Читать книгу Always an Eaton: Sweet Dreams - Rochelle Alers, Rochelle Alers - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Chandra followed Preston into an expansive state-of-the art stainless-steel-and-black gourmet kitchen outfitted with Gaggenau appliances. “Very nice,” she crooned.

“Should I take that to mean you like my kitchen?” There was a note of pride in Preston’s voice, as if he were talking about one of his children who’d aced an exam.

She met his questioning gaze with a wide smile. “Did you think I was talking about you?”

“I was hoping you’d think I’m nice.”

Chandra sobered. “Does it matter what I think of you, Preston?”

“Of course it does. After all, we’re going to be collaborating.”

“Hold up, dark and brooding. First you want me to develop a paranormal character, and now you’re talking about collaboration.”

“Pascual is yours, beautiful, and that means we’ll have to collaborate to make him a powerful and memorable character. I need for him to mesmerize the audience the second he walks on stage. Even before he opens his mouth, he must pull them in and not let them go until the final curtain.”

“Are you going to include him in every scene?” Chandra asked.

“No. It would make it too intense. Whenever he’s offstage I want to build enough tension for the audience to look forward to his reappearance. Enough shoptalk. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to eat.”

Chandra was also ready to eat. Aside from the salad she’d eaten the day before, her only intake of food was a cup of coffee earlier that morning. “It looks as if you do some serious cooking in here.”

“It works whenever I host a dinner party. There’s more than enough room for a caterer and his staff to work without them bumping into one another.”

Preston’s kitchen was almost as large as the apartment she was renting from her cousin. It was furnished with top-of-the-line cookware and miscellaneous culinary gadgets suspended on hooks from an overhead rack.

“How often do you have dinner parties?” she asked, recalling Denise telling her that Preston usually kept a low profile.

“I always host one before the debut of a new play. I invite the entire cast and production staff.”

She watched as Preston rolled back his shirt cuffs, exposing muscular forearms before washing his hands in one of the double sinks. “How long does it usually take for you to write a play?”

He dried his hands on a towel. “It depends on the subject matter and my state of mind. My first one took several years because I’d reworked it half a dozen times. However, there was one I completed in four weeks, but it took its toll on my health because I’d averaged about three hours of sleep each night. I took a couple of months off, checked into a resort and did nothing more strenuous than eat and laze around.”

Removing her suit jacket, Chandra hung it on a high-back stool pushed over to the slate-gray granite countertop. “You probably were burned out.”

“Probably? I was. It was another year before I was able to focus and write again.”

“How long do you project it will take for you to complete Death’s Kiss?” she asked.

Preston, resting his elbows on the countertop, gave her a long, penetrating stare. “That all depends on my collaborator’s availability.”

“And that depends on whether I can find a teaching position. I’ve applied to several schools with vacancies for Pre-K to 6. I’ll be available to you until I’m hired.”

The schools Chandra had applied to were in designated hard-to-staff districts. Belinda taught at a high school in those districts. Earlier that year one of Belinda’s students was arrested and expelled for discharging a handgun in her classroom. Fortunately the incident ended with no casualties.

Teaching in the public school system would be vastly different from what she’d experienced in the exclusive private school in Northern Virginia where the yearly tuition was comparable to private colleges. The most profound difference between the children who attended Cambridge Valley Prep, Philadelphia public schools and her former students in Belize was that the prep school students were the children of elected officials and foreign dignitaries.

Preston stood up straighter. “Where did you teach before?”

“The Peace Corps, and before that I taught at a private school in Virginia.”

“You really were in the Peace Corps?” There was a note of incredulity in his query.

“Yes,” Chandra confirmed.

“Where were you stationed?” he asked, continuing with his questioning.

“Belize.”

Preston never imagined that she had been a Peace Corps volunteer. There was something about Chandra Eaton that projected an air of being cosseted. Now that she’d revealed that she spent two years working in Central America he saw her in a whole new light.

“After you let me know what you want to eat, I want you to tell me about Belize, and if it is as beautiful as the photographs in travel brochures?”

Propping her elbow on the cool surface of the countertop, Chandra supported her chin on her heel of her hand. “I’d like an omelet.”

“Would you like a Western, Spanish or spinach?”

“Spinach.”

“Blue or goat cheese?”

“I prefer blue cheese.” Pushing back from the countertop, Chandra slipped off the stool. “Do you mind if I help you?”

Preston held up a hand. “No. Sit down and relax.”

She affected a frown. “I’m not used to sitting and doing nothing.”

Preston stared at the slender woman in business attire, realizing they were more alike than dissimilar. Even when he was in between writing projects he always found something to do. He usually retreated to his Brandywine Valley home to catch up on his reading and watching movies from his extensive DVD collection. He also chopped enough wood to feed two gluttonous fireplaces throughout the winter months. And whenever he heard the stress in his sister’s voice from having to deal with her four sons—both sets of twins—he drove down to South Carolina to give her and his probation officer brother-in-law a mini vacation. He took his rambunctious nephews on camping excursions and deep-sea fishing. Last year they’d begun touring the many Sea Islands off the coast of Georgia, Florida and their home state.

Preston enjoyed spending time with the seven-and ten-year-olds, becoming the indulgent uncle, yet oddly had never felt the pull of fatherhood. He wasn’t certain if it was because of his own father or because he hadn’t met that special woman who would make him reexamine his life and bachelorhood status.

Chandra had thought him a misogynist when he was anything but. He liked women. He liked everything about a woman: her soft skin, the curves of her body and her smell. It was the smell of her skin and hair that was usually imprinted on his brain. Whenever he dated a woman, he was able to pick her out in a darkened room because of her scent.

He preferred working in the kitchen without assistance or interference but decided to relent and let Chandra help him. “Let me get you something to cover your clothes. If you want, you can cut up the fruit.”

Chandra flashed a dimpled smile. She needed to do more than sit and watch Preston. She wanted to discover what it was like to actually cook in a gourmet kitchen. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Preston pointed to a door at the opposite end of the kitchen. “It’s the door on the right,” he said as Chandra headed toward the bathroom.

He stared at the roundness of her shapely hips until she disappeared from his line of vision. I like her. Preston liked everything there was to like about Chandra Eaton: her blatant femininity, natural beauty and the intelligence she made no attempt to hide.

When she’d mentioned the idea of writing a play using a vampire as the central character, it had started a flurry of ideas like a trickle of water that flowed into a stream, then into rapids and finally into a fast-flowing river. It reminded him of the Colorado River rushing through the Grand Canyon.

With his creative imagination going full throttle, he was able to outline the production, design the lighting, costumes and props. He could hear the slow drawling Southern cadence and Creole inflections that were as much a part of New Orleans as its cuisine. Death’s Kiss had come alive in his mind. All that remained was writing it once Chandra developed Pascual.

Preston had taken a package of frozen spinach, four eggs and a plastic container of blue cheese from the refrigerator/freezer as Chandra returned to the kitchen. She was barefoot and had twisted her hair in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck. He smiled when he saw the bright red color on her toes.

Reaching into a drawer under the countertop, he pulled out a bibbed apron. “Come here,” he ordered.

Chandra approached Preston, turning so he could slip the apron over her head. He adjusted the length until it reached her knees, then looped the ties twice around her waist.

Shifting, she smiled up at him. “I’m ready, chef.”

Lowering his head, Preston kissed the end of her nose. “Never have I had a more delicious-looking sous chef. If you look in the right side of the refrigerator, you’ll find fruit in the lower drawer.”

He left Chandra to take care of the fruit salad while he began the task of thawing the spinach in the microwave, placing it in a colander to drain before removing the remaining moisture by squeezing the chopped leaves in cheesecloth. Pausing, he opened an overhead closet and pushed a button on a stereo unit. The beautifully haunting sound of a trumpet filled the duplex.

Chandra shared a smile with Preston as she glanced up from peeling the fuzzy skin of a kiwi, revealing its vibrant green flesh. She found it ironic they had a similar taste in music. Before leaving for Belize, she’d loaded her iPod with music from every genre. Chris Botti’s Night Sessions had become a favorite.

“You have to have at least one romantic bone in your body if you like Chris Botti,” she said teasingly.

Preston stopped mincing garlic on the chopping board. “Okay. I’ll admit to having one,” he said, conceding.

He didn’t know what Chandra meant by being romantic. If it was about sending flowers, telling a woman she looked nice or buying her a gift for her birthday or Christmas, then he would have to say he was. But if a woman expected him to declare his undying love for her then she was out of luck.

He’d asked Elaine to marry him because they’d dated exclusively for three years. It just seemed like the right thing to do. But Elaine wanted more than the flowers, gifts and sex. She wanted his undivided attention whenever she didn’t have an acting role. It hadn’t mattered if he was working on a new play or directing one slated to go into production. She wanted what she wanted whenever she wanted it.

Preston opened the refrigerator, took out a carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice and a bottle of chilled champagne from a wine storage unit and then returned to the cooking island. There was a soft popping sound when he removed the cork from the bubbly wine. Reaching for two flutes on a rack, he half filled the glasses with orange juice, topping it off with champagne before gently stirring the mixture.

Chandra arranged the fruit in glass dessert bowls. She started with melon balls, adding sliced kiwi, and topped them off with orange sections. The contrasting colors were soft, the fresh fruit inviting.

“Do you want me to set the table?” she asked Preston.

“That can wait until after we toast each other.” He handed her a flute, touching his glass to hers. “Here’s to a successful collaboration.” Their gazes met as they sipped the orange-infused champagne cocktail. She smiled over the rim of the flute.

Chandra let the sweet, tart liquid slide slowly down the back of her throat. “It’s delicious.”

Preston nodded.

Chandra set down her glass. She didn’t want to drink too much before she had a chance to eat. “Where are your dishes?”

“They’re in the cabinet over the sink.”

“What about coffee or tea?”

“I’ll have whatever you have,” he said.

“What about juice, chef?”

“I’m not a chef, Chandra.”

Preston turned and glared at Chandra, but he couldn’t stay angry with her when he saw the humor in her eyes. He was going to enjoy working with her. There was no doubt she was a free spirit if she’d left the States to teach in Belize.

His gaze softened when Chandra swayed to the Latin-infused baseline beats of “All Would Envy” written by Sting and sung by Shawn Colvin.

He took three long strides and pulled her into a close embrace. She fit perfectly within the arc of his arms. They danced as if they’d performed the action countless times. Preston closed his eyes, listening to the words about a wealthy older man who was the envy of other men, old and young, because he’d convinced a beautiful young woman to marry him.

Everything about the woman in his arms seeped into him. She was becoming the heroine in Death’s Kiss. Chandra was right. The play had to have a happy ending. He knew very little about vampires, but he remembered stories about mortals who were bitten by vampires and needed to feed on human blood in order to stay alive.

“Pascual has to be an incredible dancer,” Chandra said softly.

“In other words, he must waltz.”

Leaning back, she smiled up at Preston. “Yes, but his dance of choice is the tango.”

“Where did he learn to tango?” Preston asked.

“In Argentina, of course.”

Inky-black eyebrows lifted a fraction. “So, your vampire is from South America?”

“Yes. He’s lived there for two centuries, hence his name. He’s the son of a noble Spanish landowner and an African slave. Although the tango did not become popular outside of the Argentine ghettos until the early years of the twentieth century, Pascual time travels from one century to another, establishing his reputation as a professional dancer.”

Preston angled his head. “I like that you made him mixed race.”

“Why’s that?” Chandra asked.

“Because Josette is also mixed race, and, like her mother, is a free woman of color. I’ve decided to make her a quadroon, because the character will be easier to cast when I begin auditions. Josette’s mother will present her at one of the balls the year she turns sixteen.”

“Isn’t she rather young?”

Preston twirled Chandra around and around in an intricate dance step. “Not at all. Josette’s mother, who is also plaçée, made certain her daughter was educated in France, so once she completes her education Josette will be ready to marry and set up her own household.”

“Will she meet Pascual at the ball?”

He pondered her question. “No. That would be too contrived. She’ll see him for the first time two weeks before the ball when she goes to her dressmaker for a final fitting of her gown. He’s there with another woman, who is also a vampire, whom Josette believes is his mistress. Then, she sees him again when she goes to the market with her maid to pick up flowers to decorate the house because her father is coming to share dinner with her mother.”

“What happens next, Preston?”

Dipping her low, Preston kissed the end of her nose and then straightened. “No more questions. You will see the play once I begin rehearsals.”

Chandra pouted the way she’d done as a child when she hadn’t gotten her way. “That’s not fair.”

He stared at her lush lips. What wasn’t fair was that he wanted so much to make love to her, but didn’t, because he didn’t want to send the wrong message. He’d asked Chandra to work, not sleep with him.

“What’s not fair is that you’re asking me questions I can’t answer because you haven’t given me enough information to breathe life into Pascual. You’ve told me he’s an Argentinian of mixed blood and an expert dancer.”

Tilting her chin and closing her eyes, Chandra thought of the fantasy man from her erotic dreams. He could’ve easily become Pascual, coming to her in the dark of the night to make the most exquisite love she’d ever experienced or imagined.

“What are you thinking about?” Preston asked in her ear.

Her eyes opened. “I was trying to imagine Pascual making love to Josette for the first time.”

“Before or after she becomes plaçée?”

A beat passed. “Would it add to the conflict if she offers him her virginity?” Chandra asked.

Preston gave Chandra a conspiratorial wink. “It would. But how is she going to convince her white Creole gentleman that she’s a virgin?”

“She will confide in her maid, who in turn will ask a voodoo priestess for help. Perhaps you can show a scene with Josette meeting with the voodoo woman. She has great disdain for the woman, but is forced to give up the priceless necklace she’s wearing in exchange for a potion that will cause one to fall asleep, and upon waking not remember anything.”

He was impressed. Chandra had come up with a credible rationalization for Josette to protect her reputation. After all, the play was to be set in New Orleans.

“Do you want Josette to continue to sleep with Pascual after she becomes plaçée, Chandra?” Preston asked.

Chandra scrunched up her nose. “I see where you’re going with this. I think I want Pascual to become her only lover.”

“What about her benefactor? Do you think the man will continue to consort with his plaçée? There’s no way he would be respected in his social circle if word got out that he’d been cuckolded by a woman of color.”

“A couple of drops of the potion in a glass of wine each time he comes to visit Josette will eventually take its toll on the poor man when he becomes an amnesiac.”

Preston stared at Chandra, and then burst out laughing. He didn’t give her a chance to react when he swept her up off the floor, fastening his mouth to hers in an explosive kiss that robbed her of her breath.Her arms went around his neck, she melting against his length when he deepened the kiss.

Chandra’s lips parted as she struggled to breathe, giving Preston the slight advantage he needed when the tip of his tongue grazed her palate, the inside of her cheek and curled around her tongue as he made slow, exquisite love to her mouth. The dreams that had plagued her within days of arriving in Belize came to life; she was unable to differentiate between her fantasy lover and Preston Tucker. The familiar flutters that began in her belly moved lower. If he didn’t stop, then she knew she would beg him to make love to her.

“Please! No more, Preston.”

Preston heard the strident cry that penetrated the sensual fog pulling him under with the force of a riptide. His head popped up, he stared down at Chandra as if seeing her for the first time. The sweep hand on a wall clock made a full revolution before he lowered her until her feet touched the floor.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

The skin around Chandra’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I’m not.”

Preston froze. “You’re not?”

Going on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “You have a very sexy mouth, P.J., and I’d wondered if you knew what to do with it.”

A shiver of annoyance snaked its way up his body. Chandra was the first woman who’d let it be known that she was testing his sexual skills.

“Did I pass?”

“Just barely.”

Preston’s mouth opened and closed several times, and nothing came out. “What did you say?” he asked after he’d collected his wits.

“I said you barely passed.” Chandra turned so he wouldn’t see her grin. She tried but was unsuccessful when her shoulders shook with laughter. “No!” she screamed when Preston lifted her again, this time holding her above his head as if she were a small child.

“Apologize, Chandra.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chanted until he lowered her bare feet to the cool tiles.

Still smarting from her teasing, Preston’s expression was a mask of stone. “One of these days I’m going to show you exactly what my mouth can do.”

“Is that a threat, Preston?”

A smile found its way through his stern-faced demeanor. “No, baby. It was a warning that if you tease me again, then I’m going to expect you to bring it.”

His arms fell away and Chandra took a backward step. She didn’t know what had gotten into her. She’d known girls who had teased boys they liked, but she hadn’t been one of them.

Why now?

And why Preston Tucker?

The questions nagged at her until she dropped her gaze. It’d taken only two encounters with the temperamental playwright to know that he didn’t like to be teased or challenged. That meant she had to tread softly and very carefully around him.

“Warning acknowledged.”