Not Even if You Begged

by Francis Ray

  “I’m glad.” He wore happiness well.

  He caught her free hand, twirling her around in a circle, then back into his strong arms. He stared down into her face, inches from his.

  She wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly his hot mouth was on her, igniting the passion of the day before. As before she had no time to gather her defenses against the onslaught of desire. Whatever his faults, the man could kiss. Her toes actually curled in her thick socks.

  Her eyes flew wide and she pushed out of his arms. She’d bet none of the other women he’d dated had worn socks, a black “Eat Dirt” T-shirt, and faded blue jeans.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked.

  “I …” She couldn’t think of a lie when he was watching her with such hunger, the same hunger she knew was building within her.

  “You think too much.” He handed her the flowers she’d dropped, then grabbed her free hand and kissed her knuckles. “On second thought, why don’t I go get takeout and we can stay in and neck.”

  “I thought you were mad at me,” she said, trying to clear her brain so she could think. This was not supposed to be happening. “I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

  “I’d say the kiss yesterday changed things,” he said, nibbling on her fingertips.

  It had, but she wasn’t willing to take the risk Ryan presented. The fact that she allowed him inside her house after promising herself she wouldn’t was proof enough. She started to withdraw her hands.

  His hands tightened. “No. You’re thinking again.”

  “That’s what keeps me out of trouble,” she confessed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already figured out the effect he had on her.

  “I’m not out to play games with you, Traci.” His thumb grazed across the top of her hand, sending shivers through her. “I’d planned to give you a few days to get over being upset with me—rightly so,” he hastened to add when her eyebrows lifted, then he continued. “I wasn’t going to give up.”

  “I don’t like being lied to.”

  “I get that and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” he told her.

  “If it does, I’m walking. No second chances,” she said, realizing as she said it what it meant.

  Apparently Ryan understood as well. He released her hand and circled her waist with his arms, meshing their bodies from breasts to thighs. “Fair enough.”

  Standing this way with him shouldn’t feel so good, so right. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first,” she confessed. If she wanted honesty, she had to give it as well. “I wanted to believe the worst about you.”

  “I don’t need two guesses to figure out why. You don’t know what it did to me when you believed her,” he said, his eyes troubled. “But to be fair, we hadn’t developed our relationship enough for you to believe in me. I’d like to change that. Starting tonight.”

  This was her last chance to make a run for it. He kissed her on the forehead and running became the furthest thing from her mind. “How about pot roast instead of takeout?”

  “Lead the way.”

  Ryan followed Traci into her kitchen, which was obviously designed for someone who liked to cook, but who also liked style and elegance. There was crown molding, heavily carved doors of dark stained oak, inserts of granite in the cabinetry, large canisters of pasta and grains and a huge bowl of fruit on the island, which boasted its own sink. The floor was marble. Ryan could see a family entertaining here or a large party. As far as he knew, Traci didn’t entertain.

  Traci lifted the glass top of a Crock-Pot and poked whatever was inside with a fork. This was a lot of space for one woman. Under any other circumstances he would say the owner was trying to impress others. Yet, from what he’d observed and what his mother had told him, she wasn’t the type.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  Replacing the lid, she arched a brow. “You don’t look like the domestic type.”

  He laughed and crossed the room to kiss her on the lips for the sheer pleasure of it. “Mother loved Dad and me, so neither one of us is helpless in the kitchen.”

  “Smart woman,” she said, her voice just the tiniest bit unsteady. “The two drawers at the end have place mats and flatware.”

  “I’m on it.” Reluctantly, he moved away.

  Traci popped several rolls into the microwave. “Glasses in the third cabinet. Tea in the fridge, if that’s all right.”

  “Tea is fine.” Finished with the place settings, he filled the glasses with ice from the dispenser in the refrigerator and placed them on the table.

  Traci placed their plates on the dark chocolate linen place mats. “I’ll bet you weren’t always this agreeable to helping out in the kitchen.”

  Ryan returned to the table with the pitcher of tea and filled their glasses. “Nope. I complained, but since I liked my head where it was, I did it out of hearing range.”

  Traci laughed. “The salad is on the bottom shelf. I’ll get the rolls and salad plates. When did it hit you that she might have been right?”

  “My first year in medical school when I lived in an apartment.” Putting the green salad on the table, he pulled out her chair for her, then took his own seat. “Time became a precious commodity. I didn’t want to waste it standing in line to order food or wait for them to prepare it.”

  Traci said grace and handed him the bread basket. “You mean you couldn’t find someone willing to feed you?”

  Traci might have said the words playfully, but Ryan knew better. She thought he was a player. “Not my style to use a woman just to cook for me.” He served her the salad. “The first year of medical school was pretty intense. For that matter, so was the second and third. I didn’t really get to know Dallas until my internship.”

  Traci sat back in her chair. “I went to SMU Law School.”

  “What year?”

  “Ninety-one to ninety-four,” she answered, her fork poised over her salad.

  Ryan shook his head. “I guess I should have gotten out more. I was there then. That’s twice we could have met.”

  “You probably wouldn’t have noticed me.” She picked up a bit of lettuce.

  Ryan placed his hand on her free one. “I noticed you the first time I saw you. I don’t mind telling you, you kept me up that night with some pretty wild fantasies.”

  Traci glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes. “Well, I guess I can confess that you did the same to me.”

  He grinned, then finished his salad and cut into his beef. “You could have surprised me. I couldn’t tell if you liked me or wanted my head on a spit.”

  She made a face. “Both. I didn’t want to like you.”

  “Because you thought I was a player?” he asked.

  “Something like that,” she said. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  Since Traci wasn’t the shy type, he knew there was more to it than that. He’d probe later. Now he was just glad she had let down her guard enough to give him a chance. “Good thing I’m persistent.” He winked at her. “This is great. Did your mother teach you how to cook?”

  Her shoulders jerked, then she went as still as a wall. “My grandfather.”

  There was more to it than that. There were more layers to Traci than he’d suspected. Instead of eating, she was moving food around on her plate. He couldn’t have that. “He did a great job. By the way, are we all set for the party?”

  “Yes.” She finally looked at him. “I took the liberty of hiring a caterer, one Maureen has used and been very pleased with. They’ll take care of the food, flowers, everything. All we have to do is send out the invitations and keep Maureen in the dark.”

  “You’re good at this.” His plate empty, he reached for his sweetened iced tea, glad to see that she was eating again.

  “I enjoyed doing it,” she told him. “I ran our plans by the Invincibles and they all like the ideas we came up with. They’re bringing party favors, but want to keep it a secret.”

  Ryan paused in placing his glass on the table. “Do
you think that’s wise? They can get pretty risqué at times. I shudder to think about what went on in Vegas.”

  “Look at it this way, you didn’t have to get us out of jail,” Traci said, her eyes twinkling.

  “But I can still picture what happened when I picked all of you up at the airport and saw Ophelia’s face when she was dragging things out of her overnight case looking for her medicine and a man’s black thong fell out.” He ground his teeth. “Mother threw her big purse on it, you yelled rat, and all of you broke into giggles.”

  Traci’s lips twitched. “What’s happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

  “All I can say is that I’m glad we were in the parking lot of the airport and not in the terminal.” He braced his arms on the table. “Are you up for another project?”

  “Depends.” Picking up their plates, she went to the sink.

  Ryan hadn’t expected it to be easy. Traci was a cautious woman. He followed her with their glasses and salad plates. “We’re trying to raise money for baby supplies and, if we have enough, money for the mothers to go to trade school or junior college. Sadly, too many of my clients aren’t ready for motherhood emotionally or financially.”

  Rinsing the plates and glasses, Traci put them in the dishwasher. “All babies and children should know that they’re loved.”

  The sadness in her voice tugged at his heart. He brushed the back of his hand down her cheek. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t always happen.”

  She turned from the sink. “What do you want me to do?”

  “For a man who’s been thinking about you for several months, that’s a loaded question,” he told her, half in jest, half serious.

  She blinked, then smiled seductively at him. “Let’s just stick with the clinic for the moment.”

  “Pity,” he answered, then said, “You know PR and a lot of successful people. Perhaps you can work with the clinic manager and come up with a fund-raising plan. You can drop by the clinic this week and meet her.”

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  “Good.” Ryan placed his hands on the double sink, blocking her in. “Now that that’s settled, it’s my turn to tell you what you can do for me.” Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, then gently bit the lobe. When he leaned back to see her face, she looked intrigued.

  C h a p t e r

  11

  “I have a surprise for you, Jason,” Maureen said.

  Jason’s brown eyes widened with suspicion. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, where he kept them most of the time. Maureen didn’t know if that was his usual habit or if he didn’t want to be accused of stealing anything.

  Maureen lifted the oblong-shaped wooden box, which was wrapped in an artist’s rendition of a street scene in Paris and tied with a red bow. “Come on. Take it. It won’t bite.”

  His hands curled around the package. He looked from her to the gift.

  “Please open it.” Maureen linked her fingers, hoping she’d guessed right.

  Slowly he slipped the elastic bow aside, then turned the package over and began working on the top. Ryan had always torn into his packages at that age. It was almost as if Jason were savoring the experience.

  Head down, he began to pull the paper back, got to the middle where he could see the art set, and stopped. His hand ran over the wooden case, then fisted. Surging to his feet, he laid it on her desk. “I don’t want it.”

  “Do you mind telling me why?” she asked, displaying none of the disappointment she felt.

  “What would I do with it?” His hands went into his pockets again. “Henrietta said I shouldn’t stay long.”

  Against the odds, Henrietta and Jason were getting along. She knew a lot about antiques and Jason, like Avery, was willing to learn and share her passion. “I saw the drawings you did in your notebook. You have talent. And talent should never be wasted.”

  “A black man can make a living painting, but not on a canvas,” he tossed out.

  Maureen could almost hear the words being carelessly tossed at him. “If you believe that, then why do you still sketch?”

  “To pass time. Social studies is boring and there’s nothing to do at home,” he told her. “I’m probably the only kid on the block without an X-Box or his own TV.”

  “Ryan, my son, said the same thing to me when he didn’t have an Atari video game. He lived through it and is now a doctor.” She smiled. “I like to think he turned out all right without it.”

  “You’re rich. He was set for life,” Jason sneered. “He didn’t have to worry about paying his way.”

  “We’re well off, but that wouldn’t have gotten him through years of studying to get where he is today,” Maureen said patiently. “His grades, determination, and hard work did that. Nothing was given to him. I’m proud that he worked to make his own way in the world.”

  “Saying I’m not?”

  Patience, Maureen reminded herself. “I’m saying that dreams are possible. No idea was ever manifested without them. Come with me.” She went into the main store.

  “This was a dream. The past is a gateway to the future.” She rubbed her hand over a one-hundred-year-old chest. “Imagine what was stored in here. Perhaps cherished heirlooms, a wedding gown, christening clothes. The past makes us who we are. In Forever Yours I offer treasures from the past at a price that will make the buyer and me happy. I’m able to see that another piece of history isn’t lost, but cherished.”

  “Yeah, right. Are we finished?”

  So he was a tough sell. “As soon as I answer your question.” He frowned as if trying to remember what question. Maureen opened the front door. “Henrietta, we’ll be back shortly.”

  “It’s your time to waste,” he said, following her outside.

  Maureen’s brows arched as she closed the door behind them. “I’d forgotten how difficult teenagers can be.” She didn’t expect a response and got none. Seeing a break in the traffic, she crossed the busy street and opened the door to a bookstore and art gallery.

  Jason balked. “I can’t go in there.”

  Maureen tensed. “You didn’t—”

  “No,” he said, his lips pressed together tightly. “The prune-faced guy in there thought I was going to steal because I never bought anything. Said I was bad for business.”

  “So you came into my store.”

  He shrugged carelessly. “You weren’t my first choice.”

  Teenagers, had a group ever been so glib? “Then you already know that black artists are commanding high prices for their work.” She moved to stare through the plateglass window to view a painting on a wooden easel out of the direct sun. “That Frazier painting is priced at five thousand. I know because I’m considering purchasing it for my art collection.”

  His hands came out of his pockets. “You have an art collection!”

  Finally, she saw an interest in his eyes. “An extensive one.”

  “Ah …”

  “Yes?” she said when he didn’t say anything further.

  “Maybe I could see it sometime,” he said, trying to appear as if it didn’t matter in the least.

  “I think that can be arranged. Now, let’s get back to the store.” She crossed the street with him beside her. “I want those packages ready for shipment.”

  He opened the door for her. “When do you think we could go?”

  Maureen recalled Ryan’s enthusiasm when a family friend, the man who had delivered him, became his mentor. Minutes were like days, weeks. “Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I’m going to watch Lieutenant Dunlap’s team play.”

  “The po po?”

  She stopped in her tracks. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Po po. The policeman.”

  “I see.” She continued. “Yes, Simon is a policeman. I told him I’d drop by.”

  “You’re busy. I get it.”

  Maureen stepped on the sidewalk. Probably not very many people had put what he wanted first. “Want to join me? We can grab a pizza afterward.”

  “Sur
e. I don’t have anything better to do.” Jason opened the front door to the store.

  Maureen lifted her face to the sky and pressed her hands together beneath her chin. “Please.”

  “What are you doing?” Jason asked.

  She lowered her hands and stated at him. “Asking for patience not to box your ears,” she said, then the insidious heat moved over her. Fanning with both hands, she hurried into the store for the fan. She turned in circles, looking for where she might have left it.

  “Here it is.” Jason held out the paper fan. “You left it on the English library tub chair you showed to the last customer.”

  Grabbing the fan, she swept it back and forth, blowing out a breath as she did so. “Thank you.”

  “You … you aren’t sick, are you?” he asked with genuine concern.

  She was touched. “No.”

  He watched her closely in that serious way of his. “Do you want me to grab you a bottle of water from the fridge?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Be right back.” He took off.

  Henrietta came up to Maureen and pulled the switch of the ceiling fan overhead. “Decide how you’re going to handle them?”

  Maureen fanned faster. She didn’t want to take hormones, but she wasn’t sure about herbal therapy either. “No.”

  “Here.” Jason unscrewed the cap and handed it to her, waiting until she’d taken several swallows. “Did that help?”

  “Yes.” Maureen replaced the cap. “Thank you. Now, we’d better get to work. We have a game to go to tonight.” She just hoped she didn’t have to deal with the hot flashes then.

  “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Elisa, please calm down and listen,” her father told her. He was in charge of over a thousand people, yet he couldn’t control or help his daughter. She was beautiful with an unlined oval face, impeccably dressed in a gray-and-black designer suit, had finished fourth in her class, yet … “Dr. Gilmore threatened legal action. You can’t afford that after the last incident.”

  “I told you that wasn’t my fault,” Elisa yelled as she paced in her father’s study. The large masculine room had breakfront bookcases on all the walls. The floor was polished hardwood. Ten-foot windows with Roman shades flanked the desk. The room was masculine and comfortable.