He walked into the garage, where the Toro mower and gas can stood in the corner.
“I enjoyed the cookout yesterday,” Mom said. “Hadn’t seen your father in ages. He didn’t look too good.”
“I don’t know what’s been going on with him. Yesterday was the first time I’d talked to him in a couple weeks.”
“He’s back to his old tricks, sounds like. A leopard can’t change its spots.”
He shrugged. He picked up the can of gasoline and rolled the mower outside, onto the driveway.
No one knew the sad story of Andrew and his father better than his mother. She’d been there for all of the broken promises, missed birthdays, unreturned phone calls, and unexplained absences that sometimes had stretched on for years. When Andrew had told her about this so-called “fresh start” with his father, Mom had reacted, as expected, with doubt. She’d warned him to be careful with his heart.
“The ball’s in his court,” he said. “He said he wants to play golf sometime this week. He promised to call me.”
“Promised, did he? That sounds familiar. Don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from him until next year.”
“It doesn’t matter. Life’ll go on, with or without him.”
She made a disgusted sound in her throat. “Without him might be best for you. As far as I’m concerned, baby, he doesn’t deserve your time.”
“People can change, Mom.”
“Hmph. It’d take a miracle.”
“Yeah.” He wanted to change the subject. Bending to unscrew the gas tank cap on the mower, he said, “I’ve got a date tonight. With a new girl.”
“You do? Where’d you meet her?”
“At Starbucks.”
“Really?” Folding her arms, Mom gazed at the pine trees near the back of her property. “Does Carmen know about this date?”
“Carmen has a boyfriend, Mom. You know that. She doesn’t care about who I date.”
Mom smiled faintly. “I had a dream about you two last night.”
“Oh, no. Not one of your psychic visions.”
“It was very vivid, like those dreams usually are,” she said.
For as long as he could remember, Mom had claimed to receive omens in her dreams. He was a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic, believed in rational explanations and scientific conclusions. There was a sensible answer for most things that happened; you needed only to search for it. Dreams, however, were so vague that you could twist any interpretation that you desired out of them.
But he played along, as usual, with her clairvoyant meanderings. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Okay,” he said. “What happened in this dream of yours?”
“You and Carmen were together, in love—and not hiding it from each other.” Mom smirked.
“Yeah, yeah. Is that all?”
Mom’s smile faded. “You guys were in a house somewhere, not your place or hers. It was a cabin or somewhere like that. There was a snake in there.”
“I hate snakes.” His lips curled. “What kind was it?”
“Something huge and mean. Like a python. It was chasing you guys, you especially. It really wanted you.”
In spite of his doubts, his imagination had painted his mother’s dream scene in lucid color. His stomach roiled.
“Did it get me?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I woke up before that happened. It scared me so badly I didn’t get back to sleep for a while.”
“It was only a dream, Mom.” He spread his arms. “I’m here, see? No python is wrapped around my throat.”
She didn’t laugh. “It was a vision of the future, Andrew. The snake is a symbol.”
“A symbol of what?”
“It could be a difficult challenge coming up for you, or a person who’s going to cause trouble.” She frowned. “I’m not sure.”
“Miss Cleo would give me a better answer than that.”
Mom swatted his arm. “Don’t joke about this.”
“Fine. What do you want me to do?”
Her gaze drilled into him.
“I want you to be careful,” she said.
“I’m always careful.”
“Then be extra careful. Watch out for new people, new situations. Especially people. I have a feeling that someone you know or will know soon is going to be revealed as that snake, and you need to be on guard.”
“All right, Mom. I’ll be on the lookout for someone with scales and a forked tongue.”
She sighed, exasperated. “Go ahead, crack your jokes, but promise me that you’ll be careful. Okay?”
“I’ll be careful, Mom. Promise.”
She nodded, satisfied. She resumed working on her flowers.
Watching her, he smiled. Although she could be a little loony with her supposedly prophetic dreams, he loved her all the same.
He began to cut the grass, thinking not about snakes, but about Mika, and how seven o’clock couldn’t get there fast enough.
Chapter 10
At six-thirty, Andrew finished preparing for his dinner with Mika.
He wore a taupe, silk twill shirt jacket with matching slacks, tan silk crew shirt, and polished Cole Haan loafers. He’d daubed on Dolce & Gabbana cologne and used a trimmer to sharpen his hairline. He wore one piece of jewelry: an Omega watch that he sported only on rare occasions.
He’d been on dozens of first dates, but none of them felt as important as this one. Mika was special. He was determined to make a positive impression.
After checking his profile for perhaps the tenth time in his full-length bedroom mirror, he went to the garage.
The Mercedes sparkled like a demo car in a showroom. He’d gotten the deluxe package at a local car wash.
As he drove away from the house, he noted that the annoying cats were gone. Permanently, he hoped.
He stopped at a local florist and picked up a fresh bouquet of bright, summer flowers. Then he hit I-85 north, which would take him to downtown Atlanta, and into Buckhead.
Driving with the convertible top down, he grooved to the old school jams playing on 102.5 FM, the classic soul station. Sang along with Stevie and Luther and Teddy. Cool wind bathed his face, and twilight fell over the world like a great velvet sheet. It was a cliché, but he thought it was a night made for romance.
If Buckhead was Atlanta’s hot spot, then Peachtree Street was its nucleus, a strip renowned for its nightclubs, trendy restaurants, eclectic stores, high-end shopping malls, expensive digs, and stylish, moneyed residents. On Friday nights and weekends, traffic could slow to a crawl as partygoers filled the avenue, wanting to see and be seen; but on a Tuesday night, the area was thinly populated with people running errands, jogging, and lounging at sidewalk cafés.
He pulled into the parking lot of Houston’s at five minutes to seven. He double-checked his face in the mirror and applied a fresh coat of lotion to his hands. Sweat slicked his palms.
It’s only a date, man, he assured himself. Calm down.
But he hoped—so much that it frightened him—that she was the One. She certainly looked as if she could be Ms. Right. But would they have that crucial yet elusive chemistry? Would she feel as excited about him as he felt about her?
He both loved and hated first dates. They were exhilarating and scary plunges into the unknown. Anything could happen. And usually did.
He heard heels clicking on pavement, somewhere close. He turned in his seat.
Mika strolled alongside the car.
The sight of her raised his body temperature a few degrees.
Behind her, a shiny black Rolls Royce pulled away. He knew cars well; he identified it as a Silver Shadow model, manufactured in 1972 or ’73. Classic, regal styling. Impeccably maintained.
The sedan had smoked windows, concealing the driver, but he was sure that she had arrived in the vehicle. It fit her style.
Grinning, he got out of his car. “Hello, there.”
“Good evening, Mr. Wilson. You’re on time.”
“Of cou
rse. You look lovely.”
She wore an elegant, strapless black dress, and pumps. A platinum necklace with a sparkling diamond solitaire in the center. Subtle, diamond earrings. Light makeup, burgundy lipstick.
Her luminous hazel eyes were hypnotic.
“You’re handsome, too.” She fingered the lapel of his jacket. He caught an intoxicating whiff of her perfume; jasmine, it seemed to be.
He reached inside the car and picked up the bouquet. “This is for you.”
She broke into a huge smile.
“Thank you so much, Andrew!” She inhaled the flowers’ fragrance.
He nodded at the restaurant ahead of them, and offered her his arm.
“Shall we?” he said.
Clasping the flowers to her bosom, she put her arm in his, and they walked to the restaurant together.
His worries had drained away. He had a great evening ahead of him. He could feel it.
Houston’s was an ideal place for a romantic dinner. Dark wood paneling. Dim lighting. Spacious booths. Soft music. Attentive servers attired in black moving with calm efficiency.
Andrew and Mika sat across from each other, at a booth in a quiet corner of the dining room. A candle glowed on the table.
They’d finished dinner—a rib eye steak for him, roasted chicken for her—and sipped glasses of Riesling. Their conversation had flowed nonstop all evening.
He satisfied his desire to learn more about her. Mika had lived in Georgia for her entire life, growing up in a small town. Her parents had died many years ago; she was the only child.
She was a painter, she said, but her focus was not on selling her work or winning accolades; she pursued art purely for the love of it. She confided that she didn’t need money. Her father had been a vastly successful physician, and had bequeathed her a substantial inheritance that included the estate on which she lived. She visited Atlanta frequently, for leisure, staying in hotels for sometimes weeks at a time.
He had suspected that she hailed from wealth. Her dignified manner and speech suggested a life of privilege. Although some of his buddies balked at a woman having more money than a man, he didn’t envy Mika her fortune. He had his own money, and she had hers. If they ended up together, it was more prosperity for the both of them.
Her wineglass was almost empty. He picked up the bottle and refreshed her glass.
She swirled the golden liquid in front of her lips.
“Now you’ve learned more about me, Andrew,” she said. “But I must share a confession.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t like confessions. Is this the part when you tell me that you have a husband and three kids?”
“Nothing quite so dramatic. I must confess to having engineered our meeting at the coffee shop this morning.”
“What do you mean? You knew I was going to be there?”
She nodded. “I’d visited a couple of weeks ago and was reading another of your novels—the first book—and one of the café employees mentioned that you were a regular there, and tended to drop in on Tuesday mornings. I decided that I wanted to meet you.”
“I’ll be damned.” He leaned back in the booth. “Eric was right.”
“Eric, your best friend?”
“Yeah. I’d told him how we met. He said it sounded too coincidental for you to happen to be there reading my book.”
“Is that all he said?” Her eyes were keen.
“Pretty much.” He sure as hell wasn’t going to share the other stuff Eric had said, because it didn’t matter. Eric had been warning him about potentially hooking up with a gold digger. But Mika had her own gold and didn’t need his.
Still, it surprised him that she had gone through so much trouble to meet him.
“I hope I haven’t upset you.” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “I only wanted to be honest.”
“I’m flattered. Really. It’s not every day that a gorgeous woman goes out of her way to meet me.”
She laughed. “I was relieved that you took the initiative and approached me. If you hadn’t, I would’ve had to summon some creativity.”
“Why did you want to meet me?”
Deliberating her answer, she sipped her wine. Her lipstick left a smear on the rim of the glass.
Lustfully, he wished that he were that wineglass.
“Your character,” she said.
“You’ve read my novels, not my autobiography. I make that stuff up, Mika.”
“I understand that your plots are fiction, and your story people are imaginary. But the quality of your character shines through on every page, whether you are aware of it or not.”
“Well, thanks. I won’t argue with a compliment.”
“I knew you were a good man. A man I wanted to know better.”
“But when I first stepped to you, you acted like you didn’t want to be bothered. Didn’t give me your number, either.”
She shrugged. “Men enjoy the pursuit. The hunt. Am I correct?” “True. But I don’t like games.”
“Do you think I’m playing a game with you, Andrew?” Her gaze settled on him, unwavering.
“Are you?”
“Absolutely not. A lady has to conduct herself with discretion sometimes, no matter how enamored she may be of a gentleman.”
“I can understand that.”
“But if we’re going to pursue this further, I have to know whether I have any competition.”
He set down his wineglass. “If you’re asking whether I’m dating someone else, the answer is no. We talked about this earlier.”
“But you spoke of having a close female friend. Carmen, correct?”
This woman had a perfect memory. He’d mentioned Carmen only once, and briefly at that, when he had talked on the phone to Mika earlier that afternoon.
“Carmen is just a friend.”
“Just a friend, you say. Is she aware of that?”
“She knows.”
“Is she pretty?” She examined him.
“Sure, she’s attractive.”
“Is she single?”
“She has a boyfriend, some guy she recently started dating.”
“Then she’s essentially single.”
He shrugged. What was her point?
Mika leaned closer. “If she’s attractive, single, and a close friend, then why aren’t you dating her?”
“Because she’s just a friend. Why’re you asking all of these questions about her?”
“As I said, I have to make sure that I don’t have any competition.”
“No competition. You can chill.”
“Good.”
An alarm bell sounded in his thoughts. She was a tad bit possessive, wasn’t she? This was their first date and already she was interrogating him about his friends.
He shifted in the booth. His gut had tightened.
As if afraid that he would leave, she took his hand in hers and traced her index finger across his palm. “But honestly, if I had to compete for your attention, it would not matter in the end. I do whatever it takes to get what I want. Whatever it takes, Andrew.”
The sensation of her gliding finger was like cool electricity. His uneasiness faded. Lust arose in its place—his manhood stirred like an awakened animal.
“You always get what you want, huh?” he asked.
“Always. I can be relentless when I want something. Or someone.”
She raised his hand to her lips. She flicked her tongue across his forefinger, as if his skin were sweet and tasty. He shivered.
Then she took his finger in her warm mouth and suckled it.
His erection stiffened.
He’d never met a woman so assertive. He felt as if the gender roles had been reversed. Normally, he was the one trying to win over the woman. But she had turned the tables. She was trying to seduce him.
A vivid image crashed into his brain: he and Mika on a floor, having savage, mind-blowing sex.
She released his finger. “You’re thinking of something naughty. Tell me. Honestl
y, you won’t offend me.”
He hesitated. “I’m thinking about making love to you.”
She only smiled, as if she’d known his thoughts all along.
“Is that so? Be more specific. Are you imagining making slow, tender love to me, or having wild sex with me?”
“Buck-wild sex.”
“You wanted sex with me from the first moment you saw me. You undressed me with your eyes and wondered how I’d be in bed. Correct?”
“I’m guilty.” He blushed.
She winked. “I’m fantastic in bed. Perhaps you’ll get to discover it later.”
“You’re bold, you know that? I’ve never met anyone as bold as you.”
“And you never will, darling. But answer me this: have you thought about making love to me, too?”
He stammered, unsure how to answer.
She flashed a smile. “Of course not. You must be in love to make love.”
“Yeah.”
“Am I someone you could fall in love with, Andrew?”
He faltered again. “The potential is there. Time will tell, I guess.”
“That question caught you off guard.”
He chuckled. “Sure did.”
She leaned back in the booth. Sipped her wine. Watched him with a soft smile.
He felt as if she were measuring him, weighing a decision.
The server, a young man, visited the table to see if they wanted dessert. Andrew ordered a slice of chocolate cake that Mika agreed to share with him.
“I need to make a trip to the ladies’ room,” Mika said, grabbing her purse and sliding out of the booth.
He watched her stroll down the aisle. Swinging her lovely hips.
He used the napkin to wipe sweat away from his forehead.
Before she turned the corner, she checked over her shoulder and caught him staring. She blew him a kiss.
He blushed. She had him. She knew it, and he knew it, too.
When she’d asked him if she was someone he could fall in love with, he might as well have answered yes.
Within the Shadows Page 8