Shine Your Love on Me (18 page)

“Like it? I love it. But for my eyes only.
Don’t you have something more…with more…that covers…” He gestured
with his hands when his tongued got tied up.

“Like a one-piece suit?”

“That’s it!” He clapped his palms together.
“Perfect. Yes, ma’am.”

“Nope. No one wears those.”

“Damn. You look, incredible, unbelievably…I
could…right here.” He sensed heat traveling up his chest as his
groin tightened.
Damn, staring at her is making me hard.

“Go change. Let’s get there before it’s
crowded.” She tugged on his hand.

Pres vaulted up the stairs and stripped off
his clothes. He rummaged around in his backpack until he found his
trunks.
She probably expects a
Speedo
. Real men don’t
wear those. Not me, anyway. Might as well be naked with one of
those. I’m not letting it hang out at a public beach. If it were
private, well, hell. I’m no prude.

Joining Brooke again, he laced his fingers
with hers and stuffed two beach towels under his arm. They headed
toward the water. It was fairly early, but there were a couple of
sunbathers on the sand. He tried to figure out if the tide was
coming in or going out before settling on a spot just close enough
to the water.

“Wish this was a private beach,” he said.

Brooke cocked an eyebrow at him. “And if it
were?”

“There’d be a whole lot of things I could do
that I can’t do here.” He snickered. “For one, I wouldn’t need this
stupid suit.”

Her smooth body grabbed his gaze. He couldn’t
look away. Remembering the softness of her skin, the firmness of
her flesh, gave him goose bumps. In California, he had been nervous
at the meetings, but as soon as he left, all he could think about
was Brooke. He missed her, needed to talk to her. Phone
conversations helped, but they weren’t the same as pillow talk.

What’ll I do if they want me to move there
to write the first six shows?

He refused to think about being there without
Brooke. He loved his life in New York, being part of her world, and
even the seniors. Hell, they made him laugh and asked how his
writing was coming. They were more supportive than his parents. But
he wanted that sale, wanted it so bad he could taste it. He had to
prove to his father, and to himself, that he had the stuff, that he
could be a screenwriter. It’s the only thing he wanted to do.

Lying on the towel, his mind wandered,
bouncing around from question to question about his future and how
Brooke fit in. He needed her. Even though he kidded her about her
type “A” habits, he respected her. She was organized,
disciplined…more than he was. Yet, she was warm. He loved the way
she treated the seniors, planned menus and movies for them. And
they adored her, worshipped her. She lapped it up like a hungry cat
at a bowl of milk.

“My kitten,” he murmured.

“What?” She pushed up on her elbows, her eyes
level with his.

“You’re great. Missed you while I was
away.”

“Yeah? I missed you, too.”

He took her hand in his and rubbed the sand
off. Then, he kissed her palm. He saw a question in her green eyes.
She seemed distant. He cupped her cheek. “What’s bothering you?
What’s on your mind?”

She shook her head, lowering her gaze.
“Nothing.”

“Liar,” he said, softly.

When she looked at him, he noticed how moist
her eyes were. She tried to cover it up, but he had seen it
already.

“What’s up, kitten? What’s the matter?” He
moved closer, his breath fluttering her hair. He tucked a few
strands behind her ear. “Come on, fess up.”

Again, she shook her head. He feathered a
kiss across her lips. “I love you, honey. Tell me what’s making you
sad.”

She took a shuddering breath and looked away.
“What’s going to happen to us when you go to California?”

He laughed. “That’s one damn big ‘if,’
kitten. No one’s making me an offer.”

“But they will. ’Cause you’re good.”

“How do you know I’m good?” He narrowed his
eyes, watching a blush steal across her cheeks.

“I read your stuff.”

His eyes widened. “What!”

“Yeah. You went out to the bank, and I read
what you had open. It’s great. I loved it. Didn’t want to stop, but
you came home.”

“Damn, woman. That’s invasion of
privacy.”

“I had to know if the man I loved was a good
writer or not. So, I peeked. I’m sorry. Actually, I’m not sorry.
You’re very talented.”

A grin crept across his face. “Sure know how
to redeem yourself, don’t you?” He kissed her.

“So, what’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to leave you
either. We’ll figure something out.”

“I don’t want to be pushy. I know your work
is important to you…”

“So are you, Brooke. So are you.” He tipped
her chin up for another kiss. She smiled at him, and he breathed a
sigh of relief.

“How about a swim?” He pushed to his feet,
clasped her small hand in his, and together they raced down to the
shallow water. They ran in, leaping over small waves and ultimately
falling under, before bobbing up smiling.

A sense of peace swept through Pres. With all
the uncertainty in his work, Brooke was the one element in his life
that gave him confidence.
She loves me. She’ll stick.
Rootlessness had never appealed to him. Now least of all. He wanted
his own family, a woman, Buddy, and kids someday. He smiled at the
thought that he might have that with Brooke—right before he dunked
her.

* * * *

Happiness flowed through Brooke’s body as she
lay drying in the sun. Pres had practically declared himself
committed to her. He said he loved her. The rays warmed the chill
from the water that made her skin pebble. Pres stretched out next
to her, his arm touching hers. He rolled over on his side.

“With the money I saved on the car rental,
I’m taking you out to a fancy restaurant tonight.”

“Fancy, here?”

“Damn right. They have one with a four star
reputation. It’s called La Petite Parisienne.”

“I don’t have anything fancy to wear. I
thought this was a beach weekend.”

He ran his finger down her nose. “Bess said
you could borrow something of hers. Check her closet.”

“You called Bess?”

“I asked her to recommend a restaurant.”

A shiver ran through her. “Okay. I’d love it.
French food is my favorite.”

“Perfect.”

She kissed him. “You get big points for
this.”

He shot her a lopsided grin. “Thought I
might.”

She laughed. “You’re an amazing man, Preston
Carpenter.”

“Back in the water. It’s too hot here.”

They swam in the calm waters of the Sound.
Then they walked along the shore toward Playland, looking for
shells in the sand. At two, they returned to the house, starving.
Together, they made a hero sandwich and devoured it then walked the
dogs. After a shower, they retired to the bedroom for a nap and
spent the time making love instead.

Brooke stretched out her arms. “What time is
dinner?”

“Reservation’s at seven.”

“Time for a nap?”

“A real one? Yeah.” Pres slipped under the
sheet next to her. Brooke turned her back to him so he could spoon
her. Skin to skin, they fell asleep with all three dogs sleeping
downstairs where it was cooler.

At six, they awoke. Brooke searched through
the dresses in Bess’s closet until she found a slinky,
rose-colored, jersey, long gown. The sexy, slippery material was
cool to the touch. Although she needed a bra because of the
revealing fabric, she abandoned the idea of panties. Her sandals
would be okay, mostly covered up anyway. Cap sleeves and a scoop
neck were flattering on her. Brooke liked her reflection in the
mirror. She brushed her hair, left it loose, and applied light
makeup.

Pres was already dressed in a button-down
shirt, sports jacket and good jeans, pacing by the front door when
she reached the top of the stairs. “Brooke!” he called, glancing at
his watch.

“I’m ready,” she said, walking slowly down
the steps. She looked up when she heard his breath catch.

“Oh my God. You look…amazing, gorgeous.” He
offered her his arm when she got to the bottom.

Once in the car, the handsome couple pulled
out of the driveway and drove to the elegant restaurant. Nestled
among a grove of trees, the stucco building didn’t look like much
from the outside. They stepped inside, sinking into thick carpeting
in the foyer. The walls were painted a deep, teal blue. Floor to
ceiling, heavy, cream-colored damask curtains graced long windows
that faced a garden. Round tables covered in tablecloths that
matched the drapes dotted the spacious dining room.

Three lush, blossoming pink peonies in a
small glass vase added gentle color to the décor. The
maître
d’
escorted them to a table in a quiet corner and handed them
menus. Air conditioning made the room cool enough to tempt Pres
into ordering the lobster bisque. A casserole of Maine lobster
grabbed his attention. Seared swordfish with a pesto crust made his
mouth water until he remembered that pesto had a ton of garlic in
it.

He decided on the beef tenderloin with
roasted hearts of palm and vermicelli. Brooke ordered the lobster
bisque, too, and roasted lamb with gnocchi, carrots, and onions.
Pres chose a bottle of Pinot Noir. Classical music was playing.
Brandenburg Concertos.

“I love Bach,” she said, as the waiter filled
their wine glasses.

“Me, too.” Pres raised his. “Here’s to the
perfect day with the perfect woman.”

Pleasure flowed through her at his kind
words. She wondered if she had flushed under his praise. His
compliments, always appearing sincere, warmed her heart and
confirmed that he was the right choice for her. They drank. She
inched her hand closer to his until his fingers pounced on hers.
“This place is beautiful. The food sounds wonderful.”

“If anyone should know a good restaurant,
it’d be Bess, right?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, tell me what you liked and didn’t like
about the stuff you read.”

“I liked it all. Especially the part about
the older cop, McRae.”

“What did you like about him?”

“He’s wise, but not a know-it-all. Ya know? I
liked the way he let the younger guy screw up and didn’t get
mad.”

“Did you think Cal—the younger guy—was an
idiot?”

“I thought he was really sexy.” She sensed
heat in her cheeks. “And kinda heroic. He tried so many things to
save his girl from that stalker.”

Pres grinned as she spoke. He paid attention
to her opinions, grilling her, asking pointed questions. She was
flattered he wanted her take. Like a man dying of thirst in the
desert, Pres seemed to drink up her positive words almost before
they were uttered. His eyes glowed and color came to his cheeks.
Brooke smiled to be able to bring another kind of pleasure to her
man by supporting his dream.

“Doesn’t Max discuss plot and stuff with
you?”

“Nope. Usually, he grunts when I try to get
his feedback and finishes with his usual, ‘when do I get the
final?’”

“That’s too bad.”

“I’d much rather hear it from you.” He took
her hand in both of his. A short silence between them was broken
when the waiter arrived with their food.

Their romantic evening ended perfectly with
another round of lovemaking and a peaceful night, huddled together,
bordered by three snoring pugs.

Restless when he arose at six, Pres didn’t
feel like writing. He paced, gazing up at the gray clouds.
Looks
like rain. Damn.
He made coffee and opened his computer. Bored
with the usual
Facebook
chats, he refilled his mug, looking
for something to do.

Curiosity got the best of him.
I wonder
why the company who bought my screenplay hasn’t decided to make it
into a movie yet.
He needed to know more. So, he went to his
copy of their contract he’d saved on his laptop. There was the
company information—Moonlight Productions, a post office box, but
no phone number.
That’s funny. I had to put my phone
number.

He searched online, but no website existed.
Seems fishy.
A cold sweat broke out on his neck.
Something’s wrong.
He looked closer.
The PO Box number is
in New York City.
Determined to find them, he tried the white
pages. There it was—a phone number for Moonlight Productions with
no street address. He stared, rubbed his eyes, and stared
again.

Oh no. It can’t be. No, no. Maybe they
changed the number.
He picked up his phone. He knew no one
would be there on a Sunday at seven in the morning, but he dialed
anyway. The recording confirmed his suspicions.

“Carpenter Investments, Limited. Our office
is closed at the present time—”

He’d heard enough and closed his cell. His
chest tightened, and rage coiled inside him, ready to spring like a
hungry tiger. He drained his mug and threw it at the wall with all
the force he could muster. It shattered, leaving light brown
wetness splattered everywhere and bits of glass.

He roared. “Nooooooooooooooooooooo!”

Pres tightened his fists. His gut knotted,
pulling him over until he was folded in half, grabbing his middle.
Hot, angry tears pushed through his defenses.

The bedroom door opened.

“Pres? Pres? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
The sound of her bare feet scurrying down the stairs drew his
attention. Clad only in his white T-shirt, Brooke stopped abruptly,
taking in the scene. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God. What
happened?” She approached him, reaching out.

He slapped her hand away as he struggled for
words. She recoiled.

“Don’t come any closer. There’s broken glass
anywhere.”