Читать книгу Sweet Dreams - Rochelle Alers - Страница 12

Preston silently chastised himself for forgetting his manners. He hadn’t offered Chandra Eaton anything to eat or drink. It was apparent that his annoyance with his agent sending him on a six-thousand-mile wild-goose chase had affected him more than he wanted to admit. If Clifford had been in the room with him during the negotiations, there was no doubt he would’ve fired the man on the spot. Wanting to avoid a fight, he decided to wait, wait until Clifford contacted him.

He retrieved his mail and then returned to the apartment. A smile tilted the corners of his mouth when he recalled his conversation with the young woman who’d recorded dreams so erotic, so sensual that he felt as if he’d actually entered the dream and it was he who’d made love to Chandra. He’d taken one shower, then hours later he was forced to take another one. Standing under the spray of ice-cold water was the antidote to an erection that had him thinking of doing what he hadn’t done since adolescence.

Preston hadn’t lied to Chandra when he told her he wasn’t romantic in the true sense of the word. Yet he’d never mistreated or cheated on any woman he was seeing. He’d grown up witnessing his father passively and aggressively abuse his mother until she’d become an emotional cripple. Craig Tucker had never raised his voice or hit him or his sister, Yolanda. But whenever he drank to an excess, he blamed his wife for his failures, of which there were a few. A two-pack-a-day cigarette habit and heavy drinking took its toll, and Craig suffered a massive coronary at forty.

Walking into his home office, Preston put the pile of letters and magazines on his desk. The idea of writing a dramatic musical was scary and exciting. And, although he’d mentioned using a vampire as a leading character, the truth was he knew nothing about them. Sitting in a leather chair, he reached for a pencil and a legal pad and began jotting down key words.

The sun had slipped lower in the sky, and long and short shadows filled the room when he finally glanced up at the clock on a side table. It was after five. He’d spent more than four hours outlining scenes for his untitled musical drama. What kept creeping into his head were the accounts of the dreams he’d read the night before.

A knowing smile softened the angles in his face. He suddenly had an idea for a plot.

Chandra spied her father’s car when the taxi driver maneuvered into the driveway. She hadn’t expected her father to come home so early. She paid the fare, and clutching the case to her chest, got out and walked to the door. It opened before she could insert her key into the lock.

She didn’t have time to react before her father held her in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek. “Daddy, stop! You’re crushing my ribs.”

Dwight set his daughter on her feet. “I’m sorry about that, baby girl.”

Chandra smiled at the man against whom she measured every man she’d met in her life. Her father was soft-spoken, patient and benevolent—and that was with his patients. He was all that and then some to his children. He’d always been supportive, telling them they could do or be anything they wanted to be.

It was her father she’d gone to when she contemplated going into the Peace Corps. He encouraged her to follow her dream and her heart, while Roberta had taken to her bed, all the while complaining that her youngest was going to be the death of her.

She smiled at her father. He looked the same at sixty-three as he had at fifty-three. His dark face was virtually wrinkle-free and his deep-set brown eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses reminded her of chocolate chips. His thinning cropped hair was now completely gray.

“What are you doing home so early, Daddy?”

Dwight tugged at the thick braid falling midway down his daughter’s back. “My last two patients canceled, so I thought I’d come home early and take my favorite girls out to dinner.”

“Do you mind if we postpone it to another time?”

Eyes narrowing, Dwight led Chandra into the entryway. He cradled her face between his palms. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

“I’m well. It’s just that I stopped to eat a little while ago. I’m certain Mama would appreciate you taking her to a restaurant with dining and dancing.”

“You know your mother was quite the dancer in her day.”

“She still is,” Chandra said. Roberta had danced nonstop at Belinda and Griffin’s wedding. She kissed her father’s cheek. “I have to go online and look for a job.”

“I thought you were going to take some time off before you go back to teaching.”

“I’d really like to, Daddy, but I have to buy some furniture before I move into Denise’s co-op.”

“You should talk to Belinda before you buy anything. She told your mother that she has a buyer for her house, and expects to close on it before Halloween.”

Myles had stayed in Belinda’s house during the summer, and then returned to Pittsburgh where he taught constitutional law at Duquesne University School of Law. Despite the uncertainty in the real estate market, Belinda was fortunate enough to find a buyer for her house.

Chandra couldn’t see herself purchasing property at this time in her life. Although she’d told her parents she hadn’t planned to live overseas again, she still wasn’t certain of her future.

“I’ll call her later,” she said to her father. “You and Mama have fun, and if you two can’t be good, then be careful,” she teased.

He chuckled and was still chuckling as she climbed the staircase. She walked into her bedroom, slipped out of her shoes and blazer and then sat down at the desk. Turning on her laptop, Chandra searched the Philadelphia public schools Web site for openings. Surprisingly, she found ten—eight of which were in less-than-desirable neighborhoods. Her heart rate kicked into high gear. Instead of substituting she would apply for a full-time position. The one school that advertised for a Pre-K, third and fifth grade teacher was about a mile from Denise’s co-op and close to Penn’s Landing and to public transportation.

Chandra was so engrossed in copying down the names of the schools, their addresses and principals that she almost didn’t hear her cell phone. She retrieved it from her handbag, glancing at the display. “Hello, cousin.”

“Hello, yourself. When did you get back?”

“Yesterday. I called you because I had the pleasure of meeting Preston Tucker today.” She held the phone away from her ear when a piercing scream came through the earpiece. “Denise! Calm down.”

“You’ve got to tell me everything, and I do mean everything, Chandra.”

Settling down on the bed, she told her cousin about leaving her portfolio in the taxi and Preston e-mailing her to let her know he’d found it. She was forthcoming, leaving nothing out when she related the conversation between her and the playwright, including that he wanted her to work with him to develop a vampirelike character for a new play.

“Are you going to do it?” Denise asked, her sultry contralto dropping an octave.

“That’s why I called you. What do you know about him?”

“He’s brilliant, but you probably know that. And he’s never been married. There were rumors a little while back that he was engaged to marry an actress. But the tabloids said she ended it. He rarely gives interviews and manages to stay out of the spotlight. I’ve seen every one of his plays, and if I were given the chance to work with him, I’d jump at it.”

“I’m flattered that he asked for my help, but why, Denise? Why me?”

“Maybe he likes you.”

Chandra shook her head.

“I don’t think so.”

“What did you say to him?”

“What are you talking about, Denise?”

“You had to say something to Preston for him to ask you to develop a character for his next play.”

A beat passed. “I told him that all his plays were dark and brooding, and he admitted that he was dark and brooding. I suppose when I said brooding works if he were a vampire, he took it as a challenge.”

“There you go, Chandra. You just said the operative word—challenge. Preston Tucker’s bound to have an ego as large as the Liberty Bell, so he expects you to put your money where your mouth is.”

“It’s either that or…”

“Or what?” Denise asked when she didn’t finish her statement.

“Nothing.”

Chandra had said nothing, although there was the possibility that Preston had read her journal. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d read it, and she didn’t want to ask because she didn’t want to know if he had. The only way she would be able to find out was to work with him.

“I’m going to do it, Denise. I’m going to help the very talented P. J. Tucker develop a vampire character for his next play.”

“Hot damn! My cousin’s going to be famous.”

“Yeah, right,” Chandra drawled. “I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

“You better,” Denise threatened. “I’d love to chat longer, but I have a board meeting in ten minutes.”

“Are you coming up to Paoli this weekend?”

“I plan on being there. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Later.”

“Later,” Chandra repeated before she ended the call.

She sat, staring at the sheers billowing in the cool breeze coming through the open windows. To say she was intrigued by Preston Tucker was an understatement. Something told her that he didn’t need her or anyone’s help with character development. Did he, as Denise claimed, like her?

Chandra shook her head as if to banish the notion. She knew she hadn’t given off vibes that said she was interested in him. After her yearlong liaison with Laurence Breslin she had sworn off men. Whenever she affected what could best be described as a “screw face” most men kept their distance. The persistent ones were greeted with, “I’m not interested in men,” leaving them to ponder whether she didn’t like them or she was only interested in a same-sex liaison. She liked men—a lot. It was just that she wasn’t willing to set herself up for more heartbreak.

She went back to the task of researching schools. All she had to do was update her résumé and submit the applications online. Flicking on the desk lamp, she scrolled through her old e-mails until she found the one from Preston, her fingers racing over the keys:

Hi Preston,

I’m available to meet with you Friday. Please call or e-mail to confirm.—CE

She didn’t have to wait for a response when his AIM popped up on the upper left corner of the screen.

PJT: Hi CE. Friday is good with me. What time should I pick you up?

CE: You don’t have to pick me up. I’ll take a taxi to your place.

PJT: No, CE. You tend to lose things in taxis.

CE: You didn’t have to go there.

PJT: Sorry.

CE: Apology accepted.

PJT: Will call tomorrow to let you know when driver will pick you up.

CE: O.K. I’ll see you Friday. Meanwhile, think of a name for your vampire.

PJT: He’s not my vampire, but yours. So, you do the honor.

CE: O.K. Good night.

PJT: Good night.

Chandra logged off. She mentally checked off what she had to do before meeting with Preston. She still had to unpack, call her sister Belinda and update her résumé. During lunch she’d called the salon and was given an appointment for Thursday at eleven. The Eatons had planned a get-together at Belinda and Griffin’s for Saturday to celebrate Sabrina’s and Layla’s thirteenth birthday. She wasn’t certain what her nieces wanted or needed, but decided to give them gift cards. Then, there was her ten-year-old nephew whom she would meet for the first time. Aunt Chandra would have to buy him something, too.

Chandra waited for the driver to come around and open the rear door for her. As promised, Preston had arranged for a driver to bring her to his apartment building. He’d also arranged for them to have brunch.

She gave the doorman her name and three minutes later she came face-to-face with Preston Tucker for the second time when the doors to the elevator opened.

Preston stared, completely surprised. He almost didn’t recognize Chandra. She’d changed her hair. The braid was gone, replaced by a sleek style that framed her face and floated over her shoulders. It made her look older, more sophisticated.

“You look very nice.”

Chandra couldn’t stop the pinpoints of heat pricking her face. She’d lightly applied a little makeup and changed outfits twice before deciding on a tailored charcoal-gray pantsuit, white silk blouse and black patent leather pumps.

“Thank you.”

Preston not only looked good, she thought, but he also smelled good. He wore a pair of black slacks and matching shirt and the stubble on his chin gave him a slightly roguish look. He’d admitted to being dark and brooding and his somber attire affirmed that. She didn’t have to go very far to find the inspiration for her vampire. Preston Tucker was the perfect character.

“Have you come up with a name for your vampire?” Preston asked as he led Chandra down the hallway and into his apartment.

“I have,” she admitted.

He closed the door and turned to stare at her. “What is it?”

“Pascual.”

Preston angled his head. “Pascual or Paschal?”

“Pascual. It’s Spanish and Hebrew for Passover. The name is somewhat exotic and implies that he’s passed through a portal from another world to ours.”

“If the setting is New Orleans, shouldn’t you give him a French name?”

Chandra drew in a breath, held it and then let it out slowly. They hadn’t even begun to work together and already he was questioning her. “I thought you said Pascual is my vampire.”

“He is, Chandra.”

“Then, please let me develop him the way I want, Preston. And that includes giving him a name that’s Spanish. Remember, France lost control of New Orleans to Spain, then regained it before it was sold to the U.S.”

Preston looked sheepish. “Unfortunately, history and languages weren’t my best subjects.”

“I have you at a disadvantage because my sister teaches American history to high school students.”

“What do you teach?”

“How do you know I’m a teacher?”

Reaching for her hand, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Today you look and sound like a teacher. Besides, you didn’t deny it. By the way, are you on sabbatical or are you playing hooky?”

Chandra’s lips twitched as she tried not to smile. She knew she had to remain alert with Preston. He probably processed everything she said within seconds. “I’m in between jobs.”

“Come with me to the kitchen. We can talk while I cook.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You write, direct and cook. I’m impressed. What other talents are you hiding?”

Throwing back his head, Preston let loose genuine laughter. He’d found Chandra Eaton cute and very talented. What he hadn’t counted on was that she could make him laugh.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.”

“Maybe I should ask your girlfriend.”

Preston’s expression changed suddenly. He glared at her under hooded lids. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“What about a wife?” Chandra asked. Denise had said Preston was a bachelor, but she needed him to confirm his marital status.

“I also don’t have a wife.”

“Is it because you’re not romantic?” Chandra asked, knowing she was treading into dangerous territory. She really didn’t want to know any more about Preston than what Denise had told her. Whatever she would share with him was to be strictly business.

“Not being romantic has nothing to do with whether I’m married or involved with a woman.”

“Are you a misogynist?”

“Of course not.”

“Don’t look so put out, Preston. I’ve read about a lot of high-profile men who date women, but detest them behind closed doors.”

“Well, I’m not one of those down-low brothers.” He hadn’t lied to Chandra. It had taken many years and countless therapy sessions for him to let go of the enmity between he and his father. “Women should be loved and protected, not physically or emotionally abused.”

“Spoken like a true romantic hero.”

“Give it up, Chandra. It’s not going to work.”

“What’s not going to work?”

“You’re not going to turn me into a romantic hero.”

She wrinkled her nose in a gesture Preston had come to appreciate. “You think not, Preston?”

“I know not, Chandra.”

“We’ll see,” she drawled.

His eyes narrowed. “What are you hatching in that very cute head of yours?”

Chandra ignored his referring to her being cute. “Wait until I develop Pascual’s character and you’re forced to breathe life into what will become a vampire who’s not only sexy but very romantic. You’ll be the one who has to come up with the dialogue whenever he interacts with his romantic lead.”

“We’ll see,” Preston said.

“Have you thought of a name for your new play?”

Taking a step, he dropped Chandra’s hand, pulling her to his chest. Lowering his head and fastening his mouth to the column of her scented neck, Preston pressed a kiss there. He increased the pressure, baring his teeth and stopping short of nipping the delicate flesh.

“Death’s Kiss,” he whispered in her ear.

Chandra turned her head, her mouth inches from Preston’s, breathing in his warm, moist breath. “You can’t kill your heroine, Preston.” Her gaze caressed the outline of his mouth seconds before he kissed her cheek.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” he said, smiling.

“What would I have to do to convince you to include a happy ending?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Bracing her hands against Preston’s chest, Chandra sought to put some distance between them. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Preston winked at her. “Not to worry, Chandra. You’re safe with me.”

Chandra recoiled when his words hit her like a stinging slap. “The last man I was involved with said the very same words to me. But in the end I was left to fend for myself. Thanks, but no thanks, Preston. I can take care of myself.”

“Was he your husband?”

“No. Thank goodness we didn’t get that far. But we were engaged.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Not because I don’t want to. It’s just that I can’t.”

Preston dropped a kiss on her fragrant hair. “Then you don’t have to. Are you ready to eat?” he asked, changing the subject.

“What’s on the menu for brunch?”

Resting a hand at the small of her back, he escorted Chandra toward the kitchen. “You have a choice of fresh fruit, pancakes, waffles, an omelet or bacon, sausage, ham and grits. To drink, there’s herbal tea, regular and hazelnut coffee, orange, grapefruit or cranberry juice. As for cocktails you have a choice between a Bloody Mary and a mimosa.”

“I prefer a mimosa.” Chandra flashed an attractive pout. “I’m really impressed with you, Preston. I’ve never hung out with a guy who could cook.”

Preston gave Chandra a sidelong glance, his gaze lingering on the tumble of hair falling around her face. “I’m no Bobby Flay or Chef Jeff, but I can promise you won’t come down with ptomaine poisoning.”

“I think I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

And I promise not to like you too much, she added silently.

It was what Chandra told herself every time she met a man to whom she felt herself attracted. It’d worked in the past and she was certain it would work with Preston Tucker.