issue like the plague, and Kayana had suggested to her friend that she stop bringing up the subject, that no man wanted to be pressured into marriage.
Kayana had decided to prepare the quintessential southern Sunday dinner, with fried chicken, collard greens, macaroni and cheese, and buttery cornbread. Cherie had sent her a text saying she was bringing strawberry shortcake for dessert, while Leah had volunteered to bring the ingredients for a champagne punch.
“What are your book club friends like?” Mariah asked.
“You’ll see when they get here.”
A frown appeared between Mariah’s clear brown eyes. “That’s not telling me anything.”
“I’m not saying anything because I don’t want you to have any preconceived notions. The only other thing I’m going to say is that I look forward to discussing books with them.”
She hadn’t mentioned Graeme to Mariah; she didn’t want her friend to accuse her of being a sell-out because she was dating a man who wasn’t black. Mariah hadn’t forgiven her mother for sleeping with a white man who’d abandoned her when she’d told him she was pregnant with his child, which had resulted in Mariah having unresolved issues about her father. And when she’d told Mariah she was house- and dog-sitting for a friend, Kayana let her draw her own conclusion as to the race of the man whose house she was looking after during his absence.
She and Graeme exchanged texts every night. He’d reminded her they would miss seeing Les Misérables, but promised to make it up to her when he returned. She’d told him not to worry because there was always next summer. He also gave her updates on repairs to the house; it would be at least another two weeks before he received confirmation from the insurance company because there was a backlog of claims due to the storm. Kayana reassured him that Barley was well and she was trying not to spoil him, but to no avail, though she hadn’t gone against his wishes not to allow the puppy in the kitchen or the bedroom.
Kayana detected the sound of an approaching vehicle. “That must be Leah and Cherie. I’ll be right back. I have to open the door for them.” She left the patio and opened the door to find the driver of the jitney holding a large wicker picnic basket.
“It was a little heavy for Mrs. Kent, so I volunteered to carry it for her.”
Kayana opened the door wider. “Please come in, Henry, and put it on one of the tables.” The basket was filled with bottles
of champagne and ginger ale and a half-gallon jar of a pinkish mixture.
Leah surreptitiously slipped the young man a bill. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem, Mrs. Kent. You can call me when you’re ready to leave.”
With wide eyes, Leah shook her head. “That’s okay, Henry. Miss Johnson will drive me back.”
“I think someone has the hots for Mrs. Kent,” Cherie crooned as she cradled a large white box tied with string and adorned with a sticker from the local bakery.
Leah rolled her eyes upward. “That kid is younger than my sons, and I can assure you that I’m no cougar.”
“You can’t be,” Cherie said, “not with a husband who’s old enough to be your father.”
Leah cut her eyes at Cherie. “That’s cold.”
“Yeah, right,” Cherie drawled. “You told me I could have any man I want when it’s the same with you, Mrs. Kent. You attract young men, old men, and those in-between, so stop playing yourself.”
Leah blushed under the deep tan that enhanced the color of her bright blue eyes. “Well, all of that attention is coming to an end because I’m leaving in a couple of days. This will be my last book club discussion.”
“Why?” Kayana and Cherie said in unison.
“I got a text from my boys that Alan’s not feeling well, so they’re cutting their trip short and coming back to the States.”
Cherie set the box on the table with the basket and hugged Leah. “I’m sorry about teasing you about your husband.”
Leah patted the younger woman’s back. “It’s okay, honey. Alan’s going to be around for a long time. Adele is eighty-six and still raising hell, so he’s got at least another twenty years to make my life a living hell before he kicks the bucket. Enough talk about my tormentors. I’m ready to get my eat and drink on and talk about books with my best friends.”
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