Long Time Coming
Rochelle Alers
Brooklyn assistant district attorney Micah Sanborn walks into wedding planner Tessa Whitfield's town house and winds up stranded there all night in a citywide blackout…alongside the most intriguing woman he's ever met.Tessa's vow to avoid mixing work with pleasure is completely forsaken once she's thrown together with the tall, gorgeous assistant DA. Micah offers Tessa the kind of passion she's only fantasized about, but their whirlwind romance hits a snag when he's unable to say those three little words. Can Micah overcome his fear from a painful breakup in the past? And will Tessa be willing to wait for his love?
Long Time Coming
Long Time Coming
Rochelle Alers
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Whitfield Brides series
You’ve met Ryan, Jeremy and Sheldon—the Blackstones of Virginia—and now it’s time to meet the Whitfields of New York. In this Arabesque trilogy, you will meet Signature Bridals’ wedding divas: Tessa, Faith and Simone Whitfield. These three women are so focused on their demanding careers that they’ve sacrificed their personal happiness. Within a year, though, each will encounter a very special man who will not only change them but change their lives forever.
In Long Time Coming, wedding planner Tessa Whitfield never imagined that opening the doors of Signature Bridals to Micah Sanborn would lead to their spending the next twelve hours together after a power outage hits her Brooklyn, New York, neighborhood. Her vow never to mix business with pleasure is shattered when the Brooklyn assistant district attorney offers Tessa an extraordinary friendship with a few special surprises that make her reevaluate everything she’s come to believe about love.
Wedding cake designer Faith Whitfield, who owns the fashionable Greenwich Village patisserie Let Them Eat Cake, has all but given up on finding her prince, and refuses to kiss another frog. But when she least expects it she discovers love in the passionate embrace of pilot to the rich and famous, and modern-day knight-in-shining-armor Ethan McMillan in The Sweetest Temptation.
After a disappointing marriage and an ill-fated reconciliation with her high school sweetheart, floral designer Simone Whitfield wants nothing to do with men. She’s content to run her business, Wildflowers and Other Treasures, in the greenhouses on her White Plains, New York, property. In Taken by Storm, Simone witnesses an attack on a federal judge and suddenly finds her cloistered suburban life turned upside down when U.S. Marshal Raphael Madison from the witness protection unit is assigned to protect her 24/7. Although they are complete opposites, Simone and Raphael come to share a heated desire and a love that promises forever.
Yours in romance,
Rochelle Alers
Dedicated to Lieutenant Robert Gonzalez—
a special thanks to one of the NYPD’s
best and brightest.
For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh.
—Ephesians 5:31
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
Tessa Whitfield unlocked the front door to the Brooklyn Heights brownstone where she lived, had set up Signature Event Planners Inc. and Signature Bridals—where she’d established a reputation as the consummate wedding consultant.
It was mid-October and, to her relief, the wedding season was winding down. Four months ago she’d coordinated the wedding of the season for sports hero Ashton Cooper and bestselling African-American novelist Jadya Fyles. The elegant ceremony was held in the Grand Hall of the New York Public Library, where the high-profile couple had met three years earlier.
Tessa had arranged for a reception for a thousand in Bryant Park under gauzy multicolored tents that turned the half-acre park in the middle of Manhattan into a wonderland. Media coverage included People magazine, which reported the wedding was “Exquisite! Lavish! Joyous!” The New York Times society section gave it a full page, and it was reported that Oprah had called for an interview for her magazine O.
The spectacular wedding had catapulted Signature Bridals to Manhattan’s elite A-list of wedding planners, and Tessa’s phone rang constantly for her services with requests from hip-hop stars, high society and the Euro elite.
Closing the self-locking door, she walked through the foyer, down a hallway and into a gourmet kitchen. She set her canvas bag filled with fresh fruit and vegetables on a stool at the cooking island, then made her way into her office to check her telephone. A blinking light indicated a message. Tessa pressed a button on the console.
“This is Bridget Sanborn. I was scheduled to meet with you tonight at six-thirty, but I can’t make it. I told you that I was on jury duty, and now I’ve been sequestered. I know this is the third time you’ve rearranged your schedule to accommodate me, but I’ve come up with an idea where you won’t have to cancel tonight’s meeting. I’ve asked my brother Micah to keep the appointment for me. I hope to meet you soon, and thank you again for your infinite patience.”
“You’re welcome, Bridget,” she whispered, then blew out a breath at the same time she shook her head.
Tessa had only agreed to accept Bridget Sanborn as a client because the frenetic spring and summer wedding season was over. She hadn’t met the children’s book editor but knew instinctively she had her work cut out for her. Bridget had gotten engaged over the Labor Day weekend and planned to have a formal New Year’s Eve wedding at her parents’ Franklin Lakes, New Jersey, home. Most brides planned their wedding a year in advance, but Tessa had less than three months to coordinate the Sanborn-Cohen nuptials.
An antique clock on the fireplace mantel chimed the half hour. It was five-thirty. She had an hour before Micah Sanborn’s arrival. Unlike his sister, she hoped he’d keep the appointment.
Tessa thought about preparing and eating a hastily prepared dinner but changed her mind. She would wait until after she met with the prospective bride’s brother, then sit down at the table in her dining room instead of the one in the kitchen’s breakfast nook and eat without having to watch the clock for her next client.
Returning to the kitchen, she removed a New York steak from the freezer. It was too large for one portion, so she decided to save half for another meal. Forty-five minutes later, the marinated steak and bowls of mixed baby greens and wedges of yellow pear tomatoes and sliced potatoes in cold water sat on a shelf in the refrigerator.
Micah Sanborn mounted the steps to the brownstone in the tony Brooklyn neighborhood. He glanced at the shiny brass plate affixed to the wall of the three-story structure, engraved with Signature Bridals. Admiring the solid oak door with stained-glass insets, he rang the bell and waited as the seconds ticked off.
“Who is it?” a woman’s voice came through the small speaker over the mail slot.
“It’s Micah Sanborn.”
Seconds later, a soft buzzing disengaged the lock. Micah pushed opened the door and stepped into a foyer. Pale oak floors reflected the warm glow from wall sconces and an Art Deco-inspired ceiling fixture. A winding staircase with a mahogany banister led to the upper floors. Turning to his left, his gaze lingered on an exquisite bouquet of fresh flowers in an orange-glazed clay vase on a side table. The vibrant hues of pink, coral, red and yellow lilies, roses, peonies and orchids with folded palm leaves tucked in between the blooms added warmth to the crisp autumn weather.
“Mr. Sanborn?”
Micah’s gaze shifted from the flowers to the woman standing several feet away. He inhaled a deep breath, holding it until the pressure in his lungs forced him to exhale.
He extended his hand. “Micah.”
Tessa stared at the large, well-groomed hand with clean square-cut nails for several seconds before placing her smaller one on the broad palm. She affected the practiced professional smile she did not feel at that moment. She’d met a lot of men since starting up her business—prospective bridegrooms, groomsmen, fathers and brothers of the bride and groom—but this was the first time in a very long time that she experienced a feeling of unease.
There was something in the way Micah Sanborn stared at her that had slipped under her barrier of professional poise. Everything about the tall, dark-skinned man in a navy-blue pin-striped suit with equally dark eyes was intriguing, compelling and magnetic. He wasn’t what she considered handsome but attractive nevertheless. His features were neither broad nor sharp and would’ve been considered nondescript if not for his eyes—eyes that were large, deep-set and penetrating.
“I’m Tessa Whitfield, coordinator of Signature Bridals,” she said after what seemed an interminable pause when in reality it’d been only seconds.
Micah tightened his grip on Tessa’s slender fingers before he released them. He smiled, and the gesture flattened his top lip against a set of incredibly straight, startlingly white teeth.
He inclined his head. “Miss Whitfield.”
Tessa smiled. “Please call me Tessa.”
Micah lifted a thick, black curving eyebrow. “If it’s Tessa, then I insist you call me Micah.”
Nodding, her practiced smile in place, Tessa said, “Okay, Micah. Please come with me.”
He followed her down a hallway to the rear of the house. He missed the carefully chosen furnishings in the rooms he passed because he couldn’t take his gaze off Tessa’s freestyle hairdo. It looked as if she’d washed the gold-tipped brown strands, then let them air-dry where the soft curls framed her round face like a regal lioness.
In fact, she reminded him of a feline with her exposed gold-brown skin still bearing the results of the summer sun. He thought her more bronze than golden. Her slanting catlike brown eyes under a pair of arching eyebrows, her lithe body swathed in a black-yellow-and-orange-print wrap dress ending midcalf made her look exotic.
He followed Tessa into a large room with French doors and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Pale silks drapes were drawn back and afforded a glimpse of the brightly illuminated backyard with a patio and flower garden.
Tessa gestured to an off-white armchair. “Please sit down, Micah.”
Micah waited for Tessa to sit on a matching love seat, but before he sat down, the room went completely dark. The lights had gone out in the room, the backyard and also in the buildings facing the rear of the brownstone. He heard Tessa’s soft gasp.
Her heart fluttering wildly in her chest, Tessa stood up and tried making out Micah’s face. “I have to flip the circuit breakers.”
“Forget about circuit breakers, Tessa,” he countered softly. “We’re in the middle of a blackout. Do you have a backup generator?”
She realized for the first time the total darkness surrounding her. The last blackout to hit New York had been August 14, 2003, and the memory of her having to walk from Greenwich Village and across the Brooklyn Bridge in an oppressive humidity had not faded.
“No, I don’t,” she said, moving closer to the heat emanating from Micah’s body. “What are you doing?” she asked when she felt him search inside his jacket.
“I have to call a friend.”
With an arm circling Tessa’s waist, Micah retrieved his cell phone. He flipped the top and a bright blue light shimmered eerily in the blackness. They were in luck, unlike the last blackout when the multistate power outage knocked out cellular telephone satellite communication.
He pressed the speed dial, and seconds later he heard a familiar feminine voice. Tightening his hold on Tessa’s slender body, he said, “Sylvia, Micah Sanborn. What’s happening with the electricity?”
“OEM just informed us that a fire in a substation knocked out power to lower Manhattan, all of Brooklyn and portions of Staten Island. Where are you?”
“I’m still in Brooklyn.”
“Are you at the D.A.’s office?”
“No.”
“The mayor just issued a citywide emergency, and it’ll be easier for you to get back to the courthouse if you’re needed if you stay in Brooklyn.”
Micah ended the call and returned the cell phone to his jacket pocket. He had recently turned over his Bronx condominium to his sister, moved to Staten Island and had signed a one-year lease on a furnished studio apartment because he hadn’t decided whether he wanted to purchase or build a home in that borough.
Lowering his chin, he inhaled the floral fragrance of the hair grazing his chin. The pleasure he derived from Tessa’s curvy body molded to his overshadowed the seriousness of the situation. Smiling, he told her what his contact at One Police Plaza had informed him.
“Do they have any idea how long it’s going to last?” Tessa asked.
Micah shook his head before he realized she couldn’t see him. “No. By the way, do you have a flashlight?”
“I have one, but it’s upstairs.”
“What about candles?”
“I have tons of them. Getting to them will prove somewhat difficult.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re in the pantry off the kitchen.”
“Lead the way and I’ll follow you.”
Turning in the direction she hoped led out of her office, Tessa took small, halting steps, one hand held out in front of her, Micah following closely behind. She found the hallway, her fingertips trailing along the wall. At the end of the hallway she turned to her left and walked through a small antechamber and into the kitchen.
“Don’t move,” she said in the blackness that seemed to swallow her whole. “I have to get my bearings.”
Micah stood completely still, all of his senses operating on full alert. He heard Tessa moving about the space, then a soft moan of pain followed by a whispered expletive. “What happened?”
“I bumped my shin.”
“Are you okay?” His voice sounded abnormally loud in the eerie silence.
“I will be as soon as I locate the stove.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s up with the stove?”
“I have a gas range.”
Micah’s frown vanished. Not only was Tessa Whitfield beautiful but he found her levelheaded. She hadn’t panicked or dissolved into hysterics once the power went out. One by one the jets to the stove-top range in a cooking island came on. There was enough light for him to see Tessa’s shadowy figure move to a corner of the kitchen. He was galvanized into action as she gathered up candleholders from a drawer under the countertop.
Working quickly, Tessa set out more than two dozen holders and tea lights on the cooking island, the countertops and a table in a breakfast nook, while he lit them with an automatic lighter.
Micah shrugged out of his jacket, draping it on the back of a tall stool at the cooking island as Tessa stared at the man staring back at her.
Smiling, she said, “It’s not the first time I’m thankful that I don’t have an all-electric kitchen.”
“Do you always keep so many candles on hand?”
She nodded, crossed her arms under her breasts and rested a hip against the countertop. “I have hundreds of them. I usually eat outdoors during the warmer weather and use them for illumination rather than spotlights.” What she didn’t tell Micah was that she found candlelight calming, relaxing.
Affecting a similar pose, Micah crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you the outdoorsy type?”
Tessa’s pouty lips formed an attractive moue, and Micah’s midnight gaze lingered on her mouth. He’d found her face incredibly beautiful in the light, but with the glow of flickering candlelight she’d become mesmerizing.
A mysterious smile crinkled the corners of Tessa’s eyes as she stared at the tall man standing only a few feet away. “My favorite outdoor activities include sitting under an umbrella sipping a tropical concoction or grabbing a few winks with the sound of water lapping up on a beach as background music.”
Throwing back his head, Micah laughed, the warm sound bubbling up from his broad chest. “I suppose I’d never find you on a ski slope.”
She wrinkled her pert nose. “Never,” she confirmed. “Do you ski?”
He nodded. “Yes. My parents are avid skiers.”
It was obvious the Sanborns liked cold weather. Why else would Bridget schedule a New Year’s Eve wedding in the northeast? Thinking of Micah’s sister reminded Tessa why he was in her kitchen.
She straightened. “Speaking of cold weather, I think we’d better talk about your sister’s wedding.” She’d planned to give Micah an informational packet for his sister, but that along with the other literature she usually gave to prospective brides was in her office.
Reaching for his jacket on the stool, Micah withdrew a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Tessa. “I took a few notes when I last spoke to Bridget.”
She unfolded the single sheet of paper, holding it close to the flickering flames. She could hardly read the scribble. Her arching eyebrows lifted. “What language is this?”
Micah’s jaw tightened. “It’s English,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
Tessa handed him the paper. “You’re going to have to translate this for me.”
He scowled. He knew he didn’t have the most legible handwriting, but no one had ever mistaken it for a foreign language. “You’ve got jokes, Ms-s-s. Whitfield?” He had drawn out the Ms. to several syllables.
“No, I don’t. And it’s Miss Whitfield.”
“I thought running your own company would make you a liberated woman.”
Tessa pulled back her shoulders. “I am liberated—but not so much so that I don’t expect a man to hold a door open for me, push and pull back my chair and stand up whenever I enter a room.”
A slow smile parted his mobile mouth at the same time he angled his head. “That’s what I like—an old-fashioned woman.”
“I’m not old-fashioned,” she countered. “It’s just that I like my men to have home training.”
“Does your man have home training, Tessa?”
There was a pulse beat of silence before she said, “No.” The single word was barely a whisper.
“And why doesn’t he have home training, Tessa?” Micah asked, his deep baritone voice dropping an octave.
Because right now I don’t have a man, she mused.
She wanted to tell Micah he should mind his business but couldn’t. He was the brother of her client, and the courtesy she afforded her clients extended to family members. Ninety-five percent of her business came from referrals.
Tilting her chin in what she hoped was an arrogant gesture, she affected a supercilious smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was led to believe your purpose for coming to Signature Bridals was to discuss your sister’s upcoming nuptials.”
Micah went completely still. Nothing moved. Not even his eyes. “Your assumption is correct.”
Moving closer, close enough for several strands of her wayward hairstyle to graze his chin, Tessa gave him a direct stare. “Then it should be your sister’s wedding that we should be talking about, not what I like in a man.”
Micah inhaled the sweet scent clinging to her hair and a different woodsy fragrance on her body. Not only did she look good but she also smelled delicious.
“You can say that I’m just curious.”
“I hope you’re familiar with the saying about curiosity and the cat.”
“I am,” he shot back smugly, “but I’m also quite familiar with what brought her back.”
“Wasn’t the cat a he?”
Micah’s mysterious smile was back. “Not in this case.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Your hair, eyes and coloring remind of a lioness.”
Tessa wanted to tell Micah that he also reminded her of a predatory jungle cat but wanted to steer the conversation away from that of a personal nature.
“Have you eaten dinner?” she asked him.
He blinked once, seemingly startled by her question. “No, I haven’t. Why?”
She turned and walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. “I don’t know how long the electricity is going to be out, and rather than have my dinner spoil, I’m going to share it with you. Meanwhile you can tell me about your sister.” She glanced at Micah over her shoulder. She knew she’d surprised him with her offer. “Do you eat red meat?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How do you like your steak?”
“Medium-well.”
He peered at Tessa’s slender body outlined in a flickering golden glow. There was something about Tessa Whitfield’s exquisite face, beautifully modulated voice and aloof manner that he liked—a lot.
“Would you like some help?”
Tessa removed a platter with the marinated steak from a shelf. “No, thank you. I have everything under control,” she said, placing the platter on the counter next to the stove-top grill.
“What if I set the table?” Micah asked. He wanted and needed to do more than just stand around and stare at her.
She gave him a warm, open smile for the first time. “Okay.”
“Where can I wash my hands?”
She pointed to the cooking island. “Use that sink. I’m going to put a few candles in the downstairs bathroom before I go upstairs for the flashlight.”
Turning back his shirt cuffs, Micah washed his hands in a stainless-steel sink. He knew Rosalind Sanborn would have a hissy fit if she saw him washing his hands in the kitchen, but he was certain she would forgive this one infraction. What would have shocked his mother more was that he’d finally met a woman who had caught his interest even before she’d opened her mouth. And when she did speak, she’d enthralled him with the low, throaty timbre.
He smiled. Tessa Whitfield’s voice was the perfect match for her sultry look.
Tessa handed Micah a towel to dry his hands. “The dishes are in the cabinet above the dishwasher. And you’ll find flatware in a drawer under the butcher-block counter.”
She turned on the oven, then concentrated on draining the water from the potatoes and patting them dry before she placed the wedges in a plastic bag filled with an herb-and-olive-oil mixture. What she didn’t want to do was think about the tall man moving about her kitchen as if he had done it before. She placed the potatoes on a cookie sheet and put it into the preheated oven.
“What would you like to drink?” she asked.
“What are my choices?”
“You can have either water or wine.”
“Wine is good.”
“Red or blush?”
Micah halted putting steak knives on the table. “Red.”
“Come and select one.”
He crossed the kitchen and stood in front of a built-in subzero wine cellar. Dozens of bottles lay on their sides in precise rows. He opened the door, selected a Merlot and closed it quickly. If the power stayed off for any extended period of time, then there was no doubt Tessa’s perishable foodstuffs would have to be discarded.
Chapter 2
The distinctive ringing of the wall phone shattered the silence, and Tessa answered it. “Hello.”
“Thank goodness you’re home. I just turned on the television and heard about the blackout. Are you all right, Theresa?”
She smiled. Only her mother called her Theresa. “Yes, I am, Mama.”
“Don’t forget to tell her to check the windows and doors,” her father’s voice boomed in the background.
“Tell Dad they’re locked.”
There came a pause on the other end of the wire. “Your father said if the power is still out in the morning, he’ll drive down and bring you home.”
Tessa rolled her eyes upward. “My home is in Brooklyn, not Mount Vernon.” Why couldn’t Lucinda Whitfield accept that she was no longer a child but a thirty-one-year-old woman running a very successful business? “I don’t want to cut you short, but I have a client I have to talk to.”
“You’re conducting business during a blackout?”
“Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You promise, sweetheart?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Love you, Theresa.”
“I love you, too, Mama.”
She hung up before her mother could lapse into a diatribe as to why she shouldn’t have set up Signature Bridals in Brooklyn. After all, her sister Simone ran a successful floral business out of her home in White Plains. All of her life she’d fought for her independence. Her parents—her father in particular—believed a woman couldn’t survive without the protection of a husband.
Although Tessa refused to conform to their outdated views, her older sister had. Simone had married her high school sweetheart, yet the union didn’t survive their fifth wedding anniversary. Tessa smiled. What she found incredible was that Simone and her mother had perfected the role of vapid female to an art form.
Micah thought because she owned and operated her own business she had to be a liberated woman. She was liberated—not in the literal sense of the word; however, what she’d done was fight a long and at times arduous battle to determine her own destiny. And during her personal struggles she’d had to make sacrifices in order to make Signature Bridals a success.
She had sacrificed love and marriage.
Tessa turned to find Micah staring at her as if he had never seen her before. “Do you need something?”
Micah blinked as if coming out of a trance.
I love you.
Whenever he heard a woman say the three words, he usually turned and headed in the opposite direction. He was able to accept a woman’s passion and companionship until she opened her mouth to profess her love for him. It was thirty-six years and he still hadn’t accepted his biological mother’s abandonment.
Evelyn Howard had hugged and kissed him as they’d sat waiting to be seen in a large, noisy hospital clinic; she’d told him that she loved him and that he was not to move while she went to the restroom. He’d sat in the same spot for more than four hours waiting for her return. It wasn’t until a nurse noticed he’d been alone that he’d realized his mother wasn’t coming back.
He became a ward of the state of New Jersey for three years, until at age seven he was adopted by Edgar and Rosalind Sanborn. His new mother learned quickly that although he would permit her to hug and kiss him, she couldn’t tell her adopted son that she loved him.
Micah successfully camouflaged his inner turmoil with a smile. “I need a corkscrew.”
Tessa searched a drawer and gave him the corkscrew, checked the potatoes and then turned on the stove-top grill to heat up. At that moment she wished she had a battery-powered radio on hand to break the stilted silence. She did have a small portable TV/radio, but it was in the space on the top floor that was her sewing room. She wanted something—anything—to distract her from Micah’s presence.
Micah Sanborn was the first man in a long time whose presence reminded her that she was a woman, one who’d denied her femininity for far too long. She would share her dinner with him, address some of his sister’s concerns about her wedding and then escort him out the door.
Picking up a candleholder, she cupped her hand around the flicking flame. “I’m going upstairs to get the flashlight.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Tessa forced a smile. “No, thank you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Are you sure you don’t need an escort?”
Her smile widened. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said as she took small, measured steps and she left the kitchen.
Micah sat opposite Tessa, thoroughly enjoying his meal and his dining partner. The grilled steaks were the perfect complement to the oven-baked seasoned potato wedges and accompanying salad. As soon as he drained his second glass of Merlot he felt more relaxed than he had in a very long time.
“Thank you for dinner. You’re a very good cook.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”
Her cooking skills were adequate; but it was her first cousin Faith Whitfield who, as a professional chef, had become a renowned cake designer. Tessa, Faith and her floral-designer sister Simone completed the threesome that made up Signature Bridals.
The sheet of paper with his scribbled notes lay next to Micah’s plate. He moved a candle closer, glancing at the first notation. “Bridget and Seth want an interfaith service. My sister is Catholic and her fiancé is Jewish.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Will that pose a problem for you?”
Tessa shook her head. “No.” And it wouldn’t because she’d coordinated countless interfaith marriages. “Have they selected a priest and a rabbi?”
“Seth’s cousin is a rabbi, and Bridget has requested her local parish priest be present, along with a coworker who is also an ordained minister.”
Tessa laughed. “It looks as if they’ve covered all of the bases.”
He glanced at the paper again. “She’d like you to take care of everything with the exception of food. Mom has a friend who’s a caterer.”
“What about a cake?”
Micah studied his notes, attempting to decipher what he’d written. Tessa was right. His handwriting did look like hieroglyphs. “She didn’t say anything about a cake.”
“We’ll take care of the cake,” Tessa told him. “How many attendants do they plan to have?”
“They’ve planned on a maid of honor and a best man.”
She mentally filed away this information. “How about a ring bearer or flower girl?”
Micah shook his head. “No.”
“Do they plan on having music?”
He smiled. “What would New Year’s Eve be without music?”
Lowering her gaze, Tessa smiled. “You’re right about that. How many guests do they expect to invite?”
“The last count was eighty.”
“I’ll plan for one hundred just in case they want to add a few more names,” she said in a quiet voice. “Signature Bridals will assume responsibility for mailing the invitations and securing the services of a photographer, a florist and a reputable band. Does she have a dress?”
Micah shook his head again. “I don’t believe she has because I recall her telling Mom that she had to go look for a dress.”
“I have dresses.”
“You have dresses here?” he asked.
Tessa smiled. “Yes. I have at least twenty dresses on hand at any given time. However, it is imperative that I meet with Bridget as soon as she’s off jury duty to set up a realistic wedding budget and timeline.”
Tracing the rim of his wineglass with his finger, Micah fixed his gaze on the delicate glass. “Money’s not an issue. My parents are prepared to pay for whatever Bridget wants.”
Tessa wondered if Bridget Sanborn’s impulsiveness came from her being spoiled and/or pampered. “Time is more important than the money. Your sister has less than twelve weeks in which to plan a formal wedding. Do you have any idea when she’ll be available?”
Lifting a broad shoulder under his white shirt, Micah said, “The judge has just sequestered the jury, so hopefully they’ll reach a quick decision.”
Propping her elbow on the table, Tessa rested her chin on the heel of her hand and stared directly at Micah. She had to admit that the diffuse light flattered the sharp angles in the face of the man sitting opposite her. He was well-spoken and urbane—two traits she’d found missing in some of the men she’d come in contact with. Either they were one or the other.
“There’s not much I can do until I meet with her. There are too many questions and details to go over that only she’ll know. But there is something I could check out now.”
“What’s that?”
“I need to see the wedding site.”
“How soon do you need to see it?”
“Like yesterday.” There was a hint of laughter in Tessa’s voice.
A small smile played at the corners of Micah’s firm mouth. “That can be arranged.” He stood up and reached for the jacket he’d left on the stool. Retrieving his cell phone, he scrolled through the directory. Within seconds he heard Rosalind Sanborn’s dulcet greeting.
“Mom, I’m here with the wedding consultant.” It took less than three minutes for Micah to give his mother an update on what Tessa needed for Bridget’s wedding, Rosalind promising to help when and wherever she could. There was no mistaking the excitement in her voice.
Covering the mouthpiece with his thumb, he met Tessa’s questioning look across the table. “Are you available to come to New Jersey with me on Sunday?” She nodded. He removed his thumb. “Yes. We’ll see you Sunday.” Ending the call, he placed the tiny phone in his shirt pocket.
Tessa expelled an inaudible sigh. She’d just scaled one hurdle in the Sanborn-Cohen nuptials. She didn’t have to scramble to look for a place in which to hold the reception for eighty.
“What time is your mother expecting us?”
“My mother is always up early, so maybe we’ll get there in time to share brunch with her and my father. And if Bridget is finished with jury duty, she’ll also be there.”
Tessa spent the next hour outlining minute details of a formal wedding, from invitations, prewedding parties, hair and makeup to ceremony, reception flowers, photographs of the ceremony, reception and music. Some of the candles on the table were sputtering when she finished.
She pushed to her feet and Micah stood up with her. “I need to clean up the kitchen.”
Micah caught her wrist as she picked up a plate. “Sit. I’ll clean up.”
“No.”
He tightened his hold, registering the fragile bones under his loose grip. “You cooked, so I’ll clean.”
She shook her head. “No, Micah.”
Not releasing her hand, he rounded the table. “Yes.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but the single word was pregnant with authority.
“Must I remind you that you’re in my home?”
Attractive lines fanned out around his eyes when he smiled. He let go of her hand. “There’s no way I’d ever mistake your place for mine. I live in a studio apartment above a garage that’s about the size of your kitchen and pantry. The bathroom is no larger than a closet. It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, because there’s only enough room for a convertible sofa, a table and a chair.”
Tessa’s naturally arching eyebrows lifted as she smiled. “A single chair?”
Micah returned her smile, nodding.
“Have you always lived in Staten Island?”
“No.” Taking the plates from her, Micah walked over to the sink. “I moved there four months ago.”
Tessa gathered up the glasses and silver. “Where did you live before?” She wasn’t chatty by nature, but talking was preferable to complete silence.
“Da Bronx. “
She laughed softly. She’d grown up hearing Bronxites refer to their borough as da rather than the. “I assume you’re a Yankees fan?”
Shifting, Micah stared at Tessa in the muted light. The flickering flames turned her into a statue of gold. “I didn’t grow up a Yankees fan, but after living in the Bronx for almost half my life it was safer to root for them than the Mets.”
Tessa joined Micah at the sink, filling it with water and adding a dollop of dishwashing liquid. She rinsed the dishes and glasses, passing them to him as he stacked them in the dishwasher.
“Did you grow up in the city?” Tessa asked, continuing with her questioning.
His eyebrows lifted when he realized she’d called New York City the city. “No. I grew up in New Jersey.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “How did a Jersey boy find his way across the river to the Bronx?”
His hands halted placing serving pieces in the dishwasher. “My, aren’t you inquisitive.”
“You can say that I’m just a little curious about a man willing to do dishes.” She was very curious about Micah Sanborn because he was the first man who’d offered to help her in the kitchen.
“Good home training.”
She smiled. “Good for you, and kudos to your mother.”
“You can tell her when you meet her Sunday. To answer your question as to how I came to live in the big city, I lived with an aunt in Manhattan while I went to college. After graduating, I rented an apartment in the Bronx. Eventually I bought a two-bedroom condo not far from the Throgs Neck Bridge. Earlier this year I moved from the Bronx to Staten Island. Where did you grow up?” he asked, deftly shifting the focus from himself to Tessa.
“Mount Vernon.”
“What brought you to the city?”
“It’s the same as you. I came to go to college.”
“What college did you go to?”
Before Tessa could answer the question, the power returned; the lights flickered off and on for several seconds, then went out again. She let out an audible sigh. “It looks as if this is going to be a long night.”
Several of the tea lights sputtered, fizzled and went out. Micah replaced the burned-out candles from a supply in a large plastic bag. “I’d better light a few more candles or we’re going to be in the dark again.”
The doorbell rang, startling Tessa and Micah. They stared at each other as a slight frown appeared between her eyes. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Reaching for the flashlight, she flicked it on.
“I better see who that is.” She turned to make her way out of the kitchen, Micah following. Without warning, she stopped. He plowed into her and she dropped the flashlight. “What are you doing?” The query came out in a hissing sound.
Micah picked up the flashlight. “I’m coming with you.”
“There’s no need for you to follow me.”
Ignoring her reprimand, he held her hand in a firm grip. “There’s no way I’m going to let you answer the door when you don’t know who’s standing on the other side.”
“You’re a bossy somebody, aren’t you?” she said accusingly.
“Hell, yeah.” There was laughter in his confirmation.
She struggled to free herself, but she was no match for his superior strength. What little she’d been able to glimpse of Micah Sanborn before the power went out was a tall, slender man whose tailored clothes artfully concealed a lean, muscular physique. When he’d held her during his call to One Police Plaza, she hadn’t been that traumatized that she hadn’t taken note of the comforting crush of his solid body.
“I’d answer the door by myself if you weren’t here with me,” she countered angrily.
Training the beam of light from the flashlight on the floor, Micah steered her down the hallway to the front door. “Thank goodness that I am here. There are some folks who’ll use a blackout as an excuse to act the fool.”
Tessa rolled her eyes at him even though he couldn’t see her. “This happens to be a safe neighborhood.”
“No neighborhood is that safe. There is crime in Brooklyn Heights.”
“I suppose you would know the statistics.” A tapping on the door and a man’s voice calling Tessa’s name cut off Micah’s reply. “It sounds like one of my neighbors. May I open the door?” she asked facetiously.
He stepped back and handed her the flashlight. She unlocked and opened the door. Intermittent flashes of light sliced through the pitch-black streets. He could make out the shapes of people out with flashlights or candles, standing around in small groups. A slow-moving car with high beams came down the street, the slip-slap of tires on the roadway breaking the eerie silence.
Tessa smiled at the man standing on the top step, his luminous blue eyes illuminated in the glow of a lantern. “What’s up, Jacks?”
Micah peered through the opening in the door. He wanted to tell Tessa that he knew her neighbor.
“Some of the folks have gotten together to throw a block party.”
Tessa gave him an incredulous look. “How are we going to party in a blackout?”
“I bought a generator after the last blackout. Come on over and get your eat and drink on.”
It wasn’t often that Tessa socialized with the residents of her close-knit neighborhood because of her hectic schedule, but she decided getting together with the people who lived on her block was preferable to sitting in the dark waiting for the power to come back on.
“I’ll be over as soon as I lock up here.”
“Do you want me to wait to walk you over?”
Micah stepped from the shadows for the first time. “That’s all right, Jacks, I’ll see that she gets there safely.”
Jackson’s smile faded as his gaze narrowed. “Sandy?” Those familiar with Micah Sanborn had shortened his name to Sandy.
“Long time no see, Jacks,” Micah said to the man who’d entered the police academy with him and later graduated with him. Time appeared to have stood still for Jackson Cleary.
Jackson reached for Micah and grabbed him up in a bear hug. “Where the hell have you been? Since you left the department it’s like you dropped off the face of the earth.”
Tessa watched in astonishment as the two men greeted each other like long-lost buddies. She knew Jackson Cleary was a New York City police officer, and when she registered his comment about Micah leaving the department she assumed Micah also had been a police officer.
Micah thumped Jackson’s back. “I’m working with the Brooklyn D.A. Where are you now?”
“Internal Affairs.”
“So you decided to join the rat squad,” Micah said softly.
Frown lines appeared between Jackson’s eyes. “Look, why don’t we talk about this when we’re alone?” His frown vanished quickly. “I didn’t know you knew Tessa, but you’re welcome to come.”
Micah turned and stared at Tessa, who nodded in agreement. “We’ll be over in a few minutes.”
“Later,” Jackson called over his shoulder as he made his way down the stairs.
Tessa stared up at Micah, trying vainly to see his expression. “I need to put out the candles before we head over to Jacks’s place.”
“I’ll help you.” He held out his hand. “Please give me the flashlight.”
She handed him the flashlight at the same time his free hand went to the small of her back. She stiffened before relaxing against his splayed fingers, the heat warming her skin through her cotton dress.
Chapter 3
Tessa and Micah, his suit jacket draped over her shoulders to ward off the cool night air, joined the modest crowd that’d gathered in the backyard of the brownstone in the cul-de-sac. Floodlights lit up the area like daylight.
The smell of broiling meat was redolent in the crisp autumn night as Jackson manned a gas grill, flipping franks, hamburgers, sausage links and steaks. The waning full moon in a clear sky competed with the flickering flames from lighted candles in the many windows of the buildings lining both sides of the street. After the 2003 blackout most New Yorkers had learned to stockpile candles and battery-operated devices in the event it would happen again. And it had, but not to the proportions that had affected the entire city.
Tessa found it ironic that the brother of a client she had yet to meet was on a first-name basis with one of her neighbors. The adage about it being a small world was certainly true. What were the odds of her running into someone she hadn’t seen in years in a city that boasted a population of nearly eight million?
Grasping the proprietary arm Micah had draped around her waist, Tessa smiled up at him. “I’m going inside to see if Irena needs some help.”
More people had begun to crowd into the Clearys’ backyard; they hadn’t come empty-handed, many carrying trays of meat, fruits and vegetables.
Lowering his chin, Micah smiled at the alluring woman pressed to his side. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” he teased.
She affected an attractive moue. “Why wouldn’t I? Especially with several members New York’s finest in attendance. Yours truly included in the mix.”
“Former NYPD,” he corrected softly.
“Are you still in law enforcement?”
Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth close to her ear. “Instead of arresting the bad guys, I now prosecute them.”
There was something in his voice and the way he stared at her that permitted Tessa to shed her professional persona and enjoy the moment and the man under whose sensual spell she’d fallen.
Her family always complained that she was too serious and that was why men tended to stay clear of her. What most had refused to understand was that her priority was growing her business, and that love and marriage—if it was in the cards for her—was always a possibility no matter her age.
“I have a parking ticket I need you to fix for me.”
Micah went completely still. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not,” she replied, her voice even and her expression deadpan.
“I can’t help you. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
A hint of a smile touched Tessa’s lips. Micah Sanborn had just gone up several more notches in her approval category. He was no doubt quite ethical.
“And I wouldn’t want you to.”
He lifted black expressive eyebrows. “Then why did you ask me to help you?” His gaze narrowed. “You were testing me,” Micah said intuitively as she placed a hand over her mouth to muffle the giggles. Tessa nodded. “And did I pass?”
Lowering her hand, she placed it on his shoulder, feeling the heat from his skin through his shirt. “Yes, you did.”
“What do I get as a prize?”
She angled her head. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll come up with something appropriate.”
“If you can’t come up with anything, then may I make a suggestion?”
Sobering, Tessa kept her features deceptively composed. Seeing Micah in the light, albeit artificial, had changed her opinion of his looks. He was handsome and very sexy, the combination having a lethal effect on her senses. Before the loss of electricity she hadn’t been able to glimpse the attractive slashes in his lean cheeks, the stubborn set of a strong chin and the smooth texture of his close-cropped hair.
“What?” The single word came out in a breathless whisper.
“Let me return the favor of you cooking for me by taking you out to dinner.”
“I…I can’t,” she stuttered.
“Why can’t you? It’s only dinner.”
She flushed like a nervous schoolgirl and remained silent for several seconds, pondering how she was going to reject Micah’s offer when she knew she would continue to come into contact with him until his sister’s wedding.
“I don’t date.” The three words rushed out of their own volition.
“You don’t date?”
The heat in her face increased. “What I mean is that I don’t date or get involved with a client or anyone associated with that client. It’s not good for business.” Her gaze was drawn to his teeth when he smiled. “What’s so funny?”
Micah dipped his head. “You are,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’m not asking you out on a date or to get involved. I just want to repay you for your very gracious offer. You didn’t have to share your food with me.”
“What did you expect me to do? Show you the door?”
“You could’ve, but you didn’t.”
There was a spark of some indefinable emotion in the dark eyes staring at Tessa, and in a moment of madness everything she professed about maintaining a professional perspective toward her clients was forgotten.
“Okay. I’ll go out to dinner with you.”
Micah wondered why it sounded as if Tessa were doing him a favor when he’d felt as if it were the reverse. He did want to repay her for sharing her dinner, but what he couldn’t admit to her and didn’t want to admit to himself was that Tessa Whitfield fascinated him.
She was beautiful, intelligent, reserved and confident. At forty-one, he’d known his share of women, but there was something about the wedding planner that was different from any other woman he’d ever known.
He inclined his head. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? It will be at your convenience—of course.”
Tessa visually traced the outline of his mobile mouth and said, “Of course.”
She felt the heat of Micah’s midnight gaze on her back as she went in search of Irena Cleary, silently berating herself for breaking her own rule. She’d lost count of the number of men who’d tried coming on to her since she’d established Signature Bridals with her sister and cousin—men she normally wouldn’t have met if not for her business.
Once burned, twice shy.
She’d gotten in over her head with Bryce Hill, but swore it would never happen again with another man.
Tessa found Jackson’s wife Irena in the kitchen. Pregnant with her third and what she claimed was her last baby, the elementary school teacher was engaged in a heated conversation with her preteen daughter, who wanted to know why she couldn’t invite her friends over to the impromptu cookout.
Turning on her heel, Tessa retraced her steps. She didn’t want to witness what was certain to become a volatile confrontation between mother and daughter. She remembered her own disagreements with her mother, but it always ended with Lucinda declaring, I had you, not the other way around, so that makes me the boss of you. And it wasn’t until she’d matured that Tessa realized every decision her mother had made on her behalf was for her daughters’ benefit and protection.
Returning to the backyard, she saw Micah with Jackson Cleary, the two men standing apart from the others and deep in conversation. She was stuck in the dark with a former New York City police officer who’d taken an oath to protect and serve.
She smiled.
How lucky could she get?
Hours later, Tessa unlocked the door to her home and found the dark silence eerie. It was after eleven; the block party had wound down and her neighbors had retreated to their darkened residences.
She handed Micah his suit jacket, the lingering scent of his cologne still wafting in her nostrils. “You’re welcome to hang out here until the power comes back or sunrise. Whatever comes first,” she added.
Raising the flashlight, Micah stared at Tessa, photographing her with his eyes. Slowly, seductively, his gaze slid downward to the hollow of her throat, where a runaway pulse revealed she wasn’t as composed as she appeared.
“Thank you.”
“Come upstairs with me.”
He didn’t move. “That’s all right. I’ll hang out down here.”
“You can’t hang out down here because there’s no place for you to lie down, and I don’t think you’d want to spend the night sitting up in a chair.” Tessa extended her hand. “I’m going to need the flashlight.”
They climbed the staircase together. There was only the sound of their footsteps muffled in the carpeting on the stairs and the rhythmic ticking of the massive grandfather clock in a corner at the top of the staircase. The narrow beam of light illuminated the Oriental runner on the second-story parquet floor hallway. Tessa led the way into her bedroom, stopped and turned to face Micah.
“You can sleep in here.”
He frowned. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“I’ll be in one of the guest bedrooms.”
“Why can’t I sleep in the guest room?”
Her frown matched his. “Are you always so contrary, Micah?”
His frown deepened. “You think I’m contrary?”
“Yes,” she countered. “Everything I suggest, you refute. I’m offering you my bedroom because it has the largest bed and I believe you would be more comfortable sleeping in a king rather than a full-or twin-size bed.”
Micah’s expression softened. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your hospitality, but I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Everyone affected by this blackout is inconvenienced. We’re lucky because we could’ve been trapped in a subway tunnel or in an elevator. And like in so many other unfortunate situations, I’ve learned to go with the flow.”
When Tessa directed the beam of light to a corner of the room, Micah could 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 his arms under his head, Micah chuckled softly. “I’ll put up with smelling like a woman only if I don’t turn into one.”
“What’s wrong with being a woman?” There was no mistaking the censure in her tone.
“There’s nothing wrong with being one, but I like being a man, thank you very much.”
Shifting slightly, Tessa stared at Micah. “Why?”
“Because we can belch, scratch and adjust ourselves with impunity—because that’s what men do.”
She scrunched up her nose. “That’s disgusting, Micah.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“It’s true because that’s what society has permitted men to do. Meanwhile if a woman chooses to breast-feed her baby in public—and even if no one can see her breast or nipple—she’s rebuked and castigated for something that is the most natural thing in the world. And some of those same narrow-minded people will go to the zoo and see animal mothers nursing their babies and claim it’s so cute.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Tessa. I’m not a sexist. How did you get into the wedding business?” he asked, deftly steering away from the controversial topic of differences between male and female.
“I’m second-generation wedding business. My mother is a wedding dress designer, and my father and uncles own and operate a catering hall in Mount Vernon. My sister, cousin and I set up Signature Bridals four years ago. I’m the coordinator, my cousin Faith’s specialty is wedding cakes and my older sister Simone is a floral designer.”
“You come highly recommended, because when Bridget attended the Jadya Fyles-Ashton Cooper wedding in Bryant Park she couldn’t stop talking about how spectacular everything was.”
Tessa had addressed the invitations for the Fyles-Cooper wedding, and because there had been so many invited guests she’d hadn’t remembered Bridget Sanborn’s name until Bridget called to tell her that she wanted Signature Bridals to coordinate her upcoming wedding.
“It took more than a year of planning to pull their wedding together. What helped was that Jadya knew exactly what she wanted from the onset.”
“What about Ashton?”
“The prospective grooms usually adopt a hands-off attitude. It’s the brides who become the Bridezillas.”
“How do you handle them when they go ballistic?”
“It varies from bride to bride. You’ll get an up-close-and-personal view when I deal with your sister.”
“Bridget is a pussycat.”
Tessa snorted delicately. “Don’t forget that a cat also has claws. I usually can tell within fifteen minutes of meeting a prospective bride what I’m up against.”
“Have you ever turned anyone down?”
There came a pause. “Yes. There was one woman who punched out one of her bridesmaids because she refused to agree on a color that was totally wrong for her complexion.”
“What did you do?”
“I gave her back her deposit, tore up her contract and told her to find another wedding coordinator. I wasn’t willing to run the risk of her hitting me if something I said or did offended her.”
“What did she say?”
“She cried and pleaded, but I wouldn’t change my mind.”
“You’re tough, aren’t you?”
There was another pause before Tessa said, “I’m all business when it comes to business.”
“What happens when it’s not business?” Micah asked.
Tessa smiled. “I’m a pussycat.”
“A pussycat with claws?” he teased.
She wrinkled her nose. “But of course.”
Tessa entertained Micah with stories about some of the more bizarre weddings she’d coordinated that made him laugh and/or speechless. It was after one when her voice faded and she closed her eyes. She never knew when Micah turned off the flashlight, pulled the duvet up over her shoulders and draped an arm over her waist.
Tessa woke hours later to see light coming through the silk-lined drapes and the space next to her empty. She stared at the impression on the pillow beside her own.
It was the first time she’d shared her bed with a man who hadn’t made love to her. A knowing smile tilted the corners of her mouth.
Unknowingly Micah Sanborn had earned a seal of approval from Theresa Anais Whitfield.
He was a man she knew she could trust.
Chapter 4
Micah drove from downtown Brooklyn to Staten Island in record time. The trip that would’ve normally taken anywhere between twenty and thirty minutes, depending upon the flow of traffic, was accomplished in ten.
It was Saturday. The power hadn’t been restored, and at six-thirty in the morning he was one of a dozen motorists on the Verrazano Bridge.
He’d woken up in bed with Tessa Whitfield, her huddled to his chest like a trusting child, him experiencing a gamut of emotions he hadn’t wanted to feel at that time. It was when he felt a rush of desire for the woman whose bed he’d shared that he knew it was time to leave Brooklyn.
Maneuvering into the driveway, Micah activated the remote device under the visor, raising the garage door. Less than a minute later he opened the door to his studio apartment and walked in. Streaks of gold had pierced the veil of night as the rising sun filtered through the skylight over a utility kitchen with a sink, a two-burner stove and a portable refrigerator.
Whenever he returned home he made it a practice to look in on his landlady. However, the eighty-two-year-old former schoolteacher was currently in Florida with relatives.
Diane Cunningham had complained of a pain in her side for several days, but when he’d offered to take her to the doctor she’d balked, saying she’d probably pulled a muscle from lifting a laundry basket.
She’d proudly announced that she’d waited more than a year to travel to Sarasota to see her newest great-granddaughter and a little old pain was not going to stop her from making her scheduled flight. Two days ago he’d gotten a call from Mrs. Cunningham’s daughter telling him that her mother was in the hospital recuperating from an emergency appendectomy.
Micah made a mental note to check on his landlady’s place as he emptied his pockets of loose change, keys to his office, credit card case and money clip, leaving them on the bistro table. He also had to call Tessa and give her an approximate time when he would pick her up on Sunday to take her to New Jersey.
He undressed and walked into the closet-size bathroom to shower. A slow smile parted his lips as he soaped his body with a bath gel in a scent that matched his aftershave and cologne, washing away the scent of fruit and flowers. His smile faded when he remembered waking up to find Tessa’s face pressed to his shoulder. The velvety smoothness of her body, the moist whisper of her breathing on his exposed throat and the soft crush of her breasts against his bare chest had elicited lascivious thoughts that were truly shocking.
What he did like about Tessa was her spontaneity. She was candid, without a hint of guile—attributes he hadn’t experienced with most women he’d dated. Her beauty and intelligence aside, it still didn’t explain why he’d reacted to her like a randy adolescent boy. Well, he thought, he didn’t have too much longer to wait to uncover why, because in a little more than twenty-four hours he would see her again—this time in the light and away from her cloistered sanctuary.
Minutes after eight on Saturday morning electrical power was restored to lower Manhattan; Brooklyn a little before ten; and portions of Staten Island an hour later. Tessa trained her gaze on the television, channel surfing and listening to the same rendition of the possible and probable causes of the blackout from network correspondents.
Experts reported that a Con Ed work crew had cut through a feeder cable, while other reports attributed the blackout to a fire in a substation. The result was that New Yorkers in three of the five boroughs had lost power for more than twelve hours, and the owners of restaurants and smaller eateries were particularly vocal because they were forced to dispose of food worth estimates exceeding twenty million dollars.
Sitting on a stool in the kitchen and sipping her second cup of coffee, Tessa’s attention was diverted when the telephone rang. Leaning over, she picked up the cordless instrument and peered at the display. Smiling, she pressed a button.
“Hello, Simone.”
“How was the blackout?” drawled a low, sultry voice.
“I managed to survive,” Tessa told her sister. “At least this time I was home when the lights went out.”
“Mama told me you were with a client. How on earth did you manage to conduct business in the dark?”
“I used candles.”
“Damn, Tessa. It’s not that critical. Couldn’t you’ve postponed the meeting?”
“Not when we have ten weeks to put together a formal interfaith wedding for more than eighty guests.”
“That’s really cutting it real close.”
“Tell me about it. I haven’t met the bride, so right now I have no idea what she wants.”
“Who were you meeting with last night?”
“Her brother.”
“Where’s the bride?”
“She’s on jury duty.” Tessa told Simone that Bridget had canceled two meetings and went over what she’d discussed with Micah. However, she didn’t reveal that Micah had spent the night or that they’d shared the same bed without making love.
“The girl sounds ditzy. The fact that she’s canceled twice could be a cry for help that she really doesn’t want to get married.”
Tessa rolled her eyes upward. Simone had enrolled in college with the intent of becoming a psychologist but changed her major from psychology to a liberal arts degree program. She never became a psychologist, and when her marriage ended she channeled her pain and frustration into flower arranging. The result was wannabe psychologist Simone Whitfield had become a much-sought-after floral designer and the official florist for Signature Bridals.
“Don’t go Dr. Phil on me, Simone. She just got engaged six weeks ago.”
“Now that proves she’s certifiably ditzy. Formal weddings usually take more planning than a few months. When’s her big day?”
“New Year’s Eve.”
“And I suppose she wants you to book a room at the Waldorf-Astoria or Tavern on the Green?”
“Thankfully, no,” Tessa drawled cynically. “She’s getting married at her parents’ house in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey.”
A soft whistle came through the earpiece. “Nice neighborhood. A lot of homes in that community start at a million and go as high as eight to ten.”
Tessa thought about Micah saying money’s not an issue, which meant the Sanborns were willing to pay for whatever Bridget wanted. “Well, I’ll find out how much her folks are willing to spend when I meet them tomorrow.”
“How old is baby girl?”
Tessa laughed. Simone always referred to spoiled, pampered brides as baby girl. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask her brother.”
“Then how old is baby boy?”
“I don’t know,” Tessa said. She didn’t want to tell Simone that if Micah had put in twenty years with the NYPD, then he had to be at least in his early forties. “I’ll let you know what I come up with when I see you and Faith Monday night.”
“Faith called me early this morning from Vegas—”
“Don’t tell me she’s not coming,” Tessa moaned, interrupting Simone. Of the three, it was Faith Whitfield who’d become the most elusive. Faith had missed their last two bimonthly Monday-night dinner meetings. At any given time she could be asked to create a cake for a surprise birthday celebration or for a high-profile celebrity’s impromptu gala.
“She’s coming, but she’s flying into Westchester instead of LaGuardia. I’ll pick her up, and she can ride back to Manhattan with you.”
“If she calls you again, please tell her that we’re going to need a wedding cake for New Year’s Eve.”
Tessa talked to Simone for another quarter of an hour before ending the call. As soon as she hung up, her phone rang again. Micah’s name came up in the display.
She smiled and said, “Good morning, Micah.”
“Is it really a good morning?” came his velvet baritone query.
“Yes. I have electricity. How was your drive home?”
“Quick. It took about ten minutes door to door.”
“You were speeding,” she said accusatorily.
He chuckled softly. “Guilty as charged. I called to let you know I’ll pick you up around ten. If that’s too early, then I’ll let my mother know we’ll come for an early dinner.”
“Ten is fine.”
“Dress casually and wear comfortable shoes.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see when you get there,” Micah said cryptically.
“I don’t like surprises, Micah.”
“This one I’m certain you’ll like….” His voice trailed off. “I’m going to have to take this call, Tessa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tessa held the receiver to her ear until she heard a programmed voice telling her to either hang up or try her call again. She hung up, wondering what it was Micah wanted her to see.
She couldn’t begin to think of the possibilities, so she decided to concentrate on the laundry list of things she had to do: glue crystal beads and faux pearls to the bodice of a sample gown she’d designed in her spare time, put up several loads of laundry and go through her closets to take out winter clothes and put away her summer wardrobe. The leaves on the trees lining the streets had begun changing color, a blatant indicator that the summer was over.
Tessa walked down the steps at ten on Sunday morning, cradling a large envelope in one hand, at the same time Micah drove up in a low-slung, two-seater BMW convertible Roadster in a subtle charcoal gray. A hint of a smile softened her mouth. He’d just gotten another gold star: he was on time.
He waved to her as he got out of the car. A pair of jeans, an off-white cable-knit pullover sweater and running shoes had replaced his tailored suit and imported footwear. Her smile widened when she noticed the well-worn New York Yankees cap on his head. Her smile faded as quickly as it’d come. Micah hadn’t shaved, and the stubble on his jaw enhanced his overt maleness.
Recovering quickly and holding her arms out at the sides, she spun around. “Is this causal enough for you?”
What Micah hadn’t been able to see in the dark was now blatantly on display for his viewing pleasure. His midnight gaze moved slowly over the curly hair Tessa had brushed off her face and secured in a twist on the nape of her neck, down to her face with a subtle application of makeup that highlighted her gold-flecked eyes, high cheekbones with a light sprinkle of freckles and a lush mouth outlined in a soft rose-pink shade. A single strand of pearls matched the studs in her pierced ears.
He stared at her lush, compact body in an apricot-pink cashmere tank top with a matching cardigan, brown body-hugging stretch slacks and matching suede slip-ons. Even her brown pony-and-calfskin leather shoulder bag complemented her elegant sense of style. The epitome of casual-chic, she looked as if she’d stepped off the pages of Town and Country.
What she wore wasn’t casual enough for what he’d planned for them, but he couldn’t tell her that. “You look beautiful.”
Caught off guard by the vibrancy of Micah’s voice, the tenderness in his eyes, Tessa was helpless to stop a rush of heat darkening her face. She lowered her gaze in a demure gesture. “Thank you.”
Micah winked at her. “Don’t thank me, Tessa. I had nothing to do with the way you look.” Cupping her elbow, he helped her into the car, closed the door and got in beside her. Pressing a button, he raised the convertible top, shifted into gear and maneuvered through the quiet Brooklyn neighborhood as the soothing sounds of jazz filled the racy sports car.
He took a quick glance at Tessa as she pressed her head to the leather headrest and closed her eyes. “Do you want me to put on a different CD?”
Tessa recognized the melodious horn of Wynton Marsalis playing a bluesy piece perfect for a nightclub setting. “No, please don’t. It’s nice.” The music was nice, Micah’s car was nice and he looked and smelled very nice.
Stopping at a red light, Micah reached for a pair of sunglasses off the console and slipped them on against the brilliant autumn sun. “Do you like jazz?”
She smiled. “I love it.”
“Cool or hot jazz?”
Tessa opened her eyes and stared through the windshield. “Both. I grew up listening to my father and uncles playing Coltrane, Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Art Tatum, Thelonious Monk and, of course, the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and Abbey Lincoln.”
“What about hip-hop?”
“It depends on the artist. I prefer R & B to hip-hop.” Shifting on her seat, she stared at Micah’s distinctive profile. She preferred him dressed down because he appeared less intimidating. “Why did you ask?”
“I’ve been thinking about places where we could go for dinner and I’m leaning toward one that features live music. If you have a favorite place or are partial to a particular cuisine, then let me know.”
“I’ll let you pick the place.”
She didn’t want to give him the names of places where she’d eaten with the men in her past—Bryce Hill in particular. Once she’d ended her relationship with Bryce she’d promised herself that she would never look back.
Micah gave Tessa a quick glance behind his dark lenses. “I’ll pick the place and you can let me know when you’re going to be available.”
“I’m free this coming Saturday and Sunday.”
He took his hand off the gearshift, leaned over, opened the glove compartment and handed Tessa a PDA. “Please check and see what I have for next weekend.”
She scrolled through his calendar filled with entries of meetings and reminders. “You’ve blocked out Saturday.”
“What does it say?”
“‘Check heating system.’”
He smothered a groan. He’d forgotten about his upstate vacation home. He hadn’t gone up this past summer because he hadn’t had the time with moving to Staten Island and settling into his new position with the Brooklyn D.A.’s office.
He didn’t want to put off having dinner with Tessa any longer than necessary because, as a new prosecutor, his hours were slated to change from days to nights, and with most weddings taking place on weekends he wasn’t certain about her timetable. Perhaps, he mused, he could check on the house and have dinner with her.
“How would you like to go apple picking next Saturday?”
Tessa shot him a confused look. “Which one is it, Micah? Are we going apple picking or out to dinner?”
“We can do both. I have a place upstate, and across the road is an apple orchard where you can pick whatever variety you want. We can pick apples, I’ll winterize the house and then we’ll go out to dinner. But if we eat up there, then it’s not going to be fancy.”
“Is the food good?”
Giving her a quick glance, Micah smiled. “It’s very good.”
Her smile matched his. “That sounds like a plan to me.”
Micah covered her left hand with his right, bringing both to rest on the gearshift. He continued to hold her hand as he shifted gears. They lost track of time when they talked about the evolution of music from the early days of blues and jazz to the advent of pop, rock and roll, R & B and soul and the sampling and crossover of artists to different genres.
He was so engrossed in their conversation and the sensual pull of the woman sitting inches away that he hadn’t noticed he was in Bergen County until he saw the signs indicating the number of miles to Franklin Lakes. The landscape had changed, along with the size of the homes.
Tessa eased her hand from the protective warmth of Micah’s when they entered the city limits for Franklin Lakes. Judging from the number of gated properties, there was no doubt he’d grown up in a privileged environment.
He maneuvered off a local road and onto a private path with four mailboxes bearing the names of homeowners at the bottom of a steep hill. She peered through the copse of towering trees lining both sides of the unpaved path like sentinels on guard duty and filtering out the sun’s rays.
“You grew up in the woods.”
A soft chuckle rumbled in Micah’s chest. “It’s not the woods.”
Resting a hand on her hip, Tessa gave him a look that dared him to refute her. “Anytime trees grow high enough to block out sunlight, then it’s the woods.”
“Okay, you win. It’s the woods.”
Her delicate jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it!”
“What don’t you believe?” he asked.
“I can’t believe you conceded,” she teased.
“I only conceded because you hurt my feelings when you said I was contrary.”
Tessa leaned close enough for her shoulder to touch Micah’s. “I’m sorry. Will you accept my apology?”
Slowing, he pressed one of two remotes attached to the visor, and the iron gates protecting the property at the top of the hill opened smoothly. He drove through, continuing along a paved path and coming to a stop behind one of several SUVs parked in the rear of a three-story manor-style house.
Micah shut off the engine, got out and came around to assist Tessa. He didn’t give her time to react when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.
Lowering his head, he stared at her parted lips. “I’ll think about it.”
Tessa shivered noticeably despite the warmth from Micah’s body. She had no intention of permitting herself to fall under the spell he wove just by their sharing the same space. She imposed an iron control on her emotions she hadn’t known she possessed.
“Don’t think too long, Micah.”
A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “I won’t.” Reaching for Tessa’s hand, he said, “Let’s go inside. Once you meet my family, then you’ll know what you have to deal with.”
Chapter 5
Tessa followed Micah as he led her around to the front entrance, and within seconds of walking into the great room with a ceiling rising upward of three stories she understood Micah’s claim that his parents were prepared to pay for whatever Bridget wanted. The size of the house and surrounding acreage confirmed that Bridget Sanborn didn’t need a room at the Waldorf or a catering hall for her reception because the Franklin Lakes house with a massive chandelier and elaborate winding staircase was the perfect setting for a formal wedding and reception.
Micah studied Tessa’s reaction to seeing the house where he’d grown up, but nothing in her expression revealed what she was thinking or feeling. “What do you think?”
Tilting her head, she flashed a warm smile. “It’s wonderful.” Opening her handbag, she took out a slim digital camera and snapped pictures of the entryway, the great room and the staircase. “Is your sister here?”
Micah shook his head. “I didn’t see her car.” He took her hand again. “Whatever happens, don’t let my mother talk your ear off.”
“I heard that, Micah Edgar Sanborn. And you know it’s not nice to gossip about your mother behind her back.”
Tessa and Micah turned around at the same time. Standing in the entryway was a petite woman with stylishly cut silver hair and laughing blue eyes. She’d come up behind them without making a sound, looking every inch the suburban housewife in a pair of khakis she’d paired with a pale blue button-down shirt, navy-blue cardigan tied over her shoulders and leather slip-ons. Attractive lines fanned out around her eyes.
Micah released Tessa’s hand and scooped up Rosalind Sanborn, kissing her cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”
A rush of pink suffused Rosalind’s porcelain complexion as she patted her son’s shoulder. “Don’t try to get over on me, you silver-tongued devil. I owe you a dressing-down for standing me up for dinner last week.”
Setting his mother on her feet, Micah winked at her. “We’ll talk about that later.” He turned and smiled at Tessa. “Tessa, this is my mother, Rosalind Sanborn. Mom, Miss Tessa Whitfield of Signature Bridals.”
Tessa slipped her camera into her purse and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Sanborn.”
Rosalind shook Tessa’s hand while rolling her eyes upward. “Please call me Rosalind. The title of Mrs. Sanborn has been reserved for my mother-in-law.”
Tessa felt an instant liking for Rosalind Sanborn. She was friendly and unpretentious, and although there was nothing in her physical appearance to substantiate that she was Micah’s biological mother, the intangible bond between mother and son was strong enough to be palpable.
“Why are we standing here talking when Tessa’s probably starving? Are you ready to eat, my dear?”
Tessa’s gaze met Rosalind’s. “Yes, ma’am.”
Taking her arm, Rosalind led Tessa across the marble floor. “You’ll get to meet everyone except Bridget. It’s not often that Edgar and I get to have all of our children together at the same time, but we take whatever we can get.” She glanced over her shoulder, giving Micah a knowing look.
Tessa entered the kitchen with Micah and Rosalind and found herself bombarded by a cacophony of noise, voices and a variety of tantalizing aromas. Adults and children ranging in age from a toddler sitting on the floor banging on a pot to an adolescent sat around an oval counter in the middle of the expansive kitchen, waiting to eat. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair stood at the cooking island. He alternated flipping pancakes with checking omelets for doneness.
“Hurry up, Grandpa,” urged a young boy with a shock of unruly red curls. His identical twin brother drummed his elbows on the table as he brandished a fork like a rapier.
“Put down that fork before you put someone’s eye out,” warned a slender freckled-face woman with hair a darker shade of red.
“Hold on, champs. Grandpa is cooking as fast as he can.”
A teenage girl with a sun-browned gold complexion, waist-length curly black hair and large, slanting eyes glanced up and stared at Tessa. She’d been lip-synching to the song coming through the earbuds of her iPod Nano.
“Are you my uncle Micah’s new honey?” Snickers and giggles followed her query.
“Marisol Sanborn!” Rosalind chided, her eyebrows crinkling in a frown.
Finding herself the object of curious stares, Tessa’s gaze flitted from one face to another with a myriad of expressions ranging from shock to embarrassment to amusement. She managed a half smile as she stared at the incredibly beautiful teenager.
“No, I’m not. I’m your aunt Bridget’s wedding planner.”
Micah glared at Marisol. “Tessa, please forgive my niece’s lack of manners.” The girl hung her head, seemingly embarrassed by her outburst. He moved closer to Tessa, meeting the curious gazes of his relatives. “This is Tessa Whitfield of Signature Bridals. Her company has earned the reputation as an A-list wedding planner, which means Bridget is very lucky to have her coordinate her wedding. Now that everyone knows you’re not my girlfriend, let me introduce you to my family.”
“What’s a honey?” asked one of the ten-year-old twins.
“Duh, baby brother. Someone you kiss on the mouth,” Marisol drawled.
Micah shot his niece a warning look. “Maybe you should make the introductions, Marisol, because, after all, you’re the factotum.”
Marisol smiled, exhibiting the colorful bands on her braces. “That’s okay, Uncle Micah. You do it.”
“Thank you, Marisol.”
She waved a hand. “Whatever.”
Taking a deep breath, Micah slowly counted to three. He loved his niece, but there were times when she truly tested his patience. “Tessa, I would like to introduce you to my father, Edgar Sanborn, aka chef and Grandpa.”
Edgar deftly slipped three pancakes off a stove-top griddle and slipped them onto a platter. He winked at Tessa, his dark eyes sparkling like polished onyx. “Welcome, Tessa. I’d shake your hand, but that would be a little risky with this wild bunch.”
She smiled at the man who bore an uncanny resemblance to one of Hollywood’s late great leading men, Clark Gable. “I understand,” she said. “It’s nice meeting you.”
Micah pointed to his redheaded sister-in-law. “This is Melinda, but everyone calls her Lindy. Standing behind her is my brother, William. Will and Lindy are the parents of my bottomless-pit nephews, Isaac and Jacob, and my niece, la princesa, Marisol.”
Marisol affected a curtsy with Micah’s compliment. Tessa acknowledged William and Lindy with a warm smile. “You have a beautiful family.” The twins looked like their mother, and Marisol had inherited her father’s rich olive-brown coloring and raven-black hair.
Bending down, Micah scooped up the toddler whose intent was to make as much noise as she could when she pounded a pot with a wooden spoon. Her sandy-brown hair, braided in cornrows, resembled orange sections, and the braids, held together with a length of red ribbon, looked like a stem.
“This future percussionist and indisputable boss of her family is Kimika.” The chubby little girl squirmed, holding her arms out to her mother, who’d affected a similar hairstyle. “Kimmie belongs to my brother Abram and my sister-in-law Ruby.”
Abram, who claimed the height and girth of a football linebacker, looped an arm around his petite wife’s waist and pressed a kiss on her braided hair. His clean-shaven dark brown head gleamed like polished teak.
Abram winked at Tessa. “I think I can speak for everyone else in the family, but I hope you have the patience of Job. Dealing with our little sister is certainly going to try your soul.”
Edgar, using a pair of tongs to remove strips of crisp bacon from the heated griddle, shot his youngest son a warning look. “Watch it, son. You’re talking about my princess.”
“Dad, you know your princess is spoiled rotten.”
“And you’re not, mama’s boy?” Edgar teased.
“Edgar, please,” Rosalind said softly, blushing. “We have company.” Her husband had accused her of spoiling Abram, while she’d blamed him for indulging their only daughter’s every whim.
Micah’s hand cradled the small of Tessa’s back. “Let me show you where you can wash up before we sit down to eat.”
Tessa stood in an all-white bathroom with pale blue accents, next to Micah at twin blue-veined pedestal sinks, washing her hands. She met his amused gaze in the mirror. He’d taken off his cap and placed it on a table with a half dozen others bearing the logos of baseball and football teams.
“What’s so funny, Micah?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Go ahead and say it.”
She smiled. “Say what?”
“That my family is a little off the chain.”
“They appear quite normal to me.”
“Didn’t you notice something that was just a bit unconventional?”
“By unconventional do you mean that the Sanborns are a multiracial family?”
Reaching for a towel on a stack on a low table, Micah handed it to Tessa. “Yes.”
“Your family is anything but unconventional, Micah. I’ve interacted with families with two mommies or two daddies, transgender, families where the bride and groom are visually-or hearing-impaired and I’m forced to bring in someone fluent in Braille or American Sign Language. That’s what I’d consider unconventional. My focus will be on the bride, the groom and the mother of the bride. And if Bridget and Seth want a traditional interfaith ceremony wedding, then there are certain customs and traditions they have to follow.”
Micah dried his hands as he watched Tessa’s reflection in the mirror. The more sedate hairstyle displayed her features to their best advantage, but he much preferred seeing her hair loose and framing her face in sensual disarray.
“When my brothers got married, all I had to do was put on a tuxedo and show up.”
“You’ve never been a best man?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been a witness a few times but never a best man. What about you, Tessa? Have you ever been a bride?”
She met his steady gaze in the glass. “No.”
“Have you come close?”
“No. What about you, Micah?” she asked, shifting the focus from herself to him. “Were you ever married?
“No, and I’ve never come close.”
“Do you like women?”
Her query must have startled him, because he went completely still. The frown lines that appeared between his eyes were replaced with a knowing smile. Resting a thigh against the pedestal sink, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You think because we slept together and I didn’t touch you that I’m not into women?”
Tessa blushed, the color temporarily concealing the spray of freckles across her velvety cheeks. “This is not about me.”
His smile widened. “Isn’t it, Tessa?”
“No. It’s about you, Micah.”
“What about me?”
“I’ve come into contact with together sisters every time I coordinate a wedding. Bridesmaids and maids of honor looking for a together brother like you. But when they do marry, it is to settle because they don’t want to be alone and they don’t want to become just a baby mama.”
Micah angled his head. “By settle you mean they marry brothers who don’t come correct?”
“Yes. The men they marry don’t measure up, will never measure and have no intention of ever measuring up. Instead of becoming a partner, she’s thrust into the role of working overtime emotionally to make her marriage a success.”
Micah had lost track of the number of times he’d overheard black women complain about not being able to find a “good black man.” He’d worked and gone to school with good black men. His brothers were good black men, loving husbands and protective fathers.
“Thank you for the backhanded compliment, Tessa. But, unlike Will and Bram, I’m not the marrying kind.”
“You don’t believe in marriage?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe in marriage. In fact, I believe it’s a very important societal institution necessary for creating and preserving families. However, marriage is just not for me.”
Tessa’s mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “I admire your honesty. Most men would be reluctant to admit that. But I’m glad you’re not in the majority or I’d be out of business.”
“Sorry about interrupting, Uncle Micah, but Grandma is waiting for you before we say grace.”
Micah turned to find Marisol lounging in the doorway. “Tell her we’re coming.”
Tessa walked out of the bathroom with Micah. His statement, Marriage is just not for me, lingered with her during the brunch she shared with the Sanborns, and nagged at her when she sat down with Rosalind to discuss what they needed for Bridget’s upcoming wedding.
Tessa sat at a lace-covered table in Rosalind Sanborn’s sun parlor. The room was an exquisite retreat. The near-white furnishings and accessories and bright autumn sunlight filtering through white-on-white awning-striped voile drapes at the many-mullioned windows brought the outdoors inside.
She handed Rosalind a bridal information guide. “It looks more daunting than it actually is. You can read it at your leisure. However, I’m going to give you a brief overview so you’ll know what I’ll need to start the process of planning Bridget’s wedding. Please stop me anytime you need to ask me something.”
Rosalind gave Tessa a direct stare. “Even before you begin, I’d like to know whether it’s humanly possible to plan a formal wedding in ten weeks.”
Tessa saw doubt and fear in the blue eyes peering at her over a pair of half-glasses. She smiled. “Signature Bridals has been known to perform minor miracles given less time than what Bridget is giving us.”
Rosalind, pressing her palms together, exhaled audibly and whispered a silent prayer. “Edgar doesn’t like to hear it, but Bram’s right when he says that Bridget’s spoiled. Unfortunately, I’ve spoiled all of my children,” she said in a voice that seemed to come a long way off.
“Isn’t that what parents are suppose to do?”
Rosalind observed Tessa through lowered lids. “Are you speaking from experience, Tessa?”
“No, I’m not. I don’t have any children.”
There was a pregnant silence as the two women regarded each other. Tessa cleared her throat. She knew she had to steer the focus back to Bridget’s wedding.
“I’d like to cover the different elements that make up a wedding. I’ll begin with the breakdown of roles and responsibilities of the members of the wedding party, the ceremony, the reception and, last but certainly not least, is money and who pays for what. I believe it’s better when the bride and groom stick to tradition, given the time frame, but if they want to break the rules, then it can’t be something catastrophic.”
Rosalind’s expression brightened. “We don’t have to discuss money because Edgar and I will pay for the invitations, Bridget’s dress and accessories, flowers, music, the reception, including food and drink, the cake, photographer, accommodations for out-of-town guests and, of course, your fee.”
“Have you compiled a mailing list for your guests?”
“Yes. I’ll get it for you.”
“Please don’t get up,” Tessa said when Rosalind pushed back her chair. “You can give it to me before I leave.”
The two women spent over an hour going over the wording for the wedding stationery—the invitations, the place and reply cards. “Keep in mind,” Tessa suggested, “that with formal invitations guests’ names are handwritten in the top left corner or in the space provided within the wording of the invitation, and full titles are used. It’s going to be time-consuming, so Bridget will have to decide whether she wants to use them.”
Rosalind jotted notes on a legal pad. “What’s the latest we can send out invitations?”
“They should be sent out two or three months before the day, and certainly no later than six weeks before. I recommend including the preprinted reply cards and addressed envelopes with the invitations because they encourage guests to reply promptly. And the fact that Bridget and Seth are marrying New Year’s Eve may be to their advantage, because those who haven’t made plans for the holiday will have the perfect excuse to celebrate it at a black-tie affair.”
“So the invitations have to go out before the end of the month,” Rosalind mumbled under her breath.
“Realistically they should,” Tessa confirmed. “You’ll be given the choice between engraving, letterpress, offset lithography and thermography. Paper can be made of many different materials and come in all sorts of textures, finishes and weight. It’s the same with shapes. If Bridget and Seth want an unusual-shaped invitation, then they must keep in mind that it will call for custom-made envelopes. I always tell my clients that wedding stationery should be printed at the same time. Would you like a printed menu?”
“Yes. That’s something you can take with you along with the guest list. I—” A soft tapping on the door preempted her words. Turning, she glanced over her shoulder at Edgar. “Yes, dear?”
He walked into the room. He’d changed into a pair of sweatpants, a shirt and running shoes. The faded logo of Princeton University was barely legible. “Are you almost finished?”
Rosalind looked at Tessa, who nodded. “Give us a few more minutes.”
Edgar nodded, smiling. “Tessa, I hope you’re going to join us.”
“Join you for what?”
“Micah didn’t tell you?”
Tessa shifted her gaze from Edgar to Rosalind, her expression mirroring confusion. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rosalind rested a hand on Tessa’s shoulder. “On Sundays the family gets together after brunch to play touch football.”
Tessa’s jaw dropped as she opened her mouth but no words came out. She couldn’t believe Micah had asked her to dress casually just so that someone could tackle her. If he’d mentioned football, then she would’ve told him that she didn’t do grass and dirt.
“I—I’m afraid I’m not dressed to play football,” she stammered.
Rosalind waved her hand. “Don’t worry about ruining your lovely twinset. You’re about the same size as Bridget. I’ll find something in her closet that’s certain to fit you.”
Seething and cursing Micah inwardly, Tessa forced a smile when she felt like grimacing. She’d come to New Jersey to coordinate a wedding, not play football.
Chapter 6
Tessa, wearing sweatpants and a Smith College sweatshirt and running shoes belonging to Bridget, studied the framed photograph of the woman whose clothes she wore. Rosalind had given her a new bra-and-bikini-panty ensemble to change into after the football game. The older woman appeared embarrassed when she disclosed her daughter’s obsession with frilly, delicate undergarments. The six-drawer lingerie chest was filled with bras, panties and camisoles in every fabric and color, many with the sales tags still attached.
Tessa discovered she and Bridget were almost the same size. She had an inch or two on her client in the hips, but Bridget was a cup larger in bra size.
She smiled. Now Tessa had a face to go along with the name. Smiling and staring directly at the photographer, dark-haired, green-eyed Bridget Sanborn radiated a youthful exuberance that enhanced her delicate beauty.
There was something else she’d discovered when Rosalind had directed her to her daughter’s bedroom suite: Bridget was feminine and romantic. Tessa felt as if she were on the set of a Merchant Ivory film. The furnishings and decor were unabashedly Victorian. A nest of gossamer pillows piled doubly high on a lace-trimmed counterpane graced a mahogany bed with a carved headboard and posts. Embroidered sheers at the windows filtered the afternoon light into a space with stark white walls. A collection of pale straw hats hung from pegs along one wall.
Photographs of Bridget, chronicling her life from infant to womanhood, along with photos of her brothers, parents, sisters-in-law, nephews and nieces, crowded the fireplace mantel. She stared at one of a younger Micah in his regulation NYPD uniform; her gaze shifted to an updated photograph of him with Edgar and Rosalind in front of Brooklyn Law School. There was no mistaking Rosalind’s pride when she smiled up at her son resplendent in a gown, hood and velvet tam.
Cognizant that the Sanborns were waiting for her, she left the bedroom and made her way down the long hallway to the staircase. She’d just placed her foot on the first stair when she saw Micah standing at the bottom, waiting for her. A sweatshirt had replaced his sweater, and as she came closer she saw Columbia University stamped across the front.
She stopped on a stair that brought her head level with his. Eyes narrowing, she glared at him. “I owe you one for tricking me,” she threatened softly.
He stared, unblinking. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t tell me that I’d become a participant in a football game.”
He flashed a smile, his eyelids lowering slightly, and she held her breath for several seconds. The expression was sensual enough to be X-rated.
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