Their Unfinished Business

by Braun, Jackie

  “He’s working with Tom Whitey on repairs and I think he’s had a surveyor out. He’s selling the property and maybe splitting it into a few parcels.”

  “But—” Audra began.

  Ali cut her off. “There’s nothing going on between us. Nothing,” she repeated, even as the scene from the kitchen replayed itself in intimate detail. In the mirror, Ali watched her face flush scarlet. Beyond her reflection, Audra’s eyebrows inched up.

  “I wasn’t aware ‘nothing’ could make you blush,” she pointed out.

  Ali tugged a comb through her hair, ruthlessly yanking at the knots rather than trying to gently untangle them. “There will always be…attraction between us,” she agreed. “But that’s all and it’s not enough.” Her vision misted. “Damned knots,” she muttered.

  Audra rose and took the comb from Ali’s hands and then pushed her onto the closed toilet seat. Audra’s strokes were even and sure as she worked the comb through Ali’s hair from the part all the way to the ends.

  “You’ve loved him since we were girls,” Audra said after a moment.

  “And now I need to move on,” she admitted quietly. “He did. A long time ago.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  She nodded. “Aud, you’ve been right. I wasn’t over him. I don’t think I realized how trapped I’ve been in the past until he came back. But now I’ve seen him again and I’ve had…I guess you’d call it closure.”

  Audra groaned. “I ought to take the pair of you and knock your heads together. That’s what I ought to do. God, I can’t believe you two. Ask yourself this, Alice, if he’s so over you, why hasn’t he married? The guy has had ample opportunities.”

  “He’s not interested in commitment.”

  “And why do you suppose that is?”

  Ali shrugged. “I guess because his mother abandoned the family when he was a child.”

  Audra let out a strangled cry. Waving the comb under Ali’s nose, she said, “Stop with the psychobabble already. That’s crap and you know it. Luke hasn’t married because he still loves you.”

  Ali rose.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get dressed. Bradley will be here soon.”

  Audra sighed dramatically in defeat. “So, what are you going to wear?”

  Forty minutes later, Audra had gone and Ali waited for Bradley on the front porch of the cottage. He was late, which was just as well. She was hardly waiting in eager anticipation for his arrival, although she had to admit, she looked good thanks to Audra.

  She’d left her hair loose. Audra had showed her how to use the blow dryer and a fat rounded metal brush to make its usually unruly ends behave. And her sister had applied Ali’s makeup, insisting on a little more eyeliner than Ali would have used on her own. She liked the resulting look, the way it made her eyelids look longer, heavier. Of course, she would never admit as much to Audra.

  She would have pulled on a sweater set and a pair of her trademark khakis, but Audra had refused to let her leave the cottage “dressed like some prep school dropout.” In the end, giving in had seemed like much less trouble.

  Ali had to admit, her sister certainly knew how to scrape together an outfit, pairing Ali’s classics in such a way that she looked almost trendy. It helped that Audra had added a few of her own touches. She’d dumped out the contents of her slim black handbag and then had given Ali the shoes off her feet. And so Ali found herself wearing one of her plain blouses, unbuttoned far enough to reveal a tantalizing peak of the lacy black camisole Audra had found stashed in the back of one of Ali’s bureau drawers. The black pencil skirt, even hemmed, would have been too conservative on its own, but Audra’s leopard print pumps added a touch of the wild just as their dagger heels added a good three inches to Ali’s height.

  When Bradley was officially forty minutes late, she gave up pacing the length of the porch and decided to water the impatiens she’d planted in a pot the day before. She had a feeling she looked like a cross between Martha Stewart and Madonna when the Mercedes pulled into her driveway. Bradley got out, looking unnaturally tanned for springtime in Michigan. His sandy hair was neatly combed and held in place with what she suspected was some sort of gel. He was dressed impeccably in beige trousers, a white broadcloth shirt and navy sports coat that had a designer insignia stitched on the breast pocket. Put an ascot at his open collar and he’d look right at home at the fancy yacht club over on the mainland.

  As Ali stood there holding the watering can she decided that Bradley Townsend probably didn’t own a pair of jeans, at least not the kind made of durable denim, and he wouldn’t be caught dead on a Harley with the wind making a mockery of his hairstylist’s handiwork.

  In other words, he was the antithesis of Luke Banning. In fact, every man she’d dated over the past decade had been as different from him as night is from day.

  She shook off the thought.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said. His gaze wandered down her legs and stopped at the leopard-print shoes. “You look amazing, by the way.”

  His open appreciation made her uneasy for some reason and suddenly she regretted letting Audra talk her into changing her appearance.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “We’d better go. Our reservation was for six o’clock. I rescheduled for six-forty-five when it appeared you would be late.”

  Bradley grimaced and apologized again. “I’m never sure about the ferry’s schedule.”

  “No one is,” she replied on a smile.

  The ferry ran on the hour once the ice melted and on the half hour during peak tourist season. Despite the posted times, it was a well-known fact that the boat left whenever it became full, making the schedule anything but reliable.

  “One of the hazards of living on an island, I suppose,” Bradley said.

  “I prefer to think of it as a charming quirk.” Her tone held a challenge, which was ridiculous. But then she’d always felt loyal of the island and protective of it.

  His smile came easily. “You’re right.”

  He held open the car door. No motorcycle here to mess with her hair and make conversation all but impossible. This was a classy sedan with leather seats and Vivaldi playing at low volume from the stereo.

  Despite their tardiness, she asked Bradley to take the long way to the resort, driving through the state forest and then along the water, where the sun was beginning its descent. They passed Luke’s cottage after pulling out of her driveway, and even though she’d told herself not to look, Ali’s gaze was pulled there as if by a magnet. His motorcycle was gone and so was Tom’s truck. The little house was dark and quiet once more.

  “Is that where Luke Banning used to live?” Bradley asked.

  Her gaze sliced guiltily away and she cleared her throat. “Yes. With his grandmother.”

  “Pretty humble origins. I read somewhere that his father died—I think from a drug overdose—and his mother went out for cigarettes and never came back.”

  “Actually his father died in an accident,” Ali said, for some reason deciding to shade the truth. There was no way to shade his mother’s abandonment, so she said instead, “His grandmother raised him. She was a lovely woman.”

  “Did you know him well?” Bradley asked.

  “He was friends with my brother,” she said, leaving out the more intimate relationship that had developed later.

  “Rumor has it he’s investing in Saybrook’s and that you guys might be considering an expansion.”

  Bradley’s questioning made Ali uneasy as she remembered Luke’s contention that the man was interested in the resort.

  “I’d rather not talk work, Bradley.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just curious.”

  After a few minutes, Saybrook’s came into view and Ali couldn’t stop the sigh that came to her lips. Even though it wasn’t full dark yet, the white lights twinkled in the rose garden, and through the French doors that led inside she could see that the dining room was al
ready crowded. Normally, even a Saturday night in May would have been on the slow side, but Trillium High School’s prom was that night and so many of the tables were taken up with tuxedo-clad young men and sleekly coiffed young women wearing strapless gowns.

  Audra was there, too, her hair pinned up in a messy ’do, her generous curves filling out a designer dress that probably cost more than all of the teens’ knockoffs put together.

  She breezed up and kissed Ali on the cheek. “Quite a crowd, hmm? Reminds me of when we were kids and used to hide out in the rose garden and peak through the doors hoping to spot stars.”

  “I didn’t realize you were going to be here tonight. You didn’t mention it when you were at my house earlier.”

  “I offered to help hostess until the kiddies head off to the dance at the high school. It was kind of last minute.” She smiled coolly at Bradley. “Hello.”

  “Nice to see you, Audra.”

  It was a perfectly polite thing to say, and yet something about the quietly issued words set Ali’s teeth on edge. Ridiculous.

  “Yes. Well, enjoy your dinner.”

  And after one last smile for Ali, Audra drifted away.

  Ali couldn’t quite explain the odd undercurrent of tension between the two, but it was forgotten as she and Bradley followed the maître d’ to their table.

  “This takes me back,” Bradley said as he held out a chair for her.

  “Me, too.” A nostalgic smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. When she glanced up, however, the first person she saw was the very man who’d escorted her to her own senior prom thirteen years earlier.

  Luke was seated alone at the table behind her and Bradley, apparently having just finished his meal. No yacht club chic for him. He was dressed in unrelieved black. Black slacks, black shirt, complementing his nearly black hair and making the blue of his eyes stand out all the more. His gaze, cool and assessing, was on Ali. Under his scrutiny, her smile became a taut line. She’d known running into him at the resort was a distinct possibility since he was staying there, but she’d hoped, really hoped, to avoid him that evening.

  “Everything okay?” Bradley asked, apparently noting her frown.

  She dragged her gaze back to her date. “Y-yes, of course. Everything is fine. Shall we start with some wine?”

  She picked up a dark leather folder and held it out to Bradley, knowing without looking that Luke was watching her every move.

  “The resort carries an impressive selection, I see,” Bradley said.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Everything from French champagne to California vintages and even some of the cherry wines made in nearby Leelanau.”

  “What are you in the mood for?” Bradley asked. The smile that accompanied his words was intimate.

  Involuntarily her gaze strayed to Luke. One of his dark eyebrows rose, the gesture filled with mocking challenge. Just a few nights ago, she’d straddled his lap with only denim and cotton keeping them apart. As if she needed to be reminded of that. She’d thought of little else since then. And what had he done? He’d buttoned up her shirt for her. The gesture was sweet, but afterward, as she’d lain alone in the dark, her body still vibrating with need, the gesture had seemed less sweet and more like “thanks, but no thanks.” Especially since he hadn’t so much as dropped by since then even though she’d heard his motorcycle speeding by every evening.

  She cleared her throat, decision made.

  “I’m in the mood for champagne,” she said.

  “Oh?” Bradley was surprised, but clearly pleased. He leaned over the table. “Anything in particular you feel like celebrating?”

  Ali had never been much good at flirting and she wasn’t about to start now, but she did smile and because she could think of nothing else to say, she replied, “I guess we’ll see.”

  It wasn’t until she saw the interest flare in her date’s eyes and glanced past him to see the muscle tick in Luke’s cheek that she realized her words held a promise.

  They had just placed their dinner order with the waiter when Bradley’s cell phone trilled.

  “Sorry. I’ll just take this in the lobby,” he said, rising to his feet as he unclipped the phone hooked to his belt. “Excuse me.”

  As soon as he was gone, Luke rose and then slipped into the vacated seat. “Hello, Alice.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Luke. Did you enjoy your dinner?”

  “Yes. I recommend the beef tenderloin.”

  “It is the chef’s specialty,” she replied, smoothing out the linen napkin spread over her lap to have something to do with her hands.

  He leaned back in his chair. “So that’s Townsend.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything. I just said, ‘hmm’.”

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Come on. I’m sure you have an opinion that you’re dying to express. Do it now and save me the suspense.”

  “You seem well suited.”

  Ali angled her head. There was an insult in there somewhere, she was sure.

  “Well suited?”

  “Yes. You even dress alike. Conservative.”

  “I prefer to think of it as classic.”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “Okay, classic,” he conceded. “With a new twist tonight. I like the…” His gaze lingered on the V of her blouse and the lingerie peaking out before he said, “Shoes. I didn’t think you owned anything quite like that.”

  “They’re Audra’s.” Without thinking, Ali admitted ruefully, “I’m going to pay later. They’re already cramping my toes. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘fashion victim’.”

  “A good foot rub would remedy that.”

  She angled up her chin at the reference to the other night, but before she could formulate a suitable reply, he leaned down and snagged one of her ankles and removed the shoe. Then he settled her bare foot between his thighs. She thanked God for the tablecloth, which hid the location of her foot, and the darkened room, which hid the deep stain of her blush.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she snarled, determined not to struggle, determined not to moan as his fingers worked the same magic that had made all sense of propriety disappear in her kitchen.

  “It’s called a foot rub.”

  “It’s called foreplay,” she said. And they both knew where it had nearly led the other night. “Let go of me, Luke.”

  “In a minute.” He smiled wickedly. “Then I’ll torture us both by doing the other one.”

  And, damn the man, if that’s not exactly what he did, so that afterward Ali’s body tingled like one giant exposed nerve and though her feet were once again planted firmly on the floor, she had no idea where her shoes were.

  The waiter came by then. He glanced first at Luke and then at Ali. “Should I bring another glass?” he inquired politely.

  “No, Jeremy. Mr. Banning won’t be joining my party. He just stopped by to say hello while my date is taking a phone call.”

  The young man nodded and left the champagne in an ice bucket at their table along with two old-fashioned champagne saucers. Then he handed Ali a note from Audra.

  “Be sure to drink to closure,” it read. “And be sure to get my shoes back.”

  Ali shredded the paper before tossing the confettisize pieces into her borrowed handbag. Audra could clean it out, she thought nastily.

  At Luke’s questioning expression, she waved one hand dismissively. “Just Audra trying to be amusing.”

  Silence stretched for a moment, and then Luke remarked, “You don’t see this style of glass many places anymore.” He picked one up and twirled it by the stem. “You know what they say these are modeled after, right?”

  Ali shook her head as she glanced toward the French doors. She hated cell phones. What could be so important that her date had spent the better part of fifteen minutes chatting into one? It served him right that when he returned to their table he wou
ld find another man not only sitting in his seat, but holding his glass.

  “Marie Antoinette’s breasts.”

  Her gaze snapped back at Luke’s words. “Excuse me?”

  “Champagne saucers.” He grinned again. “They’re supposedly modeled after Marie Antoinette’s breasts.”

  He hoisted the glass again and watched her over its wide rim. Then his gaze meandered south, making Ali wish she had buttoned the blouse all the way up to her throat. “The perfect size, in my opinion.”

  She felt her blood pop and fizz with the same effervescence as the freshly poured Dom Perignon. In the low light of the restaurant, with a candle flickering on the table between them and slow music playing low in the background, the years melted away and memories assailed her. She recalled exactly how Luke’s work-roughened hands had felt caressing her bare skin. How his smile would slide from sexy to wicked as he’d tempted them both with the urgent promise of more.

  “Perfect size,” he repeated. “You know, of course, that champagne holds its bubbles better in flutes.”

  She nearly had to shake her head to clear it of inappropriate thoughts. He was talking about wineglasses and he had her thinking about sex. He’d always been good at that sort of thing.

  Her tone was slightly breathy, but she was relieved by the switch in topics. “Yes, but we felt this style suited the resort and the vintage Hollywood feel we’ve marketed.”

  “Good call.” He glanced around the ornate dining room then. “In fact, I have to compliment you on your restoration efforts. The place looks terrific. Just as I remember it from the summer I worked as a bellhop, only better.”

  Ali knew that Luke, like Audra, had stayed in some of the finest establishments around the globe, and so she appreciated his words.

  “Thank you,” she said. “The credit really goes to Audra. She’s been invaluable. We put her in charge of the redesign both here and at the cottages. Have you seen them?”

  He nodded. “Audra took me around last week. Very nice. I especially like the color combinations she chose for the interiors.”

  “Audra has a good eye.”

  He rested his elbows on the edge of the table and leaned forward. “It sounds like the two of you are finally on the same page.”