by Francis Ray
With a last, longing look at the curtained door, he started home. Served him right.
But he couldn’t help wondering how he was going to face his meat loaf again. There wasn’t enough sauce in the world to disguise the bland-tasting concoction he’d stirred together two days before. Grimacing, he tried to remember if he had eaten the last of the warmed up chili Friday night.
Chapter Two
Trent was on his porch sipping coffee early the next morning when Dominique sprinted by, her long, sleek legs quickly taking her away from him. Today she wore a red and white nylon short set. A loosely woven braid as thick as his fist and as shiny and black as a raven’s wing hung down her slim back.
Without breaking her measured stride she started up the sharp incline of the street. Her movements were graceful, effortless, and in perfect harmony.
He grunted. That was more than he could say for himself. He had had a restless night and this morning didn’t seem to be any better.
He hadn’t nicked himself shaving or stubbed his toe on the corner of his dresser in years. This morning he had been so preoccupied with thoughts about Dominique he had done both.
What was it about the woman that annoyed and excited him at the same time? Whatever it was, he had better find the answer and quick. Friends, good friends like Janice, were too hard to come by.
Stepping off the porch, he dashed the bitter, three day old coffee into the grass. It was time to eat some humble pie.
He rapped once on Janice’s kitchen back door.
“Come on in, Trent,” Janice called.
Opening the half-glass door, he walked inside. Janice, her back to him, was at the stove stirring something. Eggs, he guessed. The rich smell of coffee and bacon had him salivating. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
Sliding the contents of the skillet into a plate, she picked up the slate blue stoneware and placed it on the table. “I knew you would be. Sit down and eat, since you missed your steak last night.”
Trent thought longingly of the steak he could have eaten instead of the burnt chili he’d tried to reheat, then pulled out a caneback chair and reached for a fork. Eggs and crisp bacon filled the plate. He almost licked his lips.
His blessing was quick. The second he opened his eyes, he reached for a fluffy biscuit.
“Tsk, Tsk. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my cooking brought you over here this morning with your hat in your hand instead of decency.”
He had the grace to flush. “I’d like to think it’s more of the latter than the former, but you are the best cook in Texas.”
“Humph,” Janice said. Picking up his cup, she filled it with freshly brewed coffee. “You might be able to get by me with flattery, but Dominique is another matter. She’ll try for my sake, but if you blow it the next time this might be the last of my cooking you’re going to get for a while.”
“If any man knows the value of a second chance, I do,” Trent said with feeling. His life had always been that way—a series of events that at first looked bleak, then eventually worked in his favor.
Initially all he had understood growing up in the foster home was that his mother hadn’t wanted him. It had taken years of counseling for him to see that perhaps leaving him warm, clean, and dry in a hospital bathroom was the best she could do for him.
The note—Keep him safe. I can’t. Tell him I loved him, I did, but he won’t remember.—and a new, blue baby blanket were the only legacies his mother had left him. She had never been found. The authorities suspected she was in an abusive situation, and might have feared for his life.
The social worker and others had helped him realize that he could be bitter and angry, or he could take every opportunity that came his way and make a place for himself in a sometimes harsh, cruel world. It wasn’t easy, but he had succeeded.
Janice pulled out a chair and sat down. “Believe it or not, Dominique is looking for her chance, too.”
Trent stopped eating. It had struck him odd last evening and then now, that a caring, nurturing person like Janice had never mentioned a goddaughter she was obviously very fond of. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”
“No, and that’s all I’m going to say.”
He studied the stubborn set of Janice’s chin and knew he wasn’t going to get anything else out of her. His gut instinct warned him to leave it alone. He had his hands full running his business. He couldn’t save the world. He’d tried.
He went back to eating his breakfast, but not with as much enjoyment. The thought of Dominique being in trouble was oddly disquieting.
* * *
Trent was waiting for Dominique when she returned thirty minutes later. Although he had tried, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from trying to figure out what her story was, and why Janice had never mentioned her.
He was too up front and honest for secrets. But he respected people’s privacy. And he readily admitted to himself that if Dominique didn’t bother him in a purely masculine way he wouldn’t have given the matter a second thought.
So basically the problem was his, not theirs. There was never a problem in life that he hadn’t been able to work through, and he didn’t see Dominique Everette as any different. He’d just wait until she finished her cooling down regimen. Then he’d go over, apologize, and get back to his peaceful life.
The first part of his plan was going smoothly until she started bending over, touching her toes. The red nylon shorts lifted and clung to her nicely rounded hips, and all his good intentions of ignoring his utterly sensual new neighbor slipped away.
Instead, he remembered one of the treats he liked best at the foster home was peppermint sticks at Christmas. Most of the other kids got tired of sucking on theirs and started biting.
Not Trent. He knew how to savor his all day long with long, slow licks. Up and down, up and down. Down one side, and then down the other. He had the best tongue twirl at the foster home.
A dog barked, drawing Trent out of his musing. Damn. He had done it again.
He was a better man than this. Women didn’t faze him. He certainly didn’t fantasize about them. He had normal sexual drives, but he controlled them, not the other way around. A man who couldn’t control his sexual urges wasn’t much of a man.
They certainly didn’t get very far in the competitive business world. Especially if he had to build his business, the way Trent had.
Masters Trucking got him up in the morning and made him feel alive. He didn’t have time for a woman. He needed to put a stop to whatever this was. His number one rule was his business had to be his number one priority.
Determined not to waste another moment, he strode down the steps and crossed Janice’s yard. “Dominique.”
She whirled around on the small porch. “Do you always sneak up on people?”
“Sorry. I wasn’t aware that I walked that softly.” His gaze didn’t drop below her sweat-dampened face. He was actually proud of himself.
“If you’ll excuse me.” She turned toward the door and somehow he managed to step in front of her. Abruptly, she staggered back. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to apologize, and doing a poor job of it,” he admitted ruefully. “Look,” he said, running his hand over his close cropped hair. “I usually get along with everyone, but we seem to rub each other the wrong way.”
Black eyes widened. Up went her cute little chin.
Trent thought, Bad choice of words. If they were ever rubbing each other, he was sure it would be the right way, and they wouldn’t be having a problem. He cleared his throat and his mind of everything but getting his apology out before he messed up even more.
“I was out of line yesterday. It’s not my practice to stare at women, even ones as beautiful as you.”
“Now it’s my fault for your bad manners,” she said frostily.
“Will you stop twisting everything I say?”
She crossed her arms over her heaving breasts. “They’re your words, not mine.”
“H
ave it your way. I’m the lowest form of life for daring to look at you in anything but a respectful manner. You’re a guest of Janice’s, and her goddaughter. I value her friendship, and I wouldn’t want to lose it.”
“She’s quite fond of you,” Dominique admitted reluctantly.
“Something you apparently don’t understand.”
“I don’t have to.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Trent said. “In case you’ve forgotten, Janice has few family members, and those friends who are close to her, she values highly. She won’t like us being at odds.”
Dominique glanced away. He might be rude, but he was also perceptive.
One of Janice’s regrets about her failed marriage was that she didn’t have any children. Felicia always maintained that Janice had left Boston because her ex-husband’s new wife had a baby four months after their divorce was final, and three months after they married.
Janice had made her friends her family. She was generous and compassionate, and could always be counted on to help anyone in need, just as she had helped Dominique.
Trent continued, “All I’m asking for is a truce, for Janice’s sake. We don’t have to be best buddies or anything.”
Dominique’s head came around. His words were almost her own. She was in Janice’s house, and as such she had to respect her hostess’s guest and friend, no matter how much he irritated her. Most of all, she knew he was right.
For reasons that completely escaped Dominique, Janice thought highly of the brash, insolent Trent Masters. Dominique didn’t see why, but snubbing the man wasn’t worth upsetting her godmother.
Her hand lifted.
Almost immediately his rough hand closed around hers. Heat like a sunburst splintered through her. It took all her control not to jerk her hand free of the firm but surprisingly gentle grip. “Truce. Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Masters.”
She started to brush by him. He moved again. This time she wasn’t able to stop her forward momentum. The front of her body collided firmly with his. Breasts to thighs. Air hissed through her clenched teeth. She jumped back.
The look she sent him would have melted steel. “Mr. Masters, you’re beginning to annoy me again.”
“That’s just the point. Janice is not going to believe everything is all right if you keep calling me Mr. Masters like you have a bad taste in your mouth,” Trent pointed out, trying to forget the softness of her rounded breasts pressed against him or the silkiness of her skin.
Dominique conceded the point with a curt nod of her head.
“Is it me, or are you always this reticent?” he asked.
“I don’t particularly like you.”
“I gathered that, and I don’t blame you. I admire honesty,” he told her frankly. “I expect the same of myself. I was totally over the line yesterday, and if there’s anything I can do to make up for it, I’m willing—except move to another planet.”
She stared at his handsome face and silently wondered if the earnestness she saw reflected in his steady, brown eyes was real or part of a calculated act. Then she decided to give him enough rope to hang himself.
“All right. Trent. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Trent watched Dominique close the door on him again. His hand rubbed across his chest where he still felt the lush softness of her breasts. His heart rate was erratic, his breathing more so. He wondered if she felt the intense sexual pull, then dismissed the idea.
Despite what Janice had said, he was beginning to believe Dominique was a barracuda. Her only problem was probably a love affair that had ended badly. Trent suspected the man had gotten the worst of it. Dominique had kicked the unfortunate brother in the teeth and left him in shreds.
Shaking his head, Trent started back to his house. Of all the women to send his body into hyperdrive, he had to pick Miss Ice Princess of 1998.
* * *
No matter how hard Dominique scrubbed her body in the shower, the sensation of Trent’s touch would not go away. No matter how much of her scented bath gel and soap she used, she still smelled his spicy cologne, and another scent that was uniquely his.
Throwing back her head, Dominique let the blast of warm water beat down on her upturned face. Of all the times for her body to remember its gender now was the worst, and with the worst kind of man.
Her only concern had to be with establishing herself as a portrait photographer, not with discouraging the unwanted advances of some Neanderthal.
She knew how to handle men like Trent—remain calm and cool, and above all never let them know they got to you. Dismissive without being cutting. The male ego was too big and too fragile to stand being rejected outright. If they stepped over the boundary as Trent had, then you cut them off at the knees. She should have looked down her nose at Trent, slipped her glasses back on, and acted as if he didn’t exist.
Instead, her body had reacted to his before she had time to breathe. Eight years ago she had made a vow that her body would never rule her mind. The consequences were too painful. She had never broken that rule until now.
Straightening, she shut the water off and reached for a fluffy, rose-colored, bath towel. She could handle Trent, just as she had all the other men who wanted to take with no thought of giving.
She didn’t dare let herself think of the consequences if she could not.
* * *
“I can’t believe this,” Janice said, twisting the ignition key again and getting even less results. This time the motor turned over only once. Another switch of the ignition key elicited nothing. “I can’t believe this. You’re going to miss your plane.”
“I’ll call a cab,” Dominique said. At any other time she would have taken a later flight, but she was anxious to leave. She refused to think Trent might be the reason. She had never run from a man in her life, and she didn’t intend to start.
Janice shook her cap of dark curls. “This isn’t a usual cab route. It’ll take forever.” Pulling her cell phone out of her oversized Gucci bag, she punched in a number. “Trent, my car won’t start and … thank you.”
“He’ll be right over,” Janice said, deactivating the phone. “It’s a good thing you had an early flight and we caught him before he left for work.”
Dominique was going to reserve judgment. In a matter of seconds a metallic green truck with tinted windows pulled up behind them. By the time the driver’s door opened, Janice was halfway to him. Dominique stared straight ahead and remained unmoved.
“It won’t start,” Janice told him again. “It was fine yesterday.”
“Let me try.” Long, muscled legs clad in sharply creased denim jeans preceded Trent into the sports car. Dominique’s hands tightened around her purse. For some reason the air in the car seemed harder to draw in, the interior smaller.
Trent flicked the key. Nothing.
“It has to start. Dominique will miss her plane,” Janice wailed, standing beside the open driver’s door.
“You’re leaving?”
The question sounded like an accusation. Dominique didn’t want to face him, yet she found herself doing so. “Yes.”
Hard, brown eyes impaled her. “I’m usually at the office more than I’m here.”
It took a few moments for the implication of his words to sink in. He thought she was leaving because of him. On one hand, it irritated her that he thought he had that much power over her, on the other his statement showed he really cared for her godmother.
She responded to the latter. “I’m going home to pick up my things and then I’m returning.”
For a long moment, their gazes clung. She couldn’t look away nor did she want to.
Trent nodded once, emphatically. “You won’t be sorry.” Before she could answer he was out of the car and lifting the hood.
Dominique sagged against the leather seat and wondered if the ozone level was higher in Dallas than Houston. Something had to be wrong to make her act like a teenager with her first crush.
While she was trying to
figure things out, her door opened. Trent stared down at her. “The battery is as dry as a sucked chicken bone. I’m not sure if I put a charge on it it’ll hold. I’ll have to take you to the airport.”
“That won’t—”
“Oh, thank you, Trent,” Janice said, cutting Dominique off. “I’ll call the auto club to come see about the car.”
“I’ll have Smitty come over, too,” he said, then stared down at Dominique. “What time is your flight?”
“Nine-thirty,” answered Janice. “Her case is in the trunk.”
Trent glanced at the gold-and-silver-toned bracelet watch on his wrist. “Eight-fifteen. You still don’t believe in giving yourself enough time, do you, Janice?”
The older woman looked chagrined. “It would have been fine if the car hadn’t died.”
Trent didn’t comment, just looked back at Dominique. “If you want to make your flight we need to get going. It’s a fifty minute drive without the morning rush hour.”
She didn’t move. “What about Janice?”
“I’ll have someone come over.”
Again he looked meaningfully at his watch. “I hate to rush you, but I have an early morning appointment myself.”
She was a woman, not a child. “Then, as you said, we’d better get going.”
Getting out of the car, she hugged Janice good-bye and went to Trent’s truck and got in. She was a Falcon, she thought as she buckled her seat belt. Her female ancestors on both sides of her family were as brave and as resourceful as their male counterparts.
They’d needed to be. Ignorant and sadistic individuals saw the color of their skin and deemed African-American and Native American women fair game to be used and abused. Despite tremendous odds, they had survived degradations and injustices no human should have to endure.
Her ancestors were princesses and medicine women, rulers and healers, fearless and daring. Not one would have given Trent a second thought.
Opening the door, Trent climbed inside and buckled his seatbelt. The roomy cab seemed to shrink. Tinted windows created a disturbing atmosphere of intimacy. She drew in a nervous breath and inhaled the faint, spicy scent of his cologne. For some insane reason she had the sudden urge to lick her lips. She groaned instead.
