Close to Perfect

by Tina Donahue

  She tossed the baskets to the side, punched in the access code, and returned to the Mercedes as the gate swung open.

  The drive to the house was shorter than the one to the gate, but no less spectacular.

  Here, an attempt had been made to tame the lush vegetation, though it was hardly subdued. Ferns, squat palms, and tropical flowers nuzzled each other as they competed for space.

  Tess again slowed the car to a crawl, turned off the air-conditioning and stereo, then lowered her window. Gone were the sounds of traffic and people. In its place was the ocean’s faint rustle, the throaty cooing of birds, and a comforting peace.

  She shook her head and spoke in a whisper, “Adam and Eve, eat your freaking hearts out.”

  Never in her life had she seen such beauty. It was as if she had stepped back in time.

  Ahead, weathered statues of angels or fairies held vases that overflowed with thick, green vines. As one tropical garden stopped, another started, until the vegetation finally paused, allowing space for the house that was just ahead.

  This time, Tess stopped the car. She got out and stared.

  The house had been painted a light peach that blushed coral beneath the lowering sun. It was two stories, of a Caribbean design with wide verandas and lots of gingerbread. That ornamentation seemed even whiter next to the scarlet bougainvillea that clung to each graceful column. The arched windows were tall; the shutters opened to allow in every bit of light.

  Tess moved closer.

  On the front porch a pair of white Adirondack chairs awaited guests, or the man and woman who had once claimed this place as their home.

  Had those chairs been part of the original estate? Had they been used by the first man and woman who had come here?

  What business had he been in? Was she a bride?

  Tess imagined she was and could almost feel that woman’s awe at these surroundings, her restlessness of what was to come as her carriage clattered to a stop in this exact place more than a century ago.

  The horses would have whinnied then and kicked at the dirt path; the servant would have kept his gaze forward, not daring to look at his master.

  Tess’s gaze turned inward. Her mind pictured that young man with dark eyes, but surprisingly light hair worn stylishly long in the fashion of the day.

  She imagined his new wife stealing a glance, only to see that his gaze was already on her.

  Had her heartbeat quickened in that moment? Had her breath caught when he boldly placed his hand on her waist? Until that touch there had surely been no intimacy, not even so much as a caress or a kiss.

  Tess thought about that, and what a wedding night meant to a young woman in the late eighteen-eighties as she was being carried by her husband to this front porch, the one Tess was standing on right now.

  She looked down to the polished wood faintly creaking beneath her weight, and imagined that husband’s weight making an even greater noise because he would have been taller than most, with a strong build. His gaze would have been no less potent, remaining on his wife as he opened the door, just as Tess was now doing, and brought her inside.

  Again, Tess felt as if she were stepping back in time.

  The front entrance was large and airy with high ceilings, Bahama fans, and shiny hardwood floors. To the right, Tess saw a parlor that was not yet fully renovated. Its walls were freshly papered, the floor had been restored, but the marble fireplace looked as if it had seen better days. To the left was another room that had no set purpose, though the windows wore delicate lace curtains and white wicker furniture had been stacked in the corner.

  Ahead was a wide staircase leading to the second floor, the master bedroom.

  Tess went to that first step. She looked up. The landing was washed in the day’s waning light, the doors closed.

  Even so, her mind saw a room dominated by a four-poster with lacy linens, mosquito netting, and a fireplace for cool nights.

  Had that night, more than a century ago, been sultry and still as the master carried his new bride up these stairs to his room? Tess believed it was. She imagined that man lowering his wife to her feet, so that he might open the French doors leading to the veranda. Fragrant, moist air would have wafted inside. Faint voices of the workers would have been heard.

  Not that it mattered. Those men would hardly have dared to come near this house while the master was enjoying his bride.

  But she would have known those workers were outside, and that would have added another layer of tension to this night.

  Tess imagined the questions running through that woman’s mind. Would they hear her moans as her husband aroused her? Would they know she was naked, her flesh bared to a man who would use her as he willed?

  Would they guess when his mouth suckled one of her nipples, while his long fingers stroked her hidden lips? Would they imagine her surprise as those fingers so aptly invaded her, driving deep to prepare her for more? That moment when she would no longer be a girl, but a woman. That moment when her husband finally mounted her.

  Would she spread her legs widely then; would her gaze be on this man who was muscled and hard above her, while the featherbed was achingly soft below?

  Did she gasp as he finally entered, breaking through any barrier that kept them separated, that stopped her from being his?

  Did her body at last dance with her husband’s as she wrapped her legs around his lean hips, and threw back her head, then opened her mouth as she cried out again and again and—

  Will you just stop?

  Tess covered her eyes with her hand, breathed hard, and told herself that no eighteen-eighties bride had ever had a night like that. Hell, she had never had a night like that even years after losing her virginity, so what was she thinking?

  In those days if a woman couldn’t catch her breath, it wasn’t due to passion, but because of the corset she was forced to wear and possibly a former bout with TB, while her husband was most likely very old, very demanding, and about as hot as one of her father’s middle-aged friends.

  In other words, he wouldn’t have looked or acted or made love like Josh.

  Where is he?

  Tess dropped her hand and looked over her right shoulder, then her left as she recalled his words.

  I’ll be expecting you at seven. Sharp.

  It was after seven now, so where was he?

  Tapping her foot against the floor, Tess looked back up those stairs and told herself she wasn’t going to search the bedrooms, at least not yet. After all, there seemed to be no end of rooms down here with the possibility that some of them were also bedrooms.

  As if she needed that kind of stimulation.

  Chewing her lower lip, Tess again looked to the right, to the left, then finally gave up and shouted, “Josh!”

  “Tess?”

  Her heart paused to his shout, then beat wildly. He had been here all along? He was downstairs? “Yeah!” she shouted, then hoped to God he hadn’t been watching her panting to that stupid fantasy. “Where are you?”

  “Kitchen. It’s to your left past the parlor, the dining room, the—”

  She interrupted. “I’m on it!”

  “Are you sure?”

  Tess made a face to that odd question. “Yeah! I’ll be there in a second.”

  A minute later she was about to give up and beg for a map. Each room she went into led to another until Tess felt as if she was trapped in a beautifully appointed maze. The hardwood floors were exquisite, reflecting the delicately flowered wallpaper, Victorian antiques, the occasional rattan furniture, and her mounting irritation.

  She turned a full circle wondering if she should take those French doors to the left or the ones to the right.

  Since she liked the lace curtains on the ones to the left, she opened those suckers and stopped dead.

  The room just ahead was obviously the kitchen as it had a score of appliances from way back when, an ancient sink, a counter with antique bar stools, and Josh.

  He was on a ladder, worki
ng on a Bahama ceiling fan.

  Tess completely ignored it as her gaze crawled all over him. He had changed from his office wear to a navy blue T-shirt and battered jeans that hugged his lean, muscular body. His arms were above his head as he did something to that fan, which hiked up his T-shirt exposing a bit of his flat belly.

  Tess moistened her lips as she regarded those silky dark hairs circling his navel before they trickled lower to beneath the waistband of his jeans.

  Following that path, her gaze slipped down to that lovely bulge behind his fly.

  Josh shifted his weight.

  If anything, that made his bulge seem even bigger. So damned big, Tess felt briefly dizzy.

  He shifted his weight again.

  Looking down, Tess saw that he was barefoot. Her heart beat really hard, which was odd. She had never been into feet, especially a guy’s, but his were kind of nice. Large, with long toes.

  She wanted to touch them and taste them. She wanted to work her fingers from those toes to his calves to the insides of his thighs to that luscious bulge.

  Her gaze lifted to it; her mind paused. Was that an erection?

  Tess looked up and wasn’t a bit surprised to meet Josh’s gaze.

  His brows lifted. “Hi.”

  She moistened her lips, again. Never in her life had her mouth been this dry. “Hi.”

  He smiled, then frowned. “You’re late... something delay you?”

  Tess thought about the truth, and decided to lie. “Yeah—you.”

  His expression said that wasn’t the answer he expected. “How’d I do that?”

  “You’re impossible to find.”

  Josh glanced down at his full length, then looked back up. “What are you talking about? I’m big as life.”

  Oh, hell, he was way bigger than that, not that Tess was about to give him anything else to be smug about. Resisting the urge to see if his erection had gotten any bigger, or harder, or nicer, she asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Screwing.”

  Her face and throat flushed.

  Josh smiled again, as if he were really enjoying this, then lifted his screwdriver to show her what he had meant. “I’ll be done in a few secs.”

  “Just like most guys.”

  He murmured, “Bad girl. Now, you be nice or I won’t give you a tour of this place.”

  Like she hadn’t had one already? “Yes, sir.” Her gaze drifted back down him, again.

  After a moment, he asked, “See anything you like?”

  Of course she did, and he damn well knew it.

  “Okay, be that way,” he said to her silence, “but at least tell me you brought your cuffs.”

  Her gaze lifted. “What?”

  Josh gave her an innocent look. “I didn’t say anything.”

  The hell he didn’t. “While you finish up with that, I’ll get my bags.”

  And leave him? Not a chance. She had taken too damned long to get here, and Josh wasn’t about to let her out of his sight now. Her cheeks were nicely pinked up, her tightened nipples strained against that stretchy T-shirt, and her lovely legs were completely bared beneath those cutoffs. Mmmm. “I’ll take care of them later. You’re not wearing your heels.”

  Tess looked down at her sandals. “That’s because I’m in shorts.”

  Josh’s thickening cock was already well aware of that. Still... “I like those heels.”

  She met his gaze. “They’re in the trunk of your car, if you want to wear them later.”

  Bad, bad girl. Cocky, but also soft. It was in the way he could so easily make her blush. “No, thanks.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, using the same tone he had used earlier. “I could get them right now and everything else that I—”

  “I’ll get it later, really.”

  Tess shoved her hands into her back pockets and rocked on her heels. “I really need to go back outside.”

  “Why?”

  She looked vaguely embarrassed, then pissed. “I’m not certain I turned off the car.”

  Uh-huh. “Do you usually forget to do that?”

  Tess gave him a look that said he was more of an idiot than she. “When I got here I was kind of distracted.”

  Josh already knew that; still, he said, “Oh, yeah? By what?”

  “Your place. I was overwhelmed by it, okay?”

  He smiled. “You like it, huh?”

  Her face flushed again. Her voice softened even more, “Very much.”

  Uh-huh. She wasn’t talking about this place any more than he was. Still, Josh figured he better continue this verbal foreplay until Tess gave him a signal that she would be willing to accept something more. “Stay in here and watch me so I can watch you.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “What about the car?”

  “Did you put it in park?”

  “Of course I did. I had to get out of it, didn’t I?”

  Josh held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I was just asking.” He lowered his hands. “Let the damn thing run until it’s out of gas.”

  “Aren’t you worried about someone stealing it?”

  “Couldn’t care less.”

  Tess arched one brow. “My clothes are in there. Just about every stitch I have.”

  Okay, now he was hoping the damned thing would be stolen so that she had no choice but to walk around here in skin. “I see the problem.”

  “I don’t think you do.” She reached into her back pocket.

  Josh’s gaze dipped to her pebbled nipples. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to pull out your gun now and shoot me.”

  “That comes later.”

  Why later? “Aren’t you carrying a gun now?”

  “Sure.”

  Josh looked at that flimsy T-shirt, those brief shorts, and her sandals that couldn’t have concealed anything, then what she had just pulled out of her pocket. “That’s your gun? It looks like a cell phone.”

  She laughed as she punched in a number. “It is.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  “My father.”

  Josh came down a step. “Why? I haven’t done anything.”

  Tess smiled. “He’ll definitely want to hear that little bit of informa—Pop?” she interrupted herself, then turned her back to Josh as she spoke into the cell. “I got here all right, just like I said I—what?” She listened, then said in a lowered voice, “Of course, he’s here, he lives here, Pop. Huh?” She listened again, then blurted, “You have nothing to worry about. I have nothing to worry about. He’s a good man.”

  Josh’s gaze lifted from the backs of her silky thighs. She thought that? She meant it?

  She must have, because all at once Tess seemed to realize what she had blurted, and was now turning around to see if he had noticed.

  Damn right he had. Josh’s gaze touched hers and he wasn’t about to look away. There may have been a lot of females after him because of that stupid tabloid, but this woman thinking he was a good man meant more than all of that. It meant the world.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Her blush deepened, and then she was back on the cell.

  “What?” she asked her father, then listened and frowned. “That was Josh. No,” she said after listening again, “he was just thanking me for handing him the brochure to your business. That’s right,” she said after she listened again, “we’re talking business so I really gotta go. Night.” Tess shut off the phone and shoved it into her back pocket.

  “Your dad okay with this?” Josh asked.

  Tess looked at him. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  That she was, and raring to go, right down to wearing a gun.

  Josh continued to look for unsightly bulges in her T-shirt and shorts, at least until she shifted her weight.

  He looked back up.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Yeah, I know. You keep looking at my clothes—why?”

  No way was he ready to answe
r that. “Same reason you keep looking at mine?”

  Tess pressed her fingers to her forehead.

  “Please don’t get upset—we’re still on our honeymoon.”

  Her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

  Josh came down the ladder. Tess dropped her hand. He finally stopped his approach. “You’re not thinking of shooting me now, are you?”

  She laughed, until he crossed the room and captured her hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Escorting you to the pool.”

  She held back. “The scene of the crime?”

  “The scene of our supper—you haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

  No, she had not. She had been too busy manicuring and waxing and primping and evading her father’s pointed questions to even think of food. “Your cook’s out there?”

  Josh looked at her as if she was nuts, and then he frowned. “Why?” His head swiveled on his shoulders as he glanced past her to the hallway, then to the outside. “Was there a guy here when you came here who said he was my—”

  “No.” Tess wondered if she should tell him about redheaded Libby at the gate, but decided against it. “I just assumed you’d have one.”

  Josh looked at her. “Why?”

  Because he was a guy. Because he was so rich. “No reason.”

  “Exactly.” He leaned down to her until Tess could see each laugh line at the corners of his beautiful eyes. “I’m capable.”

  “Well, that remains to be seen.”

  Josh worked his mouth so he wouldn’t smile. “You’re supposed to be nice to me, remember?”

  “You may have to keep reminding me.”

  He straightened, then lifted his free hand to her chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

  Tess’s heart went into immediate overdrive. She felt the heat of his skin clear to her toes, and surrendered completely to his quiet gaze.

  A moment passed, and then another. Tess was vaguely aware of the breeze rustling the outside foliage, birds calling to each other, and her own heightened breathing.

  If Josh noticed, he didn’t say. His gaze remained on her, quiet and confident, before he murmured, “Don’t you worry, I will keep reminding you. Come on.”

  Tess swallowed, then took a much-needed breath as he led her outside to the pool.