A Kiss of a Different Color

by Bettye Griffin

  The oohs and aahs she heard from the others told her that she and Jon must look well together. She told herself it was just because they were both tall.

  Still, if felt good to be in Jon’s arms, and she felt disappointed when the last note of the song approached. “Well, that’s over,” she said, a tad wistfully.

  “Not yet it isn’t. Hold on.”

  Before Miranda could ask what he planned to do, he whirled her backward, his strong hand bracing her back. Caught off guard, she instinctively tried to balance on one foot, the other extending up and out in front of her in a manner that made her worry about just what their classmates could see. When she called to inquire about classes, she was specifically told that they wished for ladies to wear skirts or dresses to lessons rather than trousers. But that didn’t mean she wanted her fellow dance students to get a peek at her pink polka-dotted panties.

  Jon held her steady in the dipped position as the rest of the class broke out into wild applause. Her head was thrown back, and she began to feel a little dizzy with blood rushing to it. The sterling silver charm bracelet she always wore succumbed to gravity, dropping to her mid-forearm as she held her arm up. Still, he made no attempt to return her to her feet. “How long are you going to keep me in this position?” she hissed. As she raised her neck to see him—no mean feat in her gravity-defying stance—she saw that her modestly cut scoop-necked sweater had moved downward with the motion of the dip, and Jon’s gaze was transfixed on her cleavage, which in her breathless state was rising and falling. She could actually feel his warm breath on her skin. Then he shifted his smoldering gaze to meet hers, his eyes dark with desire. She found herself mesmerized by his gaze, and helpless to do anything other than to hold onto him.

  It seemed as though he had been holding her in that position forever, but in reality only a few seconds elapsed. Slowly he straightened up, pulling her along with him, to the sound of fresh applause. He held her hand, and when he started to bow she joined in with a curtsy.

  “You two have a real flair for this,” Gina said approvingly.

  “Okay, I want the entire group to try it one more time,” Anthony said.

  He started the music, and once more Miranda went into Jon’s arms. “So tell me,” he said. “You always wanted to be Ginger Rogers, right?”

  She started to deny it, but there seemed no point. “Yeah, I wanted to dance like her, but let’s keep that between you and me. What about you? Did you dream of being Fred Astaire?”

  “I wouldn’t mind moving like him, but I never wanted to look like him. He had great moves, but, sheesh! That face. What a geek.”

  “I don’t recall saying I wanted to look like Ginger Rogers,” she commented drolly. Then, just in case he didn’t understand that every woman didn’t want to be blond with a peaches-and-cream complexion—or, since Ginger’s abundant facial hair was legendary, a very fuzzy peach—she added, “And I never wanted to look like her. I just wanted her dancing ability.”

  Jon looked puzzled. “So let me get this right…generally speaking, it’s considered out of the ordinary for black people to eat P-foods, but it’s okay to pretend to be Ginger Rogers?”

  “P-foods with ten or more letters,” Miranda clarified. With a smile, she added, “That wouldn’t include peas. Except for me, because I hate peas.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Dietary habits are one thing,” she said, “but I’m no expert on people’s fantasies, other than my own.”

  The moment the words left her mouth she regretted her phrasing. Jon raised an eyebrow and looked amused, although he said nothing. He didn’t have to. The look on his face said it all.

  He was wondering what kind of fantasies she entertained.

  That was easy, although she’d never admitted it to anyone. She longed to find her soul mate, building a love that would last a lifetime, like her parents had. She dreamed of having a sex life filled with passion and verve, and eventually children. Miranda was only twenty-nine, but she feared her best years were passing her by…and it wasn’t likely that anything would improve for her here in Bismarck.

  The group all left together after the session ended at nine o’clock, everyone enthusiastic about future classes.

  “Do you live far from here, Miranda?” Jon asked.

  “A few exits on the Interstate. You?”

  “I have a place near the historic district, so I’m not far. I was wondering…would you care to stop someplace for a drink? We can congratulate ourselves on a lesson well done.”

  Miranda recalled how she’d raised her head to see Jon mesmerized by her cleavage and how she felt his warm breath on the sensitive flesh of her chest, and she felt herself grow damp between her legs. It was a perfectly natural reaction to a desirable man, but dancing with him was one thing. Going out for a drink with him was something else. Part of her said it would be harmless, that he was just new in town like she was and looking for company, but another part of her hesitated, for reasons she didn’t quite understand. That cinched her decision.

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

  “In that case, I’ll see you next week. Good night, Miranda. I enjoyed dancing with you.”

  “Same here. Good night, Jon.”

  She got into her car and noticed him crossing the street. Miranda figured he had parked on the street instead of in the small lot adjacent to the studio that only held about a dozen cars. She exhaled deeply as she started her engine. Tonight had been fun, and she’d gotten the added benefit of being not so subtly reminded that she was an attractive woman. She found it refreshing, but she was perfectly okay with it stopping right there.

  Now she realized why Jon’s invitation had given her pause. Her instinct told her he was a babe magnet…and that he enjoyed the attentions of many women at a time. Although Miranda had never done it before, she wasn’t opposed to dating outside of her race, but the last thing she needed was some Lothario who had to divide his attentions among two or three women. She felt she deserved better.

  As she made a right turn on her way out of the small parking lot, she saw Jon going inside a sports bar. So that was why he’d crossed the street. An unfounded wave of jealousy hit her like a punch in the belly, and she wondered if he planned to call the blonde from earlier tonight and invite her to join him.

  It’s none of your business, she told herself. How Jon spent his evening had nothing to do with her. Besides, she’d had the opportunity to spend it with him and turned him down. Instead she would go home and indulge in her fantasies privately.

  An excellent choice, since Jon Lindbergh now had a place in them.

  Chapter 5

  Miranda awoke the next morning humming, of all things, Shall We Dance? Once the tune registered in her brain, she abruptly stopped. But her next attempt at humming a tune, in the shower, turned out to be the even more inappropriate musical question, Isn’t It Romantic?

  She told herself that she had chosen these classics not because of meeting Jon Lindbergh, but simply because she was excited about having started dancing lessons. Why had she waited so long to indulge her artistic side?

  She dried herself off and applied lotion, doing a few impromptu stretches in the process. We dancers have to keep ourselves limber, don’t we?

  Once fully dressed, she ignored the Today show playing on her television, shut it off and danced her way upstairs to the kitchen.

  She figured she probably looked a little weird, since she wore her usual scrubs and hardly looked like a dancer. Travis used to tease her about pinning up her hair for work, saying she looked like a librarian, at least from the neck up; while her mother tried to get her to give up her usually solid scrubs for something with more pizzazz.

  Miranda didn’t mind looking plain at work. She liked the idea of a conservative appearance. It went quite well with her way of keeping her personal life out of the office. Her co-workers knew she was unmarried and that she had relocated from Wisconsin only because that was part
of simple chit-chat for a new employee, but that was all they knew, and likely all they would ever know. Miranda preferred to keep her thoughts and opinions to herself. No one needed to know which political candidates she supported or her feelings on the guilt or innocence of the accused in the latest juicy murder trial. It was all she could do to keep from giggling when the human resources administrator informed her that the company had a strict policy of prohibiting dating between employees on different levels on the corporate totem pole. She didn’t believe in office romances, not even with someone with the same ranking.

  Chelsea was nowhere to be found this morning. She’d mentioned having a dental checkup at ten and would go to work afterward, so she was probably sleeping late. It was just as well, Miranda thought. Chelsea would likely want to know all about last night’s dance lesson…and Miranda didn’t feel like sharing.

  She ate a quick breakfast, put on her jacket and set out for another glorious day of working with patients doing bends and stretches. She shivered in the forty-three-degree chill—a harbinger of the severe winter to come—as she got out of the car. There was a little spring in her step as she made her way from the parking lot into the rehab center.

  And she reminded herself for about the third time that morning that it had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with Jon Lindbergh.

  Jon smiled back at a cute redhead who gave him the eye at the lobby deli of the building where he worked. Who knew? If they got on the same elevator maybe they’d make some small talk, and one thing would lead to another.

  The woman who rang up his sale—an older woman who nevertheless always found something to chat with him about—said to him, “No one can ever accuse you of being in a rut. You switch up all the time. Today ham and egg on a roll, yesterday a sausage biscuit. What’s next?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever catches my eye. Who knows?”

  The redhead was gone by the time he got his change. Jon felt no disappointment. If he was meant to see her again, he would. He strode toward the elevators. People poured into the building, arriving for work, and roughly half of them were female.

  Jon was actually prohibited from dating most of his coworkers by his employer’s strict no-dating rule. As a director, he could become socially involved with another director, but not anyone who ranked lower on the corporate ladder. This was management’s attempt to prevent any possible accusations of harassment, favoritism, or undue influence. He’d heard this rule, instituted before his hire, came on the heels of a big scandal that resulted in the firing of one of the vice presidents. Fortunately for him, many different businesses rented space in the same six-story office building where he worked.

  He let an elevator fill up while he sipped his coffee. He’d catch the next one. In the meantime he’d get a look at some of the many attractive women who worked in the building.

  Jon loved women, and they loved him right back. His mother and grandmother were always asking him if he was seeing anyone special. They both wanted to see him settle down. He hadn’t told them he had no plans to do so. He knew they would discourage that way of thinking, but to him it didn’t make much sense. Everyone in his family had a failed marriage. His great-grandmother raised his grandmother as a single parent, his grandmother raised his mother as a single parent, his mother raised him and his sister as a single parent, and his sister was raising her children as a single parent. Jon didn’t know what was up with that; all he knew was that the odds of having a successful marriage within his family for four generations added up to zero…so why bother?

  His thoughts wandered back to last night and dancing with Miranda Rhett. She was an enigma, all staid and reserved on the outside, but the soft skin of her hands and that faint scent of coconut in her hair suggested a woman who liked to pamper herself. And when he impulsively dipped her at the end of the song, the tops of her breasts spilling out from her blouse looked so soft and inviting. He’d been unable to take his eyes off of her.

  Dipping her had been a purely spontaneous action. He certainly hadn’t done it to get a look at her cleavage. It had come as a pleasant surprise when her demure scoop-necked blouse stretched downward as her back arched. His cheek muscle twitched as he remembered how he’d been bewitched by the view of all that glowing brown skin. Good thing they’d been in a roomful of people, and even with that he’d very nearly forgotten himself. Only the fact that she’d caught him staring brought him back from the spell of watching her breasts rise and fall and the intoxicating fragrance coming from between them. He recalled her blossoming sexual awareness of him in the form of parted lips and trepidation in her eyes. That look belonged not on a dance floor, but in a dimly lit bedroom.

  Jon was still thinking about it when another woman came to stand next to him, greeting him with a cheery, “Good morning!”

  He returned the greeting. This one’s hair was covered by a floppy wool hat, so he couldn’t tell what color her hair was, but she had a reasonably attractive face. Still, he found he was content to simply smile at her.

  Miranda Rhett was the woman on his mind.

  She, unlike the other women he encountered every day, had offered resistance, declining when he invited her for a drink…and he loved a challenge. He knew just what to do to charm her.

  He couldn’t wait until next Tuesday.

  Chapter 6

  Miranda buttoned up her cotton collarless blouse all the way to the top, navy pinstripes on white. Tonight there would be no repeat of last week’s incident where her boobies peeked out of her top. If Jon decided to dip her backward tonight she would have the situation covered…by covering her chest.

  Miranda didn’t own much in the way of skirts and dresses, since she wore scrubs for work. She had two suits she wore to job interviews, plus a few skirts, most of them in darker colors, and a denim skirt.

  She put on the latter, which had a slight flare to it and a slit in the back, and slid camel-colored boots on her feet. It was a little early for the heavy-duty footwear, but a cold snap had been predicted that would bring nighttime temperatures into the low forties, so she didn’t feel she were committing a fashion faux pas.

  She frowned at her reflection. The fit of the skirt showed off her trim waist, she’d touched up her eyebrows, opening up her face, but something still didn’t look right.

  It was her hair, she realized. It looked too harsh, brushed back from her face. She either needed to put on more makeup or to soften her look.

  Applying more makeup was out. Miranda believed that a little lip color, maybe a brush or two of blusher, was sufficient for everyday use. She preferred to save the heavy duty cosmetics and eye makeup for occasions when literally she let her hair down.

  She wasn’t going to wear her hair loose, either, but there were other ways to style it besides pinned at the nape of her neck. Impulsively she undid the pins from it, brushed it out, parted it down the center and made one braid on each side just above her ear, then crisscrossed the braids on top of her head, tucking the ends underneath so the pins wouldn’t show. Maybe it was a bit old-fashioned, but it was a quite attractive look on her.

  Miranda went to the kitchen to heat up a frozen entree before driving over to the dance studio. While it heated Chelsea entered the kitchen, looking lovely in a drape-necked white blouse and a black pleated skirt, her wavy blond hair worn loose and falling attractively around her shoulders.

  “You look nice,” Miranda said. “Hot date?”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes. “I met someone last week, while we stood in a very long line at the post office at lunchtime. We started talking and exchanged business cards. He called earlier today and invited me for drinks. I’m meeting him at the East Forty at seven.”

  “Ooh, the East Forty,” Miranda replied, raising a newly arched eyebrow. “I’ve heard people at work talk about that. It’s supposed to be one of the nicest spots in town.”

  “It is. They make a spinach and artichoke dip to die for.” Chelsea hugged herself before letting her arms fall. “And who know
s, drinks might turn into dinner.”

  “And dinner might turn into…well, I guess I’d better not leave my room unless I’m fully dressed, in case I run into a strange man in the kitchen,” Miranda teased.

  Chelsea looked embarrassed. “That’s not going to happen. I don’t even know the man. But I can’t say I haven’t thought about it happening in the future.” She shrugged. “I just feel a little funny, inviting a man over when I put in your lease that you can’t do the same.”

  “That’s all right, Chelsea. It’s your house and your rules. I understand that. Besides, I don’t see anything like that happening for me.”

  Chelsea looked askance at Miranda’s appearance. “No, I guess not, not in that getup. I thought you said when you got home last night that your dance partner was handsome.”

  Miranda visualized Jon Lindbergh’s flawless face. “He’s insanely handsome. Curly blond hair, brown eyes, tall, slim…”