Sealed With a Kiss

by Gwynne Forster

  The following evening, Naomi checked her appearance in the full-length mirror attached to her closet door. She’d had her hair straightened to make it manageable and styled into an elaborate French twist. Her dress was an off-the-shoulder lavender-pink sheath slit above the left knee, and the diamond studs in her ears were her only jewelry. Her fur-lined black silk evening cape matched the silk evening bag; and her black silk pumps were plain except for their rhinestone buckles. She sprayed some Fendi perfume in strategic places, closed her door, and went down to the lobby to await her taxi.

  Maude Frazier had placed her right in front of Rufus at the narrow end of the oval-shaped sponsors’ table. It hadn’t occurred to Naomi that he’d be sitting near her. When she arrived, he stood, nodded politely, and walked around the table to assist her in sitting. She hadn’t seen nor spoken with him since the afternoon she’d spent at his home, but that might have been because she’d deliberately erased the messages on her answering machine before listening to them. Desire knotted her insides when she looked at him. Why did she respond to him the way she did? He was tall, elegant, and drop-dead handsome; the sight of him nearly took away her breath.

  “You look lovely, Naomi. Where’s your date?”

  “He let me out of the house all by my little self tonight, just to see if I could be trusted not to get lost,” she taunted, wearing one of her sugary-sweet, plastic smiles. He had an urge to shake her. It was unreasonable, but so was she.

  “Try to discipline your tart little tongue for tonight, so that your tablemates can enjoy the evening, darling.” He spoke to her ears only and drew the word out to make certain that it annoyed her. He’d called her every evening that week, and she hadn’t answered her phone or returned the messages he’d left on her answering machine.

  “Who’s the little femme fatale sitting on your right and throwing darts at me? Poor thing; put her at ease and tell her there’s nothing between us.” He tried not to react; she might feel reckless, but he didn’t.

  He inclined his head toward the younger woman seated next to his chair. “She’s smart enough to know there’s nothing between us. And why do you care, anyway? You took yourself out of the picture.” And left me here in limbo! He had had a week of emotional upheaval, half eager to see her and half dreading what seeing her would do to him. And she’d walked in looking like a queen, wrapped securely in her protective witch armor. He went back to his seat.

  The young woman seated beside Rufus laid claim to his attention most of the evening, but to Naomi’s delight, she didn’t always get it, and he either sat out the dances or partnered another woman, never asking Naomi. It embarrassed her that Marva’s husband was her most frequent dance partner, and she knew that was a result of Marva’s prompting. Finally, the orchestra leader announced the last dance. Jitterbug Waltz, a slow, sensuous, heat-provoking jazz piece. She wasn’t looking when he left his chair, but she knew instinctively that the fingers that brushed her bare shoulders were his.

  “Dance with me, Naomi.” It wasn’t a question. Everyone at the table looked at them. It was the last dance, and he was asking Naomi to share it with him.

  Slowly, she rose to her feet, her three-inch heels making her only a few inches shorter than he. “A gentleman dances the last dance with the woman he brought.” She didn’t try to hide the bitterness she felt. All evening she had ached to be in his arms, to glide across the floor with him, and all evening he had looked elsewhere for his partners.

  He brought her a trifle closer. “If I had brought a woman here, I would be dancing with her right now.” She missed a step. “I came alone, Naomi.”

  “But…”

  “I met Maude’s niece here tonight. You should have guessed that she wasn’t with me.” He changed the subject. “You look beautiful. You’re always beautiful, but tonight you’re lovelier than ever.” He pulled her to him and rocked her to the pulsating rhythmic beat with a voluptuous tilt of his hips.

  “Move with me,” he whispered in a low, sultry voice.

  “Rufus. I…” She couldn’t muster another word. He danced lightly on his feet and moved them with a slow, enthralling glide that sent her heart racing. Thoughtlessly, she moved closer to him, and he welcomed her, clasping her possessively to him as their dance turned into one of riveting desire.

  “You’re mine right now,” he whispered, as his lips gazed her ear, and she shivered against him. He barely moved, merely let their bodies angle this way and that to the beat of the all consuming rhythm.

  Rufus knew the minute she remembered where she was and that she had slid her hands up the lapels of his navy tuxedo and rested her head snugly under his chin. As usual, she had let her senses take over.

  “Rufus, please! We’re in a public place.” She tried to move away from him, but he held her and danced a lovers’ dance with her.

  “Would you make love with me right now if we weren’t in a public place? If we were in the privacy of your bedroom? Would you? Tell me.” It wasn’t a taunt; he whispered it sweetly, lovingly, softly. She didn’t answer, but tried to put a little space between them; he wouldn’t allow it. His warm fingers stealthily traced the cut of her gown to her lower back and caressed the flesh revealed there, and he felt her capitulate and let him have his way. He had gotten the only reward he figured he’d get; he’d robbed her of her will to resist him, had scrambled her wits.

  At last the music ended; the dance was over, and he watched fascinated as she stood facing him, looking at him, drinking him in, seemingly immobile. Then, like the changing seasons, her eyes slowly lost their soft, besotted look and assumed a glare of murderous intent.

  “How dare you do that to me on a public dance floor?” She kept her trembling voice low, and he realized that Naomi was angry. For the first time since he’d known her, she was angry. He rethought it: she was mad, and he had best remain silent. He understood, too, that while she was mad at him, she was more furious with herself, and that put him in the mood to placate her.

  Back stiff and head high, she walked back to their table, collected her purse, and bade their fellow guests good-night. Then she turned to Rufus and spoke to him between tightly clenched teeth.

  “You come with me; I’ve got a few things to say to you.” She began walking, all but ordering him to follow her.

  “All right,” he told her, when they reached the entrance to the ballroom, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  He figured she’d like to destroy him with that withering look and pretended he didn’t see it.

  “I didn’t drive tonight. How could I, with this dress on?”

  Rufus shrugged elaborately. “Good point. I still haven’t figured out how you got into it. May I have your cloakroom ticket?” She gave it to him, along with two one-dollar bills for the tip. He looked first at the money and then at her, started to speak, and clamped his mouth shut. If she was going to explode, she’d do it without any more help from him.

  The porter brought his car to the front. Naomi looked first at the silver gray Town Car and then at Rufus. “I should have known that a minivan wouldn’t satisfy you.” He said nothing, but merely took her arm and walked toward his car. She was upset, and he suspected it was much more than their dance that had ticked her off.

  “Why do you think I’m getting into that thing with you?” she asked him, in a tone that was only a little less peevish than it had been earlier.

  He sighed patiently. “Be reasonable, Naomi. You said you wanted to speak to me, but you don’t have your car, and it’s cold out here. I don’t discuss private matters in taxis, because I don’t want to read about it the next day. What’s the alternative?”

  “Oh, all right,” she huffed. He opened the door and assisted her into the passenger’s seat.

  “Why are we going in here?” she queried, somewhat ungraciously, when he parked in front of an exclusive late-night supper club.<
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  Rufus turned, put his right arm on the back of her seat, and looked at her. “My patience isn’t endless, Naomi, and you’ve already tested what little forbearance I have. We can go to my place, but one of my boys would awaken and disturb us; I left a sitter with them. We could go to your place, but in my current mood, I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t be in your bed with you five minutes after we got there. So this is it.” He was well aware that she didn’t disagree with his reasoning, and it didn’t brighten his mood: knowing that she acknowledged an inability to resist him was more temptation than he wanted.

  He asked for and got a table in a corner far from the piano-playing chanteuse, whose songs all sounded the same. It surprised him that Naomi was still so mad, but there was no mistaking it. Slow to anger and slow to yield it, he mused.

  “Lighten up, Naomi; nothing that happened could have been as bad as you’re making it out to be.” She pursed her lips and glared at him.

  “All right. All right. Spill it,” he urged, conceding himself to the right to a little anger.

  Annoyance surged through her, enlivening her. “You had no right to seduce me on that dance floor. No gentleman would have done what you did to me out there. You practically made love to me right out there in front of all those people,” she fumed. “You don’t respect me, and now everybody knows it.” It poured out of her, but not a word described what she actually felt; words couldn’t have described it. A wintry desolation had beset her, saturating her consciousness with a deep need for the shelter of his arms, for the solace of his whole self. Apprehensive of her feelings, she took refuge in her annoyance, grasping at straws.

  “Shut up, Naomi.” It was gently said, without vocal inflection.

  “What?” She lowered her voice. “What do you mean, telling me to shut up?”

  “Naomi,” he drawled, giving her the impression that he was drawing on his last reserve of patience. “‘Shut up’ is exactly what I mean. I’m the one who got seduced on that dance floor. Me! I was dancing normally, just as I always do, and then you stepped into me.” She opened her mouth to protest, but his look suggested that silence would be prudent.

  “That’s right. You just tucked your little tush under and moved right into me. What do you think I’m made of, huh? And another thing. If you weren’t susceptible, you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did. That’s mostly what this is about, isn’t it. You’re scared of what you felt. And you’re scared of something else, too, Naomi, but that’s another story, isn’t it?”

  She leaned back in the richly upholstered chair and glared at him. “So what happened out there was all my doing, eh? Big, six-foot-four-inch man got snowed by a female who doesn’t know that”—she flicked a finger—“about the art of seduction. Get real, Rufus.”

  Laughter deep and warm rippled from his throat as he glanced at his watch. Their waiter seemed to have taken a break. “Honey, you don’t have to know anything about the art of seduction; you just do what comes naturally. Uninhibited, that’s you. No wonder you try to hold yourself aloof. You’re scared of what you might do if you really let yourself go.” He drained his glass and stood. “You’re enjoying this conversation because it’s cooling you off, but it’s heating me up, and I’ve finished with it. If I offended you, I apologize. But, lady, I’m not one bit sorry for anything that happened on that dance floor.”

  He winked as he reached for her hand, disconcerting her. “I’d do it again if I had the chance, and I’d bet my Rolex that you would, too.”

  “Not with you, I wouldn’t,” she threw at him hating his obvious amusement, his cocky grin.

  “I don’t believe you,” he countered, his face as somber as she’d ever seen it.

  They walked out of the supper club, and her pride in being with Rufus overrode her anger. He had complemented his navy tuxedo with a ruffled pale gray silk shirt and pale gray on navy accessories, and the combination offset his dark good looks. Tall and elegant, he was the picture of male power. I’m not vain, she thought, but right now I’m glad I’m not bad-looking.

  They reached her door. “Rufus, could we please not have the kind of scene we had when you last brought me home?” She sounded so prim that she annoyed herself. “I want to avoid it.”

  “I’m not stopping you,” he teased. “You have my permission to avoid it.” His charismatic smile enveloped her, but she resisted the temptation to forgive and turned toward her door.

  “Naomi, how can you stay angry so long? With me, it’s over in minutes.”

  “And a good thing, too, or you’d be angry all the time. Any little thing ticks you off.” His censoring frown challenged her statement. “Well, a lot of things do,” she amended.

  He moved closer, and she’d have stepped back if there’d been anyplace to go. “If you didn’t play a part in what happened to us during that dance and if you’re not susceptible to me, as you claim, I’d like to be sure of it. Kiss me, Naomi. I won’t move, I promise, and there’s no music here.”

  He leaned toward her, and with the closed door for support, braced his hands on either side of her. “Kiss me, baby.” Her heart thundered widely at the suggestiveness in his low, husky words. “Put your arms around me and kiss me,” he cajoled silkily. His voice had become thick and slurred. She stared into his eyes mesmerized, and then let her glance drift to his sensuous lips. When he parted them ever so slightly, she sucked in her breath and succumbed to his tempting maleness. He closed in on her, his hands still braced against the wall, and his mouth devoured her as she grasped him to her and clung.

  Desperate now, she whimpered. “Hold me. Please hold me.” But he didn’t touch her until her knees buckled. Then he held her with his left arm, took her key, and opened the door.

  “Good night, Naomi.”

  She barely noticed his short, rapid intake of breath and the look of longing in his eyes, but focused on what she felt. What she needed. “Good…what?”

  It registered that he was actually leaving her. “I hate you, Rufus. I do. I hate you, and I’m never going anywhere else with you. Never.” She hissed it at him, trembling with frustration.

  She calmed herself, allowed her good sense to surface, and with reason restored, no longer felt rejected. If he had crossed that threshold, she’d have had some confessing to do, come morning. And she wouldn’t have known where to start and certainly not how to end it. She didn’t know the end. She did know that Rufus had proved his point incontestably. She not only wanted him; she needed him.

  “I know how you feel,” he muttered, as he walked away, equally frustrated, but determined to leave her. Gently, and at considerable expense to his shattered emotions, he had pushed her inside her door and left. If the day ever came when she could look him in the eye and say she wanted him and would have no regrets, he’d stay. Not before.

  Chapter 8

  Rufus received the Reverend Judd Logan’s seven-thirty a.m. phone call with astonishment. He had written exactly one paragraph of the thoughts he’d collected and didn’t want to be disturbed. But Judd didn’t so much invite as command him to his home in Alexandria for breakfast that morning, not even hinting at what had prompted the invitation. Curious, Rufus agreed to go, but mainly because he figured he might learn something about the mystery that he sensed surrounding Naomi. He took his boys to Jewel’s house and left them with her husband, a dentist. Jeff’s afternoon office hours enabled him to keep the children while Jewel taught, and she relieved him at three o’clock.

  Judd’s cook, who seemed nearly as old as his employer, led Rufus to the study. Something out of an old movie, he thought, only grudgingly amused, as he looked around at the antique furniture, heavy velvet drapes, and ecru lace curtains. His working day was shot, his deadline was now almost unattainable, and his boys were off their schedule. Judd Logan stood, his stature belying his great age.

  “I see y
ou made it. Just have a seat; breakfast will be served in here in a minute.” Rufus remembered Naomi having said that Judd seldom bothered to thank anybody for anything, certainly not for obeying one of his unreasonable commands. So he remained standing, raised an eyebrow, and left the expression of incredulity on his face so long that the old man took a hint and said, “I’m glad to meet you.”

  The breakfast was consumed and the crafty old man still had spoken only of the weather and of similarly mundane things. Rufus tired quickly and demanded, “What may I do for you, sir? I’m sure you know that Chevy Chase isn’t just across the street from you. I’m a busy man.”

  Judd gazed at Rufus intently, obviously appraising him. “So you’re Cat Meade.”

  “I used to be. Yes.”

  “Well, who are you now?” The old man’s sharp eyes bored into Rufus, sizing him up. Rufus was accustomed to power plays; he had learned to be a master at them when he negotiated his football contracts, and bluffing was fifty percent of it. He didn’t take up the challenge.

  “I gave that up five years ago. I never intended to make football my life’s work; I’m a journalist and a published author. What exactly do you want with me?” He wanted to be respectful to Naomi’s grandfather, but the man rankled him, and what’s more, didn’t seem to mind that he did.

  “What are your intentions with regard to my granddaughter?” Rufus sucked in his breath and stared wide-eyed at his host. Was this man serious? It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Judd Logan that he’d had a driver’s license for nearly twenty years and didn’t take kindly to having his behavior questioned. Then he laughed.

  “You couldn’t be serious! I thought Naomi might be stretching the truth with some of the things she told me about you. You’re way off, Reverend Logan; your granddaughter and I are not on the best of terms. In fact, we’re barely speaking now.” He didn’t add that he’d merely assumed it from Naomi’s mood when they’d parted the night before.