“I want you.”
Chapter 18
I was right about the cabbage roses, great big pink ones with dark green leaves. Lying under the ugly wallpaper and the many layers of paint slathered on the original woodwork, under the army-blanket-gray carpet, I saw a beautiful turnof-the-century California craftsman-style house ready to be rescued.
When Mike pulled back the heavy damask drapes in the living room, I was sold. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto a brick patio shaded by an enormous avocado tree.
The house had been built around three sides of the patio and every first floor room had similar tall glass doors. The wing to the right was a single empty room large enough for a pool table or a grand piano. The left wing held the kitchen and dining room. Beyond the patio a lush, sloping lawn and a formal rose garden separated the house from a free-standing cottage and the garage.
“Bowser would be happy,” Mike said.
“We’ll take down the drapes,” I said. “They spoil the windows.”
“If we decide to take the house,” he said.
I said, “Uh huh,” and walked out across the patio to explore the kitchen.
I was already in love, so maybe I didn’t see things with an appropriately critical eye. The kitchen looked as though it hadn’t been touched for probably twenty-five years, and then touched lightly. I thought that all it needed to be functional were a microwave, some fresh tile grout, and Windex to clean the patio doors. Mike had some questions about the old copper plumbing. I left him with his head under the sink and wandered upstairs by myself.
What attracted me to the old house was clean design, the feeling of openness created by tall ceilings and windows everywhere. All of the rooms were large spaces that seemed to flow around the open center. Even the upstairs bedrooms.
There were two bedroom suites, both with decadent green and mauve art-deco tile bathrooms complete with claw-footed tubs. Both suites also had adjoining sitting rooms with balconies that overlooked the yard. I thought we could easily convert one of the sitting rooms into a third bedroom so that Michael and Casey would share a bathroom. Though maybe sharing a bathroom with Casey was asking too much of anyone.
The master suite was a few square feet larger and just a little more opulent than the other rooms. The big discovery there was the small granite fireplace opposite the huge bathtub. Right off, I thought of a few possibilities.
I went out to the landing that overlooked the entry, watched the gathering dusk wash the house in soft, blue evening light. When I couldn’t see the cabbage roses any more, it was easier to visualize the house as it would be when the walls and the floors had been stripped, when our furniture was in place, our pictures and treasures installed. It seemed a natural merger.
Mike came out of the small powder room tucked under the stairs and looked up at me, his hair bright silver in the last glow of daylight.
“Plumbing is old,” he said, drawing together his brows. “I’m not sure about the wiring, either. Power has been off for over a year.”
“Come up,” I said.
“It’s dark.”
“See what I found.”
“The electrical service isn’t our problem,” he said as he climbed the stairs toward me, grousing all the way. “Unless it screws up. All your video stuff, the kids’ computers and stereos, a microwave-the wiring was never meant to handle that kind of a load.”
When he got to the top step, I grabbed a handful of his shirtfront and, walking backward, pulled him along the hall. “None of that matters, baby.”
“You don’t care if the whole place leaks and shorts out?”
“No. We’ll fix it.” I led him into what would be our bedroom. A warm, fragrant breeze blew in through the open windows and swept the upper branches of the avocado tree against the side of the house, a brisk sound like an old lady with a new broom.
We went over to the window and looked out across the lawn. When I took a deep breath and sighed, Mike looked down at me and smiled. “You like it?”
“The bathtub is big enough for two.”
“But if the pipes leak…”
“We’ll heat water in the fireplace.”
He turned again to the windows. “I took a look at the little house in back. It’s just a single room with a bath. No kitchen. If we update the wiring, you could use it for an office.”
“There’s a good room downstairs for an office. If the little house is nice, maybe Michael would like to make bachelor quarters out of it. Give him more privacy.”
“Hmmm,” Mike said. “Hmmm.”
“You could put up Casey’s barre in the extra room up here. Then everyone would have plenty of space.”
This time when he said, “Hmmm,” he was nodding.
I leaned against him and he felt so solid. Solid like the house.
I’ve never been able to keep my hands off Mike, not from the first day I met him. I cannot rationalize the chemistry thing between us. From the beginning, it was, frankly, something new and damned surprising for me.
At some point in history, I must have felt passion for my ex-husband. Otherwise, how would we have gotten together? But by the time we reached the point of splitting up, I could not remember ever feeling anything for him stronger than vague and constant annoyance.
Time does play tricks on the memory. Just the same, I knew for an absolute certainty that the raw, hungry lust I had for Mike Flint was, for me, an unprecedented affliction.
I reached up under his shirt to find bare skin. “Don’t you think we should baptize our room?”
He laughed softly. “What did you have in mind?”
“Make love to me.”
“Should I go down and get the handcuffs out of the car?” I pulled his shirt off over his head.
“Sure. I’ll cuff you to the balcony railing and have my way with you.”
“You got it backwards.” Mike was a wrestler in high school. I reached for his belt buckle, but before I saw his move coming, somehow I landed on the floor pinned beneath him, nose to nose. “I don’t need cuffs to hold you down.”
“Right,” I said, breathless. “But I hoped you had more in mind that holding me down.”
He did, and we well and fully initiated the room, blessed the house. Anointed ourselves in accumulated rug dust. When we got back to the condo in the Valley, we looked as if we had dug right into the grime of restoration. Made a commitment to it.
Michael and Casey were in the dining room doing homework when we passed through. They exchanged scandalized glances when they saw us.
“Where’s Sly?” I asked.
“We drove him home,” Casey said. “How’s the house?”
“Beautiful,” I said. “You can ride your bike to school. Mike thinks he can have it ready to move into in about a week. Michael, do you think you can tolerate sleeping on the couch that much longer?”
“I think so.” He seemed tremendously relieved by the announcement. I wondered, if we hadn’t found a place so quickly, how long would his charity and good humor have lasted?
Bowser crawled out from under the table, from his usual perch next to Casey, and began sniffing Mike and me. His tail wagged delighted approval with the variety of smells we had brought him to sample.
“Can we go rent a video?” Casey asked.
“Not on a school night,” I said.
“I’m bored.”
“Read a book. Take a walk. Come for a swim with me.”
She looked up at me with utter disdain. And so did the dog. “I finished my homework.”
“Congratulations,” I said, kissing the top of her freshly washed head. “I have some work to do in my office. If you don’t want to swim, maybe you’d like to come with me and be useful.”
I had not tempted her.
Mike said, “Casey, after I get cleaned up, I need to go to the mall, pick up some things. You haven’t seen the mall yet. Would you like to come along?”
Casey looked from him to me, her face happy again. “Mom?”