In the Light of Love

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  Benita was working her Spelman College marketing degree by running a small advertising agency. Her business was growing rapidly and Talisa envied her ability to build something out of absolutely nothing. Free-spirited Mya was her sister-friend most intent on marrying well, believing that the right union would lift her well above her family’s days of food stamps and government housing. Talisa sighed as they giggled beside her, energy flowing from one to the other.

  As they stepped inside the tastefully decorated suite, handing their tickets to the woman at the door, their excitement level rose tenfold. Forty good-looking, well-dressed men turned their attention to the entrance as the women stepped inside. Scanning the room from one corner to the other, Talisa felt as if they’d just experienced sensory overload, one human confection more delectable than the other. Every nerve ending in her body was tingling with anticipation and as Mya pushed her way past them, extending her hand toward three men who stood in conversation in front of the bar, Talisa looked to Leila for support. The woman stared back at her and grinned.

  “Happy birthday, girlfriend.”

  Talisa laughed. “I owe you big-time, my friend.”

  “Just make sure I don’t have to wear pink ruffles at your wedding and we’ll call it even.”

  “Ditto for me,” Benita said before turning to say hello to a man with a linebacker’s build who’d stepped in to greet her.

  Talisa suddenly stood alone and nervous as Leila disappeared into the crowd. She followed the clear path toward the buffet table in the center of the room, a smile pasted on her face as she brushed past one good-looking man after another.

  “Hello, my name’s Charles, Charles Barrow,” a voice said from behind her as she reached for a clean plate and a canapé.

  Talisa turned to stare up into the dark brown eyes of a heavyset, mocha-colored black man. He reached to shake her hand, then gestured to the green-eyed blond beside him. “And, this is Mark Hayes.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you both,” Talisa said, nodding ever so slightly. “My name’s Talisa. Talisa London.”

  “Beautiful name,” the man named Mark said, her hand still caught in his as he held on to the handshake a touch longer than necessary.

  “Thank you.”

  “So what brings you here this evening?” Charles asked.

  Talisa’s grin widened. “It’s my birthday. I thought making a donation to a worthy cause would be a great way to celebrate.”

  The man chuckled. “Ahhh. A woman comfortable with being alone, enjoying her single lifestyle, and not desperate for a man to spend the rest of her life with. A woman here for the larger cause. That’s refreshing,” he said, a wealth of sarcasm tainting his tone.

  Talisa gave him a wry smile. “Yes, it is. It’s also nice to be in the company of men who are interested in supporting those in need and not just needing to inflate their overly excessive egos with what they think will be a quick, one-night booty call on someone else’s dime.”

  The man laughed. “Touché,” he said.

  An awkward silence fell between them as Talisa pushed the food from one side of her plate to the other.

  The man named Mark grinned at the obvious dislike his associate and the stunning woman had taken to one another. “Do you participate in these things often?” he asked politely, making a second attempt at conversation.

  She shook her head. “No, this is my first time. So why are you two participating?”

  Mark shrugged. “I don’t know about my partner here, but I’m desperate for a date.”

  Talisa laughed. “I’m sure it’s not that bad for you.”

  Smiling wryly, the man shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe just how bad it is.”

  “So, what do you do?” Talisa asked, suddenly wishing she’d spent more time studying her auction brochure.

  Mark smiled. “We’re both anchors on Good Morning, Atlanta. Charles does the news and I do the weather. I take it you don’t watch much television.”

  Talisa shook her head, shrugging her shoulders. “Sorry.”

  Charles winced, his feelings clearly bruised by her lack of knowledge about who he was and what he did. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to either of the two standing beside him.

  They all looked toward the door as the lights flashed on and off. The ticket taker was gesturing for their attention. “Excuse me. If I can have your attention, please.” She paused for a quick second, her gaze skating across the faces in the room. “We’re about to start the auction in a few minutes. We’re going to ask our ladies to please return to the ballroom and take your seats so our guests can have a few minutes to get themselves ready. Thank you.”

  Talisa smiled as the duo suddenly appeared anxious. She tossed Mr. Charles Barrow a look that let him know clearly that she had no intentions of pursuing any further time in his company. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Mark,” she said, placing the china and half-eaten canapé onto the tray of a passing waiter. “Good luck this evening. Oh,” she added as an afterthought, “and you, too, Charlie.”

  Charles winked. “Same to you, babe.”

  As Talisa turned toward the door, a tall man standing off in the corner caught her attention. His expression was pensive as he stood alone, knee-deep in thought. From the stern expression, his eyes narrowed to thin slits and his jaw locked hard and tight, the lines chiseled in his face, one could have mistaken his demeanor for brooding. But Talisa sensed that there was something more going on inside the man’s mind, something deeply personal and consuming. His face was familiar and she stopped short in her tracks as she stared blatantly in his direction.

  The good-looking man suddenly jumped as if startled, his gaze locking tightly with hers. He stared at her boldly, appraising every inch of her with obvious appreciation before lifting his mouth in a deep smile, nodding his head slowly in greeting. The silent exchange of eye contact spoke volumes, whispering promises Talisa suddenly found disconcerting. As a wave of recognition swept over her, nervous energy filled the pit of her stomach. She stood frozen, staring intently as the man slowly crossed the carpeted floor in her direction. Turning a quick gaze to the door, Talisa saw Leila and Mya waiting at the entrance, both staring curiously. Benita still stood chatting with the football player on the other side of the room.

  Jericho Becton stopped directly in front of Talisa, smiling warmly. Standing well over six feet tall, he was dressed in an expensive black tuxedo. With his long and lean stature, the formal suit fit him to perfection. His thick hair, the color of black licorice, was pulled into a neat ponytail that hung down his back, stopping just below the line of his shoulder blades. Contrasting nicely against his rich, caramel complexion, his bright white smile washed over her, and Talisa suddenly found herself tongue-tied.

  He extended a well-manicured hand. “Hello, my name’s Jericho Becton. Have we met before? You look very familiar.”

  Talisa smiled back and shook her head, her gaze sweeping over the man’s face. Her name being called pulled at her attention and she glanced from Jericho to Mya and back again. She stammered, searching for her words, lost in the sensation of her small hand lost in the soft, warm palm of his.

  “I…I was just…thinking the same…thing,” she finally managed to say, the room seeming to spin in a slow circle around her.

  The man nodded, his head slowly bobbing up and down against his broad shoulders. “You didn’t look like you were having a good time,” Jericho said, his gaze flitting toward the newscaster and back.

  Talisa smiled, a sweet bend to her mouth that made Jericho suddenly want to kiss the sugar from her lips. The sudden thought sent a chill throughout his body, a quiver of energy that set his nerve endings on fire.

  “You were watching me?” Talisa asked coyly, her own excitement shining brightly from her dark eyes. Her hand was still lost beneath the clasp of his.

  “I couldn’t help myself,” the man answered, his voice dropping into a seductive whisper.

 
Talisa finally pulled the appendage back, dropping her palm to her abdomen. The deep tone of his voice seemed to swallow her whole, her control lost somewhere in the depths of his intense stare. She inhaled a quick breath, willing the oxygen to calm her nerves.

  The woman at the door flicked the lights for a second time, once again directing them back to the ballroom. Jericho nodded, his intoxicating smile still caressing every nerve ending in her body. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Miss…?”

  Talisa’s own head bobbed up and down. “London. Talisa London.”

  Jericho’s gaze brushed warmth over her. Talisa felt as if she were on fire beneath his stare. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss London. I hope we’ll get an opportunity to talk more later.”

  Talisa continued nodding, then turned on her very high heels to catch up with her friends. Behind her, she could feel Jericho still staring, his ocean-blue eyes calling her back to him.

  Back at the table, the four friends were talking over each other, concentrating more on their personal thoughts than each other’s conversations. Talisa flipped quickly through the pages of her catalog, searching for one picture in particular. The photographic image of Dr. Jericho Becton smiled up at her as she read the brief biography about the man who’d captured her total attention just minutes before.

  “He’s a surgeon,” she said, leaning to whisper toward Leila. “He was my surgeon. He operated on my appendix.”

  Her friend shook her head. “And he didn’t remember you?”

  “I don’t want him to remember me!” she exclaimed in a low whisper. “Do you know how bad I looked when they brought me into the emergency room? Besides, he wasn’t supposed to be there. There was another doctor who was supposed to be covering the emergency room but they couldn’t find him. He was the doctor who was filling in.”

  Leila grinned. “So, do you plan to bid on him?”

  Talisa grinned back. “I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

  Her friend nodded her head up and down excitedly. “It is for a good cause. You could use a man.”

  Talisa laughed, the warmth of the vibration causing her to shake in her seat.

  Mya turned to stare curiously. “What are you two whispering about?” she asked, looking from Talisa to Leila.

  “Talisa’s trying to decide whether she should go after a doctor or not. What do you think?”

  “If she doesn’t, I surely will. I’ve got my eye on John the attorney, Bradley the basketball player, and Stephan the general contractor. Any one of them will do quite nicely.”

  Benita rolled her eyes. “Do you have that kind of money?”

  Mya shrugged. “I’ve got Visa, MasterCard, and American Express. One, or the other, or all three of them will buy me a man this night.”

  The group laughed. Their chattering was interrupted by an elegant black woman who approached the microphone at the podium, gesturing for the few persons standing to take a seat. Standing prim and proper in a classic-cut, blue pinstripe suit and a white lace top, she epitomized the mood of the evening. Talisa imagined her to be as old as her own mother was, but her obvious wealth enabled her to wear her age well. This woman lacked the tired stress lines that graced Talisa’s mother’s face. The woman’s Hershey’s dark chocolate complexion was virtually blemish free. Wherein Mary London rarely bothered with manicures and had never had a pedicure, it was obvious that their hostess for the evening probably never missed her weekly appointments. With her dark hair pulled back into a neat French twist, she was sophisticated and beautiful and Talisa couldn’t help herself from wishing that time would serve her at least half as well. She leaned forward in her seat and listened intently as the woman clasped her hands in front of herself and spoke into the microphone.

  “Good evening and welcome to our first ever bachelor auction! My name is Irene Becton and I’m the president of the Center for Women’s Resources. We are absolutely thrilled to welcome you all here tonight. I’m not going to bore you with a long speech about why this evening is so important to the center and the hospital. I know all of you are here because you want to make a difference in someone else’s life. I’m also sure all those handsome, intelligent, sexy men who are standing backstage waiting to walk the runway for you had no influence whatsoever on your decision to be here.” Irene paused and smiled as the audience laughed heartily.

  “So, allow me to say thank you in advance. The donations you make tonight will make a significant impact in a child’s life and your support will make all the difference in the world. So, with no further delay, I’ll turn our program over to our guest auctioneer, local radio personality, Mr. Jarred Nelson. Please, sit back, enjoy, bid, and bid well!”

  Talisa watched as the woman made her way to the rear of the stage and disappeared behind the black velvet curtains. She wondered if the woman was any relation to Jericho—they had the same last name. His mother, perhaps. Her thoughts shifted back to the auction as the lights in the room dimmed ever so slightly and the piano player revved up his tune. A spotlight fell on the tall, mocha-toned, gray-haired man who stood in the space Mrs. Becton had just vacated.

  The maple-syrup timbre of the man’s voice filled the room, sending a chill up the spine of every woman who sat listening as he introduced the first of many men who were scheduled to make an appearance before the evening was over.

  Chapter 4

  Jericho stood against a rear wall of the large ballroom, his arms crossed evenly over his broad chest. He knew the woman from somewhere, but he couldn’t for the life of himself remember where. He’d noticed her the minute she’d walked in, his gaze following her to the buffet table, and watching as she’d engaged in conversation with the two men who’d stood like bookends beside her.

  She was full-figured, a perfectly proportioned beauty who would have easily been labeled voluptuous. The dress she wore had hugged her curves like a second skin and he’d felt his body quiver with intrigue as he’d watched her. From where he’d stood, he thought she embodied the image of the woman the Commodores had sung about on that old song, “Brick House.” The old rap song by Sir Mix-A-Lot, “Baby Got Back,” was just as fitting. Although she was a definite beauty, there was clearly nothing vain about her. Her shoulder-length hair had appeared windblown, soft brown curls billowing around her oval-shaped face. Her makeup was simple at best, just a coat of lipstick across her mouth and a touch of eyeliner beneath her eyes. Not an ounce of foundation touched her clear, copper complexion. And there had been something in her eyes when her gaze had met his that had reduced him to a weak mass, spinning heat from one end of his body to the other. His thoughts were still on the woman he’d just met when his mother came up beside him, slipping her arm beneath his.

  “Nervous?” Irene asked, leaning to kiss her son’s cheek.

  Jericho shrugged, pushing his shoulders skyward. “Not really. Just ready for this to be over.”

  “You need to relax and have some fun,” the woman said smiling. “There are some beautiful, intelligent women out there.”

  Jericho shrugged again. “Did you get to meet any of the women at the reception?” he asked, his gaze meeting hers evenly.

  “No, dear. I was too busy down here. How did it go?”

  “There was one woman I met briefly. Her name was Talisa London. She looked very familiar.”

  Irene’s expression was pensive as she mulled the name over in her mind. She shook her head from side to side. “Sorry, baby. It doesn’t ring a bell. Could you know this woman from the hospital?”

  “I don’t know. I recognize her from somewhere though.”

  His mother nodded. “Well, don’t let it bother you. The minute you stop thinking about it the answer will come.” She reached to adjust her son’s bow tie. “You look quite dashing.”

  Jericho chuckled. “Thank you.”

  “Do me proud,” she said, giving him a pat on the back as the event coordinator called him to get in line to await his turn.

  Jericho grimaced, heaving a deep sigh as he
stepped toward the front curtains.

  Behind him, his mother called out his name.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Good luck, baby.”

  The emcee had rolled Jericho’s name off his tongue with relative ease, the sound of it calling for her attention as Talisa shifted forward in her seat. As Jericho stood at the end of the runway, waiting to walk the length of floor ahead of him, she could feel her heart skip a beat. She clutched the bid paddle tighter in her hands.

  “Dr. Jericho Becton, the only son of our gracious host this evening, is a graduate of Duke University’s medical school. He completed his surgical internship at Atlanta’s Children’s Hospital, and is currently in private practice with his father and mentor, Dr. Elijah Becton. Jericho is an avid sportsman. He loves to scuba dive in Bermuda, rock climb in the Grand Canyon, ski the slopes in Aspen, and hike the Georgia Mountains. His ideal woman is just as adventurous, intensely family-oriented, and fiercely independent.

  “The lucky bidder will enjoy Dr. Becton’s company at the VisionarieSpa here in Atlanta as they get to know each other over luxurious mango body massages and strawberry facials.” The man laughed. “Sounds like a lot of dessert before the meal to me,” he chuckled before continuing. “Some lucky lady and the good doctor here will end the evening at one of his favorite restaurants, Paschal’s, where they’ll enjoy home cooking to rival that of my very own mother’s. So, brush off those credit cards ladies ’cause our lucky bidder is sure to enjoy a good time with this fine young man. I’m going to start the bidding at one hundred dollars.”

  Talisa could feel herself beginning to perspire as she stared up at Jericho. Tiny beads of moisture were forming in the valley between her breasts and she fanned herself ever so slightly, fearful that she might break out into a full sweat. The man’s gaze sought her out as he sauntered slowly to the end of the runway. When he located her, he smiled seductively in her direction, an easy bend of his lips that deepened the crevice of his dimples and it was as if he’d lit a fire beneath her, causing her to melt like butter against her seat.