“Where did you go to school?” Preston asked.
“My brother, sisters and I attended Chesterfield Academy.”
Preston wanted to tell her that she was anything but deprived. Dr. Dwight and Roberta Eaton had enrolled their children in one of Philadelphia’s most prestigious private schools, while he and his sister took advantage of the best that the public school system had to offer.
“I assume you went to Europe instead of Longwood for class trips.”
Chandra placed her hands atop the larger one resting on her belly.
“Only the upperclassmen were permitted to leave the country. I spent the second half of my junior year in Spain studying and occasionally taking side trips to Portugal and France. It was the first time I was bitten by the traveling bug. I could’ve easily lived in a different country every year.” She glanced up at Preston again. “How about you? Are you a vagabond or a homebody?”
He smiled. “I’m definitely a homebody.”
“Where’s your spirit of adventure?” she teased.
“My spirit of adventure means traveling first class.”
Chandra shifted to face Preston, she half on, half off his body. “I think I’ve found my Pascual.”
He frowned. “Say what?”
“You,” she said. “I hadn’t realized when I began developing Pascual that you and he shared similar physical and psychological characteristics. His mantra is enjoying the best immortality has to offer him.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Chandra. I’m not immortal.”
“Okay. But do you gamble?”
“What do you mean by gamble?” he asked, answering her question with one of his own.
“Do you play cards?”
“Yes. If I do play, then it’s either poker or blackjack.”
Pressing her chest to his, Chandra brushed her mouth over his. “Perfect. Blackjack, or as the French call it, vingt-et-un, whist or cribbage were the popular card games during Josette’s time. Poker didn’t become popular until after 1830. Pascual will become quite the center of attention when he introduces a new card game known as poker.”
“Poker and the tango,” Preston murmured under his breath. “What other surprises does he plan to spring on the curious inhabitants of the Crescent City?”
Excitement shimmered in Chandra’s eyes. “I think that’s enough. The men will be caught up in the challenge of learning a new card game and the women either mesmerized or scandalized by the mysterious stranger. Can you imagine their reaction at the ball when Pascual presents himself to Josette, then leads her in a tango? It will be another one hundred years before women show their ankles, but more than an ankle will be on display that night. It will also be leg and thigh.”
“That is scandalous,” Preston concurred.
“Marie is mortified because she believes Pascual has deliberately ruined Josette’s chance to become plaçée to the man she has chosen for her. But as the night progresses, she notices many of the mothers are scheming to get Pascual to notice their daughters.”
“Does he get to dance with the other young women?”
Chandra nodded. “Yes. But with them he is the perfect gentleman, mouthing the proper greetings and thanking them for permitting him to bask in their beauty. One minute he’s there, then as a rush of air comes into the ballroom, causing candles to flicker, he’s gone.”
Preston went completely still. He could see the scene being played out in his head. Chandra had just given him what he needed to set the stage for the all-important, very dramatic act two.
“When does Josette see him again?”
“He’s waiting in her bedroom when she returns from the ball. He hides behind a dressing screen while her maid enters the room to help her ready herself for bed. But Josette orders her out, saying she doesn’t need her assistance. After the woman leaves, Josette locks the door and closes the casement windows.
“Pascual emerges from behind the screen. He steps into the role as maid and seducer when he removes the pins from Josette’s hair, then removes her dress. This scene must be very sensual, Preston. The actors aren’t going to have sex onstage. However, they must give the illusion that they are making love. Perhaps this scene can take place where the audience views it through a sheer curtain as if peering through a bedroom window with a single candle for illumination. The lighting will become as much a character as Josette and Pascual.
“When the scene ends, there shouldn’t be a sound in the theater. It will be your test as the director that your actors have hypnotized the audience. Every woman should want to be on the stage and in that bed with Pascual, and the same with every man, who is telling himself that he is the one seducing the beautiful young virgin. Once the lighting fades to black and there is stunned silence you’ll know immediately that you’ve hit the mark.”
Preston was hard-pressed not to make love to Chandra. The scene she’d just described was exactly as she had written in her journal. She’d prepared herself for bed and instead of a lamp, she’d lit a candle. The candle was about to burn out when her mysterious lover enters the room. Chandra had described the lovemaking scene so vividly that Preston felt not like a voyeur but a participant in the act.
“That’s not going to be an easy feat, because I’ve never directed a love scene.”
Chandra placed her fingertips over his mouth. “It’s not about the dialogue, darling. It’s all about what is visual, and therefore sensual. If I were sitting in the audience I would want to hear the sound of her hairpins when they fall to the floor and the whisper of fabric being removed as they undress.”
Capturing her wrist, Preston pulled the delicate hand away from his mouth. “Do you want to hear them make love?”
Chandra’s brow flickered with indecision. “No,” she said after a lengthy pause. “I think it would cheapen the scene. It’s not a porno flick, where the sounds are essential to the movie. I believe it would work better if Josette would gasp aloud when Pascual penetrates her. This will let the audience know that she is indeed a virgin. It could conclude with a sigh of satisfaction—again making the audience aware that the lovemaking was wonderful.”
“You’ve missed your calling, Chandra.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never wanted to act.”
“I’m not talking about acting.”
“What are you talking about?”
Bringing her hand to his mouth, Preston pressed a kiss to the palm. “Writing.”
“Thanks for the compliment, but I’ve never been interested in writing. I prefer to read.”
Preston’s gaze narrowed when he saw dark clouds moving in from the west. He stood up, bringing Chandra up with him. “I think we better head back because it looks as if we’re in for some rain.” He pointed. “Look at those clouds.”
Chandra didn’t need a second warning when she saw how dark the sky had become. She forgot about the pain in her legs when she jogged alongside Preston when they headed in the direction of the house. She’d been so engrossed in talking about Death’s Kiss that she hadn’t noticed the weather had changed.
The wind had picked up, gusts swirling leaves and twigs. Rain had begun falling when the house came into view, then came down in torrents by the time they reached the back door. The wet clothes pasted to Chandra’s body raised goose bumps; her teeth were chattering when Preston unlocked the door and deactivated the security system.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she announced as she kicked off her soggy running shoes.
Preston, following suit, slipped out of his running shoes. He stripped off his shirt, jeans and underwear, dropping them in a large wicker basket in the space that doubled as a laundry and mudroom.
Walking on bare feet, he made his way into the half bath off the kitchen. Stepping in the shower stall, he turned on the water, gritting his teeth as icy pellets fell on his head. Then he adjusted the temperature to lukewarm. Preston lingered long enough to shampoo his cropped hair and wash his body.
His mind was
a maelstrom of vivid images of what Chandra had suggested for the play’s second act as he stepped out and dried himself with a bath sheet. He hadn’t lied when he told her she should’ve been a writer. She was an untapped talent, her fertile mind lying fallow; all that was needed was a kernel of an idea to yield a harvest worthy of a literary feast.
He was Preston J. Tucker, the critically acclaimed dramatist who’d won awards, was the recipient of a McArthur genius grant and who had been compared to some of the most celebrated playwrights of the past century. However, when he compared what he’d written and produced to what he was currently collaborating on with Chandra, it paled in comparison.
Chandra had what he lacked: a highly developed sense of visualization. He relied on strong dialogue, characterization and simplistic costuming and stark sets to tell his message, while Chandra added the element of sensual visuals.
The big screen would be the perfect vehicle for Death’s Kiss. Love scenes could be performed without the limitations that usually went along with a stage production. Nudity on the stage wasn’t taboo, but Preston found it more a hindrance than an enticement to put theatergoers in seats. Once the initial shock of frontal nudity was assuaged—then what? He’d always asked himself whether the production would’ve stood on its own merits without the nudity. If the answer was yes, then he deleted it.
Wrapping the terry cloth fabric around his waist, he walked out of the bath, heading toward his bedroom. The connecting door was ajar and he could hear Chandra opening and closing drawers. Preston would’ve suggested they share a shower, but he didn’t want a repeat of what had happened earlier that morning.
It took Herculean strength for him to pull out when he realized he was making love to Chandra without a condom. He’d pulled out when it had been the last thing he’d wanted to do, and he knew then he wasn’t the same person he’d been before meeting her.
Preston believed that he would eventually marry and father children, but when was the question. He’d celebrated his thirty-eighth birthday March seventeenth, and as he’d done since turning thirty-five, he went through a period of self-examination, asking himself if he was satisfied with what he’d accomplished, had he learned not to repeat past mistakes, did he like who he was and what he’d become and finally if he was ready to share himself and what he’d accomplished with someone with whom he would spend the rest of his life. All the questions yielded an affirmative. The exception was the last one.
His passion for writing had become paramount, and jealously guarded his privacy and his time. But that had changed with Chandra Eaton. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of her—in and out of bed. She hadn’t shocked him when she had taken him into her mouth. It was more of a surprise because he hadn’t expected it. He’d suspected she was capable of great passion because of what she’d written in her journal, but he still hadn’t known whether her dreams were real or imagined. That no longer mattered because he wanted Chandra Eaton to be the last woman in his life.
Dropping the towel on the padded bench at the foot of the bed, he’d pulled on a pair of boxer-briefs, sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee when he heard a groan. Taking long strides, he crossed the room, opened the door wider to find Chandra writhing on the bed, clutching the back of her leg. She had on a bra and a pair of bikini panties.
His heartbeat kicked into a higher rhythm as he sat on the side of the bed. Reaching for her, he pressed her face to his chest. “What’s the matter, baby?”
“My leg,” she gasped as the muscle tightened even more.
“Move your hand.”
Preston stared at the lump that had come up on the back of her calf. “It looks as if you have a muscle cramp. I’m going to have to massage it to get the blood flowing again.”
He’d experienced enough cramps when he’d played football in high school, and then in college, to last him several lifetimes. His interest in competitive sports ended once he broke his nose. After it healed a plastic surgeon wanted to reset it, but he didn’t want to have to relive the pain that left his face bruised and swollen for weeks.
Chandra had experienced severe menstrual cramps, but the pain in her leg surpassed any she’d had. “Please don’t massage it too hard,” she said between clenched teeth.
Preston’s fingers grazed the tight area. “I’m going to cover your calf with a warm cloth before I massage it.”
She half rose from the bed. “Aren’t you supposed to ice it?”
“I’ll ice it later.”
He entered the bathroom, wet a facecloth under running hot water and returned to the bedroom to place it over Chandra’s leg. Lying beside her, he kissed the end of her nose. “Did it just cramp up?”
Chandra’s smile came out like a grimace. “It was bothering me earlier.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I’d asked you to stop so I could rest my legs.”
“Resting your legs isn’t the same as saying you had a leg cramp.”
She closed her eyes, shutting out his thunderous expression. “There’s no need to get testy, Preston. It’s not that critical.”
“That’s your opinion.”
Chandra opened her eyes and glared at him glaring back at her. “If you’re spoiling for a fight, then you won’t get one from me, Preston Tucker, because with the pain that’s kicking my butt I might say something that wouldn’t be very intelligent or ladylike.”
Preston counted slowly to three. He wasn’t about to get into it with Chandra over something that didn’t warrant an argument. If she’d told him that her leg was hurting, then he would’ve suggested they put off walking for another time.
“I don’t fight with women.”
“My bad,” she drawled. “I meant argue.”
“And I don’t argue with women.”
Another spasm gripped Chandra, preempting her comeback. “Argh-h!”
Galvanized into action, Preston moved to the foot of the bed. Removing the cloth, he kneaded the area gently with his thumbs, alternating applying pressure with massaging her calf. Fifteen minutes into his ministration, the lump disappeared.
“Don’t move,” Preston said in a soft voice. “I’m going to get some ice.”
Chandra couldn’t move when she felt him get up off the bed, even if her life depended upon it. She’d endured the most excruciating pain possible, and now that it was gone she feared moving because she didn’t know if it would return.
She gasped again, this time when icy cold penetrated her limb. Preston had filled a plastic bag with ice, pressed it against her calf and covered it with a towel to absorb the moisture.
She gave him a dazzling smile when he lay beside her again. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He stared at her under heavy lids, and she thought he wasn’t going to accept her apology.
“Are you really sorry, or are you saying it because you think that’s what I want to hear?”
Unbidden tears filled her eyes, shocking Chandra. She was the Eaton girl who rarely cried. Even when she fell and hurt herself she refused to cry. She was the tough tomboy sister who threw tantrums when she had to wear a dress, while Donna and Belinda loved playing dress-up with frilly dresses and high heels.
The first and only time she’d become hysterical was when she’d returned to the States for a family emergency and was told that her sister and brother-in-law had been killed by a drunk driver. Her father had contacted her in Belize, but refused to tell her what the emergency was until she walked through the front door of her parents’ house to find everyone waiting for her—everyone but Donna.
Preston froze when he saw the tears well up in Chandra’s eyes. Lines of concern etched his forehead. “What’s the matter, baby?”
She sniffed back the tears before they fell. “I don’t know. I suppose falling in love…” Her words trailed off when she realized what she was about to admit.
Preston’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”
“Forget it.”
“I don’t think so, Chandra Ea
ton. Either you finish what you were going to say or I’m going to hold you hostage until you do.”
“That’s kidnapping.”
His frown deepened. “Am I supposed to be scared?”
“No. I’m just warning you that kidnapping is a crime.”
Threading his fingers through her hair, Preston cupped the back of her head in his hand. “It can’t be a crime if you willingly come with me. Even your mother knows that.” His fingers tightened on her scalp. “Now, who are you in love with?”
Chandra felt as if her brain was in tumult. Her feelings for Preston intensified each time she saw him, which led to ambivalence and confusion. She’d always thought of herself as levelheaded, independent and able to survive without having a man in her life.
She found Preston different from the other men in her life because he was a man in every sense of the word while the others were boys masquerading as men. He was straightforward and not into mind games.
Once she realized who he was, she’d thought his ego would surpass his talent, but it was just the opposite. When she’d introduced him to her family he appeared uncomfortable with his celebrity status.
Preston stared at her without blinking. “I need to know if there’s someone else so I can walk away before I find myself in too deep.”
Panic shot through Chandra like a volt of electricity. Preston was talking about walking away when that was the last thing she wanted him to do. She’d admitted to Denise that if love did come knocking, then she was going to hold on to it as if her life was at stake.
“There’s no one else.” She rolled her eyes upward in supplication. “I swore a vow that I would never fall in love again but…” She pounded his shoulder with her fist.
Mindful of her leg, Preston gathered Chandra until she lay atop him. “It serves you right for making promises you can’t keep. I’ve never said I wouldn’t fall in love, so I’m not as conflicted as you.”
Her head came up and she met his amused stare. “What are you talking about?”
“I have no problem admitting that I love you.”
Chandra froze. “You love me?” The three words were pregnant with uncertainty.
Sweet Dreams Page 14
