An Excerpt From: A Taste for Passion

© Copyright Patrice Michelle, 2003.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave, Inc.

Chapter One

Rana pressed hard on the pedal and flinched when the engine made an unmistakable revving whine.  She gripped the gearshift and shoved it into fifth gear.

What are you trying to do, Rana, kill her?  She could practically hear Jack groaning at the sound.  How she wished her grandfather were here to needle her.

Tears streamed down her face.  "Well, I wouldn't be driving your damn precious 'Vette in the first place if you were still alive, old man," she muttered under her breath.  All the pain poured out in a new flood of tears. 

Late afternoon sun lit her path as wide-open roads greeted her; dirt flew behind the wheels as the speedometer hit seventy and continued to climb. 

She shifted to the last gear, reveling at the sense of total control the extra gear gave her. The 'Vette's engine kicked in, purring beneath her.  Rana hit the button on the door.  The electric window whirred down and wind rushed in, whipping through her hair.  She closed her eyes for a second and tried to imagine how her flamboyant grandfather might feel with the car's power rumbling underneath him.  She opened her eyes as a brief smile formed on her lips at the passing thought—he probably got his jollies.  Rana ignored the farmhouses and prairies that sped past, a blur of colors and country smells, and punched the pedal to the floor, seeking a connection with her grandfather.

Gripping the wheel with both hands as the 'Vette hugged a sharp curve, she recalled her parent's shocked faces as she'd sped off in Jack's car, remembered Mother's warm smile and worried eyes when she handed Rana the letter.

"Since you were so upset during the funeral, I thought I'd wait a little while before I gave you this." 

Her grandfather's letter would forever be burned in her memory.

Rana,

I love you with all my heart. I'll always be with you.   I want you to have my 'Vette.  Drive her, Rana, my girl.  Taste the passion life has to offer.  Spend every day as if it were your last.  You never know what tomorrow will bring.  

Love, Jack

She drove endlessly, mindless of her destination.  Eventually, the landscape changed and narrowed as thick trees lined both sides of the road, darkening her path.  The sun barely made it through the canopy of dense foliage. 

Rana flicked on the headlights and glanced up in shock at the deer that bounded ahead, stopping not twenty feet in front of her.  She hit the brakes.  The car jerked, fishtailed and started to spin.  Loose dirt flew up around her. The 'Vette continued its 360 degree rotation.  Rana locked her grip on the wheel, closed her eyes, and waited for the inevitable collision.  Hope you got the chessboard ready, Jack.  I'm about to join you.

Finally, with one last lurch, the car stopped, the engine still alive, rumbling beneath her. She looked up, her heart thudding in her chest.  The smell of burned rubber assailed her and she coughed.  When the cloud of dust settled, she met the deer's stare before it bounded away, unharmed. 

"I could've died," she whispered, gripping the steering wheel so tight, her hands turned numb.  Her breath came in little hysterical pants and her body trembled all over at the near miss.    "I could've died."  

Flashes of memories tore through her mind: Jack's eyes alight with victory as he said, 'Checkmate', Jack waggling his eyebrows after a single woman at a neighborhood picnic, Jack throwing a surprise keg party for her when she graduated from college—she ended up driving him home. 

She lifted her head and stared at the roof, calling out in frustration and anger, "How could you leave me like this?  You're my best friend, remember?  I expected us to have at least twenty more years together.  We made a great team.  I kept you grounded and you helped me fly." 

She knew it didn't make much sense.  He had been old, even if he didn't act it, or look it.  She trailed off and lowered her gaze, her image in the rearview mirror capturing her attention.  Taking in her hazel green eyes and dark blond hair, she gave a short laugh, followed by a hiccup.   They couldn't have been more opposite. 

Whereas her looks were mediocre at best, even at seventy, Jack had aged well.  She could just picture him on the front of a GQ magazine in his stylish clothes—that devil-may-care smile pasted on his face.  He didn't just live his life, he welcomed each day with a challenging gleam in his eyes.  From the car he drove, to his friendly nature, Jack was all flash, an extrovert extraordinaire.  He even insisted she call him Jack instead of Grandfather. 

Her mother had written her paternal parent off long ago, but not Rana. She loved her grandfather fiercely.  So what if the man had been through his first mid-life crisis at forty and two wives later—the first lost to a divorce, the second to cancer—he's tooling around in his electric blue Corvette, looking for wife number three?  And that's how Jack died—experiencing life to the fullest—in a hotel room with a woman half his age.

How many times had he said to her with that wicked grin, "Girl, you gotta get out there and let people get to know the real Rana.  That wit of yours will keep 'em on their toes."  Her personality had always been more reserved, especially around people she didn't know. 

Rana smiled bitterly.  Well, that was the thing, Jack. You were the 'yang' to my 'yin'.  You drew me out, made me better than I was. 

Jack may have had his faults, but the one thing he had always done well was look out for her.  For twenty-eight years he'd been her friend, her confidant, her advisor.   Jack thrived in that role, especially the advice-giving part. He loved to give advice, or better yet, his opinion.  "Rana, my girl, you need a man in your life." 

Yep, finding her a boyfriend had been his latest campaign, to which she had replied with a laugh, "But I have you." 

With the opening of her bookstore last year, Rana had been too busy with advertising, setting up inventory, and working with vendors to think about a boyfriend.   Man, when was the last time I had sex? Uh-uh, don't go there or you'll just be more depressed.

Now, she was alone.  She hated being alone. 

Rana swiped away her tears and tried to shake off her melancholy mood.  Knowing Jack wouldn't want her to mourn, she turned the car around and headed back to the city.  Off in the distance, Chicago's skyline pierced the pink and purple sky, beckoning her return.

As she reached the outskirts of town, she called her parents on her cell phone to let them know she wasn't dead in some ditch—yet—and snapped the phone closed.  Looking up, she saw a bright yellow sign set back from the road.  'Antiques for Sale,' it read in bold black letters.  Rana's passion, second only to books, was antiquing.  Making a last minute decision, she turned her car down the long driveway toward the shop.  

You're nuts.  One minute you're crying, the next you're antiquing.  

No, Rana my girl, you're finally getting it right.  Life's too short.  Taste the passion.  She heard Jack's spirited voice in her head. 

Okay, Jack, I know you had some psychic ability when you were alive, but I can't believe you're that good. 

As Rana parked her car, she realized with a smile Jack's voice in her head was her way of holding on to his memory.  The thought gave her strength.

A bell above the door rang out when she entered the small, cramped shop.  Turn-of- the-century furniture filled the picture window: a red velvet sofa with gold piping trimmed with tassels, a hand-carved Italian chestnut chair with dragon arms, and a small Pietra Dura end table with a black marble top.  More furniture, lamps, rugs and pictures took up every nook and cranny of the shop. 

"Hello there." A willowy figure approached from the back of the store.  As the woman stepped out of the shadows, the late afternoon sun steaming through the picture window shone on her face, which caused her to squint and retreat.  She made a tsking sound and whipped out a pair of sunglasses from her denim jacket pocket, placing them on her nose.

She smiled and stepped closer. "There, that's better.  What are you looking for today, my dear?"

Rana stared at her, transfixed.  The woman looked to be in her mid-thirties with raven black hair and flawless fair skin.  She stood a good three inches taller than Rana's own five-foot seven-inch frame.  Her eyes, before she'd covered them, were an unusual shade of lavender, reminding Rana of tanzanite.

Shaking her head, Rana answered, "I'm just looking today."  She gave a sheepish smile and remembering her swollen eyes and tear-stained face, quickly wiped her cheeks with her palms.   "I like antiquing."

The woman smiled her understanding and put out her hand. "I'm Sabryn."

Rana shook her hand.  "My name's Rana."

She walked around the shop, lifting picture frames, opening drawers.

Sabryn called out from behind the counter.  "I have some antique jewelry.  Would you like to peruse it as well?"

Fingering her grandmother's white gold locket around her neck, Rana laughed.  "I'd love to.  I adore jewelry."

She pulled out a velvet-lined drawer and laid it on the case's glass top.

Rana walked over to the counter and gasped at the display of earrings, necklaces and rings.  "Oh, they're beautiful."   She touched a silver ring, glancing up.  "May I?"

Sabryn smiled.  "Of course."

Pulling the ring out of its holder, Rana slipped it on her third finger.  A nostalgic sense of belonging gripped her, causing her to inhale deeply.

"See, it was made just for you."  Sabryn leaned forward, looking at her hand.

Moving her hand toward the sunlight, Rana wiggled her fingers.  The warm rays caught the facets on the chips of silver stones covering the half-inch wide band, making her smile.  The pure color saturation of the two blood-red teardrop-shaped gemstones flanking either side of the pear-shaped cutout sold her on the ring.  Rana touched the bare area at the top of the ring saying, "It's almost as if the ring wasn't finished."

Sabryn leaned over once more, eyeing the ring.  "Mmmm, I see what you mean."  She straightened, indicating the tray of jewelry.  "You can pick something else, if you like."

Rana pulled her hand back and curled her fingers into an involuntary fist.  She laughed.  "No, I like this one.  How old is it?  The style is unusual."

"It's about seventy years old."

"How much?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"Four hundred."

Yikes.  But I have to have it.  At least the folks at Visa will be dancing a happy jig.  "I'll take it."  Rana retrieved her credit card and tried not to wince as Sabryn rang it up.  "I like your perfume, by the way."

Sabryn shook her head and gave her a smile.  "I'm not wearing any."

"You aren't?"  Rana was taken aback.  The lavender-like smell was so distinct.  Where was it coming from? 

"No, but thanks anyway."

She pulled out a box, but Rana waved her hand.  "No need.  I want to wear it."

Sabryn put the box away and handed her the receipt to sign. 

When she turned to leave the shop, Sabryn called after her, "Enjoy your ring, dear."

Rana returned home at a more leisurely—translated, less insane—pace.  The trip to the antique shop had done the trick.  She felt better. Jack might have gotten a kick out of seeing her put the pedal to the metal in his 'Vette, but he wouldn't want his gift to make her cry.

* * * * *

"What's your name?"  Rana approached the dark-haired man.  A misty haze surrounded him, forcing her to focus on his tall frame.  His long black trench coat flapped in the crisp fall wind as he stared at her with silver eyes.

He didn't answer, but instead asked, "Do I know you?" A slight smile lifted the corners of his lips.

Rana squirmed under his close scrutiny.  She wasn't usually so forward with men she didn't know.

"Yes," she blurted out. "Um, I mean, no."

He raised an eyebrow.  "So which is it, yes or no?"

Rana's cheeks grew hot at his amused expression.  "Well, I…I don't know," she stammered.

Her heart hammered as he placed his hands on her arms and pulled her to him, his lips close to hers.  "Then let me remind you." 

This man's kiss wasn't a tentative, I-want-to-get-to-know-you brush of the lips.  Oh, no.  It was an all-out, soul searching, I've-tasted-every-last-inch-of-your-body-and-know-just-how-you-like-it kiss—the kind that flashed right down to her toes and burned right back up, hitting all the right buttons.  Her thighs trembled, her stomach clenched, and her breasts ached for his touch. 

Rana's hands landed on his chest for support.  The unyielding muscular surface underneath the soft leather of his coat sent a thrill zipping down her spine.  Her sex throbbed as his tongue danced with hers.  He slid his hands inside her coat, clasped her waist and pulled her against him—hard chest to soft breast, narrow hips to flared ones.  His heart beating against her chest made a deeper connection with her and her own heart rate stuttered, slowing until it met his steady rhythm.  He cupped his hands on the curve of her rear end and pressed his erection against her.   Her breasts tingled as his heat soaked right through her jeans.

"You feel so good," he rasped while his lips skimmed the edge of her jaw line and dipped lower.  He laid a kiss in the hollow of her throat and worked his way to the sensitive flesh just below her left ear.

Liquid heat rushed south.  The achy sensation made her moan and rub against him, seeking release from the pulsing pressure. Rana threaded her fingers into his thick hair as he kissed her neck.  "I could say the same about you," she replied with a sigh as his teeth grazed her throat.

Sliding his leg between hers, he pressed against her sex and gave a growl of satisfaction. "Your heat attracts me."  He trailed his warm tongue down her throat and continued, "But your scent seduces me."  

Rana smiled at his words and gasped in pleasure when he clamped his teeth lightly on her neck, tightened his grip on her buttocks, and rubbed his long, muscular thigh against her cleft as he pulled her up his leg.

She let out a cry at the glorious friction, amazed that he knew just what to do to make her body sing.  She heard the cool wind whisk around them, but Rana didn't feel it, her body thrummed with its own inner fire. 

He stopped his movements and held her against his leg, suspended off the ground, teetering on the edge of her climax, totally at his mercy.  God, she'd beg him if she had to.

"Look at me."

Rana met his intense gaze, panting, clinging to his shoulders. 

"Remember us," he insisted and yanked her up his leg, flush against his chest.

She screamed and her blood pressure skyrocketed as her body shook all over from her highly charged orgasm.

Rana sat up with a gasp and then slumped back in sexual frustration, slamming her hand on the cushioned arm of the chair—the book she had been reading slid off her lap to the floor with a thump.  "Well, nuts!  Great job, Rana, waking up from your nap before the ripping-clothes-off-hot-n'-sweaty-naked-bodies-scene came next."

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