by Carla Fredd
"What do you plan to do in Seattle?"
Holly told him about her plans to open a second branch of Security Force and how much of the plan depended on winning the Milton Group bid.
"Holly?"
Holly turned at the sound of her name. Walking toward their table were her father, her stepmother, her half-sister, and her date. They stopped at the table. They were four beautiful people. Holly looked down at her dress. The pink dress that she wore suddenly didn't look as pretty as it had earlier.
Her stepmother, Jean, wore a formal summer dress of pale peach that looked wonderful with her golden brown skin. Her half-sister, Sandra, wore a white dress. She saw Mike look at both women and felt like a frump.
"This is a nice surprise," her father said. Mike stood to shake his hand.
"We just left the Alliance Theater," her stepmother joined in. "I just had to come here for dessert. Dailey's makes the best chocolate cheesecake." Jean rambled on in a slow, syrupy tone that she could change at the drop of a hat to a rapid northern accent.
"We came over from Mike's show over here." When she saw the speculative look pass between Jean and her father, Holly quickly added that the whole staff of Security Force had gone to the show.
"You won't mind if we join you, do you?" Jean asked. She was already motioning for the waiter.
"Mother, they might not want a crowd at their table," Sandra said, trying to stop her mother. Holly flashed her a grateful look, but she knew it was too late. Jean's heart-shaped face and curly sandy-brown hair gave her the appearance of a delicate southern belle, but a steel-like will lay below the surface. Her clear amber eyes gleamed with determination.
The waiters quickly added another table and four chairs. When the others were finally settled, Jean began doing what she did best: pulling personal information from people. Jean had met her match with Mike. Within five minutes, he had diverted Jean's questions about himself and was asking her his own questions.
Holly lowered her head and smiled. When she looked up from her plate, she caught her father's wink. But the evening was dimmed by her feelings of inadequacy. The joy and excitement were gone from the evening. With Jean on her right and Sandra, a younger version of her mother, on her left, she felt as attractive as a plate of chopped liver. As the evening progressed, she became quiet, letting the conversation flow around her instead of participating. Mike seemed to be having a good time, she thought. He kept his side of the conversation flowing. He joked with her father and Sandra's boyfriend and charmed Jean and Sandra. For the first time tonight, Holly wished that the evening would end.
Mike watched as Holly became more withdrawn. His attempts to draw her into the conversation were met with monosyllabic answers. The opened, relaxed woman became quiet and aloof. She sat with her shoulders slumped forward, head held down. She looked as if she was trying to make herself invisible. He looked at the group to see if the others had noticed her body language. They seemed oblivious to her discomfort.
He studied both sisters. They were very different from each other. Sandra, undeniably pretty with a high-yellow complexion, heart-shaped face, and light brown eyes, and Holly, appealing and sexy, with medium brown complexion and dark brown eyes. Although Holly didn't resemble her father either, with his honey brown skin and dark brown eyes, she stood out like a hawk among canaries. But unlike that bird of prey, she held herself in low esteem.
When his eyes met Holly's, he saw a flash of emotion that he didn't recognize. Puzzled, he continued to watch her, but she didn't meet his gaze again. After that incident, she seemed to grow more withdrawn. What was wrong with her? Did she not get along with her sister?
Mike waited until he felt they could leave without offending the rest of the group.
"Would you excuse us? Holly and I have to leave." Mike motioned for the waiter. "It was nice to see you again. Let me take care of the dessert."
"That's not necessary," Holly's father argued.
"Not necessary, but it's something that I want to do."
"Will we see you again?" Jean asked. He knew what she was asking. Mike looked at Holly before replying, "You'll be seeing me around." Holly frowned at his response. Well, she'll get used to having me around, he thought, as he watched her hug her sister and stepmother, then kiss her father goodbye.
They made their way to the entrance of the restaurant. Holly stood to the side, waiting for Mike to settle the bill. As they walked to the parking lot, he wondered if he could recapture the feelings that they'd had before her family had come.
"Holly, what's wrong?"
How could she tell him what she felt, she thought, without sounding petty? How could she tell him that she saw his expression when he looked from her to Sandra? She knew that he wondered how two people in the same family looked so different. The comparison between them was inevitable, and she didn't blame him for looking at Sandra. Sandra was beautiful, and she was only adequate.
How could she explain her feeling of alienation when she was with her family? She was a member of the family, but looked nothing like the other members. She would have thought she was adopted, except that she was the image of her mother.
She had no explanation for her feelings. "Nothing's wrong."
"Holly, you changed when your family joined us. Do you not get along with them?"
"Of course I get along with them," she said hotly, as she walked to the passenger side of his car, waiting for him to unlock the door.
He opened the door and helped her inside. When he climbed into the driver's side, he paused for a moment and looked at her. Holly breathed a sigh of relief when he started the car. For an instant, he looked like he was going to continue to question her. He drove through the streets of Atlanta, heading to Decatur. They didn't speak until he drove to her office, where she'd left her car.
"I'll follow you home," he said.
"You don't have to do that."
"I'm going to follow you home." He unlocked the door and walked her to her car. He was her own private escort to her home. When she reached her house, he parked his car in the driveway and walked her to the door.
"Thanks for the show and dinner," she said.
Mike put his hand on the doorframe, trapping her between the door and his body. For a long time, he stared into her eyes as if he was searching for something. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. He gave her time to reject the kiss before pressing his lips to hers in a brief, sweet kiss.
"Goodnight, Holly."
Chapter 6
Holly watched the sun rise Saturday morning from the large window in her bedroom—not because she wanted to, but because she had spent most of the night tossing and turning in her bed. Unanswered questions kept her awake most of the night. Was she doing the right thing in seeing Mike? Or was she setting herself up for a fall?
She had been so sure of herself before her family had showed up at the restaurant. She was like a distant star, and her family was the bright midday sun. The star was a pale reflection of the real thing. As a child, she had been ignored time and time again when a member of her family had entered the room.
Holly had tried hard to be like her flamboyant family. She'd taken dance lessons and music classes and even entered a local beauty pageant in an attempt to be outgoing—and failed miserably. With each failure, Holly felt that she'd let her family down. Sometimes, she would go to her room and cry, longing for the days when her mother was alive and she belonged. Over the years, she'd become accustomed to staying in the background while her family sparkled in the limelight. She was a part of the family, yet different.
Somehow, the thought of letting down her family again was too much for her last night. Although her family never blamed her for the break-up with Trey, Holly felt that she had failed them. They had tried to shield her from reporters during the weeks after her broken engagement and stood beside her when she finally ventured into public again, but she always felt that she hadn't lived up to their expectations.
Holly turned from the window a
nd walked to the bathroom to take a shower.
There was a knock at her back door. She put down her book, wondering who it could be. She could see Mike's face through the glass.
"What are you doing at the back door?" she asked.
"I didn't think you'd want me to go to the front door with a reporter from the Atlanta Journal camped out across the street."
"Oh, no." She ran to the window in her living room. Peering through the white sheers, she saw a car parked across the street. The driver's-side window was rolled down to relieve the midmorning summer heat. Inside the car, a man with a camera watched her house.
"How did you get past him?" she asked, turning from the window.
"I parked my car on the street behind you and went through your neighbors' backyard."
Holly shook her head and smiled at his ingenuity.
"So, do you want to go out?"
"I'm not going outside with that reporter setting in the front yard."
"He'll never know that you're gone. Just follow me."
And follow him she did. She locked her back door. Her backyard was filled with tall pine trees with neatly landscaped pine islands grouping them together. She never considered her backyard as an escape route, but that was exactly what it would be today. Mike carefully walked along the back of the house until he reached a large holly bush. He motioned for Holly to stay at the door, then he looked around the bush and walked back to Holly.
"The coast is clear. Let's go." Mike grasped her hand and they raced across her backyard, dodging pine trees and the slippery pine straw. Mike helped her climb the chain-link fence and jump down on the other side.
They were midway through the neighbors' backyard when the back door opened and her neighbor, Mr. Walker, walked out. Mr. Walker paused, then glared at the two. He thought that he'd stopped the neighborhood kids from cutting through his backyard. "What are you kids doing in my yard?" His voice was strong and loud. It didn't sound like the voice of a sixty-two-year-old retiree.
Holly and Mike looked at each other. Holly felt like she'd been caught by the principal. She hoped that Mike could think of something, because right now she couldn't think of a single explanation.
Mike took control of the situation. "Sir, I'm Mike Williams, and we need your help."
Mr. Walker gave him a suspicious look.
"What kind of help?"
"There's a reporter parked in the yard of that house." Mike pointed to Holly's house. "We're trying to get away from him and get to my car, so we need to go through your yard."
He squinted his eyes and studied the two. They were older than he'd first thought, and if he'd been wearing his glasses, like his wife had told him to, he would have realized it. At least his wife didn't have to know about this. "You're not in trouble, are ya?"
"No, sir. We just want to have a little peace and quiet."
He sighed. "Go ahead, but don't make this a habit. I don't want a footpath through my yard." Mr. Walker watched them walk across his yard, shaking his head, walked over to his toolshed, and began to tend to his perfectly manicured lawn.
Holly felt like a teenager sneaking out of the house at night. Her glance swept the neighborhood; she hoped that they wouldn't be discovered. The fear of discovery was outweighed by the thrill of the escape. She was startled when he grasped her hand. Looking at his face, she saw the strength behind his mischievous expression. She smiled. The tension and fear that she felt earlier seemed to go away. Holding his hand, she walked with him to his car, which was parked two houses down.
"Where are we going?" Holly asked, as she fastened her seat belt.
"Why don't you show me Atlanta?"
"All right, I'll show you a different Atlanta." She directed him down I-20 to the West End. She showed him the Atlanta that was rich with history of African-Americans. Sweet Auburn Avenue had once been the home of several successful businesses. The area was now aged and a faded imitation of what it had once been. Mike parked the car and they walked down the street.
"That was the Top Hat Club. My grandmother said she and granddaddy would come here for a show. The entertainers would have played at a white club the night before." They walked past the vacant brick building. The windows and doors had been boarded up long ago. A few cars drove down the street. The sidewalk was cracked in places. Holly studied Mike's face. He looked up at the buildings and turned to her.
"Why did you pick this place?" He pointed at another empty building. "This doesn't look like Atlanta. It looks dead."
"It's not dead. Every year there's a Sweet Auburn Festival. Merchants from all over the world come to the festival and entertainers perform concerts before huge crowds. But it's the history that makes it come alive."
He still looked puzzled.
"Come on, let's go to the APEX museum and you'll see what I mean." Holly walked down the street to the side entrance of the museum. The museum was empty. They were the only people there besides the curator and an aide. The display was of African-American photographers and their work. Photographs from the 1800s to the 1950s were displayed. They stopped in front of a picture of a black family standing in front of a Victorian house. The description said "Auburn Avenue, 1904."
"This is the same street. Look at this." She pointed to a group of pictures. One was of a street filled with people going to different businesses. Another was the interior of a plush barbershop with ornate chandeliers and comfortable chairs.
"It looks like a nice place," Mike said.
"That's Alonzo Herndon's shop. He founded Atlanta Life Insurance and was a very wealthy man. As a matter of fact, his house isn't too far from here, if you want to see how wealthy black Atlantans lived during the early 1900s." She turned away from the photographs to look at him.
He was standing right beside her. His warm, masculine scent surrounded her senses, making her very aware of him. His gaze locked with hers. She forgot what she was about to say. The old photographs seemed to fade around her. Her focus was on Mike. The friendly camaraderie between them was overshadowed by the blatantly sexual look in his eyes.
"Holly," he said, in a deep, raspy voice.
She shivered at the sound of her name. So much of his need for her was conveyed in his saying her name, a need that was echoed deep with her being and called to the very heart of her.
His strong, rough fingers caressed her cheek. The warmth of his touch spread throughout her body. Her lips parted as she tried to fill her lungs with air. The simple act of breathing became secondary to the desire to taste his lips once again.
He lowered his head toward hers. She closed her eyes and felt the magic touch of his lips to hers.
Slowly, lovingly, gently, he mated his lips to hers. She knew that this was what she'd been waiting for all morning long: his feel, his taste, his touch. His thumb caressed her cheek in slow movements. Then his other hand moved to her waist, drawing her against his warm, strong body.
Ever so slowly, he urged her into a web of desire that enticed her totally . . . completely.
A piercing beep sounded as the door of the museum opened and a group of people entered. Holly released his shoulders. She didn't remember hugging him. She turned and stepped away from him and stared blindly at the photographs on the wall.
What was going on, she wondered. She'd never kissed anyone in public before. Public displays of affection always made her uncomfortable, but she hadn't thought of anything but Mike when he'd kissed her. Not even Trey had ever made her forget about the possibilities of reporters being around ready to take her picture, but Mike had made her do just that with a kiss.
She could hear the harsh sound of Mike trying to catch his breath. Then she felt his hands on her shoulders. His hands trembled as they rested there. She stood there quietly, trying to regain her composure.
"Let's get out of here," Mike said. He guided her to the door, paused, removed money from his wallet, and dropped it into the donation box.
The bright, hot afternoon sun made the walk back to his car uncom
fortable. They rolled down the windows when he drove out of the parking lot. Holly directed him out of the city of Atlanta. They stopped at an ice-cream parlor and drove to a small neighborhood park. Underneath a canopy of leaves, they ate their ice cream and watched a group of children play no-holds-barred soccer.
"Those two look like me and my oldest brother, Stephen." Mike pointed to two boys fighting over the soccer ball.
"You and your brother used to fight?"
"Yeah," he smiled. "We would fight about anything. If he said it was black, I'd say it was white, and if he had something, then I wanted it." He scooped out a spoonful of his ice cream and ate it. Holly watched the spoon disappear between his lips, remembering the taste of him on her lips after they'd kissed. She pulled her gaze away from his lips and began eating her own ice cream.
"He was the one who would beat up anybody that picked on me in the neighborhood. It didn't matter that he picked on me, but nobody else could do it if he was around."
"You sound like the two of you were close."
"The three of us are. I've got a younger brother named David. The three of us were constantly getting on each other's nerves." He turned to her. "You know how it is. I'm sure you and your brother and sister argued."
"Not really. I'm six years older than my brother and eight years older than my sister. I didn't argue with them very much, but I did break up most of their fights."
Mike listened intently to her. What she didn't say said more about her family life than what she did confess. The gap in age wasn't the only gap between Holly and her siblings.
"Don't tell me that they didn't do something to embarrass you in front of your friends, like take something out of your room?"
