Patrice Michelle - A Taste for Passion (Book 1)

A Taste for Passion

Kendrians Book 1

By Patrice Michelle

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

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

Tears streamed down her face. "Well, I wouldn'tbe driving your damn precious 'Vette in the first place if you were stillalive, old man," she muttered under her breath. All the pain poured out ina new flood of tears.

Late afternoon sun lit her path as wide-open roadsgreeted her; dirt flew behind the wheels as the speedometer hit seventy andcontinued to climb.

She shifted to the last gear, reveling at the sense oftotal control the extra gear gave her. The 'Vette's engine kicked in, purringbeneath her. Rana hit the button on the door. The electric window whirred downand wind rushed in, whipping through her hair. She closed her eyes for a secondand tried to imagine how her flamboyant grandfather might feel with the car'spower rumbling underneath him. She opened her eyes as a brief smile formed onher lips at the passing thoughthe probably got his jollies. Rana ignored thefarmhouses 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 'Vettehugged a sharp curve, she recalled her parent's shocked faces as she'd sped offin Jack's car, remembered Mother's warm smile and worried eyes when she handedRana the letter.

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

Her grandfather's letter would forever be burned inher 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 lifehas to offer. Spend every day as if it were your last. You never know whattomorrow will bring.

Love, Jack

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

Rana flicked on the headlights and glanced up in shockat the deer that bounded ahead, stopping not twenty feet in front of her. Shehit the brakes. The car jerked, fishtailed and started to spin. Loose dirt flewup around her. The 'Vette continued its 360 degree rotation. Rana locked hergrip 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, theengine still alive, rumbling beneath her. She looked up, her heart thudding inher chest. The smell of burned rubber assailed her and she coughed. When thecloud of dust settled, she met the deer's stare before it bounded away,unharmed.

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

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

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

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, herimage in the rearview mirror capturing her attention. Taking in her hazel greeneyes and dark blond hair, she gave a short laugh, followed by a hiccup. Theycouldn'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 inhis stylish clothesthat devil-may-care smile pasted on his face. He didn'tjust 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 extrovertextraordinaire. He even insisted she call him Jack instead of Grandfather.

Her mother had written her paternal parent off longago, but not Rana. She loved her grandfather fiercely. So what if the man hadbeen through his first mid-life crisis at forty and two wives laterthe firstlost to a divorce, the second to cancerhe's tooling around in his electricblue Corvette, looking for wife number three? And that's how Jackdiedexperiencing life to the fullestin a hotel room with a woman half hisage.

How many times had he said to her with that wickedgrin, "Girl, you gotta get out there and let people get to know the realRana. That wit of yours will keep 'em on their toes." Her personality hadalways 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 hadalways done well was look out for her. For twenty-eight years he'd been herfriend, her confidant, her advisor. Jack thrived in that role, especially theadvice-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 latestcampaign, to which she had replied with a laugh, "But I have you."

With the opening of her bookstore last year, Rana hadbeen too busy with advertising, setting up inventory, and working with vendorsto think about a boyfriend. Man, when was the last time I had sex? Uh-uh, don'tgo 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 hermelancholy mood. Knowing Jack wouldn't want her to mourn, she turned the cararound and headed back to the city. Off in the distance, Chicago's skylinepierced the pink and purple sky, beckoning her return.

As she reached the outskirts of town, she called herparents on her cell phone to let them know she wasn't dead in someditchyetand snapped the phone closed. Looking up, she saw a bright yellowsign set back from the road. 'Antiques for Sale,' it read in bold blackletters. Rana's passion, second only to books, was antiquing. Making a lastminute decision, she turned her car down the long driveway toward the shop.

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

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

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

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

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

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