For Richer for Poorer (4 page)

              There was silence.

              "Miranda?" he said.

              "Forgiven," she said into the phone.

              "Thank you," he said. "Another thing. I won't be done here until about 8 o'clock, I'm afraid. This thing is taking longer than I thought. Will that work for you?" He hoped she'd say yes.

              Miranda thought about it for a second. There was nothing she'd like more than to have him come by.  But it was best he didn't come in the evening; it would be approaching dark. And no matter he was clearly not her type, with his way of thinking he would be too tempting. She couldn't help remembering the attic, and she craved the company of a man.

              "No, it's fine," she said. "I'm exhausted, and I'll likely be falling asleep on a movie by then."

              Hamilton wanted to be in bed with her, but it wasn't the time to say that.  "I understand," he said.

              "What about tomorrow morning, she said, 10:00 am?"

              "Sure, that'll work fine" he said. "I'll see you at 10:00, and I'll bring the coffee this time."

"Perfect," she said.  

Chapter 8

             
As Miranda lay in bed that evening, she tried to dismiss the loneliness growing inside of her as  a woman.  Now that the responsibility of the houses were gone, the pang of loneliness was more evident than ever. Over the past few months, as she worked to sell her dream home and short sold her rentals, the little hole that had been slowly widening in her soul was becoming a crater.

              Maybe if she'd put as much time into researching a mate, as she did looking at houses, she wouldn't be going through any of this, at least not alone.  She missed, needed, a man in her life. No matter what that independent voice was saying in her head.

              She thought of the last man she'd been with, James Whitfield.  He was an ideal match really. She'd met him at a real estate investment meeting. She and James hit it off from the first moment they laid eyes on each other. They had everything in common, or so she'd thought:  real estate, both single, no children, never been married. They both loved exploring new restaurants, fine wine, catching impromptu shows at the Fox, good to movies, touring museums, and art exhibits. 

              She'd fallen in love with James in the short five months they'd dated. They spent more time at her home in South Fulton than they did at his bachelor's condo downtown. Though he hardly ever stayed overnight, Miranda accepted his "early work, early meetings, pre-breakfast networking" excuses. 

              But the wide gold wedding band found buried deep in the glove compartment of his sports car made her run from anything resembling love.  When she first saw the little black box she found when digging for a pen, her heart pounded. She knew James would propose to her soon, but she didn't know when. They had gotten close and everything was moving along perfectly. But when she opened it, the wedding band -- and the inscription: James and Tammy Forever -- made her want to throw up.

              "Married, James?" she asked, hurt in her eyes, as he got back in the car. He said he had to run into his office building to make a client call before they went back to her house. It was late one evening and he'd decided he was going to stay over with her, all night, finally.

              "How'd you find that?" he asked, angered she'd been in his glove compartment.

              "I was looking for a pen!" she said.

              There was silence.

              "James say something, anything, please?" she looked at him with tears in her eyes.

              "I'm sorry, I was going to tell you," he said unable to look at her.

              His cell phone rang. He wouldn't answer it.

              Without planning on it, Miranda snatched the phone from his hands and answered.

              "Hello," she said into the phone.

              "Hello," the voice on the other end said. "Who is this?"

              "This is James' girlfriend," Miranda heard herself say.

              The woman was quiet.

              "This is Mrs. Whitfield," the voice said. "Can you put my
husband
on the phone?"

              Miranda looked at the phone and looked at him. "It's your wife," she said and threw the phone at him.

              "I'm sorry, Miranda," he mouthed, catching the phone before it went crashing into his window.  He put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, "I guess it's over."

              She laughed out loud to keep from crying. She hopped out of the car, slammed the door, and walked in the direction of the closest dry martini.

              The breakup with James was long over. It had been a year and a half. Since then, she'd not gone on one date, vowing to concentrate on her business.              

              She knew it would be a long time before she trusted a man with her heart again.

Chapter 9

             
Hamilton was disappointed he couldn't see Miranda again tonight.  He drove his Ford up the long, winding driveway to his Antioch estate.  He pressed the security code on his dash and the towering wrought-iron gates opened to let him through.  As he got out, he looked down at the shimmer reservoir beyond the tall, decorative lamp posts bordering the property. It was a warm summer evening, gorgeous really.  Perfect night to take the boat out.  He wondered it Miranda would enjoy the water as much as he did.

              It was early, only 9:00 p.m. He'd stopped by the little sushi bar in town for dinner and was in for the evening. He had been invited to a gathering of a business colleague's in the neighboring town. They were all trying to
rebuild their empires, but as the months rolled on, he craved another type of company.  He had a void that no business meeting could fill.

              Since the temporary closing of his office, he had to admit, he did enjoy the slower pace of things -- at first.  It gave him time to think about what he really wanted in life. He had more quiet time, in the evenings, near the ponds on his property. He actually got to sit under some of the towering oaks and ponder;  to ride a few of his prized horses; and sit out by the pool with a nice bottle of wine from the cellar.

              Old black and white westerns from the movie collection he'd  built over the years had been dug out.  He actually kicked back in the theatre on one of the sublevels with his feet up, relaxing. He even delved back into developing his language skills by listening to CDs.  The romance languages were a breeze. Already fluent in Italian, and Spanish, he practiced his and French and delved into Chinese, which was a bit more challenging.  But he knew he'd need it for business, and it kept his mind occupied.

              Yes, he enjoyed the break, but the silence of the house, especially without the full servant staff, was growing almost too loud as the months passed. Right at forty years old, Hamilton Steele craved a wife, and children, to love, to fill his world.

              He thought of the number of women he'd entertained over the years. Smart, lovely women, but something was missing. He couldn't picture any of them as his wife. He hadn't found the right one; until maybe, today.

              He couldn't get Miranda Colbert out of his mind. Headstrong, independent, smart, ravishing, yet delicate as a flower. He could see it in her eyes when she talked about her parents, how she cradled the antique dangling from her neck; how she let him hold her, protect her, in his arms in the darkness of the attic; and how she exploded like dynamite when she assumed he'd insulted her pride.

              They would make a great team -- in real estate and in life.  He couldn't get her out of his mind.

              Later that evening, as he eased into a hot bath to sooth his aching body, she filled his senses. The steamy water caressing his muscular limbs reminded him of her sultry body pressing against earlier that day.

              She was stunning, intelligent, fit, with dark eyes that looked right through him and curves that made his blood rush to the tip of his manhood like a raging fire. He pushed the button on the remote control of the CD player next to the tub and let the soft jazz relax him.  Taking another sip of brandy from the crystal snifter, he let his hands grope the wide, pulsating limb between his legs.  Picturing her wet, petite, naked form straddling him in the sudsy, hot water made him groan.  He wanted to feel her breasts, hard nipples, in his mouth. Hamilton laid his head back in the crook of the Jacuzzi tub and made love to her over and over again.  He couldn't wait until ten o'clock the next morning to be in her presence. 

Chapter 10

              Miranda was wide awake. She knew she needed to get some sleep, because she had a long day coming up. She remembered the chamomile tea in the cabinet. She went into the kitchen and placed two tea bags in a little porcelain cup. As the water boiled on the stove, she leaned against the counter and surveyed the boxes in the laundry room off the kitchen. She'd accomplished a lot, but she realized she still had much to do as she surveyed the weekend's task in front of her. 

              It was a new beginning and with that comes work, and getting moved and organized was the first step.  As the kettle started to whistle, she turned off the gas, fixed her tea and headed back to her bedroom.  Sliding in
Rob Roy,
she watched the movie twice. About midway through the repeat, she finally dozed off. It was almost midnight when she slipped under her covers to what she hoped would be sweet slumber. 

              But in the middle of the night, Miranda woke to the television blaring. Her mind drifted back to Hamilton Steele. She couldn't help it. She wondered what his mouth would feel like on hers. She knew he was attracted to her. There unmistakable chemistry between them.  Carnal cravings were creeping up between her legs. She hadn't felt them in a while. The wine; she knew she shouldn't have had the wine. It interrupted her sleep, and it made her crave sex.

              She tried not to fantasize about him. The last thing on her mind should be a man. She needed to get her life back on track.

              Miranda knew she'd be up for a while. She grabbed her laptop and propped up in the bed.

              "No internet," she said and clicked the laptop close.  Her mind was on overdrive. She just couldn't get back to sleep, so she lay there. And Hamilton entered her mind again. Eventually she slipped off to sleep, and there he was again, in her dreams. 

              The attic was suddenly filled with heated passion, suckling, kisses, and lovemaking. His hands were on her breasts as he kissed her ears, neck, and shoulders from behind. She held on tight to the beam in the dark corner of the attic as he massaged her nipples and pulled her body closer to his. His callused hands were hot as they rubbed the moist pedals between her legs. She let out a slow moan as he let his fingers dance in and out of her, preparing her body for his. Her breath caught as he entered her wet softness from behind. As Hamilton grabbed her slender waists and guided her body back and forth, with each thrust he went deeper. Miranda moaned as her body rocked against his. The fiery wetness exploding from her made him thrust harder, their motion filling the attic with chaotic banging. The beam she held onto came lose and knocked loud against the wall as he rocked faster … the knocking grew louder and louder …

              "You okay in there?" she heard a voice say. Miranda bolted up to the sun blaring through the curtains of her  bedroom window. The digital radio clock read 9:46 AM. She was disoriented for a few seconds, then remembered she was at the Magnolia Lane cottage.

              The knocking at the front door grew louder.  "Miranda, it's Hamilton."

              She hopped out of bed, still in her black nightie, and hurried down the hall, tying a matching satin kimono tight around her waste.   She opened the front door. Hamilton was holding a cup tray with two tall cups of Gourmet Georgia Roast from the bakery around the corner.   He was even more sensuous in the morning light.

              "Am I too early?" he smiled, taking in the smallness of her waist. Her hair was tousled beautifully about her head.

             
She blushed as she remembered her dream. "Good morning," she smiled. "Not at all, come on in."

              "I wanted to return the favor," he said, motioning to the cup holder, as she opened the door wide and propped it  with the stopper. She tugged at her screen door and drew it snug against the door jam.

              "That was nice of you," she said, still remembering the dreamy feel of his hands all over her body.

              "How's your head this morning?" he asked, handing her the coffee tray. He was concerned she took so long to answer the door.

              Miranda reached up to touch the knot that was no longer there.  "I think I'm good as new," she said.

"Good, good." He was all too aware of her curvaceous body in front of him.

"Well, I wanted to drop these by. I'll be right back. Have to run back to my place and grab my rubber suit."

              "Rubber suit?" she laughed over her shoulder, sitting the coffee on the kitchen countertop.  She felt him watching her from behind. The kimono had her fully covered, but she knew he was examining her body. She didn't mind. After making love to him in her dream, she felt surprisingly comfortable around him like this. But being near him in her short kimono got her excited.

              Hamilton half wished she'd put some clothes on. He was a man with growing desire, and it had been some time since he'd felt the closeness of a woman. Her prancing around in a silk lingerie did little to keep his manhood under the radar. He felt the veins thickening between his legs.

              "Yes, my yellow suit. It's under-the-house wear, for your crawlspace. I need to get under there and take a look at the pipes," he said. "I left home so fast I forgot to throw it in the truck. I'll be right back."

              "You live near?" Miranda turned around to see him leaning against the doorway leading into the little kitchen. The perfect specimen of a man, his hands were in the pocket of his khaki pants. Wide muscles were visible through the white t-shirt with his company name embroidered on the pocket. His jet back hair lay in perfectly-lined waves, trained from big hands pushing his mane back from his tanned face.  A thick black sports watch was anchored in a little bed of sexy hairs on his forearm.

              "I'm off the Antioch Glen Exit, down by the reservoir," he said, wondering if she knew her nipples were protruding again. Was she teasing him he wondered.  It was best she didn't tease him.

              "It's gorgeous out there," Miranda said, surprised. She knew the palatial homes surrounding the  reservoir belonged to wealthy families, politicians, and Atlanta's elite.   She remembered the long drives she used to take down the back road toward Antioch Glen. The winding country road led to a magical park full of bamboo and pines. It opened up to a fisherman's dream. The rippling water was bordered by a scenic valley that reminded her of an area in the mountains. The Antioch Reservoir was filled with pretty walking trails carved into to enclaves of the hillside surrounding the massive body of water. Estate homes sitting on manicured acreage could be seen high in the hills overlooking the water. 

              "It's peaceful is what it is," Hamilton said realizing he'd let that slip out.

              "How long have you lived out there?" She was curious about this handyman.

              "All my life."

              "Really?" she asked.

              "Yes," he said and left it at that. "Do you need anything while I'm out?" he asked, heading for the front door.

              "Nope, I'm good here."

              "Alright." He tried hard not to stare as she walked toward him to close the screen door.  "I'll be back in less than half an hour."  He hopped in his truck and pulled out of the driveway.

              While Hamilton was gone, Miranda made up her bed and continued unpacking.  Her mind wandered back to her little houses. She missed them; they were almost like people to her.  

              At one point, she clicked open her cell phone and piped up. 
"Yes Mrs. Tate. I'll send someone over right away to take a look at that socket,"
she said to the pretend tenant on the other end of the phone. She shook her head and sighed as she mouthed "
pathetic
" before diving into another cardboard box.

              In the Saturday morning light, she took in the wide-plank wood floors of the sunroom. They were in great shape on this end of the house. The stone walls, tall fireplace and high ceilings reminded her why she'd bought the little place. Stark white stone with wrought-iron window casings and a bright red door made the little cottage look like it should be perched on a hill in Scotland instead of in a small Georgia  town. With a little work, the place would be fine; she knew it, but first she had to figure how to get through the cold winter with no  HVAC and no insulation. And she prayed her well pump wouldn't give out in the meantime.

              After getting settled in, she knew she'd have to look for a job -- any job. Real estate would come back around, but right now, she had to get back on her feet financially. Though she had no mortgage and she owned her Jeep free and clear, she had a money pit for a house and she'd have to eat.