by Donna Hill
The beginning. Yes, she could do that. Perhaps it was time.
Mia looked directly at Ashley. “I’ve never told this to anyone. No one. Not even Savannah and Danielle,” she said with a new pang of guilt for having kept her two best friends in the dark for so long. She drew in a long breath and as she released it, the illicit love affair spilled out on a rough tide of emotion.
Nearly an hour later, Mia blinked back the past and her gaze rested on Ashley, waiting for condemnation, a look of reprimand. Instead, she saw tears welling up in Ashley’s eyes.
Ashley sniffed and dabbed at the corner of her almond-shaped eyes with the tip of her index finger. “Wow,” she sputtered. “A true-life, tragic love story.” She folded her hands together. “And now he’s single?”
Mia bobbed her head.
Ashley pressed her hands flat on the desktop and leaned forward. “Do you love Steven?”
The question taunted her, tugged at her heart.
Of course she loved Steven, she told herself again as the black Lincoln navigated in and out of midtown Manhattan rush-hour traffic.
That’s what she said to Ashley, who told her simply, “Keep that at the forefront of your thoughts and then when you see Michael everything will fall into place.”
Mia certainly hoped so.
The driver gave her no indication where they were going. He’d only told her that Mr. Burke had arranged for dinner.
Dinner! That wasn’t the agreement, she’d worried. Drinks were impersonal. Dinner was intimate. It raised this meeting to another level.
When she next looked out the window, she realized that they were leaving the city. She grabbed her glasses from her purse and the directional signs came into focus. The driver had taken the exit to the FDR Drive.
She tapped on the Plexiglas partition. The window slowly whirred downward.
“Yes, Ms. Turner?”
“Where are we going?”
“To dinner.”
“You said that already.”
“That’s all I know, Ms. Turner.”
“You must know where you were told to drive,” she pressed, trying to control her rising temper, which was being overshadowed by her rising panic.
The partition whirred back into place, cutting off any further communication.
It was just like Michael to dream up something elaborate. But how in the world would she be able to explain what would certainly be a late night to Steven?
Sighing, she settled back against the plush leather. There wasn’t much that she could do other than wait it out. It’s not as if she could jump out of the car and make a run for it.
She’d deal with Michael when she saw him. She folded her arms and silently fumed, even as part of her bloomed with a macabre sense of excitement.
Forty minutes later, they took the exit to Sag Harbor. Mia jerked up on her seat and peered out the window.
The historic and quaint seaside town was elegantly quiet. The shops that were reminiscent of a postcard ad for weekend getaways were closed. The boats were docked and bobbing gently in the water.
The driver continued through the commercial section of town and drove to the outskirts, where the stately home of the wealthy African-American elite lived.
Finally, the driver turned into a cul-de-sac and pulled onto a gravel driveway.
Mia’s door was pulled open and the driver extended his hand to help her out of the car. She stepped out and reflexively inhaled the heady scent of the sea and brisk night air. The sky had just begun to fill with stars and the half-moon seemed to hang perfectly above a two-story, sprawling white house that overlooked the ocean.
It was breathtaking.
“This way,” the driver said, leading Mia up the path to the front door.
As she took the first of three steps, the door opened. Her gaze rose. Her heart leaped in her chest. She thought she was prepared to see him.
She wasn’t.
Michael descended the stairs like a fantasy hero out of a dream.
Mia couldn’t move, and before she could pull herself together, Michael was taking her hand and saying something to her, but she couldn’t make out the words: they were being drowned out by the pounding of the pulse in her ears and the electricity that was surging through her from his touch.
“I’m glad you came.”
Those four simple words stripped away the past, all the lost years and misgivings, and suddenly she was glad she’d come as well.
Michael could barely contain all that he was feeling inside. When he laid eyes on Mia, those words he spoke were no more than a smoke screen. He didn’t want to make polite conversation. He wanted to take her and make her remember what it felt like to have him inside her, her body wound around his, her soft moans yielding to screams of release. That’s what he wanted to do, but of course he couldn’t. Instead, he apologized.
“Sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger,” he began, guiding her into a foyer the size of her entire condo. “But I knew if I told you where you were going, you would have refused.”
“Still trying to make up my mind for me, I see.”
That had always been a bone of contention between them. Michael wanted what Michael wanted, and he could never fathom why everyone didn’t go along with him all the time.
He turned to face her and laughed lightly. “You’re right. I should have given you the option. But now you’re here.” His chestnut-brown eyes meandered over her, taking in every inch.
He was still a gorgeous man to behold, Mia thought, an older, more mature version of Blair Underwood—a cool combination of boyish charm, dangerous sexuality and a ruthless streak that made for a lethal combination. The tinge of gray at his temples and the tiny flecks in his shadow of a beard only added to the dazzling package.
Michael was eight years her senior, but he was as fit as a man half his age. At forty-five, he had achieved what many only dreamed of and, knowing Michael, he’d only just begun.
Mia forced those thoughts to the back of her mind. He was a prime suspect in an illegal operation and she could not allow the intoxicating scent of his cologne, the glimmer in his eyes or the electricity of his touch to make her forget that.
“Please come in and sit down. I’ve had dinner prepared. But if you’d like that drink first—apple martini, right?” His smile lit up the room.
“You remembered.”
“There isn’t much about you that I’ve forgotten.” His gaze held her.
Mia swallowed. “A drink will be fine, but I really can’t stay for dinner.”
Disappointment creased his eyes. But just as quickly the look was gone. He lightly ran his tongue across his lips and a shiver ran down Mia’s spine.
“I see.” His right brow flicked. “Then let’s have that drink for old time’s sake.”
He walked ahead of her and stepped down into the sunken living room, which was something right out of House Beautiful. The shimmering teal-colored marble floors gave the illusion of walking on Caribbean water. Low contemporary furniture in a mix of fabrics and textures, all in cream and sandy-brown hues, dotted the space. Three-quarters of the room was wrapped in glass. The panoramic view looked out onto cliffs and oceans beyond. One wall encased a fireplace that would be perfect on a winter night, watching the powerful waves crash against the shore.
Mia set her purse on the glass coffee table while Michael fixed drinks. “You have a beautiful place.”
Michael turned to her. “I had it built for you.”
She couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d slapped her. “For me?”
He offered a sad smile. “I’d always told you we’d have a place of our own one day.” He lifted the bottle of vodka and poured some in a silver tumbler, followed by the apple martini mix and crushed ice. “I’m a man of my word.” He capped the tumbler and shook it vigorously. “Got my divorce, too.” His piercing look at her from over his shoulder held her in place.
Mia was speechless. A divorce. A house. It was everything she’d wanted. B
ut it was too late. She was in love with Steven. And she couldn’t let Michael’s powers of persuasion or his unrelenting charm, this fabulous house or the fact that he was a free man dissuade her.
He crossed the room and handed her the drink.
“Thank you.”
He raised his glass. “To old friends.”
Cautiously, she touched her glass to his.
“I wanted to thank you for the referral,” she said, needing to break the invisible hold he had on her.
He shrugged dismissively, walked a few paces and sat opposite her in the armchair that matched the couch, both covered in a butter-soft ecru-colored fabric that was so lush, the cushions so thick and soft, you could sink into it and never get up.
“I’m sure you didn’t need the business. But I thought you’d be perfect for what they wanted.”
“How would you know?”
He offered a slight smile. “As I said before, I’ve followed your career. I’ve even attended some of your events. Incognito, of course.”
That confession shook her. “Why?”
He took a short swallow of his drink, studied the contents for a moment before speaking. “It was my way of staying in your life.”
The answer was delivered so softly, so sincerely that it twisted her heart.
This couldn’t be the man that Jean claimed might be behind an illegal escort service. This was the man she’d once loved. Standing before her was the man she’d prayed he would one day become. There was no way that the two could be one and the same.
“What are you thinking about?”
The gentle nudge of the words drew her back from her thoughts.
“Just that I never thought I’d see you again, especially like this, and that you’ve been following my career.” She shifted her glass from her right hand to her left. “Which events did you attend?” she asked, the beginnings of a smile flickering around her mouth.
Michael chuckled. “The one on the yacht last year.”
A flash of that event ran through her mind, along with the fact that the clients had turned out to be behind an identity theft ring that Danielle uncovered.
“How come I didn’t see you? Why didn’t you say anything?”
There was that shrug again. “I made sure that you didn’t. I can blend in when I need to. Besides, there had to be at least three hundred people there and you were pretty busy.”
“You could have said something.”
“I thought it best not to. The last thing you wrote to me was not to contact you. So I figured the last thing you wanted was for me to show up at one of your events.”
That bit of truth stung. She remembered the letter and the weeks that it took to compose it and finally mail it. She glanced away.
“How have you been, Mia?” he asked gently. “Without me. How have you been?”
What could she say? That she struggled to get him out of her system for nearly five years? That there were still times when she thought of him, remembered how they were together, the emptiness that she felt when she walked out of his life? Of course she couldn’t say that.
“I’ve managed. My business keeps me busy.”
All of a sudden, she looked up and he was standing over her. He took her glass from her hand and put it on the table, then took her hands and pulled her to her feet.
“I’ve missed you. Each and every day I’ve missed you. Everything that I do, dream or plan—you are in my thoughts. I want you back, Mia.”
Her heart thundered. Her entire body was on fire. She could feel his energy wrap around her, draw her in, break down her will. And then his mouth was on hers and she couldn’t move.
His mouth was warm, all-encompassing and incredibly sweet. She remembered those lips, the feel of them against her own. But when his tongue tentatively glided across her lips, then into the recesses of her mouth, she began to shake and he held her—held her firmly against him and she felt his longing, his need press hard and heavy between her thighs.
Her thoughts spun in a million directions at once, then crashed.
She pulled away, turned her head and stumbled back. “I can’t do this.” She shook her head.
He reached for her but she held up her hand to stop him.
“Don’t.”
Michael stepped back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She dared to look at him. All she saw was longing and sincerity in his expression.
Michael exhaled. “Can we start over?”
She sat down before she fell down and clasped her hands together atop her weak knees to keep them from shaking.
What she wanted to do was run as far as she could. But she couldn’t do that and she couldn’t alienate him. She needed to get inside his business, inside his life. But what was she willing to do to accomplish that?
Mia forced a tight smile. “Sure.”
Michael seemed to sigh in relief. “Great. And to show you I really mean it, I’m gonna sit right here and not move a muscle until you’re ready to go.” He sat down on the lounger, folded his hands, pressed his knees together and plastered a contrite look on his face. The visual effect was hysterical and Mia burst out laughing.
Michael grinned. “That’s how I like to see you, with that pretty smile on your face.”
Mia smothered the rest of her giggles. “Can we talk about business now?”
Michael leaned back, then stretched out on the chaise longue. “Absolutely.” He gave her the Reader’s Digest version of Raven, the star he was hired to debut. She was nineteen for the public, but she was really twenty-two. Great voice, painfully shy, inked a major deal with Atlantic Records and her CD was scheduled to “drop” in two months. All the industry execs were to be invited, the cable stations, media and selected guests.
“Sounds simple enough. So why do I hear a but in there somewhere?”
“Our star doesn’t want to do it.”
“Oh…Why?”
“As I said, she’s incredibly shy. She just wants to make music. So even though the studio wants a blowout event, we…you still need to make it feel intimate, so that our star doesn’t freak out.”
Mia nodded.
“Venue and setting are going to be crucial to make all parties concerned happy.”
“Do you have a date in mind?”
“Three weeks.”
Mia’s eyes widened.
He shrugged. “My hands are tied on that one.” He waited a beat. “You still want to do it?”
“Sure. I’ll make it happen. No problem.”
“Great. I’ll have Brenda put all the information together for you and have it sent to your office.”
She needed to get inside his office. “Hmm. I can pick it up. I’d like to see where you work.”
He grinned. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Tomorrow.”
“A lady who doesn’t waste time.”
“As you said, no time like the present.”
He put his feet on the floor and stood up. “Let me show you the rest of the house.” He extended his hand to help her up.
“How long have you had this place?” she asked as he guided her with a hand at the small of her back to the kitchen.
“I was having it built when we were together. It was going to be my big surprise.”
What! Her stomach did a somersault. He’d never said a word.
Michael turned on the light and the magnificent kitchen was suffused in soft track lighting. Racks of stainless-steel pots hung from the ceiling. And in sharp contrast to the modern feel of the living room, the kitchen was pure country. Glass-paneled French doors led to the back and would undoubtedly provide great lighting. Oak covered the floors and they gleamed. Freestanding hutches and corner cupboards provided plenty of storage space. A huge oak island sat in the center of the enormous kitchen and this is where the modern came in. Somehow, Michael had managed to have a wok, a grill and running water built into the island. A table for four was placed near the French doors and the open-face
d cabinetry exhibited a chef’s dream of condiments, pastas and spices. Another extraordinary touch was the restaurant-size refrigerator/freezer and built-in range. The meals she could fix in this space, she thought.
“I had you in mind when I had the kitchen done,” he said softly, stepping up behind her.
She spun toward him, nearly colliding with him he was so close. She took a step back and drew in a sharp breath.
He angled his head to the side. “Maybe you’d like to come up one weekend and try out some of the stuff.”
Mia swallowed over the knot in her throat. She turned away. “What about the rest of the house?” she said instead of responding to his offer.
“This way.” He led her to the connecting room, which was the formal dining room. Then onto a small home theater that sat at least fifteen.
He opened another door. “I work in here whenever I come up for the weekend.”
The room had two computers, shelves of books, a fax, a phone and what appeared to be a scanner.
“How often is that?”
He closed the door. “At least twice a month.”
She made a mental note. “I see you still keep your computers on even when you’re not using them.”
“Old habits, I guess. Back here are the two guest rooms, and baths.” He flung open two doors that were side by side. “This is the master bedroom.” He opened the door.
It was totally Michael. Rich, lush, completely masculine with bold browns and bronzes, a king-size bed and a television that was almost as big. She glanced across the room and was stunned to see a framed photograph of the two of them on the dresser.
She remembered the day they’d taken it. It was the week before Christmas and the first snow had fallen. Michael had gotten tickets to see The Nutcracker at Radio City Music Hall. When they came out, a photographer who was hawking his wares offered to take their picture. She was staring up into his eyes with a bold smile and his look showed total adoration.
“We were happy,” he said gently.
She flinched. It was as if he’d read her mind. “Michael…”
“I know, I know…I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in supplication.
“I probably should be going.”