Bent not Broken (266 page)

“Can I ask you a personal question?” He placed his hand on my bare knee. It felt nice.

“Yeah, of course, isn’t the whole purpose of this trip is to learn more about each other,
personally
?” I turned to see the side of his face, the side with the dimple.

He gently smiled before responding. “You don’t work, right?”

“No.” Not sure what he’s getting at.

“Yet you own a four-story building in a really good neighborhood, and you own a-top-of-the-line convertible Mustang. How could you afford something like that?”

“I sold my soul to the devil.” He laughed. “No, all jokes aside, when my father passed, he was prepared with a large life insurance policy. It was split between my brother and me. Of course I was too young at the time. My half was placed in an escrow account where it accrued interest. Anyway, long story short, I was given access to the money on my twenty-first birthday. Instead of splurging on clothes, I invested in stocks.

“I found that building two years ago and thought it would be perfect; it was a huge fixer-upper and needed more than just TLC. I made an offer and worked on it for a year. I’m happy with the outcome. I splurged on a building and a car. I don’t buy lavish clothing and go on expensive trips. I watch what I spend and live off the money from my tenants.”

He took a long look at me at the red light. “Very impressive, did your brother do the same—invest in properties?”

“Not really, my brother invested in stocks as well; he made out better than me actually. When he passed, he left me everything in his will. I donated half to the Boston and Philadelphia Police for Families of Fallen Officers. The money is given to families that were not fortunate enough to have the same privileges that I had. Most people don’t think to prepare their families in case of an unexpected death. My father was always adamant about saving money and looking into the best life insurance policies; it was like he knew one day it would happen sooner or later. My brother had the same mentality.”

“They seem like very smart men.” He gently squeezed my knee and took off when the light turned green.

“Thank you, they were. My father and Michael left me with the same mind-set.”

His soft grip on my knee stiffened, and he quickly removed his hand, placing it on the steering wheel. “Michael?” he asked alarmed.

“Yes, Michael Sullivan, did you know him?” His facial features changed; he seemed lost in thought, worried even.

“Ah, nope, didn’t know a Michael Sullivan.”
Mmmh
. Maybe the name sounded familiar for a second.

He remained silent for the rest of the ride. Did I say something wrong? Everything was going well; at least I thought it was. We reached the airport and parked in a private lot. When he turned off the ignition, he shifted to face me. “Excuse me one minute. I need to make a phone call before we go.”

I nodded, not sure what else to say; he was acting a little strangely. He stepped out of the car, and I remained seated. The parking lot was empty. He was far away so that I couldn’t hear his conversation but could see his facial expressions and gestures. He seemed upset, his hand ran through his hair several times, and he paced back and forth. He seemed tense about something. He glanced at my direction twice and looked away. About five minutes later, he walked over, his stride powerful and strong, but his face seemed troubled. He reached my door and opened it. I looked up at him but didn’t get out of the car because he seemed to be keeping me in.

“Mia,
fuck
, I’m sorry.
Um
, they need me at the office.”

“Oh.” Looking down, I tried to hide my disappointment. “That’s fine, Marcus, maybe some other time.” Meeting his gaze, I forced a smile. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but he didn’t move either. Pressing his lips together, he shook his head.

“No, you know what? They’ll be fine without me. I promised you a nice weekend, and that’s what I’m going to give you.” He offered his hand, and I grabbed it. His smile told me he wanted to go, but his eyes seemed uncertain.

Sliding my legs out of the car, I hesitated. “Are you sure, Marcus? I seriously don’t mind; you can go. I understand you’re a busy man.” He shook his head and pulled me to my feet.

“Not this weekend—this weekend it’s all about you.” Biting my lip, I tried to hide my pleased grin.

****

The private plane was better than I’d imagined. It had a modern design with the utmost in technology and comfort. The flight from Boston to the Bahamas felt shorter than it actually was. I guess the comfortable chairs, smooth ride, and the conversation Marcus and I were having mostly about his firm allowed me to enjoy the trip.

We were greeted by an SUV and a driver when we landed at the airport. “Are you hungry?” Marcus asked, placing his hand into mine.

“Actually I’m starving,” I said.

“Would you like to eat at a nearby restaurant, or wait till we get to the house? It’s about a thirty-minute drive from here.”

“Mmmh, I can wait.”

“Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, positive.” He gave my hand a slight squeeze, and we entered the SUV.

Chapter Seven

I’d never been in the Bahamas. Sadly I’d never left the U.S. My father took Michael and me as kids to Disney World and sometimes to the Jersey shore for the summer. We never visited the Caribbean. Luckily I had a passport. I had gotten one right before Michael passed. Jeremy and I had planned to go to Mexico that month. Of course we didn’t go. Who could enjoy a vacation knowing the entire time you’d be miserable? We promised to do it again sometime but never talked about it again.

The Bahamas was like no other place I’d ever seen; it was beyond beautiful. I was like a child as I continued to admire my surroundings from the passenger window. There were so many locals and tourists wandering around taking in the scenery. Everyone was laughing and having a good time. Caribbean music flowed through the air from a nearby festival. Vendors sat patiently in their booths selling seashell jewelry, knick-knacks, as well as portraits with palm trees and beaches.

The light breeze from the ocean made the eighty-five-degree weather tolerable. I was thrilled to be here and grateful that Marcus invited me. “Marcus, thank you,” I said while watching a little boy standing by the curb, waving at me with the biggest smile. I waved excitedly back as his mother picked the little boy up into her arms and waved before walking towards the festival.

I could feel him staring at me as I glanced out the window. “You’ve never been to the Bahamas?”

“No. It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is.”

We reached a huge metal gate. The driver’s window lowered; the man up front punched a code into a keypad which opened the gates. We wended our way along the driveway; surrounding us was a beautiful landscape of unique flowers, palm trees and beautifully manicured grass.

What caught my immediate attention was the traditional Bahamian home centered at the end of the driveway. The home was two levels with a wraparound upper terrace. It was stunning. It looked like something out of painting or a high definition photo from a welcoming brochure that would read on top, “A place to enjoy and relax.” I stepped out of the car before Marcus or the driver could open the door. As I made my way around the vehicle, I stood speechless admiring the home. Turning to face Marcus when I felt the warmth of his body beside me, I was greeted with a boyish irresistible grin. “You like?” He asked, entertained by my reaction.

“Marcus, it’s breathtaking.”

“Come, I’ll show you the rest; there’s lots to see.” Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he led me to the double front doors.

When we entered the home, we walked into a huge foyer which led to an enormous living room. The high vaulted ceiling gave the home an elegant presence while the all-glass walls gave it a modern touch. Every room had a view of the beautiful beach through the ceiling-to-floor glass walls. The living room was filled with oversized furniture: a sectional, a coffee table, side tables, and two recliners.

The dining room was stunning with a long wooden mahogany table set for twenty people. The kitchen was my favorite with the tall white cabinetry and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances that were complete with the blue and grey glass tile backsplash and a kitchen island.

The first floor had two additional bedrooms that were connected to a joint bathroom, another guest bathroom, and an office/library. The second floor had three additional large bedrooms each with a bathroom and balcony overlooking the ocean. The master suite was another favorite. It was bigger than my entire apartment.

In the middle of the master suite sat a California king mahogany sleigh bed decorated beautifully with a brown silk comforter along with blue, white, and brown accent pillows. The entire right side of the wall was all–glass, overlooking the beach. You could step out to the terrace where a hammock, table and two chairs were neatly placed.

On the left side of the room, a doorway led into a sanctuary spa-style bathroom. A Jacuzzi was in one corner surrounded by brown and beige marbled tiles. A steam shower big enough to fit six people was set beside the tub. On the opposite side was a long two-sink vanity. The sinks were the shape of large white bowls with stainless steel modern fountains. Above the sinks were two matching oval-shaped stainless framed mirrors. The toilet sat alone behind a wall. Behind a sliding door was a walk-in closet. I was surprised by the lack of clothing, but then again it was a vacation home.

“You can sleep in here, Mia; I’ll take the room next door.” Marcus said, giving me the master suite.

It was beautiful, but I could not possibly take his room. “I couldn’t. I’ll be fine in another room.”

“No, you’ll sleep in here, and that’s final.” I nodded.

“Come. Let’s get you fed.” Grabbing my hand, he led me back down to the kitchen. He sat me down onto a stool by the island. I folded my hands as I watched him take out chicken breasts, mushrooms, butter, olive oil, some seasonings, and flour. “Are you
cooking
?” I asked astonished. He walked over to a cabinet and removed two wine glasses. “Yes, I’m cooking for you.”

Slamming my hand against my chest, I let my mouth drop open. “Wow, I’m surprised Mr. DeLuca,
you
can cook?”

“I guess you’ll be the judge of that.”

I laughed. “Did I tell you that I’m starving? Maybe we should have pizza on standby, just in case.” He shook his head.

Removing red and white bottles of wine from the hidden wine refrigerator behind one of the cabinet doors, he held both up to me, and I pointed to the red. Opening a drawer, he removed an electronic wine opener. Then he poured the red wine into both glasses. He walked over to me and set my glass down. Leaning over, he placed his soft lips against my forehead; the gesture made me smile from ear-to-ear. “Sit back, relax, and watch me cook,
baby
.”

Walking back to the opposite side of the island, I thought of him cooking naked. Now that would be something. He removed a few more items from the cabinet and washed his hands before preparing the food.

Every muscle in his arms and chest flexed with each chop and slice, making him even more attractive. “Who knew that watching a sexy man cook could be such a turn-on?” I grabbed my wine and took a few sips.

He looked at me with a crooked grin. “So you think I’m sexy, huh?” Slowly I nodded and continued gulping down my wine. “So I smell good, and I’m sexy. Good to know.”

“And I’ll let you know if you can add “great cook” to that list as well.” I winked. He laughed. It was an adorable laugh. He seemed so carefree and worriless, as if he were in his element: enjoying his surroundings, cooking, and drinking wine. Watching him like this, I didn’t see him as the powerful attorney of Boston. I saw him as a twenty-nine-year-old man enjoying life.

After slicing two chicken breasts in half, he lightly rubbed flour on the four pieces. A little salt, pepper and other seasonings and they were placed on a plate. Placing a pan over medium heat on the stove, he poured a little olive oil and two scoops of butter into it. He took a few sips of wine, waiting for the butter to melt.

I felt buzzed from the one glass of wine since I drank it on an empty stomach. As if reading my mind, he walked over to the fridge and removed a small tray of cheese, crackers, and grapes. He placed it in front of me and popped a cube of the cheddar cheese into his mouth. He winked before returning to the stove. The grapes were mouthwatering, and my stomach growled after I teased it with just a few. I look up embarrassed, but from what I could tell, he didn’t notice.

While eating a few crackers, I watched him stab the chicken breasts with a fork and place them into the sizzling pan. I poured each of us another glass of wine. “So how did you learn to cook?”

He smiled. “My father was very big on cooking. He loved it. Every Sunday he enjoyed spending time with my mother, and he helped her prepare a huge feast. On days my mother felt sick, he let me help. I wanted to help. He made it seem like so much fun the way he would throw salt behind his shoulder before placing it in a recipe or grab a whole chicken, wobbling it across the counter making chicken noises. He was always happy in the kitchen.” His eyes gleamed with the memory of his father. You could tell he’d been very close with him. I imagined Marcus as a little boy with dark brown, messy hair and big brown eyes and the most adorable dimple, sitting on a counter laughing at his father’s goofy ways.

“You seem to have lots of good memories of your father.”

He nodded as he worked his way around the kitchen. “I do. I couldn’t have asked for a better father; he made us his priority, and family meant everything to him. The best memories I have of him were in this house.” He flipped the chicken breast in the pan, revealing a golden crisp top, allowing the other side to cook.

I glanced around the house again, it seemed so new. I recalled that he mentioned his father passing away when he was in high school. “
Really
?”

“Yeah, he would bring us here several times during the summer. Sometimes my brother didn’t want to come, so he would just bring me. I can remember as far back as five years old, and we would go on the beach, collect seashells, watch movies in the den, and play games.” He smiled. I didn’t remember seeing a den, but noticing a door in the far right of the kitchen, I assumed it led to the hidden room.