Long Time Coming. Rochelle Alers
make out the outline of a chaise, a table and a lamp. “I can’t sleep in your bed. I’ll take the chaise.”
Tessa clamped her teeth together. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone as exasperating at Micah Sanborn. And that included a few over-the-top brides-to-be. She’d gone above and beyond social protocol to make him comfortable, and still he challenged her every proposal. What she should’ve done when the lights went out was show him the door, but she’d accommodated him because of his sister. There was no doubt the Sanborns were going to test her patience and work her last nerve.
“How tall are you, Micah?”
“Why?”
“How tall?” she repeated.
“Six-one.”
“You just struck out. The chaise is configured for someone less than six feet in height. Therefore the bed is yours.”
“If that’s the case, then why don’t we share the bed? I give my word that nothing will happen,” he teased.
“And I give you my word that I’ll jack you up if you tried something.”
“You jack me up?” he asked incredulously. “I’m at least half a foot taller and I’m willing to bet that I outweigh you by eighty pounds—and you claim you can jack me up.”
Tessa wrinkled her nose. “There may be some truth in your statistics, but I know a way of changing you from a baritone to a soprano in one-point-two seconds with a well-aimed knee to your—”
“Please don’t say it,” Micah said, interrupting her. “I get the point.”
She walked over to the sitting/dressing area. The seconds ticked off as she lit candles on two low tables in the inviting space. There was enough light coming from the candles in the alcove for her to gather a pair of pajamas from a drawer in an eighteenth-century Louis XV armoire made of walnut that included the original hardware. She’d refused to reveal to anyone how much she’d paid for the magnificent piece she’d found in the historic city of Arles, where van Gogh painted Starry Night and two hundred other canvases. The armoire matched the sleigh bed and the bedside tables she’d purchased at an estate sale two years before.
Tessa made her way into an adjoining bathroom, lighting the many candles lining the marble ledge surrounding the garden tub, and gathered towels from a marble slab mounted under the counter of a porcelain basin and took out a cellophane-wrapped toothbrush from a shelf concealed behind a wall mirror, placing them on a table next to a freestanding shower stall.
She left the bathroom to find Micah sitting in an upholstered club chair, one leg draped over the opposite knee. He stood up. Tilting her head, she smiled up at him. “I left towels and a toothbrush on a table next to the shower.” There was a beat of silence, then she said, “Good night, Micah.”
He returned her smile. “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Tessa’s sultry laugh swept over him like a light breeze as she left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. He liked hearing her laugh. It was unrepressed and free. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to be—at least not with him. From the moment he’d stepped into the building housing Signature Bridals Tessa Whitfield was the consummate professional. She hadn’t permitted the professional persona to slip over dinner. Even when she’d questioned him about where he’d grown up her tone was neutral, almost impersonal, as if she were conducting an interview.
He’d watched her interact formally with her neighbors as if she feared letting them see another side of her personality. If she’d accused him of being contrary, it was because he wanted her to relax, not to take herself or life so seriously. The events following 9/11 had changed him and his outlook on life forever.
Micah stood, staring at the door, thinking about the woman under whose roof he would spend the night—a woman whom he didn’t know but wanted to get to know. Tessa’s rule that she didn’t date or get involved with anyone associated with her clients had become a challenge, one he readily welcomed.
All of his life he’d faced challenges: abandonment by his biological mother, becoming a ward of the state of New Jersey, serving and protecting the citizens of New York City for twenty years as a police officer and now as an assistant district attorney for Kings County.
He liked challenges and he was patient—patient enough to wait until after his sister’s wedding, when she would no longer be a Signature bride.
Micah walked into the bathroom and took in a quick breath. Aside from indoor plumbing and electricity—or lack of the latter at the present time—he felt as if he’d stepped back in time. The French-inspired bathroom was a retreat—a place to relax and while away the hours in the oversize marble tub or in a corner with an overstuffed chaise covered in a pale-blue-and-cream-striped fabric.
A nearby table held a crystal vase filled with a profusion of colorful fresh-cut flowers. A terra-cotta floor and walls covered with pale-blue-and-cream wallpaper reflected the French influence Tessa seemed to favor. He picked up a book off a stack on the table and smiled. He and Tessa had similar reading tastes.
As he unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his trousers, he didn’t want to think of what else he had in common with the seemingly elusive woman who’d aroused his curiosity. Perhaps it was because Tessa was so unapproachable that she’d piqued his interest. He’d never viewed women as sexual objects or regarded them as receptacles for his lust, but that also didn’t mean that he hadn’t had his share of affairs or one-night stands. There were women he’d liked—a lot. And there were women who’d liked him—a lot.
He brushed his teeth and undressed, leaving his clothes folded neatly on the chaise. Opening the door to the shower stall, he stepped in and closed it behind him. Turning on the cold water, Micah gritted his teeth as the icy spray pebbled his flesh. Then he turned on the other faucet, adjusting the water temperature until it was lukewarm. He picked up a bar of soap and lathered his body.
The scent of flowers and fruit filled the space. He recalled the Aerosmith classic hit, “Dude Looks Like A Lady.” He may not have looked like a lady, but he sure smelled like one. The first thing he had to do when he returned to his apartment was take a shower using his own bath gel.
Micah completed his shower, toweled off, extinguished all of the candles and carefully made his way out of the bathroom. He repeated the action, blowing out the candles in the alcove. He managed to get into bed without bumping into chairs or tables.
The moment he pulled back the duvet and the sheet everything about Tessa came rushing back. Her scent clung to the linen. He recalled her flyaway hairstyle and bohemian style of dress, things that were incongruous to her very controlled personality.
He lay in the darkened room, listening to the sound of his own breathing, when he heard a noise. Sitting up, all of his senses on full alert, Micah saw the outline of Tessa’s body in the beam of light coming from the flashlight where she’d opened the door.
A grin split his face. “Are you coming to join me?”
“I just came to check on you.”
“I’m glad you did, because I forgot to tell you that I’m afraid of the dark.” Tessa laughed softly, the sound sending a myriad of emotions racing through Micah.
“I can’t help you there, buddy. But if it would make you feel better, I’ll leave the flashlight with you.”
He patted the mattress beside him. “Come sit with me a while.”
“Aren’t you sleepy?”
“No. I’m too wound up to sleep.”
Tessa walked into the bedroom. “So am I.” She approached the bed. “Move over.” He shifted and she crawled atop the sheet beside him. She didn’t know if he was naked under the sheet and she wasn’t anxious to find out. Placing the flashlight in the space separating her from Micah, she leaned over and sniffed him. “You smell like a woman.”
Folding