Long Time Coming

She felt the heat of Micah’s midnight gaze on her back as she went in search of Irena Cleary, silently berating herself for breaking her own rule. She’d lost count of the number of men who’d tried coming on to her since she’d established Signature Bridals with her sister and cousin—men she normally wouldn’t have met if not for her business.

Once burned, twice shy.

She’d gotten in over her head with Bryce Hill, but swore it would never happen again with another man.

Tessa found Jackson’s wife Irena in the kitchen. Pregnant with her third and what she claimed was her last baby, the elementary school teacher was engaged in a heated conversation with her preteen daughter, who wanted to know why she couldn’t invite her friends over to the impromptu cookout.

Turning on her heel, Tessa retraced her steps. She didn’t want to witness what was certain to become a volatile confrontation between mother and daughter. She remembered her own disagreements with her mother, but it always ended with Lucinda declaring, I had you, not the other way around, so that makes me the boss of you. And it wasn’t until she’d matured that Tessa realized every decision her mother had made on her behalf was for her daughters’ benefit and protection.

Returning to the backyard, she saw Micah with Jackson Cleary, the two men standing apart from the others and deep in conversation. She was stuck in the dark with a former New York City police officer who’d taken an oath to protect and serve.

She smiled.

How lucky could she get?

Hours later, Tessa unlocked the door to her home and found the dark silence eerie. It was after eleven; the block party had wound down and her neighbors had retreated to their darkened residences.

She handed Micah his suit jacket, the lingering scent of his cologne still wafting in her nostrils. “You’re welcome to hang out here until the power comes back or sunrise. Whatever comes first,” she added.

Raising the flashlight, Micah stared at Tessa, photographing her with his eyes. Slowly, seductively, his gaze slid downward to the hollow of her throat, where a runaway pulse revealed she wasn’t as composed as she appeared.

“Thank you.”

“Come upstairs with me.”

He didn’t move. “That’s all right. I’ll hang out down here.”

“You can’t hang out down here because there’s no place for you to lie down, and I don’t think you’d want to spend the night sitting up in a chair.” Tessa extended her hand. “I’m going to need the flashlight.”

They climbed the staircase together. There was only the sound of their footsteps muffled in the carpeting on the stairs and the rhythmic ticking of the massive grandfather clock in a corner at the top of the staircase. The narrow beam of light illuminated the Oriental runner on the second-story parquet floor hallway. Tessa led the way into her bedroom, stopped and turned to face Micah.

“You can sleep in here.”

He frowned. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll be in one of the guest bedrooms.”

“Why can’t I sleep in the guest room?”

Her frown matched his. “Are you always so contrary, Micah?”

His frown deepened. “You think I’m contrary?”

“Yes,” she countered. “Everything I suggest, you refute. I’m offering you my bedroom because it has the largest bed and I believe you would be more comfortable sleeping in a king rather than a full-or twin-size bed.”

Micah’s expression softened. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your hospitality, but I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Everyone affected by this blackout is inconvenienced. We’re lucky because we could’ve been trapped in a subway tunnel or in an elevator. And like in so many other unfortunate situations, I’ve learned to go with the flow.”

When Tessa directed the beam of light to a corner of the room, Micah could make out the outline of a chaise, a table and a lamp. “I can’t sleep in your bed. I’ll take the chaise.”

Tessa clamped her teeth together. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone as exasperating at Micah Sanborn. And that included a few over-the-top brides-to-be. She’d gone above and beyond social protocol to make him comfortable, and still he challenged her every proposal. What she should’ve done when the lights went out was show him the door, but she’d accommodated him because of his sister. There was no doubt the Sanborns were going to test her patience and work her last nerve.

“How tall are you, Micah?”

“Why?”

“How tall?” she repeated.

“Six-one.”

“You just struck out. The chaise is configured for someone less than six feet in height. Therefore the bed is yours.”

“If that’s the case, then why don’t we share the bed? I give my word that nothing will happen,” he teased.

“And I give you my word that I’ll jack you up if you tried something.”

“You jack me up?” he asked incredulously. “I’m at least half a foot taller and I’m willing to bet that I outweigh you by eighty pounds—and you claim you can jack me up.”

Tessa wrinkled her nose. “There may be some truth in your statistics, but I know a way of changing you from a baritone to a soprano in one-point-two seconds with a well-aimed knee to your—”

“Please don’t say it,” Micah said, interrupting her. “I get the point.”

She walked over to the sitting/dressing area. The seconds ticked off as she lit candles on two low tables in the inviting space. There was enough light coming from the candles in the alcove for her to gather a pair of pajamas from a drawer in an eighteenth-century Louis XV armoire made of walnut that included the original hardware. She’d refused to reveal to anyone how much she’d paid for the magnificent piece she’d found in the historic city of Arles, where van Gogh painted Starry Night and two hundred other canvases. The armoire matched the sleigh bed and the bedside tables she’d purchased at an estate sale two years before.

Tessa made her way into an adjoining bathroom, lighting the many candles lining the marble ledge surrounding the garden tub, and gathered towels from a marble slab mounted under the counter of a porcelain basin and took out a cellophane-wrapped toothbrush from a shelf concealed behind a wall mirror, placing them on a table next to a freestanding shower stall.

She left the bathroom to find Micah sitting in an upholstered club chair, one leg draped over the opposite knee. He stood up. Tilting her head, she smiled up at him. “I left towels and a toothbrush on a table next to the shower.” There was a beat of silence, then she said, “Good night, Micah.”

He returned her smile. “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Tessa’s sultry laugh swept over him like a light breeze as she left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. He liked hearing her laugh. It was unrepressed and free. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to be—at least not with him. From the moment he’d stepped into the building housing Signature Bridals Tessa Whitfield was the consummate professional. She hadn’t permitted the professional persona to slip over dinner. Even when she’d questioned him about where he’d grown up her tone was neutral, almost impersonal, as if she were conducting an interview.

He’d watched her interact formally with her neighbors as if she feared letting them see another side of her personality. If she’d accused him of being contrary, it was because he wanted her to relax, not to take herself or life so seriously. The events following 9/11 had changed him and his outlook on life forever.

Micah stood, staring at the door, thinking about the woman under whose roof he would spend the night—a woman whom he didn’t know but wanted to get to know. Tessa’s rule that she didn’t date or get involved with anyone associated with her clients had become a challenge, one he readily welcomed.

All of his life he’d faced challenges: abandonment by his biological mother, becoming a ward of the state of New Jersey, serving and protecting the citizens of New York City for twenty years as a police officer and now as an assistant district attorney for Kings County.

He liked challenges and he was patient—patient enough to wait until after his sister’s wedding, when she would no longer be a Signature bride.

Micah walked into the bathroom and took in a quick breath. Aside from indoor plumbing and electricity—or lack of the latter at the present time—he felt as if he’d stepped back in time. The French-inspired bathroom was a retreat—a place to relax and while away the hours in the oversize marble tub or in a corner with an overstuffed chaise covered in a pale-blue-and-cream-striped fabric.

A nearby table held a crystal vase filled with a profusion of colorful fresh-cut flowers. A terra-cotta floor and walls covered with pale-blue-and-cream wallpaper reflected the French influence Tessa seemed to favor. He picked up a book off a stack on the table and smiled. He and Tessa had similar reading tastes.

As he unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his trousers, he didn’t want to think of what else he had in common with the seemingly elusive woman who’d aroused his curiosity. Perhaps it was because Tessa was so unapproachable that she’d piqued his interest. He’d never viewed women as sexual objects or regarded them as receptacles for his lust, but that also didn’t mean that he hadn’t had his share of affairs or one-night stands. There were women he’d liked—a lot. And there were women who’d liked him—a lot.

He brushed his teeth and undressed, leaving his clothes folded neatly on the chaise. Opening the door to the shower stall, he stepped in and closed it behind him. Turning on the cold water, Micah gritted his teeth as the icy spray pebbled his flesh. Then he turned on the other faucet, adjusting the water temperature until it was lukewarm. He picked up a bar of soap and lathered his body.