To My Senses The Nicci Beauvoir Series Book 1 (34 page)

I considered his request,
anxious to give the home some refinement. Michael had succeeded in
removing every trace of the old cottage’s charm. My parents had
taught me to appreciate the art of knowing when to restore and when
to replace. Obviously, something Michael had no clue
about.

“
I think I would very much
like to help you return this home to its former grandeur,” I
finally admitted.

“
I love your father’s
place. I want a house like that someday. I could put an office in
it and work from home. It would be a real showplace.”

He slid his arms around me,
pulling me closer. There were no words or glances exchanged before
his mouth pressed uncomfortably against mine. His lips worked their
way down to the nape of my neck and around to my earlobe. I didn’t
push him away, but I felt no excitement, either. He was being
passionate and seductive, but my body was not impressed. No matter
how or where he kissed me, I felt nothing.

“
Oh, Nicci,” he moaned. “I
have been waiting for this night.” He teased my earlobe with his
teeth. “I want you.”

I made no move to return
his attentions. He continued to ply me with kisses as he gently
eased me back on to the sofa. Michael grunted while he awkwardly
maneuvered himself on top of me, pinning me to the sofa. I found it
difficult to take in a deep breath with his elbow jammed into my
diaphragm. His hands started massaging my breasts, and I could feel
his erection against my leg. Before I knew what was happening,
Michael was pulling my dress down to expose the pale skin of my
left breast.

“
You’re so beautiful.” He
kissed my breast tenderly.

There is a point in
foreplay where you know you had better stop or things will quickly
get out of hand. It was at this moment I pushed him off me. I sat
up and thankfully took in some deep breaths of air. He smiled,
appearing smug. He must have thought I was overcome with
passion.

“
Michael, I don’t think
this is a good idea,” I gasped, adjusting my dress.

His smile dropped. “Why
not?”

I eased away from him. “I
don’t know if I’m ready for this. It’s a big step for me to make
this kind of commitment to a man.”

He shook his head and put a
reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’m moving too fast, I’m sorry. I
just find you so attractive. I can understand how you feel and I’m
not seeing anyone else but you, if that helps.” He patted my thigh.
“I’m nervous too, you know.”

I just smiled, which he
took as invitation to snuggle with me.

“
Nicci, I want to ask you
something.”

I warily studied his blue
eyes. “What is it?”

“
I’ve tried to talk about
this before, but I get the sense that you’re not always comfortable
with me. Is there something I do that annoys you or that you need
me to change? Tell me.” His eyes searched back and forth between
mine.

I sighed. I couldn’t hide
it from the world, as I had hoped. “It’s not you,
Michael.”

“
Someone else?” He nodded
his head, guessing he was right.

“
Yes. No. Oh, I don’t
know,” I vented. “It’s over and that man is gone. I’m just
adjusting. I need time, that’s all.”

His arm went around my
shoulders. “Want to tell me about him?”

“
There’s nothing to tell.
It’s over.”

“
I’m a patient man, Nicci.
I can wait for you. When you’re ready, I’ll be ready.”

I kissed his cheek,
relieved that he didn’t want to press the subject. “Thank you. I
want you to know you mean a lot to me, Michael.”

“
I’m glad. I was beginning
to wonder.”

We sat and enjoyed the
fireplace, with its indestructible single log. Michael started to
tell me about his plans for the New Year. I listened attentively,
but made no comment. I had no plans of my own to share. There was
no point in looking ahead to the future when so much of my heart
was still stuck in the past.

Chapter 20

Three weeks into the spring
semester, I skipped my classes and arrived home early one
afternoon. I had decided to take the rest of the day off from
studying and was in the kitchen hunting for a snack. I found a bag
of potato chips my father had hidden away in the pantry. I was just
about to dig in when my iPhone rang.

“
What are you doing picking
up?” Michael scolded. “I thought you were in class. I was calling
to leave you a message to call me and let me know how your day
went.”

He was calling me every day
and leaving me messages, sometimes six or seven times per
day.

“
I also wanted to remind
you about this weekend,” he went on. “My parents are expecting us
at seven.” Michael had arranged a dinner party at his parents’
house for me to officially meet the family. I was dreading it. “My
mother said not to dress up, it’s casual. But don’t wear anything
too revealing or tight.” There was a brief pause and I tensed. I
was beginning to dread Michael’s pauses. “Maybe I should take you
shopping to find something appropriate to wear,” he finally
declared.

“
If that’s what you want to
do, Michael,” I imparted with more interest in my bag of potato
chips than him.

However, this suggestion
was new. I thought perhaps I should object to his offer, but then I
figured, what harm could come from shopping. Agreeing with Michael
was becoming easier than debating him on every issue.

“
Are you coming over
tonight to help me paint?” he pleaded. Michael had decided to start
the renovations on his place right after the New Year. “If I’m not
home yet, you can just let yourself in.” He had also given me a key
to his place, claiming it would make it easier for me to come and
go.

“
I’ll be there after
seven,’ I told him. “I need to do a little studying before you put
me to work.”

***

I was handed some take-out
fried chicken and a can of beer when I walked in Michael’s front
door. I barely had time to wolf down a chicken leg, when Michael
dragged me into the living room and handed me a brush. He was a
harsh taskmaster when it came to painting. The walls had to be
covered in a certain way, with a certain stroke.

“
No splotches or swirls on
the walls, okay?” he insisted, showing me how to move the brush
smoothly over the surface. “Haven’t you ever seen how an artist
paints?”

“
As a matter of fact, I
have. But this is a wall, not a nude,” I argued, slapping the paint
on the wall the way I wanted.

“
About dinner this
weekend.” He hovered over me, supervising my brushstrokes. “I want
you keep your opinions to yourself. I don’t think my parents are
quite ready for some of your ideas.”

“
What’s wrong with my
ideas?”

“
Nothing. It is just that
my parents are easily shocked, and I even have to watch what I say
to them. Oh, and never mention religion or political affairs,
because my parents are devout regarding one and void of opinion
about the other. My mother will probably ask you about nursing,
your hobbies, and your family. Best stick to those subjects. Don’t
ramble on and watch me for the sign when it’s time to leave. I told
them we could only stay for dinner and we had plans
after.”

I cocked my head to the
side, staring at him. “Why did you tell them that?”

“
Nicci, after you spend an
hour with these people, you’ll be more than ready to leave.” He
rolled his eyes, playfully. “And wear your hair down. You look
prettier that way.”

“
Don’t you think you are
getting a little too frazzled about this dinner with your family?
After all, I’ve already met your parents. It’s not that big a
deal.”

“
Nicci,” he sighed. “This
is a very big deal to me. I just want to make sure everything is
perfect.”

“
I understand, Michael. Now
would you get me another beer?” I said, pointing to the kitchen. I
was beginning to feel like I needed it.

“
After you paint the wall,
not before.”

I was regretting my offer
to help with his house. I wondered why I kept putting up with his
obsessive ways, but then again, what difference did it make?
Michael was simply someone to keep me from remembering.

***

The following weekend was
the big event. Michael arrived at six-thirty, and was pacing in the
foyer when I came down the stairs. He gave me a thorough going over
with his eyes and then nodded his approval. I left Michael by the
landing and went to the living room to say good night to my
father.

Dad was sitting in a chair
by the fireplace, reading the newspaper. He glanced up when I
entered the room, and his face fell.

“
Good God. What in the hell
have you’ve got on?” he bellowed, tossing the newspaper to the
side. “It looks like a gray potato sack.”

“
I bought it,” Michael
announced, coming into the room. “I thought she could do with some
new clothes since we will be doing a lot of socializing this
season. I bought her some dressy things, but nothing too tight or
too revealing, I assure you, Mr. Beauvoir.”

My father shook his head
and picked up his newspaper. “I should have known,” he
muttered.

“
We’re going now,” I said,
pointedly. “I’ll see you later.” I stepped closer to kiss him
good-bye.

My father wasn’t finished
with his complaining. “What in the hell is that smell?” he demanded
when I leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Jesus, Nicci.” He
wrinkled his nose at me.

“
It’s the perfume Michael
bought for me.”

“
It’s my favorite perfume,”
Michael chimed in.

My father glowered at
Michael. “You smell like a gardenia bush on steroids. Better steer
clear of any open fields, kiddo. It is killer bee
season.”

Leaving my father, I
returned to the hallway to fetch my coat. While collecting my
purse, Michael went to the front door, fastidiously buttoning up
his long leather coat. I mentally made a list of the qualities that
kept me interested in the man. He was pleasant, polite, and
intelligent, but for the most part, those were his only good
points. He was not terribly exciting, but he was dependable and
always on time for our dates. I knew no matter what catastrophes
life might pitch at me, Michael would always be there to help. He
would never lie to me and, above all, I was convinced that he would
never run away.

“
Ready to meet the family?”
he queried, opening the front door.

I nodded and walked toward
him.
God, help me
.

***

The senior Fagles lived in
a large, two-story house in an affluent section of Metairie, a
suburb of New Orleans. It was a pleasant red-bricked home, with a
perfectly manicured lawn and one very well trimmed magnolia tree.
When we stepped away from the car, Michael went
uncharacteristically quiet. I should have taken that as a sign of
things to come.

At the door, Michael rang
the bell and eased back, pushing me to the front. I gulped,
dreading what was about to happen. Why did I feel as if I was being
presented to a firing squad?

Mrs. Fagles bright blue
eyes lit up when she saw me standing in her doorway. Wearing a
tight green pantsuit, her flaming red hair stood high and stiff on
her head.

“
Well, hello. Finally.” She
ushered us inside and pecked her son on the cheek, leaving behind a
bright red lipstick stain.

I was guided into an
entrance hall—wallpapered in bright yellow—and staring at a brass
birdcage with small plastic birds in it. There was a straight
staircase to the immediate right that went up to the second floor.
After being escorted around the corner, we entered the living room.
Painted bright blue and yellow, with matching blue and yellow
furniture, the fireplace had been painted over to resemble blue
marble, complete with drizzles and swirls.

Sitting on two blue and
yellow sofas, were an array of people who had to be more than
immediate family. This was beginning to resemble a formal
inquisition, not an informal family dinner.

“
This is Michael’s family.”
Mrs. Fagles gestured to the ten people scattered about, including
two small children on the floor. “You remember my husband, Dr.
Fagles.” She pointed to the man standing behind the bar across the
room, pouring out pink drinks. “That is Michael’s sister, Kathy,
and her fiancé, George,” Mrs. Fagles added.

Kathy waved at me. She was
petite with her mother’s red hair and small features. Seated next
to her was a young gentleman with black hair and beady, dark
eyes.

Mrs. Fagles continued.
“Next to George is Leanne. She is our youngest and is studying at
LSU. Over there,” she turned to the other sofa on the opposite side
of the room, “is Michael’s other sister Patricia; her two kids,
Michael and Rebecca are on the floor. Then my sister Margaret and
her husband Phil Harlin. That is my father, Robert Giorlando.” She
clapped her hands together and smiled at me. “And that’s about
everyone. This is Nicci Beauvoir, Michael’s girlfriend. The one we
have been hearing so much about.”