by Jane Preston
Leslie had been so easy, he smirked inwardly. So willing.
For some reason, in spite of her apparent self-doubt, or perhaps because of it, Maureen wasn’t going to be nearly so easy. He liked that, too. Sensing a deep-seated struggle inside her, he thought, Poor kid, she doesn’t know it yet but she’s mine.
When they parted after dancing until 1 a.m., Sterling bent down to deliver a brief kiss on her flushed cheek. He knew that would impress her. Maybe even confuse her. She was probably expecting him to insist they go for a night-cap at his house. He was proud of himself: he didn’t even resort to the usual lines, like, I’ll call you.
Still, she'd somehow managed to blurt out her cell number to him.
I want this one to go nice and slow, he thought, a satisfied grin on his lips. He’d walked her to her car, exulting about their marvelous time together, and then firmly closed her car door before strolling down the street to his Lexus.
But what Sterling Matthews loved most about that night played over and over in his mind as he quietly drove home. It was when her knee-length, straight skirt had gotten snagged as she stepped into her car, causing her to yank at it, obviously embarrassed, all the while exposing more of her gorgeous legs.
Before driving off, she’d laughed nervously, and looked up into his face to check his reaction. He instantly recognized two emotions in her guileless doe-like eyes: anxiety and fear.
Oh, yes, he liked Maureen Beckley.
He liked her a lot.
CHAPTER THREE
The dream seemed to go on forever. His delicious kisses, the careful but affectionate way he stroked her cheek, the powerful, warm essence of his closeness. Maureen loved how he made her feel.
More irresistible kisses followed in what seemed like a glorious eternity. She recognized his face – and loved every part of it: the way his lips were full but still retained a distinct, unattainable modesty about them; his straight, classically-handsome nose on a face that could grace the pages of Gentleman’s Quarterly.
It was the face of the dream-lover she’d been obsessed with two nights ago.
The same nighttime phantom she had willed to come back to her.
The dream went on and on. The way his long, refined fingers ran through her hair, his luscious all-male but exquisitely sensuous voice close to her ear.
And his eyes.
Those amazing heavily-lashed, piercing hazel green eyes that seemed to look into the deepest reaches of her soul, impossibly knowing her every desire.
Yes, those eyes.
“Those eyes.” Maureen abruptly awakened to hear herself whisper the words, putting an end to the entrancing nocturnal apparition and his captivating embraces. She sat up, disoriented, blinking stupidly into the darkness.
Unwillingly wide wake now, Maureen threw back the covers, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and fished for her comfy house shoes just under the bed skirt. Still trying to recover from the spellbinding dream that filled her heart with an unforgettable, haunting passion, she weaved her way out of the bedroom door and down the short, carpeted hall to the kitchen. There, she poured herself a tall glass of cold water from a container in the refrigerator. She suddenly felt very thirsty.
And disappointed.
Why did I have to wake up? She silently cried, gulping down the water. It was just getting good.
Oh, well, Maureen struggled to reassure herself, if her elusive night-time phantom had come back tonight, maybe he’ll favor her with yet another visit in the near future.
I can only hope, she thought.
But as Maureen returned to her bedroom, kicked off her slippers and snuggled back under the covers, feeling thoroughly cooled from the refreshing drink, she found herself thinking: I’ve seen those eyes before.
Or perhaps I just dreamed that I’ve seen those eyes before?
Oh, Maureen, she scolded herself as she plumped up her pillow before collapsing back into it. Don’t let these nighttime fantasies drive you crazy.
After all, you are a romance writer. With that thought, she was fast asleep within a couple of minutes.
***
“What’s that?” Maureen asked, momentarily glancing in Leslie’s direction before adeptly pushing around the scrambling eggs, chopped onion and minced green and red peppers on the hot oiled griddle. Leslie was looking particularly pleased with life today, a permanent smile on her lovely face, and a wistful, dreamy far-off look in her eyes. Maureen couldn’t be more pleased for her good friend on this spectacularly-bright late Sunday morning.
Maybe she went out with a new guy last night, Maureen thought hopefully, as she scooped up the evenly-cooked egg mixture onto a large platter, its aroma positively divine, to be served with the toast waiting to be buttered. The two women had gotten together for one of their frequent Sunday brunches; the morning sunshine bathing the kitchen only added to their shared high spirits.
Oblivious to the question, Leslie continued to gaze through the kitchen window, lost in thought. “Oh, I had the most fantastic date yesterday. Absolutely fantastic.”
I was right, Maureen thought. Another good thing about Leslie was she could cut her losses with one man and pick right up with another in the time it took other women to get their hair trimmed. No doubt about it: her neighbor was fickle, but that probably served her well in her 20-something years, Maureen decided, as she went about fixing the coffee. That way, Leslie recovered easily and quickly from a broken heart.
Not like me, Maureen inwardly grunted. After Randy’s break-up with me, my heart held on to him for an agonizing year.
That is, until last night.
Sterling Matthews. Just the thought of his name sent a warm thrill through her.
Feeling suddenly idiotic, Maureen was embarrassed to recall that, only a month before, she'd been day-dreaming about the irresistible Clark Gable, the long deceased actor. After all, she told herself at the time, she’d rather obsess about a man who was dead than get involved with the wrong man who was alive.
It was time to serve the eggs.
But as Maureen bustled about the kitchen to gather plates, napkins, utensils and her mother’s one-of-a-kind homemade grape and apricot jellies, she couldn’t help but notice – again – the sparkling ring on Leslie’s finger. She’d never seen it before today. Still, that didn’t mean much. Leslie owned a treasure trove of jewelry, filled with costume, as well as enviably expensive, pieces, one of the perks of having a father in the jewelry business.
“A gift from your Dad, Sweetie?” Maureen asked pleasantly as she arranged the plates and silverware on the kitchen table, easing the copper tea kettle aside. She liked to see her guests during mealtime. Not that she had many, but Leslie was always Queen for a Day when she came over, regaling anyone in her vicinity with her non-stop real-life romantic escapades. Maureen gave her beautiful neighbor her undivided attention. It was worth it. Daytime TV soap operas paled by comparison.
“Huh?” Leslie looked startled back to reality.
Good-naturedly, Maureen nodded her head. “Your ring. It’s beautiful.” Maureen went back to scooping the steaming scrambled eggs on to both plates and pouring the morning coffee into substantially-sized mugs.
Unexpectedly springing to life, Leslie pushed back her chair, and animatedly waved her arms in the air as she talked at her trademark breathless pace. “Oh, my ring. That’s what I was going to tell you. My dear, wonderful friend, the most incredible thing has happened!”
Just as abruptly, the young woman stopped and shrugged, uncharacteristically embarrassed. Leslie blushed for the very first time Maureen could remember. “Well, it’s not exactly an engagement ring. But it’s the next best thing.”
Exasperated, Maureen blurted out: “Don’t keep me in suspense. What happened?!”
“He - the man - gave me a promise ring! It’s a sapphire with gorgeous, finely-cut diamonds in a 24-carat white-gold setting.” Her cheeks still flushed, Leslie proudly displayed her hand for Maureen to examine.
She
sounds like an advertisement, Maureen thought. But the sapphire was exquisite. Instead of looking cheap or gaudy, the ring was an obvious testimony to the fact that someone with excellent taste had picked it out very carefully. Especially for Leslie.
“And, see, he had our motto inscribed inside the band of the ring.” Leslie whipped off the cherished piece of jewelry and held it up to eye-level for Maureen to read out loud: "You and I. Together. Forever.”
A chill hit Maureen in the stomach. “Oh,” she said, struggling to keep the anxiety and disappointment out of her voice. “It's from Chase.”
“Why, yes. Isn’t it lovely?!” Leslie was on Cloud Nine and there was no getting her off it, at least not anytime soon.
Maureen took a deep breath. “What exactly does this guy do, anyway? I know you once told me he’s some kind of writer, but -”
“Oh, that’s another interesting thing about him! He submits regular articles to Men Shape Up, a popular men’s fitness magazine.” She paused as she slowly sat down at the kitchen table, a wrinkle starting to darken her brow ever so slightly. “He’s freelance and works out of his home. Although every time I drop by, he’s never there.”
Now the younger woman shrugged. “He’s just busy. It’s hard being freelance, you know.” Again, she hesitated, her face looking slightly bewildered. “And his schedule, it’s always changing. Like, we were going to go out to dinner last night to this great Hawaiian restaurant, one of our favorites. But then he told me we’d have to make it a lunch instead, because he suddenly had an important event to attend.”
Being Leslie, however, her tone instantly brightened. “And, that’s when he gave me this lovely promise ring!”
Now Maureen was troubled. ”Mr. Wonderful gave you a promise ring – at lunch? How romantic.” She hoped to disguise the sarcasm in her tone. “And, why couldn’t he take you to this all-important event that came up so unexpectedly?” She wanted to add “and mysteriously,” but kept quiet.
Leslie didn’t miss a beat, her voice filling with confidence. “He told me it was a professional enclave and, because it was very important to his career, he thought it best to keep his personal life private. At least for now.” She paused and casually shrugged, admiring her beloved ring, which she’d put back on her finger. “Besides, I bet he takes me to the next meeting.”
“Brother,” Maureen said under her breath but decided not to pursue it.
It was high time to dig in to some scrumptious scrambled eggs and that’s exactly what both long-time friends did on one of the sunniest Sunday mornings of the season.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lucy Troppe was the kind of woman who didn’t stand still for nothing and for no one. After a disastrous childhood with an alcoholic father who was in and out of jobs, constantly relocating the small family of four, consisting of her perpetually-distressed mother, her strong-willed older brother, Dan (who turned out, rather surprisingly, to be a successful, brainy, if also bull-headed, engineer in Florida) and herself, Lucy had decided that no man was ever going to run her life.
Consumed with an ambition unmatched by her friends in both middle and high school, Lucy knew she would excel.
And excel she did. Driven to work long, merciless hours, Lucy had painstakingly built her real estate business, step by step, brick by brick, so that now it ran smoothly, each year rewarding her with an impressive profit. She could afford to make last-minute changes to her schedule, which she decided to do today. After a quick phone call, Lucy was assured that her business partner, Melissa, would pick up the slack.
Ever since Saturday night, when Lucy had watched Maureen slow-dancing with the most heavenly guy imaginable, she couldn’t get the mystery man off her mind. She not only wanted to know who he was, but it crossed her mind more than once that she’d really like to get to know him. Insinuating herself into another woman’s territory didn’t bother Lucy nearly as much as whether or not he’d actually fall for her.
I simply can’t get my heart broken again, she silently insisted. But it could be different – very different - with Sterling Matthews. She’d overheard the tall, classy, handsome stranger tell Maureen his name.
But who is he, really? Lucy mused now. And why haven’t I ever seen him before?
Questions Lucy Troppe fully intended to find answers to as she turned her dark blue Mercedes sedan in the direction of Third and Elm Street.
***
Candace is looking particularly winsome this morning, Sterling noticed as, briefcase in hand, he breezed into his office, punctual enough to have a few minutes to brush up on his notes before seeing the day’s first patient.
“Good Morning, Candy,” Sterling Matthews said, smiling broadly while saluting her in his customary, good-humored way. His 24-year-old secretary had a strong, aggressive personality, a trait he found quite appealing in their recreational off-hours. Candace Smith liked to think of herself as the boss.
But he knew who the boss really was.
Again, he smiled, this time to himself, as he opened the inner door and deposited his briefcase on the tidy, large mahogany desk in his wood-paneled office, which, being on the second floor of a tastefully-refurbished Victorian house-turned-office-building, overlooked the seasonal flowers and numerous trees of Chelsea Park. The rhododendrons in their luscious lilacs and bright pinks caught his eye, as he exhaled slowly.
Time to play therapist, he told himself, flipping open Tina Borden’s client chart.
***
Fifty minutes later, Candace, with her long, thick, streaked-blonde mane, close-fitting ivory-colored dress and white stilettos, knocked briefly before prancing into Sterling’s office and announcing: “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Matthews, but your next appointment has arrived.”
“Thank you, Miss Smith. Would you please see Miss Borden to the door?”
At last, the uncomfortable appointment was over.
Little did Tina know, as she dabbed at her eyes and walked to her car in the parking lot below, but the so-called client who had arrived was simply a UPS delivery woman with a package Sterling was expecting. Shortly afterwards, with barely a glance at the cardboard box on the floor, the therapist pulled his winsome secretary into a side room.
There was just enough time to have his way with her before the next client arrived.
Candy didn’t seem to mind a bit.
***
During a quick lunch grabbed at an Italian bistro just around the corner from his office, Sterling couldn’t help but think back on his upsetting appointment with Lisa, the pretty, young woman who worked at the reception desk of one of the thriving book stores in the downtown area. Just a couple of hours ago, she’d been in his office, fidgeting nervously with an embroidered handkerchief she said her late mother had given her, intermittent tears springing from her eyes.
“I’m in love with you, Sterling,” she confessed between short crying jags. “I tried so hard to resist, but after our – well, after our - time together, I just couldn’t help it.”
Visibly unmoved, Sterling decided to take a hard line with her.
“Lisa,” he acknowledged, his voice well-modulated and intentionally free from the anger rising inside of him, “As consenting adults, we did spend some time together, that’s true.” Here, the therapist cleared his voice. “It was something we both agreed to do.” Pausing for effect, he continued with the customary quiet confidence he exuded. “However, that doesn’t mean I’m in love with you. You must understand that.”
Sterling took out his pen and reached for the pad on his desk. He glanced up at the young woman before starting to write. “You know, Lisa, with your history of emotional upsets and anorexia, these kinds of crying jags have a tendency to get worse. I’m going to suggest that you take 400 milligrams of Valerian root, to be picked up at your local health food store. It’s worked for you before and will calm you down in about an hour.”
Ripping the paper from its notepad and holding it up, he looked at her steadily. “Here, Lisa. Call me when
you’re feeling better. I can’t help you as long as you’re in hysterics.”
To prevent any further embarrassing outbursts, Sterling calmly stood up and waited for his patient to gather her purse. Profusely apologizing, the young woman clumsily got to her feet and made her awkward way to the door.
Once the door had quietly closed, he’d sighed deeply, collapsed back into his beautifully-upholstered mahogany chair and put his head in his hands.
Tina could report me to the board, Sterling thought uneasily, staring at, without seeing, the deep ruby of the exotic Oriental rug beneath his desk. Flustered, he strode across the room to a wet bar hidden from view behind a partition made of intricately-carved Polynesian wood, and immediately poured himself a stiff Chivas Regal.
