Exclusive / a Touch of Heaven

by Samantha Chase

  Forcing herself to look away, Taylor whispered, “I have work to do.”

  He didn’t stop her this time.

  * * *

  Taylor stopped in the kitchen on her way up to her room to grab a wineglass and a bottle of water. Once in her room she decided to change her routine and shower again. If nothing else, she would leave this trip being, perhaps, the cleanest person on the planet! Although this time, it wasn’t because she needed to cry or escape her feelings for Mike, but simply to wash the workout off of her.

  Wrapped in her robe, she pulled out her laptop, set herself up at the desk Mike had supplied for her room, and poured her glass of wine. Once she got comfortable, the words seemed to write themselves. She was like a woman possessed. Jonathan Wade came to life on the pages, at least the first twenty-two years of his life did.

  When she reached the end of the tape and finished interspersing tidbits of quotes and phrases from his library of work, Taylor stood and stretched. Drinking the last of her wine—well, the last of what she’d allowed herself to drink—she looked over at the bedside clock. It was after two in the morning! Padding across the room, she pulled on a pair of silk pajama pants and a tank top to sleep in.

  As she pulled the comforter back and got ready to crawl between the sheets, she paused. Though she had just finished the wine, she had finished the bottle of water hours ago and was still thirsty. Taylor tiptoed down to the kitchen to get a glass of something cold to drink, pouring herself a glass of juice before quietly heading back toward the stairs.

  “Done working?” came the familiar male voice out of the darkness.

  Looking around, Taylor spotted Mike sitting in the darkness of the living room. The moonlight reflected off of the tumbler he held in his hand. She stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs. When she didn’t answer, he rose and lazily walked toward her.

  “So? Are you finishing work or were you having trouble sleeping?” His voice was silky and seductive and Taylor wanted nothing more than to lean into him and feel his breath on her face, her throat, anywhere and everywhere on her body. Shaking her head to clear it, she cleared her throat.

  “I just finished typing from today’s interview and needed something to drink before I went to sleep.”

  He nodded. “I see.” His hand slowly came up to caress her face. Taylor gave in to the need to lean into it and inhaled deeply. She craved contact with this man like she did air. They stood like that for what seemed like an eternity. Taylor felt too tired to stand and had to move away, placing a hand on the railing.

  “I…I, um, I need to go to sleep, Mike. I’ll see you after lunch.” She turned and walked up the stairs; he watched her go.

  Crawling into the bed, she took one sip of her juice before placing it on the nightstand and turning out the light. Extreme fatigue—mental and physical—claimed her almost instantly.

  Chapter 10

  The following afternoon, Taylor met Mike in his office for their next session. She found him sitting behind his desk, deep in thought.

  “Would you mind if we sat someplace else today?” he asked, appearing distracted.

  “Sure. Is there a problem?”

  “It’s just that I’m in work mode down here, and I think I would be able to focus on our interview more if we weren’t in here.” He ran a tired hand over his face. Being a writer herself, Taylor knew the mode he was in, and as anxious as she was to get this interview over with, she respected him as a writer.

  “Why don’t we put off the session until you’re ready?” she suggested and watched as he sagged with relief.

  “I have no idea how long I’ll be, Taylor. I could be ready in fifteen minutes or four hours. Are you willing to hang around the house and wait?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. I can bike or read or something. It’s not a big deal.” He gave her a look of gratitude as she excused herself and closed the door behind her.

  He must have been on a roll because Taylor did not see or hear from him for several hours. As with the day before, he found her on the bike, earbuds in as she listened to an audiobook. She was cycling with her eyes closed and she screamed when Mike’s hand touched her shoulder.

  “Oh!” she cried as she pulled one bud from her ear. “You scared the life out of me!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a grin. “You were so lost in thought you didn’t hear me call your name.”

  “You could have called more than once,” she said with a hint of irritation.

  “I called you five times,” he said as he continued to grin at her. “Louder each time.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” she said as she climbed off the bike. She hadn’t shut off her iPod, and then it hit her that she had made the discovery days ago but never mentioned it to him. “It’s you on these audiobooks, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Taylor’s heart raced at the confirmation. No wonder she had found such comfort in listening to them. Secretly, she liked knowing that even when she left this place, this haven she was coming to love, she’d still have a piece of Mike with her. Not wanting to give her thoughts away, she gave a curt nod. “I had been wondering who did the readings. Most authors hire voice actors to do them.” She reached for her towel and moved to put some distance between them, looking around for a clock. “What time is it?”

  “It’s a little after four. Are you still up for doing our session?”

  “Absolutely. Would you mind if I freshened up first?”

  “Take your time. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in an hour.”

  Taylor nodded in agreement and grabbed her things before leaving the basement.

  * * *

  An hour later she found Mike in the kitchen grilling steaks on his indoor grill. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said when he saw her standing in the doorway. “I thought we’d eat an early dinner tonight.” Taylor knew it sounded innocent, but she had a sneaking suspicion it was also his way of keeping her in the house.

  “That’s fine,” she said as she sat at the table and put her bag of interview supplies down on the chair beside her.

  “We could even start the session while we eat,” he suggested over his shoulder as he continued to prepare their meal. “Would you like some wine?” He motioned to an open bottle on the center island.

  “What are we having?” she asked as she got up to pour a glass of wine.

  “I’m grilling some steaks and I’ve made a Caesar salad. I’ve got some potatoes baking in the oven.” Taylor was impressed. The man could write, he ran a successful farm, and he could cook. He was the complete package that most women dreamed of.

  Including her.

  Dammit.

  Frowning at her thoughts, she turned back to the table to set her things up.

  Mike turned to look at her and saw the expression on her face. “Everything okay?” he asked, concerned.

  She shook her head to clear it. “Everything’s fine,” she lied. “Just collecting my thoughts on where I want our interview to go tonight.” Trying to look professional, she took out the tape recorder, pad, and pencil and put them next to her place setting, then sat and took out her notes, sipping her wine as she read.

  Soon, dinner was placed before them and once Mike took his seat across from her, he looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Are we going to start the interview over dinner or are we waiting until we’re done?”

  “Now, if you’re sure you don’t mind,” she said. Mike nodded and cut into his steak. Taylor took a few bites of her own before launching into her questions.

  Conversation flowed and Taylor learned that Mike had led a fairly fascinating life—they were now up to the years after she had stopped seeing him, so a lot of it was new information.

  “So, how did it all begin? How did you come to be a writer? Was it something you set out to do?”


  He shook his head. “Far from it. I was working in the mailroom, and one afternoon during my rounds, I heard one of the executives yelling from his office. So, I go in with his mail and see that he’s not yelling at anyone in particular. He was alone in the room and simply having a temper tantrum.” Taylor laughed.

  “Anyway, he takes one look at me and tosses a bundled manuscript at me and says, ‘I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you read this piece of crap and give me an honest opinion on it.’ So, I figure, sure, what do I have to lose? I took it home that night and read through the entire thing, which was amazing in itself because at that point, I hated to read. But I did it and brought it back to him the next day. ‘What’d you think?’ the old guy asks, and I told him. It sucked.” Taylor looked at him, wide-eyed with shock, and he chuckled at her expression.

  “It couldn’t have been that bad,” she said.

  “It was horrible. No redeeming qualities at all. We talked for a while and he asked what I would change or what would make it readable and appealing to the general public.”

  “Why was he working so hard with it? Why not put it in the slush heap and be done with it?”

  Mike laughed. “You’d think, right? But apparently it was one of their top authors and they had a contract with him and no matter what, he owed them a book. They had to do something with it to make it publishable and make the readers like it.”

  “Seems like an awful lot of trouble.”

  He nodded in agreement. “He took me to lunch and we brainstormed. Why he chose me, I’ll never know. Or why I suddenly had the ability to visualize and come up with the ideas I did. But basically, he loved my ideas. He asked what I liked to read and I told him that I didn’t. He thought that was hysterical, because I had a great imagination.”

  Stopping, he rose and poured them each another glass of wine before continuing. “Anyway, lunch ran into dinner and I was fearing for my job. He pulled some strings and quickly got me out of the mailroom and hooked me up with some of his staff. He promised me payment if I could flesh out one of my ideas into a rough draft in a week!”

  Taylor choked on her wine. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Serious,” he said as he placed his glass back on the table. “So I stopped at the local thrift store and bought a typewriter and went home. I was too poor to buy a computer and figured I had to start somewhere. In four days, I had a rough draft done. I couldn’t believe I was able to do it, but once I started, it was like I couldn’t stop. The old guy went crazy for it!” Mike laughed at the memory. “Who knew someone like me could actually have any talent?” His expression sobered. “This man was willing to take a chance on me and get my story published. We decided to do it as a series, so there was a commitment he was making to me. No one had ever put that kind of faith in me, Taylor. My own parents had washed their hands of me after I was put in that juvie center for breaking and entering.”

  “Did this man know of your past?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I laid it all out for him that first day over lunch. I mean, if he was willing to work with me, he deserved my honesty.”

  “Very commendable of you,” she said evenly, even though in the back of her mind she was screaming with frustration as to why he couldn’t have been that straightforward with her. If he had, they’d still be doing the interview right now, but they’d also get the pleasure of sleeping together tonight. Sighing at her thoughts, she brought her attention back to Mike. “So how long does it take for you to get a story down on paper?”

  For the next hour, he went through his writing process with her. They moved the conversation to the living room, where they sat on opposing couches. Taylor had kicked off her shoes, reclining, and Mike had done the same.

  “I know for me,” she said as they got comfortable, “I have the picture of the Montauk Point lighthouse on my desk that gives me peace to look at. It puts me in the right frame of mind to write. Do you have anything like that?”

  He considered her for a long moment. Taylor started to squirm under his watchful eyes. When he finally answered, it wasn’t with words. He stood and walked over to her and held out his hand. Taylor hesitantly took it and felt a charge of energy surge through her. Did he feel it too? He led her in silence down to his office and motioned for her to sit in his chair.

  “Now,” he said softly, “look around and see what I see.”

  Taylor positioned herself comfortably in his chair and looked at her surroundings. There was his computer, but no screen saver was showing. There were odds and ends on his desk, but nothing that grabbed her attention. Swiveling the chair around, she faced the bookshelves but couldn’t read any of the titles from where she sat. She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Keep looking,” he prompted.

  Feeling slightly annoyed that he wasn’t helping her, she continued to peruse the room. Off in the corner, she saw it. There was a small table and the only thing on it was a framed photograph. She looked to Mike for confirmation, but his expression was closed. Rising from the chair, she walked over and lifted it off of the table, gasping with surprise.

  It was taken the summer they had spent together: Taylor sitting between Eddie and Mike on a log by a fire at the beach. She ran a finger over it as tears welled in her eyes. Her first thought was of Eddie and how his life was over; the next was of how Mike had kept this picture for all these years.

  Taking her eyes from the picture, she looked at him as the first tear fell. “Why?” It was barely audible.

  “It was the only picture I ever had of you, and I took it from Ed,” he said quietly. “When I look at it, it reminds me that there was a time when someone was nice to me.” His words were raw with emotion. He didn’t move from where he stood. “I remember the girl who, for one short span of time, saw something good in me.”

  Taylor placed the photo back on the table but continued to look down at it. She willed the tears to stop falling, but to no avail. He was behind her in a heartbeat.

  “You are what inspires me to keep writing, Taylor.” His words were the caress on her face she had craved last night. He turned her to face him as his hand came up and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You have no idea the impact you’ve made on my life. You make me want to be a better person.”

  Taylor was afraid to open her heart to his words. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted in a soft voice.

  Mike tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to say anything unless you want to,” he assured her. “Come on. Let’s go back upstairs. Do you have more questions for tonight?” They walked up to the living room as he waited for her reply.

  Taylor glanced at her watch and saw it was near midnight. “I think I’m done for now,” she said, yawning. She began to collect her things and wiped away a few lingering tears. “Would you mind if I took some pictures of you tomorrow for the piece?”

  She turned and saw the hesitation in his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be seen as well as known from this story,” she said. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

  Mike seemed to be mulling over the idea, but before he could answer, Taylor had one last question. “Why did you want me to write this article?” Her words were barely above a whisper but were filled with such desperation, she ached for an answer.

  “I wanted to let you—as well as anyone who reads this—know me. I felt like I’d be introducing the real me to you first. I trust you implicitly, Taylor, to portray me as you see me.”

  The man was killing her. How could she keep her heart closed to him when he was baring his soul to her with every word that escaped his lips? “I hope I don’t disappoint you,” she said quietly as she began to walk toward him.

  “You never could.”

  When they were close enough to share a breath, Taylor reached for him and touched the strong line of his jaw with the gentlest of touches. His eyes closed as
he let out a ragged sigh.

  “How do you see me, Taylor?” he asked as she continued to study his face with her hands.

  “I see you as you are right now. A man who has captured my heart and my soul. A man who I want desperately to touch me.” The words came out as a near sob, but before any tears could fall, Mike scooped her up into his arms and took her to his bedroom.

  Taylor had not seen this room before—the door had been closed and Mike had assured her it was merely a storage room. But as he opened the door and Taylor looked around, all she could see was the enormous bed and the stone fireplace that took up one whole wall. It was strong and masculine—just like the man who was carrying her.

  Mike kicked the door shut carefully before stepping further into the room. “I don’t want to rush you,” he said quietly as he came to a stop. “I want you, I’ve always wanted you, but I need to know you want this. That you want me.”

  Taylor looked up at him. Rather than answering him with words, she wound her arms around him, raking a hand into his hair and guiding his lips down to meet hers. The kiss was a gentle reacquaintance at first, but then heat and need took over. She was hungry for him, and although she knew they should go slowly, her body screamed otherwise.

  After gently laying her down on the bed, his hands roamed everywhere they could reach. Mike’s need for Taylor seemed just as frantic as hers was for him. “You are so beautiful,” he groaned as he began to kiss her again. He trailed kisses down her neck and back again as his hands reached up to cup her breasts.

  The last several days had been sheer torture, having Taylor in the house, so close, yet not being able to touch her. But she was here now—here in his bed—and Mike vowed he would prove to her he was worthy of her. He didn’t care how long it took, in the bedroom or out, but he was determined to win Taylor back.