Chapter Seven
Francine couldn’t believe she was sitting on the floor between Keaton’s outstretched legs staring at the smoldering embers, while taking sips of coffee. “I didn’t realize you were a slacker,” she teased.
“What are you talking about?”
“I asked you to come here because I thought you wanted to talk about your research.”
Keaton pressed a kiss to her curls. “Maybe we can discuss it Saturday night.”
“What’s happening Saturday night?”
Taking the cup from her hand, he placed it on a coaster, then eased her back until she lay atop him, her buttocks pressed to his groin. “If you’re not busy I’d like to take you to a show at the Creek’s movie house. After that we can go to the mainland and talk over cups of lattes or cappuccino.”
Francine bit back a smile. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had offered to take her to the movies. And never on Cavanaugh Island. “So you discovered our movie theaters.” There was one in the Cove, but most of the films were at least two to three months behind the ones shown in Charleston. The theater in the Creek featured only foreign films and black-and-white movies from the thirties and forties.
“It is one of the reasons I decided to put down roots here.” He breathed a kiss against her scalp. “Will you, Miss Tanner, go to the movies with me?”
“I’d like very much to go to the movies with you.”
“I like you, Francine.”
Francine managed to extricate herself from Keaton’s loose embrace enough to turn over and face him. She found herself straddling his lap when he pushed her into a sitting position. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she felt the warmth of his body through his sweater.
“I like you, too, Keaton.”
Cradling her face between his hands, his thumbs made circular motions on her cheekbones. “I like your red curls, your freckles, and your incredibly sexy long legs.” He pressed a kiss over each eyelid.
Anchoring her arms under his shoulders, Francine lost herself in the strength of his lean body and the scent of his cologne clinging to the fibers of the thick cotton sweater. Keaton liked everything about her that the other men had teased her about for more years than she cared to remember. It had taken time for her to overcome the ridicule and move on. It’d been her ex-husband’s deceit that still lingered to the point where she wasn’t willing to lower her guard enough to trust a man.
“Do you want me to tell you what I like about you?” she whispered in his ear.
“No. I want you to show me.”
She went completely still, certain Keaton could feel her heart beating through her tank top when she felt his erection pulsing under her hips. “I don’t like you that much, Keaton.” Francine watched a myriad of expressions flitter over his handsome features—confusion, shock, and then realization.
“Not that, Francine.”
“Not what?”
He angled his head in the endearing gesture she’d come to look for. “No. You’re not ready for that and neither am I, even if a particular part of my anatomy says differently. Besides, I don’t want to ruin what we have with sex. That’s something you can get from any man, and I can get from any woman. What I will take is a kiss.” Francine hesitated, then kissed his cheek.
“Nah, nah, nah, baby,” Keaton drawled, shaking his head. “That’s not a kiss,” he said in a flawless Paul Hogan in Crocodile Dundee accent. “This is a kiss.”
Instead of pulling out a knife as the character had done in the film when confronted by thugs intent on robbing him, Keaton palmed her face, lowered his head, and brushed a light kiss over her mouth, the gesture so tender she could’ve imagined it. It wasn’t a kiss but a caress.
He increased the pressure until her lips parted. Francine inhaled his moist breath, moaning softly when his tongue grazed hers. “I have a confession to make,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes as she struggled to slow her accelerated respiration. “What is it?”
“You beguiled me the first time I saw you, and now fast-forward almost ten years and nothing has changed.” He lowered his hands and kissed her forehead. “I’d better leave before I embarrass myself. Thanks for the coffee, and please let your mother know her tartlets were delicious.”
Now back in control, Francine nodded. “I’ll let her know. I’ll walk you down so I can lock the door.”
It wasn’t until she’d locked the door behind Keaton that Francine was able to draw a normal breath. Pressing her back to the door, she closed her eyes, reliving the feel of his mouth on hers. The kiss wasn’t as sexual as it was sensual. Francine opened her eyes, smiling. He liked her and she liked him. It was the perfect beginning to an easy and uncomplicated friendship.
Francine felt his breath feather along the column of her neck, then the pleasurable bite of teeth at the base of her throat. She rose off the mattress, writhing on twisted sheets and keening when feelings she’d forgotten surfaced.
His mouth continued its exploration, traveling downward over her breasts, distended nipples, into the dip to her belly button and still lower to her inner thighs. A rush of moisture bathed her core as she attempted to press her knees together to stop the pulsing from growing stronger and stronger with each breath, sweeping her up into a maelstrom of ecstasy and holding her captive.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Please don’t stop,” she pleaded over and over. Her plaintive plea became a litany until without warning it ended, her mouth frozen in a silent scream.
Francine woke, sitting up in bed as if propelled by a bungee cord, the sound of her runaway heartbeat reverberating in her ears. She felt dizzy, lightheaded; the cotton nightgown, soaked with perspiration, molded to her heaving breasts. When she finally focused her eyes she realized she was in her bedroom and that she’d had an erotic dream. She pulled her knees to her chest, holding her legs tightly to still their trembling.
“I don’t dream,” she whispered in the silent room. “I have visions.”
It was a full two minutes before she was able to straighten her legs and fall back to the damp pillow under her shoulders. Francine knew the dream had everything to do with straddling Keaton, feeling his erection, and his kissing her, although she hadn’t been able to see the face of her ethereal lover.
She’d dated several men while waiting for her divorce to be finalized, but refused to sleep with any of them, shunning relationships and anything resembling a commitment. She’d found it easy to sidestep their advances, but it’d taken all of her self-control not to beg Keaton to make love to her when he’d kissed her. Even though Francine adamantly claimed she was a former actress, all of her training came into play when she forced herself not to respond to his rapacious mouth and tongue.
Combing her fingers through her mussed hair, she held it off her face. Her mother had never been reticent when it came to talking to her about sex. Two years after she’d returned to the Cove, Mavis had asked if she missed making love with a man. Francine had been forthcoming when she told her mother she didn’t, because she hadn’t met a man who would make her want to sleep with him.
Now the same couldn’t be said for Keaton. They were good together. He made her laugh and she made him laugh. He was creative, smart, and perceptive, and had impeccable manners, attributes she hadn’t found in the other men from her past. Her life had gone on with an uncomplicated predictability—until now.
After he’d given her his business card she’d gone online to look for films he’d directed. She found one, ordered it, and paid the additional charge to have it shipped overnight.
Francine stayed up well beyond her normal bedtime watching the movie, which was about an artistically gifted sixteen-year-old boy at a crossroads in his life. The lead character was torn between following his older brother, whom he worshipped, into a life of crime that was certain to end with him in prison and/or dead, or accept an offer from a well-known artist to become his apprentice. The heart-wrenching scene in which the character’s loyalty is tested moved her to tears when the budding artist demonstrated that blood was thicker than water by walking into a bodega holding a gun, while his older brother stands lookout. He fails to notice the police officer standing in the aisle when he fires point-blank at the store owner. The police officer returns fire, hitting him in the thigh and severing an artery. The robber stumbles out of the store to the sidewalk, falling facedown in the rain, which mingles with his life’s blood, flowing into a sewer, while his brother runs away and disappears into the blackness of the night. The final scene showed young girls jumping rope on the same sidewalk where the body had lain days before. The film’s message: You live, you die, and life goes on without missing a step. Keaton was the first man since she’d returned to Cavanaugh Island who made her want to take things to the next level.
If her mother were to ask her the same question now she would be forced to admit there was one man she wanted to sleep with if only to relive the passion that made her feel like a complete woman.
She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was minutes after four, much too early to get out of bed. Turning over on her side, she pulled the sheet and quilt up over her shoulder and lay quietly until drifting off to sleep. Thankfully there were no disturbing dreams this time around.
Francine was surprised to see Morgan walk into the salon Saturday afternoon. Meeting the eyes of the elderly man sitting in her chair in the mirror, she excused herself. “I’ll be right back, Mr. James.”
“Take your time, Red.”
She approached Morgan. “Did you come in for a trim?” Her friend’s hair was beginning to resemble an Afro.
“Not today. I know my hair is a hot mess, but I’m waiting until next week. Actually, I came to see if my best friend wanted to go to lunch with me.”
Francine pulled her friend closer to the front door. “Sure. Can you wait for me to finish cutting Mr. James’s hair?” The man had lost most of his hair years ago yet came into the salon religiously every week for her to edge up the fringe.
“Of course.” Morgan, sitting on a leather chair in the reception area, flipped through a magazine.
Francine returned to her station, picking up a comb and a pair of scissors to cut away the uneven wisps over the retired plumber’s ears. Using a pair of tiny scissors, she clipped the hair growing out of his nose and ears. She enjoyed pampering the older men who sat in her chair because the few that were widowers missed the attention they’d gotten from their late wives. Turning on a blow-dryer, she blew the hair off his face and neck, and then dusted the nape of his neck with a medicated powder to offset razor irritation.
“I’m finished, Mr. James.” She unsnapped the cape around his shoulders. “You may pay the receptionist. She knows to give you the senior discount.” It had taken a while, but the older customers stopped offering her tips because she refused to take their money. Most, if not all, were on fixed incomes.
Shrugging out of her smock, Francine left the salon floor and entered the lounge. Mavis was in the supply closet mixing hair dyes. “Mama, I’m going out for lunch. I have Miss Sunny at four.”
Mavis nodded. “Enjoy.”
“Do you want me to bring you anything back?”
“Thanks for asking, but I’m saving my appetite until later. Your father and I are having a date night.”
“Good for you.” Her parents were having a date night and she was looking forward to her Saturday night date with Keaton.
Francine had noticed the change in her mother’s attitude since her husband curtailed his traveling. She smiled a lot more and spent time in the kitchen preparing his favorite dishes. In forty years of marriage there were instances when her parents had spent more time apart than together. They’d attended different colleges, and six months of the year had been devoted to football: training camp, the official season, and postseason play. Since his retiring from the game her father was still away from home when he traveled to check on his restaurants.
Francine brushed her hair, smoothing the flatironed strands into a ponytail and securing it with an elastic band. Reaching for her jacket on the wall hook, she slipped it on and joined Morgan as they walked along Moss Alley to Main Street.
She gave her friend a sidelong glance. “How are you feeling?”
“Hungry twenty-four/seven,” Morgan confessed.
Francine and Morgan moved over to the right to let an older couple pass. Afternoon temperatures peaking in the midsixties had brought out pedestrians and motorists alike. The downtown business district was bustling with activity. “What about morning sickness?”
“It comes and goes. I did get to see Kara’s baby for a few minutes the day after she came home from the hospital. He’s a carbon copy of Jeff except for his eye color.”
“Please don’t tell me he inherited the Patton gray eyes.” Kara was a direct descendant of Shipley Patton, the original owner of Angels Landing. There had been a time when the Pattons had regarded themselves as Cavanaugh Island royalty, refusing to mix outside their privileged social circle, but that changed dramatically once Kara inherited the bulk of Taylor Patton’s estate. Many of them were lawyers and had married lawyers or bankers.
“It looks that way.”
Francine and Morgan waved to Deborah Monroe, who was standing outside the entrance to the Parlor Bookstore. Deborah, who’d spent her childhood summers in the Cove, returned after the drowning death of her first husband. She was given a second chance at love when she married a widower, Dr. Asa Monroe, who’d become the island’s resident doctor. Asa’s family practice was located three doors away from his wife’s bookstore. Their toddler son was looking forward to celebrating his third birthday.
Francine slowed when she saw Keaton walking in their direction. He was dressed entirely in black: pullover sweater, jeans, Timberland boots, and a waist-length leather jacket. As he neared, she noticed the stubble on his jaw. Initially she thought he wasn’t going to acknowledge her, but she was wrong when he stopped.
His smile was as brilliant as the winter sunshine. “Good afternoon, Francine.”
She felt the heat from Morgan’s gaze on her face. “Good afternoon. Keaton, this is Morgan Dane. She’s the one I told you about decorating your home. Morgan, I’d like you to meet Keaton Grace.”
The two exchanged handshakes. “Do you have a business card on you, Mrs. Dane?” he asked.
Morgan unsnapped the small shoulder bag slung across her chest. “Please call me Morgan.” She handed him a card. “My partner, Abram, is the interior decorator.”
Keaton slipped the card into the pocket of his jacket. “The renovations to the house won’t be completed for at least six to seven weeks.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Do you have the floor plans?” Morgan asked Keaton. He nodded. “We can work from them. It will lessen the time between the delivery of furniture and your moving in.”
He flashed his sensual smile again. “I’ll get the plans and I’ll call Abram to set up an appointment.” He took a quick glance at his watch. “I’m sorry to run, but I have an appointment with Hannah Forsyth.” Keaton took a step, dipped his head, and kissed Francine’s cheek. “I’ll call you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Morgan.” Francine and Morgan were still standing in the same spot when he continued walking, turning down the street leading to the library.
Morgan looped her arm through Francine’s. “I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me.” She held up her free hand. “Don’t say anything right now. We’ll talk once we get to Jack’s.”
It was lunchtime and the babble of voices at Jack’s Fish House escalated appreciably when diners greeted those with whom they were familiar. A large group of fishermen who’d gone out on the water at sunrise were crowded together, taking up an entire corner in the family-style dining restaurant. The flat-screen televisions with closed captions were tuned to sports, weather, and all-news cable channels. Francine spied an empty table for two not far from the kitchen.
“Do you mind sitting near the kitchen?” she asked Morgan. She practically had to shout to be overheard.
“No!” Morgan shouted back. “If I’d known it was going to be this crowded and noisy I would’ve called for takeout.”
They wove their way through tables, avoiding members of the waitstaff balancing trays on their shoulders. Within minutes of sitting down a waitress came over to take their orders.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” Morgan asked when the young woman left.
Francine had ordered a shrimp grits cake with a lemon sour sauce served on red leaf lettuce and arugula. “I promised my grandmother I would eat with her tonight.”
“You must be in hog heaven now that your grandmother lives with you, because all you have to do is walk down the hall to get a meal instead of getting into your car and driving to Charleston.”
“Even more rewarding for me than her cooking is seeing my grandma every day. It’s like Christmas, New Year’s, and the Fourth of July all rolled into one. I really don’t mind being her ‘precious grandbaby girl.’ ”
“That’s because your grandma is cool. Speaking of dinner, why don’t you come over tomorrow night? Nate and I would love your company.”
Francine traced the initials cut into the heart carved into the tabletop. “Can I get a rain check?”
“Sure. When do you want to come?”
“I’ll have to let you know.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Fran?”
Francine glanced around her to see if anyone at a nearby table was listening to their conversation. “Keaton and I are having dinner followed by a movie.”
Clapping her hand over her mouth, Morgan muffled a scream. “So I was right. I knew there was something going on between you two. Where did you meet him?”
Francine shifted her chair until she and Morgan were sitting side by side. She told her about him coming into the Beauty Box for a haircut and shave. Morgan’s jaw dropped when she revealed that he’d recognized her because he’d seen her performance in an off-Broadway play.
“What did he say?”
“He tried to convince me to accept a role in one of his films.” She also told her that Keaton had bought the Webber property, where he planned to build a studio on the land.
Resting her elbows on the table, Morgan moved even closer. “What did you tell him?”
She gave her friend an incredulous stare. “I told him no.”
“Why did you turn him down, Fran? You’re an incredible actress.”
“I was an actress.”
“But you could be one again.”
Francine shook her head. “No I can’t, because I don’t want to.”
“This can’t be because of Aiden.”
“Aiden has nothing to do with my decision.” Francine realized she sounded defensive, but didn’t care. When she and Aiden broke up she’d tried to pick up the pieces of her life and move on with her career. No matter how many auditions or casting calls she attended it was as if the spark that made her a dynamic actress had gone out. She never flubbed a line, yet she wasn’t able to summon the emotion necessary to breathe life into her characters.
Francine knew Morgan had never liked Aiden. After their breakup she’d called him a parasite, user, pimp, and a few other four-letter adjectives. She told her friend she didn’t blame her ex as much as she blamed herself. She’d embraced the adage “love is blind” like an addict searching for his next fix.
“How did he take you turning him down?” Morgan asked.
She smiled. “He was very gracious.”
Morgan sighed. “Gracious and gorgeous. Can you imagine the impact a movie studio will have on this island?”
“Economically it has to be a win-win,” Francine answered.
“What type of movies does he make?”
“Mostly films featuring coming-of-age themes. Right now he’s researching Cavanaugh Island’s history because he wants to set a film here.”
Morgan nodded. “So that’s why he’s meeting with Miss Hannah. I’m willing to bet she’ll know his entire life story within a half hour of his sitting down with her. You should’ve warned him that Miss Hannah is an incorrigible gossip.”
Francine giggled. “I decided not to prejudice him. If he survived Hollywood gossip, then he should be able to take on Miss Hannah. He’s also offered to cook for me in return for making the connection with Miss Hannah.”
Morgan gave her a skeptical look. “He’s cooking for you because you promised to help him out? You don’t need him to cook for you when your mother and grandmother live in the same house with you.” She placed her hand over Francine’s. “Talk to me, Fran.”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m having an affair with him? I’m sorry to disappoint you but there’s nothing going on between me and Keaton.”
“Is he married?”
Francine smiled. “No.”
“Is he a baby daddy?”
Francine’s smile reached her eyes. “No. He’s what you would call unencumbered.”
“And that means women are going to be on him like white on rice. When was the last time we had an eligible bachelor for women in our age group?”
“We did have Nate before you took him off the market. And don’t forget Jeff.”
“You’re right,” Morgan said in agreement.
Francine thought it ironic that Jeff and Nate had grown up on the island; both left to attend college, and then returned after nearly two decades to fall in love and marry. “The pickings have been real sparse for a single woman looking for a husband.”
“Do you include yourself in that equation, Fran?”
“No. I told you before I’m not interested in getting married again.”
“What about a relationship?” Morgan asked. “Are you opposed to becoming involved with a man without a promise of marriage?”
There were very few secrets Francine kept from her friend, but she didn’t want to talk about her connection to Keaton. Everything she’d shared with him was much too new to make any kind of prediction.
“I don’t know, Mo,” she said instead. “It would be nice to date someone on a regular basis, but if it doesn’t happen, then my life isn’t going to fall apart.” Although Keaton had asked to take her out, that did not translate into an ongoing relationship.
“It’s not happening, Fran. You haven’t dated anyone since you moved back here.”
Francine narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like the pot calling the kettle black. You weren’t dating anyone either until you started going out with Nate.”
“I have a confession to make,” Morgan confided after a dish of fluffy, buttery biscuits was set on the table. “I would’ve seriously considered dating David, but he was still hung up on his ex. When I saw you with him at the Island Fair I’d hoped you guys would hook up. And you and David were the perfect host and hostess when you put together my surprise birthday party.”
Francine had to admit working with David planning the surprise thirty-third birthday party for Morgan was a lot of fun. It was the only time she’d witnessed him completely relaxed. “David is a good guy, but not for me. I told you before I can’t deal with an uptight man. I had enough of that with Aiden.” Her ex-husband rarely smiled, claiming he had to stay in character. Most of the roles he sought called for the dark, brooding type.
“I would’ve been uptight, too, if I’d had to share a shoebox-size apartment with three other roommates,” Morgan drawled. “You became Aiden’s savior once he realized you had a luxury apartment in an Upper West Side brownstone only steps from Central Park. That’s when he turned into a predator with you as his prey. He hit the mother lode. It wasn’t enough for him to date you. He had to marry you to seal the deal.”
Francine made a sucking sound with her tongue and teeth. “Well, the joke was on him, because he never knew my father was supporting me financially. The parasite hadn’t believed until it came time for the divorce that I wouldn’t have had a penny to my name if Daddy didn’t send me monthly checks. Daddy claimed he did it because he’d suspected Aiden married me for money. I wish I’d had a camera phone to take a picture of his face when our lawyers were discussing the division of assets and alimony.”
Morgan bit into the biscuit slowly, savoring the taste. “Your father never liked Aiden.”
“Word,” Francine drawled. When her parents came to visit her in New York they were polite, but very cool toward him. It was as if everyone could see his true colors except her, until it was too late.
“Speaking of single Cavanaugh Island men, there’s always Harry Hill Junior.”
“I thought you loved me like a sister, Mo.”
“I… I do,” Morgan said between guffaws. “But I couldn’t resist that dig.”
“Right now Harry Hill Junior is in deep doo-doo. He’s under house arrest and wears an electronic ankle monitor. He’s facing a rape charge because apparently he impregnated a fourteen-year-old. The police are awaiting the birth of her twins before they can prove paternity.”
Morgan looked as if she were going to choke on her biscuit. She took a sip of water. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was, Mo. You know the man is nothing more than what I call a bum bitch. He still lives at home, no doubt still sleeping on his Spider-Man sheets while he runs around making babies with who knows how many women. At last count he’s fathered nine kids. Two more will make it eleven.” Francine hadn’t been able to ignore the gossip swirling around the Beauty Box when the topic of Harry Junior came up. All of the women voiced their opinion of what they wanted to do to him—and none bode well for the serial baby daddy. “If the twins are his, then he’s not going to make any more babies where he’s going for a very long time.”
“Speaking of babies,” Morgan continued, “I’d like you to be godmother for my son or daughter. And I’m not going to ask you what I’m having because I want it to be a surprise.”
“I wouldn’t tell you even if you asked,” she teased. She inclined her head. “And I’m honored to be your child’s godmother. Have you chosen a godfather?”
“Nate asked his brother almost at the same time Bryce asked Nate if he would be godfather to his baby.”
“Do Bryce and Stacy know what they’re having?”
All conversation came to a halt when the waitress set down Francine’s shrimp grits cake and Morgan’s black-eyed pea soup and side order of turnips and greens over rice on the table.