Man of Fortune

by Rochelle Alers

  Cradling her waist, Duncan eased her to stand between his outstretched legs. “No.”

  “Well, you are, Mr. Gilmore.”

  Duncan flashed a sheepish grin. “Why thank you, Dr. Wolcott.”

  Tamara knew he was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to. Duncan’s mouth covered hers in a gentle joining that heated her blood to the point of scalding.

  It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known him a week, or that this was only the second time they’d come face-to-face. What mattered was the dizzying rush of desire that reminded her that she’d denied the strong passion within her for much too long. A soft moan of ecstasy slipped through her lips when Duncan deepened the kiss. Tamara desperately needed more than a kiss. She wanted to feel flesh against flesh, she wanted him inside her.

  “Duncan,” she whispered, struggling to breathe. “Take me back to the table.” She had to put some distance between them or embarrass herself by begging him to take her back to his loft and make love to her.

  Duncan had planned to kiss Tamara, but he wasn’t prepared for the sense of urgency that made him want to strip her naked and make love to her under the light of the full moon. “I’m sorry.”

  Tamara stared at Duncan. “I hope you’re not apologizing for kissing me?”

  “No. I’m apologizing for not asking whether I could kiss you.”

  She waved a hand. “It’s all right, Duncan. It was only a kiss.”

  It was only a kiss. Her rejoinder echoed in Duncan’s head as he escorted Tamara back to their table. He’d practically embarrassed himself because his body refused to follow the dictates of his brain, and her glib comeback that it was only a kiss was like covering a gash with a Band-Aid.

  He pulled out her chair for her, then sat down himself. Grabbing the wine bottle, Duncan refilled his glass. Touching his glass to her half-filled one, he inclined his head. “I toast our first kiss.”

  Tamara picked up her glass, holding it aloft. “And I hope it won’t be the last.”

  Duncan wondered if Tamara was into playing head games, because if she was then this first date would become their last date. “What’s up with you? You want me to bring you back to the table, then you tell me that you want me to kiss you again. What gives?”

  Tamara’s eyes narrowed with her rising temper. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been kissed?” She’d practically spat out the last word. “It’s been eight months, Duncan,” she continued. “The last time a man kissed me was on New Year’s Eve. He had a comb-over, bad breath and was old enough to be my grandfather—everything you’re not, and you expect me not to be affected by your kiss? I asked you to bring me back to the table because it’s safer here than out on deck.”

  “Safer for who?” he asked, so softly Tamara had to strain her ears to hear his query.

  “It’s safer for me, because being alone with you reminds me of what I’ve been denied.”

  He blinked once. “And what’s that?”

  A sad smile pulled down one side of her mouth. “That I am a woman, that I enjoy being kissed and that it’s all right to feel passion and desire.”

  Putting the wineglass to his mouth, Duncan took a deep swallow, then set it on the table. “If that’s the case then I’ll make certain to kiss you again and again and again.”

  Smiling, Tamara drained her glass and held it out to be refilled. She and Duncan stared at each other, seeming to read each other’s thoughts, until the vocalist approached their table, asking if they had a special request.

  Duncan glanced around to find dozens of eyes watching him and Tamara. He said the first song that came to mind, “The Closer I Get to You.”

  “Excellent choice,” she crooned. Raising her microphone, she nodded to the pianist. “This beautiful couple has requested ‘The Closer I Get to You.’ All those who want to get closer to that special person this is your chance to get up and dance.”

  All around them men and women were rising and filling the dance floor. Duncan pushed back his chair and came around to Tamara. She rose gracefully and went into his embrace, and they joined the other couples. The illuminated Statue of Liberty monument came into view as Tamara lost herself in the magic of the night and the pull of the man holding her to his heart.

  * * *

  The magic continued as Tamara lay in Duncan’s protective embrace in the back of the taxi speeding recklessly across town to the East Village. Her first date with him had been nothing short of perfection. The musical entertainment had topped off an evening of exceptional food and wine, spectacular skyline views and a sophisticated crowd that had come to enjoy themselves. Many of the passengers had been celebrating birthdays and anniversaries. Two couples had gotten engaged during the cruise, eliciting shrieks of surprise and joy. The taxi driver pulled up to the curb in front of Tamara’s apartment building. She waited until Duncan settled the fare. He got out and pulled her effortlessly to her feet.

  Opening her tiny evening purse, she took out her keys. The curtain at the window on the first floor stirred. “That’s the wife of the building superintendent,” she whispered. “She’s the building’s unofficial security.”

  “She’s only protecting her neighbors.”

  Tamara opened the inner door and headed for the staircase. “I live on the fifth floor.”

  Duncan remembered Tamara telling him she lived in an overpriced Village walkup. All of Manhattan was overpriced and that included his neighborhood.

  He followed her up the stairs. “There’s no doubt you get your cardio workout every time you walk up.” His gaze lingered on the shape of her legs in the stilettos. Duncan had always thought himself a breast man, but looking at Tamara’s long, sexy legs had him debating which he liked best.

  He made it to the fifth floor without breathing heavily. He took the key from Tamara, unlocked the door to her apartment and was greeted with cool air and light from a table lamp in the small foyer. Lush green plants in colorfully painted pots lined the length of the rustic table.

  Tamara slipped out of her shoes and left them on the mat under the table. She had to look up at Duncan for the first time that evening. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

  Duncan placed her keys on the table next to her evening bag. “You made it wonderful, Tamara.”

  She smiled up at him. “Now, that’s debatable, Duncan.”

  Cupping the back of her neck, he pulled her closer and slanted his mouth over hers, swallowing her breath when her lips parted. “Does this mean we can do it again?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  Pulling back, Duncan stared at the black slanting eyes in a flawless tawny-brown face. He hadn’t wanted the night to end, but knowing Tamara had agreed to go out with him again had tempered his patience. “Good night.”

  She smiled. “Good night.”

  Duncan was there, standing in her foyer, and then he was gone, Tamara closing and locking the door behind him. She went into the living room and parted the blinds with a finger, peering down at the street below. Minutes later she saw Duncan as he walked to the corner to flag down a taxi. She was still standing in the same position when he got into one and it sped away.

  He’s a winner, she mused.

  She’d been given a second chance. Not only was Tamara older this time, but she was also wiser, wise enough not to get in too deep and wise enough to recognize when it was time to get out.

  CHAPTER 6

  Duncan walked down the block to the brownstone that had become his home after Melanie Gilmore passed away. He’d promised his aunt that he would come for dinner Sunday, but had made a stop at Junior’s restaurant to pick up Viola’s favorite dessert—strawberry cheesecake.

  What he found odd was that he’d had Sunday dinner with Viola the week before. They’d agreed to get together twice a month during the school year, and once during the months of July and August. Either he went to Brooklyn or she came to Manhattan.

  Viola planned to retire at the end of the upcoming school year. She’d gi
ven New York City school children forty-four years of her life—the last twenty as principal and assistant principal. When Duncan asked his aunt she what she’d planned to do after she retired, her response was “travel, travel and travel some more.”

  What he couldn’t understand was that she’d always traveled. She’d taken him with her on an extended tour of Ireland and the British Isles the year he celebrated his fifteenth birthday. He could look forward to visiting the Caribbean during the Christmas recess, other states during spring break and Europe, Africa or Asia in the summer. By the time he’d entered college Duncan had lost count of the number of countries, islands and states he’d seen.

  Traveling with Viola had come with a proviso—he had to maintain a ninety average or he would be left with a distant cousin who owned a North Carolina hog farm. It’d taken one trip to the hog farm to turn him off. It was another three years before he could eat bacon, ham or ribs without seeing the beady eyes or snouts. He still couldn’t bring himself to eat pigs’ feet or chitterlings.

  Duncan bounded up the steps of the brownstone. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he took out a key and opened the solid-oak door adorned with a colorful wreath of dried summer flowers.

  Viola used the street level of the three-story building for entertaining, the first floor for her personal quarters and she’d rented out the apartments on the second and third floors. Once Duncan had graduated from college and gotten a job, he’d rented one of the apartments on the top floor.

  As soon as he stepped into the vestibule a distinctive nauseating odor wafted into his nostrils. He frowned and was still frowning when he rang the bell before unlocking the door to his aunt’s apartment. She met him as he closed the door.

  “Did I smell crack in the vestibule?”

  Viola Duncan nodded as she stared up at her nephew. He was dressed for the off-and-on drizzle that had begun at dawn. Today he wore a baseball cap, jeans, a rugby shirt, a lightweight jacket and running shoes. He’d replaced his contact lenses with a pair of black wire-rimmed glasses.

  “That’s why I wanted you to come over. I’d suspected Mr. Hughes was smoking something, but I can’t identify what it is. I know for certain it’s not marijuana.” Philip Hughes had rented the second-floor apartment overlooking the front of the house.

  Duncan leaned over and kissed his aunt’s cheek. With the exception of his height, he and Viola looked enough alike to be mother and son. Her curly hair was salt-and-pepper and her khaki-colored skin showed no signs of aging. A few lines fanned out around her eyes, but only when she smiled.

  Viola had been engaged to a lawyer when she became her nephew’s legal guardian, but it was years later when Duncan learned that his aunt ended the engagement because her fiancé was opposed to starting marriage with a ready-made family. He had resented having to compete with a teenage boy for his wife’s attention. And because Viola had sacrificed her happiness for him, there wasn’t anything Duncan wouldn’t do for her.

  “Where is he?”

  Viola heard something in her nephew’s voice that sent a shiver over her body. “He’s upstairs.”

  Duncan placed the box with the cake on a side table and removed his cap and jacket, hanging them on a wooden coat rack. “I’m going upstairs to have a chat with him.”

  Before renting any of the units, Duncan had taken on the responsibility of interviewing prospective tenants and running their credit history. The tenant Viola was complaining about was a high-school science teacher.

  Viola adjusted her rimless glasses, large light-brown eyes filling with concern. “Don’t go up yet, son.”

  A slight frown creased his forehead. “What aren’t you telling me, Aunt Vi?” It was on very rare occasions that his aunt referred to him as her son. Most times it was when she was anxious.

  “I asked him if he was smoking in his room, and he told me to mind my business. I had to remind him that there is a no-smoking clause in his lease.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “He told me to, and I quote, ‘kiss my ass,’ end quote. No, Duncan!” she screamed when he turned and walked out of the living room. “I spoke to Kyle’s friend Micah about it.”

  Duncan stopped his retreat, turning to face Viola. “What did he say, Aunt Vi?”

  “Micah said to call him when you got here. He got a judge to sign off on a warrant, and his next-door neighbor, who is a police officer, is willing to serve it. Tessa also invited us to share dinner with them.”

  Micah Sanborn and his wife Tessa lived in the same close-knit Brooklyn Heights neighborhood as his aunt. Kyle had told him that wedding planner Tessa Whitfield-Sanborn had agreed to coordinate the Warrick–Chatham nuptials.

  Taking out his cell phone, Duncan scrolled through his address book and punched in the number for Micah’s home number. Micah answered on the second ring. “Where are you, Duncan?”

  “I’m in my aunt’s living room.”

  “Stay there. Jack Cleary and I will be over in about ten minutes.”

  Duncan ended the call, then escorted his aunt into the kitchen to wait for the Kings County ADA and his neighbor the police officer to arrive. If it’d been up to him Duncan would have barged into the apartment and snatched the man up by the throat for disrespecting his aunt. But he knew how much Viola detested violence, so he would take Micah’s advice and wait.

  “Sit down, Duncan,” Viola said, watching Duncan pace the length of the large kitchen.

  He stopping pacing and sat on a high stool at the cooking island. “This will be the last day Philip Hughes will spend under this roof.”

  Viola busied herself, putting up a kettle of water to make tea. “Do you want tea, Duncan?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “How have you been, son?”

  Duncan smiled for the first time. “I’m good, Aunt Vi.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance, silently admiring his tall, graceful body. Viola Gilmore couldn’t have been more proud of Duncan if he’d actually been her son. Although a single mother, her sister had done a remarkable job during his formative years. Melanie had given him a good foundation and Viola had improved on it.

  There were times when she knew she was being too preachy about him working up to his intellectual potential, avoiding gangs and physical confrontations, not abusing alcohol or drugs and always using protection when having sex, but it had worked. Duncan had far exceeded her expectations.

  “Have you met someone?”

  Duncan angled his head, his expression one of faint amusement. “Yes, I have.”

  With wide eyes, Viola stared at him. “You have?”

  “Yes, I have,” he repeated.

  “Do you mind if I ask how you met her?”

  “We got stuck in an elevator together. I asked her out and she accepted.”

  Viola approached her nephew and hugged him. “I’m so happy for you, Duncan. You don’t know how long I’ve been praying for you to meet someone so I can become a grandmother.”

  “We’ve only had one date, Aunt Vi.”

  “How was it?”

  “Good,” Duncan confirmed.

  “You can call me a nosy old woman, but I’m going to interrogate you anyway. Are you going to see her again?”

  Duncan gave his aunt a long, penetrating look. Either he’d changed or she had, because in the past they had never talked about the women he’d dated. He’d been very discreet when he’d invited any to spend the night with him, always cognizant that although he was paying rent he still lived under his aunt’s roof.

  “I plan to, Aunt Vi.”

  Viola dropped her arms when the kettle began whistling. “You know that I worry about you being alone.”

  Duncan kissed her hair. “That’s what mothers are supposed to do.”

  Her eyes glistening with moisture, she went to turn off the stove. “God sent you to me because he knew I would never have children of my own.”

  “I’ve thought about adopting a child.”

  Viola’s han
d shook slightly as she attempted to fill a cup with hot water. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I’m serious. I shouldn’t have to tell you about the number of children of color languishing in foster care because no one wants to adopt an older child. I have more than enough room in my home and I meet the income criteria.”

  “But a child should have two parents.”

  “I grew up with a single aunt and mother and I turned out all right.”

  “You were the exception, Duncan.”

  “And my son would also become the exception.”

  Reaching for a bottle of honey, Viola added a spoonful to the steaming tea. This was a side of her nephew she’d never seen before. When he’d lost his fiancée he’d sworn never to marry or father children. Now he was talking about adopting a child.

  Viola knew any child Duncan adopted would have a wonderful role model for a father. There was no doubt he would stress education, take him to sporting events and expose him to the arts. The first time she’d taken Duncan to a ballet it was to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. Her nephew was more enraptured by the music than the costumes and dancing because he was familiar with the works of Tchaikovsky. She stopped stirring the tea when the sound of the doorbell echoed throughout the apartment.

  Duncan moved off the stool. “I’ll get it.”

  He walked to the door and opened it. Micah and another man wearing street clothes stood on the steps. He shook hands with the assistant district attorney. “Thanks for coming.”

  Micah smiled, even though the warmth didn’t reach his dark, deep-set eyes. Tall, dark, with even features, the former NYPD lieutenant had made a name for himself as a tough prosecutor for the district attorney’s “gang busters” division. He’d prosecuted several gang members who were now serving lengthy sentences in state prisons.

  “Duncan, this is Jackson Cleary. I brought him along as backup.”

  Duncan offered his hand to the police officer. “I appreciate your help, because otherwise you’d have to arrest me for kicking this dude’s ass for disrespecting my aunt.”