Break Every Rule

by Francis Ray

  * * *

  He was displeased with her.

  She knew it from the stiff way he held his body as he walked her to Janice’s front door, knew it from the implacable line of his mouth where a curve had lingered until an hour ago. His disapproval bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

  She had every reason to celebrate and she thought he did, too. When they left the party a short while ago, Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd couldn’t have been more amicable.

  That’s why she didn’t understand. That’s why she was walking slowly toward the front door. “You’re very quiet.”

  “Long day.”

  She stopped in the arch of light through the half-glass of the door. “Why did it get longer an hour ago?”

  For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he blurted, “Why couldn’t you think of something more exciting for me?”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I mean, you only met Mrs. Lloyd tonight, haven’t even seen the children, and you came up with great ideas. You made me seem boring,” he told her, digging one hand into the front pocket of his trousers.

  “Boring?” Not unless they had changed the meaning of the word in the dictionary. He was mind-blowing sexy, with a hard, powerful body and eyes that could melt stone.

  “Did you see the way they looked at me?” he asked, his voice irate. Then he rushed on before she had a chance to answer. “They probably think the reason I haven’t had a date before is because no woman would have me.”

  She started to laugh, then caught his hard expression in the faint light. “You’re serious?”

  “Darn right.”

  “I thought the idea was good.”

  “It would have been if you hadn’t suggested it.”

  “You’re losing me.”

  He jerked his hand out of his pocket and thrust it toward her, his gaze running from the wild mane of black hair to her red satin heels. “You stand there looking absolutely sinful, and you want to take my picture getting out of a truck, and I’m your date.”

  The woman in her was wildly pleased that he thought she looked sinful. On the other hand, she wasn’t about to let him know it. “Would you rather I’d said naked on a bear skin rug?”

  “It would have been better,” he retorted.

  Her chin lifted. “I don’t have one in stock, but I’m sure I can rent one. Will Thursday at five be convenient?”

  “What?”

  “Thursday at five,” she repeated, enjoying the shocked expression on his handsome face. “I hope you’re not shy, because as you remember I have glass on the front and side. I’m sure you’ll attract lots of attention in the buff. Of course, I’ll try to finish quickly—the air-conditioning is a bear.”

  Hands on narrow hips, he glared at her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  They stared at each other for a long time. Trent cracked first. “I guess I sounded kind of childish, huh?”

  “A bit, but then friends can be a bit childish with each other.”

  He reached out and brushed an errant curl away from her face. “Friends, huh?”

  She shivered. When she spoke her voice wasn’t quite steady. “Y-Yes. I don’t know how to thank you for tonight, and everything.”

  He chuckled, his good humor returning. “I thought they were going to come to blows over you.”

  Her laughter joined his. “I was surprised and pleased. They were really possessive and territorial.”

  He stepped closer, bringing with him the disturbing warmth of his body, the irresistible and forbidden allure that was uniquely his. “Being possessive and territorial where you’re concerned would be exceptionally easy.” The back of his knuckles skimmed across her cheek.

  A painful memory flickered in her subconscious, but it was no match for the sudden flare of heat in her belly. Her vision narrowed down to him, more specifically his well-sculptured lips. Air became difficult to draw in. His breathing appeared just as labored.

  His head titled, bringing his mouth closer. Danger signals went off in her head.

  Hastily she stepped back from beckoning temptation, but Lord, it was difficult. “I’d better go in.”

  Hot brown eyes regarded her intently. He wanted to touch her, caress her, kiss her. He wanted to feel the softness of her skin against his, to heat the surface with his kisses, to make her forget to be wary of him.

  The last thought was the only reason he didn’t close the distance between them and take her into his arms. He stepped back, giving them both space. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Oh,” she said, her thoughts going back to that morning. She had jogged as usual, and had been keenly aware that he watched her as she departed and returned. She’d felt his gaze as if it were a tangible thing.

  “Janice invited me over for breakfast.”

  “I see.” She couldn’t possibly be disappointed. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” he said, trying not to howl his frustration.

  Turning her back on temptation, she unlocked the front door and went in, glad somehow that Janice was in her bedroom. Entering her own bedroom, she tossed her purse on the bed and reached for the zipper in the back of her dress.

  She should be elated about the latest developments in her business, but all she could think of was how sensuous and soft Trent’s lips looked, and how she had wanted to feel them on hers.

  A dangerous thought.

  LaSalle should have cured her of letting emotions rule over common sense. LaSalle—elegant, handsome, suave, rich. At thirty-one, everything a naive young woman could want in a husband, unless he went into one of his rages—then he became a demon unleashed.

  Merciless and cruel.

  He had taken a malicious, sadistic pleasure in shredding her self-esteem, alienating her from her friends and family, and making her shamelessly dependent on him. She had been pitiful in seeking his approval.

  All in the name of love.

  He said he loved her, lavished her with expensive gifts, haute couture clothes, a luxurious home to prove it. The fault had to lie in her.

  All her friends were envious when at twenty she had captured one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. She despised leaving her family to move to Atlanta, but she had hated the thought of being without LaSalle more.

  Their June wedding had been a spectacular social event. She came home from their honeymoon on St. Thomas happy and wanting to please him in every way. She soon learned that meant dressing more alluringly and entertaining his business friends and associates on a moment’s notice.

  She was a trophy wife before she knew what the term meant—a thing to be put on display to ensure the envy of other men and thus the admiration of the man who possessed her. Her growing discontent soon affected her responsiveness in bed. One night, eight months after they were married, he went into a jealous rage because she didn’t want to have sex. Positive she was having an affair, he threatened to kill her and her lover.

  Then he forced himself on her, hurting her in mind and body. Afterward, he had apologized and begged her forgiveness.

  The next day he sent her a double strand of perfectly matched pearls and flowers, and that night took her to an exclusive restaurant.

  She forgave him, but she knew he had killed something in her for him that nothing could ever revive. He seemed to sense it, and became more demanding of her time, his jealous outbursts more frequent.

  She tried, she really did, but she had not been brought up to equate cruelty with love. She knew that even with love marriages sometimes had problems. Her parents sure had their share. Yet not once could she remember them arguing in front of her and Daniel, or saying one derogatory word against the other.

  A month later when LaSalle arrived home from work, she was packed and ready to leave. When begging had proved ineffectual, he had hit her. She had fought back, but it had done little good.

  She had blacked out. When she had co
me to, she was tied to the bed. He’d free her if she promised not to leave him or tell her family what had happened.

  She’d promised only to hate him until her dying breath.

  Dominique came back to the present. Her hands were trembling.

  She remembered that LaSalle had been courteous, a gentleman. Her friends and family had thought highly of him. Then he had turned and made her life a hellish nightmare.

  Worse, the shame of her stupidity and weakness made it difficult to face her family, sending her on an endless journey of finding peace, finding herself. Finally, both were within her grasp.

  Only another man was slipping insidiously into her life, though, making her feel things she had promised herself never to feel again. She couldn’t let that happen.

  She could handle friendship; she couldn’t handle anything more. She never wanted to be that vulnerable again.

  * * *

  Sweat should not be erotic. But Trent’s unruly body was living proof that it was.

  That morning he had intentionally waited until Dominique went inside after her jog and had enough time to go to her room before he went over to Janice’s kitchen door. His plan was to grab a quick cup of coffee and split. After a restless night, he wasn’t ready to face the reason so soon.

  After his brief knock and Janice’s “Come in” he opened the kitchen door and felt as if he had run into a wall. He had calculated wrong.

  Dominique was dressed in black leggings with a sweat-dampened, pink top that clung to her honey-bronzed skin and skimmed just above the impossibly sexy indentation of her navel. She must have had a good run, because more sweat ran from her high cheekbones to her soft chin before dropping onto the lush curve of her breasts, dampening the spandex material.

  He had the irrational urge to walk over and lick every drop of moisture away. Very, very, slowly.

  “Dominique, do you want a bagel or bran muffin?” Janice asked.

  Dominique jerked around, her eyes wide, her breathing uneven. “Nothing. I have a lot to do today.”

  Janice turned from the refrigerator. “Domini—”

  “I’d better get going,” she interrupted. “Good morning, Trent.”

  “Good morning.” He watched her practically run from the room. He had probably embarrassed her by drooling again.

  “Sit down. You’re not going to go anywhere,” Janice told him. “Maybe you can tell me about last night. I fell asleep reading, and Dominique had gone for her jog by the time I got up this morning.”

  Trent had never known his hearing was so acute, but somehow he heard water rushing through pipes. Dominique was in the shower, naked and wet. His eyes shut.

  “Are you all right?” Janice asked with a frown.

  “No,” Trent answered truthfully.

  Pulling out a chair, Janice practically pushed him down into it. “Are you sick?”

  “I wish I were,” he answered, his gaze going toward the back bedroom.

  Her gaze narrowed with understanding and unease. “Oh, Trent. No you didn’t?”

  “I’m not sure what it is I’ve done,” he said.

  “Then there is hope for both of you,” Janice said, taking a seat beside him, her gaze direct. “Dominique isn’t ready for a relationship. I’m not sure if she’ll ever be. You push her and she’ll run.”

  The question of “why” popped into his head, but he knew he wouldn’t get the answer from Janice. He didn’t mind, because he wanted Dominique to tell him herself. “I don’t want her to leave.”

  “I believe you, and I know you’ll do what’s right for her. You’re a good man.” Janice stood, straightening her apron over her black skirt and zebra print blouse. “Now, tell me about last night while I fix your breakfast.”

  He did, glad of the diversion. This time when he remembered her idea for his photograph, he realized something he had missed last night.

  Dominique might be attracted to him, but she wasn’t ready to let herself become involved. She would accept friendship, but nothing else.

  But no matter what they were telling each other, their body language was saying something entirely different. The heat, the need, the hunger, was there waiting. Simmering just beneath the surface.

  Sooner or later it was going to come to a boil and they were going to become lovers. When the time came, he wanted no hesitation, no regrets.

  Trent wanted her as wild and as hot and as needy as he was going to be. But just as much, he wanted her to be sure of herself, of him.

  He wanted them to remain friends afterward. With everything in him he was determined not to jeopardize one for the other.

  The best way to ensure that was to make sure she trusted him, trusted herself with him.

  He sensed her return as if they were physically connected. He glanced up. She stood several feet away. She looked beautiful and a bit wary in a fuchsia pantsuit.

  Her face said it all: he could have her as a friend or alienate her by trying to take it farther before she was ready. Somehow he knew she allowed very few people to see her inner emotions. The knowledge humbled him and gave him hope.

  “I think you should eat before you leave. You’re going to have a long day,” he said.

  Her grip on the wide strap of her purse eased. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Sure I am. That’s what friends are for,” he reminded her.

  She took her seat and reached for the muffin Janice handed her. As the older woman passed, he felt her hand on his shoulder. She trusted him. Before he was through, Dominique would, too.

  Chapter Eight

  The phone was ringing when Dominique entered her studio. Hurriedly closing the door she sprinted across the room, tossed her bag on the desk, took a calming breath, and answered, “Photographs by Dominique, Dominique speaking. How may I help you?”

  After a warm greeting, Samuel Jacobs, the banker she had met the night before, quickly got down to business. He wanted to schedule an appointment for his grandson and granddaughter. He and his wife didn’t want to show favoritism.

  Five-year-old Gia was in ballet, and could wear her recital costume. They needed to know if she had the overalls, cane fishing pole, and minnow bucket for six-year-old Michael.

  “I’d prefer you get the overalls. The rest I can take care of,” she said, wondering where she was going to come up with the items.

  “No problem. Is Monday at eleven still open?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered, opening the crisp, new leather-bound appointment book.

  “Good. Please put the children down. Their mother will probably come with us. If that isn’t too many?”

  “Oh, no. That’s fine.” Taking another deep breath, she asked the dreaded question. “Would you like me to fax you a copy of the price list, or go over it when you come in?”

  “You can show it to us then, but I don’t really see that as a factor here,” he stated simply.

  Dominique gave a silent yell. She liked Mr. Jacobs’s style. “I look forward to seeing you all Monday at eleven.”

  “Thank you, Dominique. Good-bye.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs.” Hanging up the phone, she grinned and brought both elbows down sharply with clenched fists. “Yes!”

  The phone rang again. She was almost afraid to hope it might be another customer. This time she was much slower in picking up the phone. “Photographs by Dominique, Dominique speaking. How may I help you?”

  Mrs. Lloyd wanted to schedule an appointment. While they were talking, the line beeped for another call coming in, but Dominique didn’t click over. She wanted each client to feel that when she was talking to them they had her undivided attention.

  Ten minutes later when the call was finished, Mrs. Lloyd had scheduled a ten o’clock Wednesday appointment at her home for her garden photograph. Dominique was thrilled. Two appointments weren’t going to keep the wolf from the door, but she had a chance to show what she knew. That’s all she had ever wanted, a chance.

  Opening the drawer, she reached fo
r the yellow pages to look up fishing equipment. Before she could find the listing she had another call, then another, both from the other women guests at the dinner party. Coincidentally, their daughters were Idlewild debutantes, and they wanted something unique for their formal photographs in their white gowns.

  Ideas formed in Dominique’s mind while she was talking to each woman. She had no doubt that once she saw the gowns on the young ladies she could give them a photograph they’d cherish for a lifetime. Tuesday morning and afternoon were booked.

  Hanging up the phone, she was ecstatic. Picking up the other yellow pages she turned to T. Finding the number, she dialed. “May I speak with Mr. Masters?”

  “Whom shall I say is calling?” asked a woman in a slow Southern drawl.

  “Dominique Everette,” she answered, wondering how many women worked at the trucking company.

  “Hi, Dominique. Everything all right?” Trent asked as soon as he came on the line.

  “Hi. Couldn’t be better, thanks to you.” Leaning back in the chair, she smiled and told him about the calls. “My appointment book finally has something in it.”

  He chuckled. “I told you going to the dinner party with me would be good for business.”

  “Yes, you did,” she said, enjoying the sound of his laughter and his voice. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Friends help each other.”

  “I’m beginning to find that out,” she said softly.

  “Stick with me, Buttercup. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve called me that. Why?”

  “You sure you want to know?” he asked, his voice wary.

  “Yes.”

  “A buttercup is a wild yellow flower that is as beautiful as it is delicate, and can adapt and flourish in the harshest conditions,” he explained.

  “Oh.” She felt flattered and immensely pleased. “I guess I’d better go. I have to find a place that sells minnow buckets and cane fishing poles.”

  “Travis Bait House on Lake Ray Hubbard should have everything,” he said. “How soon do you need them?”