Raindrops on Roses: Book One of the Favorite Things Trilogy (5 page)

No
, he told himself.
She's not ready
yet
. But before he knew it, he was picking
up the phone, sending a text.

Priscilla? — M. Frost
—

He felt nervous as he hit
send, awkward even.
What if she doesn't
answer?

Michael? ~
CillaB.

The reply came just a few minutes later and
Michael's heart did a jig. He could barely believe the way this
girl was making him feel. He almost didn't recognize himself.

Yes it's me. Hope you're
feeling a bit better — M. Frost —

I'm ok...things are just
crazy here ~ CillaB.

After that reply, Michael hesitated, staring
at the phone. He wasn't sure what to say next.

Picking up his pencil, he
dropped it back on the desk again. He left the chair, pacing the
length of his office back and forth. He stared at the phone in his
hand, then closed his eyes.
C'mon,
Michael, ask her. Just ask her
.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone
and typed:

Can I see you again? — M.
Frost —

But once he hit send, his
heart stopped. Had he forgotten this girl was in
mourning?
Her whole
family was! Hell, much of the world was mourning the loss of her
grandmother. And for the first time since last night, Michael felt
like he'd taken advantage of Priscilla.
I
shouldn't have slept with her
, he
thought.
I shouldn't have let it
happen
.

I'd like that. When? ~
CillaB.

And in that moment, as he read that
text—Michael knew his life would never be the same.

•
CHAPTER FIVE •

G
etting up that morning had been hard. It had felt just as if
Gran were still alive and right down the hall.

When Priscilla woke up again on the chaise,
she had thought vaguely about breakfast possibilities; about
whether or not they'd go for a walk on the pier before the day
heated up; about the number of teleconferences her grandmother
might've booked for the day—all the usual things. Then she realized
how reality could be a total mind fuck when someone you loved
passed away.

Gran's gone,
she'd thought soberly.
She died right here in this house. And you have to live
on.

Fresh tears filled her eyes and she blew her
nose. She was hollowed out. Orphaned and stripped of her very
identity. And she was completely worn out from all the funeral
arrangements. The press. The well-wishers. The distant relatives.
And they still had the reading of the will to get through. All the
moving parts had sapped her, leaving very little room for actual
grieving.

Meanwhile, she still needed time to adjust
to the idea of life on Earth—and alone at Emerald Leas—without her
beloved Gran.

So today, Priscilla had decided to stay in
again. She had put off the business meetings, not wanting to deal
much with her brother Douglas or anyone else. And she'd also known
her mother would be on the prowl, so she had instructed security to
say she wasn't at home if Charlotte turned up unannounced, which
she was known to do whenever it suited her.

With Doug out at the hotel for the day and
the household staff let off for the rest of the week, she now had
the place to herself.

From now on it'll just be
Chewy and me
, she thought
sadly.

Gran's beautiful little white Pomeranian was
grieving just as much as everyone else. The poor thing had taken up
residence near the right side of her grandmother's bed and kept
constant vigil, awaiting her return. Priscilla went into the room
often to keep him company and cuddled with him in Gran's king-sized
bed. She hoped it meant they were somehow healing each other, but
couldn't help wondering how long it would take Chewy to realize the
lady of the house wouldn't be walking through those double doors
ever again...

And so that's where Priscilla was—curled up
in her grandmother's bed with Chewy, listening to Gran's Sam Cooke
playlist on the stereo—when she got the text from Michael.

And what a relief she had felt when she saw
it! There'd been a vague tension building in her chest all
morning—what if she never heard from him again?

Dig hole. Jump in.

But now he was coming back to see her, and
she could barely contain her eagerness. She had really enjoyed his
company and very much wanted to spend more time with him.

There's no need to regret
this
, he had said.

Her heart melted as she remembered the look
on his face as he'd whispered those words. But could she trust her
feelings right now? Shouldn't she be putting him off? At least for
the time being?

That's not what you really want though, is
it?

When Michael arrived, she sensed something
was vaguely amiss. He stood nice and tall outside the front door
with his perfect, dark hair and nervous-looking smile. He wore a
nicely pressed red shirt with neat, gray slacks, looking every inch
the charming, sexy guy who had left her bed early that morning. The
very memory made Priscilla's mouth water and she blushed, puzzled
by her feelings. They seemed strange at a time like this. Strange
and out of place.

"Tea?" she offered, as she led him down the
main hallway toward the kitchen. "Sweet tea, I mean? Or there's
soda, tropical punch..."

"No, sweet tea's one of my favorite drinks,
that's perfect," he said, watching her. "So how are you
feeling...the morning after?"

Her strides down the hallway slowed as she
glanced back at him.

Michael just barely missed
bumping into her. "Oh, God," he said, "I'm so sorry—I'm such an
idiot. I meant the morning after the
funeral
. No pun intended, I
swear."

Chuckling, she waved a hand. "No, I guess it
just sounded weird the way you said it, it's fine."

When they reached the kitchen, he helped her
move a half-dozen floral arrangements from the counter, then she
motioned for him to have a seat on one of the bar stools while she
got the drinks. "Umm...how am I feeling?" she asked thoughtfully.
"I guess I’m a bit confused...and I'd actually like to
apologize."

"Apologize?" He frowned. "Why? For
what?"

"For the timing of...what happened between
us last night."

"Believe me," he assured
her, "you don’t need to apologize, Priscilla—
I
do. You were emotional, and
tipsy
, and I kinda-sorta
feel like I took advantage."

"No," she said, tilting
her head with a frown, "I can't let you think that because it's not
even
remotely
true." The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. "I can't be
taken advantage of, Mr. Frost." She winked. "It's nothing like
that. I'm just emotionally out of sync right now—and it's
completely new to me. So I'm not exactly sure why I would hook up
with someone so quickly—
especially
at a time like this. But you didn't take
advantage of me, Michael. I definitely wanted it. I wasn't
that
drunk." She held
his gaze.

Michael sipped his tea. "So, what exactly
does your apology mean?" he asked quietly. "You trying to let me
down easy? It's-not-you-it's-me kiss-off time?"

She shook her head. "No,
it's not like that..." Then she lost her train of thought. She had
been studying his eyes and noticed that a silver-colored circle
enclosed his light green irises.
So that's
what it is
, she thought, having fallen
under their spell once more. "You know what?" she said, putting her
glass in the sink. "Let's go for a walk. Come on down to the pier
with me. There's a nice gazebo out on the beach."

"Sure," Michael said, handing her his glass.
"Just lead the way."

She took him out back and they walked along
a garden path that led down to the private beach, where several
yachts dotted the blue horizon.

"I obviously like you,
Michael," she said as they climbed the few steps leading up to the
white wooden pier. "I don't really
want
to give you the kiss off. It's
just that starting to date someone a week after losing my
grandmother? It's just too confusing. And quite frankly, it feels
awkward."

"But, it doesn't have to," he said, reaching
for her hand.

And then Priscilla knew it was coming: the
unbelievably clouded judgment, compliments of the overwhelming
attraction she felt toward this guy. An attraction that was totally
interfering with her ability to mourn.

As they walked together along the pier,
heading toward the gazebo, he waited for a response.

The wind picked up.
Pushing the hair out of her face, she took a deep breath. "Michael,
I just don't know about this right now." She squeezed his hand. "I
don't know
squat
right now." She hesitated. "Could
you
have started a brand new
relationship with someone right after you lost your mom and your
sister?"

That gave him pause and he stopped, looking
down thoughtfully at the white planks beneath their feet. "I was
seventeen when it happened and—"

"Hey," she said, quickly cutting him off. "I
shouldn't have brought that up, I'm sorry. It was totally
insensitive."

"No," he said firmly. "I
think it makes
perfect
sense for you to bring it up, actually." He looked away, out
at the water. "And you've made your point, okay?
Touché."

"Please don't be offended," she said as they
reached the gazebo and sat down together. "I'm just saying that I
think I need some time before we can date, that's all. Is that so
bad?"

She could tell he didn't
like it, but he said, "No, that's not so bad at all. And of course,
I
completely
understand where you're coming from."

But then, without warning, he was pulling
her up against him, burying his hands in her hair. Michael kissed
her once lightly, tenderly, before giving her lips more thorough
attention and satisfying the urge they had both been feeling since
the moment he'd walked through the front door.

Their kiss sizzled. Echoing their erotic
coupling of the early morning hours. The crashing waves seemed to
serenade them as they devoured each other with a hungry passion new
to them both.

When Michael finally
stopped, Priscilla's whole body was weak and she was tingling all
over.
God, he smells so
good
...

"Still want time?"

Her eyes popped
open.
What a cocky little devil!
she thought and burst out laughing. Playfully
shoving his shoulder, she laughed and laughed as much of the
conflict simply melted away.

Then Michael started
laughing at
her
laughing, with a low chuckle that made Priscilla imagine hot,
steamy nights on top of him.
Right out
here in the gazebo. Right out here in the moonlight.

"So, Mr. Frost," she said,
catching her breath, lightly touching his jaw. "What's
that
supposed to mean?"
Dropping an impulsive kiss on his gorgeous mouth, she heard him
groan.

When he replied his deep voice was serious,
with no trace of laughter. "I think it means we give this a
try."

Closing her eyes a moment, Priscilla took a
deep breath. "Well, o—" Her mouth had barely opened before Michael
reclaimed her lips and slowly began driving her half-mad with his
tongue again.

He'd fervently worked his way down to her
neck when she pulled back, saying it would be reckless to get
carried away on the pier in broad daylight! So they just sat a
while, staring into each other’s eyes, bonding and being in the
moment. The whole world stopped and it was just the two of
them—Michael whispering intimately about how amazing she'd felt
last night, and her blushing, teasing him about needing an
encore...

But with the sound of approaching footsteps,
Priscilla turned to see her brother shattering the moment.

"Cilla?" he called out as he approached the
gazebo. "I was looking for you all over the house."

"I've just been out here, Doug," she called
back, "with Michael Frost. You know, Frosted Designs? He came back
to see...how we were."

Awkward!

And it wasn't that she didn't appreciate her
brother's support and concern, but Priscilla would be lying if she
denied how eager she was for Doug and his judgments-at-the-ready to
pack up and get back to Paris where they belonged.

Glancing back at Michael,
she tried to assess how prepared
he
was for the interruption, but he seemed totally
calm and relaxed.

Good,
she thought, admiring him.
That
makes one of us.

•
CHAPTER SIX •

A
mber Holland sat impatiently waiting for the long line of
cars at her front gate to get the hell out of her way.

Damn it,
she thought, eyeing her chic new bob in the
rearview mirror. She had hoped to make it out to the salon and back
in time for her Skype appointment—after all, it wasn't good to be
late for a meeting with a potential client, was it?—but of course
now the assholes in these fucking cars were clearly out to prove
her wrong.