Chapter 15

MacKenzie

I head up Michael’s drive and notice that the limo is gone. Assuming Mort has gone shopping or perhaps taken Aunt Olivia somewhere, I head directly down to the guest house. That’s when I hear Michael calling me.

“Mac! I’m up here at the main house.”

I turn toward him, and there’s something less than joyful in his stance. I panic, wondering if the break-up speech is about to take place. I deserve it if it is. My eyes grow fuzzy, and I’m feeling nausea at what I believe is about to happen.

His arms open as I approach, and this confuses me. I can’t imagine him dumping me and comforting me over it at the same time. I plod on to my destiny anyway.

“Hello,” I say soberly, and there is a different light in his eyes.

“Hi,” he says as he wraps his arms around me and then buries his lips over mine. “I missed you,” he concludes, and now I’m really puzzled.

“Is something wrong?” I ask him fearfully. If he’s going to break up with me, I hope he does it quickly so I can leave before I burst into tears.

“Come on in. I’ve had a change of heart and hope you don’t mind. I’d rather we do the picnic another time. But, I did throw together some sandwiches for us—nothing fancy, though.”

“What’s going on, Michael? Where’s Mort and Aunt Olivia?”

“Come in here into the living room.” I follow him, and the nerves leave, but there’s a sense that I’m about to hear something awful. We sit on the sofa, and he snugs up against me, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I’ve been on a business trip,” he begins, and I nod, knowing this already. “I had my phone off so I could conduct my meetings without interruption. When I came home, Mort met me at the door with some very sad news.”

I turn to look at him, concern on my face. “What is it?”

“It’s Aunt Olivia, I’m afraid. She passed away in her sleep, and Mort found her when she didn’t come down to breakfast.”

“Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry.” I roll onto my knees to hug him. I kiss him on the cheek, but he grabs me and kisses me fully on the lips. I gently break away and lay my head on his chest. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, but thank you for asking. Mort had already called the home and made arrangements. She was gone by the time I got back.”

“Oh, how shocking for you. I’m so sorry.”

“She probably never mentioned it to you, but she knew her end was close. Her heart, you see.”

“What will you do? Where will you live?” I was concerned for his future.

“Oh, not to worry. Aunt Olivia went to visit her lawyer some time ago. I’m her sole beneficiary.”

“Well, I’m glad of that at least,” I say, patting his knee in consolation. “When are the services?”

His eyes widen, and he looks away. “She asked for no services. She’s being cremated, and her ashes scattered in the bay. She was very adamant about there not being any fuss.”

I nod and hug him. He feels so good, so strong and in charge. I know with a certainty that I want to be protected, to be coddled, and to have someone to look after as a wife looks after her husband.

“So, where is this picnic you promised me?” I bring up, trying to lighten the somber mood. Michael holds out his finger to tell me to wait a moment while he disappears in the direction of the kitchen, only to return with two plates. The picnic consists of peanut butter sandwiches.

“This?”

He nods.

“Take me to the kitchen, and let’s see what I can do.”

“You sure? Peanut butter is filled with protein.”

“So are crickets, but I’m not eating those either as long as there is something better, and I have a feeling that kitchen is well-stocked.”

I am right. There is a walk-in refrigerator with all sorts of meats, fresh fruit, vegetables, and dairy in abundance. I shoo Michael out of the kitchen. “Go do some work on your computer, and I’ll make us dinner,” I tell him, excited to get my hands on a real kitchen again. Mom had taught me to cook, preaching it was the way to a man’s heart.

For once, he doesn’t argue and disappears. I hunt around for pans and the right ingredients, and soon there is a delicious aroma sailing out of the room. I look up and see Michael standing in the doorway. “Something smells awfully good,” he comments.

“Come on in, and sit down. I’ll make you a plate.” He hurries to the table and settles onto a chair with enthusiasm. I fill two plates and carry them over. “This is a chicken stir-fry made with Cuban spices. I learned this from one of Mom’s chefs. Let me get you a cold beer to wash it down, though. It’s spicy, so be careful.”

We’re eating and talking, avoiding the topic of Aunt Olivia. I ask him to tell me about his business, and he becomes quite enthusiastic. He shares the renovation of the retirement community and tells me of previous projects where he took dilapidated housing and renovated it into low-income affordable homes where people could easily afford the upkeep and show their pride of ownership by keeping the neighborhoods well-groomed and crime free.

“You’re an amazing man.”

“Oh?” he says, mid-bite. “I don’t think I’m anything special. I just see opportunities everywhere and the path to improvement.”

“But how could you afford all that? Doesn’t it take a great deal of money to renovate those areas until you see a return?”

He took a quick drink of his beer, fanning his mouth as the spices got to him. “I’ve had investors,” he says, and again I marvel because he must be a very trustworthy businessman for people to trust his judgment on such a scale.

For dessert, I serve lime sherbet with a granola and lime topping. It cleanses the palate of the heavy spices from the stir-fry.

“That was amazing, Mac. I had no idea you could cook.”

“Neither did I,” comes a voice from the doorway, and we look up to see that Mort has returned.

I see a quick frown on Michael’s face and wonder what Mort has done to deserve that.

“Mort, we’re just finishing up in here. Why not take the rest of the evening off, and we’ll see you in the morning?”

Mort nods curtly and disappears in the direction of his own quarters.

“Something bothering him?” I ask as I retrieve the dirty dishes and head for the dishwasher.

“It’s been a tedious couple of days. I think he and Aunt Olivia were becoming friends.”

I nod, understanding completely, but choose not to dig any more deeply. “Do you like to shoot pool?” I ask Michael.

“I’m not very good at it,” he grins.

“Do you have a table?”

“Yes, there’s a gymnasium at the east end of the house and a games room next to it.”

I put the last of the dishes into the washer and hit the button to start them going. “Then let’s go see if I can beat you,” I challenge, and he smiles as we head in that direction.

Michael pulls the cover off the table, folding it carefully, and stowing it in a cupboard. I select a cue as he racks the balls. “Where did you develop a taste for pool?” he asks.

“One of the few things my ex-fiancé taught me that was any fun,” I comment. “He loved pool parlors. When no one would play him, he’d make me play. After a while, you pick up a few tips. So,” I say, looking at him with a challenging smile, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

As it turns out, Michael cleans my clock. He has better bank and trick shots than Minnesota Fats himself, and when the third game is finished, I lay my cue on the felt and hold up both hands in defeat. “You win; I owe you anything you like.”

“Really?”

“I’m a woman of my word.”

“I want you to stay tonight.”

I gulp. “Here?”

“Here.”

“But …”

“No excuses unless you’re not a woman of your word.”

“Very well. Let’s put this stuff away …”

“No, Mort will do that. Come here.”

Crossing the short distance between us, I take his offered hand. I find myself pressed into his chest, his hand sliding down my back and securing me against him. I watch his face coming closer and then his lips are on mine. They’re warm and firm, even commanding. He releases me and pulls me by the hand upstairs and down the hallway into a room. Once inside, he closes the door behind us and locks it.

“I want you,” he says simply.

I nod and begin removing my clothes. Moments later, I’m standing naked before him. He walks around me slowly, reaching out to touch parts of me erotically with his fingertip. “You’re so beautiful, Mac.”

“I have something I want to say, Michael. It’s what I came to talk with you about earlier, and we didn’t get a chance. It’s important to me to say it now before we go any further.”

“You expect me to talk with you standing there like that?” he asks me.

I look behind me and pull back the blankets, slide beneath them and pull them up to my chin. I pat the edge of the bed below my feet. “Would you sit and listen?”

“Of course. What’s up?” He slides off everything but his undershorts and crawls into the bed beside me, sitting on the covers to give me perspective. I appreciate the thoughtful and respectful distance he’s giving me, and yet he’s within reach.

“Okay, well, something is bothering me, and I talked to Abby. She says I should just tell you outright and let the chips fall where they may. Me? I’m not as sure-footed about it. I’m a little scared, to tell you the truth.”

“What are you scared of?”

“It’s all wrapped up together. You know how when we started seeing one another, we agreed that neither of us wanted to get married, and that we were just going to have fun—no commitments?”

He’s nodding. I can see he’s tense.

“Okay, so the deal is that I don’t like how this feels.”

He takes a breath and asks, “In what way?”

“I’ve realized that I don’t like everything being so … so… uncommitted. The only way to be in a fun-only relationship is to not let your heart open up to the other. I’ve realized that’s not possible for me—at least where you are concerned.” Now it is me who is holding her breath, waiting for his reaction.

“I see. So, let me understand … Are you wanting to walk away from this? Or, are you wanting us to become more committed to one another?”

“The second one?” I cringe and wait for the explosion I’m afraid will come.

“Thank God.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I thought you were breaking up with me.”

I’m not believing my ears. “Breaking up? Is this how you think I would do it? Naked and underneath your bed covers?”

“Well, I have to admit, I hoped you weren’t.”

“Really? Then you’re not going to kick me out?”

“Kick you out? Are you kidding me? I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out how to get you to loosen up and let me in closer. I’m not going to be coy about this, Mac. I feel exactly the way you do.”

“Really?”

“Scout’s honor,” he says, crossing his heart and taking my fingers against his lips in a kiss.

“Thank God,” I whisper.

Michael pulls back the covers and has shed his clothes so we’re now skin against skin. I put my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, trying to alter mine to match its strong cadence. He’s staring at the ceiling, and I guess he’s thinking of Aunt Olivia. “I’m so sorry about Aunt Olivia,” I tell him, and he nods. I slide upward and kiss him on the soft skin behind his ear. “Shhh … it’ll be okay, I’m here.” Michael turns toward me, which serves to align my breasts with his mouth. His face nuzzles between them, and I put my hand on the back of his head to comfort him. I feel his tongue against the tender skin in that valley, and slowly his mouth creeps to my nipple, sucking on me in a steady rhythm that sends chills of desire through me. I cup my breasts, feeding them to him, one at a time and can feel the rush of moisture between my legs as my body prepares for the inevitable invasion of pleasure. Opening my thighs, I lock his between mine and begin moving against him. His muscled strength feels good against the tenderness at the apex of my thighs, encouraging me to move rhythmically as though he’s entered me and is pumping. A few moments later, he is doing just that, having rolled me onto my back and entered me smoothly.

He is towering over me, one hand on either side of my chest, and he dips to pull at my nipples gently with his tongue and lips. As he dips his head to suck, his hips lower his hard erection into my depths, giving me simultaneous spasms of intense pleasure and alternating anticipation. The repetition becomes faster and faster, driving the pleasure chemicals into my brain where they finally explode, and I’m consumed with convulsions. Michael’s head is laid back, and I see the cords of muscle in his throat strain as he permits himself the same rolling spasms I’m feeling. His forehead glistens with his exertion, and yet he is tender and careful not to hurt me as he moves to the side. Extending an arm to gather me against him, I hear his heart again, although this time it’s pounding much faster. We’re both breathing hard, and again I try to time myself against him. His chest is deeper and holds more volume, so I sound like a tiny bird compared to him. He holds me protectively, and I wonder that I’ve never known what it’s like to feel so protected and loved.

Although we’re both sated from lovemaking, we aren’t quite ready yet for sleep, but neither of us wants to leave the warm cocoon of our bed. “I want you to stay,” Michael says.

I nod. “Yes, I can spend the night, but I’ll have to be up early.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean I want you to stay … to live here.”

I pop up my head in the dim light of his bedside clock and look at him. There are still sounds of people driving down the road and on the water. “You’re serious?”

He nods and pulls me to lie on his chest, my sensitive breasts against the hairs of his chest. “You mean like keep some clothes here or to close up my house and come and go from here every day?”

I hear a deep chuckle in his chest. “You’re having trouble with the concept it would seem?”

“I just want to be very sure that I’m understanding you. We’ve sort of crossed a pretty big bridge all of a sudden.”

“You said you wanted more of a commitment, and I’m agreeing with you. I’d like to try living together.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” I was already seeing disaster down the road. There was also Mom, Dad, and Abby to convince because I knew they would consider it their business more than mine. Antonio had done in my reputation for the foreseeable future.

I felt his shoulders shrug. “I wouldn’t go into this if I didn’t think it would work, and I think you should be at least half as positive about it. If you don’t want to do it, now is the time to speak up. Maybe you’re not ready?”

I shook my head. “No, no, I’m ready. I came here today to tell you I wanted more with you, and just when I think that you’ll banish me from your life, you invite me in.”

“Good. Then tomorrow we’ll send Mort to get a truck, and we’ll move you over. One thing, though … for the time being, I’d like you to keep your house. I’ll make the payments, but I want you to feel you still have your place to go to. I think it’s important that you feel completely comfortable and not forced in any way.”

“How is it that you understand people so well?” I ask him with admiration.

“I happen to be one myself, you know,” he points out, and I smile. Even though it is early, we fall asleep, our bodies and minds spent and peaceful.

* * *

This is what I’ve been wanting since I was a little girl. A man who cares for and looks after me, a house where I can do the little things that women are supposed to do and the freedom to come and go without worrying.

There is only one thing that’s bothering me, and it has to do with Michael. Although he has taken off a few days from work in honor of Aunt Olivia, it feels more like he’s celebrating my moving in rather than grieving for a family member. Is he cold inside? Am I expecting more than he’s capable of giving? The Michael I see and feel at night is warm, loving, considerate and definitely grateful that I’m here. I didn’t expect him to go into deep mourning with armbands and hours at the chapel, but I really did expect him to talk about her a little more. Maybe tell stories of what she did in her youth because she was obviously quite a character. He’s not frigid; he just seems more positive and light-hearted than I would imagine someone to be. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I overreact; people tell me I do. I think I get it from my mother.

At least, it appears that way. She is sitting across the sterile living room from me. I’ve stopped to tell them that I’ve moved in with someone so they won’t worry if they can’t find me at home. I’m not sure if I’m warning them off subconsciously, so that they don’t interfere or pass judgment, or whether I’m trying to make up for the bad judgment when it comes to Antonio. I ask myself if it even matters.

“You what? Who? Does your father know him? Do I? Who is his family, and what does he do for a living?”

I hear my answers in my head, but how can I explain falling for a guy who lived in his aunt’s guesthouse and shares the services of a driver/butler—but whose aunt has now died, leaving him everything, and suddenly he’s wealthy? I’d vowed never to marry a wealthy man, and here I am, living with one. At best, I sound impulsive, and I think that’s what she’s upset about. So, I decide to keep the details to myself for the time being.

“Mom, I know how you are, and all I’m going to say is that I’m absolutely fine. He is kind, intelligent, ambitious, handsome, and looks after me. I won’t tell you his name because I don’t want you or Dad launching some kind of half-assed investigation and scaring him off. Leave us alone for a while, can you do that? Can you give me the respect and trust I need to make my own decisions?”

I think I am making a pretty good case for myself, and evidently, I am because she nods and lets it drop. I later learn that she’s having two dozen women over for a late afternoon tea and tour of the rose garden, so I’m not the priority that day. Not sure whether that’s flattering or not, but it gets her off my back, so I’ll take it. Dad will take his cue from Mom, as he always does.

Abby is my next stop, and my biggest surprise. “I didn’t tell you to move in with him, silly!” she exclaims. “I just said to tell him how you feel, and let the chips fall where they may.”

“Well, I guess you can see where the chips fell, huh? Abby, be happy for me, can you do that?”

“But you hardly know him!”

“I thought I knew Antonio because we’d been together longer, and I was dead wrong. My judgment was skewed, and all anyone had to do was watch how people reacted around him to see it. Michael is different. You’ve met him. He’s very good to me, Abby, and I hope you can be happy for me. I need you to stay in my life.”

“Are you saying you’d pick him over me?” Her voice is quiet and full of hurt.

“Not like that. You’ll always be like my sister, and that won’t change. But, I will say that I think I’m falling for him, and if I am, I’d like to think I have your support and friendship. If you’re going to be down on him, I might have to keep my distance for a while. You can surely understand that?”

Abby’s eyes roll to one side as she considers what I’m asking. I throw in some candy. “You know, Michael mentioned to me one day that he knows someone he thinks would be a good match for you. I’d like to plan dinner for Saturday night next week and invite you both. Sort of a house-warming party, and I’ll make sure it’s nothing awkward or obvious, I swear.”

She opens her mouth to protest but thinks better of it. I’m guessing she’s realizing that I’m not going to be as available as I’ve been in the past and just maybe it’s time she starts looking for some male companionship. Since there’s no one on her horizon, she’s willing to trust me, and after all, Michael and I will be there to chaperone. She gives me a sort of a half nod, and I know I’ve won her over. “Good! So, keep next Saturday open, and as long as he’s available, we’ll have a wonderful time.”

“I hope so.”

“Oh, you! Always so gloomy!”

As I’m leaving, I admit to myself that I hope it all goes well. Abby has a way of intimidating guys. I decide to hope for the best.