by Pamela Yaye
“What do you want to drink? We finished the amaretto last night, but I can run out and get another bottle.”
Sage didn’t answer.
Marshall dropped the oven mitts on the stove, then turned to admire his date. From a foster child abandoned by her mother to a big-city exec. Marshall admired her tenacious drive. And the more time they spent together, the stronger his feelings grew.
“Who are you drooling over now?” he teased, noting the gleam in her dark brown eyes. “Will Smith? Terrance Howard?”
“Hmm,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the magazine in her lap.
Since he didn’t know if it was in response to his joke or what she was reading, he squeezed her thigh to get her attention. “Who’s got you so mesmerized you forgot how to talk? It’s Derrick Jeter, right?”
“It’s not a who, it’s a what,” she corrected, holding up the magazine for him to see. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”
The object of her affection was a purse. It had a star-shaped gold buckle and looked large enough to hold a twenty-inch TV. “You’ve seen one handbag, you’ve seen them all,” he answered with a shrug.
His indifference didn’t temper her excitement. “This is the purse to have this season. All the stars have them. Tyra, Rihanna, Beyoncé.” She returned the catalogue to her lap. “I’m going to get one in every color.”
“That must mean it’s expensive,” he observed, staring down at the glossy full-page ad. “How much do one of those bags go for? A couple hundred?”
“A couple hundred,” she repeated, her tone rife with humor. “That might get you the buckle,” she joked. “I have a friend who works at Neiman Marcus department store. If it wasn’t for her discount, I’d be paying five grand like everybody else.”
Marshall’s eyes were the size of ping-pong balls. “Five thousand dollars for a purse? You’re kidding, right?”
“It’s a suede hobo bag. What do you expect?”
“Do you know what you could do with that kind of money? That’s four months worth of mortgage payments and…”
“Beauty isn’t cheap,” she quipped, patting his cheek. “I deserve nice things. I work my ass off and then some. Besides, it’s just money. Life’s too short to pinch pennies. Sometimes you just have to live it up and worry about your bank account later!”
“Not when you have bills and a teenager who can eat you out of house and home!” He leaned against the counter. Their shoulders were touching, and the scent of her sweet feminine perfume incited a rumble from his empty stomach.
“Humor me, okay?” When Marshall nodded, she continued. “If you bought one of those scratch tickets at the gas station and won, what do you do with the money? And this money is for you, Marshall. Only you,” she stressed, emphasizing her words. “What do you do with it?”
He thought for a moment.
“A down payment on a new Jeep truck? Home renovations? One of those big snow-blower things?” she offered, swinging her legs restlessly back and forth. Sage was wearing a wide smile, indicating just how much she was enjoying this fictional exercise. “Hurry up. The anticipation is killing me.”
“I’d go to Kenya.” He watched the expression on her face morph amusement into shock. “You probably think I’m crazy, but when I was a kid, I watched a documentary about Africa and I’ve been wanting to go there ever since.”
“There’s nothing crazy about wanting to know more about our history,” she told him with a smile. “If we let some TV channels tell it, Africa is nothing but jungles, face-painting and witch doctors. But the Rift Valley in Kenya is practically the cradle of civilization.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Kenya is the jewel of Africa. Even Charles Darwin believed humankind originated in the region. I haven’t been there yet, but I’m working on it.”
“You’re a wealth of information,” he praised, careful to keep the surprise out of his voice. “What can I say? I’m impressed.”
Sage winked. “I’m more than a pretty face, you know.”
“I know.”
Laughing, she stretched her arms over her shoulders, her shirt rising and revealing a sliver of her taut stomach.
Everything was about timing. When the moment came a man had to be ready.
Holding her gaze, he stepped forward, imprisoning her. Her eyes glowed. With desire or amusement? He couldn’t be sure.
“Careful,” she cautioned, leaning back. Her smile expanded into a full-fledged grin. “Come any closer and I’ll be inside the cupboard!”
Marshall laughed.
Sage licked her full, wet lips and Marshall struggled to maintain control. He could feel his willpower oozing away, but there was nothing he could do. He’d been fighting his desire for her all week. On Monday, when they were playing a Scrabble game, two days later, when she showed up with Chinese takeout, last night, when they were in the living room, stretched out on the sofa, listening to Will Downing. His mind refused to give him a moment’s peace, and every time he closed his eyes he saw her face.
Marshall stood frozen like a statue. The richness of her smile made his pulse quicken. Lust filled the air, suffocating him, enticing him with its thick, musky scent. Helpless to resist, he reached out and caressed her cheek.
Wrapping his arms around her, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her floral scent. Their deep, all-consuming embrace was as sensuous as a kiss. Marshall didn’t know who kissed whom first, and he didn’t care. All he knew was that he couldn’t get enough. Consumed by moans, groans and deep, sensual sighs, he kissed from her mouth to the apex of her breasts. Sage parted her legs, inviting him in, then clamped them possessively around his waist. Hands intertwined, he pressed her against the wall, loving her with his mouth, showering her with slow, hungry kisses.
He slipped his hands under her sweater, trailing his fingers along the front of her push-up bra. Her body was warm and her nipples rose to attention under his gentle stroking. Slipping off the counter, she locked her arms around his neck, creating a warm, cozy cocoon. Marshall had never known such hunger, such pleasure, such need. Desire engulfed him, punishing him like a surfer battled by an eighty-foot tidal wave. He couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. He’d never wanted a woman this badly. Sage was his dream girl, his fantasy, his one and only. He loved spending time with her and wanted a relationship—but it wasn’t love, was it? Love was an emotion, a feeling, a state of mind he wanted no part of. Falling in love had been his downfall before, and he’d be damned if he got bamboozled again. Sex was welcome—hell, needed—but he wasn’t going to give up his heart.
His errant hands couldn’t get enough of her breasts. Was he moving too fast? Was he pawing her? The voice in his head told him to stop, but her deep, throaty moan smothered his thoughts. This was a fantasy come true. And when she unbuckled his jeans and stuck a hand inside his boxer briefs, his head flopped back like a puppet. Bracing himself against the wall, he buried his hands into her hair. Sweat gathered on his brow and his heart raced with glorious anticipation. Groaning his pleasure, he eased his tongue into her mouth and gently nipped at her bottom lip.
Marshall felt like he was going to explode. She was stroking him into ecstasy, and when she gripped his shaft with both hands, his knees buckled. The phone rang, and for a second, his vision cleared and the haze lifted. Reason set in. He was playing with fire. Angry at himself for losing control, he turned back toward the stove. Eyes fixed on the kitchen door, he zipped up his jeans, exhaling a slow, ragged breath. He needed to stay focused on Khari. On not being distracted by this woman.
“What’s the matter?”
Marshall leveled a hand over his shirt. His reflection bounced off the stainless-steel pots. He had the lazy, contented expression of a sexually satiated man, but his body was still dying for release. “We can’t do this…here, Sage.”
Her smile returned. “You’re right. We can’t.” She grabbed his hand, practically dragging him across the kitchen floor. Pushing open the door, she peeked into the livin
g room. “Think we can make it upstairs to your bedroom without Khari catching us?”
Marshall wanted nothing more than to take her upstairs and love her all night long. But what kind of example would he be setting for Khari? He wanted Sage, but he couldn’t make love to her while his son was doing his homework in the next room. And if he let Sage stay over, it would be just a matter of time before Khari was bringing girls inside the house, and Marshall would rather fantasize about what could have been than be hypocritical. It was bad enough they’d made out in the kitchen. He’d never be able to eat in there again without remembering what they’d done. Shaking the image of her red satin bra and the feel of her soft flesh, he forced his licentious body into submission. “We can’t go upstairs, either. Khari’s studying. That wouldn’t be right.”
“No problem. I don’t mind a quickie.” Her joke added much-needed levity to their conversation, but when she gripped his belt buckle, he realized she was serious.
“I want you, Sage. God knows I do, but we can’t do this here.”
“Why not?” Eyes wet with lust, she rubbed her hands over his chest, her lips perilously close to his ear. “I can be quiet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Marshall chose his words carefully. He’d been in this predicament before, but he’d never cared so much what a woman thought of him. “I’ve been preaching abstinence to Khari since he had his first wet dream. I can’t control everything he does, but I made it clear he’s not allowed to bring a girl to this house. Ever.”
“That’s admirable,” she praised, lovingly caressing his face.
Marshall had a hell of a time keeping his eyes open. He felt her warm hands under his shirt, her breath on his neck and a slow lick of her tongue across his lips. Her voice sounded sweeter than ever. Longing welled in his chest, but he turned his back on his emotions and forced his unruly body into submission. “I promised Khari I’d live by the same standards I set for him.”
Her kiss was gentle. “I wish there were more fathers out there like you.”
“I’m not as great as you’re making me sound.”
“Most men expect to have sex by the third date,” she pointed out.
“I’m not most men.” He measured his words and spoke before he lost his nerve. “You can’t spend the night, Sage. I’m sorry.”
Her hands fell to her sides. The expression on her face told him she was disappointed, but there was something else in her eyes he couldn’t read. Five minutes ago, the sexual tension had been so thick he could cut it with a knife, and now embarrassment hovered like early-morning fog.
“I’m not blowing you off. I’d never do that. I want you. I really want you,” he repeated, desperate to touch her. Fearing her rejection, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “If we were anywhere else I’d…” He left her to fill in the blanks.
He could tell Sage was angry, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she poured herself a glass of wine and stood beside the window, sipping slowly.
Feeling the need to explain further, he opened his mouth, but stopped himself from speaking when he heard footsteps beyond the kitchen door. Khari burst into the room, a ball of pent-up energy, rambling about the NBA All-Star Game. “Dad, is it all right if I eat in my room?” he asked, swiping a plate off the counter and heaving spoonfuls of spicy pilaf into his dish. “The game just went into second overtime!”
“You know the rules. We eat dinner together, at the—”
“Good Lord,” Sage muttered, rolling her eyes. “Surely you can make an exception just this once.”
Yup, she was mad at him all right. Her tone had a hard, bitter edge, and she was staring at him, a cool, hostile expression on her face. Marshall watched his son pour juice into a glass mug. If Khari ate upstairs, he’d have Sage all to himself. They’d enjoy a nice dinner and retire to the living room to have dessert. And if he was lucky, they’d pick up right where they left off. “Take a coaster with you,” he told Khari, offering him one. “I won’t have you spilling Kool-Aid juice on the carpets again.”
“Thanks, Dad!”
Marshall smiled as he watched Khari disappear back through the kitchen door. Hoping to smooth things over with Sage, he grabbed the bottle of Merlot from off the table. He crossed the room and refilled her glass. “I guess it’s just us tonight.”
“Oh, no, it’s not,” she answered, brushing past him. “I’m out of here.”
“Where are you going?”
“To watch the game with Khari.”
“But I thought we were having dinner together.”
Sage glanced over her shoulder. “I suddenly lost my appetite.”
Chapter 16
Sage slapped cold cream onto her cheeks. Damn him! she thought, smearing the thick, foul-smelling green substance along her jaw line. Damn Marshall and his stupid rules!
Questions crowded her mind, deepening her frown and forming creases in the mask. Who ever heard of a man turning down sex? It didn’t matter how religious, responsible or attached they claimed to be. In the heat of the moment, no one ever stopped to think about consequences or repercussions. They caved to their desires and didn’t give a flying fig what happened later. Sage understood his reasons; in fact, she admired the example he was modeling for his son, but that didn’t take the sting off his rejection.
She applied another coat of cream and rinsed her hands. Sighing deeply, she stared back at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes narrowed. Doing the right thing sucked. Instead of spending the night with Marshall, kissing, laughing and making love, she’d returned to her nasty, mouse-ridden hotel, hornier than an inmate at the woman’s central jail.
Slapping off the lights, she wandered into the living room, her steps slow and heavy. The curtains were drawn, revealing a full moon surrounded by a handful of stars. Swiping her water bottle off the dresser, she wondered what Marshall was doing. Her heart and mind were at odds. She’d be leaving Indianapolis next week. They’d spent every day together since Senior Weekend. Sometimes he took her out for dinner, other nights they relaxed at home, watching movies and playing cards. She’d purposely lose at strip poker and made sure she always looked great and smelled great, just in case Marshall was feeling frisky.
Rock-climbing at the Leisure Recreation Center. Exploring the Civil War Museum. People-watching at the Java Hut. She’d tried to keep things casual, but it was hard not to fall for him. What woman didn’t like compliments, praise and elaborate gourmet dinners? Marshall told her she was sexy, baked her ginger cookies and didn’t flip when she spent hours in Saks Fifth Avenue trying on clothes. He liked Bruce Lee movies, did a sidesplitting imitation of Rick James, and though she vehemently disagreed with his argument against rap music, she respected his wishes and didn’t play it in the house.
Every week, they enjoyed Friday Fright Night with Khari and his friends. They popped a horror movie into the DVD player, dimmed the lights and waited to be scared senseless. Sage used every single jump-out-of-your skin moment to snuggle close. And when she screamed at the top of her lungs, Marshall wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.
Flopping down on the bed, she stretched her legs out in front of her, a sour expression on her face. Vanessa Williams was on TV, hawking skin care products that guaranteed miraclelike results. She bet Marshall wouldn’t have rejected her. Sage checked the time. She wanted to talk to Tangela, but her best friend was en route to New York. And besides, Tangela had more problems than a Hollywood starlet, and was acting just as crazy. Convinced Warrick was cheating on her, she’d started trailing him in the evenings after work. Sage warned Tangela that she was playing with fire, but like a toddler in a toy store, she couldn’t be reasoned with.
Switching off the TV, she turned on the radio and leaned back against the headboard. Sage closed her eyes and saw Marshall’s handsome face smiling back at her. She’d stayed in town to sign Khari, not fall for Marshall. But that’s exactly what she’d done. Fallen so hard that now she was in her hotel room, pouting because
he’d kicked her to the curb.
Sage had been too embarrassed to eat dinner with Marshall, but when she got a whiff of the jambalaya, she sent Khari downstairs to fix her a plate. She might have been angry, but she wasn’t stupid. Marshall was a culinary genius. It didn’t matter what was on the menu—spaghetti Bolognese, vegetable curry, deep-dish brownies—he cooked it, and he cooked it well. So much so, she licked bowls, ate seconds and took containers of leftovers home.
Two plates and three glasses of merlot later, she returned to the hotel, where she’d been in a funk ever since.
She had no business influencing Khari’s decision. It was the hardest phone call she’d ever have to make, but after leaving Westchester Academy, she ducked into the girls’ washroom and phoned Leo. She told him Khari had decided not to enter the NBA draft. It was a lie, but she couldn’t admit to Leo that she’d failed.
Sage was disappointed that she wouldn’t be the next executive manager at Sapphire Entertainment, but after talking to her coworker, Dionne, she’d discovered that Leo had never intended to give her the job. He’d guaranteed the position to a less-qualified manager, who just happened to be a man. No surprise there. Leo claimed to be a progressive, open-minded boss, but he wasn’t about to let a woman run the show. Leo might not be ready for a change, but she was.
When she got back to Las Vegas, she’d quietly shop around her résumé and see if there were any takers. From time to time, the idea of going back to school tugged at her thoughts, but she also had dreams of one day opening her own agency. She had been toying with the idea for months, and though Marshall promised to help her get started, just the thought of filling out loan applications gave her a migraine.
