She sat down, glad that she hadn’t said more and that she hadn’t called Adam’s name.
“How are you, Timmy? I’m surprised to hear from you.”
“Yeah. I guess you are. I hear you have an employment agency. That’s what your dad said, and I’m looking for a job.” Some more of her father’s shenanigans.
“I locate executives for corporations, Timmy. I don’t run an employment exchange, but if I happen upon an opening, I’ll keep you in mind. I’m in the Hayes Building. Send me your CV.” She terminated the conversation as quickly as she could. She would not hire her cousin no matter what her father said or did. She’d lose control of her business, and her father would have been the instigator.
Chapter 5
Melissa’s breath stuck in her throat as she waited at the front door of the Roundtree house. She had never before stepped on the property, hadn’t even had a clear view of the house, though, like most of the area’s residents, she’d heard about its sumptuousness. She’d been taught from early childhood that the place was off limits. To her relief, no wild, vicious dogs barked furiously and snarled at her feet, which, as a child, she’d imagined was the reason for her father’s stern edict that she, Schyler, and their cousin Timothy avoid the place. She listened for footsteps, heard none, and pressed the bell again. The doorknob turned, and she released her breath at last, only to suck it in sharply when the door opened and Mary Roundtree faced her. Lord, she hadn’t counted on this.
“Good evening, Mrs. Roundtree. I’m Melissa Grant.” The woman’s manners matched her regal bearing. “Hello, Melissa.” Though her voice was pleasant, it lacked warmth, Melissa noted.
“Won’t you come in? I assume from what I’ve heard that you wish to see my son, Adam.” What had she expected, Melissa asked herself—small towns and secrets were incompatible.
“Thank you. Would you please tell him I’m here?” She reflected on their behavior toward each other, so pleasant and so civilized. A stranger would have gained the impression that they had always been on friendly terms, but those were the first words they had ever exchanged. She stood straighter with her shoulders squared, faintly amused at the barely leashed anger she saw in Adam’s mother’s eyes. Parental possessiveness wasn’t limited to her father. Mary Roundtree turned to leave, and Melissa heard Adam’s footsteps as he loped down the stairs. She looked up with a start. Would she ever get used to his arresting, masculine good looks? She stared into the depth of his gaze until the sound of his mother’s throat clearing restored her presence of mind.
As she stood there admiring him, she wished she could enjoy their relationship without reservation. There was so much about him that she liked. Cherished. If he had spoken, if he had said one word, she would have quickly gotten herself in hand, but he didn’t speak, merely ambled toward her without taking his gaze from hers. She backed up a step and tried to shake the tension, but it flooded the room like a powerful, invisible chemical and settled over her. Again Adam’s mother cleared her throat, and he turned to her.
“Mother, this is Melissa Grant. Melissa, my mother.” Mary Roundtree nodded, told Melissa good night, and left them. Melissa watched her walk away and couldn’t help thinking that the woman could give her father lessons in manners.
She relaxed within the arm that he slid around her waist, nestling her to him as he opened the door for them to leave. She wanted to turn around, to know whether Adam’s mother watched them, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“How’d you get here?” he asked her, looking about for a car.
“Towne car service. I’d have been in a pickle if you had forgotten and gone off.”
* * *
He walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and turned to her. “So you got even. Why is it that I’m not surprised? Don’t be too proud of yourself, though. The last time anybody in my house reprimanded me was the day I finished high school. And I only got it then, because I’d brought a girl home the evening before when my parents were out. That was the number one no no around here, but I never gave them the satisfaction of knowing that we only sat in the kitchen and drank root beer.” He started the ignition. “Let’s go.”
She slid comfortably down in the bucket set. “I figured if you’d made my father mad with me, you wouldn’t mind a little turbulence in your own household. You call that getting even? Tut-tut.”
He looked down at her and grinned. She could give as good as she got. Soft, but strong. Clever. He liked that.
She stole a peek at the man as he glanced over his left shoulder, swung into Route 70, and revved the engine. Her heart lurched at the sight of him sitting behind the wheel of that powerful car, strength emanating from him. She looked away from him at the passing scene. With her glasses in place, her eyes skimmed the late summer cornfields as he sped past them, and she wondered whether a woman awaited the lone man who trudged through a field toward an old farmhouse. She longed for the day when she’d have a man of her own, one who loved her so much he couldn’t stay away from her, one who would never be content with her sleeping in any room but his. One different from her father. A man who wouldn’t be too proud to love a woman with every atom of his being.
* * *
“You’re unusually quiet. Maybe you’re not pleased with yourself, with your little devilment?”
She marveled that he wasn’t annoyed by what she’d done. Or was he showing her that she couldn’t dent his unflappable cool, that she wasn’t of such importance that her little misdeed would make him mad?
“Do you think your mother’s angry?” she asked.
“You betcha. Mad as hell.” He took his attention from the highway long enough for a quick glance at her.
“And you don’t mind that she’s mad?”
“Of course I mind.” She detected impatience and something like sympathetic understanding in his voice. “What do you take me to be? That woman is my mother, and I care about how she feels. But I’m a man, and that’s my home, so I don’t seek anybody’s permission and don’t expect anybody’s condemnation about what I do there.” He reached over and patted her hand.
“What would you do if I abducted you, took you to my lair and kept you there for a couple of weeks?”
She saw that he’d ended that topic. She turned toward him, and her eyes dared him to do it.
“Well?” he prodded.
“Grin and bear it,” she joshed. His warm, throaty laugh that seemed to come from deep inside him sent frissons of heat racing through her. If he knew how much ground he could cover with just a laugh, she reckoned, the man would be unbearable.
* * *
Darkness encroached as he turned off the highway and into the only asphalt side road that she’d seen since leaving Beaver Ridge.
“We’ve passed plenty of them,” he told her when she commented. “Don’t tell me I’ve cast a spell on you, closing your mind to all but me.” He laughed, and she imagined that her face mirrored her startled reaction. He did it often now, and she thought back to the day shortly after they met and the first time she’d heard his laughter. He’d been stunned at himself. Now he seemed to enjoy it, as though it released something that had been dammed up inside him. He stopped the car, got out, took her hand, and began walking up a gravel path. Melissa looked up at him, perplexed. Where were they going in the darkening woods? A strain of happiness wove through his laughter and swirled magically around her, exhilarating her like a warm twilight breeze frolicking in her soul. She gave herself over to the moment and let his joyous mood infect her.
They paused at an old mill lodged a few feet above the dawdling waters of a once busy brook, and his arm slipped around her shoulder while the moon let them see their reflection in the clear stream below. Melissa wanted to lean against him, but she didn’t. If he had squeezed or patted her the tiniest bit, she would have moved toward him, but his large warm hand on her bare arm evidently didn’t communicate to him the feeling it gave her. She moved away. Men were not meant to be understood.
“What’s over there?” she asked, pointing to a footpath that led into dense woods.
“Not much of interest this late in the year, but in the spring you see a lot of trails littered with wildflowers and small streams alongside them. It’s idyllic—a man’s best ally if he’s got a woman he wants to sweet-talk.”
“I can’t imagine you’d need help.”
“Of course not.” And you’re proof of that, his eyes mocked. In spite of the lectures she gave herself, she knew she was becoming increasingly susceptible to Adam, but she told herself that she wasn’t going to sell out her family by having an affair with him. And he was going to stop kissing her, too. Then his strong but gentle fingers reached for and squeezed hers, and she slipped a little farther into his universe, his world of riveting tension and longing.
* * *
Hours later, as he parked in front of her parents’ home, she reflected on their evening together. Not once had he alluded to anything personal between them. Not one sexual innuendo. Not a single pass. And yet his twinkling eyes had held such fire and his smiles had triggered such excitement in her as to make her wonder whether he had special powers. He had made no effort to seduce her—but captivate her, he did. She told herself that she wouldn’t kiss him good night, that he didn’t deserve it. She had learned that he loved to read, liked football, tennis, horses, Mozart, Eric Clapton, and Duke Ellington, and disliked atonal music, baseball, washing dishes, and strong, gusty winds. Yet he hadn’t even hinted at what he felt about her. Well, if he was satisfied with an evening of impersonal togetherness, so was she. And she’d show him.
“Adam, you haven’t told me what you think of your new office manager. How’s he doing?”
He took his hand off of the doorknob, turned, and looked at her in a way that suggested her question was not in order. “He’s efficient and competent, but I think Jason’s getting tired of him.”
“Why?” So, she surmised, a problem did exist, but she wouldn’t have known about it if she hadn’t asked.
“The man doesn’t accept supervision well, especially from someone he considers beneath him.”
“He thinks Jason is beneath him?”
“Yeah. Lester’s a snob, Melissa. To him, anybody who didn’t go to Yale is illiterate. Jason was graduated from Morehouse and got his master’s degree at Georgetown. I’m sure the reason they haven’t clashed is because Jason is boss when I’m not in the office, and he just calls rank on the man. Anybody who pushes Jason too hard usually regrets it. I think Lester knows that, and he likes having a good income.”
“He didn’t behave that way with me, but then he was looking for a job. I’m surprised at his snobbishness, though, because several of the references I checked suggested that until Lester was in his late teens, a lot of that Mississippi mud found its way between his toes.”
Adam cut short a laugh. “So you do check references?”
Melissa whirled on him. “What do you mean by that question? I run an honest, efficient operation. I’ve placed executives in some of the most successful businesses in this country, and I want to know how you get the temerity to suggest that I don’t have integrity.” She jumped out of the car, and he caught her just as she reached the front steps of the house.
“Don’t get so riled.” He paused as though weighing his next words. “Riled isn’t the word—I’ve noticed that little if anything upsets you, or if it does, you don’t show it. Where business is concerned, I don’t insinuate anything, Melissa. If something needs saying, I say it. You can be sure that if I have a complaint against an executive hired through MTG, I’ll tell you.”
She handed him her key, and he opened her front door and walked in with her. Rafer stood in the middle of the foyer, facing them, his face mottled with rage.
“Now that you’ve discovered this house, you can’t seem to stay out of it,” he told Adam. His derisive tone and dismissive glance at Melissa was evidently calculated to annoy Adam. Melissa stepped toward him. “Daddy, if you want to bait Adam, please do it outside so he’ll have as good a chance as you at winning a case of assault and battery.” She heard them snort, but she wouldn’t let that prevent her from having her say. It was overdue. “I am twenty-eight and self-employed, and I’ve established my business without help from anyone. I’m not used to your concern for my well-being after all these years of disregarding me, and I wish you’d stop it.” She turned and kissed Adam, well aware that she surprised him when she pressed her lips to his in a lingering caress. “Good night, Adam. I had a lovely evening. Good night, Daddy.”
Shivers streaked down her back as she walked up the stairs to her room, aware that they both stood as she’d left them, staring in her wake. Why had she kissed Adam when she had told herself that she wouldn’t, not even if he tried to seduce her into it? She closed her bedroom door and turned the key. This was merely the beginning. Her father’s pride was his most damning trait, and she had just embarrassed him, exposed him in front of Adam Roundtree. She’d pay. Oh, she’d pay plenty. She reflected on her brother’s comment that their father wasn’t a bad person, only a pathetically insecure man, and that he’d give anything to know what accounted for it.
* * *
Adam got into his car and drove off. He neared the house hoping his family had turned in for the night. He needed to be alone, to think over the evening’s events, beginning with his turmoil before he’d brought Melissa home. He had promised himself that never again would he let a woman scramble his brain and hijack his hormones. But another woman had gotten inside of him, one who could be his family’s enemy, who could have engineered the sabotage of his family’s business, who could be the greatest actress since Waters or Barrymore. He’d strung her along all evening, touching but not caressing, drawing her to him while making sure that she didn’t get close, and talking about any and every thing except the two of them. It had been hard work.
Adam shook off the autumn chill as he entered the wide foyer of his home and continued upstairs to his room for the privacy he needed. But as soon as he closed his door, his mother knocked and, like her elder son, she didn’t skirt the issue.
“Adam, why are you pursuing a relationship with Melissa Grant? Is it because you like her, or because you’re suspicious of her? Do you mind telling me?” He knew that she found prying into his personal life distasteful and was certain that that accounted for her uncharacteristic diffidence. She wanted his answer to be that he was suspicious, but he wouldn’t lie.
“I see her because I like her, Mother.” He noticed that she tensed.
“But what about the problem at Leather and Hides?”
“I don’t have any proof that she’s in on it, and I’d give her the benefit of the doubt until I was certain even if I had never met her.” He locked his hazel-rimmed, brown-eyed gaze on his mother’s identical one. “That’s the way I was raised.” Her affectionate smile assured him that she understood and accepted the reprimand. He told her briefly of their confrontations with Melissa’s father.
Mary Roundtree grimaced. “Why did she come here tonight? Were you expecting her?”
He smiled. “I think to show me what she went through with her father because I insisted on ringing her bell and going inside her house for her, as I would any other woman with whom I had a date.”
“Well, she paid you back, and I have to admire her strength. Looks as if she has grit.”
“Oh, she has plenty of that.” He sighed, deep in thought, private thought. “And she has something else, too. A quiet dignity that hides a deep-seated vulnerability, a softness...” He rubbed his brow with his long, tapered brown fingers. “A sweetness that I haven’t—” Suddenly reminded of his mother’s presence, he was himself again. Quiet. Uncommunicative.
“You think a lot of her.” He’d opened the door, and now she’d have her say. Alright, he’d listen.
“Do I? I’m not so sure.”
“Well, you feel a lot for her—that’s clear. What I can’t understand is how you let it happen,
knowing what you know.” Her tone held deep bitterness. Adam shuttered his eyes, shielding his emotions.
“I care about your feelings, Mother, and I know what you think of Melissa’s family. But if I conducted my personal life according to your wishes, nobody would be more surprised or disappointed than you. And you know there isn’t an iota of a chance that I’d do that, so please save us both some heartache; don’t get into this. I chart my own course.” He walked over and kissed her cheek. “Good night, Mother. I’ll see you in the morning.” He mounted the stairs slowly. Where the Morris/Grant family was concerned, his mother was matched for intolerance and hatred only by Rafer Grant’s attitude toward the Hayeses and Roundtrees. He wished he could see the end of it.
* * *
Adam stretched out in bed, wanting to clear his mind and go to sleep. The chirping crickets had as their backup a loud chorus of croaking frogs, familiar notes that had lulled him into many of his most precocious childhood dreams. As though back in time, he responded to the night music, and his mind drifted to Melissa, cataloging her lush feminine assets. What did she have that caused his pores to absorb her the way mushrooms drink water? Why did her woman’s scent stay with him always? And why couldn’t he stop feeling her lips? He wiped his mouth with his naked arm and turned over on his belly. In every way that counted, she was the kind of woman he liked, that was why.
His gut instinct told him she was honest, and he’d learned to go with his instincts. But he wouldn’t swear that he hadn’t let his emotions fog up his reasoning about Melissa. He had to have some proof. Sleep. He’d be willing to pay for it.
* * *
Melissa showered, got ready for bed, slipped on a robe, and knocked on her mother’s door. What kind of marriage was it, she wondered, when the couple didn’t share a room, not to speak of a bed?
Emily Grant opened the door, still dressed as though expecting guests for afternoon tea.
“I hate to disturb you, Mother, but I need to tell you what’s going on with me these days.” She looked around her mother’s
Against All Odds (Arabesque) Page 11
