by Sandra Kitt
“Couldn’t sleep?”
He reached out for her hand, encouraging Jean to join him on the lounger. “My mind switched to thinking about what has to be done when we get back. I’m making a list.”
“I understand. Not much fun, is it?”
“No. But it will help me get back into the rhythm. I’ll have to hit the ground running on Monday.”
“Me too,” she reminded him. “Can I ask what’s on the list?”
“Program lineup for next week. Have Brian confirm all guests. Check if there are any meetings. The usual stuff.”
“What’s the unusual stuff?”
Patrick sighed, running fingers through his already mussed hair, only to have the breeze tear it up again. “Call my lawyer. There’re still things on the table I have to handle,” he murmured, his voice low and distracted. “And I want to check if anything else has come through while I was away. I need to meet with Ross about all the requests for money that I keep getting.”
“I never realized that winning the lottery would create so many problems.”
“I didn’t either,” Patrick said, putting his pad aside and placing an arm around her.
They were silent, each momentarily lost in their own thoughts.
“I have an idea for you to think about, if you won’t mind.”
“Of course I won’t mind.”
“Well…maybe you should consider forming some sort of charitable foundation. So any requests for money wouldn’t come to you but go through the organization. You can hire administrators to manage the foundation, and you can serve as the founding CEO or COO. Maybe you can set aside money just for that but have your personal assets in different accounts.
“I don’t really know much about how to do it, but the Rockefeller and Ford Foundations have been funding philanthropic giving for decades. I bet it doesn’t touch their personal money.”
“Wow,” Patrick murmured thoughtfully. “That is a great idea. What made you think to suggest it?”
“It seems to me that a lot of what’s coming at you has nothing, really, to do with you. It’s all about the money you have. There are people working overtime to separate you from it. Why not make it easy…and worthwhile? You decide who you want to share your good fortune with. You set the ground rules, and you pick your target audience.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Patrick mused.
“You were too busy fielding curveballs.”
He glanced at her with an arched brow and laughed. “You don’t even know what a curveball is.”
“Maybe not. Doesn’t it have something to do with an unexpected turn of play?”
“Close enough,” Patrick said. He regarded her quietly, his gaze suddenly drowsy. “That’s the best plan I’ve heard from anyone the whole summer.”
“You’re welcome,” Jean said, her voice low and warm.
“You know, I haven’t given you anything since I came into such good luck. I think I knew you’d turn it down.”
She became serious. “I would have.”
“Why?”
She shrugged, resting her cheek against his arm. “I feel it would blur the boundaries too much between…” She stopped, trapped by anything she might say that would also assume too much.
“Where we are?”
Jean nodded.
“Where are we, Jean?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“Maybe…a very good beginning?” she asked, hesitating.
Patrick untangled himself and stood up, taking her hand to pull her up as well.
“I think it’s a little more than a beginning,” Patrick said, walking them back into the house.
He said nothing as he headed for the bedroom and then turned to Jean to pull her shift slowly over her head. She stood naked before him as Patrick held her gaze. He removed his shorts, and Jean caught her breath at the evidence of his arousal. Patrick’s physical state had the same effect on her, and all she wanted just then was to be in his arms and feel safe in his embrace. Alone, together on an island, before they returned to the demands of their lives.
Jean got onto the bed to wait for him to join her, on her side watching his approach. He made it clear he wanted to lie atop her, and Jean sighed, settling on her back. She reached for him as Patrick pressed down on her to kiss her with a slow intensity, as if they had all the time in the world, even as they both knew they didn’t.
He moved his mouth to kiss his way down her jaw to her neck and throat. Jean tilted her head back, loving the brush of his short facial hair on her skin. It was soft. She felt Patrick wiggle and undulate his body until he lay lower, his kisses trailing down her throat. He turned his head, and his lips closed sensuously around a breast, slowly licking and manipulating her nipple.
Jean drew in her breath and let out a long, quiet moan as he turned his attention to the other breast. A swirling of tension settled in her stomach, twisting and knotting lower in her core, where she felt a heat that seemed to melt her from the inside. Patrick moved again. Lower. Kissing her chest, her stomach. His beard tickled, and then the tickling turned to little tiny tongues dancing over her skin, building on the passion that was beginning to rage within her.
Patrick moved again.
What are you…?
And then she knew.
Jean drew in her breath again, deeper, holding it. Waiting for the touch she now realized she was waiting for. She drove her fingers into his hair, holding his head as Patrick finally reached his destination. His warm breath on her sensitive opening was immediately followed by his lips. A kiss. His tongue.
Jean felt like she was losing consciousness. She was swooning, falling into a delirium of feelings that rolled through her so strongly, she thought she might succumb and pass out. She began to pant, helpless to do more than let her limbs fall open, leaving her a wanton recipient of Patrick’s knowing caresses.
Jean moaned again, not sure if she wanted this assault to go on and on or hoped it would finally explode from within, releasing her from the height of her pleasure to a safe landing. The latter happened beyond her control, her eyes squeezing tight, her chest heaving as the pulsating began, gripping her tightly for what seemed like forever. A soft whimper allowed her to breathe again, and her body went slack, splayed beneath Patrick as he crawled up her body and took her in his arms.
“Ooh, Patrick,” Jean managed to breathe out, cocooning herself against his chest. Quite literally dazed and confused.
“I wanted to give you something special. And personal. Memorable. Just between you and me. Okay?”
Jean wasn’t sure if she said anything or just snuggled closer. She heard a chuckle deep in his chest.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
* * *
Ready to pack my bags. Are you coming?
Jean grinned at the text, amused and not surprised by the tone of exasperation from Patrick. Returning to the city had been more of a comedown than they’d expected. Almost immediately, they both were sucked into old daily routines. She was still holding onto the glory and romance of time away with Patrick, sure that something very solid had been built. But schedules and commitments quickly did her in. Were they back in the same old place? Had their feelings for each other changed? She knew hers were now locked in. She was in love with Patrick. But could she assume that the connection they’d made on the island meant Patrick felt the same way? It was frightening to realize her feelings. Jean felt more vulnerable than ever.
They’d managed one tryst, a matter of coincidence, just a day after they’d returned to the city. She happened to be at the same network for a PSA spot the day Patrick was on air promoting his fall schedule of programs for REPLAY.
With both their obligations done at the same time, they spontaneously decided to run away for the day. Brad had willingly given her the rest of the day. Patrick went unrecognized as they opte
d to stroll Central Park hand in hand, people-watching and laughing together at their playful take on the interesting activities they encountered, like the young guy skateboarding with his dog between his feet, or the Rollerblader doing fancy and amazing choreography to retro disco music. Or the older man sailing an elaborate reproduction of the Titanic on the boat pond. They had lunch at the Boathouse, and otherwise acted like any couple on a day out together. As it grew late, Patrick had called for a car and then turned to Jean to ask, “Your place or mine?”
She’d never been to Patrick’s apartment, an oversight that seemed incredible now.
“Yours.”
“Done,” he said.
The evening turned out to be just as surprising as the day. Patrick’s condo was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling living room and bedroom windows. The view over the Hudson back to Manhattan was stunning. He didn’t make a big deal of giving her a tour of the place, but enough for Jean to see it was a very modern, high-end, masculine apartment that was attractive and nicely outfitted. Somehow it was lacking in personal touches, the messiness of single living, like articles of clothing casually left around, magazines, mail, mugs of half-finished coffee. There was commercial, framed artwork on the walls, and lots of photos of his mother, sister and her family, other family members…and Patrick with a variety of male pro athletes. And women Jean presumed to be good friends or more. Lots of blonds with Hollywood smiles. And this wasn’t the first time that Jean wondered if Patrick had ever had an affair with, had ever dated another African American woman. The thought that she might be the only one raised old fears.
“It’s very nice,” Jean commented. She glanced out the window to the New York skyline. “You don’t have a lot privacy.”
“It’s not like your place. Now you know why I’m happy staying with you.”
“And that’s because…” she coaxed.
He came to stand next to her, gazing down and shrugging. “I like your place better. I’m okay here for now. But this is an interior designer’s dream. It’s not a real home.”
She chuckled, pleased that Patrick didn’t treat her like she was a guest, but that didn’t mean she had a place here. Patrick, however, behaved as if this wasn’t a first time, it wasn’t a last time, and it wasn’t any big deal. He just wanted to spend the evening with her. He apologized, as always, when he had to selectively answer texts, emails, or calls, keeping them short. He clearly had developed a shorthand for business interruptions on his free time. She was impressed with the succinct way he handled them. Polite and businesslike. And when he was done, he was again the Patrick she knew and loved best.
Jean casually mentioned that she was being considered for a new job. Not in the mayor’s office, but in the Department of Cultural Affairs. Patrick had poured her a glass of wine, gotten himself a beer, and sat next to her waiting to hear more.
“Good offer? Better position? Are you interested?”
“Yes. Yes. I’m not sure. I like where I am right now. It’s crazy but interesting, with lots of different responsibilities.”
Patrick studied her, thoughtful. He stretched his arm behind her on the sofa back, his fingertips rubbing along her shoulder and nape. “Would you take another job outside of the city?”
“I’ve never thought about that either.”
He continued to stare as if expecting her to say more.
What?
“I’ve been thinking about doing something different, myself.”
Jean recalled the speculation put forth by both Brian and Marin. “Really? Like what?”
He took a deep drink of his beer and put the bottle down. He brushed his hand through his hair, locked his hands behind his head, and sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. The TV show is fun. But I can’t see myself aging into it. The oldest living ex-ballplayer talking about the up-and-coming young Turks…”
She grinned. She couldn’t yet see Patrick as old.
“I’d like to do something…serious.”
“Any ideas?”
“Not a clue,” he sighed. “Ross is a good sounding board for this kind of thing. Maybe he has some ideas.”
She grew cautious and stared into her wineglass. Every mention of Ross from Patrick made her uneasy. She had long ago forfeited the chance to be open with him about her past relationship. But Jean had also never been able to rid herself of the feeling of impending doom.
Patrick reached for her hand. “I still think about The Island.”
That’s how they’d come to talk of their time on Turks and Caicos. The Island. Their island.
“We had a good time, didn’t we?”
“Jean, it was a great time,” he said seriously.
He tugged on her hand, and Jean suspected he now had something else in mind. She didn’t object as she sidled closer to him.
“You look pretty hot in a two piece.”
Jean smiled warmly. “I didn’t get to wear it very often. Not that I minded.”
He bent to kiss her briefly. “Glad to hear it. Any chance I can persuade you to stay the night?”
She kissed him back. “I’d love to. But I can’t.”
Patrick nodded in understanding. “You know I had nefarious motives in mind tonight when we came here.”
“I didn’t exactly kick and scream in protest. But I don’t want to rush.”
“Then consider this a pre-apology.”
“What do you mean?”
“After Labor Day, the new fall show schedule kicks in. That means—”
“I know what that means. All hell breaks loose.” She snuggled against his arm. “World Series, I think?”
“Football season begins,” he murmured.
The comment suggested his field and area of expertise was a never-ending cycle of sports games. Jean’s further thoughts were diverted when Patrick bent over her to begin kissing her. Sweet and teasing at first, but the sensual manipulation of her lips and tongue was quickly becoming a distraction. Jean caressed his cheek and broke the kiss. She silently smiled into his eyes, and he nodded.
“Right. Let’s go have dinner. Then I’ll drive you home.”
And over a nice dinner with wine and a shared dessert, Jean absorbed the fact that the evening had been, strangely, an old-fashioned throwback. Plain and easy, just a lovely, straightforward date. Their first ever…
Jean reread Patrick’s comical note that said so much. Ready to pack my bags. Are you coming? The reality of their lives, especially Patrick’s, was more present than ever and seemingly harsher. Jean reread the short note, pleased that he’d included her in his getaway desire. But it wasn’t going to happen. They’d only been back three days. Still, Jean smiled to herself at the invitation. She was tempted. What did Patrick have in mind?
“Finish that proposal?” Brad asked, walking quickly by her desk to his own. He didn’t wait for an answer as he picked up his receiver to continue a phone conversation begun elsewhere.
His question was merely a reminder. Her getaway had been pure heaven. Returning to work was pure hell. It had taken her two days to catch up on messages, appointments, and commitments. And Jean had been forced to cancel meeting her mother for a preplanned day together. She turned to her desktop and tried to concentrate on the last few paragraphs of the dreaded proposal, a suggested citywide kids’ forum on how to improve their neighborhood playgrounds.
Her mind drifted in an effort to find a balance now between not losing the intimacy she and Patrick had achieved together while away and the ever-present reality of their daily lives. They had demanding jobs. They lived in different states, although she gave Patrick props for being creative in finding ways to spend time together.
Just as she was leaving for lunch, her cell buzzed. It was Patrick.
“Hey…”
“So you’re not a figment of my imagination.”
She chuckled. “In the fl
esh. Alive and breathing. Thanks for all the lovely messages.”
“I wanted to hear your voice.”
“Are you saying you missed me?” she teased.
She was curious when he didn’t answer right away. Jean was about to add something when Patrick finally spoke.
“You have no idea,” he murmured.
* * *
“Take a look at this,” Ross said, handing Patrick three ledger sheets with categories and columns uniformly laid out.
Patrick accepted the pages and took a moment to orient himself to what he was seeing. “This is a second-quarter report, correct?”
“Right. You’ll see what you started with, the three funds we divided some of the money into, and where you are now.”
“This is fantastic,” Patrick murmured, quickly assessing the gains in the three accounts.
Ross sat back in his chair with the air of someone very pleased with his work. “Not bad.”
“Are you kidding? Not bad at all.”
“Now, don’t go spending it yet. There are still taxes to be paid, and it’s going to blow your mind when you find out how much. The economy can take a nosedive, or something else political might happen that could change those numbers in a heartbeat.”
“And then what?”
“Well, we might not wait until that happens. The idea is to watch the market and anticipate when it might blow up. Then we move into safer products.”
“Okay. Outstanding, Ross.” Patrick nodded, examining the pages. He was about to pass them back to Ross, who waved them aside.
“Those are your copies. I’ve also shared them with your attorney and accountant. Of course they can contact me if they have questions.”
“Good enough.”
“So how was your vacation?”
“Amazing,” Patrick said thoughtfully, a slight smile on his mouth. He felt a little dreamy just recalling some of the moments. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to get away until I was away.”
“I hope all the good stuff wasn’t wasted just on yourself.”
