Читать книгу Long Time Coming - Rochelle Alers - Страница 12

Micah drove from downtown Brooklyn to Staten Island in record time. The trip that would’ve normally taken anywhere between twenty and thirty minutes, depending upon the flow of traffic, was accomplished in ten.

It was Saturday. The power hadn’t been restored, and at six-thirty in the morning he was one of a dozen motorists on the Verrazano Bridge.

He’d woken up in bed with Tessa Whitfield, her huddled to his chest like a trusting child, him experiencing a gamut of emotions he hadn’t wanted to feel at that time. It was when he felt a rush of desire for the woman whose bed he’d shared that he knew it was time to leave Brooklyn.

Maneuvering into the driveway, Micah activated the remote device under the visor, raising the garage door. Less than a minute later he opened the door to his studio apartment and walked in. Streaks of gold had pierced the veil of night as the rising sun filtered through the skylight over a utility kitchen with a sink, a two-burner stove and a portable refrigerator.

Whenever he returned home he made it a practice to look in on his landlady. However, the eighty-two-year-old former schoolteacher was currently in Florida with relatives.

Diane Cunningham had complained of a pain in her side for several days, but when he’d offered to take her to the doctor she’d balked, saying she’d probably pulled a muscle from lifting a laundry basket.

She’d proudly announced that she’d waited more than a year to travel to Sarasota to see her newest great-granddaughter and a little old pain was not going to stop her from making her scheduled flight. Two days ago he’d gotten a call from Mrs. Cunningham’s daughter telling him that her mother was in the hospital recuperating from an emergency appendectomy.

Micah made a mental note to check on his landlady’s place as he emptied his pockets of loose change, keys to his office, credit card case and money clip, leaving them on the bistro table. He also had to call Tessa and give her an approximate time when he would pick her up on Sunday to take her to New Jersey.

He undressed and walked into the closet-size bathroom to shower. A slow smile parted his lips as he soaped his body with a bath gel in a scent that matched his aftershave and cologne, washing away the scent of fruit and flowers. His smile faded when he remembered waking up to find Tessa’s face pressed to his shoulder. The velvety smoothness of her body, the moist whisper of her breathing on his exposed throat and the soft crush of her breasts against his bare chest had elicited lascivious thoughts that were truly shocking.

What he did like about Tessa was her spontaneity. She was candid, without a hint of guile—attributes he hadn’t experienced with most women he’d dated. Her beauty and intelligence aside, it still didn’t explain why he’d reacted to her like a randy adolescent boy. Well, he thought, he didn’t have too much longer to wait to uncover why, because in a little more than twenty-four hours he would see her again—this time in the light and away from her cloistered sanctuary.

Minutes after eight on Saturday morning electrical power was restored to lower Manhattan; Brooklyn a little before ten; and portions of Staten Island an hour later. Tessa trained her gaze on the television, channel surfing and listening to the same rendition of the possible and probable causes of the blackout from network correspondents.

Experts reported that a Con Ed work crew had cut through a feeder cable, while other reports attributed the blackout to a fire in a substation. The result was that New Yorkers in three of the five boroughs had lost power for more than twelve hours, and the owners of restaurants and smaller eateries were particularly vocal because they were forced to dispose of food worth estimates exceeding twenty million dollars.

Sitting on a stool in the kitchen and sipping her second cup of coffee, Tessa’s attention was diverted when the telephone rang. Leaning over, she picked up the cordless instrument and peered at the display. Smiling, she pressed a button.

“Hello, Simone.”

“How was the blackout?” drawled a low, sultry voice.

“I managed to survive,” Tessa told her sister. “At least this time I was home when the lights went out.”

“Mama told me you were with a client. How on earth did you manage to conduct business in the dark?”

“I used candles.”

“Damn, Tessa. It’s not that critical. Couldn’t you’ve postponed the meeting?”

“Not when we have ten weeks to put together a formal interfaith wedding for more than eighty guests.”

“That’s really cutting it real close.”

“Tell me about it. I haven’t met the bride, so right now I have no idea what she wants.”

“Who were you meeting with last night?”

“Her brother.”

“Where’s the bride?”

“She’s on jury duty.” Tessa told Simone that Bridget had canceled two meetings and went over what she’d discussed with Micah. However, she didn’t reveal that Micah had spent the night or that they’d shared the same bed without making love.

“The girl sounds ditzy. The fact that she’s canceled twice could be a cry for help that she really doesn’t want to get married.”

Tessa rolled her eyes upward. Simone had enrolled in college with the intent of becoming a psychologist but changed her major from psychology to a liberal arts degree program. She never became a psychologist, and when her marriage ended she channeled her pain and frustration into flower arranging. The result was wannabe psychologist Simone Whitfield had become a much-sought-after floral designer and the official florist for Signature Bridals.

“Don’t go Dr. Phil on me, Simone. She just got engaged six weeks ago.”

“Now that proves she’s certifiably ditzy. Formal weddings usually take more planning than a few months. When’s her big day?”

“New Year’s Eve.”

“And I suppose she wants you to book a room at the Waldorf-Astoria or Tavern on the Green?”

“Thankfully, no,” Tessa drawled cynically. “She’s getting married at her parents’ house in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey.”

A soft whistle came through the earpiece. “Nice neighborhood. A lot of homes in that community start at a million and go as high as eight to ten.”

Tessa thought about Micah saying money’s not an issue, which meant the Sanborns were willing to pay for whatever Bridget wanted. “Well, I’ll find out how much her folks are willing to spend when I meet them tomorrow.”

“How old is baby girl?”

Tessa laughed. Simone always referred to spoiled, pampered brides as baby girl. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask her brother.”

“Then how old is baby boy?”

“I don’t know,” Tessa said. She didn’t want to tell Simone that if Micah had put in twenty years with the NYPD, then he had to be at least in his early forties. “I’ll let you know what I come up with when I see you and Faith Monday night.”

“Faith called me early this morning from Vegas—”

“Don’t tell me she’s not coming,” Tessa moaned, interrupting Simone. Of the three, it was Faith Whitfield who’d become the most elusive. Faith had missed their last two bimonthly Monday-night dinner meetings. At any given time she could be asked to create a cake for a surprise birthday celebration or for a high-profile celebrity’s impromptu gala.

“She’s coming, but she’s flying into Westchester instead of LaGuardia. I’ll pick her up, and she can ride back to Manhattan with you.”

“If she calls you again, please tell her that we’re going to need a wedding cake for New Year’s Eve.”

Tessa talked to Simone for another quarter of an hour before ending the call. As soon as she hung up, her phone rang again. Micah’s name came up in the display.

She smiled and said, “Good morning, Micah.”

“Is it really a good morning?” came his velvet baritone query.

“Yes. I have electricity. How was your drive home?”

“Quick. It took about ten minutes door to door.”

“You were speeding,” she said accusatorily.

He chuckled softly. “Guilty as charged. I called to let you know I’ll pick you up around ten. If that’s too early, then I’ll let my mother know we’ll come for an early dinner.”

“Ten is fine.”

“Dress casually and wear comfortable shoes.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see when you get there,” Micah said cryptically.

“I don’t like surprises, Micah.”

“This one I’m certain you’ll like….” His voice trailed off. “I’m going to have to take this call, Tessa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tessa held the receiver to her ear until she heard a programmed voice telling her to either hang up or try her call again. She hung up, wondering what it was Micah wanted her to see.

She couldn’t begin to think of the possibilities, so she decided to concentrate on the laundry list of things she had to do: glue crystal beads and faux pearls to the bodice of a sample gown she’d designed in her spare time, put up several loads of laundry and go through her closets to take out winter clothes and put away her summer wardrobe. The leaves on the trees lining the streets had begun changing color, a blatant indicator that the summer was over.

Tessa walked down the steps at ten on Sunday morning, cradling a large envelope in one hand, at the same time Micah drove up in a low-slung, two-seater BMW convertible Roadster in a subtle charcoal gray. A hint of a smile softened her mouth. He’d just gotten another gold star: he was on time.

He waved to her as he got out of the car. A pair of jeans, an off-white cable-knit pullover sweater and running shoes had replaced his tailored suit and imported footwear. Her smile widened when she noticed the well-worn New York Yankees cap on his head. Her smile faded as quickly as it’d come. Micah hadn’t shaved, and the stubble on his jaw enhanced his overt maleness.

Recovering quickly and holding her arms out at the sides, she spun around. “Is this causal enough for you?”

What Micah hadn’t been able to see in the dark was now blatantly on display for his viewing pleasure. His midnight gaze moved slowly over the curly hair Tessa had brushed off her face and secured in a twist on the nape of her neck, down to her face with a subtle application of makeup that highlighted her gold-flecked eyes, high cheekbones with a light sprinkle of freckles and a lush mouth outlined in a soft rose-pink shade. A single strand of pearls matched the studs in her pierced ears.

He stared at her lush, compact body in an apricot-pink cashmere tank top with a matching cardigan, brown body-hugging stretch slacks and matching suede slip-ons. Even her brown pony-and-calfskin leather shoulder bag complemented her elegant sense of style. The epitome of casual-chic, she looked as if she’d stepped off the pages of Town and Country.

What she wore wasn’t casual enough for what he’d planned for them, but he couldn’t tell her that. “You look beautiful.”

Caught off guard by the vibrancy of Micah’s voice, the tenderness in his eyes, Tessa was helpless to stop a rush of heat darkening her face. She lowered her gaze in a demure gesture. “Thank you.”

Micah winked at her. “Don’t thank me, Tessa. I had nothing to do with the way you look.” Cupping her elbow, he helped her into the car, closed the door and got in beside her. Pressing a button, he raised the convertible top, shifted into gear and maneuvered through the quiet Brooklyn neighborhood as the soothing sounds of jazz filled the racy sports car.

He took a quick glance at Tessa as she pressed her head to the leather headrest and closed her eyes. “Do you want me to put on a different CD?”

Tessa recognized the melodious horn of Wynton Marsalis playing a bluesy piece perfect for a nightclub setting. “No, please don’t. It’s nice.” The music was nice, Micah’s car was nice and he looked and smelled very nice.

Stopping at a red light, Micah reached for a pair of sunglasses off the console and slipped them on against the brilliant autumn sun. “Do you like jazz?”

She smiled. “I love it.”

“Cool or hot jazz?”

Tessa opened her eyes and stared through the windshield. “Both. I grew up listening to my father and uncles playing Coltrane, Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Art Tatum, Thelonious Monk and, of course, the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and Abbey Lincoln.”

“What about hip-hop?”

“It depends on the artist. I prefer R & B to hip-hop.” Shifting on her seat, she stared at Micah’s distinctive profile. She preferred him dressed down because he appeared less intimidating. “Why did you ask?”

“I’ve been thinking about places where we could go for dinner and I’m leaning toward one that features live music. If you have a favorite place or are partial to a particular cuisine, then let me know.”

“I’ll let you pick the place.”

She didn’t want to give him the names of places where she’d eaten with the men in her past—Bryce Hill in particular. Once she’d ended her relationship with Bryce she’d promised herself that she would never look back.

Micah gave Tessa a quick glance behind his dark lenses. “I’ll pick the place and you can let me know when you’re going to be available.”

“I’m free this coming Saturday and Sunday.”

He took his hand off the gearshift, leaned over, opened the glove compartment and handed Tessa a PDA. “Please check and see what I have for next weekend.”

She scrolled through his calendar filled with entries of meetings and reminders. “You’ve blocked out Saturday.”

“What does it say?”

“‘Check heating system.’”

He smothered a groan. He’d forgotten about his upstate vacation home. He hadn’t gone up this past summer because he hadn’t had the time with moving to Staten Island and settling into his new position with the Brooklyn D.A.’s office.

He didn’t want to put off having dinner with Tessa any longer than necessary because, as a new prosecutor, his hours were slated to change from days to nights, and with most weddings taking place on weekends he wasn’t certain about her timetable. Perhaps, he mused, he could check on the house and have dinner with her.

“How would you like to go apple picking next Saturday?”

Tessa shot him a confused look. “Which one is it, Micah? Are we going apple picking or out to dinner?”

“We can do both. I have a place upstate, and across the road is an apple orchard where you can pick whatever variety you want. We can pick apples, I’ll winterize the house and then we’ll go out to dinner. But if we eat up there, then it’s not going to be fancy.”

“Is the food good?”

Giving her a quick glance, Micah smiled. “It’s very good.”

Her smile matched his. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Micah covered her left hand with his right, bringing both to rest on the gearshift. He continued to hold her hand as he shifted gears. They lost track of time when they talked about the evolution of music from the early days of blues and jazz to the advent of pop, rock and roll, R & B and soul and the sampling and crossover of artists to different genres.

He was so engrossed in their conversation and the sensual pull of the woman sitting inches away that he hadn’t noticed he was in Bergen County until he saw the signs indicating the number of miles to Franklin Lakes. The landscape had changed, along with the size of the homes.

Tessa eased her hand from the protective warmth of Micah’s when they entered the city limits for Franklin Lakes. Judging from the number of gated properties, there was no doubt he’d grown up in a privileged environment.

He maneuvered off a local road and onto a private path with four mailboxes bearing the names of homeowners at the bottom of a steep hill. She peered through the copse of towering trees lining both sides of the unpaved path like sentinels on guard duty and filtering out the sun’s rays.

“You grew up in the woods.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in Micah’s chest. “It’s not the woods.”

Resting a hand on her hip, Tessa gave him a look that dared him to refute her. “Anytime trees grow high enough to block out sunlight, then it’s the woods.”

“Okay, you win. It’s the woods.”

Her delicate jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it!”

“What don’t you believe?” he asked.

“I can’t believe you conceded,” she teased.

“I only conceded because you hurt my feelings when you said I was contrary.”

Tessa leaned close enough for her shoulder to touch Micah’s. “I’m sorry. Will you accept my apology?”

Slowing, he pressed one of two remotes attached to the visor, and the iron gates protecting the property at the top of the hill opened smoothly. He drove through, continuing along a paved path and coming to a stop behind one of several SUVs parked in the rear of a three-story manor-style house.

Micah shut off the engine, got out and came around to assist Tessa. He didn’t give her time to react when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.

Lowering his head, he stared at her parted lips. “I’ll think about it.”

Tessa shivered noticeably despite the warmth from Micah’s body. She had no intention of permitting herself to fall under the spell he wove just by their sharing the same space. She imposed an iron control on her emotions she hadn’t known she possessed.

“Don’t think too long, Micah.”

A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “I won’t.” Reaching for Tessa’s hand, he said, “Let’s go inside. Once you meet my family, then you’ll know what you have to deal with.”