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“I’m not sure I know the answer, or even that she’s as important to me as you seem to think. She has some strangely contradictory traits, and this bothers me. But worry not, Sis; I’m on top of it.” He hung up, walked over to his bedroom window, and let the moonlight stream over him.
She’s got a hook in me, he admitted. I’ll swear I’m not going to have anything more to do with her, but when I’m with her I don’t want to leave her; when I see her, I want to hold her. But I’ve got my boys, and they come first.
He stripped and went to bed, but sleep eluded him. One thing was sure: if he didn’t have the boys, he’d be on his way to Bethesda, and the devil take the morrow.
Naomi unlocked her studio, threw her shoulder bag on her desk and opened the window a few inches. The sent of strong coffee wafted up from a nearby cafeteria, but she resisted retracing her steps to get some and settled for a cup of instant. She had barely slept the night before. Rufus had weighted the temptation of kissing her against the harm of doing it, and harm had won out. It wasn’t flattering no matter how you sliced it, especially since she had wanted that kiss. When had she last kissed a man, felt strong masculine arms around her? She knew she was being inconsistent, wanting Rufus while swearing never to get involved. Keeping the vow had been easy…until she’d first heard his voice. When she saw him, it was hopeless. She sipped the bland-tasting coffee slowly.
Images of him loving her and then walking away from her when he learned her secret had kept her tossing in bed all night. She’d finished reading his first book, The Family at Risk, and had been appalled at some of his conclusions: the family in American society had lost its usefulness as a source of nurturing, health care, education, and economic, social, and psychological support for the young. Spouses, he complained, had separate credit cards, separate bank accounts, and separate goals. Oneness was out of fashion. Homemaking as an occupation invited scorn, and women avoided it if they could. He claimed that the family lost its focal point when women went to work, and without them as its core, the family had no unity. She hadn’t realized how strongly he believed that women had a disproportionate responsibility for the country’s social ills. He wouldn’t accept her past, she knew, so she’d put him behind her.
She laughed at herself. She didn’t have such a big problem, just a simple matter of forgetting about Rufus. But what red-blooded woman would want to do that? It was useless to remain there staring at the stark white walls. “I’m going home and put on the most chic fall outfit in my closet,” she declared, “and then I’m going to lunch at the Willard Hotel.”
The maître d’ gave her a choice table with a clear view of the entrance. The low drone of voices and the posh room where lights flickered from dozens of crystal chandeliers offered the perfect setting for a trip into the past, but she savored her drink and resisted the temptation; wool gathering slowed down your life, she told herself. Suddenly, she felt the cool vintage wine halt its slow trickle down her throat, almost choking her, and heated tremors stole through her as Rufus walked toward her. But her excitement quickly dissolved into angst when his hand steadied the attractive woman who preceded him. He wasn’t alone.
The sight of the handsome couple deeply engrossed in serious conversation stung her, and she lowered her eyes to shield her reaction. She looked at the grilled salmon and green salad when the waiter brought it, and pushed it aside. She just wanted to get out of there. Aware that she had ruined the day for the little maître d’, she apologized, paid with her credit card, and stood to leave. A glance told her that Rufus was still there, still absorbed in his companion and their conversation. She took a deep breath, wrapped herself in dignity, and with her head high, marched past his table without looking his way.
The furious pace of her heartbeat alarmed her, and she decided it would be foolish to drive. Dinosaurs. This was a good time to see them. But on her way to the Smithsonian Institute, the crisp air and gentle wind lured her to the Tidal Basin, and she walked along the river, deep in thought. Why was she upset at seeing Rufus with another woman? There wasn’t anything between her and him, and there couldn’t be anything between them. Not ever. She took a few pieces of tissue from her purse, spread them out, and sat down. She could no longer deny that he was becoming important to her, so she braced her back against a tree and contemplated what to do about it.
“Even if you wanted to be alone, you didn’t have to pick such a deserted place. Are you looking for trouble?”
By the time Rufus ended the question, she was on her feet, trembling with feminine awareness at the unexpected sound of his voice. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t frighten a person like that?” she huffed, not in annoyance, but in pulsing anticipation. “It’s downright sadistic, the way you suddenly appear. Where did you leave your date?” She blanched, realizing that she had given herself away, but pretended aloofness. She didn’t want him to know that seeing him with an attractive woman had affected her.
He cocked an eyebrow. “I helped Miss Hunt get a taxi, and she went back to her office.”
“Why are you telling me that?” she asked, as if he hadn’t merely answered her question. “It isn’t my concern.”
“I didn’t suggest otherwise. Are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m okay,” she managed to reply, and turned her back so that her quivering lips wouldn’t betray her. “How did you get here?” It was barely a whisper.
“I followed you. When you passed my table immediately after your lunch was served, you seemed distressed. I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
He walked around her in order to face her. “I was surprised to see you lunching alone in that posh place. I only go there because Angela, my agent, loves to be seen there. She says it’s good for her image.”
Intense relief washed through her, and she gasped from the joy of it. Her mind told her to move back, to remember who she was and that she had reasons to avoid a deeper involvement with him, but her mind and heart were not in sync, she learned.
Oblivious to the squirrels that were busily hoarding for the winter, the blackbirds chirping around them, and the wind whistling through the trees, she stood with her gaze locked into his, shaken by her unbridled response to him. She was barely aware of the dry leaves swirling around them and the wind’s accelerated velocity as they continued to devour each other with the heat in their eyes, neither of them speaking or moving. Feeling chill-like tremors, she rubbed her arms briskly, letting her gaze shift to his lips.
His sharp intake of breath as he opened his arms thrilled her, and she walked into them, her body alive with hot anticipation. He had lost his war with himself, and she gloried in his defeat. She felt him sink slowly to the turf, clasping her tightly. He lay with her above him, protecting her from the hard ground. She knew, when he immediately helped her to her feet without even kissing her, that their environment alone had stopped him. Blatant desire still radiated from him. She didn’t remember ever having encountered such awesome self-control.
“Chicken sandwiches and ginger ale taste about the same as grilled salmon and salad,” she told him, when they finished.
“Something like that occurred to me, too.” He smiled.
They stood at the curb, near her parked car, neither speaking nor touching, just looking at each other. She hadn’t noticed that he’d shortened his sideburns or that he had a tiny brown mole beside his left ear. And in the sunlight, she could see for the first time that his fawnlike eyes were rimmed with a curious shade of brownish green. Beautiful. A lurch of excitement pitched wildly in her chest. Back off, girl, before you can’t! Without a word, she turned blindly toward her car, but he grabbed her hand, detaining her, and forced her to look at him. Then he brushed her cheek tenderly with the back of his closed fist and let her go.
She drove slowly. She could stay away from him, she thought, if he wasn’t so charismatic. So handsome. So sexy. So honorable. And oh, God, so tender and loving with his kids. He was a chauvinist, maybe—she was becoming less positive of that—had a trigger-fast temper, and was unreasonable sometimes. But he made her feel protected, and he was the epitome of man. Man! That was the only word for him and, if she were honest, she’d admit that she wanted everything he could give a woman—his consuming fire, his drugging power and heady masculine strength—just once in her life. But most of all, she wanted the tenderness of which she knew he was capable. Naomi laughed at herself. Who was she kidding? Well, her grandpa had always preached that thinking didn’t cost you anything; it was not thinking that was expensive. She mused over that as she drove, deciding that in her case, both could cost a lot. Once with him would never be enough, she conceded, wondering how he was handling their…encounter.
Rufus steered into his garage and forced himself to get out of his car. He walked around the garden in back of the house, sat on a stone bench, absently turned the hose on, and filled the birdbath. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? It had taken every ounce of will he could gather to stop what he’d started down by the Tidal Basin. He couldn’t pinpoint what had triggered it, and he wondered how he managed to appear so calm afterward when he actually felt as if he would explode. And why had he felt obligated to ease her mind about Angela? He’d never even kissed her, thought he’d just come pretty close to it. Besides, he and Naomi spent most of their time together fighting. He had been discussing a three-book deal with Angela when Naomi had passed their table; one look at her face, and he knew she’d seen them. He had immediately terminated the discussion and followed her. Get a grip on it, son! He noticed two squirrels frolicking in the barbecue pit, walked over to the patio, and got some of the peanuts that he stored there for his little friends. He went to the pit, got down on his haunches, and waited until they saw him and raced over to take their food from his hand.
Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Nothing could come of it. The question plagued him. And another thing. Good Lord! She was jealous of Angela. Jealous! How the devil was he going to stay away from her if she reciprocated what he felt? They didn’t even like each other. Scratch that, he amended; only fools lied to themselves. He went up to his room, changed his clothes, and went to get his boys from Jewel’s house.
Naomi sat at her drawing board that afternoon and wondered whether she could do a full day’s work in two hours. She was way off schedule, and she didn’t have one useful idea. “Oh, hang Rufus,” she called out in frustration. “Why am I bothered, anyway? Why, for heaven’s sake, am I torturing myself?” She dialed Marva, who answered on the first ring. Naomi always found it disconcerting that Marva’s telephone rarely rang a second or third time. She would almost believe her friend just sat beside the phone waiting for a call, but Marva was too impatient.
“Are you going to One Last Chance this afternoon?” she asked her. “I think we ought to firm up the plans for our contributions to the Urban Alliance gala. If we don’t get a bigger share of the pot this time, OLC will be in financial difficulty.”
“I know,” Marva breathed, sounding bored, “but it’ll all work out. You ought to be concentrating on who’s going to take you and what you’re going to wear.” Suddenly, Marva seemed more serious than usual. “Someday, Naomi, you’re going to tell me why a twenty-nine-year-old woman who looks like you would swear off men. Honey, I couldn’t understand that even if you were eighty. Don’t you ever want somebody to hold you? I mean really hold you?”
Caught off guard, Naomi clutched the telephone cord and answered candidly. “To tell the truth, I do. Terribly, sometimes, but I’ve been that route once, and once is enough for me.” Well, it was a half-truth, but she knew she owed her friend a reasonable answer, and she would never breathe the whole truth to anyone.
She changed the subject. “Guess what happened while you were gone, Marva.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, Le Ciel Perfumes saw the ad I did for Fragrant Soaps and gave me an exclusive five-year contract. I get all their business. Girl, I’m in the big time now. Can you believe it? I talked to them as if I could barely fit them into my tight program. Then I hung up, screamed, and danced a jig.”
“You actually screamed? Wish I’d been there.”
“But, Marva, that’s what every commercial artist dreams of, a sponsor. I treated myself to a new music system. My feet have hardly touched the ground since I signed that contract.”
“Go, girl. I knew you had it in you. We’ll get together for some Moët and Chandon; just name the hour.”
On an impulse and as casually as she could, she asked Marva, “You know so many people in this town, do you happen to know Rufus Meade?”
“Cat Meade? Is there anybody in the District of Columbia who doesn’t know him or know about him?”
“I didn’t know him until recently, and I didn’t realize you read books on crime and delinquency, Marva,” she needled gently.
“Of course I don’t; I hate unpleasantness, especially when it’s criminal. What does this have to do with Cat Meade? Cat was the leading NFL wide receiver for five straight years. Didn’t you ever watch the ’Skins?”
“Oh, come on, girl. You know I can’t stand violence, and those guys are always knocking each other down.”
Marva laughed. Naomi loved to hear the big, lusty laugh that her friend delighted in giving full rein.
“Now I understand your real problem,” Marva told her. “You haven’t been looking at all those cute little buns in those skintight stretch pants.”
“You’re hopeless,” Naomi sighed. “What about Meade? Did he quit because he was injured, or does he still play?”
“From what I heard, he stopped because he’d made enough money to be secure financially, and he’d always wanted to be a writer. He’s a very prominent print journalist, and he’s well respected, or so I hear. Why? Are you interested in him?”
In for a penny; in for a pound. “He’s got something, as we used to say in our days at Howard U, but he and I are like oil and water. And it’s just as well, because I think we also basically distrust each other. He doesn’t care much for career women, and I was raised by a male chauvinist, so a little of that type goes a long way with me. Grandpa’s antics stick in my craw so badly that I’m afraid I accuse Rufus unfairly sometimes. Why do you call him ‘Cat’? That’s an odd name for a guy as big as he is.”
Marva’s sigh was impatient and much affected. “When are you going to learn that things don’t have to be what they seem? They called him Cat, because the only living thing that seemed able to outrun him were a thoroughbred horse and cheetah, and he moved down the field like a lithe young panther. My mouth used to water just watching him.” The latter was properly supported by another deep sigh, Naomi noted.
“I hope you’ve gotten over that,” she replied dryly.
“Oh, I have; he’s not running anymore,” Marva deadpanned. “And besides, it’s my honey who makes my mouth water these days.” She paused. “Naomi, I’ve only met Cat a few times at social functions, and I doubt that he’d even remember me. Of course, any woman with warm blood would remember him. Go for it, kid.”
“You’re joking. The man’s a chauvinist.” She told her about his statement when he’d appeared on Capitol Life, supporting her disdain, but she could see that Marva wasn’t impressed.
“Naomi, honey,” she crooned in her slow Texas drawl, “why are you so browned off? If isn’t like you to let anybody get to you like this. Lots of guys think like that; the point is to change him…or to find one who doesn’t.”
“Never mind,” Naomi told her, “I should have known you wouldn’t find it in your great big heart to criticize a live and breathing man.”
She assured herself that she wouldn’t be calling him Cat. “I don’t care how fast he was or is.” They’d been having a pleasant few minutes together the night he’d brought the boys to her apartment, and she had asked him a simple, reasonable question. After all, a working journalist couldn’t take twin toddlers on assignment, so who kept them while he worked? But he was supersensitive about it. That one question was all it had taken to set him off. Then, down at the Tidal Basin, he’d nearly kissed her. She should never have let him touch her. Why the heck wasn’t he consistent? The torment she felt as a result of that almost kiss just wouldn’t leave her. She hoped he was at least a little bit miserable. What she wouldn’t give to be secure in a man’s love! His love? She didn’t let herself answer.
Naomi’s contemplations of the day’s events as she dressed hurriedly that evening for an emergency board meeting at OLC was interrupted by the telephone. Linda’s voice triggered a case of mild anxiety in her; the girls at OLC were not allowed to call their tutors at home.
“What is it, Linda?”
The unsteadiness in the girl’s voice told her that there might be a serious problem.
“I hated to call you at home, but I didn’t know what else to do. My mama says I can’t go on the retreat. I won a scholarship, and it won’t cost anything, but she says I can’t go.”
Naomi sat down. Maude Frazier and OLC would wait. “Did she say why?”
“Yes. She said I’ll do more good here at home helping her and working in the drugstore than I will wasting two weeks with a gang of kids drawing pictures. She said she never wants to see another piece of crayon. What will I do?”
Naomi pushed back her disappointment; how would the girl ever make it with so little support? “I’ll speak with your principal. Don’t worry too much. We have two months in which to work out a strategy and get your mother’s approval, but I’m sure the principal can handle this. Why didn’t you tell me that you won a scholarship? How many were there?”
“One. I didn’t tell you, because I figured Mama wouldn’t want me to go.” Naomi beamed, her face wreathed in smiles. She wished that she could have been with Linda to give her a hug. She doubted the girl received much affection; she certainly didn’t get the approval and encouragement that her talent deserved.
“Just one scholarship for the entire junior high school, and you won it? I’m proud of you, Linda, and I’m going to do everything possible to help you get those two weeks of training. I’ll see you in a couple of days?” The conversation was over, but it had an almost paralyzing effect on Naomi. What was her own child going through? Were its parents loving and understanding? Did they encourage it? It! God how awful! She didn’t even know whether she’d had a girl or a boy.
She hurriedly put on a slim skirted, above the knee dusty rose silk suit with a silk cowl necked blouse of matching color, found some navy accessories, and left home having barely glanced at herself in a mirror. She knew that color always set off her rich brown skin, and when she wore lipstick of matching color, her only makeup, as she did now, the effect was simple elegance. She arrived precisely on time and was not surprised when, at the minute she seated herself at the long oval table, Maude Frazier, the board’s president and arbiter of social class among the African American locals, lowered the gavel. “Now that we’re all here, let us begin our work.”
Naomi considered Maude’s philosophy, that if you weren’t early, you were late, autocratic, and unreasonable. One morning, either in this life or the next, Maude was going to wake up and discover that she really wasn’t the English queen. Naomi got immense pleasure from the thought.
Maude’s announcement that they had a guest brought Naomi’s gaze around the table until she found Rufus Meade sitting there looking directly at her. Her reaction at seeing him unexpectedly was the same as always. Tension gathered within her and her heartbeat accelerated when he dipped his head ever so slightly in a greeting and let his lush mouth curve in a half smile. She knew the minute he responded to the fire that she couldn’t suppress, that the tension pulsing between them was a sleeping volcano ready to erupt. She felt her heart flutter madly and shifted nervously in her chair as Maude opened the discussion.
She would not have anticipated that the talks would become so heated. The meeting ended, and she realized from Rufus’s facial expression that he was furious with her. She believed her argument—that One Last Chance existed to be a buffer between distressed girls and the cruelty of society—was the correct one. And she was amazed when Rufus took the position that what she really wanted was for the foundation to be a shelter for delinquents. She hoped he wasn’t a poor looser; several board members sided with him, but the majority supported her.
She was wrong, and he would straighten her out, he vowed, forcing himself to remain calm while, oblivious to onlookers, he ushered her to the elevator and on to the little office where she tutored. “I know there are special circumstances, but we have to be very careful when we’re deciding what they are.”
“I’m already familiar with your brand of compassion,” she told him, with what he recognized as exaggerated sweetness; “it doesn’t extend to females. It does cover cute little replicas of yourself, naturally, but it amazes me that you allowed your perfect self close enough to a woman to beget them. I don’t suppose it was the result of artificial insemination, was it?” He wanted to singe her mouth with his when she looked at him expectantly, as if deserving a serious, friendly answer, though she knew she’d irked him.
He surprised himself and figured that he probably shocked her as well when he broke up laughing. When he could stop, he looked down at her and, in a playful mode, shook his head from side to side, his single dimple on full display. “Naomi, I refuse to believe that you are so naive as to issue me that kind of challenge. Don’t you know better than to tell a man to his face that you doubt his virility? Are you nuts?”
Her intent regard amused Rufus. If she had been aware of the look of fascinated admiration on her smiling face, ten to one she would have banished it immediately. Her answer riled him. He wondered whether her attention had strayed when she asked provocatively, “How far off was I?”
Abruptly, he stopped smiling, forgot caution, and felt his face settle into a harsh mask. He pulled her close to him and absorbed her trembling as he lowered his head and brushed her mouth with his lips. He drew back to look at her, to gauge her reaction, but fire raced through him when she braced her hands against his chest in a weak, symbolic protest and whimpered, and he knew he had to taste her. Her soft, supple body offered no resistance, and as he sensed the giving of her trust, a warm, unfamiliar feeling of connection with someone special gripped him. She burrowed into him, giving herself over to him, pulling at something inside him. Something he didn’t want to release.
He fitted her head into one of his big hands and gently stroked her back with the other, trying to temper their rapidly escalating passion. But her gentle movements quickened his need. He nearly bent over in anguish when she wiggled closer, caught up in her own passion. Capitulating at last and in spite of himself, he captured her eager mouth in an explosive giving of himself, his body shuddering and his blood zinging through his throbbing veins.
He sensed a change in her then—a feminine response to his own burgeoning need—and altered the kiss to a sweet, gentle one, easing the pressure before asking for entrance with the tip of his tongue. Her parted lips took him in, and he felt her tremble from the pleasure of his kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck in sensual enjoyment. He didn’t wonder that she returned his kiss so ardently, that she was caressing his arms, shoulders, and neck, that she was loving him right back. His only thought was that she felt so good in his arms, tasted so good, responded to him hotly and passionately, that she fitted him, that she belonged right where she was. He didn’t remember ever having had such a passionate response from a woman nor even having had one excite him as she did. He wanted her and he was going to have her even if she was… He jerked his head up and looked down into her passion-filled eyes. Not in a million years. Never! He told himself as he put her gently but firmly away from him.
Naomi grasped her middle to steady herself. He had to know that it was good to her, she surmised. Like nothing she had ever felt. Did he know that her body burned from his kiss? She had waited so long for it. Forever, it seemed. Nearly all her life. Those strong, muscular arms holding her, soothing her; the heady masculine smell of him tantalizing her; and the possessive way that he held her were more than she could have resisted. More than she wanted to resist. And she needed to be held, needed what he had given her, needed him. Her eyes closed in frustration. What was it with him?
“Look,” she heard him say, as he brushed his fingers across the back of his corded neck, apparently struggling both for words and for composure, “I’m sorry about that. You made me mad as the devil, and I got carried away. My apologies.”
She reeled from his blunt rejection, but only momentarily. With more than thirteen years of practice at putting up her guard, she slipped it easily into place. “Looks as if I was right, after all, Mr. Meade,” she bluffed, covering her discomfort. “You’ve got a problem.” She whirled around and left him standing there. He would never know what it had cost her.
Chapter 4
An hour later, still puzzled over Rufus’s behavior, Naomi forced herself to answer her doorbell. Tomorrow, she was going to speak to the doorman about not buzzing her to ask whether she wanted to receive visitors. What was the point in having such an expensive place if it didn’t guarantee her security and privacy? She knew very well that if it was Rufus, the young doorman would be so awed that he wouldn’t dare insult him by asking his name and announcing him, as house rules required. With a tepid smile, she cracked the door open and saw him standing there, the epitome of strength and virility. She tried to curb her response to him, a reaction so strong that blood seemed to rush to her head. And that annoyed her. Her next impulse was to close the door with a bang, but she wasn’t so irritated that she wanted to hurt him.
“May I come in, Naomi? Not once when I’ve stood at this door have you willingly invited me in.”
Feeling trapped by her attraction to him, and hoping that a clever retort would put her in command, she gave him what she hoped was a withering look.
“What do you want, Meade? You’ve already gotten yourself off the hook with an apology, so why are you standing here?” She spoke in a low, measured tone, trying to keep her voice steady.
Rufus was silent for a minute, trying to gauge her real feelings, which he had learned were probably different from what she let him see. Her gentle tone belied her sharp words, and he welcomed it. He watched her bottom lip quiver while she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying not to respond to what he knew she saw in his eyes. His gaze traveled slowly over her, caressing her, cataloging her treasures—flat belly, rounded hips, wild hair, long legs, a full, generous mouth, and more. He wanted her badly enough to steal her. Badly enough to forget everything else and go for her. But he hadn’t come to her apartment for that. Telling himself to get with it, he reined in his passion and assumed a casual stance.
He cleared his throat, impatient with his physical reaction to her. “Naomi, it must be clear to you that we have to reach some kind of understanding. We have to work together for the next month, and if we can’t cooperate, that gala will be a disaster. So ease up, will you?”
He was taken aback by her forced, humorless smile. And her words. “Why don’t you level with yourself? You didn’t come over here tonight to make it easier for us to work together. You’re here for two reasons; your testosterone is acting up; and you’re feeling guilty about the way you behaved back there at OLC. Well, you can go home, wherever that is. Your boys will be ‘pining’ for you.”
Rufus could see that she wanted to take back the words as soon as they escaped her lips. Weeks earlier, those revealing remarks had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them—childhood hurts that remained solidly etched in his memory—and she had thrown them back at him. He knew that she saw pain in his eyes, that his reaction to her barb aroused her compassion. He regretted having exposed himself to her when he alluded to his unhappy childhood, and she could bet he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He hated pity. To cover her own insecurity, her own vulnerability, she had used it against him. But she reached out to him then with her heart as well as her hand, and he looked first into her eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, and then at her extended hand, grasped it, and walked in. Into her house and into her arms.
He breathed deeply, savoring the union, as they held each other without the intrusion of the passion and one-upmanship that had marked their brief relationship. When he felt himself begin to stir against her, he moved away.
“Naomi, if you’d put on more clothes, maybe we can talk this thing out.”
Her embarrassment at having greeted him in her short silk dressing gown was too obvious to conceal, and he noticed that she didn’t try, but expected him to understand that she had forgotten she was skimpily dressed. It was a small measure of trust, but it was something, and he welcomed it.
“All right. I’ll be back in a minute. There’s a bar; help yourself to a drink.” She left him in the living room and returned within minutes dressed, as promised. He liked that.
“Didn’t you find anything you’d like to drink?”
“I don’t drink anything stronger than an occasional glass of wine at dinner. Thanks anyway.” She looked great no matter what she was wearing, he observed, and told her so. “You’re really something to look at, you know that? My common sense almost deserted me when I saw you standing there in that red jersey robe, with that thick black curly hair hanging around your shoulders. Dark women look great in pinks and reds.”
She sat down and kicked off her shoes, and he could see that his compliments made her nervous. She did not want an involvement with him any more than he wanted one with her. He grinned. In their case, want didn’t count for much.
“Thank you,” she replied briskly, “but there isn’t anything to talk out, as you put it. I am not looking for a romantic involvement with you or anyone else, not now or ever, so we shouldn’t have any difficulty working together.”
Rufus glanced at her shoeless feet as she tucked them beneath her. A free spirit would do that, he figured. But she had caged that side of her, he guessed, and she had done it years earlier. He leaned back in the sofa and appraised her slowly and thoroughly until she suddenly squirmed. What a maze of contradictions she was! If she thought so little of romantic involvement and marriage for herself, why had she championed it for her young charge at OLC? The thought perturbed him; her adamant disavowal of interest in men didn’t ring true. He noted that the shoes were back on her feet.
Rufus leaned forward. “Sorry about that,” he apologized, referring to his blatant perusal of her. “But I can’t believe you know so little about what happens when a man and a woman get their hooks in each other. So I have to assume that either you’re being dishonest with yourself or you just don’t care to level with me. That kiss you gave me, Naomi, almost made me erupt; I’m still reeling from it. You were right when you said that’s why I’m here.”
“You’re making too much of this,” she told him, obviously uneasy with the drift of the conversation.
Her attempt to minimize it annoyed him. “When you kiss a man like that, giving him everything he’s asking for and letting him know that you’re loving what he’s doing to you, you’re either consenting or making demands of your own or you’ve gone too far.”
He ignored the outrage that he saw in her reproachful eyes and went on. “You and I want each other, Naomi. Don’t doubt it for a minute; we want to make love to each other. I confess that making love with you was one of the first thoughts I had when I met you. But I told myself then, and I’m telling you now, that I don’t intend to do one thing about it. You and I would be poison together.”
Naomi was a worthy adversary, he recalled at once. “Of course you aren’t going to do anything about it,” she purred, “because I won’t let you. As for me wanting you, let me tell you how much weight you can put on that. I saw a beautiful pair of green leather slippers in Garfinkel’s not long ago, and I wanted them badly. They were the perfect complement to something I had just bought. I took a taxi all the way back up here to Bethesda at a cost of twenty dollars, got my credit card, taxied back, and would you believe those shoes were gone? You know what I did? I shrugged my shoulders and bought a pair of royal blue ones that didn’t match a thing I owned. When I left the store, I was perfectly happy. Nothing gets the better of me, Rufus. Believe me, nothing!” He disliked her facetious grin. “So you’re right; there’s no need to make a big deal out of it,” she went on, her quivering lips belying her tough words. “You’ll find another one—darker or lighter, taller or shorter, but with the same basic equipment—and you’ll be just as happy.”
He shook his head in amazement. “I don’t believe you said that.” His blood pounded in his ears when she crossed her knees and let her right shoe slip off as she did so, revealing a flawless size nine foot with its perfectly shaped red toenails. His couldn’t take his eyes from her.
