Читать книгу: «Long Time Coming»
Long Time Coming
Long Time Coming
Rochelle Alers
The Whitfield Brides series
You’ve met Ryan, Jeremy and Sheldon—the Blackstones of Virginia—and now it’s time to meet the Whitfields of New York. In this Arabesque trilogy, you will meet Signature Bridals’ wedding divas: Tessa, Faith and Simone Whitfield. These three women are so focused on their demanding careers that they’ve sacrificed their personal happiness. Within a year, though, each will encounter a very special man who will not only change them but change their lives forever.
In Long Time Coming, wedding planner Tessa Whitfield never imagined that opening the doors of Signature Bridals to Micah Sanborn would lead to their spending the next twelve hours together after a power outage hits her Brooklyn, New York, neighborhood. Her vow never to mix business with pleasure is shattered when the Brooklyn assistant district attorney offers Tessa an extraordinary friendship with a few special surprises that make her reevaluate everything she’s come to believe about love.
Wedding cake designer Faith Whitfield, who owns the fashionable Greenwich Village patisserie Let Them Eat Cake, has all but given up on finding her prince, and refuses to kiss another frog. But when she least expects it she discovers love in the passionate embrace of pilot to the rich and famous, and modern-day knight-in-shining-armor Ethan McMillan in The Sweetest Temptation.
After a disappointing marriage and an ill-fated reconciliation with her high school sweetheart, floral designer Simone Whitfield wants nothing to do with men. She’s content to run her business, Wildflowers and Other Treasures, in the greenhouses on her White Plains, New York, property. In Taken by Storm, Simone witnesses an attack on a federal judge and suddenly finds her cloistered suburban life turned upside down when U.S. Marshal Raphael Madison from the witness protection unit is assigned to protect her 24/7. Although they are complete opposites, Simone and Raphael come to share a heated desire and a love that promises forever.
Yours in romance,
Rochelle Alers
Dedicated to Lieutenant Robert Gonzalez—
a special thanks to one of the NYPD’s
best and brightest.
For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh.
—Ephesians 5:31
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
Tessa Whitfield unlocked the front door to the Brooklyn Heights brownstone where she lived, had set up Signature Event Planners Inc. and Signature Bridals—where she’d established a reputation as the consummate wedding consultant.
It was mid-October and, to her relief, the wedding season was winding down. Four months ago she’d coordinated the wedding of the season for sports hero Ashton Cooper and bestselling African-American novelist Jadya Fyles. The elegant ceremony was held in the Grand Hall of the New York Public Library, where the high-profile couple had met three years earlier.
Tessa had arranged for a reception for a thousand in Bryant Park under gauzy multicolored tents that turned the half-acre park in the middle of Manhattan into a wonderland. Media coverage included People magazine, which reported the wedding was “Exquisite! Lavish! Joyous!” The New York Times society section gave it a full page, and it was reported that Oprah had called for an interview for her magazine O.
The spectacular wedding had catapulted Signature Bridals to Manhattan’s elite A-list of wedding planners, and Tessa’s phone rang constantly for her services with requests from hip-hop stars, high society and the Euro elite.
Closing the self-locking door, she walked through the foyer, down a hallway and into a gourmet kitchen. She set her canvas bag filled with fresh fruit and vegetables on a stool at the cooking island, then made her way into her office to check her telephone. A blinking light indicated a message. Tessa pressed a button on the console.
“This is Bridget Sanborn. I was scheduled to meet with you tonight at six-thirty, but I can’t make it. I told you that I was on jury duty, and now I’ve been sequestered. I know this is the third time you’ve rearranged your schedule to accommodate me, but I’ve come up with an idea where you won’t have to cancel tonight’s meeting. I’ve asked my brother Micah to keep the appointment for me. I hope to meet you soon, and thank you again for your infinite patience.”
“You’re welcome, Bridget,” she whispered, then blew out a breath at the same time she shook her head.
Tessa had only agreed to accept Bridget Sanborn as a client because the frenetic spring and summer wedding season was over. She hadn’t met the children’s book editor but knew instinctively she had her work cut out for her. Bridget had gotten engaged over the Labor Day weekend and planned to have a formal New Year’s Eve wedding at her parents’ Franklin Lakes, New Jersey, home. Most brides planned their wedding a year in advance, but Tessa had less than three months to coordinate the Sanborn-Cohen nuptials.
An antique clock on the fireplace mantel chimed the half hour. It was five-thirty. She had an hour before Micah Sanborn’s arrival. Unlike his sister, she hoped he’d keep the appointment.
Tessa thought about preparing and eating a hastily prepared dinner but changed her mind. She would wait until after she met with the prospective bride’s brother, then sit down at the table in her dining room instead of the one in the kitchen’s breakfast nook and eat without having to watch the clock for her next client.
Returning to the kitchen, she removed a New York steak from the freezer. It was too large for one portion, so she decided to save half for another meal. Forty-five minutes later, the marinated steak and bowls of mixed baby greens and wedges of yellow pear tomatoes and sliced potatoes in cold water sat on a shelf in the refrigerator.
Micah Sanborn mounted the steps to the brownstone in the tony Brooklyn neighborhood. He glanced at the shiny brass plate affixed to the wall of the three-story structure, engraved with Signature Bridals. Admiring the solid oak door with stained-glass insets, he rang the bell and waited as the seconds ticked off.
“Who is it?” a woman’s voice came through the small speaker over the mail slot.
“It’s Micah Sanborn.”
Seconds later, a soft buzzing disengaged the lock. Micah pushed opened the door and stepped into a foyer. Pale oak floors reflected the warm glow from wall sconces and an Art Deco-inspired ceiling fixture. A winding staircase with a mahogany banister led to the upper floors. Turning to his left, his gaze lingered on an exquisite bouquet of fresh flowers in an orange-glazed clay vase on a side table. The vibrant hues of pink, coral, red and yellow lilies, roses, peonies and orchids with folded palm leaves tucked in between the blooms added warmth to the crisp autumn weather.
“Mr. Sanborn?”
Micah’s gaze shifted from the flowers to the woman standing several feet away. He inhaled a deep breath, holding it until the pressure in his lungs forced him to exhale.
He extended his hand. “Micah.”
Tessa stared at the large, well-groomed hand with clean square-cut nails for several seconds before placing her smaller one on the broad palm. She affected the practiced professional smile she did not feel at that moment. She’d met a lot of men since starting up her business—prospective bridegrooms, groomsmen, fathers and brothers of the bride and groom—but this was the first time in a very long time that she experienced a feeling of unease.
There was something in the way Micah Sanborn stared at her that had slipped under her barrier of professional poise. Everything about the tall, dark-skinned man in a navy-blue pin-striped suit with equally dark eyes was intriguing, compelling and magnetic. He wasn’t what she considered handsome but attractive nevertheless. His features were neither broad nor sharp and would’ve been considered nondescript if not for his eyes—eyes that were large, deep-set and penetrating.
“I’m Tessa Whitfield, coordinator of Signature Bridals,” she said after what seemed an interminable pause when in reality it’d been only seconds.
Micah tightened his grip on Tessa’s slender fingers before he released them. He smiled, and the gesture flattened his top lip against a set of incredibly straight, startlingly white teeth.
He inclined his head. “Miss Whitfield.”
Tessa smiled. “Please call me Tessa.”
Micah lifted a thick, black curving eyebrow. “If it’s Tessa, then I insist you call me Micah.”
Nodding, her practiced smile in place, Tessa said, “Okay, Micah. Please come with me.”
He followed her down a hallway to the rear of the house. He missed the carefully chosen furnishings in the rooms he passed because he couldn’t take his gaze off Tessa’s freestyle hairdo. It looked as if she’d washed the gold-tipped brown strands, then let them air-dry where the soft curls framed her round face like a regal lioness.
In fact, she reminded him of a feline with her exposed gold-brown skin still bearing the results of the summer sun. He thought her more bronze than golden. Her slanting catlike brown eyes under a pair of arching eyebrows, her lithe body swathed in a black-yellow-and-orange-print wrap dress ending midcalf made her look exotic.
He followed Tessa into a large room with French doors and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Pale silks drapes were drawn back and afforded a glimpse of the brightly illuminated backyard with a patio and flower garden.
Tessa gestured to an off-white armchair. “Please sit down, Micah.”
Micah waited for Tessa to sit on a matching love seat, but before he sat down, the room went completely dark. The lights had gone out in the room, the backyard and also in the buildings facing the rear of the brownstone. He heard Tessa’s soft gasp.
Her heart fluttering wildly in her chest, Tessa stood up and tried making out Micah’s face. “I have to flip the circuit breakers.”
“Forget about circuit breakers, Tessa,” he countered softly. “We’re in the middle of a blackout. Do you have a backup generator?”
She realized for the first time the total darkness surrounding her. The last blackout to hit New York had been August 14, 2003, and the memory of her having to walk from Greenwich Village and across the Brooklyn Bridge in an oppressive humidity had not faded.
“No, I don’t,” she said, moving closer to the heat emanating from Micah’s body. “What are you doing?” she asked when she felt him search inside his jacket.
“I have to call a friend.”
With an arm circling Tessa’s waist, Micah retrieved his cell phone. He flipped the top and a bright blue light shimmered eerily in the blackness. They were in luck, unlike the last blackout when the multistate power outage knocked out cellular telephone satellite communication.
He pressed the speed dial, and seconds later he heard a familiar feminine voice. Tightening his hold on Tessa’s slender body, he said, “Sylvia, Micah Sanborn. What’s happening with the electricity?”
“OEM just informed us that a fire in a substation knocked out power to lower Manhattan, all of Brooklyn and portions of Staten Island. Where are you?”
“I’m still in Brooklyn.”
“Are you at the D.A.’s office?”
“No.”
“The mayor just issued a citywide emergency, and it’ll be easier for you to get back to the courthouse if you’re needed if you stay in Brooklyn.”
Micah ended the call and returned the cell phone to his jacket pocket. He had recently turned over his Bronx condominium to his sister, moved to Staten Island and had signed a one-year lease on a furnished studio apartment because he hadn’t decided whether he wanted to purchase or build a home in that borough.
Lowering his chin, he inhaled the floral fragrance of the hair grazing his chin. The pleasure he derived from Tessa’s curvy body molded to his overshadowed the seriousness of the situation. Smiling, he told her what his contact at One Police Plaza had informed him.
“Do they have any idea how long it’s going to last?” Tessa asked.
Micah shook his head before he realized she couldn’t see him. “No. By the way, do you have a flashlight?”
“I have one, but it’s upstairs.”
“What about candles?”
“I have tons of them. Getting to them will prove somewhat difficult.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re in the pantry off the kitchen.”
“Lead the way and I’ll follow you.”
Turning in the direction she hoped led out of her office, Tessa took small, halting steps, one hand held out in front of her, Micah following closely behind. She found the hallway, her fingertips trailing along the wall. At the end of the hallway she turned to her left and walked through a small antechamber and into the kitchen.
“Don’t move,” she said in the blackness that seemed to swallow her whole. “I have to get my bearings.”
Micah stood completely still, all of his senses operating on full alert. He heard Tessa moving about the space, then a soft moan of pain followed by a whispered expletive. “What happened?”
“I bumped my shin.”
“Are you okay?” His voice sounded abnormally loud in the eerie silence.
“I will be as soon as I locate the stove.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s up with the stove?”
“I have a gas range.”
Micah’s frown vanished. Not only was Tessa Whitfield beautiful but he found her levelheaded. She hadn’t panicked or dissolved into hysterics once the power went out. One by one the jets to the stove-top range in a cooking island came on. There was enough light for him to see Tessa’s shadowy figure move to a corner of the kitchen. He was galvanized into action as she gathered up candleholders from a drawer under the countertop.
Working quickly, Tessa set out more than two dozen holders and tea lights on the cooking island, the countertops and a table in a breakfast nook, while he lit them with an automatic lighter.
Micah shrugged out of his jacket, draping it on the back of a tall stool at the cooking island as Tessa stared at the man staring back at her.
Smiling, she said, “It’s not the first time I’m thankful that I don’t have an all-electric kitchen.”
“Do you always keep so many candles on hand?”
She nodded, crossed her arms under her breasts and rested a hip against the countertop. “I have hundreds of them. I usually eat outdoors during the warmer weather and use them for illumination rather than spotlights.” What she didn’t tell Micah was that she found candlelight calming, relaxing.
Affecting a similar pose, Micah crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you the outdoorsy type?”
Tessa’s pouty lips formed an attractive moue, and Micah’s midnight gaze lingered on her mouth. He’d found her face incredibly beautiful in the light, but with the glow of flickering candlelight she’d become mesmerizing.
A mysterious smile crinkled the corners of Tessa’s eyes as she stared at the tall man standing only a few feet away. “My favorite outdoor activities include sitting under an umbrella sipping a tropical concoction or grabbing a few winks with the sound of water lapping up on a beach as background music.”
Throwing back his head, Micah laughed, the warm sound bubbling up from his broad chest. “I suppose I’d never find you on a ski slope.”
She wrinkled her pert nose. “Never,” she confirmed. “Do you ski?”
He nodded. “Yes. My parents are avid skiers.”
It was obvious the Sanborns liked cold weather. Why else would Bridget schedule a New Year’s Eve wedding in the northeast? Thinking of Micah’s sister reminded Tessa why he was in her kitchen.
She straightened. “Speaking of cold weather, I think we’d better talk about your sister’s wedding.” She’d planned to give Micah an informational packet for his sister, but that along with the other literature she usually gave to prospective brides was in her office.
Reaching for his jacket on the stool, Micah withdrew a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Tessa. “I took a few notes when I last spoke to Bridget.”
She unfolded the single sheet of paper, holding it close to the flickering flames. She could hardly read the scribble. Her arching eyebrows lifted. “What language is this?”
Micah’s jaw tightened. “It’s English,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
Tessa handed him the paper. “You’re going to have to translate this for me.”
He scowled. He knew he didn’t have the most legible handwriting, but no one had ever mistaken it for a foreign language. “You’ve got jokes, Ms-s-s. Whitfield?” He had drawn out the Ms. to several syllables.
“No, I don’t. And it’s Miss Whitfield.”
“I thought running your own company would make you a liberated woman.”
Tessa pulled back her shoulders. “I am liberated—but not so much so that I don’t expect a man to hold a door open for me, push and pull back my chair and stand up whenever I enter a room.”
A slow smile parted his mobile mouth at the same time he angled his head. “That’s what I like—an old-fashioned woman.”
“I’m not old-fashioned,” she countered. “It’s just that I like my men to have home training.”
“Does your man have home training, Tessa?”
There was a pulse beat of silence before she said, “No.” The single word was barely a whisper.
“And why doesn’t he have home training, Tessa?” Micah asked, his deep baritone voice dropping an octave.
Because right now I don’t have a man, she mused.
She wanted to tell Micah he should mind his business but couldn’t. He was the brother of her client, and the courtesy she afforded her clients extended to family members. Ninety-five percent of her business came from referrals.
Tilting her chin in what she hoped was an arrogant gesture, she affected a supercilious smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was led to believe your purpose for coming to Signature Bridals was to discuss your sister’s upcoming nuptials.”
Micah went completely still. Nothing moved. Not even his eyes. “Your assumption is correct.”
Moving closer, close enough for several strands of her wayward hairstyle to graze his chin, Tessa gave him a direct stare. “Then it should be your sister’s wedding that we should be talking about, not what I like in a man.”
Micah inhaled the sweet scent clinging to her hair and a different woodsy fragrance on her body. Not only did she look good but she also smelled delicious.
“You can say that I’m just curious.”
“I hope you’re familiar with the saying about curiosity and the cat.”
“I am,” he shot back smugly, “but I’m also quite familiar with what brought her back.”
“Wasn’t the cat a he?”
Micah’s mysterious smile was back. “Not in this case.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Your hair, eyes and coloring remind of a lioness.”
Tessa wanted to tell Micah that he also reminded her of a predatory jungle cat but wanted to steer the conversation away from that of a personal nature.
“Have you eaten dinner?” she asked him.
He blinked once, seemingly startled by her question. “No, I haven’t. Why?”
She turned and walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. “I don’t know how long the electricity is going to be out, and rather than have my dinner spoil, I’m going to share it with you. Meanwhile you can tell me about your sister.” She glanced at Micah over her shoulder. She knew she’d surprised him with her offer. “Do you eat red meat?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How do you like your steak?”
“Medium-well.”
He peered at Tessa’s slender body outlined in a flickering golden glow. There was something about Tessa Whitfield’s exquisite face, beautifully modulated voice and aloof manner that he liked—a lot.
“Would you like some help?”
Tessa removed a platter with the marinated steak from a shelf. “No, thank you. I have everything under control,” she said, placing the platter on the counter next to the stove-top grill.
“What if I set the table?” Micah asked. He wanted and needed to do more than just stand around and stare at her.
She gave him a warm, open smile for the first time. “Okay.”
“Where can I wash my hands?”
She pointed to the cooking island. “Use that sink. I’m going to put a few candles in the downstairs bathroom before I go upstairs for the flashlight.”
Turning back his shirt cuffs, Micah washed his hands in a stainless-steel sink. He knew Rosalind Sanborn would have a hissy fit if she saw him washing his hands in the kitchen, but he was certain she would forgive this one infraction. What would have shocked his mother more was that he’d finally met a woman who had caught his interest even before she’d opened her mouth. And when she did speak, she’d enthralled him with the low, throaty timbre.
He smiled. Tessa Whitfield’s voice was the perfect match for her sultry look.
Tessa handed Micah a towel to dry his hands. “The dishes are in the cabinet above the dishwasher. And you’ll find flatware in a drawer under the butcher-block counter.”
She turned on the oven, then concentrated on draining the water from the potatoes and patting them dry before she placed the wedges in a plastic bag filled with an herb-and-olive-oil mixture. What she didn’t want to do was think about the tall man moving about her kitchen as if he had done it before. She placed the potatoes on a cookie sheet and put it into the preheated oven.
“What would you like to drink?” she asked.
“What are my choices?”
“You can have either water or wine.”
“Wine is good.”
“Red or blush?”
Micah halted putting steak knives on the table. “Red.”
“Come and select one.”
He crossed the kitchen and stood in front of a built-in subzero wine cellar. Dozens of bottles lay on their sides in precise rows. He opened the door, selected a Merlot and closed it quickly. If the power stayed off for any extended period of time, then there was no doubt Tessa’s perishable foodstuffs would have to be discarded.
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