Raindrops on Roses: Book One of the Favorite Things Trilogy Read online

  "Oh, Douglas," said Larry Frost sadly, shaking his head. "It’s one of our very best. I know she would've loved it. She was so excited about a new look for the hotel. It pains me that she didn't get to see it before—"

  At that point in the conversation, Michael tuned his father out, only nodding at the appropriate times as his eyes discreetly combed the room looking for Priscilla Bauer.

  Finally, he thought a few minutes later. There she is.

  She was coming down the staircase, having removed her jacket and sunglasses.

  A pleased smile spread across Michael's lips. His father gave him a disapproving look, but he didn’t care.

  "Lovely Priscilla," crooned Larry Frost as she joined them. "It’s so nice to see you again, and I'm very sorry for your loss."

  She nodded. "Thank you. And thanks so much for coming. We're really big fans of your work, Mr. Frost. Your designs have basically become synonymous with the hotels."

  They exchanged a few other pleasantries before Priscilla excused herself to find something to eat. Michael took the opportunity to excuse himself as well and joined her. He felt his father's piercing glare as they walked away.

  The catering was elegant and varied; and while most people merely pecked their food, Michael did notice a few gorgers—people with plates piled so high it was ridiculous!

  He watched Priscilla closely as she sipped a glass of red wine in a dimly lit hallway off the kitchen. She looked both well put together and fragile at the same time.

  "Were you very close?" he asked. "To your grandmother?"

  She nodded. "Yes, very. I've lived in this house with her since I was nine. And she was the perfect Grandma—always happy and supportive. But she'd been working so much lately. I just…I just wish I'd had some warning this was about to happen."

  Her words were flowing a little easier now and Michael was encouraged. He loved the velvety tone of her voice. It made him want her. A lot.

  "I didn't get a chance to meet Mrs. Bauer," he said quietly. "But I wish I had." He smiled at her then, wanting to encourage her to smile back.

  But Priscilla only nodded graciously, sipping her wine and eyeing the catering. She seemed unsure of what she wanted, looking down at her strappy black heels, then back up again.

  As she fidgeted, Michael’s eyes swept the length of her. Her fingers were stroking the wine glass. "Let’s get you something to eat," he said with another smile. "I'm guessing this'll probably be the first you've eaten all day, right?"

  "Yeah, good guess," she replied, rewarding him with a half smile. "It's been a pretty crazy day, as you can imagine."

  "I can imagine, actually," he said, looking away briefly. "I lost my mom and my sister several years ago"—he watched her eyes widen—"in a car accident."

  "Oh, my God," she said, touching his arm. "I'm so sorry."

  "It's been a while now," he said, covering her hand with his, "but thanks. I just know a little bit about loss, so I do know what you're facing."

  "Yeah," she said, shaking her head. "But to lose both your mother and your sister at the same time? I can't even imagine that."

  Feeling a little uncomfortable, Michael said, "So you like Otis Redding? I'm loving these songs that are playing."

  "They were Gran's favorites. They've really become a part of me over the years, so I absolutely love soul music now myself."

  "Is it awful that I've never seen a Veronica Bauer movie?" he asked, slightly embarrassed.

  Priscilla smiled, saying not at all.

  They spent the rest of the evening together, drinking plenty of wine and enjoying each other's company. She told him stories about her grandmother's time in Hollywood, and how she had given up acting to open her own boutique hotel in Europe, Hôtel Blue Satin. But after a while, Michael noticed her words began to slur. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, steadying her. "I think we need to get you a seat, and a cup of coffee."

  "Thanks," she said. "I just..."—she gave a nervous laugh—"I didn't realize I was drinking this much. Now I'm a little embarrassed."

  "No, it's okay, really. Don't be embarrassed—it happens." He could see she was indeed feeling awkward, and maybe even on the verge of tears, but he wasn't sure where to go from there. "Your grandmother's watching over you, you know," he blurted, immediately wishing he hadn't. What a cliché! But Michael felt so eager to connect with her; he didn't want the night ending just yet. He had to keep her talking to him.

  For a moment Priscilla just sat there gazing at him, looking quite delicate, but he saw lots of strength in her eyes.

  "You know, you're right," she finally said. "I believe she is watching over me." Her eyes traveled the length of his face. "And it almost feels like she sent me you."

  Their eyes locked—and Michael's body reacted in a way he'd never felt before.

  Breaking the stare, Priscilla got up. "Come with me," she said and motioned for him to follow. "I want to show you something." Discreetly, she led him up a back stairwell to the second floor.

  As he climbed the steps, Michael knew his father would be wondering where they'd gone, but he shrugged it off. He was too busy breathing in the soft cashmere scent Priscilla Bauer was leaving in her wake...and it felt like he was in a dream.

  They walked down the hallway to a set of double doors at the end where she led him into a large bedroom suite, full of light blues, pastels and ashwood. Michael guessed it was her room, and he paused in the doorway, unsure of her state of mind.

  She's been drinking, he thought. I shouldn't be up here with her like this.

  Motioning for him to come in, she indicated an oversized portrait that practically covered the entire wall behind the bed. There was a beaming little girl on the shoulders of a tall, young man standing on the beach. The man's head was turned toward a woman standing just behind him. The woman looked like Veronica Bauer. The life-sized photograph seemed to capture a very happy moment in time for the Bauer family.

  That must be her with her dad, Michael thought. I wonder why she wanted me to see this.

  A little confused, he turned to look at her, searching her eyes for any hints. He felt the urge to touch her again, just as he had at the gravesite—only this time having been invited into her bedroom, he didn't hold back.

  Putting an arm around her, Michael slowly pulled her up against him and she didn't resist.

  It's what she wants, he realized.

  "It's a nice photograph," he whispered, kissing her temple, feeling her soft body responding to him. "Is that your father?"

  "Yeah," she replied softly. Pulling back, she looked up into his eyes. "Michael, look, I..." Her eyes closed briefly before she continued. "Thanks again for being here for Gran's funeral. I'm really glad we met. I like you. And it's so strange because..." She paused, tucking her hair behind her ear. "And this may sound a little corny—but you don't seem like a stranger to me at all. I feel like we must've met before. Have we?"

  Michael sensed a moment had arrived. Without saying a word, he cupped her head and gently kissed her lips, sampling the taste of her. As the kiss deepened, Priscilla's arms came around him, and he was completely intoxicated. Soon she was clinging to him and it was all the consent he needed to lift her up and carry her to the bed.

  Oh, God, he managed to think. Does she know what she's doing? But why else would she bring a strange man up to her bedroom in the first place?

  Michael had no answers—but he could feel the energy of a girl who evidently needed to be in control again. A girl looking to be comforted. A girl whose whole world had just fallen apart.

  A girl who's also just a little drunk, he thought as he knelt over her in the bed, gazing down at her beautiful, sad face. "Are you sure?" he asked before he began undressing her.

  "Yes," she breathed, helping him out of his jacket. "Yes."

  • CHAPTER TWO •

  When Priscilla Bauer woke up, her head felt heavy on her pillow. She could tell her eyes were fifty shades of swollen and she couldn't seem to get them open. Stretch
ing her body to full height, she yawned, drowsily contemplating the dilemma. Maybe she should just leave them closed and go back to sleep?

  But poor Chewy, she thought. I should go to him.

  The French doors on her balcony had been left open and she heard the ocean waves calmly crashing in the distance. What time was it? Should she be getting up?

  Nope. Not getting up just yet, she thought, rolling over. And for the first time in her adult life, her hand collided with another body lying in her bed.

  Priscilla froze.

  His body was warm. Hard. Delicious. The memory of their passionate lovemaking came back in a hot flash.

  Thoroughly flushed, she resisted the urge to snuggle up against him. Her eyes snapped open in the darkness and she saw him there, lying right next to her beneath the sheet.

  Michael, she thought dreamily, wanting him to be there forever....

  But then a sobering thought hit and she shot straight up in the darkness.

  Oh, Priscilla. She glanced over at him. Of course, now he thinks you're a first-class slut.

  Slipping from the bed naked, she went quietly to the bathroom and got into the shower, her favorite place to think.

  What the hell? she shouted at herself. What's happening to you? Gran just died—and you don't even know this guy! Oh, my God...this makes you a slut of the highest order. A real slut! You met him standing over your grandmother's grave, for Christ's sake. You drank circles around him and then branded yourself an easy lay!

  What exactly had come over her? Once she'd looked up into those hypnotic green eyes, there'd clearly been no turning back. She couldn't even begin to understand the powerful attraction toward Michael Frost the moment she laid eyes on him. And she certainly couldn't deny that she'd wanted to be alone with him almost immediately. He was an unexpected beacon of light in a dark, dim tunnel of grief—even as he'd interrupted her final farewell to her grandmother.

  And the impulsive invite up to her bedroom? Well, she hadn't really thought that all the way through, had she? Second thoughts were now racing through her brain faster than she could keep up.

  But do you regret it?

  Memories of how he'd made love to her came rushing back and she felt heat between her thighs.

  God, no, she thought as her nipples hardened.

  Still, she wanted to be out of the shower and dressed before he woke up. There was no way she could see herself getting back into the bed with him so she decided to lay on the chaise in her sitting room, lick her self-inflicted wounds, and wait.

  It's not like she could just ditch him, right? After all, he was in her bedroom and in her bed...looking deliciously like he belonged there.

  And—holy mother of God! A chill shot up her spine. What if he sells this to the tabloids?

  Great! she thought. She could just hear her mother's rebukes now: Oh, you've just exercised some excellent judgment, young lady! Exactly what everyone needed the day after burying your grandmother!

  When she left the shower, Michael Frost was still fast asleep in her bed, snoring softly. She sprinted from the bathroom and slipped into her closet to get dressed. Closing the door, she flipped on the light and grabbed a pair of clean undies from the island. She could barely hold her head up as she stepped into them. Never in her life had she been this reckless, this flakey—which made this lapse in judgment sting all the more.

  Tiptoeing to the closet doorway, she peeked out at him where he lay in the bed.

  Those adorable, dark curls. The straight lines of his nose and jaw. The kissable lips—and the places they had just been.

  Blushing, Priscilla tore her eyes away.

  Okay. So. She would just have to put this behind her and hit the reset button, but it would be hard. She'd never felt this way about anyone so quickly, and she didn't like what it said about her character—not to mention her self-respect!

  No, no, no, she thought, standing taller. There's no way you can be a slut. You were just emotionally charged—and a little drunk—and a hot guy was interested. That’s all. This doesn't define you. It's not who you are.

  Once she got into her bra, she pulled on a black tank top with a pair of black jeans. It seemed appropriate. She was in mourning and felt like expressing it.

  She left the closet fully dressed and went into the sitting room, where she curled up on the chaise, feeling vaguely self-conscious and confused. She wondered if maybe she should just wake him up now and send him on his way...

  A little while later, she must've dozed off, because the next thing she knew there was a hard body of warmth engulfing her, and her lips were being kissed with the minty fresh smell of her mouthwash. Bringing her free arm up, she buried her fingers in his hair and melted into his arms as if they were age-old lovers.

  God, she loved the way this guy kissed. It made her dizzy, her body instantly responsive and ready for more. But when she finally broke the kiss and pulled back to look at him, those gorgeous sea green eyes hypnotized her all over again.

  Damn.

  Even in the pre-dawn of her sitting room, she could see them clearly. And now she didn’t know what to do. Every single thought went out of her head.

  Touching her nose with his, Michael placed a finger, soft and uncalloused, against her lips. "Hey," he whispered. "There's no need to regret this."

  He can tell, she thought.

  But his smile seemed sincere and she felt a little less embarrassed. Maybe she could give him some credit for not being a flake either.

  "I…" She trailed off, a blush rising to her cheeks. "Michael, I don't regret making love with you. It was beautiful and I enjoyed it..." She paused. "But I don't think this was the right time."

  His smile dimmed but he nodded. "Yeah...I guess I understand that. Really."

  Kissing her lips one last time, he disengaged their legs—when had that happened?—and stood up.

  "I’ll go ahead and leave now, okay? Quietly." He reached down, tucking her hair behind her ear. "No one has to know about this, Priscilla. It's cool."

  Glancing up at the clock, she saw that it was 3:17 a.m. She looked up into his eyes again, not really wanting him to go but knowing it was best that he did.

  "Get some rest," he said. "And don’t worry about this at all—everything's fine. Maybe we can get together for dinner when you're feeling up to it. But I have your number and I’ll be in touch, okay?"

  "Thanks, Michael Frost,"—she laced their fingers—"for being a gentleman."

  He offered to put her back to bed but she opted to stay in the sitting room, so he pulled the afghan over her, kissed her cheek and said goodbye.

  Left alone in the darkness, Priscilla lay there unable to get him off of her mind. The way he had moved inside her...he had certainly left his mark. Her thighs were already remarkably sore and tender—and it felt delicious.

  Still, she thought. I shouldn't have slept with him so soon.

  But as she drifted off to sleep again, her body was thoroughly awake, aroused...and left wanting more.

  • CHAPTER THREE •

  Michael's drive home was surreal and went by in a blur. Trusting Nickelback to keep him awake, he flew down the interstate doing almost ninety the whole way.

  An hour and a half after leaving Priscilla Bauer's bed, he hung a right into his apartment complex and cruised toward the carport, hardly able to believe he had made it home so quickly.

  When he entered the apartment, he saw that Amber had fallen asleep on the sofa and was snoring softly, sprawled out against the oversized pillows. She'd popped open a mini-wine bottle and left it half empty on the end table next to her wine glass. Her phone lay in the palm of her hand and she looked almost camera-ready lying there with her porcelain face still in full make-up and her ash blonde hair fanned out like a halo around her head. The top of her Forever Amber tattoo peeked out from her ample cleavage.

  She must've gone out, he thought, noticing her heels had been kicked off near the coffee table. But she had clearly fallen asleep out here w
aiting for him. Of course she did—what'd you expect?

  Truth was, Michael hadn't expected anything. He hadn't thought much about Amber in hours. Once he'd laid eyes on Priscilla, he'd lost all concepts of logic and reasoning. But the funny thing was—he'd loved it! The time he'd spent in her company had made him feel alive, in a way he hadn't known he'd been out of touch with until now.