by Francis Ray
Zachary shifted the bags to one hand. He curved the other around her shoulder and led her back into the kitchen. “I didn—t think they—d take it very well.”
Madison took a carton of yogurt out of the refrigerator and sat with Manda at the kitchen table. “They reminded me of the way I—d reacted when I found out about Manda.”
“I highly doubt that,” he said, shredding the clear wrapping on a circular-shaped rubber teething ring. “I—m sure they—re worried about what this will do to the public—s perfect image of Wes.” He shook his head in disgust. “Forget them.” Holding the teething ring beneath the running hot water, he nodded toward the yogurt Madison was feeding Manda. “You starting to give her yogurt?”
“The nurse suggested it,” she said, her voice distracted.
He frowned and cut off the water. He didn—t like the way Madison sounded. And as soon as Manda was feeling better and asleep for the night, he and Madison were going to have a serious conversation.
Camille chose her dress with care. Antoine—s was a very exclusive restaurant. She—d been there dozens of time, but tonight was different. She knew it was because of the man sitting across from her.
Gordon—s salt-and-pepper hair gleamed in the soft glow of the crystal chandelier. His black suit fit his elegant build perfectly. She didn—t need the pinot noir to make her feel light-headed, Gordon had already accomplished that.
“Tell me about your ex-husband.”
The mellow feeling evaporated. Camille set her wineglass down.
“That bad?”
She simply stared at him.
“My wife and I were married five years when she was diagnosed with uterine cancer. Six months later she was gone. We had twins, Adrian and Adair, a boy and girl. They—re college sophomores and doing a summer internship at a newspaper in Austin.”
“You and your wife were probably very happy.”
“We were.”
“Congratulations,” she said, appalled at the tinge of bitterness in her voice. “I—m sorry. Maybe this was a mistake.”
“We—ve already discussed that.” Gordon cut into his bloodred prime rib. “Do you like to dance?”
“Do you always shift topics so quickly?” she asked.
“When necessary.” He nodded toward her barely touched fillet of sole. “Not to your liking? I—ll get the waiter.”
She picked up her fork when he started to lift his hand. “Don—t even think it. Howard would have a conniption fit if he heard you.”
“The chef?”
“And owner.” She took a bite, savored. “Delicious.” She looked up to see Gordon watching her. Her breath snagged.
“I—m looking forward to finding out for myself before the night is over just how delicious.”
He wasn—t talking about food. The heat in his black eyes told her as much. “I think we—ve also discussed that self-assurance of yours.”
“A black man who doesn—t have self-assurance won—t get very far in the corporate world,” he told her.
He had her there. “Was the climb bumpy?”
“You jumped on that one, didn—t you?” he replied. At her innocent look, he smiled. “From day one. I come from a family of seven children.” His smile broadened at the astonishment in her eyes. “That many in a family teaches you early how to stick up for yourself. Daddy left after I was born. Mama worked hard to get us through high school. Two of us made it through college. Mama cried through the entire ceremony.”
“It must be wonderful, knowing you haven—t disappointed your parents.” Wistfulness entered her voice.
He reached out and placed his hand on top of hers. “I think you may be judging your mother too harshly. It—s obvious to anyone who sees the two of you together for five seconds that she loves you.”
“Love and pride are two different things.” She pulled her hand back. “I—d like to leave now.”
Gordon felt her putting up a wall. He wasn—t about to let that happen. He—d give her space for now, but later … “Certainly.” He signaled their waiter.
Camille—s thoughts were chaotic as Gordon drove her home. He was doing what she asked. Why wasn—t she happy about it? Silly question—and one she knew the answer to. She wanted to be with him. Somehow she wanted him to care enough not to let her walk away. She rubbed her head.
“Headache?”
“No.” She moistened her lips.
Gordon turned into the drive of her gated complex, stopped at the manned gatehouse, then drove on. Soon he—d be at her house and out of her life. She just wished she could be as happy about it as she had thought she would be.
Parking the Infiniti, Gordon came around, opened Camille—s door, and lightly took her arm. For once she found her key immediately and opened her door. This was it, she thought, and turned. “Thanks fo—”
His mouth descended on hers. The shock of his lips, then the pleasure, zipped through her. Her arms went around his neck, pulling him closer. sinking into the kiss and into him. She wasn—t aware of him backing her into her condo, of him closing the door.
When he lifted his head, their labored breathing was harsh in the room lit only by a gracefully curved iron lamp on the end table. “Did you think I—d let you walk away from me?”
Sharp teeth nipped her lip, then suckled. Camille—s insides quivered. “Did you?” he repeated.
Her dazed eyes focused on him. “I—I guess I hoped not.”
His lips took hers again, hot and demanding, drawing her into him, taking her deep, faster than a kiss had ever done before. She had no will nor did she want any. She simply followed where he and the pleasure led.
His hands framed her face and waited until her thick lashes lifted. “I want you, but I—m willing to wait. It—s just not a night that I want. Do you understand?”
With her body clamoring for his hands and mouth, it was difficult to concentrate. She hadn—t known she could want like this. She tried to kiss him and he pulled his head back.
“I want more.”
The haze cleared. She stared at him. “More?”
“I—ve never been a hit-and-run kind of guy. Since Karen died, there have been few women in my life.”
She backed up. Swallowed. The butterflies in her stomach turned to lead. “I—I think you better define ‘more.— “
Gordon saw the panic in her face and made a quick adjustment in what he had been about to say. “I—m rather old-fashioned. I believe in one woman, one man, at one time.”
Her eyes snapped. “You think I sleep around?”
“If I thought that, I wouldn—t be standing here,” he said. “Why do you always believe that I think the worst about you?” Something flickered in her eyes. His voice gentled. “Is that what he thought?”
Evading his hand, she turned on another lamp. Bright light flooded the room done almost entirely in white with splashes of red and yellow in the side chair and pillows. A mustard pot of sunflowers and a bowl of apples and pears in a metal centerpiece sat on the wooden coffee table. “You—d better go.”
“Not if the entire Dallas Police Department—s SWAT team came.” He went to stand in front of her. “Talk to me.”
She folded her arms. “Why should I?”
“Because, in spite of everything we have going against us, there—s a connection between us.”
Her chin lifted. “Hormones.”
His hands gently closed around her upper arm, felt her tremble, heard her breath hitch. “How many ‘hormonal— feelings like this have you felt in the last year?”
She wanted to lie, considered, then felt the erratic thump of her heart. “None.”
The tension building in him eased. “I see you and I forget you—re probably twenty years younger than I am.” His eyes narrowed. “How old arc you, anyway?”
Since it was the first time she had seen Gordon the slightest bit exasperated, she enjoyed the moment. “Thirty-four.”
He groaned. “Make that twenty-three years.”
S
he chuckled. Something she hadn—t done with a man in a long time. Gordon might irritate, but he interested her as few men had. Plus, there was no denying the sexual pull between them. “Then maybe we won—t have to worry about other things.”
“Wanna bet?”
The sharp glitter in his eyes had her body quivering. The only thing she—d bet was that he didn—t take Viagra.
“So how do you feel about dating an older man?”
She answered honestly. “I don—t think of you as older when I look at you.” She wrinkled her mouth. “You certainly don—t kiss like one.”
His teeth flashed in a satisfied grin. He braced his hands on her hips. “That—s because you inspire me.”
His words curled through her like mulled wine. “You—re rather inspiring, yourself.”
“Why don—t we inspire each other?” His mouth took hers again, this time gentle and slow, as if they had all the time in the world to sample the taste and textures of each other. His hands moved down to her hips, softly kneading as his mouth played and savored her, learning what she liked and what excited her.
“Can I see you tomorrow night?”
“I—m leaving tomorrow for a conference in Houston for four days,” she said, her disappointment obvious.
His fingers massaged the small of her back. “What time do you leave and get back?”
“My plane leaves from Love Field at one tomorrow afternoon and I arrive back Wednesday at six P.M.” Her fingertips stroked his chest through his cotton shirt. They itched to touch bare skin.
“How about I take you, then pick you up, and then we can have a late dinner?— His mind was already formulating the dinner and what would happen afterwards.
Camille read his thoughts as accurately as if had spoken the words out loud. “Pick me up at eleven-thirty.”
“I low about ten, and we can have champagne brunch at Antares?” Now that he knew what he wanted, he wanted to see her every possible chance he got.
Her body melted against the hard line of his body a bit more. “I—d like that.” Her replay came out a bit breathless.
“I—ll see you at ten.” After another soul-stirring kiss Gordon made himself release her and walk to the door. “Good night, Camille.”
“Good night, Gordon, and thanks for a wonderful evening.”
“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you.”
Camille blushed, something she thought she had outgrown, and was very pleased to find she hadn—t. The knowing grin on Gordon—s face pleased her even more. Locking the door, she went to her room to start packing.
“Zachary, it—s after one,” Madison whispered. “You should go home.”
“Not until I—m sure she—s down for the night, he whispered back as he stared down at Manda asleep in her crib. The room lay in soft shadows. The only light in the room came from the unicorn nightlight. “You grab some sleep. I—ll watch her.”
Madison sighed. Stubborn, wonderful man. She didn—t know what she would have done over the past hours without him. She understood a little of what Little Thomas—s mother was talking about. After a while a sixteen-pound baby made your arms ache. But when she neared that point, Za-eharv was there to take Manda, to sing to her in an off-key voice she hadn—t seemed to mind, to read to her from her new books. He was a man a woman could count on.
“Since you—re too big to toss out, at least go sit in the love seat and prop your feet on the hassock.”
“I—m fine,” he said without looking up.
“Zachary, she—s all right. She—s not running a fever. She took her bottle and she hasn—t moved in thirty minutes.”
“We thought that the last time.”
He had her there. He had been about to leave around eleven when Manila woke up in her crib and let them know she wasn—t happy about this teething business. “And they call mothers overprotective,” she muttered.
He finally looked up. She couldn—t see his eyes clearly, but she heard the concern in his voice. “I just don—t want her to wake up thinking that she—s all alone.*—
His sincerity touched her. She rested her hand on his tense shoulder. “She has us, her great-aunt, and my family. She has people who care,” she said. “She—d have her grandparents if I—d handled things belter. They may not ever accept her.”
Pulling her hand away, she went to take a seat on the love seat near the French doors. She picked up a pillow that echoed the rose wallpaper and the drapes on the half-canopy bed and hugged it to her chest.
Zachary didn—t care about the hurt feelings of A.J. or Vanessa. He did care about Madison—s. Adjusting the thermal blanket on Manda, he took a seat beside Madison, taking care that their bodies didn—t touch. “Tell me what happened.”
Gathering the pillow closer, she did, and ended by saying, “I—m still not sure if I told them because I wanted to show them that Wes wasn—t the perfect man they thought or to let them know Manda was their grandchild.”
“Would it be so bad if you did want to show Wes up?”
Her dark head whipped around. “That would be mean,”
“So you were mean.” Callused hands settled on her hunched shoulders and turned her toward him, “You—re human.”
She was silent for a long while. There was something that had been nagging her. “Did … Did Wes ever say to you that I tried to hold him back? That [ was jealous?”
He seriously considered lying. After all, what was one more lie, especially when the truth would hurt. He couldn—t. She had been lied to enough. “You made more money than Wes, had more popularity. For a man like Wes, who had always been at the top, it was hard to take at times.”
“So his mother told the truth,” she said in a choked whisper.
His callused fingers flexed on her bare arm. “Wes was never a patient person. He never had to be. What he wanted, his parents got him. His charms and intelligence got the rest. He admired you, was proud of your accomplishments, but was anxious to make his own mark, be recognized for his own accomplishments.”
“She mentioned divorce. Did he say he wanted to divorce me? Was he going to marry Manda—s mother?”
“He never mentioned divorce, Madison. He might not have liked standing in your shadow, but his popularity was linked to yours.”
Feeling foolish and gullible, she glanced away. “So he used both of us to get what he wanted and I let him.” Her voice was tinged with weariness.
Zachary saw her slumped shoulders and did what he had wanted to do since he—d arrived; he pulled her into his arms. “It—s over, Madison.”
She leaned closer into the shelter of his embrace, listened to the comforting beat of his heart. “A.J. said his fraternity is establishing a scholarship at Wes—s high school.”
“Wes told me a lot of times that he wished he—d sec more black faces in journalism.”
It hit her all at once. She twisted until she could stare up into Zachary—s face. “You were behind his fraternity starting the scholarship fund, weren—t you?”
“Doesn—t matter who started it, just that it gets done.”
Simple answer from a complex man. Wes—s parents disliked Zachary intensely. He didn—t seem particularly fond of them, either. Yet he had gone to great measures to ensure that neither Wes nor his dream would be forgotten. She settled back against his wide chest, snuggling to get more comfortable. “I—ll contact his boss and mine. I—m sure they—d like to contribute and get the word out.”
His hand rubbed up and down her arm. “Like I said, you—re quite a woman.”
She yawned and placed her feet on the hassock.
“Go to sleep,” he murmured into her hair.
“If you—re staying up, then so am I.— She yawned again. “How was work today?”
Her breath heated his skin where his shirt was open. “Fine.”
She angled her head up to ask him another question and discovered their lips were a sigh apart. They froze. Their breaths mingled. A sweet yearning coursed through her. Without thoug
ht she moved closer. Their lips met with the gossamer touch of butterfly wings. The kiss gradually deepened by slow, aching degrees. Their tongues stroked, feasted, mated.
Pleasure curled through her, tempting her, luring her. She wanted to get closer. No, she had to. She twisted her body more fully toward his, her leg shifting … and froze. His hard arousal pulsed against her thigh. Her eyes popped open. She scrambled to her feet.
“I—I—m sorry … I didn—t—You—ll be more comfortable by yourself.” Shaken, embarrassed, Madison hurried to the bathroom. Closing the door, she leaned against it. Her breathing was erratic, her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She pressed trembling fingers against her moist, kiss-swollen lips and all she could think of was that she—d never felt more alive or more frightened in her life.
What was she doing? What must he think of her? Going to the sink she splashed cold water on her face. It did nothing to cool the fires in her blood. She was deeply attracted to Zachary. Wanted him. But how could she, so soon after her husband—s death? And just what kind of woman did that make her?
Zachary sat on the side of the love seat, his fists clenched. He wanted Madison like hell burning. It took all his control not to kick the bathroom door down and take her. She—d been so sweet, so responsive. He hadn—t dared let himself hope. And she had run from him. His head fell forward in regret and despair. He hadn—t wanted that.
He should have known what might happen if she got too close. The last thing he wanted was for her to be wary of him.
The door finally opened. The light was out in the bathroom. He could only make out the faint outline of her body as she moved across the room and climbed into bed. She didn—t say anything and he didn—t know what he could say. All he knew was that their relationship had changed, and not for the better.
TWENTY-FIVE
ZACHARY HADN—T EXPECTED TO get much sleep and he hadn—t. He was too conscious of Madison several feet away, the whisper of bedcovers as she tossed restlessly during the night. He was awake when the first orange-yellow streak of gold lit the day. When Manda finally roused, he was there to lift her out of the crib by the time she had pulled her knees under her.
