by Pamela Yaye
Mr. Carver snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. I talked to Bernard this morning and he suggested we come to New Orleans this year to help out, instead of just writing another check.”
“I thought he’d be thrilled to get another donation.”
“Bernard’s no fool. He’s taking the money!” Mr. Carver chuckled heartedly. “He just needs some extra manpower. We have to show the community that we’re behind them. The rest of the world may have forgotten what happened in New Orleans, but we haven’t.”
“You’re right,” Warrick agreed with a nod. “We should both go.”
“I want to, but I have a physical that week.”
“Everything okay?”
“I’m as fit as a fiddle. It’s just a case of bad timing.” His face was alive with nostalgia. “I was really looking forward to seeing Bernard again. It’s been years since I saw him.”
“Bernard’s the guy you roomed with at the University of Louisiana, right?”
Mr. Carver cracked a sly smile. “We were the hottest cats on campus.”
“Must have been a small school,” Warrick joked.
“You could learn a thing or two from us. As you young people like to say, we were the bomb!” Pride flickered in his eyes. “We had more girls than Little Richard has curls!”
Warrick chuckled. “Well, what happened, Mack Daddy?”
“Your mother. Cupid shot me in the ass and I was never the same again.”
Father and son laughed.
“How’d you know Mom was the one if you were dating all those other women?”
“It’s not something you can explain or even put into words. But if I had to, it’s like the rush of adrenaline you feel when you’re going two hundred miles an hour on the autobahn.”
Warrick knew the feeling. Every time he saw Tangela, he felt as though he couldn’t breathe. Their relationship had ended disastrously, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want her. He did. And who could blame him? Her smile was electric, her walk hypnotic and her girlish laugh brought memories of happier days. And even after all this time apart, the sexual energy between them was still devastating.
“Your mother was an incredible woman, and if she was alive today she’d be bragging to her friends about how smart and successful her son is.” Clearing his throat, he reached for his coffee cup and took a swig. “Back to the matter at hand. Can I count on you to make it to New Orleans at the end of next month?”
“I’ll check my schedule. If I can’t reschedule my appointments, I’ll send some of the draftsmen. I know they’d love to help out.”
“Great, I’ll let Bernard know.”
“Anything else on your mind?”
“Nope, that’s it.” Staring down at his watch, Jacob tapped the glass with his forefinger. “But we’d better get started. I promised Daphne I’d be home in time for an afternoon quickie and—” He must have seen Warrick grimace, because he swallowed the rest of the sentence. “Show me the blueprints, son. We don’t have much time.”
Warrick sighed. What was the world coming to? The last time he’d had sex George Bush was President, but his dad was getting all the loving he could stand. So were his boys. Last night, at their favorite pub, Quinten had bragged about his marathon sack session with a perky dance choreographer and now his father had his own raunchy tale to share.
Turning away from his sad, depressing thoughts, he uncoiled the blueprint, spread it out on the conference-room table and said, “Let’s get down to work, old man.”
Chapter Six
“Be careful with my coffee table!” Sage bellowed from the steps of her new Lake Las Vegas home. “It cost more than your raggedy-ass car!” Following her husband’s friends back through the vestibule, she barked orders like a military commander in chief.
Focusing her acidic gaze on the shortest of the four men, hands propped on her hips, she stomped her right foot. “Dammit, DeAndre! You almost knocked over my lamp. If I see any scratches on it, you’re going to replace it. You hear me?”
“I told you it wasn’t my fault. The sidewalk was slippery and I tripped. Maybe you shouldn’t have watered the lawn this morning.”
Before Sage could tear a strip off the part-time carpenter and full-time loser, her husband grabbed her around the waist. “Baby, bring it down a notch. If you keep this up, the neighbors’ association will kick us out before we even unpack.”
“Did you see the crack on my vanity mirror?”
“I’ll replace it,” he promised.
“It was eighty-five hundred dollars.”
“What?” Marshall pulled back so he could see his wife’s face. “You paid almost ten grand for that thing?”
“It’s from Saks Fifth Avenue!”
“We’ll discuss it later, okay?” Closing his arms around her, he told her to take it easy on the guys. “Be nice, Sage. They’re not professional movers. They’re our friends, remember?”
“Not all of them,” she mumbled, peering around him into the living room.
“Why don’t you go finish up in the kitchen while I supervise out here.”
“Are you sure? Because those guys need a firm hand, and, baby, you’re kind of soft.”
Marshall kissed the side of her neck. “That’s not what you said last night.”
Sage giggled. “You’re so nasty!”
“Quit playing, girl. You know you love it when I talk smack.”
Resting her head on his chest, she played with the buttons on his plaid shirt. “Baby, can you just make sure that idiot DeAndre doesn’t destroy anything else? And watch Jonas, too. He had three beers at lunch.” Snapping her fingers, she nodded emphatically. “Oh yeah, have the guys carry the hutch into…”
Putting his hands on her hips, he steered her in the direction of the kitchen and swatted her playfully on the behind. “Sage, go. I got this.”
“Mmm…” she purred, shooting him a coy look over her shoulder. “I like when you take charge, baby. It really turns me on!”
“There’s a lot more where that came from, Mrs. Grant.”
“Bring it on, big daddy. I’m up for a little—”
“Would you two knock it off already!” Quinten strolled through the foyer, his face the picture of disgust. “It’s bad enough you forced us to watch your wedding video at lunch, but do we have to listen to you talk dirty to each other, too?”
Marshall gave his bride another quick kiss, then followed his friend into the living room. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Q. Marrying Sage was the best decision I ever made.”
“Sure,” he said skeptically. “You have to say that or she’ll whup your ass!”
Everyone in the room chuckled.
“A woman who has worked on her spirit more than her body is truly beautiful and I have that and more in Sage. With her by my side, there’s nothing I can’t do.” Marshall’s smile was brighter than the morning sun. “It’s like they say—behind every great man is an even better woman. Look at Barrack and Michelle Obama.”
Jonas groaned. “Please don’t subject us to another one of your marriage-is-the-best-thing-that’s-ever-happened-to-me speeches.” He heaved an encyclopedia onto the wooden bookshelf. “I hated it the first time you gave it and I’ll hate it even more the second time around.”
“All right. I won’t say any more on the subject.” Marshall picked up the cable box and set it on top of the big-screen TV. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re a shriveled-up old prune playing spades in the nursing home with all the other geezers.”
“What the hell does marriage have to do with getting old?” Theo scratched his head. “I know I’m a numbers guy, but I don’t see the correlation.”
“Married men live longer.”
“Bullshit!” Quinten lobbed a velvet sofa cushion across the room, smacking Marshall upside the head. “That’s what you get for lying.”
Jonas laughed the loudest. “Take it from someone who’s been divorced twice. Marriage sucks. And anyone who says differe
ntly has been brainwashed. Or tortured!”
Marshall stood his ground. “There was a segment about it on the evening news. Researchers have been studying the correlation between marriage and life span for decades,” he explained. “I’m going to live a longer, fuller life and you guys are going to be old, miserable and lonely. It’s a proven fact.”
“I’m surprised Sage lets you watch TV,” Quinten joked.
Warrick entered the living room, carrying a toaster oven in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “You guys on another break?” he asked, glancing at DeAndre and Theo. “You better get your sneakers off the coffee table before Sage goes postal.”
“Ask Warrick,” Marshall challenged, gesturing to his friend with his chin. “He’ll tell you. We’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong.”
“Ask me what? I hope it’s not about that chip on the hardwood floor. Sage just finished questioning me. I passed the lie-detector test, y’all!”
The group laughed.
“I’m not asking Warrick jack.” Quinten sneered. “He’s still hung up on Tangela, so he’ll likely side with you. Your women are friends. You guys always back each other up.”
Ignoring the dig, Marshall turned to Warrick. “Isn’t it true that married men live longer? The topic was featured on the CBS Evening News, right?”
Warrick had seen the segment and remembered his female employees discussing it at lunch the following day. But if he’d learned anything from his father, it was how to defuse conflict. “This needs to go in the kitchen.” He stepped out of the room. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Or never, he thought, relieved to have dodged that bullet.
After spending the entire day together, everyone was on edge. Warrick didn’t want to butt heads with Sage again, but he didn’t feel like playing peacemaker, either. He’d hang out in the kitchen with the women, have a beer and, if he was lucky, catch another glimpse of Tangela in her cute denim overalls.
As Warrick passed the foyer, he admired the winding, gold-rimmed staircase. The French Provincial–style house had been built on three acres of land and had taken ten months to complete. During the consultation phase, he’d advised Marshall and Sage on which upgrades to choose and when he peeked inside the main-floor bathroom and saw the limestone sinks and skylight, he knew his suggestions had been put to good use.
Warrick was en route to the kitchen, thinking about his Monday-morning conference call with a prominent British developer, when he heard Tangela say, “Men just don’t get it. It’s not about how much money they make or how nice their car is. I like flowers and candy as much as the next girl, but that’s not what I wanted from Warrick. I wanted to spend quality time with my man, without his stupid cell phone going off every two seconds.”
He stopped short. Is that all she wanted? Time and affection? Warrick heard the genuine longing in her voice and considered her words. When he’d gone away on business, he’d always brought a gift home for her, but he’d overlooked how important it was to do things as a couple.
He’d fallen in love with her caring nature and high-energy personality, but in the end, it was her exuberance that drove him away. Tangela felt the need to tell him everything, no matter how trivial it was, and after a grueling ten-hour day, he often didn’t have the energy to keep up.
Interest piqued, he decided to wait until there was a break in the conversation before interrupting. Back flat against the wall, Warrick listened as Tangela shared the most personal and intimate parts of their relationship with her girlfriends. He felt as though there was a target on his back and the more Tangela spoke, the angrier he got. Calling off the wedding and walking out on him obviously wasn’t humiliating enough. Now, she was back to finish the job.
“Warrick made time for his friends, but not for me. He was too tired to go look at reception venues, but not too tired to shoot pool with the guys. In the end, that’s what it came down to. He put everyone before me and when we stopped making love I knew it was—”
Someone gasped. Warrick couldn’t see inside the kitchen, but he could imagine the stunned expressions on the women’s faces.
“You never told me you guys weren’t having sex! Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I was embarrassed.”
“Well, just how long was it?” someone questioned.
Warrick held his breath. Yeah, how long was it? Surely it couldn’t have been longer than a week or two. As his responsibilities increased at the office, he’d spent less time at home, but his furious schedule hadn’t diminished his appetite for Tangela. When they’d first started dating, they couldn’t get enough of each other. They’d had a hot, passionate sex life and although the flames had cooled over the years, she’d never failed to excite him.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you guys this.” A pause, then, “Three months.”
The box slipped out of Warrick’s hand, but he caught it before it hit the ground. What the hell? It couldn’t have been that long. Could it? He tried to remember the last time they’d made love, but the weeks leading up to the breakup were a blur. His dad was in the hospital, and he’d been named as interim president. For weeks, he’d split his time between the office and the hospital and even though Tangela had been very supportive, he knew she resented him for not helping her plan the wedding.
“Damn, girl! I know we punish the brothers sometimes by withholding the booty, but that’s torture! It’s a wonder he didn’t come down with scarlet fever or something!”
Laughter flowed out into the hall.
“I wasn’t the one holding out.”
The giggles skidded to a stop. “You mean he turned you down?”
“All the time,” he heard Tangela say. “Back in the day, we used to make love three or four times a week. Over time, it dwindled to once a month. I finally got tired of initiating things and quit trying. He obviously didn’t want me, so why would I waste my time?”
Warrick hung his head. He’d never known she felt that way. Every relationship went through rough times, but in spite of their problems, she’d always been his rock. Her smile, her warmth, her love made everything right in this messed-up world. Tangela was the only person outside of his grandmother who could keep him in line, and when she left, he felt like he’d lost the best part of himself. Work was the perfect distraction, but when he was home alone in the house they’d loved and laughed in for years, he thought he’d go insane with boredom. Vodka numbed the pain, but when the alcohol wore off, melancholy returned.
“Men always complain that women hold out. According to my male colleagues, we put the booty under lock and key and brothers have to pull a Houdini to get some!” The women shrieked with laughter. “But men rebuff us, too.”
“I heard that,” a high-pitched voice agreed. A cupboard slammed, plates clanked and the microwave hummed to life. “The only time a man turns down sex is when he’s—”
“Cheating,” Tangela finished. For a moment, she fell silent. “He probably was. He wasn’t sleeping with me, so he had to have been getting his needs met somewhere.”
Warrick’s face stiffened. This had gone on long enough. He couldn’t have Tangela trashing his family name. Carver men didn’t cheat, they didn’t abandon their families and they always lived up to their responsibilities. She’d walked out on him. Why was everyone overlooking that vital piece of information?
“Why didn’t you hook up with that Javier guy you met in Mexico?” someone asked.
“I wasn’t feeling him.”
“You weren’t feeling him or you were still carrying a torch for Warrick?”
“No one’s thinking about Warrick.” Tangela laughed. “I’m so over him.”
For the first time all afternoon, Warrick smiled. If he didn’t know Tangela as well as he did, he might have believed her. But the high-pitched giggle was a dead giveaway. She wasn’t over him, and the news pleased him.
“I know what you should do.” Sage’s voice was so low, Warrick had to press his ear to the wall to hear what s
he was saying. “When Marcello comes over tonight, put some of that old-school whip-appeal action on him!”
The women cheered.
“Forget Warrick. Give that sexy doctor a chance,” Sage advised.
“You think so?”
“Hell, yeah!” encouraged another. “You have an itch and that suave Latin hunk is the perfect guy to scratch it! Meow!”
Warrick’s heart galloped like a thoroughbred. This issue with Marc is worse than I thought! Shifting the toaster oven in his hands, he blew out a deep breath. His fingers were numb and his arms ached, but that didn’t compare to the pain he was feeling inside. And if he didn’t do something soon, Tangela would become Marc’s flavor of the week. Determined to thwart her plans, he stepped into the sunny kitchen. “Sage, where do you want me to put this?”
The fork in Tangela’s hand slipped and fell to the ground. Sweet mother of Joseph! she thought, taking in the view. Her gaze swept over Warrick’s solid physique. His biceps were hard, enticing mounds of muscle and although she couldn’t see under his polo shirt, she still remembered the remarkable definition of his broad chest. Tangela often drooled over the young, the black and the famous, but Shemar Moore had nothing on Warrick James Carver. The man was a force of nature. Wholly and deliciously fine with a hard butt. She didn’t want to be attracted to him, didn’t want to desire him, but she didn’t have a say in the matter. He’d stepped into the room and now every nerve in her body was on high alert.
Needing a diversion, she retrieved the fork and resumed organizing the cutlery drawer, but seconds later, she was staring again. His back was wide, his legs strong and when he hoisted the toaster oven onto the countertop, Tangela caught sight of a dark nipple. Warrick’s entire body was glistening with sweat and memories of making love in a cramped Maui cabana showered her mind.
Her mouth wet with desire, Tangela put a hand to her chest in the futile hope of grabbing hold of her emotions. Heart failure wasn’t common in healthy twenty-nine-year-old women but there was no mistaking the burning sensation in her chest. Lust coursed through her body, leaving her feeling hot, bothered and more aroused than ever before.
