The Edge of Midnight

by Beverly Jenkins

  He asked, “Think your troops could do without you for a few minutes?”

  A hesitant Sarita looked around. They all gave her smiles of reassurance. She set the broom and dustpan back in the narrow closet and closed the door. “I suppose so.”

  They went into the small dining room where they sometimes ate breakfast. He closed the door, and Sarita took a seat at the polished table. Looking down at her hands, she realized the man had her so freaked out she hadn’t even washed them. Drying flecks of white dough coated her palms and fingers.

  Myk saw her dilemma but didn’t want her to think he was bothered by it. “I’ll only keep you a minute or two.”

  Being a lifelong football fan, Sarita knew that the best defense was a good offense, so she told him, “If you’re mad about my inviting them to dinner—I—”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Well, no. But—I—”

  “Give a brother a chance,” he countered easily.

  She stared down guiltily at her dough-caked hands.

  “Here,” he said then.

  She looked up to see him holding the mysterious box out for her to accept, but the state of her hands made her hesitant. “Will you open it for me, please?”

  A bit exasperated that his homecoming wasn’t going the way he’d envisioned, he said tersely, “It’s for you to open. Go wash your hands.”

  She retreated hastily.

  Myk chastised himself for being short with her. He could have very easily honored her request and opened the box, but that would have deprived him of the pleasure of seeing her excitement. Admitting that he wanted to be a source of her happiness was difficult for the great Mykal Chandler. It was much easier to admit that he wanted everyone out of his house and gone, though. He wasn’t pleased with having to share her. After all, he’d flown coach to get back to her, and the CEO of Chandler Works hadn’t flown coach in ten years.

  Her soft steps made him turn to watch her enter the room. Even covered with flour she was gorgeous. She mockingly held up her hands for his inspection. He nodded approvingly and gestured her to the box.

  Sarita had no clue as to what the box held, but finding two dozen of the darkest red roses she’d ever seen in her life hadn’t even been on the list. “Oh, Mykal…” she whispered. The emotions uncoiling within her were so strong tears burned her eyes.

  Myk saw the tears and the small, shaking hand she’d placed against her lips. He forced his features to remain expressionless. Had she never received flowers before?

  “No one’s ever given me roses before…” she confessed in a soft, quivery voice.

  “Well, if they’re going to make you cry, I won’t buy you any more.”

  Her stricken eyes made him want to cut out his own tongue. He crossed quickly to her side. “Baby, I was only teasing. Don’t look like that. Please.”

  The remark had already done its damage. Sarita threw up her chin. “I’ll try and be more sophisti cated next time,” she declared. “I’m sure Faye never blubbered over flowers.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I never gave her any.”

  She stared surprised. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Never. And I certainly wouldn’t have sent her those.”

  “Why not?”

  “She cost me enough money without flying in flowers from Brazil.”

  Sarita’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Brazil! You had these flown in from Brazil!”

  “You can’t get roses that dark just anywhere. I ordered them before I left for Milwaukee. They were waiting in the fridge at the office when I stopped by on the way home.”

  Sarita wondered if she would ever be able to reconcile herself to being the beneficiary of his too-large lifestyle. She didn’t think so, but because they’d had words about his extravagant spending before, she thought it best to leave it alone; she didn’t want to start an argument. “Thanks for the roses.” She picked up the box. “I—need to find a vase and get back to the kitchen.”

  Myk sensed the change in her mood. “I was only teasing, Sarita.”

  “I know.”

  “Is there something about the roses you don’t like?” He gently captured her hand to keep her from walking out.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the roses, but suppose there were? Would you send off to Spain next time?”

  “Maybe.”

  She snarled her frustration and snatched her hand free. “See!” she accused plainly, then set the box firmly back down on the table.

  Myk didn’t see a damn thing. “Speak English, woman. Are you saying you’re mad because you wanted roses from Spain?”

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “The problem is you probably would be dumb enough to buy some woman roses from Spain!”

  Myk took in her angry pacing and didn’t know whether to laugh or take offense.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she warned prophetically.

  “I’m not laughing, but are you still having issues with my money?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, I am.”

  Myk shook his head. He’d been home less than twenty minutes, and they were on the verge of battling already. “Do you need anything else for the center?”

  “No.”

  “All the old windows replaced, the van’s running, and the computers working?”

  “Yes.”

  “How are the furnace and the new appliances?”

  “Fine,” she answered, but wondered where he was headed.

  “So, how much do you think I’ve spent on the center since my first visit?”

  She didn’t have to think about the sum. “Thousands, I’m sure.”

  “Well, don’t you think that after all that do-gooding I should be allowed to spend a little speck of my money on you?”

  She met his eyes, but couldn’t hold the contact for very long because of her guilt. “I suppose. Yes, but—”

  “I’m not done,” he interrupted her in a gentle voice.

  “Okay.”

  “I also wanted to give you the roses as my way of saying I’m sorry.”

  She studied him. “For what?”

  “For believing you were as common as the other women I’ve known.”

  He saw the frown of confusion between her eyes and attempted to explain, “Remember the day I called you common? I know you do.”

  She did. She remembered it as if it were yesterday. He’d tossed out the unfair comment the morning she learned he’d purchased her building. The remark stung as much then as the memory of it did now.

  “Well, I was wrong,” he said earnestly. “You are the rarest thing I’ve ever had in my life…”

  Sarita’s eyes flew to his.

  “When the phone rang, I shouldn’t have left you like that. I’m sorry.”

  Sarita searched his face. The honesty and sincerity reflected there set off emotions far stronger than the ones caused by the gift of the flowers. Before her was a man who over the past few weeks had made most of her dreams for her center come true. He’d provided for her in ways that continued to amaze, and she was certain that if she asked for the moon, he’d try and get it for her. Yes, he was arrogant, and really hard to get along with most of the time, but—She knew she’d never forgive herself if she started bawling, but it was plain to her that she was ankle deep in love with him already, and the tide seemed to be rising every day. She’d been so sure he’d put up a fence between them because he was angry at her for leaving; she’d been wrong.

  He then confessed, “I’ve never said this to a lady before, but woman, you are turning me inside out.”

  Frankly, she felt the same way.

  He looked into the water-filled eyes of the fire ant he’d flown hundreds of miles just to see and knew he had made the right decision to return home. “Come here…”

  The softness of his voice was her undoing. She walked into the comfort of his outstretched arms, and he held her tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “Forgive me.”

  Sarita wou
ld deal with the mind-blowing concept of Chandler apologizing later, right now, she just wanted him to hold her. “You don’t have to buy me stuff to say you’re sorry, Mykal. A simple apology is all I need.”

  The sound of his name on her lips always thrilled him and at that moment, he was even more moved. He raised her chin so he could see her small brown face. “I’ll remember that, but in the future, when I want to buy you something. I will. Period. It’s genetic. Humor me, okay?”

  She supposed he had earned the right to indulge himself. “Okay.”

  “Good.” With wonder and all of his feelings blazing in his eyes, he slowly traced the soft full mouth he’d been dreaming for weeks about kissing again. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Can we put away all the barriers and just enjoy ourselves?”

  “You mean act like we’re really a real couple?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s what I’m asking.”

  She kept hearing him call her rare.

  “I want you to share my table, my life, my bed. I want to wake up with you in the morning, hold you close at night.”

  Sarita drew in a shaky breath. She listened to his heart beating beneath her cheek and felt his arms tighten their hold tenderly.

  “Legally, you’re already my wife, but I want you to be my lady, too.”

  Their eyes met.

  He asked her, “Yes? No?”

  There were no doubts in Sarita’s mind that he meant what he was saying, nor did she doubt that he had some feelings for her. He hadn’t mentioned love, but she wasn’t expecting that type of commitment. Theirs was a contracted marriage of convenience, and she knew the conditions going in, but could she keep her own feelings from blossoming into full-blown love? If she couldn’t, would she be able to hide it from him? The last thing she wanted was for him to find out and think he owed her sentiments he didn’t really have. She didn’t need his pity. She hadn’t forgotten the Fletcher Harris issue either, but that didn’t figure into this equation. What he’d asked centered only on her and the impossible man holding her against his heart.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “My answer is yes, but only if you promise to patronize a local florist.”

  He smiled down. “Why do Black women always want to negotiate? This is nonnegotiable. Me and my checkbook come as a package.”

  Her eyes shining, she tossed back softly, “I suppose I could do worse.”

  He lightly swatted her on the behind. “Sassiest woman I’ve ever met, too.”

  “It’s genetic. Humor me.”

  For Myk, being around her was like having the windows of his soul thrown open to the sun. She made him warm in places he’d shuttered years ago in order to have the discipline necessary to make his way in the world. He hadn’t had time for feelings or softness. Mesmerized, he gently traced her lips again. “I want to kiss you, but if I do, I know I won’t be able to stop, and those folks in the kitchen won’t see you again until Saturday…”

  The quiet certainty in his voice stroked her down to her toes. “Then how about we agree on just one?” she suggested in a sultry voice.

  His dark eyes sparkled at her banter. “Sometime soon—real soon, I’m going to see just how playful you really are.”

  “I think you’ll be pleased.”

  Her cocky answer fired Myk’s blood. Growling sensually, he pulled her closer and kissed her so slowly, passionately, and possessively, Sarita didn’t care if the dough waiting back in the kitchen rose as high as the roof, or if the turkey never made it into the oven. Nothing was as important as the heat he ignited in her.

  “I’m warning you…” he said with his lips against her ear and his hand moving lazily over the hard tight buds of her breasts. “If you don’t leave, I’m going to lay you back on this table and make you scream, then—”

  When he felt her hot hand exploring the hard root that made him male, his words died away uselessly.

  Seeing his eyes close, she ran her hand up and down the proof of his desire before giving a soft lusty squeeze. “All threats and no action make Mykal a dull man….”

  A knock sounded on the closed door. Their heads snapped up, and they yelled angrily in unison. “What?” and shot daggers at whoever was on the other side.

  Keta’s voice came through the door. “Sarita, the dressing’s made, and my gramma wants to know what dish you want to put it in?”

  Myk rolled his eyes, and said to her, “You know his grandmother didn’t send him.”

  “I know,” she replied. She then spoke to the door. “Tell her I’ll be there in just a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  Sarita listened. When she didn’t hear Keta’s retreating footsteps, she walked over to the door and snatched it open. The eavesdropping Keta all but fell inside. He looked highly embarrassed.

  Sarita almost didn’t care. “Do you want to lose your beret?”

  “No,” he said tightly.

  “Then stay out of grown folks’ business, Keta.”

  “But—” he started to say, his angry eyes on Myk.

  “But nothing.” Sarita took a deep breath and addressed him gently. “Look, baby, you know I love you—always have, always will, but not in that way. Keta, you’re sixteen.”

  “I won’t be sixteen all of my life.”

  “And what, I’m supposed to wait until you grow up?” she asked with a small smile. “Let’s be logical here.”

  He looked down at his basketball shoes, then up at Myk and swore, “If you ever make her cry, I’ll kill you.”

  “Keta!” Sarita shouted with wide eyes. This was a young man who had a fit if anyone stepped on a ladybug in the parking lot, and now, he was threatening to kill someone?

  “I mean it,” the teenager said. “Not one tear. You hear me?”

  Myk nodded. “I hear you, man.”

  Sarita looked back at Myk to ask him why in the world he was encouraging this foolishness, but decided she’d take it up with him later.

  “You promise?” Keta asked Myk.

  Myk held out his hand. Keta stepped to him and, with a look of hard solemnness in his sixteen-year-old eyes, grasped Myk’s hand. They went through a ritual handshake, and when they finished, Keta turned and left the room without another word.

  A confused Sarita stared. “Did I just miss something?”

  “It’s a man thing, but he and I agreed to disagree.”

  “I see,” she said slowly, but she didn’t really at all.

  Myk could still see the confusion in her face, but they could discuss Keta later. “Do you think I’m ever going to get to make love to you?”

  Just the sound of the question made her senses flare to life once again. “Apparently not.”

  He held out his arms, and she went to him willingly. He enfolded her, and she placed her head on the soft black sweater over his chest and felt herself able to relax mentally for the first time in a long time. He kissed her hair. “Well, I’m telling you now, the next person that interrupts us is going to get staked out on an anthill.”

  “I’ll bring the stakes and the rope.”

  He chuckled and kissed her softly. “Go finish in the kitchen. I’m going to go upstairs and change. You can put me to work when I get back.”

  “Unfortunately, it won’t be the kind of work I’d really like for you to do.”

  Her sauciness made him swat her playfully on the behind. “Get, before I show you what a hardworking brother really looks like.”

  She slid her hand over him fleetingly, then cooed, “Can’t wait for that.”

  Myk’s eyes widened, and his face broke into a knowing grin. “Oh, yeah. Me and you. Soon.”

  She picked up her flowers, winked, then left him alone.

  Watching her go, Myk shook his head and laughed.

  On the way back to the kitchen, Sarita knew she’d never been so forward with a man before, but he seemed to enjoy her bold side, and, frankly, she did too. It was the new millennium, and Sarita fel
t women had a right to express their sexuality, as long as they weren’t acting like the hoochies in those terrible rap videos.

  Shirley met Sarita’s eyes when she walked into the kitchen, and said, “Whoa, look at those roses. You two must have made up.”

  Laughing, Sarita put the roses down on the cluttered counter and searched the cabinets for a vase. “You just worry about your pies, Miss Nosy.”

  Shirley tossed back. “Made up that good, huh?”

  Sarita ignored the smiles on the faces of the others and went back to her dough. When she met Keta’s eyes, he looked away.

  Myk came into the kitchen a short while later after having changed into a pair of worn jeans and a sweatshirt with CHANDLER WORKS emblazoned across the front, and Sarita put him to work peeling apples for the brioche she planned on baking for breakfast. The apples combined with finely chopped walnuts and cinnamon made up the filling. The filling would sit in the refrigerator overnight along with the brioche dough and the dough for the rolls.

  An hour later, everything that could be accomplished for the night had been. Over Sarita’s protests, Walter and Shirley insisted upon cleaning up the kitchen, but the more Sarita tried to change their minds, the more stubborn they became, so, smiling, she threw up her hands and let them take on the monstrous job of returning the kitchen to its previously immaculate state. Drake, Silas, and Myk took Keta and Jerome down to the basement to play video games and shoot a little hoop. Sarita escorted Mrs. Kennedy into the den and gave her the remote so she could watch the Shopping Channel, one of her favorite pastimes. Walter would be taking everyone home once he and Shirley finished in the kitchen.

  Sarita drifted back to the kitchen, but when she saw Shirley and Walter kissing passionately against the counter, she smiled and quietly backed away. She decided to go to the basement instead.

  The basement was as nice as the rest of the house in Sarita’s opinion. She walked past the room with the minitheater, complete with curtains and a wide-screen TV; the weight room filled with state-of-the-art equipment; the laundry room; and the room that sported a pool table, another large TV, and a fully stocked bar with black leather barstools. Turning a corner she heard the bounce of a basketball, which signaled where the men were. The gym was only large enough for half court, but when she walked in she saw Myk and Keta going at each other one-on-one like it was the NBA finals. Drake, Silas, and Jerome were sitting in folding chairs along the side.