Tears streamed down her face. “I wouldn’t be driving your damn precious ‘Vette in the first place if you were still alive, old man,” she muttered under her breath. All the pain poured out in a new flood of tears.
Jack’s funeral had hit her hard. She sat there, numb all over as the first clumps of dirt hit his coffin with a resounding thump. He’s gone. The second handful made a dull, muted thud. No more chess games. The third made no sound at all. No more jokes. Her mother spoke to her, but she shook her head, deaf to her words of comfort, unable to comprehend her grandfather wasn’t coming back.
Rana lingered in solitude by the graveside after her relatives and other mourners had filed away toward their cars. No sounds penetrated her mind—all she heard was her own shallow breathing. She realized she was in shock, denial, whatever the word.
She had to force herself to leave the grave, but before she walked away, she took one last enduring look, her heart breaking. Closing her eyes, she’d shut out the vision and then turned away, her entire body moving in slow motion. The walk out of the cemetery had been the longest of her life.
Late afternoon sun lit her path as wide-open roads greeted her; dirt flew behind the wheels as the speedometer hit seventy and continued to climb.
She shifted to the last gear, jealous over the total control the extra gear gave her. If only she could shift her life back into gear so easily. The ‘Vette’s engine kicked in, purring beneath her. Rana hit the button on the door. The electric window whirred down and wind rushed in, whipping through her hair. She tried to imagine how her flamboyant grandfather might feel with the car’s power rumbling underneath him, then she smiled briefly when she remembered the last thing Jack had said to her about his car. “I love this lady magnet. Should’ve bought one years ago.” Rana ignored the farmhouses and prairies that sped past, a blur of colors and country smells, and punched the pedal to the floor, missing him.
Gripping the wheel as the ‘Vette hugged a sharp curve, she recalled her mom’s shocked face as she’d sped off in Jack’s car.
Sophia Sterling had looked so worried when she handed Rana the letter. “You were so upset during the funeral, I thought I’d wait until after it was over before I gave you this.”
Her grandfather’s letter would forever be burned in her memory.
Rana,
I love you with all my heart. I’ll always be with you. I want you to have my ‘Vette. Drive her, my girl. Taste the passion life has to offer. Spend every day as if it were your last. You never know what tomorrow will bring.
Love, Jack
Rana drove endlessly, mindless of her destination. Eventually, the landscape narrowed to rows of thick trees lining both sides of the road, darkening her path. The sun barely made it through the canopy of dense foliage.
Flicking on the headlights, Rana glanced up in shock. A deer was standing in her path not twenty feet ahead. The brakes squealed and the car fishtailed into a full on spin. As the ‘Vette continued its 360 degree rotation, Rana locked her grip on the wheel, squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth for the inevitable collision. Hope you got the chessboard ready, Jack. I’m about to join you.
With one last lurch, the car stopped, the engine rumbling its annoyance beneath her. She looked up, her heart thudding in her chest. Burned rubber rushed her senses, making her cough. When the cloud of dust settled, she met the deer’s stare before it bounded away.
“I could’ve died,” she whispered, gripping the steering wheel so tight her fingers were numb. As she unhinged her fingers, her hands shook and her breath gushed out in rampant pants while flashes of memories tore through her: Jack’s eyes alight with victory as he said, “Checkmate”, Jack waggling his eyebrows after a single woman at a neighborhood picnic, Jack throwing a surprise keg party for her when she graduated from college—she ended up driving him home.
She lifted her head and stared at the roof, calling out in frustrated anger, “How could you leave me like this? You were my best friend. I expected us to have at least twenty more years together. We made a great team. I kept you grounded and you helped me fly.
She knew it didn’t make much sense. He had been old, even if he didn’t act or look it. In her rearview mirror, pained hazel green eyes stared back at her behind blonde windblown bangs. She let out a short laugh, followed by a hiccup. She fit in this fancy car about as much as a hard-working farmer at a day spa.
Whereas her looks were mediocre at best, Jack had aged well. Even at seventy, she could easily picture him on the front of a GQ magazine in his stylish clothes—that devil-may-care smile pasted on his face. He didn’t just live his life, he welcomed each day with a challenging gleam in his eyes. From the car he drove, to his friendly nature, Jack was all flash, an extrovert extraordinaire. He even insisted she call him Jack instead of Grandfather.
Her mother was grateful to Jack for stepping in and kicking Rana’s abusive father out of their lives when Rana was a toddler, but Sophia had written her own father off as a parental paragon long ago. Not Rana. She loved her grandfather fiercely. So what if the man had been through his first mid-life crisis at fifty and two wives later—the first lost to cancer, the second to divorce—he was tooling around in an electric blue Corvette, looking for wife number three? That’s how Jack died—experiencing life to the fullest—in a local bar schmoozing with a group of women half his age.
How many times had he said to her with that wicked grin, “You gotta get out there and let people get to know the real Rana. That wit of yours will keep ‘em on their toes.” Her personality had always been more reserved, especially around people she didn’t know.
Rana smiled bitterly. That was the thing, Jack. You were the ‘yang’ to my ‘yin’. You drew me out, forced me to share the real me with the world when all I wanted to do was stay in the shadows.
Jack may have had his faults, but the one thing he had always done well was look out for her. For twenty-eight years he’d been her friend, her confidant, her advisor. Jack thrived in that role, especially the advice-giving part. He loved to give his opinion. “Rana, my girl, you need a man in your life. Someone to watch over you.”
As up-with-the-times as Jack was, he was still old-fashioned in some respects. Finding his granddaughter a boyfriend (read: protector) had been his latest campaign, to which Rana had laughed at the notion, saying, “You taught me to stand up for myself. Plus, if all else fails, I have you.”
With the opening of her bookstore last year, Rana had been too busy with advertising, setting up inventory and working with vendors to think about adding a boyfriend to the mix. One day, down the road, she’d planned to work on that. Now, she was alone. She hated being alone.
Rana swiped away the tears and tried to shake off her melancholy mood. Jack wouldn’t want her to be sad. As she turned back to the city, Chicago’s skyline pierced the pink and purple sky like a welcoming hand, fingers beckoning her return.
Once she reached the outskirts of town, she called her mom to let her know she wasn’t dead in some ditch. As she snapped the cell phone closed, her gaze snagged on a bright yellow sign set back from the road. “Antiques for Sale,” it read in bold black letters. Rana’s passion, second only to books, was antiquing. Making a last minute decision, she turned her car down the long driveway toward the shop.
You’re nuts. One minute you’re crying, the next you’re antiquing.
No, Rana, my girl, you’re finally getting it right. Life’s too short. Taste the passion. Jack’s spirited voice danced in her head.
Sighing, she glanced upward. Okay, Jack, I know you had some psychic ability when you were alive, but I can’t believe you’re that good. Yet, as she parked her car, she realized Jack’s voice in her head was probably her way of holding on to his memory. The thought eased some of the pain in her aching heart.
When she entered the small, cramped shop, a bell above the door announced her arrival. Turn-of-the-century furniture graced the front picture window: a red velvet sofa with gold piping trimme
d with tassels, a hand-carved Italian chestnut chair hugged by dragon arms, and a small intricately patterned black marble end table. Furniture, lamps, rugs and pictures filled every nook and cranny of the shop.
“Hello there.” A willowy figure approached from the back of the store. As the woman stepped out of the shadows, the late afternoon sun streaming through the window shined in her eyes. Squinting, she retreated with a tsking sound and whipped out a pair of sunglasses from her denim jacket pocket.
Placing them on her nose, she smiled, then stepped closer. “That’s better. What are you looking for today, my dear?”
Rana stared at her, transfixed. The woman looked to be in her early thirties with glossy black hair and flawless fair skin. She stood a good three inches taller than her own five-foot seven-inch frame. But it was her eyes that had caught her attention before she’d covered them. They were an unusual shade of lavender, reminding Rana of rare Tanzanite.
“I’m just looking today,” Rana said, then remembered she must look horrible with puffy, red eyes. She gave a sheepish smile and quickly wiped her tear-stained cheeks with her palms. “I love antique stores.”
The woman smiled her understanding and put out her hand. “I’m Sabryn.”
Rana shook her hand. “My name’s Rana. I can’t believe I’ve lived in Chicago all my life and I’m just now discovering your place.”
After Rana had walked around the shop, lifting picture frames, opening drawers for a few minutes, Sabryn called out from behind the counter. “I have some antique jewelry. Would you like to look through it as well?”
Rana touched her grandmother’s white gold locket she always wore around her neck. “I’d love to.”
Once the woman pulled out a velvet-lined drawer and laid it on the case’s glass top, Rana gasped at the display of earrings, necklaces and rings. “Oh, they’re beautiful.” She touched a silver ring, glancing up. “May I?”
Sabryn smiled. “Of course.”
As soon as Rana slipped the ring on her third finger, a nostalgic sense of belonging took hold, causing her to inhale deeply.
“It looks like it was made just for you.” Sabryn leaned forward, admiring the ring on her hand.
Moving her hand toward the sunlight, Rana wiggled her fingers. The warm rays caught the facets on the chips of silver stones covering the quarter-inch wide band, making her smile. The pure color saturation of the two blood-red teardrop-shaped gemstones flanking either side of the teardrop-shaped cutout in the center sold her on the ring. Rana touched the bare area in the center of the ring, musing out loud, “This open part is interesting. It makes you wonder, ‘Is there something missing or was that the intent of the designer?’”
Sabryn leaned over once more, eyeing the ring. “Mmmm, I see what you mean.” She straightened, indicating the tray of jewelry. “You can pick something else if you like.”
Rana quickly curled her fingers into an involuntary fist. There was no way she was giving this piece back. She was almost afraid to ask how much it was. “No, I like this one. How old is it? The style is unusual.”
“It’s about seventy years old.”
Seven decades. Bet there’s some great history behind it. “How much?”
“Four hundred.”
Yikes. But I have to have it. My credit card company will be thrilled. “I’ll take it.” Rana couldn’t get enough of the fragrant smell in the air as Sabryn rang up her purchase. Inhaling deeply once more, she said, “I like your perfume. It’s a lovely scent.”
Sabryn gave a half-smile and shook her head. “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not wearing any.”
“You aren’t?” Rana was taken aback. The lavender-like smell was so distinct.
When Sabryn pulled out a box for her ring, Rana waved and said, “No need. I want to wear it,” as she glanced around to see where the smell was coming from.
Handing her the receipt, Sabryn’s smile widened. “Enjoy your ring, dear.”
“I will.”
Rana returned home at a more leisurely—translated, less insane—pace. The trip to the antique shop had settled her emotions. Jack might have gotten a kick out of seeing her test the ‘Vette’s acceleration capability, but he wouldn’t want his gift to make her cry.
*
“Tell me your name,” Rana said as she approached the dark-haired man. A misty haze surrounded him, forcing her to focus on his tall frame. His long black trench coat flapped in the crisp fall wind as he stared at her with silver eyes.
His gaze focused, laser-sharp, a slight smile tilting his lips. “Do I know you?”
Rana squirmed under his intense scrutiny. She wasn’t usually so forward. “Yes,” she blurted out. “Um, I mean, no.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Which is it, yes or no?”
His obvious amusement lit her cheeks on fire. “I…I don’t know.”
He reached for her hand, and her heart hammered as he pulled her close until nothing but a breath separated them. “Then let me remind you.”
This man’s kiss wasn’t a tentative, I-want-to-get-to-know-you brush of the lips. It was an all-out, soul searching, I’ve-tasted-every-last-inch-of-your-body-and-know-just-how-you-like-it kiss—the kind that flashed right down to her toes and burned right back up, hitting all the right buttons. Her thighs trembled, her stomach clenched, and her breasts ached for his touch.
Rana pressed her palms to his chest, and the unyielding muscular surface beneath the soft leather sent a thrill zipping down her spine. As his tongue danced with hers, his hands slid inside her coat, clasping her body against him—hard chest to soft breast, narrow hips to flared ones. When his heartbeat thumped against her chest, making a deep connection, suddenly her heart rate stuttered, slowing until it met his steady, achingly slow rhythm. She throbbed all over. He’d just suspended her in an invisible net, dangling her over a precipice. She refused to look down, because she only wanted to go up.
Shocked at how desperate she felt, she met his gaze. A satisfied smile tilted his lips when he cupped her rear and pressed his hardness against her. As his heat soaked right through her jeans, she tingled from head to toe.
“You feel it too. The connection,” he rasped while he skimmed his lips along the edge of her jaw line. He dipped lower, laying a kiss in the hollow of her throat, then worked his way to the sensitive flesh just below her left ear.
Liquid heat rushed south. Rana couldn’t understand why her heart wasn’t racing. She wanted it to match the achy sensation that made her moan and rub against him, seeking release from the pulsing pressure building inside her. Closing her eyes, she threaded her fingers in his thick hair as he kissed her neck. “I don’t understand it, but yes I feel it,” she replied with a sigh when his teeth grazed her throat.
Sliding his leg between hers, he pressed against her, ratcheting the throbbing ache. “Your heat attracts me,” he said with a rumble of satisfaction as he trailed his warm tongue down her throat. “But your scent seduces me.”
Rana adored the way he made her feel—special and so very wanted. She started to smile, but gasped in surprised pleasure when he clamped his teeth lightly on her neck, then tightened his grip and rubbed his muscular thigh against her aching center as he slowly pulled her up his leg.
She let out a cry at the glorious friction, amazed that he knew just what to do to make her body sing. Cool wind whisked around them, but Rana barely felt it. She thrummed with her own inner fire.
Stopping his movements, he held her still, suspended off the ground, teetering on the edge of her climax and totally at his mercy. God, she’d beg him if she had to.
“Look at me.”
Rana met his intense gaze once more. Panting, she clung to his shoulders.
“Remember us,” he demanded right before he yanked her all the way up his leg and flush against his chest.
She screamed when her heart suddenly kicked into super-sonic speed at the same time a charged orgasm roared through her. Rana road through the amazing onslaught, her pulse skyro
cketing, her ears ringing and her vision spotting, but she held on until everything went black.
Rana sat up with a shocked gasp at the sound of her mother’s voice on the answering machine.
“I just wanted to let you know that your father somehow caught wind of Jack’s death and—”
Rana vaulted across the room, her heart pounding with protective instincts as she grabbed up the phone. “What? He’s back in Chicago? Is he bothering you?”
“Just being annoying,” Sophia Sterling huffed. “And no, he’s not here. He was calling from Texas. Shocked the heck out of me to see that state on my Caller ID. Peter always hated the heat.”
Rana’s grip on the phone eased when she heard her mother’s calm tone. “What did ‘that man we never speak of’ want?”
Her mother gave a tired sigh. “To gloat. Said Jack was never a fit father or grandfather and he was glad he’s gone from our lives.”
Rana ground her teeth. Hearing such disrespect for her grandfather made her stomach burn. “I wish he’d have called me. Maybe if he heard his own daughter tell him in no uncertain terms that he would never be even one-tenth the man Jack was, that might’ve knocked him off his delusional pedestal.”
“Men like your father never change, sweetie. That’s why I was calling. I wouldn’t put it past the hateful jackass to try to contact you too. I just wanted to give you a heads up so you wouldn’t be blind-sided.”
Her mom suddenly sounded tense and Rana’s shoulders tightened. Years of abuse could be hard to shake. “Are you really okay, Mom?”
“I’m fine. This place is just much bigger than my old house. Feels…echo-y. I just need to hang more pictures or something.”
Was her mom hiding behind a tough front for her sake? “Do you want some company?”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve got to work tomorrow. Your loyal customers have missed you. Don’t worry about me. Jack was nothing if not security conscious. Did you know that he stipulated in his will that a state-of-the-art security system be installed the day I moved into this extravagant place? It’s more space than I’ll ever need, but at least I have a gorgeous view. Not to mention, now you have a place to stay when you come to this part of town to shop.”
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