Dream Keeper (20 page)

Unbuckling his belt, he had a quick thought.
It’ll only take a minute.
The laptop he used for team information was still in the study.
I wonder if I can pull up a website for Tensing Penn?

It took forty-five minutes to make all the reservations he thought they would need.
Now I just need to make sure about the timing.
It was minutes after one in the morning, too late to make the final calls.
I can check with Yvette and Marlea in the morning—I tell them this is a second honeymoon for Rissa and they’ll be on board. If I can get five days with her we can make this work. I know we can.
AJ crossed his mind and Dench trashed the thought.
This time, it’s all about Rissa and me.

Standing, he stretched and tried to think further, but came up dry.
I’m on ‘Empty,’ time to crash.
In the bedroom, he flipped the spread back across the bed and dumped his body onto the clean white sheets.
These must have a lower…what do you call it?
He passed a hand over the sheet and tried to remember what she called it…
thread count,
he suddenly remembered, missing the eight-hundred thread count sheets Rissa liked for their bed.
Huh. I like them too. They feel like satin on the skin, so soft, so smooth, and when they touch your bare skin, it’s like…Damn, I miss her.

Memories of his wife started to push through, and he let them come. Easy and early thoughts of her would always be cherished, like the first time he’d seen her. She was eleven years old and ridiculously cute in her Girl Scout uniform.
She had those long plaits hanging down her back, and she was as smart as a whip and damned good at selling those cookies.

Hard not to smile.

Dang, I almost forgot about the time she got me and AJ to jump double-dutch, and I got twisted in the ropes and fell. I broke my wrist and had to sit out most of my freshman year.
He smiled.
To make up for it, she baked cookies for me, all by herself.
Five years later, she was a cheerleading hottie and AJ was worried about the string of boys who always seemed more than willing to follow her.

He didn’t need to worry, though. She had her share of dates, but never seemed to be interested in much more than fun. It was like Fate or something was always conspiring to keep us together. All that time I spent training, moving up from assistant to full coach. From Cleveland and St. Louis, all the way to Florida, she was always there.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember how long it had been since any other girl or woman had fascinated him the way his wife did—and couldn’t.
A billion pretty women on the planet, and not one of them as exciting or interesting as my Rissa.

Stretched out, his body long and his ankles crossed, Dench laced his fingers behind his head.
She’s not the kind of woman any man could ever own, but I’m damned glad she’s chosen to make a life with me.
He laughed out loud when he remembered her saying,
“You are the only man in the world that I would willingly cook and clean for. I must really love you.”
Those words would always touch him.
And even though she still can’t cook worth a tinker’s dam, I would kick B. Smith and Patti LaBelle both to the curb for her—any day.

Staring at the ceiling, he wondered what she was doing, and the words to “Dilemma” ran through his mind again.
There’s no point, nothing to gain in my lying here like this, and that damned song is not going to stop running through my head. There’s no way I’m going to sleep if I don’t at least say something to her. Besides,
he grinned,
I promised AJ that if I married her, I would never leave her hanging.

Knowing the hour, Dench rolled onto his elbow and reached for his cellphone. His heart lurched when it rang just as his fingers brushed it. Flipping the phone open, the name in the caller ID made him grin.

“Why are you still awake?” Her voice, as sweet and decadently rich as melting Noka chocolate, poured into his ear and scourged his soul.

“I’m horny and I miss my wife. How about you?”

“I don’t have a wife, I have no devices, and I’m horny, too. On top of that, the bad news is that my husband walked out on me.”

“Foolish man.” He heard her breath cross the line and he hardened in response. “I think you should forgive him.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, because I love him,” she said softly. “I only wish he’d kissed me before he left. He didn’t, and now I’m left with an old memory on my lips.”

“A stale kiss?” Dench couldn’t help smiling.

“I didn’t tell you which lips,” she whispered.

Chapter 15

Dench hit the button on the garage door opener and was relieved to see Rissa’s car already parked inside. “Good thing traffic was light.” Dench checked his watch and climbed out of the truck. He knew they were cutting it close, planning to leave the house by two, but it was the best he could do.

“Got to make that four o’clock flight and my baby is amazing, but being on time is not one of her gifts—I’d better get in there and light a fire under her.”

Reaching back, he fumbled for his traveling bag, found the handle and hefted it from the cab of his truck. The shoestrings of his cleats were tied together and he tossed them over his shoulder. He checked his hip pocket and found the computer printouts—itinerary, gate assignments, and reservations. Assured they were in place, he took a deep breath and tried not to do his personal happy dance—pulling this off felt like a major victory, and if he’d been the receiver on the field, he would have done a victory dance and spiked the ball.

“A week alone on a tropical island with the woman I love, and if we’re lucky, we’ll make a baby.”
If we’re not…
He felt his excitement shiver and refused to let it go. “We’re lucky.”

And so far, the luck was holding. Last minute reservations for Tensing Penn, the resort setting for their wedding and honeymoon, were secured. And Yvette had come through like a champ. Thrilled to be included in Dench’s plans, Yvette made sure that Rissa’s calendar was clear and guaranteed her ability to get Rissa out of the office by noon. “And I’ll do it, even if I have to set fire to her desk,” she’d promised.

Old girl made a pretty good conspirator
, he thought, walking past Rissa’s BMW.
That’s a good thing.

There would be no missed planes this time around. He grinned, remembering her missed flight and the nearly missed wedding.
But it was my own fault. I knew that running late is more than a character flaw for Rissa. It’s a way of life. I should have made her get on the plane with me.

His grin softened.
She wanted our marriage to be special,
he remembered.
She got all traditional and old-fashioned on me, didn’t want me to see her gown, didn’t want me to see her until the ceremony. Even made me promise to share one of those thatched huts with AJ the night before, because she wouldn’t sleep with me until we exchanged our vows.

Then she missed the plane and had to call for help. But there’s no way we’re missing this flight, not today.

Pushing through the kitchen door with cleats over his shoulder and his traveling bag in his hand, Dench wasn’t prepared to find her standing in the middle of the kitchen—pretty much naked, unless you counted the silk dress in her hand, the narrow webs of smoky gray lace banding her hips and breasts, and the high-heeled pumps she still wore.

His eyebrows went up and his throat went dry.

“Ink,” she said. Holding the turquoise raw silk dress at her breasts, she looked completely amazed to find him standing in the doorway holding cleats and luggage, looking like he was glad to be home. “I got ink on my dress, and they say that milk will remove it.”

Walking toward her, he dropped the cleats and his traveling bag. Opening his arms, he looked unsure of where to touch her first. She solved the problem by tossing the dress on the granite counter and stepping into his arms.

The long track of her body seemed to melt, molding her form to his. When she touched him, her fingers were warmer than he’d expected, but her skin was as silky as he needed it to be when she wrapped her arms around him. “I missed you,” she whispered.

“If you had promised to dress like this for me, I would have gotten here sooner,” he whispered, closing her words with his lips.

Need stirred between them when she tightened her arms around him and allowed her bare leg to insinuate lust. She filled his senses with a smoky sensuality. Edging just beyond surrender, he remembered the tickets and Tensing Penn.

“Baby, we’ve got a four o’clock flight.”
Better not to tell her that the flight was really scheduled for four-forty.
His fingers stroked the curve of her waist.
We’d only figure out a way to use that extra time…

“Everything is already packed,” she promised, resting against him.

His fingers found the lace at her hip and he was sorely tempted. Resolving to hold onto strength he wasn’t sure he possessed, he moved a step away from her and found the dress she’d tossed to the counter. “Unless you plan on wearing this, you’d better get dressed so that we can make that flight.”

She took the dress from his hand and made a face. “Party pooper.”

Dench propelled her from the kitchen and into their bedroom. “Are you going to wear that dress or not?”

She faced him with a dare in her eyes, then changed her mind. “Not.”

An hour later, Rissa’s BMW was parked in Hartsfield-Jackson’s long term lot and they were standing at the flight gate. Dench linked his fingers with hers and checked his watch—they were going to make it.

“This is such a perfect thing to do,” Rissa whispered, pushing close enough to nudge him with her shoulder as he handed over their boarding passes.

I hope so
, Dench thought when she said it again on the plane. Locking his seatbelt in place, he was glad that she liked the idea.

* * *

“This is so not the typical ‘date with my husband,’ ” Rissa cooed when the Air Jamaica plane flew low over the northwestern coast of the island, coasting low before bumping the runway at Sangster International airport and cruising to the gate.

“The last time I was here, I was your fiancée. Then I was your new bride,” she smiled. Holding his hand, she squeezed Dench’s fingers tightly as they deplaned.

“And now you’re my wife.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky us.”

The handsome sun-bronzed man at the counter in the Immigration Hall passport control station looked up and smiled when the couple reached him. Eyes on Rissa, he considered flirting with the pretty American, even though he saw the rings on her finger. Then he looked at Dench and reconsidered—this one looked like he could read minds. Knowing when to cut his losses, the immigration officer held out his hand for their passports and immigration forms.

“Clearance was quicker than I remember,” Rissa whispered, her voice barely loud enough to be heard over the terminal music when she walked away from the counter, hand-in-hand with Dench.

“You came in on a private jet the last time, remember?”

“All too well,” she laughed lightly.

Exchanging some of the cash he carried for Jamaican dollars took only a few minutes and Rissa seemed more than content to wait with him. When Dench handed her the wad of bills, she grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Are you trying to buy my affection? If you are, I’m going to owe you some change, because you could have bought me for a penny.”

He jammed a hand into his pocket and pulled out a single penny. Placing it in her palm, he kissed her.

“Sold,” she whispered, dropping the money into her tote, “to the man for a penny.”

“You honeymoonin’? Of course you are.” The easy question and answer came from a full-bodied woman in a floral dress. The island lilt of her voice and bright flash of her white teeth were an invitation to smile, even before she winked at them. “This is a good place for a honeymoon.”

Starting from his feet, the woman let her eyes wander, looking hard at Dench. Approval apparent, she held his gaze until he looked away. Still watching, obviously admiring, she pushed a bunch of vividly deep red, yellow, and white hibiscus blooms into Rissa’s hands. “For luck,” she said. “As if you’ll need it with this one.” Laughing, their impromptu hostess fluttered her loose flowery skirt and dancing a few steps, bowed. “Enjoy the island and have a lovely honeymoon.”

As quickly as she’d appeared, the woman melted into the thick flow of airport traffic. Dench hoped she was a good omen as he and Rissa moved through the Baggage Hall and Customs area.

The car for Tensing Penn waited just outside of the Sangster International Customs Hall and Dench was glad that he and Rissa were the only arrivals for the resort. Closing them into the car’s rear seat, their driver made his way around the shining black vehicle. Relaxing, with Rissa’s head on his shoulder and her voice in his ear, Dench felt like a rich man living in a world designed only for his pleasure.

Pulling away from the curb, the driver’s eyes rose to the rearview mirror and his smile broadened when he saw the kiss Rissa and Dench shared. “I am your driver, Christopher, and we are en route to Tensing Penn Village.”

Rolling from the airport and into heavier traffic, Christopher began a practiced and steady monologue, detailing the beauties of the island. “Negril is located across parts of two Jamaican parishes, Westmoreland and Hanover. Westmoreland is the westernmost parish in Jamaica. Located on the south side of the island, you will find downtown Negril and the southern portion of Seven Mile Beach readily accessible. The northernmost resorts on the beach are actually located in Hanover. Both Westmoreland and Hanover are part of the county of Cornwall, and the nearest large town and capital of Westmoreland is Savanna-la-Mar.”

Driving easily, Christopher followed a modern and well-maintained road. The car picked up speed and every turn beyond their vehicle provided glimpses of Jamaica’s verdant abundance.

“This road we’re riding on, it runs all the way across the island between Montego Bay and Negril. While you are here, you must visit our Seven Mile Beach. It has been rated as one of the top ten beaches in the world, so you see, we are justifiably proud of it. This part of Jamaica is called The Cliffs,” the driver said, taking a curve and tipping Rissa’s shoulder closer to Dench’s. “The rock wall here is about twenty feet above sea level and offers a stunning view. There is no pool here,” Christopher explained, “but there is access to the water for diving, with ladders to return. It is also excellent for snorkeling here.”

Absorbed in each other, the couple in the rear seemed oblivious to the travelogue.

Turning from the main road onto the grounds of Tensing Penn, Christopher seemed proud to offer the arching trellises of bougainvillea, flaming fern-like poinciana, and Jamaican orchids for their welcome. Stepping from the car into the evening’s tropical splendor, Rissa exclaimed over the grove of blue mahoe in the distance, and the driver beamed as though he’d planted the trees himself.

“It looks exactly as I remember it. Dench, this is absolute perfection,” she breathed. Pulling her sunglasses from her face, she turned in a small circle, taking in her surroundings. Following her from the car, Dench looked from the trees to the sky and made a wish:
Perfection, that’s all I want. Perfection.

Around them, Tensing Penn Village was a unique collection of secluded wood, thatch, and stone cottages, ringing the spacious and private Great House. Surrounded by tropical vegetation as thick and lush as he remembered, he walked with Rissa and the porter through the beautifully manicured grounds.

“Remember when we got married? How beautiful all of this was? Remember when my mother was concerned about the storms? You told her that there wouldn’t be any storms.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, and she told me I was a smart-mouthed boy who should be ashamed of himself for daring God just to get what he wanted.” Looking at Rissa over the tops of his shades, Dench brought their joined hands to his lips. “I wasn’t daring God, I just knew He wouldn’t keep me away from the woman He had for me.”

“There were no storms.” Rissa squeezed his fingers. “And now, you’ve got me.”

“And you know I love you like Jesus loved the church,” he whispered.

Walking ahead of them, the porter smiled. Carrying the luggage for this pair was easy work—not too many clothes, he guessed. Tensing Penn saw a lot of lovers, a lot of newlyweds, and even a lot of second and third honeymooners, but these two…
Mi ma call dem forever weds
, he thought
.
These two belonged together and would forever find their way back to each other.

Sitting on a secluded rocky bluff, their thatched hut was a study in elegance, spacious and comfortable as any luxury hotel. When the porter unlocked the door, Rissa took a step forward and stopped. The look of confusion on her face made Dench smile, and he waited for her to either take the clue or move forward for more. Backing up a step, she looked back at the path they’d taken. Finally, still holding Dench’s hand, she walked through the door.

Inside their hut, classic Caribbean-style tile floors, stained wooden louvered windows, and cool white plaster walls were accented by tasteful mahogany furnishings, with French doors opening onto a private patio.

“Still beautiful,” she sighed. “Still romantic.”

Dench smiled as he tipped the porter. The man smiled and winked. Dench handed over another twenty before the porter left, closing the door behind himself.

Touched by nostalgia, Rissa opened closets and doors. When she found the small kitchen, she opened the refrigerator. Fresh fruit and cheese lined a large tray on the center shelf, and several dark bottles of foil-wrapped champagne rested on their sides on the bottom shelf. Opening an inner drawer, she found more tropical fruit, and smiled at the meat and vegetable patties.

“These were a special order, right? I know how much you love those patties.” Closing the door, she straightened and looked back at Dench. “You also know that I don’t plan to use this little room, don’t you? And none of that, ‘If you cook, I’ll do the dishes stuff,’ either. You promised me a romantic getaway and I’m going to hold you to it.”

His hands on her shoulders squeezed gently, urging her closer. “There is nothing in there that I want to eat,” he said, letting his voice go low and suggestive enough to make her blush. His green and gold-flecked eyes held hers, eroding self control. “Well,” his tongue touched her ear and her lashes fluttered low. “Maybe one thing…”

“O-kay, that will get you sensuality points.” She slipped away from him and moved to the French doors. Opening them, she stepped out onto the stone patio and the view took her breath away. Staring out, she felt herself tremble. “I thought this hut looked familiar. How?” she finally asked. Turning to her husband, her face glowing in the reddened gold and indigo touched light, she asked again: “How did you do it? This is the same one, isn’t it?”