Waking Up To Love (Lakeside Porches Book 4) (9 page)

“You look just right. You were emaciated when you went into treatment, you know.”

“I know, believe me. I’m perfectly happy as a size eight.”

“Let’s go this Saturday. I know just the place. Another time, Sara will join us.”

“Who’s Sara?”

“She used to be Gianessa’s roommate. She has her own accessories shop in Canandaigua now, but she’s still the best hairdresser in the Finger Lakes.”

“I need her. This unruly mop of curls needs professional help.” She tugged at her hair.

“It’s cute. And you’ve got to meet the rest of our thrift shop buddies, Haley and Bree.”

“Stop.” Lyssa faced her sister. “I’ve met two young women in the program. One’s named Bree. Green sea-glass eyes? And one’s named Haley. Big round chocolate eyes?”

“That’s them. They’re both fairly new in AA, and a few of us have taken them under our wings. I think Bree’s older than me, and Haley’s just twenty.”

“Bree said she’s a year older than me. I will love doing things with you all. Maybe I should keep my social life separate from the college.” Rand had a point about personal relationships in the workplace.

“All I know is we’ll have a blast together.”

They had arrived at the edge of the Cushman property, and Manda ordered, “Sandals on. Construction zone.”

She pointed straight ahead to a flat spot a hundred yards across the lawn where a house foundation was visible. Construction vehicles and equipment at the far edge of the lawn were silent at this hour. Wind carried a thin stream of dust down to the water’s edge.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice all this when I was at Justin and Gianessa’s a few days ago.” Lyssa gestured uphill to their three-story house near the birch grove.

Stakes marked the perimeter of Joel and Manda’s foundation. “Justin said they poured the concrete yesterday.” Manda pointed to colorful rags, tied to stakes, waving in the breeze. “I think the colors show where the interior walls will be.”

As they made the circuit, Manda described their one-level wood-and-stone house. “Joel is still thinking about an adjoining pool, for year-round use. It’s the best thing for his chronic pain, and I love swimming with him after a long day.”

“I’m so glad for you. I can tell you and Joel are happy.” Lyssa hugged her sister. “When will the house be ready?”

“By the holidays, we hope. Head back?”

“Yes. And on the way, I’ll tell you all about the hot guy I had coffee with yesterday, Rand Cunningham.”

As if he were firing two pistols, Rand directed his index fingers at the far corners of Lyssa’s new living room. “This is what I’m talking about.” He gave her two thumbs-up. “How did you score this place?”

“Just lucky. Give me a hand with this carton. Please.”

Instead, Rand opened the French door to the porch and wandered out to stand at the railing.

“Rand,” Lyssa complained. Then she remembered what Justin had said about their guests having to savor the view before making conversation.

“Come out and see this view,” he called over his shoulder.

“Nice, isn’t it? Come help me.” When he didn’t budge she decided, rather than move the carton to the bookshelves, she’d open it where it stood and carry the books to the shelves. She grabbed scissors, sliced through the sturdy packing tape, and cut the heel of her hand. “Bollocks.”

Rand wandered back inside. “Did I hear you say buttocks?”

“Bollocks. British swear word.” Lyssa washed the cut at the kitchen sink, wincing as she assessed the damage.

“Cut yourself?” he asked as he came up behind her and put his hands on her hips.

“Yes. Please look in the bathroom for a first aid kit.”

“I don’t know where the bathroom is.” He massaged her hips, and his breath tickled her neck.

“Rand, honestly,” she said, her tone sharp. “It’s obvious. Look for a kit or bandages or something.”

He moved away without a sound.

Lyssa wrapped a towel around her hand with a thought to how she would get the bloodstain out.

Rand appeared with a box of Band-Aids. “How’s this?”

“Thank you. That helps.”

“Show me the cut and I’ll bandage it.”

“No. But thanks.” She winced at her curt tone.

“You don’t trust me?” His petulant tone made Lyssa wince.

She tried to infuse some sweetness into hers. “I will trust you more if you can get that carton open, the one I abandoned with the scissors on top. And the other boxes, too, while you’re at it.” She was glad to see him head in the right direction. “Thanks.”

“The scissors with the blood on it?” he asked from the living room.

“Please tell me there’s no blood on the carpet.”

“No blood on the carpet. Whoever decorated this place has amazing taste.”

“I suspect Joel hired a decorator who sounded him out about what he likes.” She closed the box of Band-Aids and added butterfly bandages to her shopping list. “How are you making out with that carton?”

“Joel Cushman? So this was his place.”

Lyssa hesitated.

“Before or after he married your sister?”

So much for downplaying her connection to the Cushmans.
She rinsed out the sink before joining him in the living room. “How did you know my sister is married to Joel?”

“I make it my business to know who’s who.”

Lyssa admired his tight butt as she came up beside him. Rand in crisp, dark jeans and docksiders—no socks—was even sexier than Rand in campus casual. Blond hair flirted with the collar of his pale blue polo shirt. His baby-blue eyes watched her.

Noting the opened box tops, she smiled warmly at him. “Thanks for saving me from another gash.”

“Where do you want the books?”

“Let’s just put them on the shelves in the alcove, and I’ll sort them out later.” She squatted down next to him and let her arm brush against his as she pulled out a thick economics textbook. “My only regret about graduate school is that I did it before these textbooks went electronic. I hated hauling around these monsters.”

Rand smiled into her eyes. “But I like books.”

“Book books?” she asked with a grin, and he laughed.

“Book books.” He opened his hands. “Let me take that and all the others so you don’t open that cut.”

“How sweet,” she crooned and handed him the book. “I’ll see to the cartons in the bedroom. Thanks for opening those, too. And when we’re done, maybe you’ll let me take you out for burgers?”

“I’m not sure my ego will allow it.”

Did he mean eating in a burger place or letting a woman pay? She didn’t ask.

As they worked in separate rooms, Rand shouted questions about her first week of classes and how she liked the students. Lyssa recounted the highlights, like the senior girl in her Personal Finance class with a credit card balance higher than Lyssa’s credit card limit. And her new admirer in the cafeteria who served up a king-size portion of shrimp scampi when she’d ordered a shrimp salad, and then asked her out for a beer.

In the bedroom, Lyssa methodically opened boxes and put away her underwear, socks, sweaters, and jeans. She hung up the rest of her meager wardrobe—dresses she’d worn to plays and dinner and gallery openings with Kyle—next to her one gray suit.

She was on the floor, cross-legged, about to open the last carton, the one marked ‘Miscellaneous,’ when Rand strolled in.

“Here, I’ll help you empty that.”

“No need.” She uncrossed her legs and hugged her knees. “I’ll dig for things when I notice I’m missing them. Are the book cartons empty?”

“Empty and flattened. I took a shot at categorizing the books and alphabetizing by author.”

“That’s grand.” She smiled up at him. “What a relief to have this done. Thank you, Rand.”

“But it’s not done.” Hands on his hips, he scanned the bedroom. “You don’t have a bed.”

“Not yet. I’ll shop for one tomorrow and ask them to deliver it right away.”

“Where are you sleeping?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And with whom?”

“On the beautiful sofa.” She batted her eyelashes. “Alone.”

“So you didn’t bring along a mate of some kind—husband, wife, lover?”

“Just me and my broken heart.” She was secretly pleased that her heart didn’t clench with pain at the words. Just a mild ache.

“Ah, you’re on the rebound?” He sidled closer.

“I am that.”

“It’s dangerous territory, they say.”

“Reboundville?” She brought her fingernails to her mouth and chattered her teeth in mock terror.

“And I’m a pretty dangerous guy.” He reached a hand down to her. “You might be in trouble.” He pulled her up from the floor and looked hungrily at her lips.

With a knowing grin, she pushed him away. “Let’s go out for food. My tummy’s rumbling.”

“That’s the second time you’ve been close to kissing me and pushed me away. A guy could get a complex.”

“I?” She laughed. “Was close to kissing
you
? Admit it, Randall, you initiated both those close contacts, on the terrace before my interview and right here in my bedroom.” She
tsk
ed.

“Wrong. It’s Bertrand, not Randall. My father goes by Bert.” He moved closer and, before she could push him away, grabbed her wrists. “And I’m a very good kisser,” he told her, his voice husky.

She could have broken his hold, might have, if she hadn’t been so curious about what kissing him would be like. Rand’s devilish smile made her laugh. It had been two years since she’d kissed anyone on the lips.

He let go of one wrist and pulled her against him. When she stroked the back of his neck with her free hand, he teased her lips with his, then kissed her—lightly, insistently—and nipped her lower lip. She pressed closer, enjoying the feel of his toned, sexy body against hers. His kisses grew firmer, more arousing. When he released her, she swayed and stepped back with one foot to steady herself.

“Very good kisser.” She touched her hot cheeks with trembling fingers.

“I think you needed a good kissing, didn’t you?” He wore a self-satisfied smile.

“I guess I did.”
Damn, I wish it had been Kyle
.

His chin came up and his eyes teased her. “What’s your limit, Doughty? Because I’m prepared to go all the way.”

“Oh, no, no,” she answered and backed up two more steps. “Enjoyed the kissing. That’s my limit today and for the foreseeable future.” With a bright smile, she added, “I love it that you asked about my limit and that you’ll honor it.”

Kyle closed his laptop. His loft in London was dark, with the exception of the lamp on his desktop. He drummed his fingers and finished with a soundless flourish from a minor-chord Bach sonata.

He stood and stretched. It was nearly midnight, and there had been no email or phone call from Lyssa.

Surely she’s read the letter by now.

He debated calling, but he’d promised himself he’d give her time, at least a few days. If he didn’t get some sleep tonight, his second-in-command, Geoffrey, would be all over him again, pressuring him to take a vacation.

He switched off his phone.

Afterward, Lyssa was certain it was a dream.
But it was so real.

She’d been sleeping peacefully on the sofa, cuddling a gray pillow and a bright pink pillow, when Joel’s imposing grandfather clock awakened her at two in the morning.

As her eyes fluttered open, she saw a
grand dame
standing beside the clock with one elegant finger poised at the tip of the hour hand. She wore a shockingly low-cut gown of green silk. An insert of handmade Irish lace failed to disguise her fully aroused nipples.

“Who are you?” Lyssa gulped. “What are you doing?”

“Turning back the hands of time. Isn’t that what you want, Lyssa?”

“You can’t do that. That’s Joel’s clock. He’ll kill me if anything happens to it.”

“If Joel cared about the clock, it would be in his own living room, don’t you think?”

“This is crazy. Joel’s grandfather clock
is
in his living room. I saw it there myself when Manda and I came back from our walk. Who are you? Why are you trying to turn back the hands of time on a clock that isn’t even here?”

“Where would you like to be, Lyssa?”

The words flew from her mouth with no thought. “At Pennington House, on the stairway, my last night in England.” Lyssa gasped.
It’s true
.

“And what would you do different?”

“I’d kiss Kyle and tell him I didn’t want to be parted from him.” Her voice quavered. “And I’d invite him to my bed.”

“And would he come to your bed?”

“I think so.” She looked into the woman’s sparkling sapphire eyes, remarkably like her own and Manda’s. “Yes,” she said with confidence. “He would.”

“Regrets make us do foolish things, Lyssa,” the woman said. “I should know.”

“You’re Bridey, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

With that, Bridey closed the glass cover to the clock face. As she glided toward the sofa, the silk of her gown rustled against her legs. Her fragrance, roses and lavender, grew stronger with each step.

Lyssa hugged the two pillows tighter. “What do you want, Bridey?”

“Only to tell you something, Lyssa, my dear.” Bridey’s smile soothed the ache in Lyssa’s heart. “Don’t let Rand’s thirst for money and status distract you from what you want.”

“Rand doesn’t need money or status, Bridey. He already has them.”

One salon-shaped eyebrow rose. “Can you remember a time you obsessed over something you didn’t need?”