Savoring the candy, Julia licked her fingers. “Saru mo ki kara ochiru?”
“That’s the one. I didn’t tell you, but I came close to forgiving KPayne a few days ago and I had to ask myself: am I really that pitiful? Why doesn’t my heart understand what a bum he is? That I deserve better?”
“Old habits are hard to break,” Julia said softly. “But here’s the thing, why has he got to be a bum?” Flinching when Bianca’s eyes raked her, she raised her hands defensively. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just saying…”
“I know what you’re saying. We were together for six months, and that was long enough for me to see him for what he is. A bum.”
“Then what does that make you?” Julia asked, raising her hands again. “I’m just asking…”
“You think I haven’t already called myself fifty flavors of foolish? Here I am, stuck on stupid and totally dependent upon you because I trusted a man to do for me. Because I let myself believe I deserved…Never again,” she finally said. “And, since we’re doing this sister thing, don’t you have to be on my side?”
“This is not about taking sides. He did what he did and I’m not saying you don’t deserve better, because you do. I’m just asking: Did he ever want what you wanted? If he didn’t, he’s not a bum. Maybe he’s immature and selfish, maybe he’s irresponsible and callous, maybe he’s just an evil son of Satan and his mother dresses him funny, but none of that makes him a bum,” Julia said. “You gave him six months. Maybe he just got to be a habit. So did you ever tell him what you really wanted? In life? In a man? In a marriage?”
“More than six months, that’s for sure. What makes you think I wanted to marry him?”
“You were with him for six months. That’s time invested. You stayed for a reason, right?”
“Never thought of it in those terms. I wasted enough time with him to know what I really do want.” Interest stirred in Julia’s eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Don’t blame me…”
“I’m not blaming anyone, I just know what I want.” Bianca felt the weight of Julia’s words. “There is no one to blame because I want someone to grow old with. Whoever the right man for me is, I want to hold his hand and know that his is empty without mine. I want us to sit and eat ice cream together. I want our children to bring our grandchildren back to the home they grew up in. I want a life.”
“Sounds nice…” The knock on the door cut Julia off. “Movers,” she said, going to the door with her sister hard on her heels. She swung the door wide and stood back as a burly quartet of men in damp jeans and T-shirts trooped past, hauling furniture into the condo.
“Where do you want this?” The speaker stood behind an upended strawberry-colored sofa on a hand truck, and his voice was low, compelling, and almost ridiculously male. When he stepped forward, he owned the space and generally sucked the air out of the hall.
Noting her sister’s suddenly languid finger sweep through her tousled curls, Bianca almost laughed out loud. Tempting as homemade sin, with all the swagger in the western world, there was no name on the dreadlocked man’s shirt, but Bianca was fairly sure she could name him: Tall and Gorgeous, and definitely trouble.
She could feel trouble steaming off him in sensuous waves and he certainly looked wildly sexy and dangerous. Looking up at him, she caught his eyes skimming her sister’s face and body before arrowing in on hers. Caught in the act, his smile admitted game and his brief perusal became a bold and claiming stare.
Mister, you don’t know me like that, Bianca thought. “It’s going in the living room.”
When her eyes refused his invitation, Tall and Gorgeous lifted his head, and his face caught just enough light to accentuate his heavy-lidded bedroom eyes, high cheekbones, wide full-lipped mouth, and perfect skin beneath the hall lights. He was more than just good-looking and he knew it.
Tall and Gorgeous tilted his head and raised a hand to throw a heavy sheaf of dread-locked hair over his shoulder, and Julia sighed. Bianca shot her besotted sister a glare; the woman was grinning like a fool. One of us has to act like she has some sense. She jabbed Julia with her elbow and stepped back. “Over there,” she said, pointing. “You can put it in front of the window.”
Finding a place on the sofa, Julia was content to sit with her legs crossed and the grin pasted on her face, watching Tall and Gorgeous. When Tall and Gorgeous walked in with an upholstered chair, the muscles in his arms and chest rippling, she was visibly pleased.
“Act like you’ve seen a man before,” Bianca whispered.
“I am.” Julia propped her elbow on the sofa’s cushioned arm and smiled dreamily. “I know what I like, and I’m just enjoying seeing him in action. You should take advantage of the moment and enjoy him, too.”
“I’ve already told you I’m not interested in any more Men of the Moment.” Tall and Gorgeous walked by carrying a headboard and Bianca felt his eyes strafe her again.
“So pretty,” Julia murmured.
“Pretty doesn’t last.”
“So bitter.” Julia’s eyes touched her sister’s, then followed Tall and Gorgeous.
“I am not bitter.”
“Denial is a sad state.”
“If you don’t stop…”
“Is that all you’re going to need?” Tall and Gorgeous wanted to know when the final lamp was in place. His eyes sought Bianca’s, and unspoken intention threaded his words.
“Yes, thanks.” Bianca handed over the tip Julia had generously provided and his fingers brushed hers, the touch lasting longer than it should have. She nearly cursed herself for not calling him on it, especially when his fingers caught her wrist and he lowered his voice.
He was smooth and his words were simple, but obviously practiced, when Tall and Gorgeous tried to invite himself back to the condo for dinner.
“I don’t even know your name.” Bianca pulled her wrist back as the other movers trooped past, watching from the corners of their eyes, though none of them seemed surprised. They think I’m flirting with him. Guess that happens a lot.
“You can call me Baron, and you can tell me about you over dinner.” Tall and Gorgeous smiled.
Oh, man. Why did he have to have a smile as bright as the morning sun? Bianca curled her fingers around the edge of the door. “I really appreciate all you’ve done, but I think I’ll pass.”
He frowned, clearly not used to being refused.
“Tired? I can add a nice massage to that dinner.”
I’ll just bet you could.
Propping a shoulder against the doorframe, he rearranged his features and leaned toward her. “No? You’re trying to tell me a woman like you…”
“I’m telling you that I really appreciate all you’ve done today, but I think I’ll pass.” She shut the door and waited a beat. She heard him swear softly before moving down the hall. Glad that Tall and Gorgeous Baron had taken rejection so well, Bianca walked over to the sofa.
“For a minute there, I thought he had you.”
“So did I, but never again.” Bianca flopped down and closed her eyes.
“Didn’t know you were such a snob. What have you got against good-looking, hard-working blue-collar brothers?
“Not a blessed thing. My problem is not with blue-collar brothers, or with honest hard work. My problem is with good-looking Men of the Moment. I already told you I was through making that mistake.”
“Nobody ever said turning over a new leaf was easy.” Julia’s leg swung gently and she chuckled. “Nobody can ever say he wasn’t a good-looking man.”
“I never said he wasn’t good-looking. I’m just saying he wasn’t right for me.”
“You never gave him a chance.”
“I didn’t have to; I know the game. I saw it the second he passed through the door.”
“Would you recognize the right man if he came up and bit you on the butt?”
“I’d recognize him because he wouldn’t bite me on the butt—unless I asked him to.”
>
“I’m guessing that won’t be happening any time soon.” Arms lifted in a luxuriant stretch, Julia resettled herself. “At least you can sleep here tonight and get on with the rest of your plans tomorrow. Have you got any plans for tomorrow?”
Bianca pushed into a full sitting position and opened her eyes. “I’ll begin pulling things out of storage, and then all I’ll need is that job.” Her stomach rumbled loudly. “Think we could eat?”
Julia was more than ready with suggestions as they left the condo. At the elevator, she pressed the button. “Ever wish things were different? That things had happened differently?”
“Uh, yes. Have I told you about my life lately?”
“Not that.” Julia pushed her hands deep into her pockets. “I mean, do you ever wish that maybe mom hadn’t been so infatuated with men in uniform? That maybe she had survived that boat crash on the lake, that maybe she had told the truth about my real father, or that maybe we hadn’t been left with our stepdad?”
“You mean that man who couldn’t wait for us to grow up and get out of his life?”
“Yeah, he would be the one. But really, do you ever wish things had been different?”
“‘If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.’” Bianca pushed the call button and wondered why the elevator was so slow.
* * *
Haru pushed the call button and scowled at the elevator. Doubting that the Museum Tower elevator was any slower today than usual, Akemi Jordan looked at his brother when Harry shifted from one foot to the other, as if he could hardly wait to get to the next thing. Harry had changed. It was as if something was eating at him. Nothing you could put a finger on, but something was definitely bothering him.
He was still Haru, eldest son of Ketsuko and Gabriel Jordan; Morehouse College and Wharton Business School graduate; owner and CEO of NeoTech Integrated Security Systems. He looked the same, trim and muscular, serious and brooding, until you made him laugh—something that simply didn’t happen often enough to suit Kemi.
Harry was nearly two years older than Kemi and a shade or two taller than his own six feet. Their shared Asian and African-American heritage was easily seen in his brother’s caramel skin and dark, almond-shaped eyes. His hair was close-cropped, instead of long and shoulder-sweeping like Kemi’s, and it emphasized his strong, square jawline. Nobody would ever say Harry wasn’t a good-looking man.
If I were a woman, I’d look at him twice—maybe even three times, Kemi thought, watching Harry jab the button again.
Built with the shoulders you expected to find on a man who’d played football back in high school and college, Harry looked like a man who could push his way through almost anything. If Harry Jordan had been another kind of man, he would have used his exotic, hard-bodied good looks to set women’s hearts aflame, coast to coast. Instead, he had spent the first thirty-five years of his life focused on one thing: being number one. And he was good at it.
Even before starting elementary school, Akemi had just about heard it all—how clever and smart his big brother was, and it was fine with him. Mother, father, two sets of grandparents, and the kids down the street had all compared him to his older brother. And maybe some other brother would have been jealous, but Kemi never found space in his heart or his soul for such a rancid emotion. Besides, why would he ever be jealous of Harry? He was too good at being who he was, and he saved Kemi the trouble of overworking himself.
Already reading in English by age three, Harry had been intrigued by their obaasan’s books and magazines. He’d begged their grandmother for help and read everything he could get his hands on; in time, he had mastered the 1,750 symbols of the Japanese alphabet.
Amused that one of her half-gajiin grandsons was even interested, the old woman indulged his curiosity. And then Harry had just about knocked her socks off. He managed to work his way through the ninety-nine sounds, formed with five vowels and fourteen consonants. Now he spoke the language well enough to honor their Japanese-born mother and her family. And Obaasan Ran never said another word about either of her grandsons being half-gajiin.
Surprisingly, it had been their father’s parents who had fussed most about their charming grandsons. Maybe it was because they’d grown up in Atlanta, and all the grandparents had to do was walk around the corner to check on the boys.
Kemi stifled a chuckle, remembering how, even after all these years, Patricia Jordan still didn’t quite trust the pretty Japanese woman her only son had brought home from college. She’d never made it an issue of race, she just didn’t think any woman was ever going to be good enough for her son—or her grandsons.
Patti-cake hadn’t been able to compete with Obaasan Ran’s language trick, so she settled for teaching Harry to fry chicken and bake a killer sweet potato pie. Loving their grandmother, and knowing his presence pleased her, Harry had stayed by her side in her kitchen, tasting and stirring and measuring. Patti-cake had watched and guided his every move, earning Harry the eternal gratitude of both his brother and his mother, who couldn’t duplicate that pie to save her life.
Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his tailored trousers, Kemi knew his brother would never boast about his accomplishments—or his conquests. He wasn’t that kind of man, just not built that way, their father often said. Harry wasn’t built for bragging; he was built for success like Usain Bolt was built for speed, or like Tiger Woods was built for golf. There just wasn’t anything else for him to be.
Who would have thought a guy with a BS in math would be the same guy who just missed being an NFL draft pick? Who would have picked a championship football player for top of his class at Wharton? And who figured out that it would all work to the greater good when applied to security systems?
Harry named his project NeoTech and took a head-first dive into integrated security systems. Applying his usual curiosity to everything from card-access control and perimeter protection to closed-circuit telemetry, he built an international reputation. When his parents decided to make their retirement home in Japan, a significant portion of Harry’s business followed them.
Count on Harry to keep tabs on the folks. But Kemi couldn’t help wondering: Who takes care of Harry? He says he’s back in Atlanta on business, but he’s here alone.
Kemi looked at his brother. He looked lonely, just as he had when he’d picked him up at the airport. The world’s loneliest man had been standing there, all by himself at the world’s busiest airport.
But he doesn’t have to be alone or lonely. Kemi didn’t get it. Harry liked women, and women liked him. He was an old-fashioned, hearts-and-flowers kind of guy who enjoyed opening doors and pulling out chairs. He just hadn’t found the right one.
Starting with the flashy, dying to be cosmopolitan girls he’d met in Roppongi on his visits to Tokyo, and maybe ending with the sleek, paparazzi-ready women of his native Atlanta, Harry could have made long lists of what he didn’t want in a woman, if you let him tell it. When Kemi pushed, knowing there had to be One Right Woman, Harry claimed that just thinking of the things he wanted from a woman made his head hurt.
Rocking on his heels, Kemi almost rolled his eyes when Harry punched the elevator button again. Intelligence, he recalled, was high on his brother’s list. Good looks, good health, integrity, and loyalty were also a must. Kemi rocked again—he could get all of that in a dog.
Too bad a man couldn’t just jump ahead and read the future, know what to do and when to do it. Goodness knew, their mother had tried to figure it out. Ketsuko Jordan was so worried about her eldest son that she had his fortune told repeatedly, too many times for Harry’s liking. Kemi understood his mother’s concern. Even their father wondered about the readings of the traditional omikuji, and Seimeihandan fortune tellers, and the Teso readings. And all the predictions said the same thing: Finding love was to be Harry’s life adventure.
Wondering what that meant, Kemi grinned, his imagination going vivid.
“What’s got you grinning like a Cheshire cat?”
>
“Didn’t realize I was doing it.” Kemi wiped a hand across his face, and was still grinning when it came away.
“Still a kid.”
“Nothing wrong with being young at heart,” Kemi offered.
Harry looked at his brother for a long minute. “You’re right,” he finally said.
Kemi’s grin widened. “Have you decided what you want to do for your birthday?”
“My what?” Brow furrowed momentarily confused, Harry looked at his brother. “What’s today?”
“The tenth. Don’t tell me, you forgot?”
Harry looked a little sheepish. “The international dateline…”
“Has been there forever. How does a man forget his own birthday?”
“It’s not that big a deal. Happy birthday to me.”
“Trying to skip a birthday; some role model you turned out to be. Here I was thinking that thirty-six was going to be a big, life-changing deal.”
Harry clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “We already had the birds-and-bees talk, son.”
Kemi shook off the hand and playfully punched his brother’s shoulder. “You know that’s not what I meant, but since you brought it up, remind me to tell you how the rest of that story goes—it’s very interesting.”
“And you would know because…”
Kemi gave his raincoat a snap. “Because I know what ladies like. Remind me to tell you later. But don’t change the subject—since you didn’t come back to Atlanta to celebrate your birthday, what’s the big secret reason?”
“No big secret. I finished the Roppongi project and thought I would look at introducing a new product from here. Besides, I thought we could do some reconnecting.”
Lonesome, Kemi thought.
“And nobody has used the apartment since you bought your place,” Harry finished.
Oh, I get it. I’m supposed to believe you decided to come all the way back to Atlanta to air out your condo? That makes sense.
Harry’s Atlanta apartment was a twenty-fifth floor penthouse with stunning views of Centennial Olympic Park and Midtown from its private balcony and the sleek, circular living room with its twelve-foot wall of windows. The place would have been a den of seduction for any other man, but Harry only saw it as a place to hang his hat and rest his head.
Wayward Dreams Page 8
