by Dyanne Davis
“It’s not,” Tommy assured him, “but if it happens to help someone who used to be an old friend, would that be so bad?”
“No, it wouldn’t be bad at all.”
Tommy gave the man all the information he’d managed to dig up and told him just where he’d searched so he wouldn’t have to bother turning over the same ground again.
He turned at the sound of Mary Jo’s voice drifting to the back of the shop where he was.
“Later, man,” he said and ended the call. “Janice,” he yelled, “I’m back here.” He felt a strange warmth creep over him and he rushed to assure himself that it had nothing to do with Mary Jo Adam, AKA Janice Lace, being less than five feet from him.
He knew eventually they would have to revisit the ghosts of their past, only now wasn’t the time. Neither of them was ready for it; they’d hurt each other. He’d cursed himself a million times through the years for having run out on her. And he’d cursed her a million times for not believing that he loved her enough to come back. If only she’d had a little more faith in him, but she hadn’t. She’d let what she wanted and her own fears deprive him of being a father to his child.
True, it was a child he hadn’t wanted but he had come back to take over his responsibility like a man and she’d deprived him of that. He’d never been able to forgive her for that. She’d even taken the thought that together they had created a new life and crushed it, telling him that it hadn’t been his. Tommy shook with the memory as he stared at the woman standing before him.
She was beautiful and polished self-assured and talented. And as cold as ice. He sensed no genuine warmth coming from her and he wondered for a moment what Simon found in her. It was as though she were dead inside.
She could fool the people who didn’t know her but he’d known her intimately for four years, her body, mind and spirit, and he knew she was faking ‘the woman with no emotion’ persona she presented to the public. Every breath she drew was a lie. The only thing approaching genuine emotion had been the first day she’d seen him. Her hatred had been real enough. Since then, she’d managed to cover that up and show him the same artificial faces she’d shown her public. Before he was done with her he intended to crack that facade, melt the ice she’d encased her emotions in. Before they were through he would uncover her buried emotions. He would have the truth.
* * *
Simon Kohl called the one man he trusted with his life, more than his life, the one man he trusted with his past and his future, to come into his office.
“Harold, are you sure no one will ever find out about my family?”
“I’m sure, Simon. Why, what’s the problem?”
“A problem I created. I made a wrong move and now I’m being called on it.”
“Care to enlighten me on what the devil you’re talking about?”
Simon didn’t want to tell the man who was more like a father to him than his own had ever been. He knew Harold wouldn’t approve of the methods he’d chosen to dig into his bride-to-be’s past. He would have told Simon that it was none of his business. He would have said that she had as much right to her past as he did to his. Of course he knew all of this but still he’d felt the need to know and that need had overridden every decent emotion in his body.
“I just want you to make sure no one can get their hands on any of the information.”
“Have they ever?”
“No, but I have the feeling this man will not rest until he digs up some dirt on me.”
“Who is this man?”
“Tommy Strong.”
“The man you gave the million dollar check to?”
“The man I tried to give the million dollar check to. He ripped it up.”
“Oh.”
“Oh what?” Simon asked. “What do you think you know, old man?”
“More than you want me to know. Your money couldn’t buy the man and now you’ve made an enemy out of him. Is that the gist of it?”
Simon cringed at how easily Harold read him, how easily he had always read him.
“Why don’t you tell her the truth? If she loves you she won’t hold what happened in your family against you.”
“That’s the problem, Harold, old man; she doesn’t want to love me.”
“Then why are you doing all of this? Dump her and find a woman who does.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Please, I have to hear this one. Tell me why not.”
“Because I love her.”
For a long moment Harold was silent. “I thought you told me the two of you had an understanding.”
“That was in the beginning.”
“Funny, you never mentioned that you’d had a change of heart,” Harold said.
“I didn’t know that I needed to,” Simon said, letting the sarcasm drag the words out, letting Harold know that it was Simon who was the boss and not the other way around. Despite his love for the man, sometimes he was forced to put Harold in his place.
“When did this happen?” Harold asked.
“The timing doesn’t matter.” Simon smiled to himself, knowing he’d loved her almost from the beginning. It had just taken him a while to admit it to himself. That was one of the reasons that he’d been willing to give Janice time to come around, to recognize her love for him as he’d recognized his for her.
“Do you plan to have her sign a prenuptial?”
“Hell no,” Simon shouted.
“That’s suicide, man. How can you even think of marrying a woman without some type of protection? She can take half of everything you own.”
“She doesn’t have to take half of everything. I’m going to give her half of everything that I own.”
“Are you thinking with your head?”
“I’m not sure, but it is what I’m going to do. Look I didn’t call for us to debate my marriage. Just make sure my secret stays a secret.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of things on my end. It’s not your secret I’m worried about, it’s your senses. You seem to have taken leave of them and I’m afraid there’s not very much I can do to help you if you don’t allow me. I have told you since you were a child that what happened in your family was not your fault. You can’t make up for it now, but God knows you’ve tried. Are you sure that your marrying this woman isn’t another form of seeking absolution? You’ve been looking for it your entire life.”
Simon closed his eyes tightly and growled low in his throat. Harold was lucky that he loved and respected him or he would be out on his ass and Harold damn well knew it.
“I’m going to tell you this one last time and I want you to listen, because I do not plan on ever repeating it to you again. Janice Lace is not my means of absolution. Yes, she’s black; yes, I feel guilt; yes, I wish I could change the things my family did to black people but as far as my relationship with my fiancée is concerned, I love her with my whole heart, my body, my mind and my spirit. I want to make that clear. All that I have I give freely to her.”
“Then that will have to be good enough for me,” Harold said, his voice showing the resignation that he felt. Even Harold knew that there was a cutoff point for Simon’s patience with him, and he would not push the man farther on the subject.
Simon slid his expensive loafers to the end of his desk and sighed. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He turned toward Harold and smiled. “Thanks for coming in. I’ll talk to you later,” he said, politely, indicating that it was time for Harold to leave his office.
He rubbed his eyes. Janice had promised not to stay all night with Tommy. They had plans and he was holding her to them. He didn’t give a damn if he had to drag her kicking and screaming from the bookstore, he was determined that his fiancée would remain just that, his fiancée.
Chapter Ten
Janice stood for a moment on the threshold separating the back room of Tommy’s store from the public arena. She felt strange, as though by crossing the barrier she would somehow be going back in time. It was a crazy
feeling and she knew it, yet a faint memory was pulling at her and she didn’t know if she wanted to take the step.
“Why are you just standing there?” Tommy was staring at her with a strange expression on his face. “Have you been standing there long? Did you hear me on the phone?” Then he shook his head and smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
Janice wondered about his questions. Was he worried about her having overheard something?
“Janice, are you coming in? We have a lot of work to do today.”
She looked out at the open store and wondered what it was that made her hesitate. Then she crossed the threshold and followed Tommy.
She glanced around, saw the pile of papers spread out across the coffee table. She caught the scent of raspberry cinnamon coffee and started. He remembered. She had not had that since…It had been a long time. She bit down softly on her bottom lip, wondering why he’d remembered and why he’d made it.
She sat and began sifting through the papers, barely able to contain her composure. She lifted her eyes to him as he poured two mugs of coffee, put in the cream and sugar, then reached into the small fridge. She knew immediately what he was going for. He put a large dollop of whipped cream in one mug and sprinkled cinnamon over it and just like that Janice could feel herself slipping into the life of Mary Jo.
She reached for the cup, not making any mention of what he’d done, not saying more than thank you.
Tommy smiled to himself, barely able to stop the look of satisfaction from showing in his eyes. Did she really think that after four years of loving her he’d simply forgotten the things that made her mouth water?
Tommy wouldn’t carry the thought any farther. He didn’t want to look at her and imagine the smell of her sex, the feel of her nipples as he bit down softly. No, he didn’t want to think of the way the juices flowed from her body to cover his fingers, his tongue, his burning flesh. Tommy had no need to remember those things, because as he turned back to look at her he realized that on a certain level those things had not changed.
What had changed was their faith in each other. That had been shattered. He watched as she sipped the coffee, saw her lick the whipped cream from her lips and got an instant erection.
For the past twelve years Tommy had not allowed lust to rule his life and he would not do it now. “How’s the coffee?” he asked, moving away from her. He had to have normal conversation, anything to cool the fire burning in his loins.
“It’s great,” she answered.
He knew she was being deliberately vague, not a mention of the flavor, or the whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkles, though he knew she enjoyed it. He’d seen the pleasure wash over her at the taste.
If he hadn’t been staring at her with that cocky quirk of his brow, Janice would have moaned aloud with her pleasure. In a way, the coffee competed with sex for her. It always had. She’d thought that Tommy had invented a secret aphrodisiac.
Later she’d realized that the coffee had always come either after or before they made love. It was their youthful passion that had been the catalyst, not the coffee. Still, the brew had been special to her, which was why she’d not allowed herself to drink it in a decade.
Now sitting here drinking it with Tommy, she felt her face flame as her eyes fell on the bulge at his crotch. She couldn’t tear her gaze away. Thoughts of Simon weren’t enough to make the flow of memories cease. It was only when the cup was empty that the feelings lessened.
“Want some more?” Tommy asked and she looked into the bottom of the cup, almost surprised that there was nothing left, even more surprised that Tommy had known.
“No thanks,” she said. She didn’t dare. “One cup was more than enough for me. I had coffee with Simon, before I left,” she said, deliberately bringing her fiancé back into her life, back into her thoughts. Still, she felt a tremor as Tommy’s hand brushed hers as he took the cup away.
“Good, then we can get down to business,” Tommy said with a slight quiver in his voice.
”Just what are we going to do?” Her voice sounded strange to her ears. At least she’d torn her gaze away from Tommy’s most intimate secrets, though those particular secrets were very well known to her. She blushed at her wanton thoughts, even though they had nothing to do with love or wanting but were simply a bit of déjà vu, nothing more.
“I was thinking you could write an article for Black Train of Thought, and maybe do an interview with Black Rose.” Tommy stopped at the puzzled look that crossed Mary Jo’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Anger of what he knew the problem was pushed at him. She didn’t have any idea whatsoever of what he was talking about.
Janice was embarrassed. “I don’t mind doing the article or the interview. Just give me some background information.”
“Just what kind of information?” He was going to make her sweat, make her say out loud that she had no knowledge of two of the most successful black publications to be launched in the past year.
He watched as she looked away, her look embarrassed. Well, she should be. Tommy was angrier than he’d been in a long time. Damn, he’d thought the change was just on the outside. Now he saw it was all the way through. She wasn’t just an Oreo; she had nothing black left of her. She wasn’t his Mary Jo. She was Janice Lace; he’d been kidding himself.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of these magazines?”
“Tommy, you don’t have to speak to me as if I’m a moron. I can’t possibly know of everything that’s published.”
“Have you heard of Romantic Times?”
“Of course.”
“Then why can’t you keep up with what’s happening in the black world? You’re black, Janice Lace. Regardless of what name you want to call yourself, you’re still black. Remember that.”
“Do you want my help or are you planning on picking apart everything that I don’t know?”
As he looked at her with disgust, a genuine feeling of loss ripped through him. All the planning they’d done to have it come down to this. How was it possible? “Are you serious, you really haven’t heard of them, Mary Jo? They’ve written articles about you. Didn’t you know it?”
“No.” She shook her head. “What did they do, rake me over the coals?”
“No, they praised your talents.”
“I’ve been busy, Tommy. A lot of things have happened to me. My not knowing was not deliberate.”
“What have you been doing, living as an ostrich? I don’t see how all these months you could not have known.”
“How long have they been out?”
“Black Train of Thought for nine months. Black Rose for six.”
“That’s not a long time.”
“Long enough.”
“Tommy, can’t you let that go? I don’t need your indignation. I just need to be briefed about them. I don’t want to seem ignorant when I give the interview.”
“But you are.”
Janice recoiled from his words and for the first time in a decade the sting of tears burned her eyes and she sucked in her breath to keep them in. Still, her eyes pooled and she turned away.
She knew Tommy hated her but she’d never expected his cruelty to tear away at the carefully built facade she’d created. She stood and shivered, wishing she could fight with Tommy as she fought with Simon. She’d never been able to.
Tommy felt like a heel. He stood silently for a moment, the pool of tears in Janice’s eyes getting to him. He’d made her cry. He’d not intended that. Sure, he was angry with her but he didn’t want her to cry. He wanted her to fight back, something she’d always seemed to have a problem doing with him. He’d seen her go toe to toe with many people but never with him. He’d always wondered if he intimated her.
Intimidation wasn’t what he was after now. He walked toward her, slid his arms around her waist and pulled her body against his. He heard the soft sobs in her throat and pressed his face against the back of her head, smelling the fragrance of her shampoo, smelling her, and
his flesh quickened in his pants, his erection straining, telling him that it remembered the feel of her. His hands moved over her body, their statement clear. They also remembered.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly. “I didn’t mean to come down on you so hard. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He attempted to turn her to face him but she wouldn’t budge. “Mary Jo, he pleaded, “look at me.”
“Call me Janice,” she said.
Tommy pressed her more firmly to him. “Okay, I’ll call you Janice. Now will you look at me?”
She turned to face him, her eyes downcast, not believing that she’d actually cried. She hadn’t known that she remembered how. She sniffled.
“Would you like more coffee?” Tommy asked, tilting her chin with his finger to look into her eyes. She didn’t answer and he smiled. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asked. “Tell me, Tommy, what it is that you’re really sorry for?” She held his gaze now, her question loaded, knowing that he knew what she was asking. Had he ever told her that he was sorry that he’d left her or that she’d had to go thorough everything alone? She couldn’t remember. But she clearly remembered his anger. Now she wanted to know why he was sorry. She waited.
“I’m sorry for now,” he said, “for making you cry. I had no right to do that.” He stared at her, knowing what she wanted, unable to give it. He couldn’t tell her how sorry he was that he’d left her. His anger at her lack of faith in him wouldn’t permit it. She’d always looked up to him, asked him before she made any decisions. Even now he couldn’t believe a decision so major, so important to both of their lives, she would have made alone. “I’m sorry for now, Janice. There was no cause for me to do what I did.”
Another tear slid down her cheek, then another, and he gathered her into his arms, feeling the soft roundness of her curves, feeling her skin smooth as silk as his arms tightened around her. And he pulled her ever closer, not caring that she felt his hardness. He pulled away just a little, wanting to see her face, the urge to kiss her trying to overcome his good sense. He’d not had these feeling for anyone for more years than he cared to remember.
