Chapter 3

New Year’s Day.

Groan.

The effort of opening my eyes to face the trickle of sunshine peeking through my bedroom window was grueling. After a long cat-like stretch, I swung one leg over the edge of the bed and then forced the rest of me to follow. I’ve always disliked getting up in the morning. Today was especially hard. Not only was I hung over and worn out from my vomit inducing party the night before, but I knew I had to prepare myself for New Year’s Day dinner at my parent’s house. It wasn’t my parents I dreaded seeing. I loved them dearly and enjoyed spending time with them. It was my know-it-all sister, Lisa, and her equally know-it-all husband, Brad, who I dreaded spending time with.

Lisa and I were born exactly two years apart to the day. She—being the elder—constantly bemoaned her fate at having to share her birthday with me… the freak. Not only were we born on the same day, but we were true to our Irish heritage by being St. Patrick’s Day babies.

Oh, lucky us.

Lucky me.

The commonality of birthdays and parents was literally all Lisa and I shared. I’m of average height—five feet, four inches. I’m robustly shaped—another of my friend’s choices of definition. I have well-endowed breasts and my waist is exactly thirteen and one-half inches smaller than my hips. I sport a waist-length mane of full, curly, and incredibly wild strawberry-blonde hair that reflects the paleness of my Irish heritage. Lisa, on the other hand, was lucky if she reached five feet two inches in height. She had straight dark hair that fell in a silky mass down her back and a slender figure that was in stark contrast to mine and her skin tone leaned toward my mother’s Mediterranean heritage. So, how would someone know we are sisters?

Our eyes.

I may have taken after my father’s side of the family and Lisa after my mother’s in overall looks, but we each inherited the rich, blue Ewing eyes that our bloodline favored from generation to generation since as far back as anyone knows. It does not matter the strength of the spouse’s genes. Ewing genetics win out every time in the facial area. Ewing children always have rich, cobalt blue, almond shaped eyes set above high cheekbones and below high foreheads.

For years, I envied Lisa’s slight build and beautiful straight hair. She knew this and did her best to find ways to rub it in at our every meeting. I sometimes fantasized she was as jealous of my looks and me as I was of hers. That’s all it was… a fantasy. There’s no way someone who looked like her could ever have been jealous of someone who looked like me. She was your perfect, all American, turn- “A”-list-guy’s-heads-wherever-she-went girl. She was a totally-put-together-and-pretty-enough-to-be-a-model kind of girl. All she lacked was the height. How could she possibly envy me, with my bulky body and barely tamable hair? My mother insisted that I turned just as many heads and could land an “A” list guy as a boyfriend if I would just open up and be more self-confident. I didn’t agree. No, Lisa was the “A” list magnet of the family. Me? “C” list… “B” on a lucky streak. I’d resigned myself to the fact.

Lisa may not have been jealous of me, but she certainly resented me. This I’m convinced to be true. Although, for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you what her reason was. It ran deeper than having to share a birthday with me. Sometimes people just don’t need a reason to feel the way they feel. They just feel it.

My brother, Greg, is another story. We simply adore each other. He is the eldest of the siblings. He’s a whopping thirty-two and resembles Lisa more than he resembles me. This was something my dear sister loved to gloat about. Greg did a few tours of duty in the Marines, which messed him up just a tad. For the most part, he’s a good guy. I have him placed on such a high pedestal that I can only imagine his pain should he ever fall off. Unfortunately, he’s in California and not here. No Greg to buffer things at the dinner table today.

Bummer.

I looked at the clock. Ten o’clock already? Mom and dad lived in Scarsdale. It wasn’t far - as the crow flies- but there was no accounting for the holiday traffic. I’ve always tried to give myself plenty of time to sit on the highway for a cumulative of twenty minutes—or thereabouts—when planning my trip to my parent’s house on an average day. Because of the holiday, I would need to allow a little longer to be safe. That meant I needed to be ready to leave in ninety minutes.

Dashing to the mirror, I inspected my hair more closely. Was it passable without washing? I pulled a handful of locks to my nose and sniffed. I reeked of vomit, cigarettes, and pot. Not to mention a cumulative of colognes that permeated the putrid air of the party.

Nasty!

My cheeks reddened as I recalled how closely my newly discovered “A” list guy, Nevi Sharpe, had leaned toward me the night before. Had he smelled me? He must have.

Oh, mortification.

My parents would have probably been polite enough to overlook the condition of my hair, but certainly not Lisa. I had no desire to provide her with any more ammo against me. I had no choice but to wash it.

Washing my hair has never been an easy process. My thick, unruly mane hangs just below my waist. I keep it long in hopes the weight of its length will help tone it down somewhat. Also, people are so enthralled with its length that they tend to forgive its unruliness. Unfortunately, because of this admirable mane, my locks require a special method of lathering and rinsing that is long and tedious. The drying procedure is no simpler.

Doubting I’d make it on time, I decided to do the right thing and call my parents to inform them of my anticipated tardiness. When I picked up the receiver to dial them, I heard the beeping notice of a message waiting. I decided to listen to the message first. I dialed the code and hear my mother’s voice. They were postponing our dinner hour. Apparently, Lisa and Brad had to make a stop at Brad’s parent’s house in North Salem before they could go to my parent’s house. My parents decided to back dinner up by a few hours to accommodate the dears.

I smiled with relief. The fact that no one took into consideration the possibility that changing the dinner time would screw up my schedule never bothered me. I dropped the receiver into its cradle and slipped into the bathroom.

A long, long, long shower was in order.

* * * *

Several hours later, I was huddled behind the steering wheel of my Mazda and headed toward the interstate. It was freezing outside! My heater squealed as it attempted to pump the little bit of heat I asked of it into the car’s cavity. I buried my nose into the furry scarf I’d wrapped around my lower face and neck. I was sure the heater would generate enough heat to allow me to remove the scarf before I reached my parent’s house. I had no desire to give Lisa any fuel for her sarcasm. My car’s age was enough of a topic without scrutinizing its working condition.

As I passed the exit to the county road that would take me to the little convenience store that I’d met Mister Gorgeous at the night before, I fought the temptation to detour and see if he was there in the light of day and not just a figment of my drunken imagination. If time had allowed, I would have probably done just that. As it was, I would barely make it to my parent’s house before they expected us at the dinner table. I could see the table in my mind’s eye. It was certain to be set with mom’s favorite linen tablecloth and napkin set. Neatly arranged and strategically spaced, would be the family’s elaborate one-hundred-year-old Royal Albert china, Waterford goblets, and twenty-five-year-old Rogers gold-plated flatware. All in immaculate condition.

Lisa and Brad were just getting out of their car when I pulled up the drive. Great. I’d hoped to slink into the house without the usual criticism that poured forth from Brad’s arrogant mouth every time he saw my car. He worked for a large car dealership and was constantly onto me about embarrassing the family with my choice of rides. I didn’t have it within me to explain to him that I drove my beat up old Mazda out of financial necessity and not by choice. That type of a confession would only have led to further criticism about the fact that I’d dropped out of culinary school and ended up working in a small-town diner where I fluctuated between short order cook and part time waitress. Under the best of conditions, I would not have been up to the confrontation. After coupling with the party commode the night before, I definitely wasn’t.

I ignored Brad’s smirk as I got out of the car and rushed past him, denying him the opportunity to utter a word. I couldn’t help giggling at the shocked look on his face over my swiftness of feet. Nor could I resist a quick peek out the door window to see if he was still standing like a dumb statue without a clue while I removed my coat and hat.

He was.

Pleased with myself, I bounced into the living room to find my father sitting in his favorite chair with the newspaper spread wide open. Dad just loves to read the newspaper—unlike me who barely has a clue about world issues. I don’t read the paper and I rarely watch the news. I had drama enough in my own life not to want to dwell on the troubles of the world. I figure if it is something I should know about, someone will inform me of it.

I received a gentle smile and a cozy pat on the back of my hands as I laid them on top of my father’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. He always smelled as if he’d showered with Irish Spring.

Lisa and Brad weren’t long to enter. I’m sure their announcement of their arrival was loud enough to alert the neighbors. It brought my father to his feet and my mother rushing from the kitchen. I don’t know what it was about Lisa and Brad that made my parents react in such a way. It’s like the queen and king were gracing us with their presence and all the serfs had to rouse to the occasion or risk offending.

I leaned against the archway frame that separated the entry foyer from the living room and watched in amazement—as well as mild amusement—while my mother and father adulated over my sister and her spouse. They assisted their royal highnesses with the removal of their winter coats and hung them on the coat tree near the door.

“Now that the royal couple has arrived, shall we eat?” I asked, admittedly a little more sarcastically than I’d intended.

Raising her eyebrows ever so slightly in a display of disapproval, my mother nodded and motioned us toward the dining room.

Dinner was delicious, but I wouldn’t have expected anything less from my mother. A former chef, she gave up her culinary career when she and my father decided to have children. She hadn’t given up her love of cooking, though, and she’d certainly not lost her talent for it. Mom had a way of turning something as simple as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich into a gourmet work of art.

Invitations to dine with the Ewing family had always been a much sought after and treasured thing. Which was why I was surprised to discover such a small dinner party. The attendees were only my father, mother, sister, brother-in-law, and me. I couldn’t remember our table this sparsely seated for a major holiday dinner before. I was about to question mom about it when the doorbell rang.

Dad excused himself from the table and disappeared to answer the door.

“So, tell me Lizzy, how’s your career going these days?” Lisa leaned forward and whispered in a taunting voice that was for my ears only.

Oh, why did my mother insist on seating us next to each other? You would think that after all the years of bickering between Lisa and me, my mother would have gotten the hint that her daughters were never going to be friends. The richly polished mahogany table could easily accommodate twenty-five diners when fully extended and twelve without the extension leaves. There were only five of us, yet, Lisa and I sat elbow to elbow. Couldn’t she have placed me across from Lisa where Brad sat? Better yet, at the far end of the table away from them all.

Sometimes I questioned whether my mother harbored a secret sadistic side.

The sound of joyous greetings in the foyer distracted me from my annoyance. Lisa’s question went unanswered. It hadn’t merited a response anyway. She had, once again, been needling me about my choice of dropping out of culinary school and going to work in a small-town diner. I would think if my mother—the culinary expert—was able to move past it, my exceedingly annoying sister could have left it alone as well.

I swung my attention away from her goading and turned it toward the new arrivals that were following my father into the room. My mother leapt to her feet and rushed to greet an older couple and a younger man. I immediately measured them as parents and son. I had never laid eyes on them before. From the heartfelt warmth of the greetings, it was apparent the couple knew my mother and father well.

The older man and woman—the Jenkins—looked to be about the age of my parents. I estimated the younger man, who they introduced as their son, to be around thirty. He was clearly less comfortable in our company than were his parents. It didn’t take long for me to discover why. It was his first time meeting everyone.

The Jenkins met my parents several years earlier while on one of the many cruises my parents so enjoyed taking. The foursome formed an immediate friendship and were cruising buddies several times a year. Since I lived away from home, I wasn’t surprised that my parents had friends that I’d never met. What I was surprised about was that I’d never met them even though they also lived in Scarsdale.

They seemed your average, happy couple. Mister Jenkins was a retired accountant and Mrs. Jenkins a retired teacher. An average couple leading average lives. They were the mirror of my parents.

The son, Geoffrey - That’s right… Geoffrey Jenkins - was of medium height and rock-solid build. Although he kept himself reservedly in the background, his demeanor didn’t fool me. I sensed power housed within his muscular body.

His upper torso strained against the navy-blue Henley he was wearing. I found it amusing to see we had something in common. We both sported a head of hair that clearly had a mind of its own. Albeit mine was waist-length and his barely touched his collar, the texture and color were mighty similar and the unruliness… well, let me just say that I could sympathize with the man.

My mother settled the newcomers at the table and asked her newest domestic helper—a Filipino woman named Lela or Lea or some such name—to bring everyone dessert and coffee. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins sat across from me next to Brad, with Geoffrey on my left between Lisa and me. It was with great joy that I accepted the deviation from the company of my annoying sister.

Much to my dismay, things didn’t improve much. Geoffrey proved to be an annoyingly quiet companion. It took significant effort on my end to strike up any type of conversation. I brought up the concept of a new year beginning and got a curt smile and what sounded like a grunt. I discussed the frigid weather—a one-sided conversation at best. Finally, I’d had enough and I broke into audible reverie about the party I’d attended the night before and the yummy man I met at the convenience store afterward. I don’t know why I did it. Perhaps it was because I was bored and frustrated with the way things were and I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of him or anyone else at the table, for that matter. Perhaps I wanted to show Lisa she wasn’t the only one who could draw the eye of a handsome man. Maybe I just wanted to reminisce about my dreamy “A” list guy who’d battled for occupancy in my mind since I’d left the convenience store the night before. Whatever the reason, I never expected the response I got.

Geoffrey’s hand clamped my forearm in a vice grip. It felt like, if I moved to try to break free, it would snap in half. His deep brown eyes grew a smoky black as they burrowed into mine. His lips never moved, but my mind received his message loud and clear. “You stay away from that man if you value your soul.” Then he released his hold of both my forearm and my mind.

It all happened so fast that if not for the pain and red imprints of his fingers on my forearm, I would have sworn I’d imagined it all. Clearly shaken, I excused myself from the table and made my way upstairs to my old bedroom. I definitely needed some alone time.

My legs threatened to collapse under my weight while I struggled up the winding oak staircase and down the hall. How many times had I bounded up those very stairs with the ease of a gazelle? That day it seemed like I was climbing the equivalent of Mount Everest and the walk to my room at the end of the hall was the longest mile.

An eternity later, I finally made it.

I threw myself onto the familiar old four poster bed I’d slept in throughout my formative years right up until I’d dropped out of college and decided it was time to go out into the world and make it on my own. My parents offered to let me take my bedroom furniture with me, but I wanted to prove to myself that I could make it on my own. This meant in all ways; including furnishing the little lake cottage that had been in my family for generations. After many family conversations, I’d conceded it was all right to accept the quaint dwelling as an early inheritance. My siblings gave no argument, since neither had an interest in it. It was neglected for years and most of the furniture needed replacing as a result. I’d managed to refurnish it and make my little historical dwelling quite cozy by way of frequent visits to thrift shops and lawn sales.

I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes. What just happened? Had I actually heard Geoffrey’s words in my head? It sounded so real. His lips never moved, I’m certain of it. No one else at the table seemed disturbed by his statement. It wasn’t just imaginary thoughts popping up, was it? No…I’d actually heard his voice loud and clear in my head. No one could have convinced me differently. His masculine voice was deep and angry. Was he a ventriloquist? That would explain his lips not moving. What about the fact no one else was the least bit disturbed by his weird, angry, and creepy statement? They were also quite oblivious to my taunting conversation about my evening out as well. Perhaps they were simply shutting the two of us out altogether. Since I hadn’t a clue what their conversations consisted of, I couldn’t know for sure.

“Hello.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin by the unexpected sight of Geoffrey standing in the doorway of my room.

“The door wasn’t fully closed,” he added softly.

“What do you want?” I snapped in the most uninviting tone I could muster.

His broad frame filled the doorway in an appealing sort of way.

“To talk… We need to talk,” he replied as he moved further into the room.

“Stop right there!” I barked as I leapt from my bed. Handsome or not, he was overstepping the boundaries of propriety by entering my room uninvited. Call me old fashioned, but it’s the way I felt.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you,” he coaxed as he inched forward. His actions reminded me of the animal trainer I’d observed at the zoo over the summer as he inched his way into the confidence of a newly arrived lion cub. “I was a little too harsh downstairs. I’d like to explain if I could.”

“You’re in my bedroom,” was the only thing my outraged and muddled mind could come up with.

He looked around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time, “It’s very nice.”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I said, with as much authority as I could muster.

“Please…Let me talk to you for just a moment and then I’ll go. Please,” he persisted.

I stood my ground and folded my arms across my chest in hopes that I would come off just a little intimidating.

“Talk,” I barked, more boldly than I felt.

I used the few moments Geoffrey took to formulate his thoughts into a comprehensible conversation with me to observe him more closely. He was quite attractive. I estimated his height to be around five feet ten or eleven inches. He had a ruddy look about him that reeked of masculinity. His clothes fit like a glove over his well-muscled body. I couldn’t tell which I found more appealing; his well-developed upper torso or the perfectly sculpted backside I’d managed to catch a glimpse of when he was seating himself next to me at the dining table. Sculpted was a good term for him in general. He looked as if he could easily model nude for an artist’s sculpture of the perfect physique. He had sizable, doe-like eyes. They were brown now, but appeared black when he was angered. Soft, thick lashes that were just brown enough to stand out lined his doe-like orbs.

Although Geoffrey was fair and rugged looking and Nevi was dark with a more streamlined and sophisticated look, they both emitted a mysterious power that I just couldn’t place.

I found this power incredibly sexy.

Wow! Being thrown into the company of two handsome, charismatic, and mysterious men back to back; both with eyes any woman would beg for… What were the odds?

I was just thinking the new year was starting better than I’d thought when I heard him say, “I think you should sit down.”