Rainstorm (The Perfect Storm Book 1) Read online

  When I pulled my phone from my pocket, Roselynn looked askance at me, clearly not prepared to give me her number. But I wasn’t giving up that easy.

  I knew it was going to take more than light banter to impress her.

  Bring it on.

  I had my big guns ready. And no, I was not talking about the size of my dick.

  I took a couple steps back, then extended my hand toward her, taking her by surprise.

  “Dance with me,” I pleaded, as the music started to play from my phone. I didn’t have the perfect words, I was certainly no poet, but I’d selected the perfect song, and now I was just a guy standing in front of the perfect girl, wanting a chance. The song was one of my favorites, an old country tune that tells the story about the past and the promise of a future. Alan Jackson nailed it with that one.

  “What on earth...?” she exclaimed in embarrassment, looking everywhere but at me.

  “Dance with me, Roselynn,” I asked again, still proffering my hand.

  “Absolutely not, are you crazy? We aren’t in a nightclub, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Come on, just dance with me,” I cajoled, the music flowing around us. Draping us in a mist of expectations, hope and lust.

  Our gazes locked, twining in the same way that our bodies were ready to collude.

  Some people were already staring in our direction.

  “You’re very persistent,” she sighed, her lips turning up in a shy smile I immediately adored.

  “You have no idea,” I replied, happy to have her delicate hand in my bigger one.

  “Will you leave me alone if I agree to this?”

  “I never make promises that I don’t intend to fulfill.”

  That statement made her smile, while I curved one arm around her slim waist and pulled her soft curves up against my hard body. At first she was stiff as a pencil, but as the song played she began to relax in my arms.

  It was the most amazing feeling. At that moment, I felt like the king of the world. Ready to claim my queen, my mate.

  I spun her around—I was not the best dancer, but I had some good moves.

  “I feel silly,” she murmured, her eyes on mine. I felt richer than Croesus with that golden gaze fixed on me. “People are staring at us.”

  “Forget about them,” I replied, resisting the urge to silence her with a kiss. “Right here, right now, it’s only about you and me.”

  Yes, because the entire world around us was fading out.

  Disintegrating.

  Like ashes in the wind.

  Ashes flying from the fire burning between us. I felt as though I had all the hope and the happiness suddenly in my arms.

  Warm

  Incandescent.

  Eternal.

  From that moment, even though we’d just met, I was certain this incredible woman had been born to change the course of my life.

  Her hand, which had been curled in a fist against my chest, was now running up my shoulder to the nape of my neck. I took that as a positive sign and guided the other one to my shoulder as well, hugging her fiercely. Feeling like a motherfucking god when she turned her face into my neck, inhaling me as if she couldn’t get enough.

  Easy, baby, this is just the beginning.

  We have all our lives ahead of us.

  I was silent, enjoying the moment. Making it ours. Unable to talk, because there was so much I had to say, I didn’t know where to start. I wanted to make promises, the kind I was able—and willing—to fulfill. But all those words were stuck in my dry throat.

  She hugged me passionately, giving me a small glimpse of the woman hidden behind those warnings about her overprotective family. And I was hypnotized. Bewitched and under her spell. Closing my eyes, submerged in the intimate moment. Just us two, in the middle of a restaurant full of unknown faces.

  I kissed her shoulder, tasting the honey of her skin, ready to take her hand and carry her wherever life led us.

  Chapter 3

  Rose

  San Diego, CA - Present day

  It’s Sunday. Another day dragging itself slowly, clinging from the gray walls of our bedroom. The same space where I invested so much time. Every single detail here calls my name. From the hardwood flooring to the beaded lamp hanging from the ceiling.

  Every touch reminding me of our efforts, our hopes and dreams woven tightly between the thick strands of our macramé headboard. Our bed, our playground, the place where we spent so many nights drawing loving lines across each other’s skin. Sweating, dreaming. Sometimes eyes wide open, fantasizing about the visions of that future we were building together.

  Those same visions now fading out in the silence.

  Agonizing slowly.

  Walking down, step by step, pain filling the space meant for happiness.

  Despite that, I refuse to let it go.

  I just can’t.

  After all these years, after all we lived through, I just can’t and I won’t.

  Is there an antidote somewhere? A cure for dying love?

  A cup of magic that revives passion and desire?

  I want to cross the bridge beyond my insecurities, because I’m not the same girl anymore. I’ve changed. Not for the better, I’m afraid.

  More than that, there must be something I can do about it.

  My friend Mandy, now happily married and busy with three little rascals running around her ankles, told me a few days ago that I should go to a lingerie store and buy the sultriest item in their entire stock. “Be his slut,” she said. “I guarantee you won’t regret it.”

  So I went to the store and bought a little tiny piece of silk and lace I haven’t had the courage to wear yet.

  It’s not that I’m a prude. I’ve worn hot numbers for my husband before. This time it’s different, though. There is an ice wall between us, tearing us apart, growing wider every day.

  Like the proverbial light bulb above my head, an idea comes, and eager to follow it, I run to the bathroom to check my appearance in the mirror. My hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and I have no makeup on, so I hurry to apply some concealer and a bit of lip gloss, but not too much. Glancing over my body, checking out my navy tee dress, that should do.

  Chase has been in his office all day, refusing to even stop for lunch. This isn’t unusual, his schedule is always very busy since the board made him a partner, and tomorrow morning he’s flying to Sacramento. Yes, his promotion meant a lot of extra money, but also a shitload of extra work. Sometimes I want to blame his job for how he’s changed, force him to give it all up, but I quickly discard the idea, refusing to be an ungrateful spoiled bitch.

  So I’m going to the mattresses—in my best Godfather’s interpretation—if this means war, well, I’ll fight. Our relationship means too much to not try every available option.

  I walk barefoot to the third floor, where my study and Chase’s office are located, feeling a weird kind of comfort with every step over the soft, rich carpet. “Don’t ever forget, Rose,” he’d murmured a couple days after we moved in. “This is our place, and it’s full of love.”

  That same love is making me brave right now.

  I find Chase sitting on the loveseat in front of a wooden coffee table we bought on one of our romantic getaways, a trip to Indonesia, reading a sheet of paper in his hand. He now wears reading glasses, and whereas some people would find that an unflattering sign of age, I’ve discovered that my husband wearing those black framed specs really turns me on, awakening the butterflies in my belly.

  “Hey,” I murmur, calling his attention.

  His eyes look for me, lighting up in an instant. That blue flame burning.

  Yes! I want to scream, there is hope here.

  “Hey, doll,” he replies softly.

  “In the mood for a bite to eat? It’s almost five and it’s so beautiful outside.” It’s January, this time of the year is a bit colder in San Diego, the city we moved to just after our wedding about five years ago. This is SoCal, though. We are blessed
with the most amazing weather almost all year long.

  “Sure, wanna go out or order some take out?”

  Oh, no, no, no. We are breaking the ice here, so we are going out.

  “What about The House?” I suggest.

  “That sounds like a plan,” he replies, standing and the vision of his strong body does things to me still. Yeah, hope is bubbling here.

  “Do I have time for a quick shower?” Chase asks while we are walking down the stairs, toward our bedroom located on the second floor.

  “Sure,” I reply and in my head a voice is screaming invite me, invite me, invite me.

  Said invitation never comes, but my state of mind doesn’t change, because after all, we are going out.

  Yay!

  ☂☂☂

  The House is a restaurant located in the heart of Little Italy, a charming place built like little gingerbread cottages. We arrive after a less than a ten-minute drive from our home in East Village. Chase has called the driver, I don’t understand why, but for a few months now he hasn’t been driving himself anywhere.

  I know having a driver is a perk of his job because he spends a lot of time on the road and his black SUV becomes his mobile office, but today is Sunday. He’s not working. It’s just a casual dinner with his wife.

  So many changes in such a little time.

  His traveling schedule.

  His workload.

  The driver.

  I don’t want to become one of those paranoid wives who check their husband’s social media accounts and their phones to no end.

  I have never been a jealous woman.

  Never had a single reason to be one.

  I’d never cast a stone at my husband.

  That’s not the kind of person I am.

  Is it?

  Shit, this situation is messing with my sanity.

  The terrace is packed, so the hostess places us at a table with two mismatched chairs and a checkered tablecloth beside a window facing the street. The entire place is charming, and I dare to bet this is the only restaurant in America with a grass covered ceiling with sheep hanging upside down.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow?” I’m not asking about the luggage, I’ve taken care of that personally. He’s a grown man perfectly capable of taking care of himself, I’m well aware, but I’ve found it’s charming and loving to do his packing because that way I can hide little surprises in the pockets of his dress shirts. I have also been well rewarded for each of the chocolates I have stored there. Chase is a big boy who still loves to unwrap little secrets, and I suspect that’s why he’s so fascinated by the bows on the dresses that I often wear.

  “As ready as I can be,” he replies, taking a long pull of his beer. “Sometimes I think I’m ready to call a headhunter and go after a new job, an easier one, but I know I’ll be deadly bored a week later. These public tenders might be a nightmare to organize, but this contract will be monumental and the first of more to come.”

  “Should I be worried? That sounds like a contract capable of stealing my husband.” I try to sound playful and a bit silly; the bottom line is I want to know what’s happening. Is it his work that’s tearing us apart?

  “I would never allow work to come between us, Rose.” His hard tone stuns me.

  His eyes so dark and deep.

  A storm brewing behind those orbs I love so much.

  Yes, the flame is still there, we haven’t lost it.

  This is just a bump in the road, not a mountain. We can go around it, keep advancing, keep going. Marriage is like an awesome road trip, so I’m ready, eager even, to enjoy the journey, and not complain about the obstacles in our path.

  Now I just need a plan, I already have the determination to accomplish it.

  “You think we will need to move upstate? To Sacramento, I mean.”

  “No, doll, I dragged you down here, I’m not asking you to move again. I know you love the city, your life is here.”

  Your life... not ours. A slip of his tongue?

  “I wouldn’t mind, I hope you know that.” Operation Seduce My Husband is in full force. “If you want to live there, I’ll be a NorCal girl.”

  I reach across the table, my hand searching for his, entwining our fingers. His sad gaze fixes on our laced hands, and he refuses to let go even when the waitress comes back with our food.

  No worries, I’m good with this eating arrangement.

  Suddenly silence is fogging the space between us.

  Dark.

  Heavy.

  Despite the fact that Chase doesn’t let go my hand, his mind is elsewhere, a place too far away from here. Too far away from me.

  By the time we are on our way back home after our meal, I’m close to throwing myself out of the car. I’m grasping the seat so hard I’m pretty sure my knuckles are white. I want to scream and cry so loud. But I bite my lip and remain calmly focused on my plan. My eyes fixed on my goal. This war is being fought within the silence of my broken heart, flaw by flaw. Crack by crack. I need to be smart and choose my battles wisely. I want to avoid wearing myself down, because in the end, we’ll conquer. This isn’t about me. It’s about us.

  Our destiny.

  Our fate.

  Our happiness.

  Once we’re home, I hurry to our ensuite bathroom, bringing with me my lingerie shopping expedition treasure. Not a single body hair remains after my shower. Twenty minutes have passed, shit, this is taking more time than I expected.

  Taking a slow, deep breath I open the door to find my husband on the bed already, lying on his side, facing away. The wooden shutters closed, only my night table lamp on, the bedroom aglow with soft silver light.

  Getting on the bed, I crawl over to be close to him. “Chase,” I murmur, touching his shoulder softly.

  “Mhmm,”

  That’s all the response I get.

  Feeling more adventurous, I touch his arm, making him stir. He’s thinner now than a few months ago, but he still is the man of my dreams. All of them.

  “Doll.” The murmur leaves his lips, giving me the green light to keep going. I’m on the right path.

  And it is the path of dark blond hairs below his navel. Yeah, the road to happiness.

  “Rose, I’m tired,” I hear him say, not even opening his eyes.

  “Chase, I miss you. I miss us.”

  “I have an early flight to catch.”

  I know that’s an excuse, a lame one at that. This isn’t the first time he’s had an early flight to catch, and it never used to stop us.

  “Chase, what’s happening to us?”

  Finally, he moves, sitting up in bed, his back leaning against the headboard.

  “What do you want?”

  His words are hard as a wrecking ball, slamming within my chest.

  Stealing the air from my lungs.

  I forget how to speak.

  God, I think I’ve even forgotten how to breathe.

  “I don’t know, Chase, I really don’t know what’s happening to us.” My words are my confession of my secret fears.

  “Look, you wanted to go out, we went out. Now I want to sleep, I need to get some rest. Perhaps when you work out what in the hell you want, you can let me know.”

  Punching his pillow violently a couple of times, he lies down again as he was before our... fight? Argument?

  I’m so confused that I don’t even have a name for it.

  The worst part is I don’t know the next step to follow.

  Shit.

  Chapter 4

  Chase

  Los Angeles, CA - Six years ago

  “What in the hell am I doing, acting this way?” I asked in the silence of the night, waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come from the huge trees surrounding me or from the bunch of flowers on the leather seat beside me.

  I was swimming in deep shit, that’s what I was doing as I parked my truck outside the house of the woman I couldn’t get out of my mind.

  All day—and all night long—I’d been t
oo wired to sleep, to eat, to even think. I’d tossed and turned. Excited, too excited to see her again.

  Yeah, that kind of excited. My dick rock hard as I thought of all the interminable cravings I had just looking at her beautiful body.

  I’d been forced to reluctantly say goodbye to Roselynn the night before, as Zeph was waiting for me to drop him off at the airport. As annoying as my cousin was, he was still basically the brother I’d never had, so I wanted to see him off as he headed through the airport security gates to his new future, and why I’d given him a big hug, along with some money to tide him over while he got settled.

  But now I was ready for more with Roselynn.

  A lot more.

  Unashamed of my keenness, I’d sent her a message after getting home.

  I want to see you. Have breakfast with me.

  My desire was for her to be the breakfast.

  Sorry, have some appointments scheduled with my mother, can’t let her down.

  Dinner instead?

  She was still playing hard to get. Vixen. My guts screamed for me to just go grab her, set a new caveman trend. That would work for me.

  But instead I reined in my primal urges and we agreed a time for dinner, with her texting me the address a couple minutes later.

  However, those details provided little comfort to the issue in my black boxer briefs, and looking for release with my hand wasn’t working either. My hunger now had a name.

  Roselynn Banks.

  After a restless night, there followed a long, interminable day. Burning energy chasing waves, relieved to feel that ache in every muscle. With every drop of water around me my mind focusing.

  Finally it was time to go get my prize.

  Yeah. The time had come.

  To be with her.

  To know her.

  To possess her.

  I was pretty sure she had cast some kind of spell on me.

  I’d never felt that way before and I was so determined to have Roselynn, so busy chasing after her, that I never stopped to think about the magnitude of the impact she would have on my life.

  I’d already made plans for my weekend, but I cancelled them. All I wanted was to spend every possible minute with her, to unveil the secrets hidden behind those golden eyes, and listen to every word she had to say.