Always an Eaton: Sweet Dreams

Preston gave Chandra a conspiratorial wink. “It would. But how is she going to convince her white Creole gentleman that she’s a virgin?”

“She will confide in her maid, who in turn will ask a voodoo priestess for help. Perhaps you can show a scene with Josette meeting with the voodoo woman. She has great disdain for the woman, but is forced to give up the priceless necklace she’s wearing in exchange for a potion that will cause one to fall asleep, and upon waking not remember anything.”

He was impressed. Chandra had come up with a credible rationalization for Josette to protect her reputation. After all, the play was to be set in New Orleans.

“Do you want Josette to continue to sleep with Pascual after she becomes plaçée, Chandra?” Preston asked.

Chandra scrunched up her nose. “I see where you’re going with this. I think I want Pascual to become her only lover.”

“What about her benefactor? Do you think the man will continue to consort with his plaçée? There’s no way he would be respected in his social circle if word got out that he’d been cuckolded by a woman of color.”

“A couple of drops of the potion in a glass of wine each time he comes to visit Josette will eventually take its toll on the poor man when he becomes an amnesiac.”

Preston stared at Chandra, and then burst out laughing. He didn’t give her a chance to react when he swept her up off the floor, fastening his mouth to hers in an explosive kiss that robbed her of her breath.Her arms went around his neck, she melting against his length when he deepened the kiss.

Chandra’s lips parted as she struggled to breathe, giving Preston the slight advantage he needed when the tip of his tongue grazed her palate, the inside of her cheek and curled around her tongue as he made slow, exquisite love to her mouth. The dreams that had plagued her within days of arriving in Belize came to life; she was unable to differentiate between her fantasy lover and Preston Tucker. The familiar flutters that began in her belly moved lower. If he didn’t stop, then she knew she would beg him to make love to her.

“Please! No more, Preston.”

Preston heard the strident cry that penetrated the sensual fog pulling him under with the force of a riptide. His head popped up, he stared down at Chandra as if seeing her for the first time. The sweep hand on a wall clock made a full revolution before he lowered her until her feet touched the floor.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

The skin around Chandra’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I’m not.”

Preston froze. “You’re not?”

Going on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “You have a very sexy mouth, P.J., and I’d wondered if you knew what to do with it.”

A shiver of annoyance snaked its way up his body. Chandra was the first woman who’d let it be known that she was testing his sexual skills.

“Did I pass?”

“Just barely.”

Preston’s mouth opened and closed several times, and nothing came out. “What did you say?” he asked after he’d collected his wits.

“I said you barely passed.” Chandra turned so he wouldn’t see her grin. She tried but was unsuccessful when her shoulders shook with laughter. “No!” she screamed when Preston lifted her again, this time holding her above his head as if she were a small child.

“Apologize, Chandra.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chanted until he lowered her bare feet to the cool tiles.

Still smarting from her teasing, Preston’s expression was a mask of stone. “One of these days I’m going to show you exactly what my mouth can do.”

“Is that a threat, Preston?”

A smile found its way through his stern-faced demeanor. “No, baby. It was a warning that if you tease me again, then I’m going to expect you to bring it.”

His arms fell away and Chandra took a backward step. She didn’t know what had gotten into her. She’d known girls who had teased boys they liked, but she hadn’t been one of them.

Why now?

And why Preston Tucker?

The questions nagged at her until she dropped her gaze. It’d taken only two encounters with the temperamental playwright to know that he didn’t like to be teased or challenged. That meant she had to tread softly and very carefully around him.

“Warning acknowledged.”

Chapter 5

Chandra sat across the table from Preston in the kitchen’s dining area, enjoying an expertly prepared spinach and blue cheese omelet. Sautéed garlic, olive oil and butter enhanced the subtle flavor of the mild blue cheese, eggs and spinach. Preston had warmed a loaf of French bread to accompany the omelet.

She took a bite of the bread topped off with sweet basil butter. “You missed your calling, P.J.,” she said after swallowing. “You should’ve been a chef.”

Preston smiled, staring at Chandra under half-lowered heavy lids. His former annoyance with her teasing him was gone. There was something about her that wouldn’t permit him to remain angry. Perhaps it was her lighthearted personality that appealed to his darker, more subdued persona. He was serious, as were his plays which seemed to appeal to the critics. But for the first time since he’d begun writing he was considering one that was fantasy-driven and a musical. Since when, he’d asked himself, had he thought of himself as an Andrew Lloyd Webber?

“I’d seriously thought about becoming a chef,” he admitted.

“Before you decided to become a playwright?” Chandra asked.

“No. I always wanted to write. I’d like it to be a second or backup career when I decide to give up playwriting.”

“Do you think you’ll ever stop writing?”

Preston traced the design on the handle of the knife at his place setting with a forefinger. Chandra had asked what he’d been asking himself for years. He loved the process of coming up with a plot and character development. It was sitting through casting calls, ongoing meetings with directors and producers and daily rehearsals before opening night that usually set his teeth on edge. He’d written, directed and produced his last play, thereby alleviating the angst that accompanied a new production.

“That’s a question I can’t answer, Chandra. I suppose there will become a time when the creative well will dry up.”

“Let’s hope it’s not for a very long time.”

“That all depends on my collaborator.”

He’d told himself that he would take the next year off and not write—but that was before he found Chandra Eaton’s journal in the taxi, and definitely before he met her.

Chandra studied the man sitting opposite her, recognizing an open invitation in his enigmatic dark eyes. “Are you referring to me?”

Preston leaned over the table. “Who else do you think I’m talking about?”

“Did you go to culinary school?” she asked, deftly shifting gears to steer the topic of conversation away from them as a couple.

What she and Preston shared was too new to predict beyond their current collaborative project. She’d returned to the States to teach, reestablish her independence and reconnect with her family, not become involved with a man, and especially if that man was celebrity playwright Preston Tucker.

“Why didn’t you answer my question, Chandra?”

“I’ve chosen not to answer it because I don’t have an answer,” she countered with a slight edge to her tone. “Did you go to culinary school?” she asked again.

Preston fumed inwardly. The stubborn little minx, he mused. She’d chosen not to answer his query not because she didn’t have an answer, but because she hadn’t wanted to answer it. He’d never collaborated with another person only because he hadn’t had to. Death’s Kiss was her idea, derived from her suggestion to use a vampire as a central character and from her erotic dreams. There was no doubt the play would cause a stir, not only because of the pervasive popularity of vampires in popular fiction, but also because it would be the first time his play would include a musical score.