Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  Neecie’s bangles clinked together as she placed a hand on her hip. “Please,” she said, exasperation heavy in her voice. “I’m okay to stay here by myself. I told you both you can go.”

  Kareem spun to face her. “We’re not leaving you here alone.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Kareem took off his book bag and tossed it into the chair at his station. “Al, Lee, you can leave if you want. I’ll stay here with Neecie.”

  “I’ll be done in twenty minutes,” Neecie said.

  “You’re good. The world won’t end if I’m late to Janiyah’s rehearsal dinner.” He’d stop and buy a bouquet of flowers for Janiyah if he was late, however. He didn’t want to upset her on her wedding weekend. Kareem glanced at Al and Lee. “Take off, fellas. I’m good.”

  “Cool,” Lee said. “I’ve got a lady waiting on me now.”

  Some of Kareem’s frustration went away at the guys’ willingness to wait for Neecie. The woman swore she could take care of herself. He didn’t doubt her, but that didn’t mean he would leave her in the shop alone with night approaching.

  He locked the door after Al and Lee, then grabbed his book bag out of his chair and left Neecie to her client.

  He pushed aside the burgundy curtain that separated the main area from the back of the shop. Shelves that held product, towels, and supplies filled the space, along with a fridge in the left corner. He went through another door to his office—small and crowded by a large oak desk, but all his. A place he could escape to when he got tired of the conversations in the shop or kick other people out of when he didn’t want to be bothered.

  He’d get a bigger one. He glanced at the yellow walls. In a better place and a bigger city. He needed to follow Sandra’s recommendation to open his place in Charlotte, North Carolina. The city had two major league teams and plenty of professionals from the banking community who would be willing to try a high-end barber shop. He had no connections there, but maybe the banks would consider his idea less of a risk.

  Eventually all his dreams would become a reality—a sophisticated place, where men could come and relax and get taken care of, not the rented space he had in a strip mall, with sketchy heat in the winter and barely there air conditioning in the summer. A place to help him shed the mistakes of the past and the filth that clung from the gang ties he once coveted. No matter how risky Mr. Small of First Legions bank thought the idea, Kareem would realize his vision.

  Neecie knocked on the door and stuck her head in his office exactly twenty minutes later. Kareem glanced up from reviewing his business plan—again. The plan was tight, but still he searched for what could be revised to make it appear less risky for the next bank manager.

  “I’m done with my client.” Neecie stepped further into the office. She didn’t make eye contact. Instead her gaze darted between the wall and his desk.

  Yeah, she hadn’t made eye contact with him in his office since catching him in there with his ex-girl bent over the desk. That night Neecie’s dark eyes had grown wide with shock after she’d burst in, but she’d stayed a second longer than necessary before spinning on her heels and hauling ass.

  “Did you lock the door behind him?” Kareem asked.

  “Not yet. I’m going to clean up my area then go.”

  Kareem frowned and slowly stood. Locking the door at night was the first thing he stressed when she’d started working for him. He didn’t need some strange guy, high on desire after seeing Neecie and her perfect tits through the glass, coming in and harassing her.

  “Lock the door.”

  “I am, but first can you change the music for me?” Her gaze met his, and she quickly looked away again.

  The shy routine only heated his blood. Neecie liked what she’d seen that night, and damn if he didn’t want to give it to her. But she wasn’t that type of girl—not like his ex who loved sex the only way Kareem knew how to give it.

  Kareem came around his desk. “Why would I change my music?”

  Neecie instantly stepped back and out of his office. The way she scurried to avoid being alone with him in that place was almost funny. Her embarrassment also turned him on, making him wonder what bending her over his desk would be like as he followed her out.

  “I found this hot new artist over the weekend on satellite radio,” Neecie said in a light, smooth voice, with just enough of an edge to scrape along the desire he tried to ignore.

  Neecie waved her cell phone, a smile—more relaxed now that they were out of his office—on her face. “Of course I downloaded his album. Maybe we can listen to it.” One of her feet twisted back and forth. “Since none of the guys are here and won’t give you a hard time.”

  He narrowed his eyes on her, but her smile only turned into a mischievous grin. His annoyance from earlier slowly melted away. Indulging Neecie’s taste in music when they were the only two in the shop was their secret. Otherwise, he controlled the music.

  “What is it this time?” Kareem strolled over to the radio and speaker system. “Some dude wailing about being in love, or another pop album that’s going to make me want to rip out my dreads?”

  “Love is a beautiful thing, Kareem,” she said, completely ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. She scrolled across the screen of her smartphone. “And this guy … you can tell he’s been in love before. It’s in the way he says the words. It’s like poetry. If only I could meet a man who put words together like that.”

  The corner of Kareem’s lip twitched. “You’re hanging out in the wrong place, honey. The men that come through here don’t know a thing about poetry. Except the vulgar kind.”

  “Maybe so,” she said, handing over her phone. “But one day I hope to fall in love. Get married. All that stuff.”

  “You seem the type. Ready to be the perfect housewife.”

  “Hold up.” Neecie placed a hand on her hip. “I never said I wanted to be a housewife. I just said I want to get married one day. I’m not trying to submit to some guy and sit around waiting for him to hand out an allowance.”

  Kareem raised a brow. The housewife jab had worked to bring out her spark. Seeing the spitfire beneath the sweetness always made him want to fire her up.

  “Submitting to a guy isn’t always bad. In the right circumstances.” His gaze traveled across her thick curves before returning to her eyes.

  Neecie inhaled quickly and broke eye contact. “Love is a partnership. Mutual trust, mutual love, mutual understanding. Give and take. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Kareem let her avoid his meaning. Neecie was too good to get what he wanted to give.

  Glancing down at the screen of the cell phone he cringed at the picture of the album she’d downloaded. The guy on the cover looked like the kind of lame dude she’d fall for—tall, lanky, wearing too tight pants, a fedora, and glasses with a guitar in his hands. Kareem read the title, Love Poems, and snorted.

  Neecie laughed and playfully pushed his shoulder. “Stop, and hurry up while I clean up.”

  “You know this guy is just like every other guy.” Kareem used the AC adaptor cord coming from the speakers to plug into her phone. “All this love crap he’s spitting is just a front to get in a woman’s pants.”

  “All men aren’t like that.”

  He switched the stereo to the AUX mode. “Yes, they are. All men are thinking about what angle to work so they can hit.”

  She waved her hand, bringing over a whiff of some new fruity body spray he wasn’t familiar with. Every week she came in smelling like some new, tempting thing—another weapon to add to the smile and too many curves that distracted all the men in his shop.

  “Whatever, Kareem, just play the damn music.” She pushed past the curtain to go back to the main part of the shop.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. Neecie was so sweet and sentimental, even her curses were cute. “You just lock the damn door.”

  “Music, Kareem,” Neecie yelled back.

  He shook his head and hit play on the phone. Not many pe
ople ordered him around. He would have put her in her place long ago—if she weren’t so damn cute.

  The sappy sounds of a guy in love filled the air. Kareem groaned. Back to the office where I don’t have to listen to this crap. Plus, he didn’t need to watch Neecie swaying her hips back and forth to the music. Not in his frustrated state.

  Back in the office, he picked up his business plan then tossed the papers back on the desk. Tension swept through his body, and he glared at the paperwork. Kareem wasn’t stupid. He knew what Mr. Small meaning of the word risky really meant—a former thug trying to cater to a high-end clientele. The guy probably had a good laugh with the rest of the bank employees after Kareem left.

  To hell with all of them. Today was a setback, but he’d be damned if his story ended here.

  The next song came through his open office door. One completely dedicated to holding a woman’s hand. Kareem groaned. There wasn’t a single man Kareem knew only interested in holding a woman’s hand. Not when there were soft hips, thick thighs, and full breasts to enjoy. A picture of Neecie in her fitted black shirt and flowing skirt filled his brain. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to get with a woman he desired, but Neecie was the type who wanted cuddling, hand holding, and eventually love. All things that made Kareem uncomfortable. His previous relationships—if he dared called them that—had been with gang ladies before prison and women only interested in a few wild nights in bed after.

  The thought didn’t eliminate the vision of Neecie’s shy gazes or his fantasy of bending her over the desk. Kareem spun on his heels and marched out of his office.

  “That’s the last song, Neecie. I can’t take any more of this nonsense.”

  Voices from the other side of the curtain stopped him in his tracks. Angry voices. Damn, this is why he told her to lock the door. Frowning, he jerked one side of the curtain back. Neecie and a guy Kareem had never seen before were so busy glaring at each other they didn’t notice Kareem.

  Kareem’s head tilted to the side. He hadn’t seen this man before. The last guy sniffing around Neecie was some idiot who resembled the singer on the album she’d bought—soft, skinny, and sentimental. This guy, average height, clean cut, with a suit so sharp he could slice a tomato, did not appear to be Neecie’s type.

  Instantly, Kareem disliked him. Neecie was a nice chick, and this guy looked like he would run game all over her romantic heart.

  “You need to leave, Chad.” Neecie pushed the guy in the chest.

  Kareem smiled. The spitfire was out. She tried to push pass him, but the guy grabbed Neecie’s arm.

  Blood rushed in Kareem’s ears. His heart revved up, and he saw red. He stomped from behind the curtain, pushed Neecie behind him, and got in the guy’s face.

  “You can’t keep your hands to yourself?” Kareem’s pulse pounded. He wanted the pretty boy to make the wrong move. He’d happily put a dent in the punk’s face for grabbing Neecie.

  “How about you mind your business,” the guy said with a sneer mastered by those used to looking down on people. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  Kareem took a step forward and cracked his knuckles. “When you’re manhandling my people, it has everything to do with me.”

  The guy scoffed then glared around Kareem at Neecie. “Really, Patrice, you’re hanging out with thugs now. I expected better of you.”

  Kareem balled his hands into fists. Who the hell is Patrice? “I’ve got your thug, pretty boy.”

  Neecie rushed between them. Her small hands had little effect as she tried to push him back. The girl was five foot one, if that.

  “Kareem, stop, I’ve got this,” she said.

  “This asshole put his hands on you.” He didn’t look away from the smug smirk on the other guy’s face.

  “Listen here, young man, why don’t you go back inside and worry about cutting hair instead of me and Patrice.” He waved a hand toward the back of the shop, his voice bored.

  Neecie spun and put her hands on her hips. “That’s enough, Chad. You have no right showing up here.”

  Chad narrowed his eyes. “I have every right. You’re coming home next weekend, or else I’m dragging you there.”

  Neecie crossed her arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Kareem took a step closer to Neecie and placed his hand on her shoulder. She jumped, then stiffened beneath his touch. Not surprising—he wasn’t one to initiate personal contact. But he felt the need to back her up.

  “Doesn’t sound like she wants to go anywhere with you, pretty boy. So get the hell out of my shop.”

  Chad glared at Neecie. “Patrice, the time for playing games is over. You went away, had your little fun,” he flicked a nasty scowl Kareem’s way, “but it’s time to grow up. Look at you, you deserve better than this. Come home. Roland still asks about you.”

  Neecie … Patrice held up a hand. “Shut up, Chad!”

  Kareem’s grip on Patrice’s shoulder tightened. “Who the hell are you anyway?” Kareem asked.

  The guy lifted his chin, looked at Kareem’s hand on Neecie’s shoulder, and sneered. “I’m her brother, which means I have more of a right to this conversation than you do. So, again, partner, why don’t you go back into your little office and leave this to me and my sister.”

  Sister! Neecie didn’t look like she belonged in the same room with this jackass, much less the same family. He loosened his grip on her shoulder. If this guy really was her brother, then Kareem should step away. The idea caused his stomach to tighten.

  “Is he really your brother, Neecie?” he asked.

  Chad scoffed and shook his head. “Neecie?” He said her name as if it were funny. “Really, Patrice?”

  She stiffened beneath Kareem’s touch and moved back. The back of her brushed against the front of him, and damn if his mind didn’t take note of the softness of her ass in that brief second.

  “Yes,” she said. “Kareem, meet my brother, Chad Baldwin.”

  Chad raised a brow and tugged on the front of his suit like he’d won a victory. Kareem wanted to knock the smug look off his face, but he knew when to step out of other people’s family crap. He lifted his hand, but Neecie’s snapped up to grip his wrist. She took a step back, pressing her soft, warm curves against him.

  “Chad, meet, Kareem, my f … fiancé.”

  Kareem’s fingers dug into her shoulder. Fiancé! There were a lot of things he wanted to do to Neecie, but marriage wasn’t on the list. To throw that out meant she was desperate. His need to back her up intensified.

  Neecie sucked in a breath. “And … if I’m coming home for Mother and Father’s anniversary party … he’ll be there with me.” She turned her head and looked at him with soft, pleading, brown eyes. “Won’t you, baby?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Kareem’s strong fingers were ironclad on Patrice’s shoulder, and she fought not to flinch. Telling Chad that Kareem was her fiancé wasn’t the best plan, but the idea was the only thing she could think of—the only thing that would get her obtrusive older brother off her back. She turned to look up into Kareem’s eyes. They were dark brown, almost black. Flat, hard, rarely alive with humor, but when they were her heart trembled.

  Covering his tense hand with hers, Patrice gently squeezed. Please, please, please go along with this. He couldn’t hear her thoughts, but hopefully he’d read the desperation in her eyes. His grip on her shoulder immediately loosened, but remained firm.

  Her heart pounded as she waited for him to prove her a fool in front of her brother.

  Chad’s disbelieving laughter broke the moment. “Fiancé? You expect me to believe that.”

  Kareem’s hard gaze zeroed in on her brother. “You have a problem with that?” Patrice relaxed, and gratitude swept through her.

  “If it were true, yes, I’d have a problem with it.” Chad crossed his arms in an oh so superior fashion. “But I know you’re lying. The investigator never mentioned a fiancé.”

  Patrice�
�s eyes widened. “Investigator. You had someone following me?”

  “What do you expect when you run off? We’ve kept up with you for years.”

  “There was no need. I kept in contact with Beth.” And Patrice almost always asked her younger sister to keep her infrequent calls a secret. “Thanks for reminding me why I left.”

  Kareem pulled her to his side. “It doesn’t matter what your investigator said. The two of us are together.”

  Chad’s lips pinched together. “Then where’s the ring?”

  “I asked last night,” Kareem said. “Spur of the moment.”

  Chad scoffed. “Convenient excuse.” He looked to Patrice. “This isn’t necessary. Just leave your … friend out of this, and let’s have dinner and talk. Patrice, we miss you. I miss you. Come home.”

  Tightness wrapped around Patrice’s heart, and she lowered her eyes. She missed him too. Her overprotective, arrogant snob of a brother who always did whatever he could to look out for her but never really saw her. A part of her would always miss her family, but ordering her home, the investigator, only proved nothing had changed. She ran a hand across the wide hips she’d spent years hurting herself to make smaller.

  Kareem looked from her to her brother. “Why are you so hard up for her to come home?”

  Patrice knew the answer to that question. “It’s our parents’ thirtieth anniversary,” she said.

  Chad nodded. “They’re having a celebration and want the entire family to attend.” Chad’s anger melted away and concern filled his brown eyes. “Patrice, we are your family, and we love you. Let’s sit down tonight over dinner and talk. You can’t honestly say you don’t want to see us again.”

  No, she couldn’t, but she wasn’t ready to go home—wasn’t ready to see if five years of trying to deprogram the Baldwin Family wiring in her brain had actually worked.

  “I have plans tonight,” she said. “Kareem and I have plans.”

  Chad crossed his arms and raised a brow. “What plans?”