Chandra didn’t know what to expect when Preston said he had a place in the country. But it certainly was not the sprawling stone farmhouse that reminded her of the English countryside. When she got out of Preston’s SUV, she half expected to see grazing sheep.

She stood on the front steps leading to the one-story home, staring out into the autumn night. A near-full moon silvered the countryside. “How long have you lived here?”

Preston moved closer, pulling her against his length. “I moved in six years ago. I used to drive through the Brandywine Valley after I got my driver’s license, telling myself if I studied and worked hard I would be able to buy property here.”

“Your dream came true.” Chandra’s voice was soft and filled with a strange longing she couldn’t disguise.

Preston pressed his mouth to her hair. “What about you? What do you dream about?”

She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation that came from the solid body molded to hers. How could she tell Preston of her dreams—dreams that were so erotic that when she woke she could still feel the aftermath of a climax, leaving her completely sated.

After the first few dreams Chandra had told herself she was going through withdrawal, and that her body craved the physical fulfillment she’d had with Laurence. But when the dreams continued she realized something else had triggered them—something more than a physical need. If she’d been in the States, there was no doubt she would’ve sought out a professional therapist to identify the reason why her dreams were solely erotic in nature. They’d gone beyond filling a sexual void. They had become a sexual obsession.

“My dreams aren’t the same as a wish list.”

“Can you tell me what’s on your wish list?”

Peering up at Preston over her shoulder, Chandra tried making out his expression in the moonlight. Only half his face was visible, and there was something about how the shadows struck his features that reminded her of book covers on paranormal novels. They weren’t Preston and Chandra in present Pennsylvania, but Pascual and Josette in early nineteenth-century New Orleans, where he’d come to her under the cover of darkness to make the most incredible love imaginable. The fleeting image of Preston making love to her was one she wanted to be real.

Discussing Preston with Denise had helped her rethink her relationship with him. They were friends and were collaborating on writing a play, yet there was sexual attraction that was palpable whenever they shared the same space. Preston was brilliant, gorgeous and inexorably male. He was perfect. Almost too perfect, and it was the perfection that gave her pause.

“There’s only one thing on Chandra Eaton’s wish list,” she admitted. “And that is to do whatever makes her feel happy and complete.”

Preston stared at the delicate face with eyes that appeared much too wise for someone as young as Chandra. There were times when she stared at him that made him feel as if she knew what he was thinking. Much to his chagrin, most of his thoughts toward her were purely erotic in nature. It was then he chided himself for reading her journal. Perhaps if they’d met on equal footing, then it would’ve given him the opportunity to look past what she’d written.

He’d tried to separate Chandra from the woman who’d written about her dreams, but he couldn’t. There was so much about the woman in his embrace and the one who’d used her imagination to conjure up the most exquisite lover that they were inseparable. What had shocked Preston was that, although each dream was about making love, she’d approached each one differently. It was as if she’d had a different lover every night.

“Are you happy, Chandra?”

The seconds ticked. “I’m at peace, Preston. I don’t feel the need to run away to try and find myself. I’ve come home and I know this time I’ll stay.”

Chandra had talked to Belinda about buying the furniture in her house, and after a good-natured back-and-forth Belinda agreed to accept a price well below what the pieces were worth. Chandra had been adamant when she refused to accept the bedroom, living room and kitchen furniture as a housewarming gift.

“I’m thirty years old, and for the first time in my life I know and like who I am. And it’s taken me this long to accept that I don’t need a man in my life to make me complete.”

“Don’t you want to get married and start a family like your sister?”

Preston knew he had crossed the line with the question, yet he had to know where Chandra stood on the issue if he found himself in too deep. He didn’t know what there was about her, but after spending the afternoon with the Eatons it was as if he’d been struck by a bolt of lightning.

He wanted what they had. He wanted to get together with his mother, his sister and her family, but also for a brief instant he’d imagined having his own wife and children. The Eatons and Rices were representative of most families. They loved one another, but also had their disagreements. What he’d noticed was a fierce loyalty that had extended to the next generation. Layla and Sabrina were as protective of Adam as Griffin was of Belinda.

Chandra pondered Preston’s query. There was a time when she’d planned to marry and hopefully have children, yet that dream had ended when Laurence bowed to pressure from his overbearing parents to end their engagement.

“I suppose I do.”

“Either you do or you don’t, Chandra.”

She stared at the beam of headlights from a car in the distance maneuvering around a winding road in the valley below. “I do. But it can’t be now.”

“Why?”

“I have too many things to do. I’m planning to move into my own place before the beginning of November.”

Preston felt a momentary panic. “Where are you moving to?”

“I’m subletting my cousin’s Penn’s Landing co-op.”

He exhaled a breath. He’d thought she was moving out of the state. “That’s a nice neighborhood.”

“So is Rittenhouse Square,” Chandra countered.

“I was looking for something in Society Hill, but there was nothing on the market at the time.”

“For someone who appears so contemporary, why do you like old neighborhoods?”

Preston chuckled softly. “There’s a certain character in older neighborhoods that I find missing in the ones where all of the buildings are designed like boxes and rectangles. Whether it’s the buildings’ facades, cobblestone streets or century-old trees, in the historic districts they all have a story to tell. The ones that don’t elect to keep their secrets.”

Chandra laughed, the rich sound fading in the eerie stillness of the night. “Spoken like a true writer.”

Preston’s fingers grazed the column of Chandra’s neck. “As much as I would love to hang out here with you, we need to go inside and talk about Death’s Kiss.”

“I’d like to take a shower and change into something more comfortable.”

“I’ll show you to your bedroom, then I’ll bring your bag in.” Preston had waited in the Eatons’ living room while Chandra had gone upstairs to pack a bag. She’d told him that her parents had recently celebrated their forty-second wedding anniversary, and he wondered if his father hadn’t died so young whether his parents would’ve stayed together.

He unlocked the door and walked into the entryway and was met with the subtle scent of fresh roses. The cleaning woman made it a practice of cutting flowers from the garden and arranging them in vases for the entryway and living room.

The flower garden, fireplaces and the house overlooking a valley were what prompted him to purchase the property. The fieldstone house sat on two acres with a copse of trees that provided shade and plenty of firewood. He’d purchased the house several months before he’d proposed marriage to Elaine. His enthusiasm for living in the Brandywine Valley was completely lost on her. She was a city girl who loved living in the city.

“Who arranged the flowers?”

Preston glanced over his shoulder to find Chandra staring at the lush bouquet of late-blooming roses ranging in hues from snow-white to deep purple in a crystal vase resting on a bleached-pine table.

“The woman who comes to dust and vacuum picks them from the garden.” The mother of two, who’d come to him asking to clean his house to supplement her income after her husband ran away with his much-younger secretary, had worked for a florist as a teenager, where she’d learned the art of flower arranging.

“You have a flower garden?”

Reaching for Chandra’s hand, Preston brought it to his mouth, dropping a kiss on her knuckle before tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “You’ll be able to see it tomorrow morning.”

“It’s already tomorrow,” Chandra reminded him with a sly smile.

“And don’t tell me you’re Cinderella, and at the stroke of midnight you turn back into a chambermaid.”

She rolled her eyes upward. “Never happen.”

“Did you ever pretend you were a princess when you were a girl?”

“No. My sisters were princesses only because I always insisted on being the queen.”

Preston’s eyebrows lifted. “They were never the queen?”

“No. I always threw a tantrum and Donna and Belinda knew they had to deal with my father if baby girl came to him crying.”

Smiling, he shook his head. “You must have been a hot mess.”

Chandra flashed a Cheshire cat grin. “I used whatever I had at my disposal. Being the baby of the family had its disadvantages, and I did whatever was necessary to shift the odds.”

“Conniving little wench.”

“What…eva,” she drawled.

Preston led her into a living room with a massive brick fireplace that opened out to a dining room. If his Rittenhouse Square condo was ultracontemporary, it was the opposite of the farmhouse in the historic Brandy wine Valley. A sofa and two facing love seats were upholstered with fabric stamped with flowers, ferns and vines. A coffee table in antique cherry was big enough to double as a place for an informal tea party. Plank cherrywood floors were covered with area rugs that complemented the furnishings. Roses on mochaccino wallpaper and a collection of green crockery and majolica in the dining room evoked the feeling of a Victorian period piece.

“Who decorated your house?” Every piece of furniture and accessories were chosen with the utmost care and consideration.

“My mother.”

“She has impeccable taste.” Rose Tucker’s knowledge of historic preservation was apparent when each item conformed to the design of the updated eighteenth-century farmhouse.

“I’ll let her know you said so. This will be your bedroom.” Preston stepped aside to let Chandra enter a room with a connecting door to his bedroom. “Mine is through that door.” He pointed to a carved mahogany door on the left. “The door on the right is your bathroom.”

“Lovely.” The single word slipped unbidden between her lips.

Sheltered beneath eaves that reminded her of an attic, Chandra looked at the queen-size bed covered with a quilt pieced with geometric patterns in a mix of plaids, stripes and paisleys. A mound of pillows in soft shades of coffee and cream were nestled against a wrought-iron headboard. An upholstered club chair in a faint brown-and-white pinstripe cradled an off-white chenille throw. She couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. The charming bedroom had a window seat where one could curl up to read, relax or just stare out the window.

“It reminds me of my bedroom when I was a girl. I grew up in a farmhouse outside Philly,” she explained when Preston gave her a questioning look. “My mother never had to go looking for us, because we always played around the house. The best thing about growing up in the suburbs was having a pet. We had dogs, cats, birds, rabbits and baby chicks. But, when the rabbits started multiplying and the chickens grew into hens or roosters, we had to give them away.”

Cradling her face, Preston pressed a kiss to Chandra’s forehead. “So, you like living in the country?”

She smiled. “I prefer it to the city. Waking up not hearing car horns or sirens from emergency vehicles alleviates more than fifty percent of one’s stress. Which do you prefer? The city or the country?”

“The country.”

“Why, then, do you have a place in the city?”

“That’s where I entertain and conduct business. I plot at the apartment, but this is where I write because of the natural light.” He kissed her again. “Let me get your bag. Knock on my door whenever you’re ready.”

 

Chandra stood up in the tub, reaching for a fluffy towel on a stack on a nearby stool. She’d lingered in the bathtub longer than she’d planned because soaking in a tub had become not only a luxury but also a privilege. When she’d entered the bathroom she felt as if she’d stepped back in time. Twin pedestal sinks and a slipper tub harkened back to another century.

The clock on a shelf chimed the hour. It was one o’clock. If she hadn’t napped in the car during the ride from Paoli to Philly, there was no doubt she wouldn’t have been able to keep her eyes open. Patting the moisture from her body, Chandra stepped out onto a thirsty shag bathmat and moisturized her body with a scented crème before retreating to the bedroom and pulling on a pair of black-and-white-striped cotton lounging pants with a white tank top. Walking on bare feet, she knocked lightly on the connecting door.

She knocked again, listening for movement on the other side. “Preston.” Waiting a full minute, she knocked again. “Preston, please open the door.” Again, there was no answer, and Chandra placed her hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly.

Pushing open the door, she stuck her head in. A lamp on a bedside table was turned to its lowest setting, casting a soft glow over the expansive space. A smile replaced her expression of uncertainty when she saw Preston sprawled on a king-size bed. He’d changed out of his suit and into a pair of drawstring white cotton pajama pants.

With wide eyes Chandra moved closer to the bed. Preston had fallen asleep while waiting for her. She felt like a voyeur when she was able to brazenly gaze at his toned upper body. Fully clothed, Preston Tucker was captivating; half-clothed he was mesmerizing.

For a man approaching forty who earned a living sitting behind a desk, she hadn’t expected a flat belly, defined abdominals and muscled pectorals. She leaned closer, inhaling the lingering scent of soap on his skin, while staring at the tattooed masks of comedy and tragedy over his heart. Without warning his breathing changed, becoming more ragged, but within seconds it resumed its normal cadence. Turning on her heels, Chandra headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

She stopped and turned. Preston had sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I thought you were asleep.”

Preston ran a hand over his cropped hair. “I guess I dozed off waiting for you.” He beckoned her, then patted the mattress. “Come and sit down. Come, baby. I’m not going to bite you,” he urged, sensing her hesitation.

Chandra took a tentative step, then another, before racing to the bed and launching herself at him. He caught her midair, flipped her onto her back, straddling her.

His gaze lingered on the hair she’d twisted into a knot atop her head, then moved leisurely down to her scrubbed face. “What took you so long?”

Her lids lowered, a dreamy expression softening her delicate features. “It’s been a while since I’ve had the luxury of lingering in a bathtub.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Chandra smiled. “Immensely.”

Burying his face between her chin and shoulder, Preston breathed a kiss against the column of her scented neck. “That’s good.”

The heat, the comforting crush of Preston’s body and the increasing hardness between his thighs enveloped Chandra as she struggled valiantly not to succumb to the familiar sensations of rising desire. She hadn’t been dreaming, or if she had she hadn’t remembered, since her return. What she felt was beginning to remind her of the dreams she’d recorded in her journals.

“Preston?”

He groaned in her ear. “What, baby?”

Chandra struggled not to move her hips. “We’re supposed to be talking, not making love.”

“We’re not making love, Chandra.”

She closed her eyes when she felt the outline of his erection against her thigh, while the intense heat from his body threatened to swallow her whole. In a motion so quick it caused her to catch her breath, he reversed their positions, she lying between his outstretched legs.

“Preston?”

“What is it, baby?”

“What exactly are we doing?”

Cradling the back of her head in one hand, Preston rested his other one over her rounded bottom. “We’re going to talk about Pascual and Josette.”

Chandra wanted to tell Preston that she loved it when he called her baby. It came out in a sensual growl. “What about them?”

“Stop wiggling, or my hard-on will never go down.”

Chandra’s head popped up, her eyes meeting Preston’s. “I was trying to get into a more comfortable position.”

“And I’m trying not to spend the rest of the night in pain.”

A frown creased her smooth forehead. “Why would you be in pain?”

The seconds ticked as Preston gave her an incredulous look. “Are you a virgin?”

Stunned by his bluntness, her mouth opened, snapped closed, then opened again. “No!”

“No!” he repeated. “If you’re familiar with the male anatomy, then you should know men can’t sustain an erection for an extended time without a release because it hurts like hell.”

“I know that.”

“If you know that, then stop teasing me.”

Chandra tried to sit up; her efforts were thwarted when Preston held her fast. “Let me go, Preston.”

He tightened his hold around her waist. “Now, you know I can’t do that, baby. Do you know how hard it’s been for me to keep my hands off you?”

“No,” she answered truthfully.

“Well, it has. I never imagined how much my life would change when I found your journal in that taxi. My first impulse was to give it to the driver, but I changed my mind.”

“So, you opened it and saw my contact information in my journal.”

“Yes. And I’m glad I did.”

“Do you actually think I believe you were just waiting to meet some anonymous woman?”

Preston glared at Chandra. There were times when he wanted to shake her. He didn’t know why she was distrustful. “What the hell did your last boyfriend do to you?”

Chandra averted her gaze while chewing her lower lip. Once she’d gathered her family together to inform them she wasn’t marrying Laurence, it was the last time she’d mentioned his name. She’d convinced herself that if she didn’t have to retell the story of what went wrong then she wouldn’t have to reopen a wound that took years to heal.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she said after a pregnant pause.

“Not talking about it won’t make it any less painful.”

Her gaze shifted back to Preston as her lips thinned in anger. “There’s no pain, Preston, just rage whenever I think about it. The funny thing is that I don’t blame Laurence as much as I do his parents. We dated for a year before he asked me to marry him. I accepted, and then the next step was meeting his mother and father, who were quick to tell me I was so wrong for their precious baby boy.”

“What do you mean by wrong?”

“I didn’t have the right pedigree.” She spat out the word.

Eyes narrowing, Preston angled his head. Instinctually, he knew it had to go beyond pedigree. The Eatons were one of Philadelphia’s prominent African-American families. “You didn’t have the right pedigree or the right color?”

The breath caught in Chandra’s lungs. “How did you know?”

Preston gave her a look usually reserved for children. “Chandra, please don’t insult my intelligence. It was their politically correct way of saying they didn’t want their son to marry a black woman. If they had wanted to have you investigated, then the P.I. would’ve told them that you come from a family of doctors, teachers and lawyers, so it had to be something else. And for me, race was the only other obvious variable.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

“It was because you were young and very much in love with someone who didn’t deserve your love. If you give me his address I’ll pay him a visit.”

A frown formed between her eyes. “And do what, Preston?”

“Kick his ass, of course.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Hell, yeah. I can promise you he wouldn’t look the same after I give him an old-fashion North Philly beat down.”

“Don’t tell me there’s some thug in Philadelphia’s famed dramatist.”

Preston glared at her under lowered brows. “There’s a lot of thug in me. However, I’m able to channel most of it into writing.”

“The only time I got a little feisty is when Laurence’s mother said it was nothing personal, but she had expected her son would marry someone within his social circle. I told her I understood exactly what she was saying because as a Thoroughbred I should’ve never hooked up with a jackass.”

Throwing back his head, Preston howled, Chandra’s laughter joining his as tears ran down their cheeks. She rolled off his body to lie beside him. “I’m glad it turned out the way it did, otherwise I never would’ve met you.”

“Is that a good thing, P.J.?”

He closed his eyes. “It’s a very good thing, C.E.” Turning on his side, he rested an arm over her belly. “The Tuckers’ pedigree can’t begin to match the Eatons’, but I’d like to hope that I at least have a chance to prove to you that I’m not a jackass.”

Chandra shifted, facing Preston, their faces only inches apart. She studied the features of the man who’d managed to scale the wall she’d erected around her in order to protect herself from heartbreak.

She knew he wanted to make love to her, and she wanted to make love with him. Unknowingly, he’d become the nameless, faceless man who’d invaded her sleep and dreams to assuage her sexual frustration.

“You could never be a jackass,” Chandra whispered against his parted lips. She tasted his mouth tentatively as if sampling a frothy confection.

Nothing on Preston moved, not even his eyes as he relished her caress of his mouth. “What do you want, Chandra?”

“I want you,” she said.

“How?”

The kisses stopped, and she stared at him. “I want you to make love with me.”

Preston smiled. She hadn’t asked him to make love to her, but with her. His right eyebrow lifted a fraction before settling back into place. “And I want you to make love with me.” He pressed a kiss over each eye. “Are you using birth control?”

Pinpoints of heat dotted Chandra’s cheeks. In her dreams she hadn’t had to worry about conception; but the man in whose bed she lay wasn’t a specter or figment of her imagination but flesh and blood and capable of getting her pregnant.

“No.”

Preston kissed her again. “I will protect you.” And he would. He would protect her from an unplanned pregnancy and protect her from anything and anyone seeking to harm her. It was in that instant that he realized he was falling in love with Chandra Eaton.