Sweet Dreams (11 page)

“Is this better?”

She rose several inches when his hand moved from her breast to the area between her thighs. “Preston. If you don’t stop, I’m getting out of this tub.”

Chandra wanted him to make love to her again, and she also wanted to discuss the play. She didn’t know how much more free time she’d have once she began the task of moving into her new residence. Then, there was the possibility that she would be contacted for a substitute or permanent teaching position. Business before pleasure had always been her credo for balancing her life.

Preston didn’t have the pressure of looking for a job or a place to live. He owned a condo and a house in the country, while she was subletting from her cousin. She’d
saved enough money to sustain her for two years, but only if she continued to live with her parents.

But for Chandra that wasn’t an option. She wanted her own place. She wanted to invite whomever she chose to stay over when the mood hit her. Her parents had raised four children, and now that they were in their sixties they could do and go anywhere they chose without having to worry whether their house would be standing when they returned.

Chandra had lived on campus when she attended Columbia, was provided with faculty housing when she taught at the private school in Northern Virginia and during her Peace Corps tenure. She’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday in April, and she still didn’t own property or a car.

“Sorry, baby,” he apologized, kissing her mussed hair.

She blew Preston an air kiss. “Apology accepted.”

Lowering his head, Preston brushed his mouth over hers in a peace offering. “I’ve plotted the first act of the play.”

Settling against his chest, Chandra closed her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

Preston wrapped his arms around her waist. “You can interrupt me whenever you need clarification. As I mentioned before, the opening scene will be Josette getting off a ship in New Orleans. She garners a lot of attention not only because she’s very beautiful but because she’s wearing an Empire-waist gown that is now the rage in Paris.”

“Does she look like a woman of color?”

“Her mother, Marie, is mulatto and Josette is a quadroon. Although fair in coloring, she wouldn’t be
able to pass for white. Her mother meets her at the pier with her household slaves.”

Chandra opened her eyes. “Her mother owns slaves?”

“Yes, baby. Many
gens de couleur
owned slaves. Marie, as
plaçée
to a wealthy Creole planter, would have a personal maid and manservant.”

“Please continue, Preston.”

“Marie is going on about the upcoming quadroon ball and she has arranged for Josette to become
plaçée
to the son of the wealthiest man in New Orleans. Marie overrides Josette’s protest when she taps her on the hand with her fan. They arrive home and Josette retreats to her room where she writes a letter to a young man she met in Paris. He is also a man of color, but she knows her mother will not permit her to marry an African. In order to hide her liaison from her mother, she addresses the letter to his sister to give to him.

“The next scene is at the shop of a dressmaker where Josette is to be fitted for a ball gown. She spies a man in the latest European fashion lounging on a chair. When their gazes meet, she suddenly finds herself feeling faint. He gets up to assist, but Marie steps in between them to aid her daughter. The shopkeeper revives her with smelling salts, then leads her into a dressing room.

“Josette suffers through being measured and having to select fabric for her dress. When she emerges from the dressing room she sees the strange man with a woman. I’ve already established that Francesca is Pascual’s sister and a vampire who has to feed, whereas Pascual doesn’t.”

Chandra smiled. “I like that.”

Preston inclined his head. “I thought you would. Josette gets to see Pascual again at the flower market. He
buys a nosegay, then presents it to her. She is reluctant to accept it, because her mother has lectured her about talking to men to whom she hasn’t been formally introduced. But Josette thinks herself more French than American, and the girls with whom she interacted at her school thought of themselves as libertines. A few of them had become mistresses to wealthy men, while others took lovers by their leave. Pascual gives her a card, asking whether he can call on her. She tucks the card into her reticule, then presents him with her back. When Pascual tells her the woman she saw him with was his sister, she tells him he will hear from her.”

“Does she contact him?”

“Yes. She sends the maid with a note to Pascual at the boardinghouse where he’s living during his stay in the Crescent City. She invites him to share afternoon tea with her and her mother, a ritual she discovered during a visit to London. I haven’t fleshed out the scene between the three of them because you have tell me how Pascual supports himself.”

“He’s a hide exporter. He has turned vast tracts of land into horse and cattle ranches.”

“Nice,” Preston complimented. “What does he do to pass his time in New Orleans?”

“He does what most men of leisure during that time did—whore, drink and gamble.”

Throwing back his head, Preston laughed. “Damn, baby, you didn’t have to say it like that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I am right,” Chandra argued softly. “I did the research. Knowing this, will Marie be receptive to him?”

“She’s charmed by him because he appears to be a
wealthy foreigner, but she has signed a contract to have Josette become
plaçée
to an American. Her dilemma is that the contract is as legal and binding as a marriage certificate. If she permits Josette to become involved with Pascual, then she’s risking her future because her daughter’s father may withdraw his financial support.
Plaçée
notwithstanding, she cannot insult or embarrass a white man. Pascual shocks Marie when he offers to make Josette his wife, not his mistress or
plaçée.
Unfortunately, Marie will not concede, and tells him he can find another quadroon if he attends the ball. Pascual has decided he wants Josette. The scene ends when he tells Francesca he will have Josette. He will go as far as ordering Francesca to turn Josette into a vampire.”

Chandra applauded, her heart racing with excitement. “Bravo! Bravo! What have you planned for the second act?”

Lacing his fingers together over her belly, Preston pulled Chandra closer. “You and I will have to work closely together on act two.”

“Why?”

“This act will be solely about seduction. It will begin with the ball and the Regency dance, which can be the English Country Dance, the Cotillion, Quadrille, waltz and
your
tango. Of course, I’ll have to hire a choreographer. Josette’s benefactor will be introduced in this act.”

“What does he look like?”

Preston paused. “All I’m going to say is, physically he’s the complete opposite of Pascual.”

“Don’t tell me he’s blond, short and frail-looking.”

Preston nodded.

“No, Preston! The only thing missing is spectacles and he would be a nineteenth-century nerd.”

“What do you want, baby?”

“Make him a worthy competitor. He can be blond, but he can also be gorgeous. Also make him a little older. Perhaps early thirties. Compared to Pascual’s two hundred-plus years he’s a mere baby.”

Preston gave her a long, penetrating look. “Okay. Basil, who will be called Bazz-el, will be Pascual’s mirror image.”

“Don’t forget to include a voodoo ritual replete with drums and dancers. I want everyone in the audience to feel as if they’d been transported to the motherland.”

Lowering his head, he nipped the side of her neck. “How would you like to take a trip to the motherland with me?”

“What are you talking about, Preston?”

“Let’s go back to bed.”

Chandra flashed a saucy grin. “And do what, baby?”

“I don’t know, baby,” he teased. “Perhaps you can show me what to do.”

“Stand up, Preston,” she ordered. “Come on, darling. Please stand up.”

Deciding it was better to humor Chandra than continue to question her, Preston pushed to his feet. He’d regained his footing at the same time she went to her knees, facing him.

“No!” Preston bellowed like a wounded animal when he felt the heat of her mouth on his sex. Chandra had wrapped her arms around his thighs, holding him fast.

He hardened quickly as he stared, stunned, at his penis moving in and out of her mouth. Eyes closed, fists clenched, he succumbed to the most exquisite pleasure he’d ever had in his life.

Bending over, he forcibly extricated her arms, slid down to the cool water and pushed inside her with one, sure thrust. Between sanity and insanity, heaven and hell, he drove into her like a man possessed. Then without warning, he pulled out at the last possible moment, moaning as he spilled his passion in the water.

“You didn’t like it?” she asked innocently.

Preston glared at Chandra, his gaze raking her face like talons. “I loved it, Chandra. But you’re driving me crazy,” he gasped. He should’ve known what to expect; what had just occurred was ripped from the pages of her journal.

Moisture dotted Chandra’s face when she opened her eyes. “That makes two of us. Now, please let me up. I need to take a shower.”

He stepped out of the tub, she feeling the heat from his gaze on her wet body as she headed to a corner shower stall. Closing the door, she turned on the water, then slid down to the tiled floor. Her attempt to live out her fantasy with Preston had nearly met with disaster. He’d entered her without a condom during the most fertile time of her cycle. If he hadn’t pulled out, then the risk of her becoming pregnant was more than ninety-nine percent.

The door opened; Preston stepped in and closed the door behind him. Anchoring his hands under her shoulders, he eased her to stand. “We can’t do that again. Not unless you want a baby.”

Water spiked her lashes when Chandra glanced up at Preston. “It won’t happen again.”

“I want it to happen again,” he crooned. “It just can’t happen unless I’m wearing protection.”

He pulled her to his chest, rocking her from side to side. They stood under the falling water, rinsing the
lingering soap from their bodies. Minutes later they stood on a bath mat drying each other’s body.

They’d made love—twice, discussed
Death’s Kiss
and had to prepare for Ray Hardy and his wife.

C
handra knew she’d made an error in judgment when she’d initiated oral sex. Although he’d claimed to have liked it, she wasn’t certain whether he appreciated her assertive take-charge approach. Although not as sexually experienced as some of her classmates and/ or coworkers—her sum total of liaisons was limited to two—she’d become a participant whenever sex became the topic of conversation. It was those explicit conversations, coupled with pornographic films, that fueled her fertile imagination.

She’d bonded with three single female teachers at Cambridge Valley Prep. When they didn’t have dates, they usually got together on either Friday or Saturday nights. If they met in her apartment, then it’d become Chandra’s responsibility to provide the food and beverages. In order to avoid a conflict, they’d set up a rotating schedule for their get-togethers.

One night someone rented a pornographic movie, and when the images appeared on the television screen it was to stunned silence. They laughed at most of the antics because the acting was so contrived, but viewing the movie served as a pleasant diversion for their girls’ night.

Afterward, they scheduled one day a month as “naughty night.” Most times they wound up critiquing the acting, or lack thereof, plot and set decorations.

Chandra pulled on a pair of faded jeans, thick white socks and a cotton sweater with a rolled neckline and cuffs in a soft oatmeal shade. She’d towel-dried her hair, brushed it and pulled it into a ponytail. Preston told her their meeting with the Hardys was casual and informal.

She cleaned up the bathroom, then turned her attention to making the bed.

“I didn’t invite you here to do housework.”

She turned to see Preston in the doorway, hands folded at his hips. Jeans, a navy blue waffle-weave pullover and running shoes completed his casual look. He’d showered but hadn’t shaved.

“I have a thing about unmade beds,” she retorted.

“Get over it, Chandra. Now, come eat breakfast.”

Chandra didn’t move. “Are you pissed with me?”

Preston lowered his hands as his expression stilled, becoming a mask of stone. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you upset because I took the initiative in making love to you?”

Closing the distance between them, Preston stood over her like an avenging angel. “Do you really hear yourself? Did I tell you that I was upset? Do I look upset?”

“I don’t know, Preston.”

“Well, I’m not. It’s not about who initiates what. For me it’s about enjoying making love with you. Now if you’re talking about unprotected sex, then that’s something we can discuss. If I do father a child, then I want it to be by mutual consent. When I asked you whether you want marry or have children, your response was you do, but it can’t be now. And to me, that translates into my protecting you.”

There was something about the way Preston was looking at her that made Chandra feel as if he could read her mind. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t understand, baby. You truly have no idea what you are doing to me.”

With wide eyes, she asked, “What am I doing to you?”

“You’re turning me into a madman. Whenever we’re apart I find myself obsessing about you, while trying to come up with any excuse to bring us together. You’re beautiful and you’re smart. I love the way you smell, how you taste and your feistiness. And I love the fact that you’re a tad bit wicked in bed.”

Chandra took a step, resting her head on Preston’s shoulder. She longed to tell him that she loved everything about him, yet was reluctant because she didn’t want a repeat of what she’d had with Laurence. She’d been the first one to bare her soul, confessing that she was in love with him. Only after their breakup did she realize he’d never professed to loving her. He wanted her, adored her, was proud of her, but the dreaded four-letter word was never a part of his verbal repertoire.

“Just a tad?” she whispered in the fabric of his shirt.

Resting his chin on the top of Chandra’s head, Preston smiled. “Is there more?”

Easing back, she stared into the velvety dark eyes of the man who made her feel things she didn’t want to feel and made her do “naughty” things to him. “There’s a lot more.”

Attractive lines fanned out around Preston’s eyes when his smile grew wider. “I can assure you that you won’t get a complaint from me.”

“We’ll see.”

“Should I be afraid of you, C.E.?”

She patted his chest. “No. P.J. I just want you to enjoy it.”

“And I promise you, I will.” His eyes caressed her face seconds before he grasped her hand and led her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

A cool breeze wafted through screens at the quartet of windows spanning one wall. Roberta Eaton claimed that the kitchen was the heart of any home, and judging from Preston’s it wasn’t only the heart but also its lifeblood. The generously proportioned space combined classic materials with practical up-to-date amenities.

White cabinetry, stainless steel appliances, black granite countertops afforded the kitchen the appearance of those in the grand estates of a bygone era. A third sink fitted in an oversize island was ideal for several cooks to work at the same time.

Her smile was dazzling. “I like it.”

Preston dropped a kiss on Chandra’s hair. She liked his kitchen and what he felt for her went far beyond a casual liking. He wondered how Chandra would react if she knew he wanted a commitment from her—that they would see each other exclusively.

After he and Elaine mutually decided to go their
separate ways, he’d almost become a serial dater. He’d dated women he liked and the ones he tolerated were there to fill up the empty spaces when he wasn’t writing. It took a great deal of soul-searching for him to realize he didn’t need to see a different woman every other week, or sleep with a different one every couple of months. Preston knew some of the women wanted more, but he refused to offer more. His work had become a jealous mistress he didn’t want to give up.

Whenever he began a new project, he wrote in seclusion, averaging four hours of sleep and eating one meal a day. He’d shower, but wouldn’t bother to shave. It was during his marathon writing sessions that he refused all social invitations. With Chandra Eaton he could have both: writing and the woman.

“Will you help me prepare dinner?”

Chandra was caught off guard by the query. The last time she’d offered to help Preston he’d snarled at her before relenting. “Of course I’ll help you. What’s on the menu?”

“I’ve planned to roast a rack of lamb with an herb crust, couscous, glazed carrots and homemade ice cream.”

“How would you like to be my personal chef?”

“I think we can work out something?”

“How much are you going to charge me?” she asked.

“We’ll begin with one kiss three times a day for the first week. Then we’ll increase it to two, three times a day, for the following week.”

“What happens the third week?”

“Why three, three times a week, and so on and so on.”

Chandra flashed a sensual moue. “It sounds as if I’m going to have to hand out a lot of kisses.”

“You can’t have it both ways, beautiful. I have to charge you something.”

Going on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms around Preston’s neck. “Can’t I at least get the family discount?”

Preston’s lids came down, hiding his innermost feelings. This was the Chandra Eaton he’d come to look for: soft, sexy
and
teasing.

“You can’t get a family discount until you officially become family.”

Chandra knew in which direction the conversation was going, and she wanted no part of it. Fortunately, the distinctive chime from his cell phone preempted her reply.

Preston leaned in closer. “To be continued.” Turning on his heels, he walked over to the cooking island to answer the phone, glancing at the name on the display. “Good morning, Ray.”

“That it is, P.J.,” Raymond Hardy shouted, followed by a gravelly chuckle. “Beth just gave birth to a baby girl!”

“Congratulations! How are Beth and the baby?”

“Paige is doing well, but Beth’s going to be in the hospital longer than she’d expected. She had to undergo a Cesarean.”

A slight frown creased Preston’s forehead when Chandra opened and closed drawers in the island. He knew she was looking for pieces for place settings. She exuded a nervous energy that wouldn’t permit her to sit and relax.

“It’s going to be a while before she’s going to feel
like doing anything around the house, I’m giving you guys a gift of a cleaning service for the next month.”

There was silence before Ray spoke again. “Thanks, man. That’s really going to come in handy, because my bank account is hovering around zero after I had to pay my lawyer to sue my sonofabitch ex-collaborator for selling my songs to that slimy record producer.”

Preston knew Ray and his wife were strapped for cash, and paying for a cleaning service was his way of lessening their burden. He’d done the same for his sister after she delivered each of her two sets of twins. He’d also paid for a nanny with the second set, only because Yolanda was overwhelmed having to care for four young boys under the age of four.

Preston nodded although Ray couldn’t see him. “There’s no need to thank me. I know you can’t boil water, and Beth is a little obsessive when it comes to having a clean house.” The expression “One hand washes the other and both hands wash the face” came to mind. He’d asked Ray to pen the music and lyrics for
Death’s Kiss,
not to offer the man a generous commission but because he was one of the best in the business.

“I’m glad you said it, because whenever I mention it she goes off on me,” Ray said, laughing. “As soon as Beth is up and moving around without too much difficulty, I’ll call you and we can set up another time to meet.”

“Don’t rush it, Ray.”

“I know you, P.J. Once you get something in your head, you’re like a dog with a bone. You just won’t let go. Now, if you’re stepping out of your comfort zone to come up with a musical drama, I know it’s going to be spectacular. Tell me a little about it and I’ll begin working on something on this end.”

Preston gave him a brief overview of the plot. “I need music for a ball and a voodoo ritual.” There was a moment of silence, and he knew Ray’s mind had shifted into overdrive.

“Early nineteenth-century music and dance would include the Cotillion, English Country Dance and perhaps a Quadrille.”

“Throw in a waltz and tango and you’ve covered all the dances.”

“I can understand a waltz, because it had become quite a dance phenomena about 1790, but the tango didn’t become popular outside of the ghettos of Argentina until the early twentieth century.”

The reason Preston had selected Raymond Hardy to write the score was not only because the man was a musical genius but also a music history expert. He’d appeared in several documentaries chronicling the history of musical genres.

“Pascual is a vampire who originated in Argentina.”

“So, he’s a time-traveler,” Ray said. The excitement in his voice was evident.

“You’ve got it,” Preston confirmed.

“This is very interesting, P.J. What if I write a love theme in Spanish, French and English?”

“You’re a musical genius, Ray.” He hadn’t told the composer about Chandra’s suggestion to have a song sung in English and Spanish. Adding French would be in keeping with early nineteenth-century multicultural and multilingual New Orleans.

“You’ve given me a lot to work with, P.J. Let me see what I can come up with. By the way, when do you project auditioning and rehearsals?”

“Not until the spring.” It would take him that long to
complete and fine-tune the dialogue. “I’ve decided to go local with this production. In other words, I want local raw talent. If I’m going to direct and produce, then I’ll have a much smaller budget from which to work. And if Beth decides to go back to work, then I’d like her to design the sets.”

“I’m sure she’ll do it, even if she has to ask her mother to come up and watch Paige while she’s working.”

“I don’t want to infringe on her time with your daughter, but she is my first choice.”

“I’ll ask her, and then e-mail you Beth’s response. P.J.,” he said after a pause, “you’ve got yourself another winner.”

Preston stared at Chandra as she moved around the kitchen in an attempt to find what she needed to set the table in the dining area. Instead of sitting around and waiting for him to wait on her, she’d assumed a take-charge approach.

“Thanks, Ray. Give Beth my best and give Paige a kiss from her Uncle P.J.”

Ray laughed again. “Will do. Later, buddy.”

Preston ended the call. He’d wanted to tell Ray that he never would’ve come up with the premise for the play if it hadn’t been for Chandra Eaton’s erotic dreams and her taunt that all of his work was tragically brooding. With ethereal romantic period costumes, historically correct set decorations and star-crossed lovers,
Death’s Kiss
was certain to become a stunningly visual feast, just like the sexy woman moving confidently around the kitchen.

His gaze lingered on the shapely roundness of her hips in the fitted jeans. Her conservative style of dress had artfully concealed a curvy lush body that sent his libido into overdrive.

“Thank you for setting the table. It looks very nice.”

Chandra turned to face Preston. She hadn’t heard him when he’d come up behind her. “You’re very welcome.”

“I usually don’t use a tablecloth, but it does add a nice touch,” he admitted.

She suspected he probably took his meals at the cooking island rather than the table, but held her tongue, because she didn’t like verbally sparring with Preston. Debating an issue was one thing, but arguing over inane issues tended to upset her emotional equilibrium.

“I suppose you overheard my conversation with Ray. His wife had the baby, so it’s just going to be the two of us.”

“That’s okay.”

Preston’s expressive eyebrows lifted a fraction before settling into place. “If you don’t have anything on your to-do list, I’d like you to hang out here with me for a few days so we can flesh out the second act.” He was anxious to finalize the plotting process so he could begin the actual writing process.