Captivated Love
Captivated Love
Yasmin Sullivan
Opposites ignite… Where relationships are concerned, Safire Lewis is like quick fire. She moves fast to get what she wants–then moves on before things get too complicated. Artist Darien James's laid-back charm arouses her interest from their first meeting. But instead of seizing the opportunity for a no-strings fling, he's looking for a commitment.Darien has been hurt before. Now he wants a passionate connection that will last. With her sizzling confidence, the gorgeous paralegal has become his artistic muse–and the ultimate temptation. First they're butting heads, then they're burning up the sheets. He won't settle for less than everything Safire has to give. And if she will only lose her fear of letting go, she might realize that Darien is the one man who'll keep her endlessly enthralled….
Opposites ignite…
Where relationships are concerned, Safire Lewis is like quick fire. She moves fast to get what she wants—then moves on before things get too complicated. Artist Darien James’s laid-back charm arouses her interest from their first meeting. But instead of seizing the opportunity for a no-strings fling, he’s looking for a commitment.
Darien has been hurt before. Now he wants a passionate connection that will last. With her sizzling confidence, the gorgeous paralegal has become his artistic muse—and the ultimate temptation. First they’re butting heads, then they’re burning up the sheets. He won’t settle for less than everything Safire has to give. And if she will only lose her fear of letting go, she might realize that Darien is the one man who’ll keep her endlessly enthralled….
One of his hands still cupped her face, and he leaned his head near hers.
“Safire, this has been the best part of the whole evening to me—right here, finding out something real about you. You are beautiful. Don’t let that change. Don’t squander it away. Don’t play it away. It’s…amazing.”
Safire didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she opened her mouth to say something. But she didn’t know what to say. The intense look on this man’s face—so near to hers—took her breath away. His concern over her feelings moved something inside her. His earnest gaze froze her to the spot. His deep voice sent tingles through her.
She nodded once and smiled weakly, not knowing what to say. They seemed so different that she didn’t really expect to see him again, not for another date. Things had gotten a bit tense between them at the sports bar. In the end, he was just a little too conservative for her taste.
She turned to get in her car, and he turned toward his. Safire had turned her key in the lock and opened the door before she felt his hand on her back. She turned around to find him immediately in front of her, taking her in his arms. When Darien kissed her, those soft, kissable lips felt like warm, melted chocolate. Her lips parted at their gentle, platonic touch.
But their kiss didn’t remain chaste.
YASMIN SULLIVAN
grew up in upstate New York and St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, from which her family hails. She moved to Washington, D.C., to attend college and has earned degrees from Howard University and Yale University. As an academic writer, she has published on works by Frederick Douglass, Harriet Jacobs, James Baldwin, Maya Angelou and Ed Bullins, as well as the writing of the Negritude Movement and historical fiction treating emancipation in the Danish West Indies/United States Virgin Islands. She currently lives in Washington, D.C., where she teaches with a focus on African-American and Caribbean literatures. When she is not teaching, she also does creative writing and works on mosaics.
Captivated Love
Yasmin Sullivan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader (#ulink_2a68b774-ad7b-58fa-b890-456ec65f0935),
I think that the people we love and those who love us help us to know ourselves, and our interactions with them help us evolve as human beings. They can be our shelter in times of hurt and our inspiration to create great things. They can shield us from bitterness, and they can help us love the spark within ourselves. This is true of friends and family, but especially of lovers.
I hope that this novel reveals the way we grow through our interplay with those we love. This is what Safire Lewis and Darien James have to find out along their journey together—whether they can evolve with each other, whether they can inspire each other. I’m so grateful that you’ve chosen to share their voyage with me.
I would love to hear your impressions of this book. Please write me at yasminhu@aol.com.
Warm wishes,
Yasmin
For my mother, father, brother and grandmother, who have given me the richness of the human heart; for Jennie and Tanya, who have been my sister-friends; for Madeline, Freddie and William, who have shaped my vision of love; for Vionette and Lois, who have inspired the romantic in me; and for Jimmie, who was somebody to dream with.
Contents
Cover (#ued38d431-f140-57ca-92e5-dea3a0856e71)
Back Cover Text (#u04d42b1c-aa1c-5f3c-9ac3-52538ceccb57)
Introduction (#u5813ffa6-9298-56b0-b2cc-ee9e546c43b9)
About the Author (#u21efdf42-1bc9-5471-9d0c-3bc6cfba9dfd)
Title Page (#u21f62a3b-cab5-581d-b489-67163bd83bc2)
Dear Reader (#ulink_832ddf66-01e7-5d0d-ae77-3677d4a9018f)
Dedication (#ua8d20051-08ea-5ec3-8270-6201a718fef1)
Chapter One (#ulink_6fce4692-d0f6-5468-9e3f-eb3b22f21b57)
Chapter Two (#ulink_290edeb8-cec9-5e95-9ffc-c88296b85018)
Chapter Three (#ulink_2bc691e2-7a67-5343-a3be-c69c21670c62)
Chapter Four (#ulink_8c2c7297-0dc4-57da-b98a-d6b3158e3d72)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_1123ad0d-0a23-5c76-b978-8d60072776b8)
Safire Lewis shifted in her swivel chair, turning from the computer to the open books on the long table in the law library. She loved her work, but a paralegal wasn’t what she had set out to become. It was supposed to be a learning interlude on the way to law school. Her parents were gone by then, so she knew she would have to make it independently, and this seemed a way to do that. Now she was ready to make a change, and she already had plans set in motion.
She would have to fight to do it on her own, but it had been that way for a long time. After she lost her parents, she became determined to make it on her own terms—fiercely determined. She was used to fighting, and she was used to going after what she wanted. It was how she had come this far and how she would go on to get what she really wanted—once she finally decided what that was.
Safire tagged a page in one of the books, picked up the phone and dialed her sister’s cell phone number.
“Hey, sis. Are we still on for this Saturday?” Her sister rattled off a list of stops they would be making to look for her wedding dress. “I’ll be there,” Safire said. “And I’ll be there to watch Philly tomorrow night....Give your hunky fiancé all my love....Okay, Angelina. See you tomorrow.”
Safire hung up the phone, stretched and began rubbing the back of her neck with both hands. She wanted a vacation. She’d missed hers earlier that year when one of her bosses went into labor. She’d had to cancel her plans for a singles cruise. She didn’t mind because her sister got to go, and her sister needed it more than she did. But she had wanted that time to do some thinking and to relieve some of her tension, and what better way to relieve tension than to find a sexy single? Yes, she was used to going after what she wanted. Safire shook her head to get rid of her salacious thoughts and turned back to her work.
When she heard the door open, she had her nose in one of the law books on the table and thought it was one of the student interns they had taken on over the summer. The interns were supposed to lighten the load, but until they learned what they were doing, they were more a nuisance than a help.
When she looked up, however, she found not one of the interns but a well-dressed gentleman looking tentatively her way. And he was gorgeous. Safire couldn’t help but smile.
He had skin just darker than milk chocolate—sweet enough to lick until it melted in your mouth—and his large brown eyes were astute and attentive. His lips were kissably thick, set in an angular jaw that led to high, chiseled cheekbones. He wore his hair in long braids that were pulled back into a bundle and anchored at the nape of his neck.
Safire shifted her chair so that she could see beyond the table and continued her open perusal.
He was wearing an athletic-cut navy suit that flared at his broad shoulders and tapered just a bit at his waist. She could sense the muscles of his arms beneath the sleeves, and his contoured thighs struggled for release from the pant legs. Her eyes lingered over his center on the way back up. It protruded just enough to hint at the dense manhood that lay beneath. Safire almost licked her lips.
The suit was set off with a white shirt and a cobalt tie, and he carried a black leather satchel. He looked like a young attorney, which pleased Safire greatly. The firm needed some color higher up.
“Excuse me, I—” he said, his voice a rich bass that sent tingles through Safire’s body.
Safire cut him off. “You’ve got to be looking for me,” she said, getting up from her chair and shrugging off her blazer.
Safire wore a purple miniskirt that matched her blazer, as well as a lavender chiffon camisole and her black two-and-a-half-inch pumps. This was her usual work attire, and she liked it because it showed off her legs and could transition into the evening if she went out.
“Pardon?” he said.
“You’ve got to be looking for me,” she repeated, positioning her rear on the tabletop and crossing her legs in front of her. “I’ve been looking for you, too.”
Safire was always bold, partly in fun, partly in all seriousness. She could tell that her handsome stranger wasn’t used to this at all, and his hesitation only enticed Safire all the more—that and something sweet in his eyes.
“Uh, are you Janice Wilson? I just left Mr. Benson, and he said that I could stop in to introduce myself to you. You deal with copyrighting?”
“Aw,” Safire said and then gave a little pout. “You’re looking for Janice.”
“I’m afraid I am.”
“Well, you’re too gorgeous to give away. What about after that?”
“After that?” He seemed a bit puzzled.
“Yes, are you done for the day after you speak with Janice?” Safire scooted off the table and put her hand out as she approached the man. “I’m Safire Lewis. Pleased to meet you.”
“Hello. I’m Darien James.”
Now that she was standing next to him, she could gauge his height. He must be about six feet because she was five feet eight inches, and he had a couple of inches on her even in her heels. She looked up at him and smiled.
“If you’re free after you see Janice, let’s go to happy hour. I’ll be done in an hour, and it’s nearby.”
“Uh, I’m not sure how long I’ll be with Ms. Wilson. Perhaps a rain check.”
“Rain check nothing, Mr. James. You’re not getting away, hottie that you are.”
Safire took his arm as if they were out on a stroll and led him back into the hall.
“If you’re already tied up, now’s the time to say so. If not, we’re on.”
Down the hall, Safire tapped on Janice’s office door and poked her head in. She hadn’t let go of Mr. James’s arm and ushered him in when Janice nodded.
“Ms. Wilson, this is Darien James, my date for happy hour this evening. We need him done within the hour because happy hour at Jake’s ends at seven. And don’t go getting any ideas of your own.”
Janice laughed and got up from her desk, holding her hand out to Darien. Her blue suit with its calf-length skirt and billowy jacket looked matronly next to Safire’s purple mini. Safire was kidding about Janice getting ideas. Janice was long married with two school-age children and rarely went out after work. Safire liked to give Janice a chuckle every now and again. Her coworkers knew her sense of humor and relied on it to lighten their long days.
“Good afternoon, Mr. James. Mr. Benson buzzed a few minutes ago to say that you would be stopping in. I was wondering whether you’d gotten lost.”
“He was in perfectly good hands,” Safire said.
“I see that he was. Come have a seat.”
Safire turned to leave. “I’ll be in the lobby in an hour,” she said to Janice. “Don’t let him keep me waiting.”
Back in her office, Safire began wrapping up her research for Mr. Hines. It was a criminal case under state jurisdiction involving the mistreatment of a minor, and since cases involving children were Safire’s specific interest, she tore through the research. She had already traced the applicable law and had the relevant statutory leads. She had collected all the on-point court decisions she could find, and now she only had to check the relevant cases to see if any of the decisions had been reversed, overruled or criticized.
This kind of suit was why she wanted to become a lawyer or work with children. She wanted to make a difference, not only through research but by having her own cases. Maybe it was because she knew what it was like to be young and feel vulnerable and alone. She was still in high school when her mother died. Then her father went. With her older sister taking care of their younger brother, she knew she had to look out for herself. And she hated feeling vulnerable. She’d made up her mind to rid herself of that feeling and pursue whatever she would have pursued had the foundation not been pulled from under her feet. She wanted to give that to other young people—that determination, that empowerment, that fierceness.
Safire worked for half an hour more and then started packing up the books she had used, keeping out the ones in which she’d tagged pages. She collected her notes, shut down the computer and looked at her watch.
While she was working, her mind stayed focused on the task, but now Safire’s thoughts ran back to the ever-so-sexy Mr. Darien James. It was time to get to the lobby, or she might miss him. She grabbed her blazer, collected her purse from her office and said her usual goodbyes. She popped into the restroom to spruce up, taking the clip out of her hair to let the long curls fall down and refreshing her makeup. Then she stopped at the receptionist’s desk.
“Is Darien James still in Janice’s office?” she asked.
“Yes, he is,” the receptionist said.
“Good. I’ll be waiting for him in the lobby. Have a good night.”
Safire waved and stepped onto the elevator. In the lobby, her heels ticked over the marble floor as she made her way to the central fountain, nodding to the guard on her way. She loved the click of heels and was rarely without them. It made her feel as if she was going somewhere, as if she had a presence. She took a quarter out of her purse and tossed it into the fountain, hoping that Darien James would turn out to be all that she thought he would be.
And what was that? Safire wasn’t sure, but he was handsome and sweet—a dangerous and formidable combination and one that was rare in Safire’s world. She hadn’t really noticed that before. She went out a lot and dated a lot. It was part of her determination to embrace life, part of the willpower that kept her from being undone by the loss of her parents. She pursued men the way she pursued everything else—fiercely. But unlike an education or a career, men could also be a distraction from what was really important, what was really worth pursuing. Safire was keeping her eyes on what counted and never took men too seriously. The lookers she dated were generally a bit full of themselves, basically because they were lookers. It was easy to catch them, have fun with them and then throw them back into the sea for some less focused fisher.
Darien James hadn’t seemed that way at all. He seemed down-to-earth and unpretentious, a fact that made him all the more irresistible. In fact, it made him seem a little dangerous. Maybe he was different, different enough to fall for. Safire shrugged at the thought, which was unlike her. If nothing else, he was fine—capital F-I-N-E. Hopefully, he knew how to use his God-given talents. She sure as hell wanted to find out.
There was no telling how long he might be, so Safire sat on the retaining wall that skirted the fountain and took her phone out of her purse to call one of her girlfriends and talk about her latest dish—the one she wanted to be her dish, anyway. Camilla picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, girl,” Safire said. “I might not have long, but I have a date for happy hour tonight. He’s as good-looking as all get-out and seems sweet on top of that, not full of himself like the usual hottie....You may get to meet him. I have to meet him first for myself—really meet him. I’ll let you know how it turns out and whether he tastes as good as he looks.”
Safire moved the phone from her ear as Camilla squealed. She glanced up, however, and there was Darien James getting off the elevator. She moved the phone back to her ear.
“Here he is, girl. I gotta go.”
She clicked the phone shut, put it back in her bag and got up to make her way toward Darien.
As she neared him, he slowed and blinked twice.
“I hope you’re not surprised to see me,” Safire said.
“Well, yes. I didn’t think you were serious. And your hair is different.”
“Serious as an accident on I-95. You going?”
“Uh...” He seemed to think about it a moment.
Safire watched him closely in those few seconds. She saw the shift in his face as his reluctance began to drain away, and then he turned and looked into her face, clearly intrigued by the woman standing in front of him. Finally, he gave her a little smile.
“Yes. Happy hour. Why not?”
“Good. We get to really meet. Are you open to that?”
“Sure,” he said. “I just hadn’t planned on going out tonight. But you’ve convinced me. I’d like to get to know you better, and a few hours in the company of a beautiful woman can soothe a work-worn spirit.” He held out his arm to her. “Let’s go.”
Safire took the arm Darien offered, and the two ministepped through the revolving door together. They came out on the other side laughing, and Safire directed them down the street to Jake’s.
Jake’s was a sports bar on the corner, and it was always packed with downtown types at happy hour. It had huge television screens and a large bar in the center of the room. Booths were stationed along the walls, but these were filled by now. High tables with tall stools occupied the rest of the space. Safire and Darien took seats at one of these, and Safire signaled a waiter.
“Can I get you drinks?”
“Make mine a virgin strawberry daiquiri,” Safire said, rolling her neck, “or I might end up on the floor.”
“Make mine the same,” Darien said.
His voice was smooth and resonant, and Safire loved the thrill it sent up her spine.
“You don’t have to forgo the alcohol because of me,” Safire said. “Go ahead. Unwind.”
“I don’t really drink.”
That was a little odd to Safire, but she didn’t mind. Cute as he was, he really did seem to be rather unassuming, as well. Safire liked that.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t raised around alcohol. And I have a very hectic schedule, so I don’t actually get out much.” He shrugged.
“I shouldn’t have a virgin daiquiri myself. It must be four hundred calories even without the alcohol,” Safire complained. “But in for a penny, in for a pound—in this case an American pound.” She chuckled. “What do you want to eat?” she asked, turning to the menu. “We can order real food if you’re hungry. I’m fine with wings.”
“I’m— I actually don’t eat meat.”
Aw. Worrisome as it was—she’d never gone out with a vegetarian or vegan—Safire was glad to be sitting across from someone with convictions. This one wasn’t all play. That could be a good thing.
“Oh, they must have other stuff on the menu. If not, we can go somewhere else.”
“I’ll have some potato skins,” he said and closed the menu. “I’ll be fine.”
In the momentary silence that followed, Darien smiled at her, and his smile opened up his whole face, letting her peek at the boy she hadn’t known and the inside of the man he was now. She loved that smile.
“So how long have you worked for the Law Offices of Benson and Hines?” he asked.
“I’ve been with them almost two years now. Good pay. Interesting work.”
“Are you an attorney? You seem kind of young...”
“No, I’m a paralegal, and I’m twenty-three. I couldn’t have finished law school already unless I was a child genius.”
Safire laughed, and Darien joined her.
“What about you? Will you be joining the firm?”
Darien laughed at that. “No, no. I’m twenty-six, but I’m not a lawyer.”
Safire pursed her lips into a pout.
“What is it?” he asked. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
“No, I was just hoping for a brother or sister in the upper ranks. We need some color up in there, if you know what I mean.”
Darien chuckled, but then he nodded in understanding.
“I’m sorry that I don’t fit the bill. I hope you don’t mind having us as a client, though.”
His apology was so sincere that it touched Safire. He was a sweetie.
“Who’s us?” she asked.
“I work at the Heritage Community Arts, Education and Resource Center of Miami. Benson and Hines has agreed to start doing some pro bono work for our needy, and I’m helping to handle some of the arrangements.”
“Why did you need Janice?”
“That was a personal aside. I needed some advice about copyrighting my art. I’m an artist—primarily wood but also metal and clay.”
Their drinks and food arrived, and the two began nibbling.
“I’m also a full-time MFA student at Florida International University,” Darien said, “but I’ve worked at the Heritage Center forever. I do some administrative work and teach art.”
“Why do you do it?”
“I love it. I love the kids. I love the Heritage Center. I want it to do well.”
“I like your fervor.”
The passion in Darien’s voice drew Safire to him. She slipped off one of her shoes and found his shin with her toes, letting him know how attracted she was.
He paused over his potato skins and looked at her. “You move rather fast, don’t you?”
“Is that a bad thing? I go after what I want, and I like to have a good time.”
“Does it ever get serious for you?”
“What does that mean? Because I go after what I want, I can’t be serious?”
“You can be, but are you?”
“If it gets serious, that’s fine. If it doesn’t, it wasn’t meant to be. I’m serious right now about wanting you.”
Safire reached over and touched Darien’s face with her sticky fingers. Then she leaned over and kissed the sticky spot, licking the sauce from his face.
Darien let out a heavy breath.
“You do move fast, maybe too fast.”
“Doesn’t Darien like to come out and play?” Safire teased.
“In my wilder days—in a hot second. Now I take it a bit slower.”
Little warning bells had been going off in Safire’s head since they started their evening. She liked to play, and Darien seemed a little conservative for her. He didn’t drink. He didn’t get out much. He didn’t eat meat. Now he was into taking it slowly. For the fourth time that evening, Safire wanted to raise her eyebrows. This time she did, giving Darien a genuinely quizzical look. He chuckled.
“I guess I’ve mellowed.”
“But you’re not old. What made you a nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud?”
“Hold up. I said that I don’t drink often. That’s not a bad thing. And let’s talk about meat.”
“No, let’s not,” Safire said. “Let’s get to the real issue—”
“Which is what?” Darien asked.
“A beautiful woman finds you attractive and wants to get to know you.”
“That’s not a problem. In fact, that’s great.”
“Then why the brakes?”
Darien leaned back and looked at her. “No one ever tells you no, do they? But then, you’re a beautiful woman. Why should they?”
His compliment made Safire smile, despite the tension between them.
“Actually,” she said, “you probably don’t hear no a lot either. You’re a hottie if ever I saw one.”
Darien looked down and grinned, but it was clear he was trying not to.
“Thank you, Safire.”
“I guess I don’t hear no a lot,” Safire said, “because I usually look for people I have something in common with.”
“I take it that’s not me.”
Something had softened between them, renewing Safire’s desire to know this man. “The verdict is still out on that. How about if we go dancing?”
Darien rolled his eyes, and both of them laughed.
“I guess you’re not a big dancer,” Safire said.
“I’ve danced a bit, but not recently. Tell me, what else do you like?”
“I like broad shoulders, like yours.” She eyed him tellingly, but he waved her on to the next item. “I like music. I like jazz clubs.”
Darien started nodding, and his eyes lit up. “I have an idea. There’s a café called Sylvester’s about fifteen minutes from here. They have desserts and wine, as well. Sometimes they have poetry readings and live music. I think that tonight they have a jazz band. Let’s go check it out.”
“Okay.”
“Can you follow me in your car?” Darien asked, getting up and taking Safire’s arm to steady her.
“Sure.”
“I won’t be able to stay long, but it should be good.”
Safire shook her head. “Is it getting past your bedtime already?” she said, and chuckled.
“You really do think I’m a stick-in-the-mud, don’t you?”
“I was just teasing.”
“I’m actually a huge night owl, but I still have work to do tonight.”
“Then I won’t keep you out late.”
They smiled at one another, arm hooked in arm, and Darien walked Safire to her car. Then he got his, met her and led them to Sylvester’s.
It was a Friday night, so there was a crowd. As they expected, there was a jazz band—a combo of four—filling the stage beyond the café tables. The place was small, and the band was using microphones, so it was much louder than it needed to be. They enjoyed the music, but they couldn’t hold a conversation over the sound.
Safire and Darien found a table at the counter along the wall, and Darien got them desserts and smoothies. Darien put his hand on the back of Safire’s raised chair. They sat close together and bounced their heads in unison as the band played standards like “A Night in Tunisia,” “’Round Midnight,” “Night and Day,” “Summertime,” “Blue Bossa,” “God Bless the Child” and “Take the ‘A’ Train.” Safire wished they could dance, but the café was packed, with tables almost touching.
“Do you like the band?” Darien asked, shouting over the music.
Safire nodded without losing the beat.
By the time the set was over, their desserts were gone.
“I hope you liked that,” Darien said. “It might be the only thing we have in common.”
Safire laughed. “I loved it. If only we could have danced.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Darien said.
There was sincerity in his expression and a rather boyish grin on his face at having pleased her. His deep voice crawled down Safire’s spine like a caterpillar.
“I did.”
“Well, at least there’s one thing this nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating—”
Safire started to laugh.
“I’m sorry to turn into a pumpkin before midnight, but I have to get home. Thank you for getting me out of the house for a bit—unexpectedly.”
“Anytime,” Safire said. “You just let me know. Because I have a life. I like to get out.”
“I see why,” Darien said as he got down from his stool. Once Safire was standing, he placed his hand on her back. “Let me walk you to your car.”
Safire nodded and smiled.
“So how did you come to like jazz?” Darien asked as they neared her car.
It was a question that took Safire off guard and made her think back. “My father,” she said. “He would play jazz albums almost every weekend.”
Safire recalled waking up on weekends to the sound of her father’s jazz records. The sun would be up already, but she would snuggle under the covers listening to the music that filled the house. She knew that her father was in the living room in his easy chair nodding his head in time to the rhythm and that her mother was in the kitchen humming along as she made breakfast. Safire could smell the bacon or sausage as it wafted through the house, and she knew she had to get up, but not right away, not while everything felt so peaceful and the world seemed so bright.
Without warning, tears began to well up in Safire’s eyes. Darien had evidently noticed. He stepped toward her and took her face in his palm. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more. Safire didn’t know what to say. She wanted those days back so much—those peaceful mornings when everyone was there and everyone was all right. She shook her head to clear it. Then, as if by way of explanation for her sudden fit of sniveling, she began recounting facts of her life that she generally kept hidden.
“He played them almost every weekend until my mother died. I was seventeen, still in high school. Then he stopped playing them. He died two years later.”
Darien’s other hand came up to Safire’s face, and he used his thumbs to wipe away the tears that had fallen.
The pressure of Darien’s fingers brought Safire back to the moment. His fingers were gentle, and his caress was filled with caring and understanding. She looked into his face and saw his concern for her, and a sweet ache filled her heart. Then she imagined what she must look like, standing there blubbering.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I don’t know what has me talking about all of this or—”
“It’s okay,” Darien said, and his deep timbre sent a shiver up Safire’s spine. “I’m so sorry to hear about your parents. You’ve been on your own for a while.”
“Not entirely,” she said. “I have siblings and friends. But I had to grow up and become independent quickly. I do all right.”
“It explains why you’re so mature at such a young age. Maybe it explains even more.”
He didn’t say what, and Safire wasn’t sure if she should ask. She was still wondering what had gotten into her—why these feelings had risen to the top, why now when they never did. She shook it off, regained her composure and looked at Darien.
“Well, Mr. Darien James—nondrinking, non-going-out, veggie-eating, take-it-slow hottie. I guess I better let you go.”
One of his hands still cupped her face, and he leaned his head near hers.
“Safire, this has been the best part of the whole evening to me—right here, finding out something real about you. You are beautiful. Don’t let that change. Don’t squander it away. Don’t play it away. It’s...amazing.”
Safire didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she opened her mouth to say something. But she didn’t know what to say. The intense look on this man’s face—so near to hers—took her breath away. His concern over her feelings moved something inside her, and his earnest gaze froze her to the spot. When she heard his deep voice, tingles went through her.
She nodded once and smiled weakly, not knowing what to say. They seemed so different that she didn’t really expect to see him again, not for another date. Things had gotten a bit tense between them at the sports bar. In the end, he was just a little too conservative for her taste.
She went to her car, and he turned toward his. Safire had put her key in the lock and opened the door before she felt his hand on her back. She turned around to find him immediately in front of her, taking her in his arms. When Darien kissed her, those soft, kissable lips felt like warm, melted chocolate. Her lips parted at their gentle, platonic touch.
But their kiss didn’t remain chaste. Darien’s tongue moved in between Safire’s parted lips, and her arms moved to his neck, pulling her closer to his body. His hands slipped farther around her back, feeding a fire that was growing inside her loins.
He stopped as suddenly as he started and stepped back from her.
“Good night, Safire. And thank you again.”
With the feelings that had built up inside her, Safire couldn’t resist. She smiled her Safire smile and offered, “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me and play?” She knew as she said it that she had broken their reverie.
Darien tipped his head down and leaned in so that his mouth almost touched her ear. “Slow down.”
His words in her ear sent a quiver through her frame, but they also shattered the last bit of their mutual trance. She swatted him playfully with her purse.
“You may not be a stick-in-the-mud, but you’re certainly too orthodox for me.”
“I take it that the jury is now in.”
Safire smiled and got into her car. She pulled up beside Darien as he got to his car, waved once as he closed the door and sped off into the night.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_88992537-2399-5bdb-8527-89d27b62dbda)
Darien James was more on the casual side. He owned a few suits, but more often than not, he wore jeans with some kind of printed shirt or T-shirt, and to dress that up, he wore a nice shirt or a dashiki or a vest—maybe a jacket, if it was necessary. This was the second time in as many weeks that he’d had to step up his game, and he was starting to like it. He could see how to move back and forth between business and casual without losing sight of what drove him.
The last time had been just over a week ago, when he’d gone to the Law Offices of Benson and Hines. That was also the day he’d met Safire Lewis and gone out with her. She had a list for him—nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud, or something to that effect. He had a list for her as well, and it included the word siren. He hadn’t seen her since that night, and they hadn’t exchanged personal information, so he didn’t think he’d see her again. They seemed to be on different paths or in different places in their lives. She was on the fast track, and he’d gotten off the fast track some time ago—a move for the better, actually.
Now he sat in a conference room at the Nova Investment Firm, where he was representing the Heritage Community Arts, Education and Resource Center of Miami and waiting for the arrival of two more potential corporate backers for some of their programs. Nova had put this together pro bono to help the Heritage Center garner support from the local business community. His role was to describe the programs—the ones being offered already and the ones being added to better serve the community. He had worked at the Heritage Center for so long that he was confident in his ability to do this with minimal preparation. Nonetheless, he’d put together a very professional-looking packet of information.
The backing would also help with their Legal Assistance Program, but he didn’t expect Mr. Benson to show up, and he didn’t think that anyone from Benson and Hines would be there. He was surprised to see Safire Lewis enter the waiting area and look toward the conference room. It turned out that she was representing the Law Offices of Benson and Hines.
He could see her through the windows surrounding the conference room. Her crescent eyes sparkled with some inner mirth, and her high cheekbones were shaped into plump circles that puckered with her smile. Her lips were thick and full, making Darien remember how soft they were when he kissed her. She had a small, impish nose and a wide forehead. Though her face looked young, innuendo was written subtly over her features—in the way one side of her lips turned up in a smile, and the way she looked at him as if on the sly, as she did now through the window.
Her long hair was piled up on her head, placing an emphasis on her face that made her look young. Well, it made her look twenty-three. But she also flashed that cryptic Safire smile, the one that seemed sweet but that hid the temptress underneath, the one that made her look as if she was having a naughty thought. That was part of her attitude, an air she carried with her—an air of availability. But it wasn’t ordinary, not the way she wore it. She carried herself as if she was in control, as if she would be deciding what, how, when...and who. There was an air of loftiness to her that made her untouchable and kept her from seeming coarse or crass or vulgar.
She clacked into the room on two-and-a-half-inch heels wearing a green brocade miniskirt with a matching blazer and a green camisole. It was much like the outfit she’d worn when they’d met. But she was stunning even without the heels and short shirt. These made her attractive in an in-your-face kind of way that Darien found unnecessary. It wasn’t his bag, really, or at least it wasn’t until he saw it on Safire. She seemed to wear the culture of allure so naturally that it almost disappeared on her, leaving only her long legs and sharp eyes and shapely figure.
Still, she wore it, almost flaunting her beauty. He was used to the types who did this—or tried to do it. They were generally so impressed with themselves that they didn’t have time to be impressed with you, and they seemed to know that they could have anyone, so they eventually found someone they thought was better than you. In Darien’s experience, the beautiful ones who knew that they were beautiful were a danger, and almost everything he knew about Safire Lewis told him that she was one of these. Everything but the sudden tears that had fallen from her eyes like a brief burst of summer rain.
She was carrying a leather portfolio, which she plopped onto the table in the conference room before rounding to his side. She bent down and whispered, “Hello again, hottie.” She gave him a wink that the others could not see, and then she straightened herself, shaking his hand formally before proceeding around the table to introduce herself.
Darien couldn’t help being amused by Safire’s private greeting. He smiled and played along with her pretense of a polite exchange. He also took this as a signal to begin and pulled the packages he’d prepared out of his briefcase, handing them around the table as he followed Safire’s path introducing himself.
“You might want to glance through this as we wait,” he said to the potential backers. “The right-hand side has a detailed summary of our programs. Each description identifies our community’s need, our achievement goals, our assessment instruments and our projected program budgets, and each one indicates how long the program has been running or whether it’s a new addition to our fall lineup. The left-hand side is a packet of the brochures that we have describing the Heritage Center and its programs—current and forthcoming.” Darien finished handing out the packets and sat down. “I’ll talk about these once everyone is here, but you can browse through them now.”
“This is all very professionally done,” one of the panel members said.
“Well, we’ve been running for over fifty years, and we want to keep running for fifty more.” That drew genial laughter from the group. “Our programs have brought up SAT scores of participating high school students, and they’ve actually had an impact on student high school completion rates.”
“You seem a lot like the YMCA,” another panel member said.
“In some ways we are, but not all. We don’t run athletic programs. We do tutoring, family counseling and computer training, and we teach classes in art, reading and writing, music, history, math, science enrichment—”
“I see you’ve already started.” Alberta Evans, the manager of the project for the Nova Investment Firm, came in leading the two potential backers they were waiting for. Darien nodded and handed them all packets. Now they were really ready to begin.
Mrs. Evans opened up the meeting with remarks about their purpose for being there. Then she handed the proceedings over to Darien, who walked them through the packet and the programs. “The last thing I want to point out to you is the brochure for our upcoming fund-raiser. You’ll see all the ways you can participate on the back. These programs work, so they’re worth supporting.”
After Darien fielded questions, Mrs. Evans introduced Safire, who opened her portfolio and summarized what the Law Offices of Benson and Hines planned to do for the Legal Assistance Program, selling the whole package along the way. Darien was seeing Safire in action in the professional arena for the first time. She was efficient but endearing, and she was very persuasive. He could see why Benson and Hines had sent her.
After that, Mrs. Evans introduced the potential backers by name and industry, and they each said a bit about what kind of corporate backing they did and why they were considering investing in the Heritage Center.
“I can’t thank you enough for coming,” Darien said.
Mrs. Evans went over a few pages in the proposal that Nova had helped to draft for the Heritage Center. “Now,” she said, “I need to meet with the backers alone so we can create a response to the proposal. Don’t go far, Mr. James and Ms. Lewis. We’ll have our response ready within the hour.”
Darien and Safire moved into the waiting area and dallied at the table set up with refreshments.
“What does she mean when she says that they’ll create a response to the proposal?” Darien asked. “Does she mean that they’re going to decide now who’ll give what?”
“That’s exactly it,” Safire said. “These are the ones in charge, the ones who can make the decision.”
“It might be good that I didn’t know that going in,” Darien said and then chuckled.
“Nervous, Mr. James?” She eyed him in a teasing manner.
“Well, there’s a lot riding on this, like whether all those kids have a safe place to go where they can learn something or get help. It’s not about me. I’m incidental.”
“You don’t seem incidental.”
Safire looked at Darien and gave him that seductive half smile. He couldn’t tell whether she was making fun or not.
“Today you’re standing in for the director of the Heritage Center,” she said. “That’s not incidental.”
Safire had selected a pastry, and the sugar coating was all over her fingers, which she licked in the most alluring way. It reminded Darien of the sauce from the hot wings that she’d kissed and licked off his face in the sports bar, and the memory, paired with what she was doing now, made his body start to react. Was it him, or was everything about this woman erotic in some way?
They took seats in the waiting area, and Safire crossed one leg over the over, her long limbs showing in her short skirt.
Safire turned to him, genially placing her hand on his knee.
“So, Mr. James, are you still taking it slowly?”
“I guess I am,” he said. “I’ve tried it the other way.”
Her eyes flew open. “That says a lot about you. What about chicken and beef and lamb and pork? Have you gotten over your fear of meat yet? Or your fear of women?”
Safire’s teasing tone made Darien look at her to gauge her intent. “I never said I was afraid of meat or women.”
“Show me that you’re not,” she said, licking her fingers again.
Darien shook his head. “You don’t slow down for a minute, do you? What makes you need to move so quickly? What makes you afraid of really having a man in your life, someone who knows you, someone who—”
Safire uncrossed her legs and recrossed them in a huff.
“I’m not scared, Mr. James. I just know what I want, and I’m not afraid to say it. You might be fearful of empowered women. I want someone who’s not scared to go after what he wants and someone not spooked when I say what I want.”
“You don’t have to be wanton to have that, and you—”
“What if I like being wanton? Isn’t it okay if I have desires and express them? If I were a man, you’d be giving me a high five, and we’d be bonding.”
Darien couldn’t help laughing at that, but he didn’t agree.
“Not if you were a player. Not if you were seeking out one physical relationship after another.”
Safire threw her arms up—literally. “Hold up. Hold up, Darien. Who on earth says that’s what I do? That’s not on any agenda of mine.” She pointed her index finger up and followed her sentence with it. “So what makes that come into your mind? See, that’s on you, sweetheart. You’ve tried it the other way, and maybe that’s what you wanted.”
“Oh, no—”
“I think so,” she said and then laughed.
Without thinking about it, Darien cupped Safire’s face in his palm, and she went silent.
“You don’t have to put up a front with me, Safire. I’ve seen tears in your eyes. You’re not all hot and heavy all the time.”
With his palm under her chin, Safire stared into his eyes with her crescent-shaped pools. She was quiet for a long time, staring at him like that—frozen.
When he took his palm away, she leaned toward him.
“Come go out with me, Darien. Play with me. Let’s see where it goes.”
Her words were so quiet and her eyes so steadily trained on him that Darien almost thought he was hearing things. He paused a moment, his own breath caught in his chest. He righted himself and refocused. He was not hearing things. He’d never been asked out in such a sweetly alluring way.
“I have to work at the Heritage Center tonight,” he said, unable to refuse the request but unable to honor it immediately. He was also troubled by Safire’s phrasing. “And I don’t know if I want to play—as you word it. I want something real. I—”
Just then, Mrs. Evans came out and beckoned them into the conference room. The group of backers had responded favorably to the proposal, and they had arrived at a collective response to the budget, covering all the basic programmatic needs. Mrs. Evans showed him a penciled breakdown and said she would fax the completed document over when it was all signed. This meant that the programs were secure.
It was more than Darien had dared to hope, and he was elated. He lingered to talk with some of the backers and thank them, and to let them know what else the Heritage Center was doing to raise the full amount needed for the larger operating budget—overhead, management and so on. Safire lingered to talk to them, as well. One by one, though, they began to leave after signing the completed forms.
Soon only one was left, a banker talking to Safire. Darien turned to their conversation only to find that it wasn’t about the Heritage Center at all. The gentleman was asking Safire out. Darien looked at Safire, who was smiling her usual seductive, flirtatious smile with her butt propped up on the conference table much as she’d done with him when they’d met. She was slowly rocking her torso, and this only added to the seductiveness of her stance.
When she noticed him looking, she nodded and smiled his way and waited for his interruption before answering the invitation. Darien waved his goodbye, turned on his heel and headed to his car. Clearly, Safire was still playing the field, and when she had said play, that was what she had meant. Yes, this one was a seductress, but not only that. She was a player.
Darien got in his car and made it to the Heritage Center in time for his class, thinking all the while about Safire. She had seemed sincere, but she was just dating casually, if you would call it that. What bothered him was that he was actually miffed about it. He had no claim upon her. In fact, as they’d left it, he had turned down her invite to go out, by which she seemed to have meant tonight. Why should it rub him the wrong way if she took up another invitation from someone who was willing to play?
Darien pulled into the Heritage Center parking lot and got to his class, which comprised the little kids today—the ones who were between five and ten. He managed to focus on his class, but not without some distraction. Thankfully, they were molding shapes out of clay and didn’t require a great deal of his concentration once they had selected their subjects for the project. The clay kept them in their seats and occupied, if not clean, and he had only to tour the room looking at projects and offering tips.
When the hour and a half was over and the children’s projects were stored in the kiln to be fired, Darien greeted their parents. Mrs. Watson clacked in on her high heels wearing a short wraparound dress to pick up Jacob, an eight-year-old student. After she found out about his progress and collected her son, she clacked back out.
Her heels didn’t make an impact the way Safire’s heels did. They weren’t seductive. They didn’t show off long, shapely calves. They didn’t announce her presence to the world. If anything, the sound struck him—at least today—as a nuisance. Nor was her short dress a distraction. Paired with her gaudy earrings and fake weave, it made her look more like a hoochie mama. Yet Darien knew that he was merely reacting to his departure from Safire and her willingness to entertain an invitation from another man.
Once his students left, Darien found the director of the Heritage Center, Mr. Abraham Johnson.
“Hey, Mr. Johnson.”
“Abe.”
“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”
Darien had been working at the Heritage Center since he started as a file clerk in high school, but the director was still Mr. Johnson to him, even now that he himself was an associate director.
“How’d it go today?” Mr. Johnson asked.
“Great,” Darien said.
“I know.”
“Did Mrs. Evans fax over the signed forms with the figures from the backers?”
“Yes, she did.” Mr. Johnson stopped outside his office and raised his fists in victory. “We should celebrate.”
“We should. Oh,” Darien said. “I haven’t talked to you since last week. You’re a busy man.”
“Not as busy as you, but then I’m not as young as you.”
If Darien guessed correctly, Mr. Johnson was in his early sixties, but it didn’t show much. Mr. Johnson just liked to have someone to whom to delegate the legwork.
Darien followed him into his office. “Did you get the letters of confirmation that I collected from Benson and Hines?”
“Yes, I got those, too. You’ve been productive.”
“I already have clients signed up for the Legal Assistance Program for the next three weeks.”
“What are their issues?”
“Some of everything you might imagine—condo conversions, divorces, child custody or child support, spousal battery, even one criminal charge.”
Mr. Johnson turned to Darien and put a hand on his shoulder. “You know as much as I do now. When I’m ready to step down, my position will be yours.”
“I don’t know if—”
“It’ll be a while, son. Just start thinking about it.”
Darien nodded and left Mr. Johnson’s office. Moving up at the Heritage Center wasn’t what was occupying his mind. She was. Safire Lewis.
Darien had reading to do for his class on Wednesday, so he headed home. She was in the fast lane, and he’d gotten off that track—and for a reason. Besides, he couldn’t satisfy anyone who needed to go out all the time. Nor could he be satisfied by anyone who still needed to play the field—or to act as if she was still playing it. Man, this one was someone to be wary of. He’d been burned by her type before. So why was he still thinking about her?
At home, even his reading was disrupted by the thought of Safire. He had started an erotic piece that he knew was inspired by her. It was still in the drawing stage, but it would be a wood sculpture. He put down his book for his class in Caribbean art and went over to his sketches. It was the sensual nature of the piece that let him know Safire had inspired it. And this irked him to no end. He wanted to put her from his mind. But here she was—his muse.
The piece had gotten inside his head, and he had to finish it. If he could finish it, if he could capture the spirit of her in a piece, he could release her from his mind. It was really because she had entered his art that she continued to occupy his thoughts. Or was it?
Chapter 3 (#ulink_cedb68c1-652a-5b9e-82f0-c2cb1d1f0e2a)
Safire parked, grabbed her briefcase and started toward the Heritage Center. She was wearing a skirt suit, as usual, but this one was made of a shiny turquoise shantung blend. The jacket flared out at the waist and cuffs, and the miniskirt flared at the hem. She had on her black pumps, and the heels tapped out her approach.
This afternoon she was representing Benson and Hines in the Legal Assistance Program. There were so many people seeking help that the firm decided to have her put in some time on the project doing preliminary interviews. This way, she could do a portion of the initial research and set up appointments for the clients with the right attorneys.
It had been two weeks since Safire had last seen Darien James, and she didn’t know if she would run into him today. They were so different that she hadn’t planned to pursue it any further. In fact, she hadn’t known she would see him at the Nova Investment Firm meeting. He said he did a little administrative work at the Heritage Center, not that he stood in for the director at important fund-raising meetings. Well, plan or no plan, she might see him again today, perhaps if he was teaching an art class.
She didn’t know how she’d feel if she did see him, but then, she didn’t know how she’d feel if she didn’t. She remembered the first day that she met him and the way he’d kissed her at her car. He was so firm, so gentle, so unlike everything she had known. And there was that moment at the investment firm when he’d cupped her chin and looked into her eyes. There was something about him in those moments, this tenderness. It just arrested her, froze her, threw her off-kilter. It didn’t shut her down, but it immobilized her and halted her play. And it wasn’t just because he was so sinfully good-looking.
Then again, Darien James was still a nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud. Chocolate hottie though he may be, he was still too conservative for her. He wanted her to slow down rather than quench her needs, and she wasn’t having it. Slow just wasn’t her pace.
Safire opened the door to the main office at the Heritage Center only to find that there was no one at the receptionist’s desk. Offices surrounded the reception area, but most of the doors were closed. She listened for a moment and heard no signs of movement, so she called out.
“Hello. Is anyone here?”
“Just a minute,” a voice called back.
Then Darien’s head popped out of a door. He had a phone to his ear and gestured for her to wait. Then he strode out from the office. He was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt with a white shirt on top of it, and over that he wore a silver vest with words like freedom and respect embroidered in black thread. Around his neck he wore a leather rope with wooden beads that had a fist handing down at the center. Safire looked at him and couldn’t help smiling. Now that he wasn’t wearing a suit, he looked the part of an artist. His long braids were tied back at the nape of his neck, as usual, and his astute brown eyes stood out among his chiseled chocolate features, good enough to nibble on.
“Ms. Lewis,” he said and held out his hand as he approached her.
“Mr. James,” she returned. “Why so formal?”
“I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”
“Safire is just fine. I’m here to—”
“To do the interviews for the Legal Assistance Program. I know. I’ll be serving as your staff liaison this afternoon, and you’ll be using my office.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Your office?”
“Come with me.”
Safire had grown up in North Miami and had come to a few events at the Heritage Center, but she’d never been inside the administrative suite.
Darien led Safire to his office, which held a large wooden desk and two facing chairs with another chair in the corner. There were paintings of every kind all over the walls, some clearly by children. The shelves were lined with art books and sculptures made of wood and clay and ceramic. There was color in every conceivable corner. The file cabinets were covered with images—mostly watercolors—held on by magnets. Around the room were framed posters of events that had been held at the Heritage Center.
In addition to a computer and printer, the desk was strewn with papers, books and various art supplies.
“I just have to get a few things that I’ll need out front, and I can make some room for you to work,” Darien said, gathering things and clearing a space for her. “The first clients are in the small conference room across the reception area. I’ll bring them in when you’re ready, and I’ll be at the reception desk to greet the next ones. We set appointments at the top of each hour, and you have four this afternoon.” He nodded at her. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
Darien took his things and went out to the reception area.
Safire pulled her portfolio and the needed paperwork out of her briefcase, including interview checklists, legal glossaries, a notepad and a pen. She spread out her things and made herself comfortable at the desk. Then she got up to find Darien.
“Is your receptionist off today?”
“We don’t actually have a receptionist right now. We have a couple of student assistants, but they come in after school in time to service the after-school programs. We all do a bit of double duty around here. Are you ready?”
“Yes, I am.”
Safire winked at Darien and headed back to his office. In a couple of moments, he brought in a family of three—two parents and their son. The son, who was fourteen, had been beaten up by a bully at school. The family was struggling and had no health insurance, and they wanted to sue for medical and dental fees resulting from the incident.
Anything involving children moved Safire’s heart, filled her with conviction and focused her on the task at hand. This was the kind of case she wanted as her own, the kind of case she would study law for.
Having a little brother—one so much younger than she was—helped inspire that passion. She would have a fit if anyone was picking on little Philly. In reality, she had stepped out of the way to make sure that her older sister could look after her younger brother after their mother died. Angelina had to be free to concentrate on Philly. That was another reason she was on her own. She had to make sure that she was all right so that Angelina could go on making sure that Philly was all right. In fact, she had to be ready so that when Philly went off to college, she could pitch in when needed. So far, her plan was working, but it took grit and determination. And it took even more to have a life on top of that. It took being fierce. Now she wanted to go back to school. Hopefully, this plan would work, as well.
With only an hour, Safire had to make good time, so she let the young man describe the incident and then launched into questions. Near the end of the hour, she took their contact information and said that she would call them with an appointment for the proper attorney. She got up to shake the parents’ hands and give the young man’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“I’ll be calling you tomorrow,” she said and then smiled.
Darien came in to see if she was ready for the next client. She gestured toward the nearest chair and continued with her notes.
“I need to make some brief notes after each interview. It’s standard practice. I’ll only take five to ten minutes. That’s why I ended a little early. Next time give me an hour and a half—at least—for each interview. In fact, it might work best if you call me with a general description of the issue when you’re scheduling so I can estimate how much time I’ll need.”
Darien had taken the seat she’d pointed to. He propped one of his ankles on top of the other thigh and settled back. “We can do that.”
Safire finished her notes and checked her watch. She had a few minutes to spare, and with Darien so nearby, she was itching to play for just a little bit. This wasn’t like her. She liked to play, but not at work. Something about this man drew her to the chase. She tucked her notes into a folder, labeled it and stowed it in her briefcase. Then she got up and rounded the desk, settling back against it and crossing her legs in front of her.
“Are you ready for the next client?” Darien asked.
“Almost,” Safire replied. “Tell me a little about them. Or do you know?”
“This one I do. Miss Levita Smalls has had her daughter in programs at the Heritage Center for about two years.”
As Darien talked, Safire bent forward and touched the lettering on his vest, running her hand over his shoulder and down his chest as she read the words she was tracing with her fingers. He sat up in his chair but continued talking about Miss Smalls.
“She’s been divorced for the last year and is struggling to keep afloat financially.”
Safire bent farther forward, resting her hands on Darien’s open thighs. With her so close, his voice quieted to a low bass.
“She works in housekeeping in a hotel in Coral Way.”
Safire leaned in and kissed Darien softly on the cheek. Then she whispered in his ear, “What’s her issue?”
Darien cleared his throat and turned to look at her. Safire leaned back up and folded her arms in front of her.
“She needs child support from her ex-husband.”
“Bring her in.”
Darien got up and went to the door. He looked back at her for a moment. His brow furrowed in consternation, and he shook his head. Then he disappeared.
Safire wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into her. She never wasted time with anyone who wasn’t entirely interested, and she was generally good about not mixing work with recreational pursuits, not while on the job. But here she was, tantalized by this man and wanting to tantalize him. Of course, he was sexy as hell. But there was more. There was a reservation about him and a sweetness. That was just as much a turn-on as his good looks and the way he could make her stop breathing by touching her face or kissing her. She wanted to take that self-righteous glint from his eyes and corrupt him. He kept her thinking about chocolate. Oh la la.
Darien came back with Miss Smalls, a petite woman in a blue floral dress. It was clearly her Sunday best, but it was fraying a bit at the seams, as was her handbag. Safire greeted her, showed her to a seat in front of the desk and settled in to do the interview.
“So, you’re interested in suing your ex-husband for child support, Miss Smalls?”
“Yes, I am. He hasn’t helped with Amelie since the divorce.”
She needed to know about the divorce settlement and child custody ruling, about the ex’s income and current family situation. She only had an hour, so she put aside other thoughts and focused.
When it was over, Darien came in and took a seat while she finished her notes.
“You know,” he said, “you’re really a nymph. But then, the way you dress kind of gives that away.”
Safire snapped back, “First, thank you for the compliment. Nymphs were deities, as you know. And second, I am the girl next door, as long as you don’t live next to a nunnery.” She laughed and finished a sentence she’d been writing and then looked at him. “And you, you’re the mild-mannered Clark Kent.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh—” she started on her notes again “—but what I want is a Superman.”
“I think you’re defining ‘Superman’ by the wrong paradigm.”
“I beg to differ, not that you know what my paradigm is.”
“I could describe it,” Darien said, “but I think I need to let you write your notes. The next client is here.”
Safire finished her notes and then looked up.
“Tell me about this one.”
“This is Mrs. Martinez. I don’t know a lot about her issues, only that there seems to have been some abuse in her marriage. I think she’s moved out, but I’m not sure if they’re divorced. I know that she’s concerned for her children—there are two that I know of—and that she wants custody of them.”
As always, when there were children involved, Safire refocused immediately. So far, all the cases at the Heritage Center had involved children, and it got Safire thinking about law school and specializing on cases with children. When she was finished, she would be great as a pro bono attorney for the Heritage Center. That or teaching children. She had to make up her mind, and she had to do it soon.
Safire looked up to find Darien staring at her.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Safire let out a breath. “I was thinking about how many of the cases here involve a threat to children. It’s a shame. It’s something I want to help fix.”
“You are helping.”
Safire didn’t want to say more about her hopes for the future. “I know,” she conceded. Then she looked at her watch. “Let’s bring in Mrs. Martinez.”
Safire did her interview, and then Darien joined her again as she wrote her notes. Because the interviews were so compacted, the hours were flying by for Safire.
“Are you getting anything done with all of these interruptions into your time?” she asked.
“A little. I don’t work well with interruptions when I have real work to do. I can only multitask mindless work.”
Safire looked up and smiled for a moment.
“You have a beautiful smile,” Darien said, “and you smile often. I like that.”
“Uh-oh. You’re starting to sound enamored of a nymph. You better watch out or I might work my goddess powers on you.” She chuckled.
“Speaking of you,” he said, “how was your date with that banker you met at Nova?”
“I didn’t have a date with him, but you sound a little jealous. That must mean you like me.” She chuckled again.
Darien was quiet, and Safire finished the last sentence of her notes before glancing up. He was looking at her intently. Then he shifted and drew a folder from his lap.
“I’ve looked at the next set of interviews,” he said, “and I’ve jotted down what I know about the cases. If you take a look when you’re done, you can let me know how much time you’ll need so we can reschedule.”
They were looking at each other as he leaned forward, but when their hands met over the folder, they both looked down, suspended in the middle of a simple gesture.
Safire felt electricity in their touch. It moved from her hand to the pit of her stomach, and from there it crawled up her spine and wound down to the place where her body had started to throb. They both stood at the same time, facing each other across the desk. Safire looked back up at Darien, and what she saw in his eyes was desire.
It wasn’t in Safire’s character to back down from desire. It wasn’t in her to let something go that she wanted without at least trying for it. She’d watched her sister become matronly under the pressure of being mother and father to their younger brother and a caretaker for their elderly great-aunt, who had recently passed away. Safire wasn’t going to get old before her time. She’d learned to contend with the powers that be when they told her she couldn’t—couldn’t get along without a mother and father to help her make decisions, couldn’t make it through college on her own, couldn’t have a good life on only her income, couldn’t do all that she wanted to do. That backbone she carried into all of her dealings. That pluck had become second nature.
Now she stood looking at the desire in Darien’s eyes.
Safire spoke on impulse, “Come out with me tonight, Darien James.”
Darien paused for a long moment. Then he sighed, and his brow wrinkled. “It doesn’t seem to be in the stars for us, Safire Lewis, aka nymph.”
“Why is that?”
“You mean in addition to how different we are? I have to work this evening. I’m teaching an art class in the after-school program after I bring in your last client, which I need to do now.” He looked over his shoulder. “A student assistant will be out front when you’re done. You can call me about rescheduling the next set of interviews.” He turned toward the door and then turned back. “Take care, Safire.”
Safire tipped her head and smiled.
In a moment, Darien was back with the last client and then took his leave. The man he brought owned a small business that was just beginning to break even. He was having trouble with a contractor hired to do some renovations for expansion. The job had been botched, but the contractor blamed the subcontractor and refused to fix it or pay for it to be fixed. Safire refocused and got through her interview. Then she packed up her things and waved to the student at the receptionist’s desk as she headed out.
There was life in the halls now. People were on their way to various activities. Rooms were being used for tutoring, workshops, music lessons, art class.
Safire paused near a room where small children were engaged in what seemed to be an art class. She listened for Darien’s voice, and when she heard it, she peeked inside. The scene was one of mild chaos. She saw empty chairs for bigger children at the back of the room. One was near her and partially obscured by the open door. She tiptoed inside and took a seat.
On observation, there was some order to the anarchy. Children with protective aprons tied about them and large goggles on had flat slabs of clay in front of them, which had been cut into four-inch tiles. Darien was instructing them on how to make decorations in the tile.
“They don’t all have to be the same. If you want them to be similar, that’s fine, but each will have some variation because these are handmade. Go to the front to look at the pictures if you still need more ideas.”
He walked around giving the littler ones assistance and commenting on the pieces being made by the bigger children. Ages seemed to range from four or five to ten or twelve.
“Look at Kathy’s. You can make holes in them if you’d like. That’s fine. If you make a mistake, you can build the tile back up, but make sure not to leave seams. A bit of water helps. If you engrave the tile by drawing a design in it, use water to soften the edges of the engraving.”
Darien was circling the room and was now in a position to see her. Safire wasn’t sure what to do. She remained where she was, and he might have missed her except that while he was busy giving comments to one of the older boys, one of the younger girls came over to Safire. She might have been five, and she approached with a slab of clay plastered to her hand.
“Are you our teacher, too?” the little girl asked.
Her query drew Darien’s attention, and he began watching them.
“No, little one, I’m visiting your class today.”
“Look,” the girl said, holding out her tile. “This one is a woman. I can’t get it.”
“That’s very good,” Safire said, “but if you draw in a dress here—” she used her finger to gently trace on the tile “—then it will look more like a woman, if that’s what you like. It can be anything you want, and it doesn’t have to look like what other people think a woman is.”
The little girl ran back to her space at the table and used a blunt stick to etch in the line that Safire had traced. Then she ran back to Safire.
“Look, look! How’s this? It’s a woman now.”
“That’s very nice. Are you going to decorate the dress? You could draw little flowers or—”
“I’m going to use the thing to make dots,” she said and took off again to her seat.
Darien kept circling the room and punctuating it with comments, but he nodded and smiled at Safire for a second, letting her know she had done okay. Safire was glad to have done a good job. She relaxed then and enjoyed the class until it was finished.
“Okay, all of your tiles should be nearly done. When you’re finished, bring your cardboard with all the tiles and put them on the shelf to dry. I’ll fire them in the kiln, and next class we paint them, so you’ll be wearing aprons and goggles again.” He laughed.
When class was over, parents or siblings came in to get the children, and they started filing out. Darien started on the cleanup and Safire got up to help.
“No way,” he said. “Not in that outfit. You’ll get this stuff all over you, unless you want me to wrap you in a plastic bag.” He chuckled.
She settled back down and watched him.
“You handled Lucy well. You know, we always need help in our after-school programs. You have to get fingerprinted and all that, but it can be fun. You can assist a teacher with a class, or you can start your own in whatever specialty you have. And it doesn’t have to center on little kids. We have programs for folks all the way up to adults.”
“I’ll have to consider the idea. It looks like fun.”
Actually, Safire had already made up her mind. She wanted to know more about working with young people—teaching them. Her desire to work with children had her torn between law—with a focus on children—and teaching—with a focus on literature. She was already exploring law, but Darien’s comment had just given her a way to explore teaching—working with young people directly. She was secretly thrilled by the possibility. But she didn’t want it to be Darien’s class, and she wasn’t planning to launch a new class as a way of getting to him. She would call the director the next day and make arrangements on her own. Darien might not even have to know.
When he was finished, Darien turned to her. “Since you stayed through my class, I’d like to invite you out for dinner.”
“That sounds good, but let me call my girls. We had talked about a club tonight.”
“While you do that, I’ll go put things back in my office and collect what I need.”
Safire made a quick call and was waiting for Darien when he returned.
Darien knew of an Italian place nearby where he could order vegetarian lasagna, so they went there for dinner. Safire had regular lasagna. She teased Darien with a forkful, and he teased her with a forkful of his.
“It’s much sexier when you tease me,” Darien said. “But no meat for me.”
“Don’t you miss it?”
“Sometimes. But I feel healthier this way. Only my mom can really tempt me on that front.”
“Do you ever surrender to temptation?” Safire asked, turning her head and looking at him suggestively out of the corner of her eye.
“I’m not sure which question to answer—the one that you asked or the one that you implied.”
They both laughed.
Over dinner they talked about his work at the Heritage Center and her work at Benson and Hines and where they overlapped. It went so well that they decided afterward to go to a place called Aunt Joe’s, which had wine and coffee as well as foods and desserts. It had music videos playing on monitors and even dancing, though the floor was small.
Over his chai tea latte and her merlot, they split a piece of carrot cake.
“I guess this answers your question about me being a strict vegetarian.”
“How so?”
“Latte and carrot cake—milk and eggs.”
“You must have a sweet tooth,” Safire speculated, thinking again of chocolate and how sweet this man would be on the palate.
“I do,” Darien said. “But I don’t do this often, and when I cook, I use substitutes.”
“So you do give in to temptation sometimes.” Safire winked at Darien and smiled, wondering if she could get her name added to the menu.
Suddenly, Safire asked Darien to dance. A slow song had come on, and she didn’t want to miss a chance for a slow dance with this man.
There were few couples on the dance floor because it was so early, but Safire didn’t mind. Darien, though, seemed a bit self-conscious, at least at first. Safire pressed her body against Darien’s and felt herself begin to throb. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. She closed her eyes against the multicolored strobe lights that circled the room and gave in to the sensation of being in Darien’s arms. Although they were in public, it felt so erotic, so intimate, so safe.
The rugged smell of Darien’s body filled her senses when she inhaled, and the taste of bittersweet chocolate rose to the tip of her tongue. The feel of his body was delicious. Their thighs brushed gently against each other’s as they wavered to the slow, heavy beat and the guttural voice of a woman yearning for love. His hard chest pressed against her breasts, and his hands gripped her hip and back, drawing her into the curves of his form. It all sent a tingling through Safire that made her pulse rush. And she could tell from the bulge pressing against her hip that he was also getting a bit stimulated.
The slow song ended and a faster song came on. The two continued to sway slowly for a moment, long enough for Safire to know that he, too, hated to have the dance end. Then they looked at each other and went back to their table, Darien’s palm pressed to her back.
At their table, Safire placed her hand in Darien’s. He accepted it and held it in a gentle fist.
She leaned toward him and motioned for him to come. He leaned his ear toward her, but that wasn’t what she wanted. When she said nothing, he turned to look at her. That’s when she caught his lips with hers. It was a chaste kiss, but they held it for a long moment before he leaned back, breaking the connection.
As she ran her fingers along his palm, he peered at her, but it was a gaze of inquiry.
“Why do you move so fast?” Darien asked.
“Well, I know what I want. What’s wrong with that?”
“And what do you want, Safire?” He looked at her deeply.
She answered quietly, almost wistfully. “Come home with me, Darien.” When he stalled, she looked him up and down and added, “I dare you.”
Then she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and gave a devilish smile—waiting.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_e130414a-de1a-52e8-b08c-4c2ffe32aa70)
Darien saw the challenge in Safire’s eyes, her smile, her posture, her very being. And it was a challenge that he couldn’t resist. It wasn’t only that he was filled with desire for this woman. It was also that her defiance incited something in his masculine constitution. He had been triggered by his prey the way the canter of a deer sets a lion in motion. Desire and instinct were overruling reason and wisdom. He covered their tab, took Safire’s hand and led them to her car.
“I’ll follow you home.”
Safire smiled like a kitty that had just found a stash of catnip. “Honk,” she said, “if I get too far ahead of you.”
“That won’t happen,” Darien said. “Just drive.”
It wasn’t until they were well on their way that Darien wondered what the hell he was doing and why on earth he was tossing his calculations out the window. His mantra had been that he would take things slowly until he found the right one—for sure. Now he was following a Cheshire cat to her lair. The thought made him laugh.
He parked beside her in the lot of a large apartment building off of Biscayne Boulevard in North Miami, and they went up to her apartment. She let them in and turned on a light and faced him, but he didn’t take her into his arms. He took her elbow and started walking around her apartment, looking at where she lived.
“You live here alone?”
“Yes, I do.”
“It’s spacious.”
It was all he would have expected for a chic, upcoming professional. There was a long, beige leather sectional in the living room with a matching love seat and armchair. These were accented by matching glass end tables and a glass coffee table. The books on the coffee table were eclectic—a pictorial history of Bob Marley, a photograph collection by James Van Der Zee, a visual encyclopedia of African-American history, a copy of Toni Morrison’s latest novel, a few fashion magazines. There was a fully stocked entertainment center, and near it was a credenza with a bar on top. In the corner was a small bookshelf, but he couldn’t read the titles from where he stood. The living room was sleek, smart and sparse. Everything was tasteful and elegant.
There wasn’t much art. There was a charcoal drawing of a robust female nude and a watercolor of what looked like the harbor. There was a large, framed photograph of a Harlem scene from the 1920s, probably a Van Der Zee. That was it in the living room. To the left he could see the dining room, which had a fully set six-place table and matching chairs, but he couldn’t see the walls without the light. Everything was clean and polished. It barely looked lived in.
“You like James Van Der Zee,” Darien said, stepping around the couch to the path behind it, where the photograph hung on the wall.
“Among others,” Safire answered, putting her purse on the credenza and coming to stand next to him. “I could afford them. They’re just reprints.”
“They’re nice. I like his stuff, too.”
Safire had been patient for a while. Now she put her hands on Darien’s chest and backed him against the wall. She pressed her body against his and put her lips against his throat.
Automatically, both of Darien’s arms surrounded Safire’s body, moving over the silky turquoise material that covered her back and flared at her hips. In her heels, she was just under his height, and he could feel the way her body stirred against him. When he dipped his head, he could smell the floral aroma rising from her earlobe. But what were they doing?
He lifted his head and cupped her hips, using them to move her back from his body. “You know, we don’t have to move so quickly.”
“What if this is what I want?” Safire asked.
“Is it?”
“Yes. What do you want?” Safire placed a hand on Darien’s chest and moved it down his abdomen to the front of his jeans. “You seem to want me.”
“I’m just saying—”
Safire took a step back. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him with one lifted eyebrow, as if waiting for him to show some moxie. Darien took a breath and shook his head. He was about to step around her when she pressed her body against his again and whispered into his ear, “I double dare.”
Safire’s soft voice in his ear and her soft body pressed against his lit Darien on fire as much as her demand. The deer was on the run again, and the lion in him was roaring.
Darien pulled Safire against him roughly, lacerating her body with his own. He dipped his head to her neck and sucked in the tender hollow, raising her against him until she was murmuring and rubbing herself along his body. The fire she had lit moved through both of them, and he was consumed by the flames.
“Is this that you want, Safire?”
“Yes, Darien, yes.”
They moved toward her bedroom, tearing off each other’s clothes as they gripped each other’s bodies—her hands at his chest, his fingers on her breast, her mouth latching onto his throat, his palm cupping her rear.
By the time they reached the bed, they were down to their underwear, and Safire’s tender flesh clung to Darien’s hard body.
Darien stopped at the bed and broke from Safire. He needed to catch his breath and get his perspective back. Something about the fire in this woman was making him get ahead of himself, far ahead.
“Cold feet, mon ami?” Safire said.
“You know, we haven’t even kissed properly yet,” Darien said.
“Yes, you kissed me at my car the first day we met.”
Yes, Darien thought. What had gotten into him then? Whatever it was was getting into him again. But tonight it was the dare in her eyes, the threat of fulfillment written in each of her movements.
“And our lips touched at the restaurant,” she added.
“I don’t know if I’d call that a kiss,” he said.
Safire smiled and licked her lips. Darien could tell that she was about to show him what a real kiss was.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Safire?”
“It would be nice,” she said, “if you’re man enough to bring it.”
Now the lion raged.
Darien lunged for Safire, pulling her bra down to expose her breasts to his lips as he moved his hand between her thighs. She touched him through his boxer briefs, feeling the length of him, the thickness. He moved his fingers into the thin, wet cloth between her legs and stoked the slick, swollen nub he found there. She moaned and gyrated against his hand while he felt himself leaping against her fingers.
When Safire stopped and pushed his hand away, Darien was startled.
She moved to his ear, licking the lobe before she whispered in it. “Don’t tease me anymore,” she said, and moved from his arms. Soon a dim light appeared from the other side of her bed. Safire opened a drawer and began rifling through it. She pulled out a condom and tossed it toward him. Darien stepped out of his underwear as he watched Safire slowly stripping off hers. Everything about this woman was erotic, and it seemed to him that sometimes, she wasn’t even aware of what she was doing. The moment he rolled on the condom, his Cheshire cat pounced onto the bed and began stalking toward him.
Darien met her on the bed. He lowered her head to the pillow, spread her knees and placed himself between her thighs. With one hand under her shoulders, he used the other to grab hold of himself and run himself up and down between her dripping cavern.
“Don’t tease you anymore?” he said, still teasing her.
Safire whimpered, and her hips oscillated. She grabbed her breasts and began to caress them, moving herself in time to his rhythmic stroking.
“No, Darien, please,” she whined, and undulated. “Please, Darien, please.”
Seeing her hands moving over her own breasts, paired with the feel of her hips, pushed Darien to the brink of control. It had been a while for him, but he knew something about pleasing a woman, and this one had told him to bring it. Bring it he would.
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Yasmin Sullivan
Opposites ignite… Where relationships are concerned, Safire Lewis is like quick fire. She moves fast to get what she wants–then moves on before things get too complicated. Artist Darien James's laid-back charm arouses her interest from their first meeting. But instead of seizing the opportunity for a no-strings fling, he's looking for a commitment.Darien has been hurt before. Now he wants a passionate connection that will last. With her sizzling confidence, the gorgeous paralegal has become his artistic muse–and the ultimate temptation. First they're butting heads, then they're burning up the sheets. He won't settle for less than everything Safire has to give. And if she will only lose her fear of letting go, she might realize that Darien is the one man who'll keep her endlessly enthralled….
Opposites ignite…
Where relationships are concerned, Safire Lewis is like quick fire. She moves fast to get what she wants—then moves on before things get too complicated. Artist Darien James’s laid-back charm arouses her interest from their first meeting. But instead of seizing the opportunity for a no-strings fling, he’s looking for a commitment.
Darien has been hurt before. Now he wants a passionate connection that will last. With her sizzling confidence, the gorgeous paralegal has become his artistic muse—and the ultimate temptation. First they’re butting heads, then they’re burning up the sheets. He won’t settle for less than everything Safire has to give. And if she will only lose her fear of letting go, she might realize that Darien is the one man who’ll keep her endlessly enthralled….
One of his hands still cupped her face, and he leaned his head near hers.
“Safire, this has been the best part of the whole evening to me—right here, finding out something real about you. You are beautiful. Don’t let that change. Don’t squander it away. Don’t play it away. It’s…amazing.”
Safire didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she opened her mouth to say something. But she didn’t know what to say. The intense look on this man’s face—so near to hers—took her breath away. His concern over her feelings moved something inside her. His earnest gaze froze her to the spot. His deep voice sent tingles through her.
She nodded once and smiled weakly, not knowing what to say. They seemed so different that she didn’t really expect to see him again, not for another date. Things had gotten a bit tense between them at the sports bar. In the end, he was just a little too conservative for her taste.
She turned to get in her car, and he turned toward his. Safire had turned her key in the lock and opened the door before she felt his hand on her back. She turned around to find him immediately in front of her, taking her in his arms. When Darien kissed her, those soft, kissable lips felt like warm, melted chocolate. Her lips parted at their gentle, platonic touch.
But their kiss didn’t remain chaste.
YASMIN SULLIVAN
grew up in upstate New York and St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, from which her family hails. She moved to Washington, D.C., to attend college and has earned degrees from Howard University and Yale University. As an academic writer, she has published on works by Frederick Douglass, Harriet Jacobs, James Baldwin, Maya Angelou and Ed Bullins, as well as the writing of the Negritude Movement and historical fiction treating emancipation in the Danish West Indies/United States Virgin Islands. She currently lives in Washington, D.C., where she teaches with a focus on African-American and Caribbean literatures. When she is not teaching, she also does creative writing and works on mosaics.
Captivated Love
Yasmin Sullivan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader (#ulink_2a68b774-ad7b-58fa-b890-456ec65f0935),
I think that the people we love and those who love us help us to know ourselves, and our interactions with them help us evolve as human beings. They can be our shelter in times of hurt and our inspiration to create great things. They can shield us from bitterness, and they can help us love the spark within ourselves. This is true of friends and family, but especially of lovers.
I hope that this novel reveals the way we grow through our interplay with those we love. This is what Safire Lewis and Darien James have to find out along their journey together—whether they can evolve with each other, whether they can inspire each other. I’m so grateful that you’ve chosen to share their voyage with me.
I would love to hear your impressions of this book. Please write me at yasminhu@aol.com.
Warm wishes,
Yasmin
For my mother, father, brother and grandmother, who have given me the richness of the human heart; for Jennie and Tanya, who have been my sister-friends; for Madeline, Freddie and William, who have shaped my vision of love; for Vionette and Lois, who have inspired the romantic in me; and for Jimmie, who was somebody to dream with.
Contents
Cover (#ued38d431-f140-57ca-92e5-dea3a0856e71)
Back Cover Text (#u04d42b1c-aa1c-5f3c-9ac3-52538ceccb57)
Introduction (#u5813ffa6-9298-56b0-b2cc-ee9e546c43b9)
About the Author (#u21efdf42-1bc9-5471-9d0c-3bc6cfba9dfd)
Title Page (#u21f62a3b-cab5-581d-b489-67163bd83bc2)
Dear Reader (#ulink_832ddf66-01e7-5d0d-ae77-3677d4a9018f)
Dedication (#ua8d20051-08ea-5ec3-8270-6201a718fef1)
Chapter One (#ulink_6fce4692-d0f6-5468-9e3f-eb3b22f21b57)
Chapter Two (#ulink_290edeb8-cec9-5e95-9ffc-c88296b85018)
Chapter Three (#ulink_2bc691e2-7a67-5343-a3be-c69c21670c62)
Chapter Four (#ulink_8c2c7297-0dc4-57da-b98a-d6b3158e3d72)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_1123ad0d-0a23-5c76-b978-8d60072776b8)
Safire Lewis shifted in her swivel chair, turning from the computer to the open books on the long table in the law library. She loved her work, but a paralegal wasn’t what she had set out to become. It was supposed to be a learning interlude on the way to law school. Her parents were gone by then, so she knew she would have to make it independently, and this seemed a way to do that. Now she was ready to make a change, and she already had plans set in motion.
She would have to fight to do it on her own, but it had been that way for a long time. After she lost her parents, she became determined to make it on her own terms—fiercely determined. She was used to fighting, and she was used to going after what she wanted. It was how she had come this far and how she would go on to get what she really wanted—once she finally decided what that was.
Safire tagged a page in one of the books, picked up the phone and dialed her sister’s cell phone number.
“Hey, sis. Are we still on for this Saturday?” Her sister rattled off a list of stops they would be making to look for her wedding dress. “I’ll be there,” Safire said. “And I’ll be there to watch Philly tomorrow night....Give your hunky fiancé all my love....Okay, Angelina. See you tomorrow.”
Safire hung up the phone, stretched and began rubbing the back of her neck with both hands. She wanted a vacation. She’d missed hers earlier that year when one of her bosses went into labor. She’d had to cancel her plans for a singles cruise. She didn’t mind because her sister got to go, and her sister needed it more than she did. But she had wanted that time to do some thinking and to relieve some of her tension, and what better way to relieve tension than to find a sexy single? Yes, she was used to going after what she wanted. Safire shook her head to get rid of her salacious thoughts and turned back to her work.
When she heard the door open, she had her nose in one of the law books on the table and thought it was one of the student interns they had taken on over the summer. The interns were supposed to lighten the load, but until they learned what they were doing, they were more a nuisance than a help.
When she looked up, however, she found not one of the interns but a well-dressed gentleman looking tentatively her way. And he was gorgeous. Safire couldn’t help but smile.
He had skin just darker than milk chocolate—sweet enough to lick until it melted in your mouth—and his large brown eyes were astute and attentive. His lips were kissably thick, set in an angular jaw that led to high, chiseled cheekbones. He wore his hair in long braids that were pulled back into a bundle and anchored at the nape of his neck.
Safire shifted her chair so that she could see beyond the table and continued her open perusal.
He was wearing an athletic-cut navy suit that flared at his broad shoulders and tapered just a bit at his waist. She could sense the muscles of his arms beneath the sleeves, and his contoured thighs struggled for release from the pant legs. Her eyes lingered over his center on the way back up. It protruded just enough to hint at the dense manhood that lay beneath. Safire almost licked her lips.
The suit was set off with a white shirt and a cobalt tie, and he carried a black leather satchel. He looked like a young attorney, which pleased Safire greatly. The firm needed some color higher up.
“Excuse me, I—” he said, his voice a rich bass that sent tingles through Safire’s body.
Safire cut him off. “You’ve got to be looking for me,” she said, getting up from her chair and shrugging off her blazer.
Safire wore a purple miniskirt that matched her blazer, as well as a lavender chiffon camisole and her black two-and-a-half-inch pumps. This was her usual work attire, and she liked it because it showed off her legs and could transition into the evening if she went out.
“Pardon?” he said.
“You’ve got to be looking for me,” she repeated, positioning her rear on the tabletop and crossing her legs in front of her. “I’ve been looking for you, too.”
Safire was always bold, partly in fun, partly in all seriousness. She could tell that her handsome stranger wasn’t used to this at all, and his hesitation only enticed Safire all the more—that and something sweet in his eyes.
“Uh, are you Janice Wilson? I just left Mr. Benson, and he said that I could stop in to introduce myself to you. You deal with copyrighting?”
“Aw,” Safire said and then gave a little pout. “You’re looking for Janice.”
“I’m afraid I am.”
“Well, you’re too gorgeous to give away. What about after that?”
“After that?” He seemed a bit puzzled.
“Yes, are you done for the day after you speak with Janice?” Safire scooted off the table and put her hand out as she approached the man. “I’m Safire Lewis. Pleased to meet you.”
“Hello. I’m Darien James.”
Now that she was standing next to him, she could gauge his height. He must be about six feet because she was five feet eight inches, and he had a couple of inches on her even in her heels. She looked up at him and smiled.
“If you’re free after you see Janice, let’s go to happy hour. I’ll be done in an hour, and it’s nearby.”
“Uh, I’m not sure how long I’ll be with Ms. Wilson. Perhaps a rain check.”
“Rain check nothing, Mr. James. You’re not getting away, hottie that you are.”
Safire took his arm as if they were out on a stroll and led him back into the hall.
“If you’re already tied up, now’s the time to say so. If not, we’re on.”
Down the hall, Safire tapped on Janice’s office door and poked her head in. She hadn’t let go of Mr. James’s arm and ushered him in when Janice nodded.
“Ms. Wilson, this is Darien James, my date for happy hour this evening. We need him done within the hour because happy hour at Jake’s ends at seven. And don’t go getting any ideas of your own.”
Janice laughed and got up from her desk, holding her hand out to Darien. Her blue suit with its calf-length skirt and billowy jacket looked matronly next to Safire’s purple mini. Safire was kidding about Janice getting ideas. Janice was long married with two school-age children and rarely went out after work. Safire liked to give Janice a chuckle every now and again. Her coworkers knew her sense of humor and relied on it to lighten their long days.
“Good afternoon, Mr. James. Mr. Benson buzzed a few minutes ago to say that you would be stopping in. I was wondering whether you’d gotten lost.”
“He was in perfectly good hands,” Safire said.
“I see that he was. Come have a seat.”
Safire turned to leave. “I’ll be in the lobby in an hour,” she said to Janice. “Don’t let him keep me waiting.”
Back in her office, Safire began wrapping up her research for Mr. Hines. It was a criminal case under state jurisdiction involving the mistreatment of a minor, and since cases involving children were Safire’s specific interest, she tore through the research. She had already traced the applicable law and had the relevant statutory leads. She had collected all the on-point court decisions she could find, and now she only had to check the relevant cases to see if any of the decisions had been reversed, overruled or criticized.
This kind of suit was why she wanted to become a lawyer or work with children. She wanted to make a difference, not only through research but by having her own cases. Maybe it was because she knew what it was like to be young and feel vulnerable and alone. She was still in high school when her mother died. Then her father went. With her older sister taking care of their younger brother, she knew she had to look out for herself. And she hated feeling vulnerable. She’d made up her mind to rid herself of that feeling and pursue whatever she would have pursued had the foundation not been pulled from under her feet. She wanted to give that to other young people—that determination, that empowerment, that fierceness.
Safire worked for half an hour more and then started packing up the books she had used, keeping out the ones in which she’d tagged pages. She collected her notes, shut down the computer and looked at her watch.
While she was working, her mind stayed focused on the task, but now Safire’s thoughts ran back to the ever-so-sexy Mr. Darien James. It was time to get to the lobby, or she might miss him. She grabbed her blazer, collected her purse from her office and said her usual goodbyes. She popped into the restroom to spruce up, taking the clip out of her hair to let the long curls fall down and refreshing her makeup. Then she stopped at the receptionist’s desk.
“Is Darien James still in Janice’s office?” she asked.
“Yes, he is,” the receptionist said.
“Good. I’ll be waiting for him in the lobby. Have a good night.”
Safire waved and stepped onto the elevator. In the lobby, her heels ticked over the marble floor as she made her way to the central fountain, nodding to the guard on her way. She loved the click of heels and was rarely without them. It made her feel as if she was going somewhere, as if she had a presence. She took a quarter out of her purse and tossed it into the fountain, hoping that Darien James would turn out to be all that she thought he would be.
And what was that? Safire wasn’t sure, but he was handsome and sweet—a dangerous and formidable combination and one that was rare in Safire’s world. She hadn’t really noticed that before. She went out a lot and dated a lot. It was part of her determination to embrace life, part of the willpower that kept her from being undone by the loss of her parents. She pursued men the way she pursued everything else—fiercely. But unlike an education or a career, men could also be a distraction from what was really important, what was really worth pursuing. Safire was keeping her eyes on what counted and never took men too seriously. The lookers she dated were generally a bit full of themselves, basically because they were lookers. It was easy to catch them, have fun with them and then throw them back into the sea for some less focused fisher.
Darien James hadn’t seemed that way at all. He seemed down-to-earth and unpretentious, a fact that made him all the more irresistible. In fact, it made him seem a little dangerous. Maybe he was different, different enough to fall for. Safire shrugged at the thought, which was unlike her. If nothing else, he was fine—capital F-I-N-E. Hopefully, he knew how to use his God-given talents. She sure as hell wanted to find out.
There was no telling how long he might be, so Safire sat on the retaining wall that skirted the fountain and took her phone out of her purse to call one of her girlfriends and talk about her latest dish—the one she wanted to be her dish, anyway. Camilla picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, girl,” Safire said. “I might not have long, but I have a date for happy hour tonight. He’s as good-looking as all get-out and seems sweet on top of that, not full of himself like the usual hottie....You may get to meet him. I have to meet him first for myself—really meet him. I’ll let you know how it turns out and whether he tastes as good as he looks.”
Safire moved the phone from her ear as Camilla squealed. She glanced up, however, and there was Darien James getting off the elevator. She moved the phone back to her ear.
“Here he is, girl. I gotta go.”
She clicked the phone shut, put it back in her bag and got up to make her way toward Darien.
As she neared him, he slowed and blinked twice.
“I hope you’re not surprised to see me,” Safire said.
“Well, yes. I didn’t think you were serious. And your hair is different.”
“Serious as an accident on I-95. You going?”
“Uh...” He seemed to think about it a moment.
Safire watched him closely in those few seconds. She saw the shift in his face as his reluctance began to drain away, and then he turned and looked into her face, clearly intrigued by the woman standing in front of him. Finally, he gave her a little smile.
“Yes. Happy hour. Why not?”
“Good. We get to really meet. Are you open to that?”
“Sure,” he said. “I just hadn’t planned on going out tonight. But you’ve convinced me. I’d like to get to know you better, and a few hours in the company of a beautiful woman can soothe a work-worn spirit.” He held out his arm to her. “Let’s go.”
Safire took the arm Darien offered, and the two ministepped through the revolving door together. They came out on the other side laughing, and Safire directed them down the street to Jake’s.
Jake’s was a sports bar on the corner, and it was always packed with downtown types at happy hour. It had huge television screens and a large bar in the center of the room. Booths were stationed along the walls, but these were filled by now. High tables with tall stools occupied the rest of the space. Safire and Darien took seats at one of these, and Safire signaled a waiter.
“Can I get you drinks?”
“Make mine a virgin strawberry daiquiri,” Safire said, rolling her neck, “or I might end up on the floor.”
“Make mine the same,” Darien said.
His voice was smooth and resonant, and Safire loved the thrill it sent up her spine.
“You don’t have to forgo the alcohol because of me,” Safire said. “Go ahead. Unwind.”
“I don’t really drink.”
That was a little odd to Safire, but she didn’t mind. Cute as he was, he really did seem to be rather unassuming, as well. Safire liked that.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t raised around alcohol. And I have a very hectic schedule, so I don’t actually get out much.” He shrugged.
“I shouldn’t have a virgin daiquiri myself. It must be four hundred calories even without the alcohol,” Safire complained. “But in for a penny, in for a pound—in this case an American pound.” She chuckled. “What do you want to eat?” she asked, turning to the menu. “We can order real food if you’re hungry. I’m fine with wings.”
“I’m— I actually don’t eat meat.”
Aw. Worrisome as it was—she’d never gone out with a vegetarian or vegan—Safire was glad to be sitting across from someone with convictions. This one wasn’t all play. That could be a good thing.
“Oh, they must have other stuff on the menu. If not, we can go somewhere else.”
“I’ll have some potato skins,” he said and closed the menu. “I’ll be fine.”
In the momentary silence that followed, Darien smiled at her, and his smile opened up his whole face, letting her peek at the boy she hadn’t known and the inside of the man he was now. She loved that smile.
“So how long have you worked for the Law Offices of Benson and Hines?” he asked.
“I’ve been with them almost two years now. Good pay. Interesting work.”
“Are you an attorney? You seem kind of young...”
“No, I’m a paralegal, and I’m twenty-three. I couldn’t have finished law school already unless I was a child genius.”
Safire laughed, and Darien joined her.
“What about you? Will you be joining the firm?”
Darien laughed at that. “No, no. I’m twenty-six, but I’m not a lawyer.”
Safire pursed her lips into a pout.
“What is it?” he asked. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
“No, I was just hoping for a brother or sister in the upper ranks. We need some color up in there, if you know what I mean.”
Darien chuckled, but then he nodded in understanding.
“I’m sorry that I don’t fit the bill. I hope you don’t mind having us as a client, though.”
His apology was so sincere that it touched Safire. He was a sweetie.
“Who’s us?” she asked.
“I work at the Heritage Community Arts, Education and Resource Center of Miami. Benson and Hines has agreed to start doing some pro bono work for our needy, and I’m helping to handle some of the arrangements.”
“Why did you need Janice?”
“That was a personal aside. I needed some advice about copyrighting my art. I’m an artist—primarily wood but also metal and clay.”
Their drinks and food arrived, and the two began nibbling.
“I’m also a full-time MFA student at Florida International University,” Darien said, “but I’ve worked at the Heritage Center forever. I do some administrative work and teach art.”
“Why do you do it?”
“I love it. I love the kids. I love the Heritage Center. I want it to do well.”
“I like your fervor.”
The passion in Darien’s voice drew Safire to him. She slipped off one of her shoes and found his shin with her toes, letting him know how attracted she was.
He paused over his potato skins and looked at her. “You move rather fast, don’t you?”
“Is that a bad thing? I go after what I want, and I like to have a good time.”
“Does it ever get serious for you?”
“What does that mean? Because I go after what I want, I can’t be serious?”
“You can be, but are you?”
“If it gets serious, that’s fine. If it doesn’t, it wasn’t meant to be. I’m serious right now about wanting you.”
Safire reached over and touched Darien’s face with her sticky fingers. Then she leaned over and kissed the sticky spot, licking the sauce from his face.
Darien let out a heavy breath.
“You do move fast, maybe too fast.”
“Doesn’t Darien like to come out and play?” Safire teased.
“In my wilder days—in a hot second. Now I take it a bit slower.”
Little warning bells had been going off in Safire’s head since they started their evening. She liked to play, and Darien seemed a little conservative for her. He didn’t drink. He didn’t get out much. He didn’t eat meat. Now he was into taking it slowly. For the fourth time that evening, Safire wanted to raise her eyebrows. This time she did, giving Darien a genuinely quizzical look. He chuckled.
“I guess I’ve mellowed.”
“But you’re not old. What made you a nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud?”
“Hold up. I said that I don’t drink often. That’s not a bad thing. And let’s talk about meat.”
“No, let’s not,” Safire said. “Let’s get to the real issue—”
“Which is what?” Darien asked.
“A beautiful woman finds you attractive and wants to get to know you.”
“That’s not a problem. In fact, that’s great.”
“Then why the brakes?”
Darien leaned back and looked at her. “No one ever tells you no, do they? But then, you’re a beautiful woman. Why should they?”
His compliment made Safire smile, despite the tension between them.
“Actually,” she said, “you probably don’t hear no a lot either. You’re a hottie if ever I saw one.”
Darien looked down and grinned, but it was clear he was trying not to.
“Thank you, Safire.”
“I guess I don’t hear no a lot,” Safire said, “because I usually look for people I have something in common with.”
“I take it that’s not me.”
Something had softened between them, renewing Safire’s desire to know this man. “The verdict is still out on that. How about if we go dancing?”
Darien rolled his eyes, and both of them laughed.
“I guess you’re not a big dancer,” Safire said.
“I’ve danced a bit, but not recently. Tell me, what else do you like?”
“I like broad shoulders, like yours.” She eyed him tellingly, but he waved her on to the next item. “I like music. I like jazz clubs.”
Darien started nodding, and his eyes lit up. “I have an idea. There’s a café called Sylvester’s about fifteen minutes from here. They have desserts and wine, as well. Sometimes they have poetry readings and live music. I think that tonight they have a jazz band. Let’s go check it out.”
“Okay.”
“Can you follow me in your car?” Darien asked, getting up and taking Safire’s arm to steady her.
“Sure.”
“I won’t be able to stay long, but it should be good.”
Safire shook her head. “Is it getting past your bedtime already?” she said, and chuckled.
“You really do think I’m a stick-in-the-mud, don’t you?”
“I was just teasing.”
“I’m actually a huge night owl, but I still have work to do tonight.”
“Then I won’t keep you out late.”
They smiled at one another, arm hooked in arm, and Darien walked Safire to her car. Then he got his, met her and led them to Sylvester’s.
It was a Friday night, so there was a crowd. As they expected, there was a jazz band—a combo of four—filling the stage beyond the café tables. The place was small, and the band was using microphones, so it was much louder than it needed to be. They enjoyed the music, but they couldn’t hold a conversation over the sound.
Safire and Darien found a table at the counter along the wall, and Darien got them desserts and smoothies. Darien put his hand on the back of Safire’s raised chair. They sat close together and bounced their heads in unison as the band played standards like “A Night in Tunisia,” “’Round Midnight,” “Night and Day,” “Summertime,” “Blue Bossa,” “God Bless the Child” and “Take the ‘A’ Train.” Safire wished they could dance, but the café was packed, with tables almost touching.
“Do you like the band?” Darien asked, shouting over the music.
Safire nodded without losing the beat.
By the time the set was over, their desserts were gone.
“I hope you liked that,” Darien said. “It might be the only thing we have in common.”
Safire laughed. “I loved it. If only we could have danced.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Darien said.
There was sincerity in his expression and a rather boyish grin on his face at having pleased her. His deep voice crawled down Safire’s spine like a caterpillar.
“I did.”
“Well, at least there’s one thing this nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating—”
Safire started to laugh.
“I’m sorry to turn into a pumpkin before midnight, but I have to get home. Thank you for getting me out of the house for a bit—unexpectedly.”
“Anytime,” Safire said. “You just let me know. Because I have a life. I like to get out.”
“I see why,” Darien said as he got down from his stool. Once Safire was standing, he placed his hand on her back. “Let me walk you to your car.”
Safire nodded and smiled.
“So how did you come to like jazz?” Darien asked as they neared her car.
It was a question that took Safire off guard and made her think back. “My father,” she said. “He would play jazz albums almost every weekend.”
Safire recalled waking up on weekends to the sound of her father’s jazz records. The sun would be up already, but she would snuggle under the covers listening to the music that filled the house. She knew that her father was in the living room in his easy chair nodding his head in time to the rhythm and that her mother was in the kitchen humming along as she made breakfast. Safire could smell the bacon or sausage as it wafted through the house, and she knew she had to get up, but not right away, not while everything felt so peaceful and the world seemed so bright.
Without warning, tears began to well up in Safire’s eyes. Darien had evidently noticed. He stepped toward her and took her face in his palm. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more. Safire didn’t know what to say. She wanted those days back so much—those peaceful mornings when everyone was there and everyone was all right. She shook her head to clear it. Then, as if by way of explanation for her sudden fit of sniveling, she began recounting facts of her life that she generally kept hidden.
“He played them almost every weekend until my mother died. I was seventeen, still in high school. Then he stopped playing them. He died two years later.”
Darien’s other hand came up to Safire’s face, and he used his thumbs to wipe away the tears that had fallen.
The pressure of Darien’s fingers brought Safire back to the moment. His fingers were gentle, and his caress was filled with caring and understanding. She looked into his face and saw his concern for her, and a sweet ache filled her heart. Then she imagined what she must look like, standing there blubbering.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I don’t know what has me talking about all of this or—”
“It’s okay,” Darien said, and his deep timbre sent a shiver up Safire’s spine. “I’m so sorry to hear about your parents. You’ve been on your own for a while.”
“Not entirely,” she said. “I have siblings and friends. But I had to grow up and become independent quickly. I do all right.”
“It explains why you’re so mature at such a young age. Maybe it explains even more.”
He didn’t say what, and Safire wasn’t sure if she should ask. She was still wondering what had gotten into her—why these feelings had risen to the top, why now when they never did. She shook it off, regained her composure and looked at Darien.
“Well, Mr. Darien James—nondrinking, non-going-out, veggie-eating, take-it-slow hottie. I guess I better let you go.”
One of his hands still cupped her face, and he leaned his head near hers.
“Safire, this has been the best part of the whole evening to me—right here, finding out something real about you. You are beautiful. Don’t let that change. Don’t squander it away. Don’t play it away. It’s...amazing.”
Safire didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she opened her mouth to say something. But she didn’t know what to say. The intense look on this man’s face—so near to hers—took her breath away. His concern over her feelings moved something inside her, and his earnest gaze froze her to the spot. When she heard his deep voice, tingles went through her.
She nodded once and smiled weakly, not knowing what to say. They seemed so different that she didn’t really expect to see him again, not for another date. Things had gotten a bit tense between them at the sports bar. In the end, he was just a little too conservative for her taste.
She went to her car, and he turned toward his. Safire had put her key in the lock and opened the door before she felt his hand on her back. She turned around to find him immediately in front of her, taking her in his arms. When Darien kissed her, those soft, kissable lips felt like warm, melted chocolate. Her lips parted at their gentle, platonic touch.
But their kiss didn’t remain chaste. Darien’s tongue moved in between Safire’s parted lips, and her arms moved to his neck, pulling her closer to his body. His hands slipped farther around her back, feeding a fire that was growing inside her loins.
He stopped as suddenly as he started and stepped back from her.
“Good night, Safire. And thank you again.”
With the feelings that had built up inside her, Safire couldn’t resist. She smiled her Safire smile and offered, “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me and play?” She knew as she said it that she had broken their reverie.
Darien tipped his head down and leaned in so that his mouth almost touched her ear. “Slow down.”
His words in her ear sent a quiver through her frame, but they also shattered the last bit of their mutual trance. She swatted him playfully with her purse.
“You may not be a stick-in-the-mud, but you’re certainly too orthodox for me.”
“I take it that the jury is now in.”
Safire smiled and got into her car. She pulled up beside Darien as he got to his car, waved once as he closed the door and sped off into the night.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_88992537-2399-5bdb-8527-89d27b62dbda)
Darien James was more on the casual side. He owned a few suits, but more often than not, he wore jeans with some kind of printed shirt or T-shirt, and to dress that up, he wore a nice shirt or a dashiki or a vest—maybe a jacket, if it was necessary. This was the second time in as many weeks that he’d had to step up his game, and he was starting to like it. He could see how to move back and forth between business and casual without losing sight of what drove him.
The last time had been just over a week ago, when he’d gone to the Law Offices of Benson and Hines. That was also the day he’d met Safire Lewis and gone out with her. She had a list for him—nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud, or something to that effect. He had a list for her as well, and it included the word siren. He hadn’t seen her since that night, and they hadn’t exchanged personal information, so he didn’t think he’d see her again. They seemed to be on different paths or in different places in their lives. She was on the fast track, and he’d gotten off the fast track some time ago—a move for the better, actually.
Now he sat in a conference room at the Nova Investment Firm, where he was representing the Heritage Community Arts, Education and Resource Center of Miami and waiting for the arrival of two more potential corporate backers for some of their programs. Nova had put this together pro bono to help the Heritage Center garner support from the local business community. His role was to describe the programs—the ones being offered already and the ones being added to better serve the community. He had worked at the Heritage Center for so long that he was confident in his ability to do this with minimal preparation. Nonetheless, he’d put together a very professional-looking packet of information.
The backing would also help with their Legal Assistance Program, but he didn’t expect Mr. Benson to show up, and he didn’t think that anyone from Benson and Hines would be there. He was surprised to see Safire Lewis enter the waiting area and look toward the conference room. It turned out that she was representing the Law Offices of Benson and Hines.
He could see her through the windows surrounding the conference room. Her crescent eyes sparkled with some inner mirth, and her high cheekbones were shaped into plump circles that puckered with her smile. Her lips were thick and full, making Darien remember how soft they were when he kissed her. She had a small, impish nose and a wide forehead. Though her face looked young, innuendo was written subtly over her features—in the way one side of her lips turned up in a smile, and the way she looked at him as if on the sly, as she did now through the window.
Her long hair was piled up on her head, placing an emphasis on her face that made her look young. Well, it made her look twenty-three. But she also flashed that cryptic Safire smile, the one that seemed sweet but that hid the temptress underneath, the one that made her look as if she was having a naughty thought. That was part of her attitude, an air she carried with her—an air of availability. But it wasn’t ordinary, not the way she wore it. She carried herself as if she was in control, as if she would be deciding what, how, when...and who. There was an air of loftiness to her that made her untouchable and kept her from seeming coarse or crass or vulgar.
She clacked into the room on two-and-a-half-inch heels wearing a green brocade miniskirt with a matching blazer and a green camisole. It was much like the outfit she’d worn when they’d met. But she was stunning even without the heels and short shirt. These made her attractive in an in-your-face kind of way that Darien found unnecessary. It wasn’t his bag, really, or at least it wasn’t until he saw it on Safire. She seemed to wear the culture of allure so naturally that it almost disappeared on her, leaving only her long legs and sharp eyes and shapely figure.
Still, she wore it, almost flaunting her beauty. He was used to the types who did this—or tried to do it. They were generally so impressed with themselves that they didn’t have time to be impressed with you, and they seemed to know that they could have anyone, so they eventually found someone they thought was better than you. In Darien’s experience, the beautiful ones who knew that they were beautiful were a danger, and almost everything he knew about Safire Lewis told him that she was one of these. Everything but the sudden tears that had fallen from her eyes like a brief burst of summer rain.
She was carrying a leather portfolio, which she plopped onto the table in the conference room before rounding to his side. She bent down and whispered, “Hello again, hottie.” She gave him a wink that the others could not see, and then she straightened herself, shaking his hand formally before proceeding around the table to introduce herself.
Darien couldn’t help being amused by Safire’s private greeting. He smiled and played along with her pretense of a polite exchange. He also took this as a signal to begin and pulled the packages he’d prepared out of his briefcase, handing them around the table as he followed Safire’s path introducing himself.
“You might want to glance through this as we wait,” he said to the potential backers. “The right-hand side has a detailed summary of our programs. Each description identifies our community’s need, our achievement goals, our assessment instruments and our projected program budgets, and each one indicates how long the program has been running or whether it’s a new addition to our fall lineup. The left-hand side is a packet of the brochures that we have describing the Heritage Center and its programs—current and forthcoming.” Darien finished handing out the packets and sat down. “I’ll talk about these once everyone is here, but you can browse through them now.”
“This is all very professionally done,” one of the panel members said.
“Well, we’ve been running for over fifty years, and we want to keep running for fifty more.” That drew genial laughter from the group. “Our programs have brought up SAT scores of participating high school students, and they’ve actually had an impact on student high school completion rates.”
“You seem a lot like the YMCA,” another panel member said.
“In some ways we are, but not all. We don’t run athletic programs. We do tutoring, family counseling and computer training, and we teach classes in art, reading and writing, music, history, math, science enrichment—”
“I see you’ve already started.” Alberta Evans, the manager of the project for the Nova Investment Firm, came in leading the two potential backers they were waiting for. Darien nodded and handed them all packets. Now they were really ready to begin.
Mrs. Evans opened up the meeting with remarks about their purpose for being there. Then she handed the proceedings over to Darien, who walked them through the packet and the programs. “The last thing I want to point out to you is the brochure for our upcoming fund-raiser. You’ll see all the ways you can participate on the back. These programs work, so they’re worth supporting.”
After Darien fielded questions, Mrs. Evans introduced Safire, who opened her portfolio and summarized what the Law Offices of Benson and Hines planned to do for the Legal Assistance Program, selling the whole package along the way. Darien was seeing Safire in action in the professional arena for the first time. She was efficient but endearing, and she was very persuasive. He could see why Benson and Hines had sent her.
After that, Mrs. Evans introduced the potential backers by name and industry, and they each said a bit about what kind of corporate backing they did and why they were considering investing in the Heritage Center.
“I can’t thank you enough for coming,” Darien said.
Mrs. Evans went over a few pages in the proposal that Nova had helped to draft for the Heritage Center. “Now,” she said, “I need to meet with the backers alone so we can create a response to the proposal. Don’t go far, Mr. James and Ms. Lewis. We’ll have our response ready within the hour.”
Darien and Safire moved into the waiting area and dallied at the table set up with refreshments.
“What does she mean when she says that they’ll create a response to the proposal?” Darien asked. “Does she mean that they’re going to decide now who’ll give what?”
“That’s exactly it,” Safire said. “These are the ones in charge, the ones who can make the decision.”
“It might be good that I didn’t know that going in,” Darien said and then chuckled.
“Nervous, Mr. James?” She eyed him in a teasing manner.
“Well, there’s a lot riding on this, like whether all those kids have a safe place to go where they can learn something or get help. It’s not about me. I’m incidental.”
“You don’t seem incidental.”
Safire looked at Darien and gave him that seductive half smile. He couldn’t tell whether she was making fun or not.
“Today you’re standing in for the director of the Heritage Center,” she said. “That’s not incidental.”
Safire had selected a pastry, and the sugar coating was all over her fingers, which she licked in the most alluring way. It reminded Darien of the sauce from the hot wings that she’d kissed and licked off his face in the sports bar, and the memory, paired with what she was doing now, made his body start to react. Was it him, or was everything about this woman erotic in some way?
They took seats in the waiting area, and Safire crossed one leg over the over, her long limbs showing in her short skirt.
Safire turned to him, genially placing her hand on his knee.
“So, Mr. James, are you still taking it slowly?”
“I guess I am,” he said. “I’ve tried it the other way.”
Her eyes flew open. “That says a lot about you. What about chicken and beef and lamb and pork? Have you gotten over your fear of meat yet? Or your fear of women?”
Safire’s teasing tone made Darien look at her to gauge her intent. “I never said I was afraid of meat or women.”
“Show me that you’re not,” she said, licking her fingers again.
Darien shook his head. “You don’t slow down for a minute, do you? What makes you need to move so quickly? What makes you afraid of really having a man in your life, someone who knows you, someone who—”
Safire uncrossed her legs and recrossed them in a huff.
“I’m not scared, Mr. James. I just know what I want, and I’m not afraid to say it. You might be fearful of empowered women. I want someone who’s not scared to go after what he wants and someone not spooked when I say what I want.”
“You don’t have to be wanton to have that, and you—”
“What if I like being wanton? Isn’t it okay if I have desires and express them? If I were a man, you’d be giving me a high five, and we’d be bonding.”
Darien couldn’t help laughing at that, but he didn’t agree.
“Not if you were a player. Not if you were seeking out one physical relationship after another.”
Safire threw her arms up—literally. “Hold up. Hold up, Darien. Who on earth says that’s what I do? That’s not on any agenda of mine.” She pointed her index finger up and followed her sentence with it. “So what makes that come into your mind? See, that’s on you, sweetheart. You’ve tried it the other way, and maybe that’s what you wanted.”
“Oh, no—”
“I think so,” she said and then laughed.
Without thinking about it, Darien cupped Safire’s face in his palm, and she went silent.
“You don’t have to put up a front with me, Safire. I’ve seen tears in your eyes. You’re not all hot and heavy all the time.”
With his palm under her chin, Safire stared into his eyes with her crescent-shaped pools. She was quiet for a long time, staring at him like that—frozen.
When he took his palm away, she leaned toward him.
“Come go out with me, Darien. Play with me. Let’s see where it goes.”
Her words were so quiet and her eyes so steadily trained on him that Darien almost thought he was hearing things. He paused a moment, his own breath caught in his chest. He righted himself and refocused. He was not hearing things. He’d never been asked out in such a sweetly alluring way.
“I have to work at the Heritage Center tonight,” he said, unable to refuse the request but unable to honor it immediately. He was also troubled by Safire’s phrasing. “And I don’t know if I want to play—as you word it. I want something real. I—”
Just then, Mrs. Evans came out and beckoned them into the conference room. The group of backers had responded favorably to the proposal, and they had arrived at a collective response to the budget, covering all the basic programmatic needs. Mrs. Evans showed him a penciled breakdown and said she would fax the completed document over when it was all signed. This meant that the programs were secure.
It was more than Darien had dared to hope, and he was elated. He lingered to talk with some of the backers and thank them, and to let them know what else the Heritage Center was doing to raise the full amount needed for the larger operating budget—overhead, management and so on. Safire lingered to talk to them, as well. One by one, though, they began to leave after signing the completed forms.
Soon only one was left, a banker talking to Safire. Darien turned to their conversation only to find that it wasn’t about the Heritage Center at all. The gentleman was asking Safire out. Darien looked at Safire, who was smiling her usual seductive, flirtatious smile with her butt propped up on the conference table much as she’d done with him when they’d met. She was slowly rocking her torso, and this only added to the seductiveness of her stance.
When she noticed him looking, she nodded and smiled his way and waited for his interruption before answering the invitation. Darien waved his goodbye, turned on his heel and headed to his car. Clearly, Safire was still playing the field, and when she had said play, that was what she had meant. Yes, this one was a seductress, but not only that. She was a player.
Darien got in his car and made it to the Heritage Center in time for his class, thinking all the while about Safire. She had seemed sincere, but she was just dating casually, if you would call it that. What bothered him was that he was actually miffed about it. He had no claim upon her. In fact, as they’d left it, he had turned down her invite to go out, by which she seemed to have meant tonight. Why should it rub him the wrong way if she took up another invitation from someone who was willing to play?
Darien pulled into the Heritage Center parking lot and got to his class, which comprised the little kids today—the ones who were between five and ten. He managed to focus on his class, but not without some distraction. Thankfully, they were molding shapes out of clay and didn’t require a great deal of his concentration once they had selected their subjects for the project. The clay kept them in their seats and occupied, if not clean, and he had only to tour the room looking at projects and offering tips.
When the hour and a half was over and the children’s projects were stored in the kiln to be fired, Darien greeted their parents. Mrs. Watson clacked in on her high heels wearing a short wraparound dress to pick up Jacob, an eight-year-old student. After she found out about his progress and collected her son, she clacked back out.
Her heels didn’t make an impact the way Safire’s heels did. They weren’t seductive. They didn’t show off long, shapely calves. They didn’t announce her presence to the world. If anything, the sound struck him—at least today—as a nuisance. Nor was her short dress a distraction. Paired with her gaudy earrings and fake weave, it made her look more like a hoochie mama. Yet Darien knew that he was merely reacting to his departure from Safire and her willingness to entertain an invitation from another man.
Once his students left, Darien found the director of the Heritage Center, Mr. Abraham Johnson.
“Hey, Mr. Johnson.”
“Abe.”
“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”
Darien had been working at the Heritage Center since he started as a file clerk in high school, but the director was still Mr. Johnson to him, even now that he himself was an associate director.
“How’d it go today?” Mr. Johnson asked.
“Great,” Darien said.
“I know.”
“Did Mrs. Evans fax over the signed forms with the figures from the backers?”
“Yes, she did.” Mr. Johnson stopped outside his office and raised his fists in victory. “We should celebrate.”
“We should. Oh,” Darien said. “I haven’t talked to you since last week. You’re a busy man.”
“Not as busy as you, but then I’m not as young as you.”
If Darien guessed correctly, Mr. Johnson was in his early sixties, but it didn’t show much. Mr. Johnson just liked to have someone to whom to delegate the legwork.
Darien followed him into his office. “Did you get the letters of confirmation that I collected from Benson and Hines?”
“Yes, I got those, too. You’ve been productive.”
“I already have clients signed up for the Legal Assistance Program for the next three weeks.”
“What are their issues?”
“Some of everything you might imagine—condo conversions, divorces, child custody or child support, spousal battery, even one criminal charge.”
Mr. Johnson turned to Darien and put a hand on his shoulder. “You know as much as I do now. When I’m ready to step down, my position will be yours.”
“I don’t know if—”
“It’ll be a while, son. Just start thinking about it.”
Darien nodded and left Mr. Johnson’s office. Moving up at the Heritage Center wasn’t what was occupying his mind. She was. Safire Lewis.
Darien had reading to do for his class on Wednesday, so he headed home. She was in the fast lane, and he’d gotten off that track—and for a reason. Besides, he couldn’t satisfy anyone who needed to go out all the time. Nor could he be satisfied by anyone who still needed to play the field—or to act as if she was still playing it. Man, this one was someone to be wary of. He’d been burned by her type before. So why was he still thinking about her?
At home, even his reading was disrupted by the thought of Safire. He had started an erotic piece that he knew was inspired by her. It was still in the drawing stage, but it would be a wood sculpture. He put down his book for his class in Caribbean art and went over to his sketches. It was the sensual nature of the piece that let him know Safire had inspired it. And this irked him to no end. He wanted to put her from his mind. But here she was—his muse.
The piece had gotten inside his head, and he had to finish it. If he could finish it, if he could capture the spirit of her in a piece, he could release her from his mind. It was really because she had entered his art that she continued to occupy his thoughts. Or was it?
Chapter 3 (#ulink_cedb68c1-652a-5b9e-82f0-c2cb1d1f0e2a)
Safire parked, grabbed her briefcase and started toward the Heritage Center. She was wearing a skirt suit, as usual, but this one was made of a shiny turquoise shantung blend. The jacket flared out at the waist and cuffs, and the miniskirt flared at the hem. She had on her black pumps, and the heels tapped out her approach.
This afternoon she was representing Benson and Hines in the Legal Assistance Program. There were so many people seeking help that the firm decided to have her put in some time on the project doing preliminary interviews. This way, she could do a portion of the initial research and set up appointments for the clients with the right attorneys.
It had been two weeks since Safire had last seen Darien James, and she didn’t know if she would run into him today. They were so different that she hadn’t planned to pursue it any further. In fact, she hadn’t known she would see him at the Nova Investment Firm meeting. He said he did a little administrative work at the Heritage Center, not that he stood in for the director at important fund-raising meetings. Well, plan or no plan, she might see him again today, perhaps if he was teaching an art class.
She didn’t know how she’d feel if she did see him, but then, she didn’t know how she’d feel if she didn’t. She remembered the first day that she met him and the way he’d kissed her at her car. He was so firm, so gentle, so unlike everything she had known. And there was that moment at the investment firm when he’d cupped her chin and looked into her eyes. There was something about him in those moments, this tenderness. It just arrested her, froze her, threw her off-kilter. It didn’t shut her down, but it immobilized her and halted her play. And it wasn’t just because he was so sinfully good-looking.
Then again, Darien James was still a nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud. Chocolate hottie though he may be, he was still too conservative for her. He wanted her to slow down rather than quench her needs, and she wasn’t having it. Slow just wasn’t her pace.
Safire opened the door to the main office at the Heritage Center only to find that there was no one at the receptionist’s desk. Offices surrounded the reception area, but most of the doors were closed. She listened for a moment and heard no signs of movement, so she called out.
“Hello. Is anyone here?”
“Just a minute,” a voice called back.
Then Darien’s head popped out of a door. He had a phone to his ear and gestured for her to wait. Then he strode out from the office. He was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt with a white shirt on top of it, and over that he wore a silver vest with words like freedom and respect embroidered in black thread. Around his neck he wore a leather rope with wooden beads that had a fist handing down at the center. Safire looked at him and couldn’t help smiling. Now that he wasn’t wearing a suit, he looked the part of an artist. His long braids were tied back at the nape of his neck, as usual, and his astute brown eyes stood out among his chiseled chocolate features, good enough to nibble on.
“Ms. Lewis,” he said and held out his hand as he approached her.
“Mr. James,” she returned. “Why so formal?”
“I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”
“Safire is just fine. I’m here to—”
“To do the interviews for the Legal Assistance Program. I know. I’ll be serving as your staff liaison this afternoon, and you’ll be using my office.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Your office?”
“Come with me.”
Safire had grown up in North Miami and had come to a few events at the Heritage Center, but she’d never been inside the administrative suite.
Darien led Safire to his office, which held a large wooden desk and two facing chairs with another chair in the corner. There were paintings of every kind all over the walls, some clearly by children. The shelves were lined with art books and sculptures made of wood and clay and ceramic. There was color in every conceivable corner. The file cabinets were covered with images—mostly watercolors—held on by magnets. Around the room were framed posters of events that had been held at the Heritage Center.
In addition to a computer and printer, the desk was strewn with papers, books and various art supplies.
“I just have to get a few things that I’ll need out front, and I can make some room for you to work,” Darien said, gathering things and clearing a space for her. “The first clients are in the small conference room across the reception area. I’ll bring them in when you’re ready, and I’ll be at the reception desk to greet the next ones. We set appointments at the top of each hour, and you have four this afternoon.” He nodded at her. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
Darien took his things and went out to the reception area.
Safire pulled her portfolio and the needed paperwork out of her briefcase, including interview checklists, legal glossaries, a notepad and a pen. She spread out her things and made herself comfortable at the desk. Then she got up to find Darien.
“Is your receptionist off today?”
“We don’t actually have a receptionist right now. We have a couple of student assistants, but they come in after school in time to service the after-school programs. We all do a bit of double duty around here. Are you ready?”
“Yes, I am.”
Safire winked at Darien and headed back to his office. In a couple of moments, he brought in a family of three—two parents and their son. The son, who was fourteen, had been beaten up by a bully at school. The family was struggling and had no health insurance, and they wanted to sue for medical and dental fees resulting from the incident.
Anything involving children moved Safire’s heart, filled her with conviction and focused her on the task at hand. This was the kind of case she wanted as her own, the kind of case she would study law for.
Having a little brother—one so much younger than she was—helped inspire that passion. She would have a fit if anyone was picking on little Philly. In reality, she had stepped out of the way to make sure that her older sister could look after her younger brother after their mother died. Angelina had to be free to concentrate on Philly. That was another reason she was on her own. She had to make sure that she was all right so that Angelina could go on making sure that Philly was all right. In fact, she had to be ready so that when Philly went off to college, she could pitch in when needed. So far, her plan was working, but it took grit and determination. And it took even more to have a life on top of that. It took being fierce. Now she wanted to go back to school. Hopefully, this plan would work, as well.
With only an hour, Safire had to make good time, so she let the young man describe the incident and then launched into questions. Near the end of the hour, she took their contact information and said that she would call them with an appointment for the proper attorney. She got up to shake the parents’ hands and give the young man’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“I’ll be calling you tomorrow,” she said and then smiled.
Darien came in to see if she was ready for the next client. She gestured toward the nearest chair and continued with her notes.
“I need to make some brief notes after each interview. It’s standard practice. I’ll only take five to ten minutes. That’s why I ended a little early. Next time give me an hour and a half—at least—for each interview. In fact, it might work best if you call me with a general description of the issue when you’re scheduling so I can estimate how much time I’ll need.”
Darien had taken the seat she’d pointed to. He propped one of his ankles on top of the other thigh and settled back. “We can do that.”
Safire finished her notes and checked her watch. She had a few minutes to spare, and with Darien so nearby, she was itching to play for just a little bit. This wasn’t like her. She liked to play, but not at work. Something about this man drew her to the chase. She tucked her notes into a folder, labeled it and stowed it in her briefcase. Then she got up and rounded the desk, settling back against it and crossing her legs in front of her.
“Are you ready for the next client?” Darien asked.
“Almost,” Safire replied. “Tell me a little about them. Or do you know?”
“This one I do. Miss Levita Smalls has had her daughter in programs at the Heritage Center for about two years.”
As Darien talked, Safire bent forward and touched the lettering on his vest, running her hand over his shoulder and down his chest as she read the words she was tracing with her fingers. He sat up in his chair but continued talking about Miss Smalls.
“She’s been divorced for the last year and is struggling to keep afloat financially.”
Safire bent farther forward, resting her hands on Darien’s open thighs. With her so close, his voice quieted to a low bass.
“She works in housekeeping in a hotel in Coral Way.”
Safire leaned in and kissed Darien softly on the cheek. Then she whispered in his ear, “What’s her issue?”
Darien cleared his throat and turned to look at her. Safire leaned back up and folded her arms in front of her.
“She needs child support from her ex-husband.”
“Bring her in.”
Darien got up and went to the door. He looked back at her for a moment. His brow furrowed in consternation, and he shook his head. Then he disappeared.
Safire wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into her. She never wasted time with anyone who wasn’t entirely interested, and she was generally good about not mixing work with recreational pursuits, not while on the job. But here she was, tantalized by this man and wanting to tantalize him. Of course, he was sexy as hell. But there was more. There was a reservation about him and a sweetness. That was just as much a turn-on as his good looks and the way he could make her stop breathing by touching her face or kissing her. She wanted to take that self-righteous glint from his eyes and corrupt him. He kept her thinking about chocolate. Oh la la.
Darien came back with Miss Smalls, a petite woman in a blue floral dress. It was clearly her Sunday best, but it was fraying a bit at the seams, as was her handbag. Safire greeted her, showed her to a seat in front of the desk and settled in to do the interview.
“So, you’re interested in suing your ex-husband for child support, Miss Smalls?”
“Yes, I am. He hasn’t helped with Amelie since the divorce.”
She needed to know about the divorce settlement and child custody ruling, about the ex’s income and current family situation. She only had an hour, so she put aside other thoughts and focused.
When it was over, Darien came in and took a seat while she finished her notes.
“You know,” he said, “you’re really a nymph. But then, the way you dress kind of gives that away.”
Safire snapped back, “First, thank you for the compliment. Nymphs were deities, as you know. And second, I am the girl next door, as long as you don’t live next to a nunnery.” She laughed and finished a sentence she’d been writing and then looked at him. “And you, you’re the mild-mannered Clark Kent.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh—” she started on her notes again “—but what I want is a Superman.”
“I think you’re defining ‘Superman’ by the wrong paradigm.”
“I beg to differ, not that you know what my paradigm is.”
“I could describe it,” Darien said, “but I think I need to let you write your notes. The next client is here.”
Safire finished her notes and then looked up.
“Tell me about this one.”
“This is Mrs. Martinez. I don’t know a lot about her issues, only that there seems to have been some abuse in her marriage. I think she’s moved out, but I’m not sure if they’re divorced. I know that she’s concerned for her children—there are two that I know of—and that she wants custody of them.”
As always, when there were children involved, Safire refocused immediately. So far, all the cases at the Heritage Center had involved children, and it got Safire thinking about law school and specializing on cases with children. When she was finished, she would be great as a pro bono attorney for the Heritage Center. That or teaching children. She had to make up her mind, and she had to do it soon.
Safire looked up to find Darien staring at her.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Safire let out a breath. “I was thinking about how many of the cases here involve a threat to children. It’s a shame. It’s something I want to help fix.”
“You are helping.”
Safire didn’t want to say more about her hopes for the future. “I know,” she conceded. Then she looked at her watch. “Let’s bring in Mrs. Martinez.”
Safire did her interview, and then Darien joined her again as she wrote her notes. Because the interviews were so compacted, the hours were flying by for Safire.
“Are you getting anything done with all of these interruptions into your time?” she asked.
“A little. I don’t work well with interruptions when I have real work to do. I can only multitask mindless work.”
Safire looked up and smiled for a moment.
“You have a beautiful smile,” Darien said, “and you smile often. I like that.”
“Uh-oh. You’re starting to sound enamored of a nymph. You better watch out or I might work my goddess powers on you.” She chuckled.
“Speaking of you,” he said, “how was your date with that banker you met at Nova?”
“I didn’t have a date with him, but you sound a little jealous. That must mean you like me.” She chuckled again.
Darien was quiet, and Safire finished the last sentence of her notes before glancing up. He was looking at her intently. Then he shifted and drew a folder from his lap.
“I’ve looked at the next set of interviews,” he said, “and I’ve jotted down what I know about the cases. If you take a look when you’re done, you can let me know how much time you’ll need so we can reschedule.”
They were looking at each other as he leaned forward, but when their hands met over the folder, they both looked down, suspended in the middle of a simple gesture.
Safire felt electricity in their touch. It moved from her hand to the pit of her stomach, and from there it crawled up her spine and wound down to the place where her body had started to throb. They both stood at the same time, facing each other across the desk. Safire looked back up at Darien, and what she saw in his eyes was desire.
It wasn’t in Safire’s character to back down from desire. It wasn’t in her to let something go that she wanted without at least trying for it. She’d watched her sister become matronly under the pressure of being mother and father to their younger brother and a caretaker for their elderly great-aunt, who had recently passed away. Safire wasn’t going to get old before her time. She’d learned to contend with the powers that be when they told her she couldn’t—couldn’t get along without a mother and father to help her make decisions, couldn’t make it through college on her own, couldn’t have a good life on only her income, couldn’t do all that she wanted to do. That backbone she carried into all of her dealings. That pluck had become second nature.
Now she stood looking at the desire in Darien’s eyes.
Safire spoke on impulse, “Come out with me tonight, Darien James.”
Darien paused for a long moment. Then he sighed, and his brow wrinkled. “It doesn’t seem to be in the stars for us, Safire Lewis, aka nymph.”
“Why is that?”
“You mean in addition to how different we are? I have to work this evening. I’m teaching an art class in the after-school program after I bring in your last client, which I need to do now.” He looked over his shoulder. “A student assistant will be out front when you’re done. You can call me about rescheduling the next set of interviews.” He turned toward the door and then turned back. “Take care, Safire.”
Safire tipped her head and smiled.
In a moment, Darien was back with the last client and then took his leave. The man he brought owned a small business that was just beginning to break even. He was having trouble with a contractor hired to do some renovations for expansion. The job had been botched, but the contractor blamed the subcontractor and refused to fix it or pay for it to be fixed. Safire refocused and got through her interview. Then she packed up her things and waved to the student at the receptionist’s desk as she headed out.
There was life in the halls now. People were on their way to various activities. Rooms were being used for tutoring, workshops, music lessons, art class.
Safire paused near a room where small children were engaged in what seemed to be an art class. She listened for Darien’s voice, and when she heard it, she peeked inside. The scene was one of mild chaos. She saw empty chairs for bigger children at the back of the room. One was near her and partially obscured by the open door. She tiptoed inside and took a seat.
On observation, there was some order to the anarchy. Children with protective aprons tied about them and large goggles on had flat slabs of clay in front of them, which had been cut into four-inch tiles. Darien was instructing them on how to make decorations in the tile.
“They don’t all have to be the same. If you want them to be similar, that’s fine, but each will have some variation because these are handmade. Go to the front to look at the pictures if you still need more ideas.”
He walked around giving the littler ones assistance and commenting on the pieces being made by the bigger children. Ages seemed to range from four or five to ten or twelve.
“Look at Kathy’s. You can make holes in them if you’d like. That’s fine. If you make a mistake, you can build the tile back up, but make sure not to leave seams. A bit of water helps. If you engrave the tile by drawing a design in it, use water to soften the edges of the engraving.”
Darien was circling the room and was now in a position to see her. Safire wasn’t sure what to do. She remained where she was, and he might have missed her except that while he was busy giving comments to one of the older boys, one of the younger girls came over to Safire. She might have been five, and she approached with a slab of clay plastered to her hand.
“Are you our teacher, too?” the little girl asked.
Her query drew Darien’s attention, and he began watching them.
“No, little one, I’m visiting your class today.”
“Look,” the girl said, holding out her tile. “This one is a woman. I can’t get it.”
“That’s very good,” Safire said, “but if you draw in a dress here—” she used her finger to gently trace on the tile “—then it will look more like a woman, if that’s what you like. It can be anything you want, and it doesn’t have to look like what other people think a woman is.”
The little girl ran back to her space at the table and used a blunt stick to etch in the line that Safire had traced. Then she ran back to Safire.
“Look, look! How’s this? It’s a woman now.”
“That’s very nice. Are you going to decorate the dress? You could draw little flowers or—”
“I’m going to use the thing to make dots,” she said and took off again to her seat.
Darien kept circling the room and punctuating it with comments, but he nodded and smiled at Safire for a second, letting her know she had done okay. Safire was glad to have done a good job. She relaxed then and enjoyed the class until it was finished.
“Okay, all of your tiles should be nearly done. When you’re finished, bring your cardboard with all the tiles and put them on the shelf to dry. I’ll fire them in the kiln, and next class we paint them, so you’ll be wearing aprons and goggles again.” He laughed.
When class was over, parents or siblings came in to get the children, and they started filing out. Darien started on the cleanup and Safire got up to help.
“No way,” he said. “Not in that outfit. You’ll get this stuff all over you, unless you want me to wrap you in a plastic bag.” He chuckled.
She settled back down and watched him.
“You handled Lucy well. You know, we always need help in our after-school programs. You have to get fingerprinted and all that, but it can be fun. You can assist a teacher with a class, or you can start your own in whatever specialty you have. And it doesn’t have to center on little kids. We have programs for folks all the way up to adults.”
“I’ll have to consider the idea. It looks like fun.”
Actually, Safire had already made up her mind. She wanted to know more about working with young people—teaching them. Her desire to work with children had her torn between law—with a focus on children—and teaching—with a focus on literature. She was already exploring law, but Darien’s comment had just given her a way to explore teaching—working with young people directly. She was secretly thrilled by the possibility. But she didn’t want it to be Darien’s class, and she wasn’t planning to launch a new class as a way of getting to him. She would call the director the next day and make arrangements on her own. Darien might not even have to know.
When he was finished, Darien turned to her. “Since you stayed through my class, I’d like to invite you out for dinner.”
“That sounds good, but let me call my girls. We had talked about a club tonight.”
“While you do that, I’ll go put things back in my office and collect what I need.”
Safire made a quick call and was waiting for Darien when he returned.
Darien knew of an Italian place nearby where he could order vegetarian lasagna, so they went there for dinner. Safire had regular lasagna. She teased Darien with a forkful, and he teased her with a forkful of his.
“It’s much sexier when you tease me,” Darien said. “But no meat for me.”
“Don’t you miss it?”
“Sometimes. But I feel healthier this way. Only my mom can really tempt me on that front.”
“Do you ever surrender to temptation?” Safire asked, turning her head and looking at him suggestively out of the corner of her eye.
“I’m not sure which question to answer—the one that you asked or the one that you implied.”
They both laughed.
Over dinner they talked about his work at the Heritage Center and her work at Benson and Hines and where they overlapped. It went so well that they decided afterward to go to a place called Aunt Joe’s, which had wine and coffee as well as foods and desserts. It had music videos playing on monitors and even dancing, though the floor was small.
Over his chai tea latte and her merlot, they split a piece of carrot cake.
“I guess this answers your question about me being a strict vegetarian.”
“How so?”
“Latte and carrot cake—milk and eggs.”
“You must have a sweet tooth,” Safire speculated, thinking again of chocolate and how sweet this man would be on the palate.
“I do,” Darien said. “But I don’t do this often, and when I cook, I use substitutes.”
“So you do give in to temptation sometimes.” Safire winked at Darien and smiled, wondering if she could get her name added to the menu.
Suddenly, Safire asked Darien to dance. A slow song had come on, and she didn’t want to miss a chance for a slow dance with this man.
There were few couples on the dance floor because it was so early, but Safire didn’t mind. Darien, though, seemed a bit self-conscious, at least at first. Safire pressed her body against Darien’s and felt herself begin to throb. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. She closed her eyes against the multicolored strobe lights that circled the room and gave in to the sensation of being in Darien’s arms. Although they were in public, it felt so erotic, so intimate, so safe.
The rugged smell of Darien’s body filled her senses when she inhaled, and the taste of bittersweet chocolate rose to the tip of her tongue. The feel of his body was delicious. Their thighs brushed gently against each other’s as they wavered to the slow, heavy beat and the guttural voice of a woman yearning for love. His hard chest pressed against her breasts, and his hands gripped her hip and back, drawing her into the curves of his form. It all sent a tingling through Safire that made her pulse rush. And she could tell from the bulge pressing against her hip that he was also getting a bit stimulated.
The slow song ended and a faster song came on. The two continued to sway slowly for a moment, long enough for Safire to know that he, too, hated to have the dance end. Then they looked at each other and went back to their table, Darien’s palm pressed to her back.
At their table, Safire placed her hand in Darien’s. He accepted it and held it in a gentle fist.
She leaned toward him and motioned for him to come. He leaned his ear toward her, but that wasn’t what she wanted. When she said nothing, he turned to look at her. That’s when she caught his lips with hers. It was a chaste kiss, but they held it for a long moment before he leaned back, breaking the connection.
As she ran her fingers along his palm, he peered at her, but it was a gaze of inquiry.
“Why do you move so fast?” Darien asked.
“Well, I know what I want. What’s wrong with that?”
“And what do you want, Safire?” He looked at her deeply.
She answered quietly, almost wistfully. “Come home with me, Darien.” When he stalled, she looked him up and down and added, “I dare you.”
Then she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and gave a devilish smile—waiting.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_e130414a-de1a-52e8-b08c-4c2ffe32aa70)
Darien saw the challenge in Safire’s eyes, her smile, her posture, her very being. And it was a challenge that he couldn’t resist. It wasn’t only that he was filled with desire for this woman. It was also that her defiance incited something in his masculine constitution. He had been triggered by his prey the way the canter of a deer sets a lion in motion. Desire and instinct were overruling reason and wisdom. He covered their tab, took Safire’s hand and led them to her car.
“I’ll follow you home.”
Safire smiled like a kitty that had just found a stash of catnip. “Honk,” she said, “if I get too far ahead of you.”
“That won’t happen,” Darien said. “Just drive.”
It wasn’t until they were well on their way that Darien wondered what the hell he was doing and why on earth he was tossing his calculations out the window. His mantra had been that he would take things slowly until he found the right one—for sure. Now he was following a Cheshire cat to her lair. The thought made him laugh.
He parked beside her in the lot of a large apartment building off of Biscayne Boulevard in North Miami, and they went up to her apartment. She let them in and turned on a light and faced him, but he didn’t take her into his arms. He took her elbow and started walking around her apartment, looking at where she lived.
“You live here alone?”
“Yes, I do.”
“It’s spacious.”
It was all he would have expected for a chic, upcoming professional. There was a long, beige leather sectional in the living room with a matching love seat and armchair. These were accented by matching glass end tables and a glass coffee table. The books on the coffee table were eclectic—a pictorial history of Bob Marley, a photograph collection by James Van Der Zee, a visual encyclopedia of African-American history, a copy of Toni Morrison’s latest novel, a few fashion magazines. There was a fully stocked entertainment center, and near it was a credenza with a bar on top. In the corner was a small bookshelf, but he couldn’t read the titles from where he stood. The living room was sleek, smart and sparse. Everything was tasteful and elegant.
There wasn’t much art. There was a charcoal drawing of a robust female nude and a watercolor of what looked like the harbor. There was a large, framed photograph of a Harlem scene from the 1920s, probably a Van Der Zee. That was it in the living room. To the left he could see the dining room, which had a fully set six-place table and matching chairs, but he couldn’t see the walls without the light. Everything was clean and polished. It barely looked lived in.
“You like James Van Der Zee,” Darien said, stepping around the couch to the path behind it, where the photograph hung on the wall.
“Among others,” Safire answered, putting her purse on the credenza and coming to stand next to him. “I could afford them. They’re just reprints.”
“They’re nice. I like his stuff, too.”
Safire had been patient for a while. Now she put her hands on Darien’s chest and backed him against the wall. She pressed her body against his and put her lips against his throat.
Automatically, both of Darien’s arms surrounded Safire’s body, moving over the silky turquoise material that covered her back and flared at her hips. In her heels, she was just under his height, and he could feel the way her body stirred against him. When he dipped his head, he could smell the floral aroma rising from her earlobe. But what were they doing?
He lifted his head and cupped her hips, using them to move her back from his body. “You know, we don’t have to move so quickly.”
“What if this is what I want?” Safire asked.
“Is it?”
“Yes. What do you want?” Safire placed a hand on Darien’s chest and moved it down his abdomen to the front of his jeans. “You seem to want me.”
“I’m just saying—”
Safire took a step back. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him with one lifted eyebrow, as if waiting for him to show some moxie. Darien took a breath and shook his head. He was about to step around her when she pressed her body against his again and whispered into his ear, “I double dare.”
Safire’s soft voice in his ear and her soft body pressed against his lit Darien on fire as much as her demand. The deer was on the run again, and the lion in him was roaring.
Darien pulled Safire against him roughly, lacerating her body with his own. He dipped his head to her neck and sucked in the tender hollow, raising her against him until she was murmuring and rubbing herself along his body. The fire she had lit moved through both of them, and he was consumed by the flames.
“Is this that you want, Safire?”
“Yes, Darien, yes.”
They moved toward her bedroom, tearing off each other’s clothes as they gripped each other’s bodies—her hands at his chest, his fingers on her breast, her mouth latching onto his throat, his palm cupping her rear.
By the time they reached the bed, they were down to their underwear, and Safire’s tender flesh clung to Darien’s hard body.
Darien stopped at the bed and broke from Safire. He needed to catch his breath and get his perspective back. Something about the fire in this woman was making him get ahead of himself, far ahead.
“Cold feet, mon ami?” Safire said.
“You know, we haven’t even kissed properly yet,” Darien said.
“Yes, you kissed me at my car the first day we met.”
Yes, Darien thought. What had gotten into him then? Whatever it was was getting into him again. But tonight it was the dare in her eyes, the threat of fulfillment written in each of her movements.
“And our lips touched at the restaurant,” she added.
“I don’t know if I’d call that a kiss,” he said.
Safire smiled and licked her lips. Darien could tell that she was about to show him what a real kiss was.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Safire?”
“It would be nice,” she said, “if you’re man enough to bring it.”
Now the lion raged.
Darien lunged for Safire, pulling her bra down to expose her breasts to his lips as he moved his hand between her thighs. She touched him through his boxer briefs, feeling the length of him, the thickness. He moved his fingers into the thin, wet cloth between her legs and stoked the slick, swollen nub he found there. She moaned and gyrated against his hand while he felt himself leaping against her fingers.
When Safire stopped and pushed his hand away, Darien was startled.
She moved to his ear, licking the lobe before she whispered in it. “Don’t tease me anymore,” she said, and moved from his arms. Soon a dim light appeared from the other side of her bed. Safire opened a drawer and began rifling through it. She pulled out a condom and tossed it toward him. Darien stepped out of his underwear as he watched Safire slowly stripping off hers. Everything about this woman was erotic, and it seemed to him that sometimes, she wasn’t even aware of what she was doing. The moment he rolled on the condom, his Cheshire cat pounced onto the bed and began stalking toward him.
Darien met her on the bed. He lowered her head to the pillow, spread her knees and placed himself between her thighs. With one hand under her shoulders, he used the other to grab hold of himself and run himself up and down between her dripping cavern.
“Don’t tease you anymore?” he said, still teasing her.
Safire whimpered, and her hips oscillated. She grabbed her breasts and began to caress them, moving herself in time to his rhythmic stroking.
“No, Darien, please,” she whined, and undulated. “Please, Darien, please.”
Seeing her hands moving over her own breasts, paired with the feel of her hips, pushed Darien to the brink of control. It had been a while for him, but he knew something about pleasing a woman, and this one had told him to bring it. Bring it he would.
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Yasmin Sullivan
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Opposites ignite… Where relationships are concerned, Safire Lewis is like quick fire. She moves fast to get what she wants–then moves on before things get too complicated. Artist Darien James′s laid-back charm arouses her interest from their first meeting. But instead of seizing the opportunity for a no-strings fling, he′s looking for a commitment.Darien has been hurt before. Now he wants a passionate connection that will last. With her sizzling confidence, the gorgeous paralegal has become his artistic muse–and the ultimate temptation. First they′re butting heads, then they′re burning up the sheets. He won′t settle for less than everything Safire has to give. And if she will only lose her fear of letting go, she might realize that Darien is the one man who′ll keep her endlessly enthralled….