“Oscar, my goodness.” She playfully slapped his chest. “We are not young twenty-somethings anymore.”
“Why should they have all the fun?” he asked with a frown.
Sylvie laughed. “What am I going to do with you?” She practically floated on air. Too much time had passed since she’d experienced such lightness of being.
“I could think of a few things,” he said, eyes filled with mischief.
Oscar tucked her arm around his, and they walked out of the office together.
Chapter 8
Oscar took her to a restaurant in a northwest suburb, but not just any restaurant. She recognized the exterior the minute they pulled up. This part of the metro Atlanta area contained a high concentration of Brazilians, flourishing with restaurants and bakeries that offered authentic cuisine. Oscar’s mother had been friends with the owners of this particular establishment.
As the hostess escorted them to a quiet corner, Sylvie murmured, “It’s been a long time, but I remember this place.” The restaurant served a mixture of Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish dishes, the ambiance providing a nice dining experience without being pretentious.
The small dining room was filled to capacity during the lunchtime rush, but because Oscar knew the owner-chef, they received a well-appointed table in a corner.
“You remembered,” he said.
“Of course.” Sylvie spread a cloth napkin on her lap. “You brought me here on our second date.”
“To impress you.” He sat beside her instead of across the table, a fondness in his eyes that made her choke up, and she looked away before she fooled herself into thinking she saw more than fondness.
“You didn’t have to impress me,” she said, smoothing the napkin across her thighs.
“You came from a wealthy family. I had to pull all the strings I could to prove to you that you weren’t making a mistake.”
And yet she still did, didn’t she? Although she wasn’t so sure anymore. The old feelings he evoked were not strange—they were achingly familiar.
Oscar ordered a diverse menu of items, everything served family style with a robust Madeira wine.
As dishes continued to arrive, Sylvie exclaimed, “This is too much!”
“It’s never too much,” Oscar told her.
“Coma! Coma!” The female server said.
“You heard the woman. Eat.” Oscar winked and dug in.
They started with caldo verde, a kale and potato soup, and moved on to other dishes—shrimp in a white wine sauce, chicken piccata, all served with a warm basket of Brazilian cheese bread, pao de queijo.
Sylvie ate as much of the tasty food as she could. At one point, the owner came out, a tall man with a bulbous nose set in an angular face. He’d inherited the restaurant from his father. He and Oscar hugged like long lost brothers, and after he said a few words to Sylvie, disappeared into the kitchen again.
By the time the meal was over, Sylvie surveyed the mostly empty plates and grimaced. “How do you expect me to go back to work after this?” she asked.
Oscar chuckled. “Don’t go back to work. Spend the rest of the afternoon with me.”
“You know I can’t do that.” She shook her head. She wanted to. The temptation was strong. “I have responsibilities.”
“I’m going up to Lake Lanier. Join me.”
“You completed the boat sale?”
“All done. An afternoon on the lake is my reward.”
“I can’t just leave my work. I run three businesses.”
“You’re the boss, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but…”
He angled his body closer. “But what? So what if you miss one day? It’s not even an entire day, only half a day. It’s Friday afternoon, and the weekend is around the corner. I’m sure your employees would be happy for a break from the boss, don’t you think? And besides, are you telling me that as the owner of three companies, you can’t take off the afternoon and enjoy yourself? Everything will fall apart?”
“No…” she said slowly.
“I didn’t think so. You’re a brilliant woman, and I’m sure you’ve trained your staff well.”
“Now you’re purposely flattering me to get your way.” She set the napkin on the table. “What are we going to do there? If you could just be more specific…”
“If you could just let me handle the details.” His voice became firmer. “You run your businesses however you want. I respect your abilities. You’re capable in that respect. But for the rest of the afternoon, for only a few hours, let me take control. Let me steer. You sit back and enjoy the ride. Can you do that?”
Warmth blanketed her hand, and she looked down to see his hand covering hers. The differences between them were stark. His fingers were blunt and thick, his skin a light color of coffee mixed with copious amounts of cream. Her much darker fingers were slender, the nails painted an almost translucent pearl color.
She slid her hand from beneath his. She couldn’t think clearly when Oscar touched her. She brushed a crumb from atop the tablecloth, giving herself time to make a decision. He was essentially asking her to give up control to him, but he had no idea how difficult that would be. It wasn’t only about letting him steer. She felt as if she would lose a little bit of her heart. A little bit of her sanity.
“I rented a luxury pontoon boat. We could cruise out on the lake and enjoy the afternoon and watch the sun set. What do you think?”
“So you had this planned from the beginning?”
“Something like that.”
Sylvie swallowed. “What’s going on, Oscar?” she asked quietly. “How long will we continue to do this?”
The smile died on his face. “Until we get tired.”
Or until he got tired, and then she’d be left alone with nothing but memories. Again. “I don’t know…” Sylvie shook her head, feeling weepy and glancing away.
She was slipping, falling, tumbling back under his control and going back to a place she knew all too well.
A place where she was dependent, not independent. Weak, not strong. Afraid instead of fearless. Vulnerable instead of invincible. That was how loving this man made her feel.
He set an arm cross the back of her chair. “Why can’t we simply enjoy ourselves?” he asked.
“We can.”
“Then come with me. It’s just for the afternoon.”
Despite her reservations, she wanted to spend more time with him. Take the risk. Ignore the danger. She was, after all, a risk taker in every other avenue of life.
Sylvie lifted her gaze. “All right,” she said softly. “Just for the afternoon.”
They spent the entire weekend together. Late Sunday morning they went to brunch and then an art auction, where Sylvie bought several paintings, one for herself and two others as gifts.
Now Oscar lay in Sylvie’s huge bed in his boxers, two pillows between his back and the tufted headboard, and Sylvie wrapped in the sheet on her back, using his stomach as a pillow. The sex drunk expression in her honey-colored eyes made her look drowsy, and was a powerful ego stroke.
“I cannot believe I had sex with my ex-husband again.”
“No one is more surprised than your ex-husband,” Oscar said, his voice filled with amusement.
Sylvie didn’t respond right away, running the back of her fingers through the hairs on his chest. A few grays were sprinkled among them. “Look at this gray hair. You’re getting old,” she said.
“The only reason you don’t have any gray is because you color yours.” Oscar combed his fingers through the soft ebony hair spilling across his stomach and the sheets.
“Because I refuse to get old. Ever.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re never going to change, are you? Your vanity is astounding,” he teased.
“It’s not vanity. It’s good planning. I moisturize with a four-hundred-dollar-per-ounce night cream every night. It has excellent anti-aging properties.”
He laughed. “So I’m going to be the
creepy old guy with the sexy young wife?”
She smiled, and he knew he’d pleased her by describing her as young and sexy.
“We’re no longer married,” she reminded him.
“Oh, right. Girlfriend, then.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. You will be the creepy old man.” She turned so her cheek rested on his belly while she looked up at him. “When do you go back to Miami?” she asked.
“Don’t know. There’s nothing in Miami for me and no reason for me to go back. Maybe ever.”
“Your life is there.”
“Maybe not. Maybe my life is here.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the finger where she used to wear his rings.
She outlined his lips with a finger. “You always say the right things, Oscar.” He saw the doubt in her eyes and realized she wasn’t completely convinced. He still had work to do.
“I mean it, Sylvie.”
She sat up abruptly. “I’m starving, since we skipped dinner. Let’s see what Trevor prepared for us.”
Sylvie donned a nightie and negligee set in palest yellow and slid on a pair of fluffy sandal slippers. She watched Oscar pull up his trousers and then she led the way through the condo to the kitchen. Standing in the midst of the glistening appliances, she didn’t know where to begin. Searching for spoons, she opened one drawer, but found it filled with all sorts of kitchen gadgets. After opening and closing another drawer, that one filled with knives, she said, “We should probably call Trevor, because—”
“We’re not calling Trevor or anyone else. Sit,” Oscar said.
“I’m sure that I can get—”
“Sit, Sylvie, before you hurt yourself or mess up Trevor’s system. The man has everything in a certain order, and you know he doesn’t like you messing around his kitchen.”
Sylvie set her hands on her hips. “You and Trevor seem to forget that I am the one in charge in this house.”
Oscar placed both hands on her shoulders. “Yes, my love, you are the one in charge, but if anything happened to Trevor or any one of your household staff, you would be completely helpless, so let’s not play that game.” He kissed her nose and then set about opening drawers and getting utensils together.
“You make it sound so awful.”
“That’s because it is. You’re used to being taken care of.” He shot a look over his shoulder. “Sit.”
Sylvie flounced over to a stool at the island and watched him remove the food from the warm oven. He heaped beef short ribs in a red wine sauce onto each plate. A potato galette and sautéed spinach accompanied the fragrant dish.
“One thing I do know is where the wine is kept. I can get that, at least.”
She retrieved a bottle of red wine from the temperature-controlled wine room beside the kitchen. When she returned, Oscar had already placed the decanter and two glasses on the island. She poured them each a glass and munched on grapes while he finished preparing their plates.
Finally, he placed the meals on the island and joined her.
“I can’t believe I’m eating this late,” she murmured, although the food smelled delicious. The scent of thyme and rosemary, used to season the meat, filled the kitchen. “You’re the one who always eats at god-awful hours of the night.” Sylvie cut into a short rib. The meat melted on her tongue in a burst of flavor.
“Me?” Seated beside her but catty-corner, Oscar frowned.
“Yes, you. You always get hungry after sex.”
Oscar laughed heartily. “That’s ridiculous. What are you talking about?”
“It’s true. I noticed it years ago, right after we were married. Why do you think there were always platters of your favorite snacks in the refrigerator? Those platters didn’t magically make themselves.” Sylvie placed a piece of the galette in her mouth. “Mmm. These potatoes are divine.”
Oscar stared at her. “You prepared those snacks for me?”
“Well, I didn’t, but I always made sure the housekeepers fixed something for you. Don’t you remember, our old housekeeper, Jackie, always made those sausage and cheese balls you liked, or the beef samosas? Things like that?” Sylvie continued eating her meal.
“I do remember,” Oscar said slowly.
Sylvie noticed he hadn’t touched his plate. “The food is quite delicious, darling. Are you not hungry?”
“I’m hungry, I…” His brow furrowed. “I didn’t know you did that, Sylvie.”
“Well, of course I did. Half the time the children raided the refrigerator for leftovers. Good heavens, there were times I worried they had tapeworms. Especially Stephan and Reese—you know how those two can eat. I couldn’t have you getting up in the middle of the night with nothing to eat.”
“I could have eaten potato chips or nuts or…” His voice trailed off when she glowered at him.
“Absolutely not.”
“So the sandwiches—”
Sylvie waved her fork. “The sandwiches, the samosas, the sausage and cheese balls you love so much. All of it.”
Oscar’s eyes softened and he leaned over, kissing her hard on the mouth. While she sat there stunned, he cut into the galette on his plate. “You’re not half bad.”
She beamed at him. “Is that supposed to be some type of compliment?”
He grinned and continued eating.
They both laughed.
Their conversation, eating together, and laughing like a normal couple made Sylvie’s chest warm at the perfection of the moment. But every time she looked at Oscar for too long, with his curly hair, the thin crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the tempting curvature of his mouth, her heart hurt.
Then words emerged at the tip of her tongue—words she wanted to say but pride wouldn’t allow. They simply tortured her by going around and around in her head in a slow loop.
Don’t leave me again.
But she didn’t say the words. She just kept smiling and laughing.
And being strong.
Chapter 9
Oscar extended his stay in Atlanta and, except for a day when he flew back to Miami, spent every evening with Sylvie. It was almost like old times. They talked late into the night until they fell asleep, her head resting on his shoulder, her body pressed against his and covered in a white nightie not nearly as soft as her smooth skin. Each time he woke up in the middle of the night and listened to her even breathing, he wondered if their time together was all a dream. Was he really holding Sylvie in his arms? Then he’d squeeze her closer, to make sure, before drifting off to sleep again.
So far they’d kept their burgeoning relationship low-key, but last night he’d taken her to an upscale eatery that served an eclectic menu of Asian and Latin-inspired dishes, followed by an excellent opera performance at the performing arts center in Cobb County where they’d run into an acquaintance. Tonight they’d truly gone “public” by attending an event together. Surprised but familiar faces greeted them and offered congratulations on their reconciliation.
Standing against the wall, with an arm resting on a bistro table, Oscar could see the gala was a success, and as usual, Sylvie wowed the guests with her style and grace. At ease in her element, she held court in the center of the room. Instead of having to work the room, person after person approached, seeking her attention.
Her brilliant smile shone like the diamonds in her ears and around her neck, the elegant black evening gown—one of her own designs—was stunning in its simplicity. At the moment, the mayor had her ear, but Sylvie’s eyes roamed the room until they settled on Oscar. He lifted his glass of whiskey in a silent salute. She smiled and continued her conversation.
His sons Reese and Stephan approached, both wearing white tuxedoes.
“Hello, Dad,” Reese said.
Oscar clapped him on the arm. “Finally back from New York, I see.”
“Finally,” Reese said, with a grin.
“So…you and Mother, huh?” Stephan’s light brown eyes, which matched his mother’s, landed with curiosity on Oscar’s face.
<
br /> Oscar grinned. “Yes, it appears so.” His gaze found Sylvie, who’d transitioned into an earnest conversation with an actor.
“When did that happen?”
Oscar drained the glass and set it on the table. “Not too long ago. We’ve been taking things slowly, getting to know each other again.”
“Huh.”
Oscar frowned. That was hardly the response he’d expected from Stephan, and Reese appeared to be equally as somber.
“So how long is this going to last?” Reese asked.
“Excuse me?” Oscar looked from one to the other.
“You’re only here for a short time, right? Then you’ll return to Miami, and then what? You and Mother going to work on your relationship long distance, or will your departure mean the end?”
“Your mother and I are adults and can handle our own affairs. We’ll figure out the details.”
A look passed between the brothers, reinforcing the sense that Oscar and Sylvie’s reconciliation displeased them.
Reese spoke next. “The last thing we want is for Mother to get hurt.”
“We haven’t seen her like this in a very long time. She’s glowing,” Stephan said.
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” Oscar said with a laugh. “Maybe she’s enjoying herself, enjoying my company.”
“That’s just it. We’re certain she’s enjoying herself,” Stephan said.
“So then what’s the problem?” Oscar demanded. He hadn’t seen his sons in weeks, but the direction of the conversation irritated him.
“You know how Mother is. She’s fragile.”
“Your mother is the strongest person I know.”
Stephan shook his head vehemently. “Then you don’t know her. She’s fragile, and we don’t want to see her hurt. Not again. Not by you, or anyone else.”
What the hell?
“Are you threatening me?” Oscar laughed a little bit, but neither Reese nor Stephan joined in the laughter.
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“Don’t play games with her heart. Don’t hurt her again,” Reese said.
Passion Rekindled Page 5
