by Shana Burton
Sullivan kept a close eye on him as he wheeled her BMW into the carport. Vaughn left the engine running while he popped the hood open and began his inspection. “When’s the last time you had a tune-up?”
“I don’t know. That’s my husband’s domain. I just drive it.”
“It looks like you’re due for one, but that’s not the problem. It’s the vacuum valve,” he explained, bent under the hood of the car, tinkering with the knobs and wires that were as foreign to Sullivan as the car itself.
“Just tell me how long and how much it’s going to take to fix it.”
He slammed the hood down. “Ten minutes, tops. Just need to get the parts.”
“Don’t you people keep spare parts lying around? God knows you’ve got everything else here.”
“Nah, not for this kind of car. We mostly deal with Chevys, Fords—cars like that. For what you need, you should go talk to Lance over at Auto World.”
“Listen, Mister . . .”
“Vaughn,” he finished, bearing a crooked smile. “Vaughn Lovett.”
“Yes . . . Vaughn. Anyway, auto parts aren’t really my forte.” She reached into her purse and pulled out one of Charles’s business cards. “Be a sweetheart and run down there and pick it up. Have the store bill us.”
“That’s not really my job, ma’am.”
“Sure it is. You’re the mechanic, aren’t you?”
“I can put it on for you and all, but we expect the customers to get their own parts. It helps keep costs low. This way, you’re only paying for labor. I’ll write this up for Mike, though. He ought to be back by Thursday.”
“Thursday? I can’t wait that long.”
He gnawed on the toothpick hanging out of his mouth and thought for a moment. “I suppose I could ride down there and get it, assuming you give me the money.”
“I don’t give money to strangers. That’s why I asked to be billed.”
Vaughn nodded. “I can respect that. Like I said, Mike’ll be back on Thursday.”
“Wait.” Sullivan pressed her fingers against her temples. “How about I go with you to Lance at Auto Land, or wherever you were talking about. You can pick out the part, and I’ll pay for it.”
“That’s cool. How do you propose we get down there, though?”
Sullivan frowned. “Don’t you have a car?”
Vaughn pointed his finger. “You see that Buick over there?” Unfortunately, she did. “I guess it ain’t the kind of car you’re probably used to riding in.”
Sullivan grudgingly followed him to the battered vehicle. He opened the passenger’s side door for her. “Don’t worry. Brown Sugar will get you there and back in one piece.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” muttered Sullivan. She dusted off the faded tan cushion before sitting down. Their eyes locked for a second before he slammed the door shut and climbed in on the driver’s side.
Sullivan unbuttoned the top of her blouse. “Can I have a little air, please? It’s burning up in here.”
“Sorry. No air conditioning. The windows are not automatic either. You have to roll ’em down and cool off the old-fashioned way.” He cranked up the car and turned up the volume on the stereo, filling the air with Al Green’s “Love and Happiness.”
“Is that a tape deck?” she asked incredulously.
Vaughn put the car in drive and pulled out into the street. “Al just doesn’t sound the same without one.”
Sullivan scooted closer to the door with her hand scaling across the handle; she wanted to be prepared should the need arise for her to make a quick escape. She silently prayed that God would give her a quick hand and an even quicker foot. If not having air conditioning wasn’t a sign of his having a chemical imbalance, still clinging to a tape deck certainly was.
Vaughn took notice of her. “I’m not going to hold you against your will.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Sullivan stated and eased her hand away from the door.
“I don’t want you to be. I’m not a scary guy.” He grinned. “Women love me.”
“I bet.” Sullivan took a closer look at him. He wasn’t half bad once she got past the cornrows and rogue image. There was something appealing about his piercing eyes, thick brows and lashes.
“Here we are,” said Vaughn, pulling into the parking lot at Auto World. “It’ll only take a minute.” He jumped out of the car and jogged around to her side to open the door. He extended his hand to assist her.
“Thanks,” she said, accepting his gesture. “Very cavalier of you.”
“Well, you seem like the type who’ll sit in the car all day until a man comes and opens the door for you.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”
He shrugged. “However you want to take it.”
Sullivan stood idly as Vaughn and the sales associate talked shop. Her eyes drifted over his defined biceps bulging through his sleeves. His skin was a deep, rich chocolate that oozed sensuality. The blue uniform hid most of his body, but his sculpted physique was still visible through the fabric. Sullivan cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes while scrutinizing him. He was almost sexy.
“You ready?” asked Vaughn, snapping her back to life.
“Huh? Yeah, I’m ready. How much is it?”
Vaughn shook his head. “I paid for it. No big deal.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s the least I could do for making you ride around with no air to cool that nice body of yours.”
Is he flirting with me? thought Sullivan. Do I want him to be?
“I’ll have you ready in no time,” promised Vaughn once they got back to the garage. “Why don’t you go over there and have a seat?” He pointed to a rusty folding chair a few feet away from the car.
She inspected the chair and looked down at her cream-colored pants. “I’ll stand.”
Vaughn laughed and raised the hood of the car. The more Sullivan watched him—bent over the hood, sweaty, and peppered with oil and grease—the more intrigued she became. Sinful fantasies about him floated in and out of her mind to the point where she had to scold herself into staying focused. She reminded herself that even looking at a man with lust was considered adultery. More importantly, she was the wife of a pastor, and a rich one at that. If she had to cheat, she was definitely going to cheat up.
“It’s all ready for you,” Vaughn said and tossed her the car keys.
“Thank you, Mister . . .” She had forgotten his first name again.
“Vaughn,” he told her. “My memory’s screwed up too. That’s why I write everything down.” He took her hand and rolled it over the tattoo of his name etched in old script on his forearm. His arm, a rock-hard mass of muscles covered in smooth skin, was a direct contrast to Charles’s flabby arms wrapped in what felt like worn luggage.
“I have a feeling that I’ll remember that now,” she said, nearly breathless.
“I think you will too.”
Sullivan looked up at him. “How old are you, Vaughn?”
“Twenty-three.”
She blushed. “You’re practically a baby, almost young enough to be my son.”
Vaughn smiled. “Younger brother, maybe, but not son.” He wiped his hands on a towel hanging from his pocket and grabbed a soda from the nearby cooler. He popped open the can. “You thirsty?”
Sullivan held out her hand. “Sure.” He passed her the can, which she carefully wiped before taking a swig from it. She passed it back to him. Their fingers touched in the exchange. Then he tossed it back without thinking.
“You didn’t wipe it off,” she squawked. “Aren’t you afraid of getting my germs?”
He extended the can to her. “Nope. Are you afraid of getting mine?”
Sullivan brought the can to her lips to prove that she wasn’t. There was something sensuous about placing her lips where his had been.
Vaughn glanced over at her BMW. “That car suits you. I could tell you were all high class when you walked in.” He too
k a sip from the can before giving it to her again.
“I’m a woman who likes nice things. What’s wrong with that?”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong with it. I like to see a black woman doin’ it big. I just hate that you’re so stuck up.”
“Stuck up?” she balked. “You stare at the underbelly of a car all day. What would you know about being stuck up?”
To her surprise, he didn’t seem offended. “You’ve got a slick mouth,” he said with a slight laugh. “I like that.”
Sullivan smiled a little and took another sip. It was nice to have her acid tongue appreciated for once. After her thirst was sated, she returned the can to him. Instead of drinking it as he’d done before, Vaughn stroked the side of her cheek with his thumb. “Had enough?” he asked.
She told him that she didn’t know and closed her eyes, trying to remember the last time she wanted to be kissed so badly.
“I’m sure there’s plenty to drink where you live. You know—champagne and whatnot.” He passed her the can again.
“You don’t always need all that if you’re thirsty. Sometimes, a regular old soda can quench your thirst just as well . . . if not better.” She fumbled the can.
Vaughn caught it. “Why are you so jumpy? Do I make you nervous?”
Sullivan stared him down. “You’re too young to make me nervous.”
“I’m not a kid, Mrs. Webb.”
“Compared to me you are,” she mused. “You’ll find out what I mean when you get a little older.”
“Are you going to be the one to teach me?” He moved closer to her and set the can on the hood of the car. She didn’t know how to respond to him, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t have formed a complete thought in her head even if she tried. His lips were mere inches away from her own, close enough to kiss him if she wanted to. He lightly brushed his cheek across hers. Her mouth dropped slightly. He whispered in her ear, “You’re way too beautiful to be so wound so tight.”
That said, he backed away from her and walked out of the garage. Sullivan was still standing there, her mouth gaping and her body fully awakened.
Chapter 8
“People can change, but they usually don’t.”
—Angel King
It was a typical day at the Guardian Angel Personal Care Center, which Angel owned and operated and where Kina worked as her administrative assistant. Angel had always known that health and healing was her ministry, and she devoted her life and work to offering home-based nursing care as an alternative to nursing homes and hospitals. As usual, it was barely noon, and Angel had already worked herself to the point of exhaustion and was nodding off at her desk.
“Why don’t you get out of here?” urged Kina, clearing her own desk as she got ready to break for lunch. “You can’t help the patients if you’re dozing on them.”
Angel yawned. “I know. Just five more minutes. . .”
“You’ve got to start getting some rest, Angel. You’ve been on duty for almost twenty-four hours straight. Aren’t you the one always on me about taking care of myself?”
Angel stretched. “You’re right, I’m beat. I just need to get through today.”
“If you had a man at home, he’d make you get in that bed and rest,” jeered Kina.
“Shoot, when I did have one at home, resting was the last thing he wanted me to do in bed. Duke used to always—” She bit her lip and started shuffling through her mail.
“Duke used to always what?” prodded Kina. Angel continued busying herself with mundane tasks. “It’s okay to talk about him, you know.”
Angel shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The things he was saying to get me into bed were probably the exact same lines he was spitting to his mistress.”
“It is possible that he’s a changed man, Angel.”
Angel rolled her eyes. “People can change, but they usually don’t.”
Kina looked down at her watch. “Let me get out of here and pick E’Bell up some lunch. Lord knows he’ll have a fit if I’m late and he has to eat what’s in the cafeteria.”
Angel gave her a quick hug. “I’ll see you at one.”
Kina turned around before heading out of the door. “Oh, before I forget, a woman named Theresa McNair called you when you were on the phone earlier.” She reached into her desk and pulled out a small slip of pink paper.
Angel skimmed over the message. “Do I know her?”
“I don’t think so. She has cancer. The doctor’s given her six months. She wants you to add her to your client roster and says she’ll pay you up front, in cash.”
“She must be loaded. I’ll have Jess call her in the morning.”
“No, she only wants to work with you. She was real adamant about that.”
“I don’t know why. Jess has the same qualifications that I have; I wouldn’t have hired her if she didn’t.” Angel stuffed the number into her pocket. “I’ll call her, but she’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I have way too much on my plate right now.”
“She really wants you to stop by today, if possible. It doesn’t matter how late.”
Angel rolled her eyes. “She sounds pushy. If I wanted to deal with an attitude or an ego, I’d call Sullivan.”
“She sounded more desperate than pushy. I’ll see you in an hour.”
Angel bristled at having to add more weight to her overloaded plate, but she took it in stride. “God, you said that you wouldn’t put more on us than we can bear, and I’m holding you to that!” she issued as she dialed the number.
A little girl answered the phone. Children always gave Angel’s spirit a lift. “Hey, sweetie, is your mother home?”
“I’m right here,” replied a woman who apparently picked up the phone shortly after her daughter did. “Hi, I’m Theresa. You must be Angel King.”
Angel was surprised. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Credit the wonders of technology and the caller ID box,” replied Theresa.
“How are you, Mrs. McNair?”
“I’m fine. What’s a little cancer when there’s a beautiful day outside like today?”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, especially under the circumstances. A lot of people in your condition would’ve lost faith by now.”
“I won’t, as long as there’s life in this body—however long or short that may be.”
“Well, my job is to extend that time as much as possible. I don’t want you to miss a second more of that little girl’s life than you have to. Do you have any questions about your illness or my role in your treatment?”
“After more than a year of doctor’s appointments and chemo and needles, I think I know just about all there is to know about cancer, but I would like to know more about exactly what it is you do.”
“Basically, we make sure you have the best medical care possible without ever having to leave your house,” explained Angel. “I work with your doctor to make sure all of your medical needs are taken care of, while making sure your emotional and psychological needs are met as well. I do it all, from administering medicine to helping out with the laundry if I have to. I work on a contract basis of three times a week for three months at a time. Sometimes insurance covers this service; sometimes it doesn’t. Just depends on the kind of coverage you have.”
“I would like to contract you for the next six months, all cash, all up front.”
“Are you sure?” asked Angel. “I haven’t even quoted you my prices.”
“The cost isn’t an issue for me. I’m just ready for us to get started. I don’t have time to waste.”
“Okay, we can set up a time for a home visit and go from there. My secretary said that you wanted me to stop by today, but I’m booked for the remainder of the afternoon. Can we shoot for another day this week?”
“Sure,” Theresa said and gave Angel directions to her house.
“By the way, how did you find out about us?” asked Angel before hanging up.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think I came across
your Web site or something.” Theresa told her good-bye and quickly hung up the phone.
Theresa’s rushed good-bye unnerved Angel, especially when she remembered that Guardian Angel’s Web site wasn’t up and running yet.
Theresa looked down at a family portrait, rubbing her hand over the picture of her husband. “God, this has to work,” she prayed. Theresa thought Angel King seemed nice enough on the phone, but there was no telling how she’d react if she knew that the woman she’d just agreed to help had spent the last eight years living the life Angel was supposed to have.
Chapter 9
“The less he remembers about that night, the better.”
—Lawson Kerry
“This so-called emergency better be good,” warned Sullivan, barging into Lawson’s living room. Reginell and Kina were seated next to Lawson on the sofa.
“Do you think she would’ve called you if it wasn’t important?” snapped Reginell.
Sullivan smacked her lips. “What’s your problem?”
“I’m just not in the mood for your mouth today.”
“Did I miss anything?” asked Angel as she breathlessly entered the room. “I would’ve been here sooner, but I got tied up with work.”
“You’re fine. Have a seat,” instructed Lawson.
Sullivan looked around the room. “All right, the gang’s all here, so what’s up?”
Lawson closed her eyes briefly to collect her thoughts. “Something happened today, and I want you all to tell me what you think I should do.”
“Garrett dumped you, didn’t he?” guessed Sullivan. “How many times have I told you that he wasn’t going to let you lead him on forever, Lawson?”
Lawson shook her head. “We had a little tiff, but that’s not what—”
“What did you guys fight about?” questioned Kina.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Garrett isn’t the reason I wanted to see you.”
Reginell replied, “Well, it’s out there now, so you might as well confess.”
Lawson relented. “He asked me to marry him after Reggie’s party, but that’s not why I called you over—”
