Twice the Temptation

by Francis Ray

  “Shelton.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Lassiter,” Shelton said, holding up a sheet of paper. “This is the addendum to the contract that was drawn up between Roscoe and Sebastian three months ago. In essence it says that Sebastian has sole power to cast the female lead in A Matter of Trust, and unless he’s completely satisfied, the production will be canceled.”

  Hope thought she heard Roscoe gulp. The rotund man looked greenish.

  “As for Margot’s other threats, they’re just that: threats.” Sebastian’s eyes were sad. “You should have trusted me.”

  Misery welled inside her. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you enough, it was that I cared so much.”

  “For a relationship to be strong, there has to be both.” Touching her cheek with unsteady fingertips, he stepped back. “Margot’s lies can’t hurt me. Your leaving can.” He held out his hand. “It’s a matter of trust. The choice is yours. Take my hand and I promise you to never let go. For as long as I live, you’ll be in my heart and by my side.”

  Hope blinked. Sebastian’s words were the same ones Nolan said to Eleanor in the last scene in the play when he asked her to choose between a life with him or extracting revenge against his brother. Eleanor had been ruled by hate; Hope had been ruled by fear. For both, love was the one answer that would set them free.

  “Then I choose you.”

  Sebastian roughly pulled Hope into his arms to the wild applause in the shop, his lips finding hers for a long, satisfying time. How he loved this woman! He’d stopped fighting his feelings the night of Roscoe’s party. Very soon he’d be able to show and tell her how much. “Does that mean you’ll be my Eleanor?”

  She grinned up into his face. “I’m going to knock their socks off.”

  EPILOGUE

  The applause lasted for a full thirty minutes. Hope took curtain call after curtain call. Her prediction was correct. She had knocked their socks off.

  Holding the large bouquet of red roses Sebastian had given to Jeremy to present to her at her fifth curtain call, Hope glanced in the wings where Sebastian stood with one hand on her son’s shoulder. Happiness flooded her, but not contentment. She had her dream, yet there was something else she needed to make her life complete: Sebastian’s love.

  “May I have your attention, please?” Sebastian said into the stage mike at Della’s Place. “First, I’d like to thank Della for allowing me to rent this fabulous nightclub for the opening night after-party of A Matter of Trust. I’ll always have fond memories of the connecting salon.”

  “As long as no one else but Gregory tries to cut your hair,” one of the stylists teased.

  Laughter erupted. “True. I don’t think I’d be lucky enough to find a woman like Hope twice.”

  Hope, sitting at the front table in a white Valentino gown, graciously accepted the many teasing comments from the women in the club.

  Next to her, Bridgett leaned over and said, “I knew Sebastian had style. Aren’t you glad I told you to accept his flower, then later helped him make you listen to reason?”

  “More than you’ll ever know,” Hope said, her gaze locked on Sebastian.

  “And thanks also to all of you for being here to help celebrate.” He held up several newspapers. “In my hand I have some reviews. They all confirm what I’ve known from the start.” His warm, proud gaze settled on Hope. “Because of the brilliant performance of Hope Lassiter, A Matter of Trust is a smash hit and a star is born.”

  The club erupted into another round of applause. Hope stood up, waved, and blew kisses. “I always wanted to do that.”

  Laughter joined the applause.

  Sebastian silenced the audience. “I’ve been a director for thirteen years and seen hundreds of auditions. During that time I’ve never cast a role without seeing the work of the actor or actress first. Until tonight. Tonight I’m going to cast the most important role in my lifetime. Shelton.”

  People in the room turned to see a tall, good-looking black man enter the room from between two white columns. Murmurs grew as Shelton made his way around the tables to the front of the stage. He stopped directly beside Hope. In his hands was a blue velvet pillow with gold tassels. On top was a white orchid and next to it was a blue porcelain Limoges egg with twenty-four-karat gold feet and a hinge closure.

  Sebastian left the stage, walked the short distance to a stunned Hope, then went down on one knee in front of her. Opening the egg, strands of Puccini’s Aria to Madame Butterfly drifted upward. Inside gleamed a fancy yellow starburst diamond set in eighteen-karat gold. “I love you, Hope. I can’t imagine living my life without you. I’ve already spoken with Jeremy and he is crazy about the idea of us becoming a family. Please mar—”

  “Yes,” she yelled, throwing her arms around him. “What took you so long?”

  “I had to special-ord—”

  “Never mind. Just kiss me.”

  He did.

  Applause erupted again. This time it was thunderous.

  Shelton shook his head. “She didn’t even look at the ring.”

  “She has the man,” Bridgett said. “That’s what’s important.”

  “Then I’d say Sebastian is one of the lucky ones.”

  “They both are.” Bridgett glanced up at Shelton, a gleam in her eyes. “By the way, are you married?”

  Shelton blinked, then spluttered, “N-no.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice,” Bridgett said, a speculative smile on her face.

  Hope wasn’t listening to anything but the joyous singing of her heart. She was where she belonged. Where she wanted to be, in Sebastian’s arms, and the most marvelous part was that he loved her. Dreams did come true. All it took was a matter of trust.

  sweet Temptation

  ONE

  Time had run out for Chase M. Braxton. He knew it the instant he saw the neatly printed return address on the oblong box wrapped in plain brown paper stamped FRAGILE. An incongruent mixture of dread and anticipation swept through him. Typical Monday, he thought. The sigh that came from his wide chest was long and deep.

  Shifting the unfamiliar weight of his briefcase to his left hand, Chase pulled the parcel from the black granite-topped front desk of Hotel George in the heart of Capitol Hill’s business district. His thoughts unsettled, he strode through the two-story glass-and-stainless-steel lobby to the elevator and jabbed eight.

  Less than a minute later the doors smoothly slid open on the top floor. Long, powerful strides quickly carried Chase to his door. Carefully shifting the bundle beneath his left arm, he pulled his plastic room key card from his shirt pocket and activated the lock. As soon as the light flashed green, he entered the room.

  Decorated in cool beige and cream, the suite possessed a spacious sitting room with built-in wet bar, adjoining powder room, and custom-designed cherry wood furnishings. As a man topping six-foot-five, Chase welcomed the ability to move freely without bumping into furniture. That important aspect when he’d checked into the hotel eight extremely long days ago mattered little now compared with his current problem.

  Skirting the lounge chair, he stopped on the other side of the coffee table positioned in front of a small couch. Tossing his briefcase on one of the cushions, he bent and edged over the twelve-inch-high, rickety stack of policy and procedure law enforcement manuals on the coffee table. He set the package down and straightened.

  Hands on his narrow waist, he stared broodingly at the telephone a few feet away on the end table, then brought his troubled gaze back to the parcel.

  He had definitely run out of time.

  The phone call to Julia Anne Ferrington couldn’t be put off any longer. Still, he hesitated at following through with action.

  Indecisiveness was not a characteristic people who knew Chase would have associated with him. Few in law enforcement could come close to matching his outstanding reputation as a commissioned officer of the elite Texas Rangers. The wall behind his desk in Austin was covered with awards from civic organizations
for his work with youth and with commendations for bravery in the line of duty.

  Chase took special pride in the awards given for trying to make a difference in the lives of young people. As for the commendations, the way he saw it, he simply did the job he had sworn to do. In his line of work a moment’s hesitation could cost lives. In the thirteen years that he’d spent working his way up from Trooper One with the Texas Department of Public Safety to Lieutenant in charge of his own Ranger unit in Austin, he’d always acted quickly and decisively.

  He’d never choked … until now.

  His large, callused hand ran over his clean-shaven face as indecision held him still. He didn’t like the feeling. But neither was he thrilled at the prospect of calling a strange woman and making small talk. However, the neatly wrapped box with the Waco, Texas, postmark was a gentle reminder that he had to do just that. His procrastination for the past week since he had been in D.C. was about to come to an end.

  Midnight black eyes narrowed as Chase stared longingly at the parcel. Mabel Johnson, the wife of his captain, Oscar Johnson, in Waco, had baited her trap well. She knew a gentle reminder worked better than a shove. Temptation worked even better.

  Chase picked up the box and gently hefted its weight. He almost groaned in anticipation. Mabel made the best tea cakes his taste buds ever had the pleasure of meeting. He was probably holding at least three dozen of the delicious cookies the size of his palm. And unlike back in Austin when Mabel brought them to the station for all the Rangers to share, these were all his.

  But first he had to make the phone call.

  Pulling his billfold from the back pocket of his jeans, he plucked out Julia Ferrington’s phone number. If Mabel had been the kind of lady to try to set him up, he’d have tossed the number despite the cookie bribe. But she wasn’t. She simply was doing what she had always done, helping her husband take care of his men.

  Chase had made no secret of the fact that he didn’t want to leave his heavy caseload and come to D.C. for six weeks to teach a criminal law symposium at Howard University. Captain Johnson and his superiors hadn’t given Chase a choice. They were honored that out of all the law enforcement agencies in the country the Texas Rangers had been chosen, and just as they had always done for the past 176 years, they sent their best, most qualified man to do the job. In their opinion, that was Lt. Chase Braxton.

  Mabel, in her usual motherly way, had tried to ensure that Chase, who didn’t know anyone in the city, not be lonely during his six-week stay. Mabel needn’t have worried. Washington, D.C., like most metropolitan cities, had more women than men. Chase could have had a date, if he wanted one, even before the plane landed at Washington National Airport.

  The pretty stewardess in first class had made him acutely aware she’d be more than happy to make his first night in D.C. a memorable one. Chase, still annoyed at his captain, had spent that night and the ones following alone … by choice. He wasn’t interested in sex for sex’s sake. He’d learned more sense than that by the time he graduated from high school.

  He wasn’t a monk by any stretch of the imagination, just selective and careful in more ways than one. He planned to be the fifth African-American in the history of the Texas Rangers to make captain, and that meant no women. Women had sidetracked the career of more than one man in law enforcement. They didn’t like the crazy hours or the dangers their men faced. The excitement of dating a man in uniform, a man with so much authority, soon wore off and reality set in. Chase had seen it happen time and time again. In his opinion it took a very special woman to put up with being married to a man in law enforcement. The chances of finding such a woman were slim to none. His father and brother had tried and failed. Thirty-four-year-old Chase wasn’t trying.

  His focus for the next few years had to be the job, not trying to keep some woman happy. The pain and heartache that followed wasn’t worth it.

  Mabel understood his plan and applauded him for his determination. She also understood he hadn’t wanted to go to D.C., and in her own thoughtful way she wanted to see that his stay in D.C. was as pleasant as possible. Since a lady, in Mabel’s old-fashioned opinion, never called a gentleman first, she had asked Chase to initiate the call. The cookies were both a reminder and an enticement if he had not.

  His blunt-tipped forefinger traced the clear plastic tape. Mabel was well aware his conscience wouldn’t allow him to rip into the box and satisfy his notorious sweet tooth if he hadn’t done as he promised: called Julia Ferrington before he left D.C.

  Sighing, Chase picked up the receiver and punched in Julia Ferrington’s number. He should have known Mabel would realize he hadn’t been specific in his promise. He had planned on calling the day before he left.

  He wasn’t much on small talk, and frankly, after hearing Mabel chatter about Julia Ferrington and her family’s deep political and financial connections and clout, Chase didn’t think he, a Ranger and a rancher, and Julia, a Washington socialite, would have much in common. The way he figured, he was saving them both a painful ten minutes, tops, of each trying to be polite and pretend interest in what the other was saying.

  As the answering machine clicked on, a grinning Chase quickly stashed the phone between his ear and shoulder, then shoved his hand in the front pocket for his knife. By the time the electronic voice had asked him to please leave a message, the sharp blade had sliced through the wrapping paper and he had a golden brown tea cake in his hand.

  “Ms. Ferrington, this is Chase Braxton. Mabel Johnson asked me to call and say hello. I’m at the Hotel George on Capitol Hill. You have a good day. Bye.”

  His duty done, he took a sizable bite out of the cookie, closed his eyes, and savored the taste. By the third cookie he was thirsty. Picking up the phone, he ordered milk from room service. Some decisions weren’t that difficult. Propping his booted feet atop the table, Chase reached for another cookie.

  Later that evening in her high-rise condo near the wharf, six miles from Hotel George, Julia Ferrington listened to the messages on her answering machine with her notebook in her hand and her black-and-gold Mont Blanc pen that had been a college graduation present from her oldest sister, Suzanne, poised. There had been five messages thus far.

  Her handwriting was a reflection of Julia, elegant, neat, and precise. She had worked hard to change the insecure, awkward teenager into someone she and her family could be proud of. At age twenty-seven, her poise and self-assurance were as much a part of her as her sunny, caring nature.

  The deep baritone of Chase Braxton’s drawling voice brought her head up. She recognized the authority behind the rumbling sound, the confidence. She had grown up with and been around people just like him all her life. It was with a small bit of pride that she could now count herself in that number.

  She recognized something else in his voice: impatience. Obviously the phone call to her had been made under duress. It appeared Mabel Johnson had been completely mistaken in her assumption that Chase would be lonely and homesick during his stay in D.C.

  Mabel Johnson had called several weeks ago and asked Julia’s permission to give Chase her phone number. Julia had been hesitant at first, until Mabel had said Chase didn’t know anyone in the city. Julia had friends now, good friends, but she still remembered times when she did not. No one should be lonely with so many people in the world. It still saddened her that people were lonely.

  She’d like to think she made a small positive difference in the lives of the residents in a nearby nursing home by visiting and reading to them twice a month. Her practical-minded family of bankers and politicians thought her time would be better spent crusading to raise volunteer awareness. Julia didn’t. Her family might take pleasure from the spotlight and a calendar full of social events, but she enjoyed a quiet, simple life. More importantly, the people in the home would be left with no one if she weren’t there.

  “End of messages.”

  Clicking off the machine, Julia leaned back in her antique Queen Anne chair and stared out th
e window at the distant lights of Virginia. People visiting D.C. for the first time usually were surprised that Virginia and Maryland were so close. Just as her family was surprised that she chose to live in D.C. instead of Virginia as they did.

  The crowded city of D.C. was a government town with literally thousands of office workers. Yet because of the high cost of living and poor parking facilities, many people elected to live in one of the surrounding suburbs or cities, with their leisurely lifestyle, quaint shops, and deep historical presence.

  No one expected the shy baby sister to leave the shelter and security of her family. But her parents and her two older sisters had made their mark. Julia had just begun to make hers with Sweet Temptation, her gourmet chocolate-and-candy shop. A small chain of Sweet Temptation stores was her dream, just as a house in the suburbs and a family were a dream to some. She was on her way. Her first store was a resounding success.

  After triple-digit profits for the past four years, she now felt comfortable enough to start scouting for a second location in Virginia. That way she could keep a close eye on both businesses and maintain her residence. If some people said she had used her family’s far-reaching connections to become so successful so quickly, that was all right. This was Washington, where who you knew weighed just as important as what you knew. But she had little doubt her business had thrived because of the care she gave to the smallest detail and the excellent service. She took pride in knowing that when you purchased from Sweet Temptation you got much more than a delicious box of the finest candy money could buy.

  The antique grandfather clock in the entryway chimed the half hour. Eight-thirty. She might as well get her own obligatory phone call over with. From the sound of his voice, he didn’t want or need her help in becoming acclimated to the city or in fighting loneliness.