by Jane Preston
The day certainly hadn’t started out well.
***
The lunch-time noises of the bustling restaurant brought Sterling back to the present. After taking a few more bites of his pastrami-on-rye sandwich, the therapist pulled out his cell and speed dialed her number.
Maureen Beckley picked up on the second ring and enthusiastically accepted the gracious invitation. Tonight at 7. At the Beach House. His favorite Hawaiian restaurant.
As he briskly walked back to his office, Sterling suddenly had an idea that brought a deep sense of comfort to him.
Tina won’t report me. She doesn’t have the guts.
***
The Beach House more than lived up to its name.
With its enormous, flag-stone fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the ocean waves, which rolled onto a moon-lit, silvery beach, the restaurant was the perfect place for romance. And seduction.
Sterling Matthews was determined to look the part. Taking great care not to overdo it, he’d slipped into elegant trousers that doubled for casual-chic and topped them off with a brightly-hued, flowered Hawaiian shirt to add a dash of humor and gaiety to the occasion. His comfortable loafers were in order. Then, splashing on cologne that had the fragrance of a breezy stroll on the beach, Sterling knew his striking good looks would carry him the rest of the way.
All the way into Maureen Beckley’s heart.
He had to have her, he knew that. And, as far as he was concerned, he already did.
Maureen looked the part, too. Her doe-like eyes were enhanced by the deep, watery turquoise hues of her boot-length paisley dress, gathered at the waist with a wide crocheted blue belt. Her legs were covered by russet-colored knee-high boots.
What a shame, he thought fleetingly, when he saw her walk in the door towards the table he had reserved close to the fireplace. She has a terrific figure but doesn’t show it off. Maybe she’s testing me, he thought sardonically.
“Mi’ Lady,” He greeted her, bowing slightly at the waist. “May I interest you in a glass of Chardonnay to start off this lovely evening?”
“Need you ask, My Dear Sir?” She grinned, adding a slightly-anxious giggle. He was as beautiful as she remembered. And, those eyes.
Inexplicably, she visibly shivered.
“It is a bit chilly tonight, isn’t it? Still, close as we are to the fire, you'll warm up quickly. After all, it shouldn’t interfere with the perfect enjoyment of our dinner.” Sterling meant it as a statement and her laughing eyes told him he was right. She was his. The rest would be play. And he loved to have his fun.
Still, he couldn’t help but notice that there was a twinge of doubt in her clear, wide, almost unblinking eyes. It never seemed to go away. He hastily reassured himself, he’d be the one to make it disappear.
The food – starting with an appetizer tray of Hawaiian puu puus featuring curried shrimp dip and hot buttered abalone - was superb, as their conversation weaved through the usual niceties and casual queries. By the time the two entrees of Malihini salmon in coconut sauce and baked chicken with mango rice were delivered to the table, the dream-like surroundings were soothing the everyday tensions.
Their eyes met briefly between bites of irresistible exotic food and lingering sips of Chardonnay, filling Maureen’s heart with an electric current of chemistry. She was thrilled to be in the presence of the most beautiful man she’d ever known. Yet a part of her kept a tight, relentless hold on her emotions. He was simply too gorgeous. Too charming.
Too everything.
In short, Sterling Matthews was as intoxicating as the wine.
Maureen leisurely nursed her drink throughout the fine dinner while the conversation flowed. As she expected, Sterling Matthews had grown up on the East Coast, completing his psychology degree at Brown University, a distinguished Ivy League school. His father was a self-made man, heading the marketing department of a shipping company and, from what she gathered, had ruled the family’s home with a caring, but iron, fist.
Sterling laughingly referred to him as the “nicest despot you’ll ever meet.” Maureen sensed that there had been a good deal of sparring between the two determined men, with the mother offering comfort and emotional support to the son when things got a little too heated.
That’s probably where his keen sense of the dramatic and his natural poise comes from, Maureen found herself thinking, as, relaxing deeper into her cushioned wicker chair, she reached again for her glass of wine. To have grown up with such a head-strong father would have instilled in Sterling a profound need to stand up for himself. She liked what she was hearing about her new romantic interest. He had strength of character.
Maureen also visited the idea that what Sterling Matthews wanted, Sterling Matthews got. Oh, dear me, she thought, with a wisp of worry touching on the sensitive tendrils of her mind. I don’t think I could resist him if he really pursued me. Before their first date tonight, she’d convinced herself that she was strictly a matter of idle curiosity to him. A man who looked the way he did – like a bigger-than-life movie star - could have any woman he wanted.
Sterling would soon tire of her and move on. Strangely enough, the thought gave her solace. She wouldn’t be at his mercy for long.
“This is a wonderful restaurant with its Hawaiian theme. Have you ever been there?” Maureen thought it was an interesting coincidence that she was nearly finished with writing her new romance novel based on the shores of Oahu, one of the Hawaiian Islands, but decided it wasn’t worth mentioning at this time. She just wanted to know more about this intriguing stranger.
“To Hawaii? There and back, I’d say, oh, roughly a dozen times.” He smiled into her eyes as he carefully chewed his food. Maureen had noticed that almost nothing about her dinner partner was carried out in a hurried state. He seemed to revel in life, savoring every single bite.
Actually, there wasn’t much about Sterling Matthews that she didn’t like. Since getting her heart trampled by Randy, Maureen had kept a close guard on her deeply sentimental nature, which meant she often sacrificed closeness in order to have self-protection. However, she deeply longed to have a special man in her life. Was Sterling “The One”? And was she simply too hard-headed to admit it to herself?
These were the dilemmas she was mentally weighing when he asked the question.
“Would you like to take a walk on the beach after dinner? I know it’s a bit chilly but we can make it a quick stroll if you like.”
Her first impulse was to say no. It really was too nippy and she was still getting to know this enigmatic man. But this was her chance to throw some caution to the wind and live fully in the moment. After all, he may never ask her out again. And she wanted to enjoy every moment of their unlikely togetherness.
Maureen found herself saying yes, even while her head was spinning a little from the exhilarating wine and the enthralling company. The mystery of him seemed only to whet her appetite for more of him.
They left the restaurant, each donning the individual jackets they had brought with them, and walked along the beach, well-lit from the other open businesses along this stretch of white sands. Sterling talked about his therapy business, interrupted only by the sound of the crashing waves. Interestingly enough, with the exception of a passerby here and there, the two wanderers had the beach to themselves. The sudden dip in temperatures had apparently persuaded most residents to stay in their homes.
“I went into psychotherapy because I wanted to understand people – and why they do the things they do. Perhaps it started with my somewhat challenging relationship with my rather complex father. He could be a true autocrat at times, reveling in all the privileges that come with being the King of the Castle. And then there were times, although few and far between, when he was amazingly open, reaching out to me to share his deepest thoughts and feelings.” Sterling paused and sighed. “I think in the long run, however, that he wanted to love me far more than he actually did.” Here, Sterling abruptly stopped talking. Ma
ureen imagined that she heard a catch in his breath, an attempt, she guessed, to assert control over a powerful emotion.
As if reading her thoughts, he resumed. “Emotions can be strange, even to a therapist. We as humans are vulnerable to the full gamut, not always knowing where in the spectrum of feelings we are likely to end up in the course of a day. For example, we can feel anger at a rude driver or we can experience love when we see a dog romping with a child in a nearby park…” His deep, rich voice trailed off. Glancing at Maureen, he looked sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get philosophical on you.”
“Oh, please don’t apologize. I enjoy listening to you. I bet you work with all kinds of interesting people.”
You don’t know the half of it, Sterling secretly grimaced. The less said about that, the better. He was here to romance her, not to try to impress her by trotting out his wealth of psychological skills and credentials. Still, it was very easy to talk to Maureen. She was a good listener.
“Yes, I do. However, I’ve dominated most of the conversation tonight. Tell me about yourself. How did you become the successful novelist you are today? I have to admit I haven’t read your books, but I hear you transport women into the romantic realms with admirable finesse.”
She looked at him for a few moments to make sure he wasn’t mocking her. His sincere expression showed that he was completely serious and awaiting her response.
“Well, to tell you the truth, writing romance novels wasn’t at the top of my list when I began my career as an X-ray technician.” She was silent for a moment as the two of them continued their companionable stroll along the beach. “It just didn’t take. I’d notice that while looking at the records I made of people’s insides, I’d find my mind drifting off into thoughts about what really goes on in people’s hearts and minds. In short, I was always coming up with storylines for romances.” She shrugged, laughing lightly. “At some point, Sterling, I realized I could take my passion into something I believe I was born to do.”
“I like that.”
“What, my decision to become a romance writer?”
“No, the fact that you said my name for the very first time. I like how it sounds on your lips.”
It could have been a scene straight off the pages of one of her novels. The two of them stopped walking and slowly turned towards each other, their movements totally in sync with each other. Sterling took her face in his gentle hands. As he bent down from his considerable height to kiss her, Maureen felt like she had died and gone to heaven.
This is the way it was meant to feel. Exactly like this.
Later that night, as Maureen was sliding under the silky covers at bedtime, the memory of that passionate first kiss was exceeded only by what Sterling softly whispered in her ear just moments before they parted for the evening.
“I’m going to call you tomorrow just to hear you say my name.”
***
Those eyes, the familiar eyes of her nighttime phantom, came to her in her deepest dreams that night.
He was as perfect as ever as he reached for her.
But she was surprised to find herself backing away from him. “No, I’m not sure I can trust you,” she protested, just as his strong arms caught her up in a tight, almost suffocating, embrace.
“It’s not your choice to make, Maureen,” he said as he tightened his vice-like hold on her, his devastatingly beautiful eyes within a few inches from hers. “It’s mine.”
He started kissing her neck with the warmest of kisses, his melodious voice resonating in her ear. “And I have chosen you.”
Hours later, when the sun made its debut for yet another impossibly beautiful morning, Maureen cheerfully awakened, stretching and yawning in her nice, warm bed, with absolutely no memory of the dream.
CHAPTER FIVE
The cute-meet between her beautiful, headstrong, young heroine, Amber Kane, and the intoxicating stranger on the beach, Jared Holt, was not going well. For some reason, as much as Maureen tried to rework the dialogue, the story was simply not flowing.
At times like these, the author usually got up and took the short walk into her bright kitchen to get another cup of hot green tea. This morning was no exception. All she could think of, however, while she waited for the tea to heat up in the microwave, was that her heroine just couldn’t allow herself to fall for her mysterious, tall, dark and handsome new love interest.
“Maybe Amber doesn’t trust him.” She surprised herself by saying the words out loud. The microwave beeped and she immediately removed the steaming cup to add creamer and a dash of sugar.
Balancing the tea cup on one of her decorative saucers while she carefully moved down the carpeted hallway back into her home office, Maureen continued her solitary dialogue: “Hmmm. Amber’s gut may very well be telling her something.” Situating herself at her desk, Maureen blew on her beverage before indulging in its unique, slightly bitter taste. She had read that green tea provided an abundance of antioxidants. But she drank it for the sheer pleasure of it.
“So, is Jared Holt trustworthy or not?” She inclined her head to the side as if waiting to receive celestial direction. Although Maureen generally took the first step of composing a detailed outline for each of her novels, she wasn’t entirely opposed to making allowances for the story to develop its own voice, its own life, after launching into the actual writing of it.
In fact, if she felt strongly pulled in a certain direction, Maureen was more often than not curious enough to go along with it, regardless of her original vision for the plot or the characters. It made her work as an author interesting and somewhat unpredictable.
Her writing also had the power, and the temerity, to reflect her own state of mind or affairs. Whatever dilemmas were bewildering in her world sometimes showed up in her characters and the twists and turns of their fictional lives.
Yes, she made her heroines work. And at the end of her novels, Maureen would experience a certain peace of mind. As though she’d laid something ill at ease to rest.
She was still mentally chewing on the matter of Jared Holt being worthy of her heroine’s love (or is he really a jerk?) when she heard the kitchen door vibrate in staccato. Startled, she jumped in surprise, so consuming were her private ruminations. But then a quick smile appeared on her face when she recognized the trademark knocks and sprung out of her chair to answer the call of duty.
No doubt, Leslie was in another fix and desperately needed Maureen’s sympathetic ear.
True to form, Leslie, with not so much as a hello, swept past her neighbor into the bright morning sun bathing the kitchen. Maureen was ready with re-enforcements, having taken a moment to switch on the burner below the copper tea kettle while grabbing the mint-colored ceramic jar of tea bags from the upper shelf before answering the door. For lengthy, and often emotional, kitchen visits, Maureen preferred the old world charm and comfort of the kettle; no microwave seemed appropriate when tears were flowing.
“You’ll never believe what happened. Not in a million.” It was Leslie’s opener and it had its usual effect on Maureen. She couldn’t wait to get in on the latest episode of Leslie’s own reality show.
“So here I am going about my day and then I get this call. It’s Chase. And his voice sounds nervous with a kind of, like, weird, high-pitched sound to it. I’m thinking, why is he calling? Well, I don’t have long to wait. The next thing I know Chase is telling me he-he’s breaking up with me!”
A moment of deafening silence followed. Then the lovely young woman’s face contorted right before Maureen’s eyes to the point where she looked as if she were going to lose consciousness. Suddenly, a loud animal-like bellow erupted from Leslie’s mouth, at first unrecognizable to Maureen until it became an obvious heart-wrenching wail of pain, followed by wracking sobs.
Maureen rushed to Leslie’s side and put a motherly arm around her quaking shoulders. “Oh, I am so sorry, Leslie. So sorry this happened.” The slightly older woman continued to cradle and soothe until the kettle m
ade boiling sounds. Maureen instinctively knew that her friend would feel much better after a nice, hot cup of tea. Isn't that what the British were fond of saying?
“Well, that idiot simply doesn’t deserve a woman like you, Leslie.” Maureen extricated herself from rocking her neighbor long enough to rescue the kettle before it started its ear-shattering shriek. That was the last thing that needed to happen in a delicate moment like this. As she poured the scalding water into a cup decorated with hand-painted violets, she continued. “And, the sooner you get over him, the better.”
She delivered the cup with special care to the table. “Now sip this, my dear, to get your strength back. After all, you’ll need to prepare yourself.”