Michael looked from one to the other, eyes narrowed. “We won’t be long,” he said curtly, and strode off with Asha.
Chapter 10
Michael was still in a foul mood that evening.
Nursing his second glass of Merlot, he cast a surly glance around the long mahogany dinner table, which had been set with Sterling’s best china and decorated with fresh flowers from the garden. Ms. Frizell, with minor input from Michael, had prepared a lavish five-course feast fit for royalty.
Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Presiding at the head of the table, Sterling engaged Grant in a spirited debate about the best golf courses in Georgia versus Minnesota. Marcus and Samara had their hands full with the twins, alternately cajoling the boys to eat their vegetables and laughing at their antics. Even Celeste and Asha were being civil to each other, honoring their unspoken agreement never to argue in front of their grandchildren.
And then there was Reese.
Reese, whose radiant smiles and engaging personality made it impossible for anyone to treat her as an outsider. In brooding resignation, Michael watched her work her charm on his family, laughing and bantering with that natural ease he’d grown to admire.
Even his nephews fell under her spell, giggling at the goofy faces she made at them and vying for her attention.
Michael couldn’t take his eyes off her. In contrast, Reese had barely spared him a glance all evening.
Earlier, he’d returned from meeting with Asha to find Reese and his father right where he’d left them on the veranda, sipping lemonade and sharing a laugh like old friends.
Michael had known the verdict even before Sterling met his gaze and mouthed: She’s a keeper, Mike.
Those four unforgettable words, never before uttered by his father, had plunged Michael into an even blacker mood—a volatile cocktail of anger, frustration and longing.
And the more Reese ignored him over dinner, the worse his mood became.
After dinner, everyone gravitated to the backyard as dusk approached. While the others roamed the landscaped grounds, Michael stayed on the veranda seated at a table under the pretext of making some phone calls. He checked his voice mail messages, then dialed the restaurant to see how things were going. After speaking to his sous chef for a few minutes, he hung up just as he received a text message from Lexi.
How’s the family visit going? she wrote. Is the diva still breathing?
Michael couldn’t suppress a wry chuckle. Lexi knew all about his parents’
acrimonious relationship with Asha Dubois. She’d often had Michael in stitches as she concocted slapstick scenarios in which Sterling and Celeste plotted to get rid of Asha, only to be thwarted at every turn by the “diva who wouldn’t die.”
Smiling, Michael typed back, The diva’s alive and well. And fine as hell.
A moment later Lexi responded. You sound just like Q.
Michael scowled. Low blow, he shot back.
Sorry, came her amused reply. Couldn’t resist. Anyway, some friends and I are meeting Q for drinks. Wanna come? You can keep your boy in line.
Michael paused, his gaze straying to where Reese was playing hide-and-seek with the twins. The boys were giggling hysterically, their short, sturdy legs pumping as they tried to evade capture, a task made easy by Reese’s exaggeratedly slow running.
Michael watched them, his chest squeezing as he envisioned Reese pregnant.
Holding his baby in her arms. Chasing their child around the yard.
Shaken by the images, he jerked his gaze back to the phone, where Lexi was awaiting his response to her invitation. He wondered what she would say if she knew about his growing feelings for Reese, the very same woman he’d vehemently objected to having on his show just three days ago. He’d always sought Lexi’s advice about women, but for some reason he didn’t want to tell her about Reese. His feelings for her were too new, too confusing, too powerful.
Too damn scary.
Are you there? Lexi prompted.
Michael cleared his throat and quickly typed, Can’t meet for drinks. But how about lunch on Thursday?
Your treat?
Of course.
Then you’re on, baby.
Michael grinned. Have fun tonight and tell Q to behave, or else….
He sent the message, then stuffed his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.
As his brooding gaze wandered back to Reese, Marcus climbed onto the veranda and cautiously approached, eyeing Michael as if he were a feral animal who might pounce at any moment.
When Marcus had nearly reached the table, he stopped and asked, “Is it safe to proceed?”
Michael just looked at him.
“Remember when we were younger, and I’d take stuff from your room and forget to put it back before you noticed it was missing? Remember when I was six and I accidentally tore your autographed Dominique Wilkins poster? Well, the way you’re looking at me now is the way you looked at me that day. Man, I was so scared you’d beat the crap out of me that I peed on myself. Remember that?”
Michael tried, but couldn’t stifle his laughter.
Marcus grinned, looking relieved as he pulled out a chair at the table and nimbly straddled it. “Dad was so mad that I’d ruined a new pair of pants that he whipped my butt, anyway.”
“Believe it or not, little man, you got off lucky that day. I was mad enough to strangle you. I loved that poster.”
“I know. But at least I made it up to you.”
“Yeah, you did,” Michael agreed, thinking of the way Marcus had invited the NBA legend to his fortieth birthday bash. Michael’s gift from Dominique Wilkins, of course, had been an autographed poster to replace the one Marcus had ripped years ago.
Michael smiled at the memory, feeling some of the tension ebb from his body.
It didn’t last.
“So what’s up with you and Reese?” Marcus demanded, dropping all pretenses of making small talk.
Michael frowned. “Nothing’s up with us.”
“Like hell,” Marcus snorted. “You’ve been sulking all night, and she’s been going out of her way to treat you like the Invisible Man. What the hell happened between you two?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Michael bit off.
Undaunted, Marcus pressed, “What changed between yesterday morning and today?
Q says you and Reese looked mighty cozy together when he saw you at the restaurant.”
Michael glared at his brother. “He told you about that?”
Marcus gave him a come-on-now look.
Michael swore under his breath. Of course Quentin had run his mouth to Marcus.
He always did.
“On second thought,” Michael groused, “maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for you to hire Q. The two of you have way too much time on your hands at the office.”
Marcus smiled. “Actually, I think we’re pretty productive. And you haven’t answered my question. How did you and Reese go from being lovey-dovey to not even speaking to each other?”
Scowling, Michael shoved to his feet and stalked over to the railing. Striving for calm, he stared out across the sprawling yard, mentally cataloguing the idyllic scene before him. His mother and Grant lounged in the gazebo, while Sterling and Asha strolled along the walkway swinging their grandsons between them. Reese and Samara now sat talking by the small pool, their bare legs dangling in the shimmering water.
As Michael watched Reese, a deep ache of longing washed through him. He recognized it as the same feeling he’d experienced at Marcus’s wedding, a feeling that had resurfaced in recent days.
The day after he met Reese, to be exact.
Marcus joined him at the railing. Following the direction of his brother’s gaze, he smiled. “Those two look like they’ve been friends for years.”
Michael grunted in agreement.
Marcus sighed. “I’ve always hoped that when—and if—you ever get married, our wives will be as close as we are.”
Michael
slanted his brother a look that would have sent a lesser man scurrying under the table. But Marcus merely grinned.
“Don’t go planning any weddings just yet,” Michael grumbled. “Reese has a boyfriend.”
“Ahh.” Marcus nodded wisely. “That explains the tortured expression on your face every time you look at her.”
“I don’t have a ‘tortured’ expression.” But even as the swift denial left Michael’s mouth, it rang hollow in his ears.
Marcus gave him an almost pitying look. “I can definitely see how you got blindsided. Reese is a beautiful woman. Smart as hell, too.” He chuckled. “Mom can’t stop mentioning that she’s a doctor.”
“Yeah,” Michael said, his mouth twisting cynically, “and we all know how Mom feels about doctors.”
It was an ugly thing to say, a barbed reference to the way Celeste had deserted them in favor of Grant Rutherford, the rich, handsome surgeon at the hospital where she’d worked. For years Michael had despised doctors so much that he couldn’t even watch them on TV. And now here he was making a fool of himself over, of all things, a doctor. Oh, the irony.
“So, what’re you gonna do about it?” Marcus asked, resting his arms on the railing.
“Do about what?”
“Your feelings for Reese. What’re you gonna do about it?”
Michael frowned at his brother. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? She has a boyfriend.”
“Is it serious?”
“How the hell should I know?” Michael snapped. He didn’t want to know. The thought of Reese with another man made him feel downright homicidal.
“So that’s it, then. Because she’s already in a relationship, you’re backing off. Just like that.”
“Damn straight.”
Marcus nodded thoughtfully. “Interestingly enough, I didn’t see a ring on any of her fingers.”
“Doesn’t matter. You know my rule.”
“Right. The rule.” Marcus’s tone was faintly mocking. “You know what they say about rules, don’t you?”
“What?”
“There’s always an exception.”
That shut Michael up. He faltered for a moment, then blew out a harsh, exasperated breath. He could feel a vein throbbing in his neck and he flexed his fingers, fighting a vicious urge to punch Marcus in the mouth. Michael loved his brother to death and would do anything for him, but ever since he’d gotten married, Marcus had become way too interested in Michael’s love life. It was as if he’d made it his personal mission to get Michael hitched so that he’d be as deliriously happy as he was.
Marcus released a dramatic sigh. “If you’re not interested in going after what you want, Q says he’d be more than happy—”
“Like hell he will,” Michael growled, skewering Marcus with a lethal glare. “If Q
goes anywhere near Reese, you’re gonna have one less lawyer on your damn payroll. Get what I’m saying?”
Marcus chuckled, edging slightly away from him. “Loud and clear.”
Michael clenched his jaw, his nerves stretched dangerously taut.
After a prolonged silence, Marcus said offhandedly, “Samara and I are gonna crash here for the night. Why don’t you and Reese do the same? You know Dad’s got plenty of room, and quite frankly, you don’t look like you should be get ting behind the wheel tonight.”
Michael bristled. “I only had two glasses of wine with dinner.”
Marcus grinned. “Your alcohol intake isn’t what I’m worried about. Given your rotten mood, do you really think it’s a good idea for you to be alone in a car with Reese?”
Before Michael could respond, a high-pitched squeal from one of the twins drew his gaze across the yard to Sterling and Asha. As he and Marcus watched, their father tossed Matt into the air and caught him with a deep, rollicking laugh. Balancing Malcolm on one hip, Asha laughingly admonished Sterling to be careful. Instead of scowling or flagging her off, Sterling smiled and brushed a windblown strand of hair off her face.
Michael and Marcus exchanged startled glances.
“Did you see that?” Marcus asked. “Hell, yeah.”
They watched in disbelief as Asha smiled shyly at their father before averting her eyes to kiss Malcolm’s forehead. Sterling gazed at her a moment longer, then blinked and quickly glanced away.
Michael gave his brother a sideways look. “You don’t think…?”
They went still, staring alertly at each other.
“Nah,” they scoffed in unison, and laughed.
Chapter 11
Around midnight, Reese found herself wide awake and staring up at a dark ceiling.
Despite being enveloped in Egyptian cotton sheets, and despite the fact that she’d drank three glasses of wine over dinner, sleep eluded her.
And she knew the reason.
She was spending the night under the same roof as Michael. The knowledge that he was asleep somewhere in this big house had proved to be too much for her overactive imagination. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind conjured an image of his hard, muscular, naked body sprawled across a bed. A bed that was calling her name.
It was no wonder her throat was parched and her body burned with a fever that had nothing to do with the sweltering temperature outside.
With a muffled groan of frustration, she flung back the covers and slid out of bed.
What she needed was a tall glass of water and maybe some fresh air to clear her head.
Before leaving the guest bedroom, she finger-combed her tousled hair just in case she ran into anyone downstairs. Glancing down at herself, she surveyed the silk nightshirt Samara Wolf had loaned to her before bedtime. Samara was an inch or two taller, so the nightshirt caught Reese just below the knee. Though she would have preferred the added layer of a robe, she figured she looked decent enough to venture out.
Crossing to the door, she crept from the room and started down the wide corridor.
Her footfalls were absorbed by the thick Aubusson rug that ran the length of the floor.
As she passed the bedroom shared by Marcus and Samara, she thought she heard soft sighs and moans coming from within. She grinned to herself, remembering the intimate looks the couple had exchanged throughout the evening. Despite having their hands full with two rambunctious toddlers, it was clear that their passion for each other had not abated.
Reese hoped that she and her future husband—if she ever got married—would share that same kind of sexual chemistry, the kind that stood the test of time.
Descending the curved staircase, she headed toward the kitchen. The house was dark and silent. Thankfully, it appeared that she was the only insomniac wandering around late at night.
Her steps slowed as she neared the double French doors that led to the veranda.
Moonlight poured in through the tall windows and washed over her. As if drawn by some invisible force, she drifted forward and gazed out into the dark, starry night. There was a full moon, and she could feel the sultry nocturnal heat pressing against the glass. Heedless, she reached for the doorknob and slowly eased the door open, praying she wouldn’t trigger a security alarm that would awaken the entire household.
When no alarm sounded, she breathed a sigh of relief and stepped outside, quietly pulling the door closed behind her. The wood was smooth and warm beneath her bare feet as she padded across the veranda to reach the railing. She closed her eyes, inhaling the fragrant mélange of roses, azaleas, hydrangeas and night-blooming jasmine from the garden below. Already she could feel some of the tension melting from her body. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Reese gasped and whirled around, heart lodged in her throat.
At the sight of Michael sitting alone in a shadowy corner of the veranda, her knees went weak and she sagged against the railing. “You scared me half to death! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Not quite.” His voice was a deep, smoky rumble in the dark night. Heat curled through her veins, fueling the restless ache between her thighs.
She
swallowed, straightening from the balustrade. “W-what’re you doing sitting out here in the dark? Howling at the moon?” she joked lamely.
She thought she detected the ghost of a smile on his face. As she stared at him, he tipped back his head and howled ever so softly. She shivered with arousal, her nipples hardening and her clitoris swelling.
Silently cursing her body’s reaction to him, she cleared her throat and shifted from one foot to another. “I, uh, hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“You are,” came his lazy drawl, “but what else is new?”
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