Rainstorm (The Perfect Storm Book 1) Read online

  Yes, I’d become the chaser, the pursuer.

  And she’d become my target, the object of my desire.

  Calling me.

  Enticing me.

  Chased by Holland.

  I wanted to put my stamp on her forehead, brand her with my mark. I wanted her to be mine and at the same time I wanted to kneel at her feet to adore and worship her. War is an art, victory is a goal to be aimed at, and as an engineer, I believed in building solid plans. Magic gives you the purpose, but only hard work makes the result tangible.

  Dreams are meant to be accomplished.

  Line by line.

  Building up.

  Stone by stone.

  Carefully.

  Yes, starting right here, right now.

  No more prevaricating.

  After all the hours of waiting, it was finally time for our dinner date, so I got my shit together and hauled myself out of my truck. The chilly air of the California winter greeted me as I walked to her door. I’d wanted to be there since I’d been forced to say goodbye the night before.

  She was giving me a chance, but at the same time keeping me on my toes, on alert. Trying to protect herself and setting the pace, while I was giving her time and some space, but also getting ready for the hunt.

  Roselynn hadn’t been bullshitting, she really did live in an apartment over her parents’ three gated garage, which had to be no more than nine hundred feet. The property was in an old neighborhood in a good area of the city. A big wooden house with enough space for a pool and two separate structures.

  As I was going up the stairs on the right-hand side of the garage, a guy suddenly appeared.

  “Who you are?” A skinny young man stood a couple stairs above me, trying to tower over me. But even with that advantage, he was failing miserably.

  “None of your business,” I responded, thinking back to Rose’s warning. One of her brothers, I assumed, especially as there was a clear resemblance. The boy in front of me was taller than his sister, but they both had the same dark, almost black hair, the same bone structure. Both were lean and slender. Regardless, his sister’s eyes made her unique.

  The eyes of a woman who possessed the sun. Shiny and hypnotizing.

  Dazzling.

  “What are you doing here?” Another guy came up behind me.

  So their tactic was to work as a team, to corner me.

  Those boys needed a lesson.

  “As I just said, none of your business, kid.” At my words, the younger one standing in front of me puffed out his chest and stood a little taller.

  It was amusing to see, like two Chihuahuas barking in front of a lion. Ready to defend their territory.

  No worries, kids, I’m not the enemy here, I was tempted to say, but why spoil the fun?

  “This is private property,” said the one who appeared to be the elder brother. “You know that?”

  “I’m an invited guest.” They both stared at the flowers in my hand. The ones I had picked out earlier in the flower store, feeling like a fish out of water in such unfamiliar territory. A sailor without a compass, lost in a fragrant sea of those colorful soft petals. Luckily the assistant had filled me in on the meaning of the flowers I liked as she’d arranged them, securing them with twine before finishing off with a pretty, intricate knot.

  Ironic, huh? I was in knots and so were the flowers.

  “We didn’t invite you here.” The kid had balls, I’d give him that.

  “Good, because neither of you are my type.”

  As I tried to walk past, forcing him to the side of the stairs, the kid moved to block me, on the offensive, ready to fight.

  But I was ready too, although for a different kind of battle. The battle of the sexes with his sister.

  The younger boy shoved me, making me lose my balance momentarily, almost crushing the guy in front of me as well as the flowers, his hands ready to grab the fabric of my button-down shirt.

  Oh no, kid, wrong move. I’d been prepared to humor him, but he was not going to make me late for my date with his sister.

  Just as I was about to forget that these boys were her brothers, the door of the apartment suddenly opened and there she stood, my raven haired goddess, with angry rays and lightning bolts shooting from her sun-colored eyes.

  “Neil, Paul! What the hell are you doing here?” Roselynn’s angry yelling seemed to catch her brothers by surprise.

  “Oh... Err...” mumbled the younger of the two. “Dad sent us to see if you were okay.”

  “Why would I not be okay?” she yelled back. She certainly had a good set of lungs.

  “We heard you were going out on a date tonight, so we wanted to check this guy out.” The older one finally manned up and opened his mouth.

  “You’re not required to check anyone out, so get the hell out of here, otherwise I have two frying pans with your names on them,” she said as she made to go back inside, I assumed to look for said pans.

  “Good luck, man,” one of her brothers said as he raised his hands in surrender and made his escape. “You’re sure as hell gonna need it.”

  They didn’t hang about as they hurried back to the safety of their parents’ house. Amused, I watched them go, but Rose was clearly still upset, tapping her foot while she fumed, steam virtually coming from her ears.

  So fucking gorgeous.

  “Hey, beautiful.” I smiled. She did indeed look beautiful. She was wearing a short blue dress that made my mouth water and my dick instantly swell inside my tailored charcoal trousers.

  She opened the door wider, inviting me to follow her into the apartment. My eyes tagged along with every swing of her slim hips wrapped in that thin fabric.

  “Sorry about my brothers, but I did warn you,” she said as she frowned in annoyance.

  “No worries. Nothing I couldn’t handle. These are for you.” I handed her the flowers and was rewarded with a thousand megawatt smile.

  She was so fucking pretty it hurt, like watching the sun for hours. And I couldn’t focus on anything else. The rest of the universe blurred, fading until it disappeared.

  “Thank you.” She fetched a vase to put the flowers in, then set them on her table. “They are beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you.” Yeah, yeah, I was becoming a master at cheesy quotes.

  What could I do? I wasn’t a poet, I was just a bewitched man. Those smiles were digging deep in me.

  Inch by inch.

  No, not my dick, although he was already crying out for her.

  “I’ll just be a minute, make yourself at home,” she instructed as she disappeared behind a set of wooden doors.

  Men always complain about those infamous words, because women always take longer than ‘just a minute’ to get ready, but it didn’t bother me, not when I was close enough to smell her perfume. Something floral and citrusy, sweet and mysterious, like the woman herself.

  Besides, it gave me a chance to get acquainted with her apartment, her personal space.

  Mint colored walls and white-washed furniture. Feminine, classy and strong. An enticing combination, those pieces spoke volumes about her.

  A cabinet top displaying mismatched frames caught my attention next. It looked antique, but the paint was fresh with the effects the artisan had made on the aged wood. It was well finished, smooth and flawless, mirroring her own skin.

  I was studying the piece of furniture when the clatter of heels on the hardwood floor announced Roselynn’s return.

  “You like it?” She sounded a little nervous, but there was also a hint of pride. I nodded, keeping my mouth shut because all I could do was stare at her.

  Ogling.

  My senses drooling over her exposed skin.

  I was in her home, with a lustful plan running through my mind, my hands balled into hard fists at my sides, itching to touch her. My thoughts were a dangerous minefield, and we needed to get the fuck out of there if I wasn’t to blow my chances by acting on my urges, frightening her off with too much too s
oon.

  “I made that piece,” she informed me with a shy smile. “Well, I restored it.”

  Fuck. All I could think was ‘Yeah, baby, I’d sure like those legs of yours wrapped around my hips, with your butt on that fancy cabinet while I pound inside you.’

  But I kept those thoughts to myself of course, even as my eyebrows arched upward at my little fantasy. “You’ve made a wonderful piece, Roselynn. These little touches here and there.” The cabinet wasn’t that big, maybe four feet across and three feet tall, three drawers enhanced with some carvings and figurines. It was indeed a beautiful piece.

  She laughed a little before speaking again. “When I brought it home it was no more than a piece of garbage, in my father’s words, and he wanted to give me some money to buy real furniture for my new home. But when I saw it at the flea market I couldn’t help myself. I found a treasure, it just needed some TLC.”

  At the sound of her sweet voice explaining her passion, something bloomed inside me. She was a keeper, in more ways than one. She could see the beauty hidden behind layers of dust and oblivion.

  Our conversation consisted of nails, wood and paint. But those little words said so much about her, about her heart. Fuck, the more I discovered, the more I wanted to know. She intrigued me. Her eyes enraptured me. Her smile bewitched me. But the real enigma remained veiled to the eye. That voice inside me murmuring it only would be visible with closed eyes, allowing my soul to do the work. Yeah, she was The Rose.

  “Are you ready?” I asked, admiring the way her simple little dress showed off her sexy, toned legs. Her hair was up in a sleek ponytail, leaving her swan-like neck exposed, making me eager to taste all that soft, pale skin.

  She nodded, grabbing a long cardigan from the couch. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  She beamed, lighting up like a beacon on the bay. “I like surprises.”

  “Good, because I’m full of them.”

  As I took her hand, my gut lurched at that little touch, and just knowing that she was letting me take the lead allowed the knot in my chest to loosen.

  I strode along confidently, hearing her footsteps following behind me.

  All the while falling so hard.

  Chapter 5

  Rose

  San Diego, CA - Present day

  I’m just two blocks away.

  Just two blocks away!

  Shit! At least I thought I was just two blocks away.

  Fucking streets, they seem to replicate themselves. I can’t wait to get home. As ever, I’m out of breath, my tongue hanging out, panting like a dog.

  I raise my head while I rest against the first tree that crosses my path, and finally I see our street sign on the corner post. I do this almost every day, well I have for the last week anyway. I put on my sneakers and run a distance from the house I share with my husband.

  While I wait for the light to change when I reach the corner, I survey the surroundings. The route is nice, the street is full of trendy restaurants and buildings very similar to our townhome. We live in a small private community, perfect for those who want to enjoy the advantages of living downtown while still enjoying the facilities of a resort.

  The first time our families came for a visit, I couldn’t ignore their raised eyebrows as they calculated the price of our newly married nest. My dad even dared to suggest that with the same money, we could have bought something bigger in a better area, somewhere further out—a proper family home, he said. But we weren’t thinking about a family back then, we wanted it to be just us for a while.

  Today is one of those days I wouldn’t know how to describe. I feel more exhausted than usual, as if someone has stolen all my energy, but my mind is running like a hamster on its wheel. I’m supposed to do this run in just forty-five minutes. Well, that’s what my husband told me with a laugh. However, I’m lucky if I make it back in an hour.

  I finally see my home in the distance. I feel like a castaway when land finally comes into sight. I can’t wait to get there and have a cold drink.

  I enter through the gate that connects the properties in our communal garden, and when I take out my AirPods, I hear Ariel singing—she takes care of all the cleaning and maintenance around here. From the looks of it, pink is her hair color of choice this week. No doubt next week it’ll be something different.

  With her you never know.

  “A new look?” I comment, when I finally manage to regain my breath.

  “Yeah, green was too difficult to maintain,” she informs me, shrugging. “It looked better in the pictures I got my inspiration from, but I guess nothing in real life can live up to Pinterest’s expectations.”

  Nailed it or failed it?

  I should know.

  I have more than five nifty DIY projects that are still unfinished around my home. The worst part is that I don’t know if I will ever finish them.

  Nevertheless, I’m determined to decorate our home in the most unique way possible. I’ve started many projects that sometimes overwhelm me and I don’t think that I’ll ever complete all of them.

  “Do you wanna try the cherry pie I baked last night? It’s crumb topped,” Ariel asks, cutting the thread of my vague thoughts.

  As tempting as her creation sounds, I have to refuse. The reason I was running early this morning is because I want to lose some weight. If I dare to go to her apartment, I swear I would eat the whole damn thing.

  “I don’t have the energy after my run to even climb the stairs, so I think I’ll head straight home.” There, a good excuse.

  I’m still breathing raggedly, or rather panting.

  “Your loss.” Ariel looks disappointed, but doesn’t insist, giving me a quick farewell. “See you later, alligator.” I’m sure folks two streets away could hear her shouting to me as she carries on sweeping the cobblestone of the paths. I reply back with a lazy wave as I head to my townhome. When I get there, I’m welcomed by a silent echo and the scent of Chase’s cologne.

  God, I love his scent.

  After so many years I still insist he uses the same fragrance, and he humors me. It’s not the fragrance, it’s him. The scent and the skin of the man I love, a lethal combination.

  Jeez, I miss him.

  Crave him.

  These three days feel almost interminable.

  In the kitchen, I find the empty Keurig and the cup Chase uses to drink his large black coffee. It’s clean and waiting for him to come back from Sacramento.

  I take my time, enjoying my dose of caffeine—with reduced fat milk, of course, and sweetened with Stevia—standing in my kitchen, staring at the glass tiles we installed a few weeks ago, thinking how great it looks.

  Crossing the narrow hall and then climbing the stairs, absent-mindedly I look at the photos we’ve hung on the wall. Some are from our wedding, others are of our wonderful honeymoon, many from our trips.

  All of them are beautiful memories of our beautiful life.

  I make the bed as usual, tossing the old sheet into the laundry, smoothing down a fresh crisp white one, setting the scene for tonight.

  On my way to the bathroom, I discard my sweaty, sticky clothes. One more chore to accomplish today, do the laundry.

  The hot drops of water hit my skin while I cling onto the blue loofah like it’s going to tell me what to do. It needs to be something special, that’s for sure, for me, for us, for him. We deserve it.

  Chase, my husband, my entire world.

  The same world that is crumbling at my feet.

  Slowly.

  I erase that thought, it’s impossible. I’m too frightened to imagine my life without Chase. We’ve been together for so many years.

  All our shared goals.

  All our shared dreams.

  Our life together like a huge forest, not even the greatest fire could end it.

  Until death do us part.

  Our promise to each other, the vow we made.

  No, I refuse to believe it. This can’t be h
appening. Not to us, I’m not allowing it.

  I get out of the shower, thinking that I need to plan something romantic and fun for tonight, so that I can dress up in something nice for Chase.

  We could always have a nice romantic dinner.

  Hardly original, I know, but always a sure bet. As the old saying goes, ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ and I’ve found that to be true.

  However, maybe I’ll concentrate on one of my projects first, something to keep me busy and occupied. Finishing my dining table project would be perfect because then after dinner, we could find something naughty to do on it...

  The table it is.

  I spend the rest of the day sanding, staining and sealing the table we found in an antique store. Finally, it is transformed into my gorgeous new dining table. Also, a few months ago, we found some chairs in a flea market, and we picked out a smooth velvet fabric for the upholstery. Now, I busy myself working as hard and as fast I can to get the chairs done too.

  At four o’clock I’m amazed to have finally finished one of my DIY projects.

  Next, it’s Roselynn to the kitchen, if I want to finish dinner on time. Although cooking is not really my thing, I’m doing meatloaf with mashed potatoes and salad. I also pick out a bottle of wine saved for a special occasion.

  Now I have to run and get dressed.

  I’m riding a high of excitement and expectation.

  I look in the drawers for my nicest underwear, I want something sexy. Maybe lace to match the silky dress I have chosen to wear with high strappy heels. Chase will melt, I know him well, it’s feminine and the most important thing; easy to remove. If Chase pulls at the thin strap around my waist, the dress will fall open. I see myself in the mirror, and don’t really like what I see but that’s who I am.

  The outfit is a winner.

  An omen. I hope so.

  I straighten my hair and put on some make-up. I’m ready—and eager—for a night of intensive care for our marriage. I find some candles in the kitchen and strategically place them all over the house, so that it’ll smell like sandalwood, a sensual scent. I trust my husband will accept the silent invitation.