An attractive flush suffused the older woman’s face. “Of course I know how old you are. After all, I did give birth to you.”
“If you know, then why are you getting into my business?”
Moselle refused to back down. “Because you are my business, Tamara. All of my children are my business.”
“But there comes a time when a mother must respect her children as adults.”
“I worry about you, Tamara.”
“There’s no need for you to worry about me. I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself.”
“Wait until you have children, then you’ll know how I feel.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever have children.”
“But aren’t you sleeping with that young man?”
Tamara rolled her eyes upward. “Mother, I know you didn’t ask me that.”
“Yes, I did, because I don’t want you to make the same mistake with this man—”
“His name is Duncan, Mother.”
Moselle waved a hand in dismissal. “Okay, Tamara. Duncan. I don’t want a repeat of what you had with Edward Bennett.”
“Now, when I look back on my marriage to Edward I can honestly say that I’m glad it ended the way it did, because it made me a stronger person. It taught me to be independent, to rely on no one but myself and, more importantly, it made me aware that I have to love myself before I can love anyone.
“I love Tamara Wolcott and I love Duncan Gilmore. He makes me laugh and he makes me feel good, Mother. I’m not living with him, but that’s not to say that someday I won’t live with him. He’s the kindest and most generous man I’ve ever known. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy for me, because I’m happy.”
A beat passed as Moselle stared at the daughter she never knew. The daughter who refused to conform, the brilliant daughter who reminded Moselle of her own childhood when she’d had a weight problem, an ordeal she didn’t want her own daughters to go through.
She held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, Tamara. I promise not to meddle in your business.”
Tamara smiled. “Thank you, Mother.”
“Your young man…”
“What about him?”
“What does he do? Where does he live?”
In a move that surprised herself, Tamara touched Moselle’s cheek with her fingertips. “The next time you and Daddy come into the city I want you to have dinner with me and Duncan. Then you can ask him all the questions you want.”
Moselle’s pale eyebrows matched her graying light-brown hair. “But will he give me answers?”
“That I don’t know, Mother. I suppose you’ll have to wait and find out.”
Moselle’s left hand covered the one on her cheek. “I’m proud of you, Tamara. I don’t know if I ever told you that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“When?”
“The day I became Dr. Tamara Wolcott.”
Moselle flashed a wry smile. “Why is it you never were Dr. Bennett? You were still married to Edward at the time.”
“Two Dr. Bennetts would’ve been very confusing, and as a medical professional I find the initials TB a bit disconcerting.”
“Come, Tamara, let’s join the others. And your young man looks annoyed because I’m monopolizing you.”
Tamara watched her mother make her way to the bar. Her gaze swung to Duncan leaning against the wall, staring at her as if she were a stranger. He straightened with her approach, extending his arms as she came into his embrace.
“How did it go?” Duncan whispered in her ear.
“Okay.”
“I’ve met your mother. Don’t you think it’s time I meet your father?”
Taking his hand, Tamara led Duncan across the room, feeling the curious stares directed at them. Nothing mattered because she was in love.
* * *
Using Duncan for support, Tamara leaned against him as she slipped out of her shoes. The birthday party had been a rousing success. An open bar, cocktail hour followed by a sit-down dinner with a live trio playing tunes from several decades…it had been an evening of frivolity that would linger in the memories of Daniel Wolcott and his guests for years.
Once the toasts were out of the way couples got up to dance while reminiscing about where they were or what they were doing when a particular tune was popular. She had danced with her father, her brothers-in-law and when she found herself in Duncan’s arms she stayed. She, Tiffany and Renata settled the bill and it was almost eleven-thirty when Tamara and Duncan sat in the limo for the short drive to Chelsea.
“How are you feeling?” Duncan asked. He took off her jacket, dropping it on a chair in the living room.
She swayed slightly. “I think I had one too many flutes of champagne.”
“I forgot you can’t hold your wine,” he teased.
She swatted at Duncan, but his reflexes were too quick and she missed him. “You’re not supposed to mention that.”
Duncan shrugged out of his jacket, leaving it on the chair with Tamara’s. “I’m going to check on Duchess, then I’ll be up.”
Tamara tried putting one foot directly in front the other as if she were undergoing a sobriety test and failed. She didn’t know why she had little or no tolerance for wine. “You’re going to have to help me upstairs.”
Duncan stared at Tamara’s lopsided smile. He hadn’t thought she was intoxicated, but it was apparent that she was unsteady. He approached and swung her up in his arms. “Poor baby can’t hang.”
She closed her eyes. “You’ve got that right.”
Carrying Tamara with a minimum of effort, Duncan walked into his bedroom and placed her gently on the bed. “Don’t move. I’ll take care of you.”
Tamara lay staring up at the shadows on the ceiling from the shaft of light coming from the streetlight. She wanted to get up and close the drapes but didn’t trust her legs to support her.
She must have dozed off until she felt the warmth of a body next to hers. Duncan had undressed her. “I need to brush my teeth.”
“I’ll bring you your toothbrush and a cup of water.”
He’d closed the drapes and she heard rather than saw him move off the bed. She brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth with a solution of mouthwash in a half a cup of warm water. She swished the solution in her mouth, then spat it in the cup.
Duncan had promised to take care of her—and he had. He’d taken better care of her in a month than Edward had done in their six-year marriage. She scooted closer to him when he returned to the bed.
“How’s Duchess?”
“She’s good.”
“Did she shred her wee-wee pad?” The puppy had begun tearing up the pads when left alone for long periods of time. The absorbent fibers stuck to her fur and getting them off was time-consuming.
“Not this time. Daddy told her he was coming back soon, so she decided to be a good girl.”
“She’s a good girl for you, but not for me.”
“That’s because you don’t spoil her.”
“Just how are you spoiling her, Duncan?”
“I give her a treat whenever she does her business on the wee-wee pad.”
“But that’s bribery.”
“That’s positive reinforcement, Tamara. Didn’t you learn that in experimental psychology when you had to train the little white rat to run the maze to get a pellet of food?”
“There’s such a thing as overdoing it, Duncan. If she gets too fat then you’re going to have to get up early and take her for a walk every morning.”
Turning over to face Tamara, Duncan rested his arm over her hip. “Why are we talking about a dog as if it were a child?”
“She’s not a child, but she is my baby.”
“And you’re my baby,” Duncan said in a soft voice.
“I’m your lover,” Tamara corrected.
“Lovers who make love yet aren’t in love.”
“That’s not true, Duncan.”
“Wha
t are you saying, Tamara?”
“I love you.”
Duncan snorted. “You love me, you love it when I bring you flowers, you love Duchess and you—”
“Stop it, Duncan. I do love you. I love you and I’m in love with you.”
There came a beat, only the sound of the runaway pumping of her heart echoing in her ears. Tamara swallowed a groan. What was wrong with her? Telling a man she loved him when he hadn’t given any indication her affection would be reciprocated.
“Where are you going?” Duncan questioned when Tamara sat up.
“Away from you.” She was sitting up and a nanosecond later Tamara found herself on her back with Duncan straddling her. “Let me up, Duncan.”
“Not yet.” Supporting his weight on his elbows, he pressed closer. “Not until I have my say.”
“What?”
“Zip it, Tamara.”
“It’s zipped,” she mumbled through compressed lips.
Shaking his head, Duncan couldn’t help but laugh. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Huh-umm,” she mumbled again.
Reaching between their bodies, he sandwiched a hand between her thighs. “I love your laugh, your smile and the sound of your voice,” he whispered in Tamara’s ear.
“I love your hair, the flawlessness of your skin.
“I love the way you smell and the feel of your skin against mine.
“I love your passion and your passion for life.
“I love your patience and your compassion.
“I say all of the above simply to say that I love you, Tamara Wolcott.”
Tamara felt like crying. Looping her arms under his, she clung to him like a drowning swimmer grasping driftwood after a storm. “Show me, darling, how much you love me.”
Duncan’s hand moved up to her furred mound, fingers parting the moist folds. He felt her heat, inhaled the rising sexual scent peculiar to Tamara—an aphrodisiac that excited him, took him to incredible heights of passion and a natural sensual bouquet he was loath to wash from his flesh.
He took his leisure arousing her, tasting, touching, licking every inch of skin, beginning with her mouth and continuing downward to her feet. His tongue had become the brush of a master artist, outlining, tracing and painting a portrait that would endure throughout the ages.
He would endure in perpetuity along with Tamara through their children and their children’s children. Never had Duncan felt the pull of father-hood as he did at that moment. When he spilled his seed he didn’t want it rejected by a synthetic hormone that inhibited conception, he wanted a new life, a rebirth of a spirit without the demons that hadn’t permitted him rest or peace.
Tamara knew somehow that this coupling was different. She felt the tension in her lover’s hands, the erratic beating of his heart, the uneven sound of his breathing. Closing her eyes, she ran her palms up and down his back, alternating the motion with kneading the muscles in his strong neck.
They reversed positions, she moving atop Duncan. She often assumed the dominant position, and whenever she did, Tamara reveled in the sense of power it afford her. Cupping his face between her hands, she slanted her mouth over Duncan’s, trailing light kisses over his jaw, chin, the sides of his nose. Her tongue traced the silky outline of his eyebrow, her breathing quickening and becoming labored. As she aroused his passion hers followed suit.
Her hands charted a course over the crisp hair covering his broad chest, the muscles in his rock-hard abdomen, the corded muscles in his strong thighs. She’d come to know every inch, muscle and plane of Duncan Gilmore’s body. But there was one part, the one organ which brought her extreme pleasure, she hadn’t sampled.
Sliding down the length of the enormous bed, she buried her face between his thighs and cradled his rigid sex. Her fingers opened and closed around the long, heavy, pulsing erection, then she lowered her head and took as much of him into her mouth as she could without gagging. Her tongue flicked up one side of his penis, then the other, while her hand opened and closed around the increasingly rigid flesh.
Duncan caught the hair splayed over his belly, fingers tightening when Tamara suckled him so hard he feared exploding in her mouth. He swallowed a savage moan, then another, followed by another until he forcibly extricated himself from her mouth. She was breathing as heavily as he was when she settled herself over his groin, he arching and burying his erection inside her.
Tamara rode him like one possessed, setting a rhythm that took her and Duncan beyond themselves. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she ground her hips against him in an attempt to get closer, to become one. Tamara being on top gave Duncan the advantage as he cupped her breasts, squeezing gently until she felt as though they would burst like overripe fruit.
She met his thrusts, her body moving faster and faster as rivulets of perspiration pooled between her breasts to trickle down to her belly and still lower. A single gasp dragged from parted lips preceded a soft moan when the contractions began. They increased in intensity, overlapping one another when she threw back her head and climaxed, the orgasms holding her prisoner until she was forced to give in to an ecstasy so shockingly pleasurable she feared losing her mind.
Duncan reversed positions again, buried his face between Tamara’s scented neck and shoulder and growled out the last of his passion as he collapsed on her heaving chest. He loved her, loved her enough to ask her to share her life and future with him, but he decided to wait.
Waiting until his heart rate returned to a normal rhythm, he moved off Tamara, bringing her with him as he pulled her to his chest. They lay together, legs entwined and fell asleep.
* * *
Duncan felt as if he’d stepped back in time as he wended his way through the people in his living room, looking for Tamara.
Kali, more than he, had loved entertaining. If they didn’t host a small get-together on an average of once per month, then she sulked, declaring she hadn’t felt alive.
He’d told her he liked having friends over, just not so often. He didn’t mind friends hanging out to watch a game or movie, but a constant flow of people who dropped by because they hadn’t any other plans had begun to grate on his nerves. Duncan had humored Kalinda, hoping once they were married the parties would stop. They would open their home to family and friends on holidays or special occasions.
During his counseling sessions with Ivan, Duncan had come to understand himself and the relationship he’d had with Kalinda better: his need to please, her need for acknowledge. The parties represented a sense of freedom and purpose for the young woman to whom any expression of frivolity had been looked upon as wicked.
He found Tamara in the kitchen with the caterer. Catching her eye, he motioned with his head; she nodded in acknowledgment. Seconds later she joined him in the pantry.
This afternoon they, like their guests, wore ubiquitous New York City black. The rain that had begun Friday afternoon had continued steadily throughout the night and into Saturday. However, the gloomy, wet weather did little to dispel the mood of the people who’d come together to celebrate the engagement of Kyle Chatham to Ava Warrick.
Tamara smiled at Duncan, finding him incredibly handsome in a white shirt and black slacks. The invitations had indicated casual attire and she’d selected a pair of black stretch cropped pants, a matching off-the-shoulder pullover and ballet-type shoes.
“What is it, Duncan?”
“Your friend Rodney is here.”
He’d asked Tamara to invite her roommate to even out the male/female ratio. Ava had invited a social-work intern from her social services agency and Duncan hadn’t wanted the young woman to feel out of place when most of the guests had come as couples. All of the employees in the Harlem brownstone were invited and most had confirmed their attendance.
Going on tiptoe, Tamara brushed a kiss over his mouth. “I love you,” she whispered.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, Duncan pulled her flush against his body. “Love you back.”
Push
ing gently against his chest, Tamara winked at him. “We’ll continue this later.”
She walked out of the kitchen and into the living room where people were either sitting and talking quietly to one another or were standing around holding drinks or small plates of appetizers. Tessa Whitfield-Sanborn had ordered banquet tables and chairs set up in the expansive living room to accommodate the overflow of people not seated in the formal dining room with seating for ten. A bar was set up in the niche under the winding staircase, and the caterer had his waitstaff circulating, offering hot and cold hors d’oeuvres as soft jazz music came through the concealed speakers.
Simone Whitfield-Madison had come the day before with floral arrangements that were breathtaking. Ava loved pale pink and white flowers and the colors were repeated in the tablecloths and napkins and candles on tables and flat surfaces throughout the first floor of the duplex.
Tamara spied Rodney off to the side surveying the scene. Overhead light made his cropped hair appear more blond than red. He, like the others, wore black. The color enhanced his slimness.
Crossing the room, she reached for his hand. “I’m glad you could make it.”
Rodney leaned down to kiss Tamara’s cheek. “Thanks for inviting me. No wonder you hang out here. It’s very nice.”
“You can tell Duncan that after you get something to eat and drink.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re going to sit down to eat in another half hour.”
“Something smells wonderful.”
“That’s the prime rib. You’ll have a choice of beef, chicken or fish.”
Rodney followed Tamara over to the portable bar and ordered a beer. “Duchess and I are really bonding.”
Tamara narrowed her eyes at her roommate. Friday morning she had taken Duchess to her apartment to introduce the puppy to her new home. She’d known the dog would be traumatized by the noise and the incessant ringing of the doorbell on Saturday at Duncan’s. When she opened the crate the ball of white fluff had run straight to Rodney. It was obvious the tiny bitch preferred males.
“Bonding how, Rodney?”
“She slept in the bed with me.”
“No,” Tamara groaned. “That’s what I wanted to avoid.”
Man of Fortune Page 18
