Donna Hill - Tender Loving Passion

She tapped on the Plexiglas partition. The window slowly whirred downward.

“Yes, Ms. Turner?”

“Where are we going?”

“To dinner.”

“You said that already.”

“That’s all I know, Ms. Turner.”

“You must know where you were told to drive,” she pressed, trying to control her rising temper, which was being overshadowed by her rising panic.

The partition whirred back into place, cutting off any further communication.

It was just like Michael to dream up something elaborate. But how in the world would she be able to explain what would certainly be a late night to Steven?

Sighing, she settled back against the plush leather. There wasn’t much that she could do other than wait it out. It’s not as if she could jump out of the car and make a run for it.

She’d deal with Michael when she saw him. She folded her arms and silently fumed, even as part of her bloomed with a macabre sense of excitement.

Forty minutes later, they took the exit to Sag Harbor. Mia jerked up on her seat and peered out the window.

The historic and quaint seaside town was elegantly quiet. The shops that were reminiscent of a postcard ad for weekend getaways were closed. The boats were docked and bobbing gently in the water.

The driver continued through the commercial section of town and drove to the outskirts, where the stately home of the wealthy African-American elite lived.

Finally, the driver turned into a cul-de-sac and pulled onto a gravel driveway.

Mia’s door was pulled open and the driver extended his hand to help her out of the car. She stepped out and reflexively inhaled the heady scent of the sea and brisk night air. The sky had just begun to fill with stars and the half moon seemed to hang perfectly above a two-story, sprawling white house that overlooked the ocean.

It was breathtaking.

“This way,” the driver said, leading Mia up the path to the front door.

As she took the first of three steps, the door opened. Her gaze rose. Her heart leaped in her chest. She thought she was prepared to see him.

She wasn’t.

Michael descended the stairs like a fantasy hero out of a dream.

Mia couldn’t move, and before she could pull herself together, Michael was taking her hand and saying something to her, but she couldn’t make out the words: they were being drowned out by the pounding of the pulse in her ears and the electricity that was surging through her from his touch.

“I’m glad you came.”

Those four simple words stripped away the past, all the lost years and misgivings, and suddenly she was glad she’d come as well.

* * *

Michael could barely contain all that he was feeling inside. When he laid eyes on Mia, those words he spoke were no more than a smoke screen. He didn’t want to make polite conversation. He wanted to take her and make her remember what it felt like to have him inside her, her body wound around his, her soft moans yielding to screams of release. That’s what he wanted to do, but of course he couldn’t. Instead, he apologized.

“Sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger,” he began, guiding her into a foyer the size of her entire condo. “But I knew if I told you where you were going, you would have refused.”

“Still trying to make up my mind for me, I see.”

That had always been a bone of contention between them. Michael wanted what Michael wanted, and he could never fathom why everyone didn’t go along with him all the time.

He turned to face her and laughed lightly. “You’re right. I should have given you the option. But now you’re here.” His chestnut-brown eyes meandered over her, taking in every inch.

He was still a gorgeous man to behold, Mia thought, an older, more mature version of Blair Underwood—a cool combination of boyish charm, dangerous sexuality and a ruthless streak that made for a lethal combination. The tinge of gray at his temples and the tiny flecks in his shadow of a beard only added to the dazzling package.

Michael was eight years her senior, but he was as fit as a man half his age. At forty-five, he had achieved what many only dreamed of and, knowing Michael, he’d only just begun.

Mia forced those thoughts to the back of her mind. He was a prime suspect in an illegal operation and she could not allow the intoxicating scent of his cologne, the glimmer in his eyes or the electricity of his touch to make her forget that.

“Please come in and sit down. I’ve had dinner prepared. But if you’d like that drink first—apple martini, right?” His smile lit up the room.

“You remembered.”

“There isn’t much about you that I’ve forgotten.” His gaze held her.

Mia swallowed. “A drink will be fine, but I really can’t stay for dinner.”

Disappointment creased his eyes. But just as quickly the look was gone. He lightly ran his tongue across his lips and a shiver ran down Mia’s spine.

“I see.” His right brow flicked. “Then let’s have that drink for old time’s sake.”

He walked ahead of her and stepped down into the sunken living room, which was something right out of House Beautiful. The shimmering teal-colored marble floors gave the illusion of walking on Caribbean water. Low contemporary furniture in a mix of fabrics and textures, all in cream and sandy-brown hues, dotted the space. Three-quarters of the room was wrapped in glass. The panoramic view looked out onto cliffs and oceans beyond. One wall encased a fireplace that would be perfect on a winter night, watching the powerful waves crash against the shore.

Mia set her purse on the glass coffee table while Michael fixed drinks. “You have a beautiful place.”

Michael turned to her. “I had it built for you.”

She couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d slapped her. “For me?”

He offered a sad smile. “I’d always told you we’d have a place of our own one day.” He lifted the bottle of vodka and poured some in a silver tumbler, followed by the apple martini mix and crushed ice. “I’m a man of my word.” He capped the tumbler and shook it vigorously. “Got my divorce, too.” His piercing look at her from over his shoulder held her in place.

Mia was speechless. A divorce. A house. It was everything she’d wanted. But it was too late. She was in love with Steven. And she couldn’t let Michael’s powers of persuasion or his unrelenting charm, this fabulous house or the fact that he was a free man dissuade her.

He crossed the room and handed her the drink.

“Thank you.”

He raised his glass. “To old friends.”

Cautiously, she touched her glass to his.

“I wanted to thank you for the referral,” she said, needing to break the invisible hold he had on her.

He shrugged dismissively, walked a few paces and sat opposite her in the armchair that matched the couch, both covered in a butter-soft ecru-colored fabric that was so lush, the cushions so thick and soft, you could sink into it and never get up.

“I’m sure you didn’t need the business. But I thought you’d be perfect for what they wanted.”

“How would you know?”

He offered a slight smile. “As I said before, I’ve followed your career. I’ve even attended some of your events. Incognito, of course.”

That confession shook her. “Why?”

He took a short swallow of his drink, studied the contents for a moment before speaking. “It was my way of staying in your life.”

The answer was delivered so softly, so sincerely that it twisted her heart.

This couldn’t be the man that Jean claimed might be behind an illegal escort service. This was the man she’d once loved. Standing before her was the man she’d prayed he would one day become. There was no way that the two could be one and the same.