You Sang to Me ; Holiday Heat ; I'll be Home for Christmas ; Hawaii Magic ; Overtime Love

by Beverly Jenkins

True. She had on shorts and a short-sleeved top. “Stop tempting me.”

  He stood and walked over to her chair. He took her hand and wordlessly coaxed her to her feet. Taking her into his arms, he brushed his lips against her neck. “I just want to give you a quick welcome to Malibu.”

  “Get behind me, devil man.” But because she was kissing him back with equal intensity, they both knew she didn’t mean it, so he kissed for a few more humid seconds then took her hand and led her away.

  * * *

  The studio where the auditions were to be conducted was just a short golf cart ride to the other side of his sprawling property. When they drove up to the flat-roofed building, Reggie noticed all the gleaming high-end cars parked in the lot out front. She saw girls dressed like strippers going inside followed by men in dark, expensive-looking suits. She wondered if the females were her competition or assistants to the executives. He parked the golf cart and turned it off. “Nervous?” he asked.

  Reggie knew she was supposed to be but the echoes of his loving seemed to have masked most of it. “A little bit,” she admitted truthfully.

  “We can go back for another round if you think it’ll help.”

  She laughed and declared, “I’m getting out.” And she did.

  Inside, he escorted her to a large conference room. Around the table were the people she’d seen entering earlier. Jamal made the introductions and the suits greeted her with polite warmth. She saw the girls seated off to the side, checking her out with skeptical eyes. She smiled their way but they looked at her as though she were invisible. Well, now, she said to herself. The snubs hurt even though she tried to convince herself otherwise.

  A few more people arrived; more suits and more half-dressed, heavily made-up women. At 9:00 a.m. sharp, the twenty people walked into the largest sound room Reggie’d ever been in and were asked to take seats.

  Reggie did her best to control her rising nerves. She knew she could sing with the best of them, but the other women in their revealing outfits looked more like the singers in the videos. She, on the other hand, was dressed as she’d been the night of the school fundraiser concert, except for the boots. On her feet were a nice pair of black strappy sandals she’d bought on sale earlier in the week that showed off her freshly painted toes.

  Jamal stood up and explained how the auditions would go. Each singer would be given one shot. The music would be piped in for them through an earpiece and the record execs would be listening and evaluating stage presence. Reggie took in a deep breath.

  The singers drew numbers from a hat. Reggie was number eight. The other women continued to avoid eye contact with her and gave the impression that they didn’t consider her to be much of a threat. Ignoring them, she glanced around the room hoping to see the songwriter Jones. So far no one in the room resembled the scumbag thief Wes Piper.

  Jamal called the first singer to the mic. His engineers spent a quick second hooking up her earpiece. When the background track came through the room’s speaker the girl dressed in stilettos and a skintight, thigh-high purple dress that was way too small began. She was flat, so much so that Jamal politely stopped her before she got a quarter of the way through. He thanked her and told her she could go. She exited in tears.

  Reggie’s nerves climbed another notch.

  The next two were not bad. They were reading the lyrics from the score in their hands though and that surprised her. She’d always memorized the song before going into the studio because that was what she’d learned from watching her late mom record and from working with Kenny.

  Both of the singers were well-endowed, however, and their low-cut dresses emphasized that prominence, so Reggie guessed the men in the room didn’t mind that they were reading as they sang.

  She saw the man posing as Jones enter the room on the tail end of singer number six and she turned her body slightly so he couldn’t get a good look at her face. It was Wes Piper. He was balder and fatter, but she’d know those beady eyes anywhere. Anger replaced her nervousness and when it was her turn to sing, she knew what she was going to do and she didn’t care if it cost her the contract. Right was right. Gram was owed for the money and Kenny for this stolen song. She walked to the mic stand.

  Jamal could see the determination in her eyes and he went still. He smoothly glanced over at Jones and saw the man’s alarmed eyes riveted on Gina. Jamal thought he looked as if he’d swallowed a fish. He had paled and he was dragging a handkerchief over his face. When Jamal looked back at Gina, she gave him a frosty smile and all he could think was, Oh, hell.

  Oh, hell was right. Reggie politely declined the earpiece and as the confused technician stared at her, she announced to the room. “I’m going to do something different and sing this a cappella.”

  Her words caused a stir and she could see the execs sharing whispers and eyeing her as they did.

  “I’m also going to sing this song the way it was originally written before the man you know as the songwriter stole it from the real composer, Kenneth Davidson.”

  Loud gasps of surprise swept the room, but she ignored them, closed her eyes and began to sing. By the third note the room had gone so still you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone in attendance stared in awe as her unparalleled voice rose and fell. Although Piper had altered the words and tempo, Reggie sang it as the tender ballad it was written to be; filling it with all of the pathos and loss Kenny had been feeling at the time it was composed. The song centered on lost love and she performed it so movingly and so well because it had been written for her.

  When she was done, she looked out over the mesmerized faces in the silent room and into the eyes of the frozen Wes Piper. “Mr. Piper. If it takes the rest of my life, you will pay for stealing my grandmother’s money and for stealing this beautiful song.”

  As angry tears filled her eyes she cursed silently. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry, but she was so damn mad she couldn’t see. Jamal made a move to come to her side, but she ignored him, picked up her purse and walked out. Apparently all hell had broken out after that because she could hear arguing and shouting, but she kept striding and didn’t look back, not even when she heard Jamal calling her name.

  Jamal finally excused himself from the arguments and accusations raging in his studio so he could talk to Gina. He found her in her room. Packing. “Where are you going?” His heart was beating so powerfully he thought it might break through his chest.

  “Home,” she announced, zipping the suitcase closed.

  “Gina—”

  She held up a hand. “If you could fix my ticket so I can fly home tonight, I’d really appreciate it.” Her anger was still raging.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Not taking apologies right now, Jamal. Just want to go home. I’ll pay you back however much it costs to change my flight.”

  Jamal sensed there’d be no reasoning with her right now. There was a wall between them and she was in no mood to take it down. His heart twisted with the loss. “Okay,” he said distantly. “I’ll have Cheryl take care of it. Is your grandmother back?”

  “Yes. She’s almost packed.”

  “Wilton will give you a ride to LAX.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I know you wanted me to have this big break, but it’s the principle of the thing. Suppose that had been your song Piper was trying to pass off as his, Jamal?”

  He remained silent because he knew she was right. He studied her and wondered if he’d ever see her again. “Have a safe flight. I’ll be in touch.” He gave her one last look and departed.

  * * *

  After Wilton drove them away, Jamal went back into her room, hoping she’d left something behind so he’d have an excuse to call her. Her perfume was still in the quiet air, so he closed his eyes and filled himself with the lingering scent. He missed her already and wanted her back in his arms. Maurice Jones, aka Wes Piper, denied being a thief, but after witnessing Gina’s outstanding
performance, many in the room had doubts. Jamal was convinced if no one else was, and was pleased to know the man was being threatened with lawsuits if the accusations proved true. He’d even provided Davidson’s number to one of the label’s lawyers.

  But Gina’s parting question wouldn’t leave him alone. What would he have done had someone lifted one of his songs? Probably want to hunt them down. But because it hadn’t been his song, he’d blown it off, totally underestimating her strong values and her sense of fair play. Her getting the recording contract was all he’d cared about. Her performance today had been so special that in spite of the drama she might still get a shot, but his single-mindedness had cost him, big-time. Kenny had warned him to treat her like a treasure but he hadn’t listened.

  He glanced over at the nightstand. On it lay the case belonging to the pearls he’d given her. When he opened it they were stretched out inside in all their luminous beauty. He sighed sadly, closed the box and left the room.

  * * *

  Reggie reported for work Monday morning and received startling news. Because hotel bookings were on the rise again, her job at the concierge desk had been taken out of mothballs and she had been reinstated. It was the best thing that had happened since the weekend began. She hadn’t heard from Jamal. As she told Trina on the phone last night, she didn’t really expect to.

  A few days later, however, he walked through the hotel lobby doors carrying a bouquet of red roses large enough to hide an elephant behind. He looked surprised to see her behind the desk in her dark blue uniform and she was certainly surprised to see him. She’d missed him terribly but hadn’t gotten up the nerve to call him because of her angry exit from his home. Not that she took any of it back, but she did wish she’d calmed down enough to let him have his say.

  “You got your job back?” he said, drinking her in.

  She knew she was grinning like an idiot but she couldn’t seem to stop. She was so glad to see him. “I did.”

  “Think I can have my lady back?”

  “Do you want her back?”

  “More than I want to breathe.”

  She melted.

  Guests and staff members were staring but she didn’t care.

  “These are for you,” he said, handing her the mountain-sized bouquet.

  “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” She couldn’t believe he was actually close enough to touch.

  “I also bring greetings from the music gods.”

  She snorted.

  “You have been invited to sign on with the biggest recording label in musicdom.”

  Her gleeful cry made him smile.

  “And Kenny Davidson’s name has been added to the lawsuit, filed in L.A. circuit court today, against Mr. Maurice Jones, whose real name by the way is Conrad Doyle.”

  She stared.

  “Apparently some of the record companies were sitting on info that tied him to a few other songwriters and singers he bilked but weren’t able to prove it or didn’t want to prove it. Luckily your singing convinced a few of the label VPs to reopen the matter.”

  She just about hit the floor. “So Kenny may get his songs back?”

  “More than likely, yes.”

  She launched herself into his arms and kissed him right there in front of the hotel’s smiling manager and everybody else looking on. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  She placed her head on his chest and realized that in his arms was where she most wanted to be.

  “Kenny wrote that song for you, didn’t he?”

  She looked up and met his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Thought so.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  He shook his head. “If we ever break up will you have my back like you had his?”

  “Forever.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  She laughed. “Probably not this minute, but ask me again in about six months and we’ll see.”

  “Tough lady.”

  She grinned with her cheek against his strongly beating heart. “I’m just a chick from the east side. You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

  Jamal kissed her and knew she was absolutely right.

  * * * * *

  HOLIDAY HEAT

  Beverly Jenkins

  HOLIDAY HEAT

  Beverly Jenkins

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  CHAPTER 1

  Eve Clark looked around at all the goings-on in the large backyard of the home where she’d grown up. She smiled as she took in the legion of Detroit relatives that had gathered at her aunt and uncle’s place that Saturday to celebrate her Aunt Rina’s fifty-seventh birthday. Spread out across the yard were teenage cousins and their friends, little cousins playing with hula hoops and video games, while the uncles swapped lies and slapped dominoes. Some of the women, mostly Eve’s aunts, were seated in lawn chairs underneath the big maple tree laughing and no doubt gossiping, while alternately yelling at grandkids and making sure the food on the picnic tables didn’t run low. It was a typical Clark gathering, one of the few Eve had been able to attend because of the demands of her job as an ATF agent based in Chicago. In a few days she’d be back at work, but right now she was on vacation and enjoying just being a member of the family.

  The birthday party, which was the day before Halloween, was originally supposed to be held indoors. But because the weather was so beautiful for late October in Michigan, everything was moved outside to take advantage of the glorious day.

  When seven-year-old Eve had lost her parents in a fire, Uncle Walt and Aunt Rina had stepped in to raise her. Even though they already had a daughter, Shelly, they still loved and nurtured Eve as if she was their own. Eve would be the first to admit that while growing up, her cousin Shelly had been the adventurous one and had gotten them into more scrapes than Aunt Rina could shake a finger at. But Eve’s line of work had given her the edge in the adventure department now, even if a good portion of her days involved sitting at her desk doing paperwork.

  Eve sighed as she saw her cousin Shelly making her way over to where she was sitting. She and Shelly were more like sisters than cousins. And for the past month Shelly had been calling and sending endless e-mails, trying to convince her to attend a big Halloween masquerade ball in Detroit. Eve had no desire to attend, but Shelly being Shelly, she’d refused to take no for an answer.

  “Hey cuz,” Shelly said, taking a seat in one of the empty lawn chairs. She put her plate of food on the table between them. “I’ve finished your costume and you are going to love it.” Shelly was an award-winning Hollywood costume designer.

  “But I’m not going, remember?”

  Shelly shook her head, using her plastic fork to cut the edge of her ham. “How can a kick-ass woman like you be afraid of a Halloween party?”

  “I’m not scared. I’m just not interested.”

  “It’s going to be fun.”

  “Being hooked up with a stranger doesn’t sound like fun to me, just strange.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Back in my office in Chicago.”

  “Chicken.”

  Eve rolled her eyes.

  Shelly took a sip of her Kool-Aid. “You need to put that ATF badge down for a night and get your freak on. Nobody will know it’s you. That’s the beauty of it.”

  “No.”

  “Suppose you get hooked up with a man who could make you forget all about saving the world.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “The people who are invited are all quality, grown-folks, Eve. They’ve been vetted.”

  “I got that part, but I’m still passing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because ATF agents don’t get their freak on. I’m on the national task force, which means I’m on call
24/7. Suppose I catch a case in the middle of this? What am I supposed to do, grab my stuff and run out of the ball like Cinderella?”

  “Suppose you don’t get a call? I think you’re just looking for excuses, Wonder Woman.”

  Eve smiled and looked away.

  Shelly asked, “When was the last time you were with a man who wasn’t in handcuffs in the backseat of a squad car?”

  “None of your business,” Eve tossed back, laughing softly.

  “Uh-huh. You ought to try it. If you go to the masquerade ball you won’t have to go looking for a man. The hosts will hook you up.”

  Eve still wasn’t buying. Shelly pressed harder. “It’s not every day that you get the chance to spend the night in a luxury suite complete with food and champagne free of charge. If the two of you just want to talk, that’s okay.”

  “No.”

  “Come on,” she pleaded. “Think of all the hours I spent slaving over this costume.”

  The persistent whine made Eve chuckle and remember all the other times her cousin had talked her into situations, some good, some bad, but none this outrageous. “So what’s this costume look like?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Eve threw up her hands. “I know I’m not going now.”

  Shelly laughed. “No, it’s one of the best costumes I’ve ever done. Everyone in my shop’s excited. It’s hot. It’s classy. It’s you, Eve. It’ll have tongues falling on the ground all over the place. And besides, you know I’m going to hound you about going until you say yes, so save yourself the trouble, and just give in.”

  “You know I can kick your ass, right?”

  Shelly grinned and stuck a celery stick in her mouth. “But you love me, so you won’t.”

  She was right of course. Eve also knew that Shelly wasn’t kidding about hounding her to the grave. It was one of the things she did best, besides costume design. Eve exhaled audibly. “Okay, I give up. But if I wind up shooting somebody, it’ll be your fault.”

  “I love you, too. And by the way, I can’t go.”

  “What!”