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  “I am,” he shot back smugly, “but I’m also quite familiar with what brought her back.”

  “Wasn’t the cat a he?”

  Micah’s mysterious smile was back. “Not in this case.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Your hair, eyes and coloring remind of a lioness.”

  Tessa wanted to tell Micah that he also reminded her of a predatory jungle cat but wanted to steer the conversation away from that of a personal nature.

  “Have you eaten dinner?” she asked him.

  He blinked once, seemingly startled by her question. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

  She turned and walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. “I don’t know how long the electricity is going to be out, and rather than have my dinner spoil, I’m going to share it with you. Meanwhile you can tell me about your sister.” She glanced at Micah over her shoulder. She knew she’d surprised him with her offer. “Do you eat red meat?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “How do you like your steak?”

  “Medium-well.”

  He peered at Tessa’s slender body outlined in a flickering golden glow. There was something about Tessa Whitfield’s exquisite face, beautifully modulated voice and aloof manner that he liked—a lot.

  “Would you like some help?”

  Tessa removed a platter with the marinated steak from a shelf. “No, thank you. I have everything under control,” she said, placing the platter on the counter next to the stove-top grill.

  “What if I set the table?” Micah asked. He wanted and needed to do more than just stand around and stare at her.

  She gave him a warm, open smile for the first time. “Okay.”

  “Where can I wash my hands?”

  She pointed to the cooking island. “Use that sink. I’m going to put a few candles in the downstairs bathroom before I go upstairs for the flashlight.”

  Turning back his shirt cuffs, Micah washed his hands in a stainless-steel sink. He knew Rosalind Sanborn would have a hissy fit if she saw him washing his hands in the kitchen, but he was certain she would forgive this one infraction. What would have shocked his mother more was that he’d finally met a woman who had caught his interest even before she’d opened her mouth. And when she did speak, she’d enthralled him with the low, throaty timbre.

  He smiled. Tessa Whitfield’s voice was the perfect match for her sultry look.

  Tessa handed Micah a towel to dry his hands. “The dishes are in the cabinet above the dishwasher. And you’ll find flatware in a drawer under the butcher-block counter.”

  She turned on the oven, then concentrated on draining the water from the potatoes and patting them dry before she placed the wedges in a plastic bag filled with an herb-and-olive-oil mixture. What she didn’t want to do was think about the tall man moving about her kitchen as if he had done it before. She placed the potatoes on a cookie sheet and put it into the preheated oven.

  “What would you like to drink?” she asked.

  “What are my choices?”

  “You can have either water or wine.”

  “Wine is good.”

  “Red or blush?”

  Micah halted putting steak knives on the table. “Red.”

  “Come and select one.”

  He crossed the kitchen and stood in front of a built-in subzero wine cellar. Dozens of bottles lay on their sides in precise rows. He opened the door, selected a Merlot and closed it quickly. If the power stayed off for any extended period of time, then there was no doubt Tessa’s perishable foodstuffs would have to be discarded.

  CHAPTER 2

  The distinctive ringing of the wall phone shattered the silence, and Tessa answered it. “Hello.”

  “Thank goodness you’re home. I just turned on the television and heard about the blackout. Are you all right, Theresa?”

  She smiled. Only her mother called her Theresa. “Yes, I am, Mama.”

  “Don’t forget to tell her to check the windows and doors,” her father’s voice boomed in the background.

  “Tell Dad they’re locked.”

  There came a pause on the other end of the wire. “Your father said if the power is still out in the morning, he’ll drive down and bring you home.”

  Tessa rolled her eyes upward. “My home is in Brooklyn, not Mount Vernon.” Why couldn’t Lucinda Whitfield accept that she was no longer a child but a thirty-one-year-old woman running a very successful business? “I don’t want to cut you short, but I have a client I have to talk to.”

  “You’re conducting business during a blackout?”

  “Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “You promise, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  “Love you, Theresa.”

  “I love you, too, Mama.”

  She hung up before her mother could lapse into a diatribe as to why she shouldn’t have set up Signature Bridals in Brooklyn. After all, her sister Simone ran a successful floral business out of her home in White Plains. All of her life she’d fought for her independence. Her parents—her father in particular—believed a woman couldn’t survive without the protection of a husband.

  Although Tessa refused to conform to their outdated views, her older sister had. Simone had married her high school sweetheart, yet the union didn’t survive their fifth wedding anniversary. Tessa smiled. What she found incredible was that Simone and her mother had perfected the role of vapid female to an art form.

  Micah thought because she owned and operated her own business she had to be a liberated woman. She was liberated—not in the literal sense of the word; however, what she’d done was fight a long and at times arduous battle to determine her own destiny. And during her personal struggles she’d had to make sacrifices in order to make Signature Bridals a success.

  She had sacrificed love and marriage.

  Tessa turned to find Micah staring at her as if he had never seen her before. “Do you need something?”

  Micah blinked as if coming out of a trance.

  I love you.

  Whenever he heard a woman say the three words, he usually turned and headed in the opposite direction. He was able to accept a woman’s passion and companionship until she opened her mouth to profess her love for him. It was thirty-six years and he still hadn’t accepted his biological mother’s abandonment.

  Evelyn Howard had hugged and kissed him as they’d sat waiting to be seen in a large, noisy hospital clinic; she’d told him that she loved him and that he was not to move while she went to the restroom. He’d sat in the same spot for more than four hours waiting for her return. It wasn’t until a nurse noticed he’d been alone that he’d realized his mother wasn’t coming back.

  He became a ward of the state of New Jersey for three years, until at age seven he was adopted by Edgar and Rosalind Sanborn. His new mother learned quickly that although he would permit her to hug and kiss him, she couldn’t tell her adopted son that she loved him.

  Micah successfully camouflaged his inner turmoil with a smile. “I need a corkscrew.”

  Tessa searched a drawer and gave him the corkscrew, checked the potatoes and then turned on the stove-top grill to heat up. At that moment she wished she had a battery-powered radio on hand to break the stilted silence. She did have a small portable TV/radio, but it was in the space on the top floor that was her sewing room. She wanted something—anything—to distract her from Micah’s presence.

  Micah Sanborn was the first man in a long time whose presence reminded her that she was a woman, one who’d denied her femininity for far too long. She would share her dinner with him, address some of his sister’s concerns about her wedding and then escort him out the door.

  Picking up a candleholder, she cupped her hand around the flicking flame. “I’m going upstairs to get the flashlight.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Tessa forced a smile. “No, thank you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Are you sure you d
on’t need an escort?”

  Her smile widened. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said as she took small, measured steps and she left the kitchen.

  * * *

  Micah sat opposite Tessa, thoroughly enjoying his meal and his dining partner. The grilled steaks were the perfect complement to the oven-baked seasoned potato wedges and accompanying salad. As soon as he drained his second glass of Merlot he felt more relaxed than he had in a very long time.

  “Thank you for dinner. You’re a very good cook.”

  She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

  Her cooking skills were adequate; but it was her first cousin Faith Whitfield who, as a professional chef, had become a renowned cake designer. Tessa, Faith and her floral-designer sister Simone completed the threesome that made up Signature Bridals.

  The sheet of paper with his scribbled notes lay next to Micah’s plate. He moved a candle closer, glancing at the first notation. “Bridget and Seth want an interfaith service. My sister is Catholic and her fiancé is Jewish.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Will that pose a problem for you?”

  Tessa shook her head. “No.” And it wouldn’t because she’d coordinated countless interfaith marriages. “Have they selected a priest and a rabbi?”

  “Seth’s cousin is a rabbi, and Bridget has requested her local parish priest be present, along with a coworker who is also an ordained minister.”

  Tessa laughed. “It looks as if they’ve covered all of the bases.”

  He glanced at the paper again. “She’d like you to take care of everything with the exception of food. Mom has a friend who’s a caterer.”

  “What about a cake?”

  Micah studied his notes, attempting to decipher what he’d written. Tessa was right. His handwriting did look like hieroglyphs. “She didn’t say anything about a cake.”

  “We’ll take care of the cake,” Tessa told him. “How many attendants do they plan to have?”

  “They’ve planned on a maid of honor and a best man.”

  She mentally filed away this information. “How about a ring bearer or flower girl?”

  Micah shook his head. “No.”

  “Do they plan on having music?”

  He smiled. “What would New Year’s Eve be without music?”

  Lowering her gaze, Tessa smiled. “You’re right about that. How many guests do they expect to invite?”

  “The last count was eighty.”

  “I’ll plan for one hundred just in case they want to add a few more names,” she said in a quiet voice. “Signature Bridals will assume responsibility for mailing the invitations and securing the services of a photographer, a florist and a reputable band. Does she have a dress?”

  Micah shook his head again. “I don’t believe she has because I recall her telling Mom that she had to go look for a dress.”

  “I have dresses.”

  “You have dresses here?” he asked.

  Tessa smiled. “Yes. I have at least twenty dresses on hand at any given time. However, it is imperative that I meet with Bridget as soon as she’s off jury duty to set up a realistic wedding budget and timeline.”

  Tracing the rim of his wineglass with his finger, Micah fixed his gaze on the delicate glass. “Money’s not an issue. My parents are prepared to pay for whatever Bridget wants.”

  Tessa wondered if Bridget Sanborn’s impulsiveness came from her being spoiled and/or pampered. “Time is more important than the money. Your sister has less than twelve weeks in which to plan a formal wedding. Do you have any idea when she’ll be available?”

  Lifting a broad shoulder under his white shirt, Micah said, “The judge has just sequestered the jury, so hopefully they’ll reach a quick decision.”

  Propping her elbow on the table, Tessa rested her chin on the heel of her hand and stared directly at Micah. She had to admit that the diffuse light flattered the sharp angles in the face of the man sitting opposite her. He was well-spoken and urbane—two traits she’d found missing in some of the men she’d come in contact with. Either they were one or the other.

  “There’s not much I can do until I meet with her. There are too many questions and details to go over that only she’ll know. But there is something I could check out now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need to see the wedding site.”

  “How soon do you need to see it?”

  “Like yesterday.” There was a hint of laughter in Tessa’s voice.

  A small smile played at the corners of Micah’s firm mouth. “That can be arranged.” He stood up and reached for the jacket he’d left on the stool. Retrieving his cell phone, he scrolled through the directory. Within seconds he heard Rosalind Sanborn’s dulcet greeting.

  “Mom, I’m here with the wedding consultant.” It took less than three minutes for Micah to give his mother an update on what Tessa needed for Bridget’s wedding, Rosalind promising to help when and wherever she could. There was no mistaking the excitement in her voice.

  Covering the mouthpiece with his thumb, he met Tessa’s questioning look across the table. “Are you available to come to New Jersey with me on Sunday?” She nodded. He removed his thumb. “Yes. We’ll see you Sunday.” Ending the call, he placed the tiny phone in his shirt pocket.

  Tessa expelled an inaudible sigh. She’d just scaled one hurdle in the Sanborn-Cohen nuptials. She didn’t have to scramble to look for a place in which to hold the reception for eighty.

  “What time is your mother expecting us?”

  “My mother is always up early, so maybe we’ll get there in time to share brunch with her and my father. And if Bridget is finished with jury duty, she’ll also be there.”

  Tessa spent the next hour outlining minute details of a formal wedding, from invitations, prewedding parties, hair and makeup to ceremony, reception flowers, photographs of the ceremony, reception and music. Some of the candles on the table were sputtering when she finished.

  She pushed to her feet and Micah stood up with her. “I need to clean up the kitchen.”

  Micah caught her wrist as she picked up a plate. “Sit. I’ll clean up.”

  “No.”

  He tightened his hold, registering the fragile bones under his loose grip. “You cooked, so I’ll clean.”

  She shook her head. “No, Micah.”

  Not releasing her hand, he rounded the table. “Yes.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but the single word was pregnant with authority.

  “Must I remind you that you’re in my home?”

  Attractive lines fanned out around his eyes when he smiled. He let go of her hand. “There’s no way I’d ever mistake your place for mine. I live in a studio apartment above a garage that’s about the size of your kitchen and pantry. The bathroom is no larger than a closet. It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, because there’s only enough room for a convertible sofa, a table and a chair.”

  Tessa’s naturally arching eyebrows lifted as she smiled. “A single chair?”

  Micah returned her smile, nodding.

  “Have you always lived in Staten Island?”

  “No.” Taking the plates from her, Micah walked over to the sink. “I moved there four months ago.”

  Tessa gathered up the glasses and silver. “Where did you live before?” She wasn’t chatty by nature, but talking was preferable to complete silence.

  “Da Bronx. “

  She laughed softly. She’d grown up hearing Bronxites refer to their borough as da rather than the. “I assume you’re a Yankees fan?”

  Shifting, Micah stared at Tessa in the muted light. The flickering flames turned her into a statue of gold. “I didn’t grow up a Yankees fan, but after living in the Bronx for almost half my life it was safer to root for them than the Mets.”

  Tessa joined Micah at the sink, filling it with water and adding a dollop of dishwashing liquid. She rinsed the dishes and glasses, passing them to him as he stacked them in the dishwasher.

  “Did you grow
up in the city?” Tessa asked, continuing with her questioning.

  His eyebrows lifted when he realized she’d called New York City the city. “No. I grew up in New Jersey.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “How did a Jersey boy find his way across the river to the Bronx?”

  His hands halted placing serving pieces in the dishwasher. “My, aren’t you inquisitive.”

  “You can say that I’m just a little curious about a man willing to do dishes.” She was very curious about Micah Sanborn because he was the first man who’d offered to help her in the kitchen.

  “Good home training.”

  She smiled. “Good for you, and kudos to your mother.”

  “You can tell her when you meet her Sunday. To answer your question as to how I came to live in the big city, I lived with an aunt in Manhattan while I went to college. After graduating, I rented an apartment in the Bronx. Eventually I bought a two-bedroom condo not far from the Throgs Neck Bridge. Earlier this year I moved from the Bronx to Staten Island. Where did you grow up?” he asked, deftly shifting the focus from himself to Tessa.

  “Mount Vernon.”

  “What brought you to the city?”

  “It’s the same as you. I came to go to college.”

  “What college did you go to?”

  Before Tessa could answer the question, the power returned; the lights flickered off and on for several seconds, then went out again. She let out an audible sigh. “It looks as if this is going to be a long night.”

  Several of the tea lights sputtered, fizzled and went out. Micah replaced the burned-out candles from a supply in a large plastic bag. “I’d better light a few more candles or we’re going to be in the dark again.”

  The doorbell rang, startling Tessa and Micah. They stared at each other as a slight frown appeared between her eyes. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Reaching for the flashlight, she flicked it on.

  “I better see who that is.” She turned to make her way out of the kitchen, Micah following. Without warning, she stopped. He plowed into her and she dropped the flashlight. “What are you doing?” The query came out in a hissing sound.

  Micah picked up the flashlight. “I’m coming with you.”