And what a relief she had felt when she saw it! There'd been a vague tension building in her chest all morning—what if she never heard from him again?
Dig hole. Jump in.
But now he was coming back to see her, and she could barely contain her eagerness. She had really enjoyed his company and very much wanted to spend more time with him.
There's no need to regret this, he had said.
Her heart melted as she remembered the look on his face as he'd whispered those words. But could she trust her feelings right now? Shouldn't she be putting him off? At least for the time being?
That's not what you really want though, is it?
When Michael arrived, she sensed something was vaguely amiss. He stood nice and tall outside the front door with his perfect, dark hair and nervous-looking smile. He wore a nicely pressed red shirt with neat, gray slacks, looking every inch the charming, sexy guy who had left her bed early that morning. The very memory made Priscilla's mouth water and she blushed, puzzled by her feelings. They seemed strange at a time like this. Strange and out of place.
"Tea?" she offered, as she led him down the main hallway toward the kitchen. "Sweet tea, I mean? Or there's soda, tropical punch..."
"No, sweet tea's one of my favorite drinks, that's perfect," he said, watching her. "So how are you feeling...the morning after?"
Her strides down the hallway slowed as she glanced back at him.
Michael just barely missed bumping into her. "Oh, God," he said, "I'm so sorry—I'm such an idiot. I meant the morning after the funeral. No pun intended, I swear."
Chuckling, she waved a hand. "No, I guess it just sounded weird the way you said it, it's fine."
When they reached the kitchen, he helped her move a half-dozen floral arrangements from the counter, then she motioned for him to have a seat on one of the bar stools while she got the drinks. "Umm...how am I feeling?" she asked thoughtfully. "I guess I’m a bit confused...and I'd actually like to apologize."
"Apologize?" He frowned. "Why? For what?"
"For the timing of...what happened between us last night."
"Believe me," he assured her, "you don’t need to apologize, Priscilla—I do. You were emotional, and tipsy, and I kinda-sorta feel like I took advantage."
"No," she said, tilting her head with a frown, "I can't let you think that because it's not even remotely true." The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. "I can't be taken advantage of, Mr. Frost." She winked. "It's nothing like that. I'm just emotionally out of sync right now—and it's completely new to me. So I'm not exactly sure why I would hook up with someone so quickly—especially at a time like this. But you didn't take advantage of me, Michael. I definitely wanted it. I wasn't that drunk." She held his gaze.
Michael sipped his tea. "So, what exactly does your apology mean?" he asked quietly. "You trying to let me down easy? It's-not-you-it's-me kiss-off time?"
She shook her head. "No, it's not like that..." Then she lost her train of thought. She had been studying his eyes and noticed that a silver-colored circle enclosed his light green irises. So that's what it is, she thought, having fallen under their spell once more. "You know what?" she said, putting her glass in the sink. "Let's go for a walk. Come on down to the pier with me. There's a nice gazebo out on the beach."
"Sure," Michael said, handing her his glass. "Just lead the way."
She took him out back and they walked along a garden path that led down to the private beach, where several yachts dotted the blue horizon.
"I obviously like you, Michael," she said as they climbed the few steps leading up to the white wooden pier. "I don't really want to give you the kiss off. It's just that starting to date someone a week after losing my grandmother? It's just too confusing. And quite frankly, it feels awkward."
"But, it doesn't have to," he said, reaching for her hand.
And then Priscilla knew it was coming: the unbelievably clouded judgment, compliments of the overwhelming attraction she felt toward this guy. An attraction that was totally interfering with her ability to mourn.
As they walked together along the pier, heading toward the gazebo, he waited for a response.
The wind picked up. Pushing the hair out of her face, she took a deep breath. "Michael, I just don't know about this right now." She squeezed his hand. "I don't know squat right now." She hesitated. "Could you have started a brand new relationship with someone right after you lost your mom and your sister?"
That gave him pause and he stopped, looking down thoughtfully at the white planks beneath their feet. "I was seventeen when it happened and—"
"Hey," she said, quickly cutting him off. "I shouldn't have brought that up, I'm sorry. It was totally insensitive."
"No," he said firmly. "I think it makes perfect sense for you to bring it up, actually." He looked away, out at the water. "And you've made your point, okay? Touché."
"Please don't be offended," she said as they reached the gazebo and sat down together. "I'm just saying that I think I need some time before we can date, that's all. Is that so bad?"
She could tell he didn't like it, but he said, "No, that's not so bad at all. And of course, I completely understand where you're coming from."
But then, without warning, he was pulling her up against him, burying his hands in her hair. Michael kissed her once lightly, tenderly, before giving her lips more thorough attention and satisfying the urge they had both been feeling since the moment he'd walked through the front door.
Their kiss sizzled. Echoing their erotic coupling of the early morning hours. The crashing waves seemed to serenade them as they devoured each other with a hungry passion new to them both.
When Michael finally stopped, Priscilla's whole body was weak and she was tingling all over. God, he smells so good...
"Still want time?"
Her eyes popped open. What a cocky little devil! she thought and burst out laughing. Playfully shoving his shoulder, she laughed and laughed as much of the conflict simply melted away.
Then Michael started laughing at her laughing, with a low chuckle that made Priscilla imagine hot, steamy nights on top of him. Right out here in the gazebo. Right out here in the moonlight.
"So, Mr. Frost," she said, catching her breath, lightly touching his jaw. "What's that supposed to mean?" Dropping an impulsive kiss on his gorgeous mouth, she heard him groan.
When he replied his deep voice was serious, with no trace of laughter. "I think it means we give this a try."
Closing her eyes a moment, Priscilla took a deep breath. "Well, o—" Her mouth had barely opened before Michael reclaimed her lips and slowly began driving her half-mad with his tongue again.
He'd fervently worked his way down to her neck when she pulled back, saying it would be reckless to get carried away on the pier in broad daylight! So they just sat a while, staring into each other’s eyes, bonding and being in the moment. The whole world stopped and it was just the two of them—Michael whispering intimately about how amazing she'd felt last night, and her blushing, teasing him about needing an encore...
But with the sound of approaching footsteps, Priscilla turned to see her brother shattering the moment.
"Cilla?" he called out as he approached the gazebo. "I was looking for you all over the house."
"I've just been out here, Doug," she called back, "with Michael Frost. You know, Frosted Designs? He came back to see...how we were."
Awkward!
And it wasn't that she didn't appreciate her brother's support and concern, but Priscilla would be lying if she denied how eager she was for Doug and his judgments-at-the-ready to pack up and get back to Paris where they belonged.
Glancing back at Michael, she tried to assess how prepared he was for the interruption, but he seemed totally calm and relaxed.
Good, she thought, admiring him. That makes one of us.
• CHAPTER SIX •
Amber Holland sat impatiently waiting for the long line of cars at her front gate to get the hel
l out of her way.
Damn it, she thought, eyeing her chic new bob in the rearview mirror. She had hoped to make it out to the salon and back in time for her Skype appointment—after all, it wasn't good to be late for a meeting with a potential client, was it?—but of course now the assholes in these fucking cars were clearly out to prove her wrong.
Why the hell were so many people out driving around at this time of day, anyway? Didn't they have jobs? Shit.
Rummaging through her purse, she grabbed her phone and shot off a quick e-mail to the client, apologizing profusely for having to be a few minutes late. And although she received a swift response assuring her it wasn't a problem—they could simply push the meeting back a half hour—Amber prayed her little jaunt to the salon hadn't just cost her a weekly bank deposit. She had enough stress as it was, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with Michael.
She had been more than a little reluctant to acknowledge how off-kilter things had been feeling between them in the last few months. At first, she had chalked it up to the typical flux of any long-term relationship—you couldn't expect things to feel perfect all the time, could you?—but as soon as she managed to placate herself with that, she was slapped with evidence to the contrary!
For instance. Michael was disturbingly quiet lately. Sometimes the silences could drag on to the point where Amber felt compelled to fill them. How awkward it was to be with him in the apartment, neither of them speaking to each other for hours at a time! So she had begun experimenting, actually watching the flow and she realized that if she didn't speak to him, days could pass where there would be little to no conversation between them at all!
"Eggs okay for breakfast?"
"Sure," he might say. "Thanks, Am."
And that would be it.
He used to text her several times a day, oftentimes just so she'd know he was thinking of her. Nowadays, she was lucky if he texted her when he'd be home late, never mind a sweetheart text.
But you're in this for the long haul, she'd been telling herself. You're together forever. That's a really, really, really long time, so stop worrying about these rough patches.
But this wasn't feeling much like a rough patch—and that's what frightened her. Amber was beginning to see a trend she didn't like one bit, and as Michael became increasingly remote, she knew something would have to give. And soon.
He had never been out all night before. Ever. And he had never let her texts go unanswered before either. The tension she was seeing in him was also new, and a dull panic was rising in Amber's soul. A terrible hole had formed in their relationship and wherever it was, whatever the reason, she was determined to find and plug it.
A proposal would certainly get you over this speed bump. The thought came to her suddenly, almost bringing tears to her eyes. Of course she wanted to marry Michael and start a family, but he needed to initiate it.
After they had moved in together, she figured it would only be a matter of time before he proposed. Even her mother had said so. Everyone spoke about the future with the assumption that Michael and Amber would be married in it—it was a given.
Once the traffic had cleared and she got back into the apartment, Amber rushed over to the laptop to open up her files and get connected for the meeting.
Does he even realize how much I do for him? she thought, unable to get her mind off her personal life. Hell no! She'd made that goddamn lasagna from scratch!
A sigh escaped her lips as she went into the bedroom to check out her new look. She'd had her long blonde tresses cut into a short bob, with a striking blend of dark brown, jet black and caramel highlights. She hoped Michael would take one look at her and...
God, I hate this, she thought. I hate this!
She couldn't stand this insecurity. Like seriously—a new, sexier look was going to plug this hole? Really, Amber? she chastised. You think Michael's just losing interest in you because you've had the same hair since high school? Not likely!
But she did still believe he loved her. After all, that's why she had fallen for him. Even as a teen, he had been one of the most kind and considerate people to everyone and she'd found those qualities extremely attractive.
Having been raised without a father, Amber experienced a dependability in Michael that she'd never had before. She always knew he'd have her back. He was happy to pay all the bills whenever her writing jobs slowed; he always took excellent care of her in sickness and in health; and he went to bat for her whenever necessary.
And he moved in with you for Christ's sake! she scolded.
Rolling her eyes, thoroughly fed up with herself, Amber spun around and went into the kitchen. She still had a few minutes to spare, so she put the kettle on and pulled out a bag of Earl Grey.
And by the way, she thought suddenly. Where the hell is he?
See? This was exactly why she couldn't relax! Michael's afternoon calls—or at least a text to check in with her?—they'd pretty much stopped. Here it was nearly 4 p.m. and Amber's phone was silent.
But we connected so well last night, she thought. It was better than ever. Wasn't it?
Great! Now she couldn't even tell if it was all in her head or not. This was all driving her bat-shit crazy and something had to give. But the thought of vocalizing these thoughts to Michael scared the crap out of her. What if it jinxed them?
Pacing back and forth, she mulled it over. Then making a beeline for the living room, she picked up her cell phone. Michael usually texted first, but if she really wanted to know what was happening, she was gonna have to become much more assertive.
Amber practically poked holes through the phone as she typed:
Michael? Where r u? ~Shades of Amber~
Feeling a shot of adrenaline from her decision to take control, she marched back into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea. She sweetened it with the usual two spoons of honey, but it didn’t help. Routine had always been Amber’s go-to for stress, but she had never been faced with this level of anxiety before in their relationship and it wasn't working.
And it certainly didn't help that it was over an hour before her phone lit up with a response.
Sorry, Am. Worked right through lunch. New account. :) — M. Frost —
Although she was still wrapping up her client meeting, Amber muted the Skype call and responded right away.
OK. Not bothering u. C U 2nite. Luv u. :) ~Shades of Amber~
She had resumed her meeting, having not expected another response from Michael, but a few minutes later she got one.
Love u2. More later. — M. Frost —
And that was all it took to calm the waters. Yes, of course he still loves you, she thought, smiling. Suddenly she was transported back to their teen years—Michael was kissing her against the locker, calling her his cute little wish-maker; she was still the cheerleader and he was still the baseball captain. He had always given her that wink she loved, saying, "More later," as he walked off to class.
As she put down the phone now, she stretched in her chair and thanked God she had been able to land that new client today. He should be home soon, she thought happily. Her plan was to heat up the rest of the lasagna, make another salad and have an especially romantic evening.
It was time they took things to the next level.
• CHAPTER SEVEN •
On the drive back from Emerald Leas that evening, just as he was entering the mainland from the Mayfair Causeway, Michael's check engine light came on. He swore and pulled off the highway to check his gas cap. Other cars flew passed him as he got out.
Sure enough, he hadn't tightened it well enough when he had filled up earlier; so once he gave it a few more turns, the light went right off.
Voila, he thought, snapping his fingers. Simple fix.
When he got back into the Stingray he saw the text from Amber. Shit. I should've called her by now. Truth was, their pre-dawn tryst had already become a distant memory. More proof of how routine life with Amber had gotten for him—a flavorless blen
d of dull and ordinary.
Meanwhile, Priscilla was making him feel passionate in ways he'd never felt. And for Michael, it was as if a deep, old wound was finally, but finally, beginning to heal.
Before he had left, she mentioned something about the weekend. But he and Amber already had a month-old reservation at Miraval Resort and they were flying out to Arizona first thing Friday morning. So whatever she had in mind, he knew he wouldn't be able to make it and he hated the thought of lying to her about the reason why.
The double-dealing felt bad. Really bad. It was already taking its toll on him, so he knew he wouldn't keep it up much longer. The clock's definitely ticking on it, as his friend Jason would say.
Raindrops on Roses: Book One of the Favorite Things Trilogy Page 4