by Pamela Yaye
“Who are you tellin’?” she mumbled, wishing she could click her heels three times and end this nightmare. “I’ll be right down.”
Thirty minutes later, Sage threw herself across the tacky, heart-shaped bed in the honeymoon suite. It had taken some convincing, but after threatening to call city building inspectors, Chip had agreed to upgrade her room free of charge. There were no Belgian chocolates on the desk, or crisp, fluffy towels in the bathroom, but she was saving money by staying at the motel, and that was all that mattered.
Sighing deeply, she wondered how things could have gone so terribly wrong. Two weeks ago, she was at Tangela and Warrick’s house, sipping a fruit smoothie by the pool, and now she was in blistery, cold Indianapolis with frostbitten ears, three thousand dollars poorer. She hadn’t signed Khari yet, other celeb managers were breathing down her neck like damn bloodhounds and to make matters worse, she had played tongue hockey with Marshall Grant. Could things get any uglier?
Sage took in her surroundings. Apart from the bed and the chair standing beside the TV, the room was empty. No fridge, no DVD player, no walk-in closet. Depressed at the thought of spending a month in this unsightly room, Sage stared outside the window. From the third floor, she had a clear view of Pacific Laundromat. She sighed.
Fleecy clouds sailed across the sky and the sun was making its descent. Without warning, her thoughts turned to Marshall. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she could smell his cologne, hear his deep, rumbling laugh and feel his lips against her ear.
Rolling onto her back, she forced him from her mind. But memories of the Las Vegas sunshine, the Greek stallion from the Four Seasons hotel, and even scrubbing toilets at Ms. Claxton’s house, didn’t erase his image. He haunted her like Patrick Swayze in Ghost, and looked damn good doing it.
Sitting up, she unzipped her boots and shrugged them off. She was in a dingy thirty-dollar-a-night motel, fantasizing about a surly parole officer who liked wearing plaid. How fitting.
Sleep tugged at her eyes, pulling them shut. Patting back a yawn, she checked the time on her watch. Eight-thirty. She’d sleep for an hour then see about getting dinner. Her days of ordering room service were over. And not just because the motel didn’t have any. Her Sign Khari Grant Fund had been cut in half and she was in town for another month. Eating out and getting weekly pedicures was killing her bank account. From now on she’d have to learn to do without and be a lot smarter with her money.
The blanket felt like cardboard against her skin, but she wrapped it around her shoulders and snuggled against the pillows, pretending they were Marshall’s arms.
The distinctive voice of Bob Marley and the pounding, scratchy rhythm of his guitar filled the room. The sun pressed against the curtains, bathing the motel room with its gentle rays. Momentarily disorientated, Sage opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows. A quick glance around the room confirmed she wasn’t at the Four Seasons hotel and that her dream had been a cruel joke. Stretching her lazy muscles loose, she hummed along with the catchy ring tone. It didn’t matter how low she felt, one Bob Marley song and she was ready to face the world. Spotting her handbag on the floor, she bent down and retrieved her ringing cell phone from the side pocket. “Hello?”
“Sage?”
“Khari?” she asked, immediately recognizing the teen’s voice. “What’s up?”
“Am I bothering you?”
“No, not at all. I was just getting up from my nap.”
“Nap?” His tone was doubtful. “It’s nine-thirty.”
“In the morning?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Shit! I slept in my makeup!” Phone at her ear, she threw off the blanket and flew into the bathroom. As suspected, her hair was sticking up in every direction, her eyelashes were clumped with mascara and she had drool stains on her wool House of Dereon sweater. “Great. Now I look like a stylish raccoon.”
Khari laughed. “I’m just calling to remind you about today.”
“What about it?”
“You’re still coming, right?”
“Where?”
“To my house.”
Sage frowned. “What for?”
“To help me with my essay, remember?”
“Shit, I forgot!”
“I could really use your help,” he confessed, his voice losing its warmth. “I’ve been working on it all morning and all I have is the title.”
“Where’s your dad?”
“He’s here. Do you want to talk to him?”
“No! I was just curious. And please don’t tell him I asked.”
“All right. But you’re gonna come, right, Sage?”
“Sit tight, Khari. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Peering into the mirror, she inspected the pimple on her forehead. Last night, she’d felt too miserable and too lethargic to get up and shower and now her skin was paying the price. Grabbing the tube of toothpaste and squirting some on the blemish, she said, “Better make that an hour.”
Chapter 9
“Read it,” Sage ordered, shooting Khari a don’t-mess-with-me look.
“No way. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day.”
“I don’t care how bad you think it is, I want to hear it.”
“It sucks, trust me.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” Sage sipped her tea, savoring the heady aroma and rich taste. After a terse greeting, Marshall had placed a tray with tea and cookies on the dining-room table, then escaped upstairs. He’d struck the perfect blend of vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg, resulting in one seriously delicious drink. “Khari, go on.”
“Are you sure?” he questioned, rearranging the sheets of loose-leaf paper. “It still needs a lot of work. This is just a rough draft and—”
“Go on, boy. Let me hear it.” Sage gave him a reassuring smile. When he started reading, she broke an oatmeal cookie in half and popped it in her mouth. She had arrived at the house hours ago, but she and Khari had done more talking than writing.
The scent of men’s aftershave settled over the room. Sage heard footsteps behind her and turned around just in time to see Marshall exit the den. In a navy blue knit sweater and corduroy pants, he had the commanding presence of a general and had the stern, antagonistic expression to match. His bulging shoulders strained against the material, and wisps of hair sprinkled his forearms. Wallet in hand, he crossed the living-room floor and retrieved his jacket from the closet.
Staring openly, Sage revisited that head-spinning kiss. There was no way she had imagined that jolt, that spark, that fire. It was immediate and powerful, and she had never connected with anyone that intensely or that quickly before. Not even with Jeremy, and she’d thought he was “the one.” But those were the foolish, whimsical thoughts of a nineteen-year-old girl looking for love in all the wrong places.
Examining the sensuous curve of his lips and his creamy brown skin, she toyed with the diamond bracelet on her wrist. If he felt something, which she was convinced he had, why hadn’t he said anything? Outside on the deck after the kiss, she’d insulted him, but that wasn’t reason enough for him to ignore her now. After all, she was a guest in his home. He should be hospitable, warm, charming, not mute, angry and cold. Pondering the reason behind his silence, she watched him lace up his boots. He had strong, slender fingers that she could feel flitting over her stomach and slipping between her legs. Sage grabbed ahold of her thoughts, but couldn’t help noting the astonishing length of his feet. If her coworker, Cashmere, was here they’d be whispering behind their hands, debating the significance of a man’s shoe size and his endowment. Passionate, opinionated and a self-proclaimed man-slayer, the petite powerhouse would argue fervently why she believed the myth to be true. And if Cashmere knew anything, it was about how to impress and seduce and trap the opposite sex.
Sage lifted her gaze to Marshall’s face. He was watching her. Their eyes held, then greeted each other with a smile. If he thought he was going to pressure her into looking away, he was wrong. Men falter
ed under her gaze. Professional athletes, ruthless defense attorneys and some of Hollywood’s leading men had fallen victim to her come-and-get-me stare in the past, and Marshall Grant was no exception.
The corners of his mouth flared into a slow, easy grin, lighting her inner fire and challenging her to respond to his invitation. Bright-eyed with desire, she leaned forward, loving the way he was watching her.
“That’s all I have so far. What did you think?”
Eyes set on Marshall, but responding to Khari’s question she said, “You did a great job capturing the essence of Hamlet’s character, and I like how you described him as being blinded by revenge. But you missed an important piece of the puzzle.”
“I did?” he asked, pouring over his notes. “I covered all four themes. Deception, passion, corruption and revenge. I’m not missing anything.”
“You are.” Pausing for affect, she lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip. “Hamlet was crazier than Lorena Bobbitt with a pair of garden shears!”
Marshall’s laugh rocked the room.
Khari scratched his head. “Who’s Lorena Bobbitt?”
“Never mind that,” Sage said, facing him now. “From the beginning of the play, Hamlet is melancholy and despondent, and he never really seems to break out of his funk. And the people around him are all vindictive opportunists who in some way or another contribute to his madness.” Picking up one of the Shakespeare books spread out on the table, she slowly flipped through it. “Khari, don’t ever underestimate the power of the human mind. Mess with a guy’s head and you’ve halfway won the battle.”
“Wow, that’s deep.” He scribbled furiously in his notebook.
A cell phone chimed. Khari pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll be right back.”
Sage watched Khari leave the room, then turned her sights back on Marshall. “You were so quiet I almost forgot you were here,” she lied, dusting cookie crumbs off the table. “Have anything to add to the discussion?”
“Do you really believe that?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“Believe what?”
“Mess with a guy’s head and you’ve halfway won the battle.”
“Always works for me.” Allowing herself a wry smile, she shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “I don’t make the rules, Marshall. I just call it as I see it.”
“You strike me as a woman who’s played a mind game or two.”
“Haven’t we all?”
Marshall laughed.
“Where are you heading off to? Got a hot date?”
“Not unless it’s with you.”
Sage didn’t know what to say. Awareness dawned, forcing her to reevaluate her plan. This was it. Her last chance to make something happen. She had to sign Khari this week or her reputation was toast. “So, no hot date.”
“Not at my Wal-Mart store.” He broke into a laugh. “I’m going to get some stuff for Senior Weekend. Do you want to tag along?”
“I can’t. We’re not finished up here and I promised Khari I’d take him to the mall and help him pick out a gift for Destiny’s birthday.”
“I really appreciate you helping Khari. He’s never had a woman he could talk to about girls and stuff.” Marshall wore a thoughtful look. “You’re in town on business, but instead of relaxing at the hotel this weekend, or hustling the guys down at Champions for donations and talking about the importance of philanthropy, you’re helping my son with his homework. Thanks, Sage. It means a lot to me.”
Sage laughed. “You don’t have to thank me. Khari’s a great kid. And for the record, I’m not a hustler. I just like to win at darts!”
Laughter passed between them and swallowed up the sexual tension hovering over the living room.
Standing, her gaze fell across the window. Snow flurries blanketed the sky, coating the trees and bushes. Icicles glistened from rooftops and Irvington Lane was encrusted in a thin layer of ice. “I can’t believe it’s snowing again,” she scoffed. The rental car was submerged under a mountain of snow and the entire neighborhood was covered with the white, fluffy powder. “Does it ever not snow in this town?”
“No.”
“Is that why you live here, because you like the cold weather? I’d think, after living in somewhere as hot as Kuwait, you’d hanker for the sunshine.”
“I love winter sports. I learned to ski when I was around Khari’s age and took up snowboarding a few years back. There’s nothing like it. The speed, the buzz, the adrenaline rush.” His voice grew deep. “But don’t get me wrong. I love the heat too. The hotter the better.”
Goose bumps pricked her arm. Sage glanced over her shoulder, expecting him to be behind her. He was. So close she could smell his minty breath. She felt naked, exposed, the heat of his gaze searing her with its intensity. Her first inclination was to kiss him, her second was to beg him to kiss her. Stepping forward, he reached out and touched a hand to her waist. Heart racing with anticipation, she leaned forward, grazing her chest purposely across his. If he could be aggressive, so could she.
“About last night…”
“What about it?” she challenged, her eyes lingering on his lips.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was just a kiss.” One scrumptious, delicious kiss. But that went unsaid. “It’s no big deal. Forget it happened. I know I have.”
“Do you usually go around kissing men you’ve just met?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then why me?”
Sage felt cornered, trapped, confused, like a cub in a hunter’s snare. “It was impulsive, stupid. It won’t happen again.”
“It won’t?” His tone was thick, evocative, rich with suggestion.
The chemistry between them crackled like logs in a fireplace. Shocked by the sheer strength of their attraction, she stepped back, hopeful the physical distance would bring clarity. “Khari’s going to be back any minute now.”
“I doubt it. When that kid gets on the phone, there’s no stopping him. Do you have any plans tonight?”
Her tongue went limp and she struggled to make it work again. What was it about this man that made her want to dive under the coffee table for cover? “No, no plans. Just back to the hotel to sleep.” She added, “Alone. Back to the hotel to sleep alone.”
“Do you want some company?”
“No!” flew out of her mouth, but when she saw the startled expression on his face, she wore a small smile. “That’s a bad idea.”
“It is? Two friends can’t hang out after dark?”
She hedged, her thoughts circling out of control, stealing her resolve. This was all too much. Marshall smelled divine, his eyes were filled with promise and he was stroking her arm. There was only so much a woman could take. Temptation was a bitch, toying with her mind, inciting her desire, leaving her hot and bothered. “Marshall…we can’t do this. Not today. Not ever.” Every word was a fight, a fight to do the right thing, a fight to preserve what little dignity she had left.
“Are you sure I can’t stop by later? For a nightcap?”
Sage wanted to be alone with him, wanted to feel his touch, wanted to experience another one of those sweet, sensuous kisses, but she couldn’t invite him to her nasty, fried-chicken-smelling motel. One whiff of the Luxe Motel and he’d crash through the emergency doors. It would be a different story if she was still at the Four Seasons hotel. Or would it? Biting down on her bottom lip, she shook off the thought. No Marshall, no nightcap and no more kisses. It was bad enough she’d lied and schemed her way into his life. Having a tryst with him now would complicate matters and compound her guilt. She was living a whopper of a lie and it was only a matter of time before the truth caught up with her. “Quit hanging out with Denzel,” she said, sweeping her bangs off her forehead. “His bad habits are starting to rub off on you.”
Marshall chuckled. “If you want to blame somebody for my behav
ior, blame yourself. I haven’t been the same since we met.”
Sage wore a provocative smile. “Is that right?”
Nodding, he brushed his mouth against her cheek, blazing a trail down her warm skin. “We both agree. We’re completely wrong for each other. But that doesn’t mean we can’t hang out while you’re in town.”
“And what exactly does hanging out entail?”
“Dinners, movies and chaperoning Senior Weekend.”
“I can’t.”
“Do you have to work?”
“No.” Sage fumbled for an excuse. Better not to encourage him, or make him think she liked him. Even if she did. A little. “I don’t know how to ski.”
“There’s more to do at North Hill than ski. You can go hiking, lounge at the fireplace with a good book or treat yourself to a massage in the spa.”
Now, that sounded like a plan. Chaperoning Senior Weekend was risky, but her weatherbeaten body was crying out for some R & R. Unaccustomed to frostbite and arctic temperatures, she desperately needed the skilled hands of a masseuse, an esthetician and a manicurist. And if she accompanied the senior class to North Hill, there was no question in her mind that she’d sign Khari. “How much?”
“That’s the best part. Chaperones are free. Your meals and lodging are taken care of for the entire weekend. All you’re responsible for is your entertainment and any extras you want.” Sage angled her shoulders in his direction and Marshall drew her close. “But just so you know, I give one hell of a hot oil massage. And it will only cost you—”
He lifted his gaze to the kitchen door.
“It’ll only cost me what?” she asked, resisting the urge to drape her arms around his neck. One kiss and she was panting like a Doberman in heat. Her intuition told her Marshall didn’t want money, but something more private, more personal, more intimate.
Chapter 10
At 5:00 a.m. on Friday morning, ten luxury buses bearing the Sky Light Tours logo stood outside of Westchester Academy, lined up against the snow-packed curb. In the adjoining parking lot, kids bolted from cars, bleary-eyed fathers heaved luggage, skis and snowboards onto the pavement and a band of teenage boys tossed around a football.
