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“You know I’ll be able to work things out. I have no intention of taking maybe for an answer. As a matter of fact, I’m packing as we speak.”
“Can’t wait,” Reese said. “But listen, I’ve got to run. The last thing I need at the moment is to be late for my ride.”
“No problem. I’ll talk with you tonight. Have a safe trip.”
“Thanks. Bye.”
Reese hurried around the suite checking that she hadn’t forgotten anything. She breezed by the bedroom mirror then back peddled and stopped. She gazed at her reflection and smiled, once again filled with her old self-confidence. In her throaty alto voice, she belted out the last line of the R&B classic “And I’m Telling You,” by Jennifer Holiday. “I don’t wanna be fre-e-e. I’m stay—in’ and you’re gonna love me! Yeah.” She winked and hurried out of the suite.
When she reached the lobby, she was pleasantly surprised to see Carmen waiting.
“Carmen,” she greeted, giving the older woman a quick peck on the cheek. “I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you were just sending a car.”
“The car is waiting. I just thought it would be nice if we rode together to the airport.”
“I think so, too,” Reese said with a smile, threading her arm through Carmen’s. “What about Max—I mean, Mr. Knight?”
“He always drives his own car to the airport.” She pushed through the revolving door and out into the balmy morning. “He hates being at the mercy of someone else,” she tossed over her shoulder with a wink and a smile.
The double entendre was not lost on Reese.
He knew he was early and that there was plenty of time before boarding. That wasn’t the point. Maxwell paced the waiting area, checking his watch every few minutes. He was edgy. His nerves felt like they were about to snap. The lack of sleep, haunted by dreams of Reese, compounded by the unexpected phone call from Victoria Davenport, had him ready to crush the first person who crossed him.
After nearly two years of complete silence, she calls out of the blue. Why? And why now? She said she’d been thinking about him a lot lately and had been too afraid to contact him for fear of rejection again. She’d said she’d heard through the grapevine about the chip development and she wanted to congratulate him. She, too, was planning on being in Los Angeles within the week, and wondered if he would be in town. If so maybe they could get together—just for a drink—for old time’s sake.
Maxwell frowned and checked his watch again, retracing his path across the sparkling tile floor. Victoria, he’d learned the hard way, was not a woman who did anything without a damned good reason. If she wanted to see him again, she had one, and he was pretty certain her reason had nothing to do with congratulations or unrequited love.
He checked his watch, then compared it to the huge clock that hung above the reservationist’s station. “Where is she?” he fumed between clenched teeth.
“Looking for someone?” Reese asked, easing up behind him to practically whisper in his ear.
He spun around and when his eyes landed on her smiling face, his stomach coiled into a knot of need. “Where in the devil have you been?” he growled in greeting. “Or don’t you realize we have a flight to catch?” He turned away and strode toward the departure gate.
“This trip is going to be longer than I thought,” she muttered to Carmen, who hid a smile behind her hand. Both women followed in comical military fashion behind the unsuspecting Maxwell Knight.
Maxwell’s morning for stress was anything but over. Carmen had purposely seated them together. His intention was to sleep on the flight. But the heavenly scent of Reese’s body oil invaded his senses, her every movement sent waves of longing zinging through his veins.
“Max…”
“Reese…”
They both looked at each other, speaking in unison.
Maxwell’s stern countenance wavered and he smiled. “You first.”
Reese took a breath, briefly looked down at her hands and then into the depth of his magnificent ebony eyes. “I don’t want to intrude on your life, Max. I want you to know that. And I don’t want you to think that I don’t have a conscience. Over the next few weeks, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. I’m going to be asking you questions you’re not going to want to answer. But we can get past all of that.” Her eyes raced across the flawless honey-dipped face. “There’s something much more than just interviewer-interviewee going on between us.” Her husky voice lowered until it felt like a pulse beating in his body. “If I’m wrong, I want you to tell me—now.”
Interminable minutes seemed to tick away before he spoke.
“I wish I could tell you how wrong you are—that your instincts are off.” His large hand reached out and stroked the worry from her forehead. He clenched his jaw, the war of doubt still putting up a good fight. “But I can’t,” he finally said.
Reese let out a long-held shaky breath. She pressed her lips together and clasped his hand within hers. “I swear to you, Max, you won’t regret it,” she whispered.
He grinned like a young boy. “That remains to be seen, Ms. Delaware. But with Carmen behind the scenes orchestrating things, I never stood a chance.”
She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. “Carmen?”
“You must have guessed by now that Carmen thinks she’s my mother. And as my mother, she must tend to my happiness—whatever she decides that may be.” He chuckled. “I’m quite sure she made certain me and you would be sitting together on this flight, while she sat back there,” he added, hitching his thumb over his left shoulder.
Reese twisted in her seat and looked over the heads behind her. She spotted Carmen peeking at her from above the top of a magazine. Reese grinned and Carmen gave her a thumbs-up sign.
“Has Carmen always had a penchant for organizing your personal life?” Reese questioned, settling down into her seat.
“She tries damned hard.” He chortled. “Most of the time she’s right.”
“Do you generally take her advice?”
For a brief moment a dark shadow seemed to pass across his features. Carmen had warned him about Victoria early in their relationship. He hadn’t listened. “For the most part.”
Reese quickly sensed that there was more to the clipped statement, but would not press the point. There were so many things about Maxwell Knight that she wanted to discover, but her writer’s instinct and her female intuition reminded her it would be a very difficult road indeed.
James Knight climbed the stairs to the attic of his two-story home. After receiving a large cash compensation from the military during his service, he’d had the house built. It was the house he’d tried to raise his son, Max, in. Instead, it was the house that he’d watched his life and his marriage crumble in. Beautiful on the outside with a wide front enclosed porch reminiscent of the plantations of the south, whitewashed with tall stately pillars and a perfectly manicured front and back lawn.
His wife, Claudia, had spent innumerable hours finding just the right fabric, piece of furniture, work of art. The house on Pinecroft Court was a palace, but it was never a home. She’d tried—Lord knows she’d tried, but there was always a shadow that hovered between them. It was there waiting for him when he’d returned from Japan.
Pushing open the attic door, he pulled a key from his pants pocket, crossed the small crawl space, and used the key to open an old footlocker.
From within he pulled out a gray metal box filled with yellowed paper, photographs, and signed documents.
James’s warm brown eyes clouded over. For more than fifteen years, what had been done had remained sealed away in his attic and in the “eyes only” files of the military.
But governments change. Policy and administrations change. His son was being interviewed by one of the most renowned publications in the country. Everything would slowly begin to unravel. He knew it as sure as he knew it would rain by the aches in his knees.
He pulled out a faded picture of a beautiful young geisha, Sukihara—Suki, whom he’d loved like no other. How different would his life have been if he’d remained in Tokyo…?
Tokyo, April 1960
The month of April is one of the busiest times in the geisha quarters. In the evenings, the teahouses and restaurants where the geishas—or artistic persons—entertain, are crowded with guests from surrounding cities who have journeyed to Tokyo for the cherry blossoms and the geisha dance festival.
It was late one April evening when James and his army buddy Larry Templeton, who’d been stationed in Tokyo for two months, decided to venture out and see what all the mystery was surrounding the geishas. Since being stationed in Tokyo, they had seen no more than their barracks and their immediate area. They felt totally isolated. Not only was there the language and cultural barriers to deal with, they were the only two black men they’d seen since their arrival. They started off with two strikes against them; they were the American military in a foreign country and they were black—the lowest men on the totem pole no matter where they went.
“Whaddaya want to do tonight?” Larry asked, lacing up his regulation boots.
James chuckled in his deep robust voice. “How many choices do we have, man? It’s not like we’re the most welcomed folks in town.”
“I guess you’re right. But it’s Friday. We have the whole weekend off. There ought to be something.”
James shrugged his wide shoulders. His dark brown eyes slowly lit up. “How about checking out one of those teahouses I’ve always heard about?”
“Hey, why not? How do we get there?”
James sat down on the edge of his single bed and pulled out a slim map from the drawer.
“From what I’ve been hearing the really good ones are in Kyoto.” He unfolded the map and spread it out on the bed. Both young men hovered over the finely drawn lines. James stuck out his index finger and traced a path.
“It’s a good half-hour drive,” Larry said, straightening up.
“You have something better to do?”
“Very funny. Let’s go while the night is still young.”
They drove for nearly an hour.
“You sure you know where you’re going?” Larry taunted.
“It can’t be too much farther. As a matter of fact, good buddy, there’s the Kamo River now. I do believe we have arrived.” James grinned and pointed to the elaborate structure that was pinpointed by brightly lit lanterns, the only illumination for miles around—giving the entire scene a picture postcard feel.
“Hot damn,” Larry exclaimed. “I’m finally gonna meet me a real-life geisha. Wait till I tell the boys back home.” He slapped his thigh and hopped out of the jeep.
When James and Larry entered the teahouse, it was like nothing they’d anticipated. Although they received cold or indifferent looks from the Japanese and white men who were ensconced in various locations of the establishment, it was the role of the geisha to welcome and entertain every man who crossed the threshold. And they did—from singing and dancing to pouring their sake.
All of the preconceived notions about geishas being no more than high-priced prostitutes were soon erased. These were pampered, talented, beautiful, sexy women, who because of the Japanese culture, were a necessary way of life. Wives, on the other hand, were subdued, obedient, and anything but sexy. They were everything that a geisha was not.
James slowly relaxed and began to truly enjoy the performances and the pampering, but his breath stopped in his chest when a young, beautiful girl, dressed in an elaborate costume of brilliant red and gold, took center stage. Her name was Sukihara, the petite, exotic nymph who’d changed his life.
Far off, James heard the ringing of the phone. With reluctance be returned the photos to the box and placed the box back in the footlocker.
Quickly he ran down the short flight of steps and answered the phone that sat in the foyer of the top floor.
Returning from her part-time job at the local library, and unaware that her husband was at home, Claudia picked up the extension on the ground floor. When she heard her husband’s voice she intended to hang up until she heard the voice of the caller.
“Hello?”
“Colonel Knight?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“This is Major General Murphy at Chevy Chase Air Force Base.”
James’s heart began to race with dread. He’d been expecting this call and hating its inevitability.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“We’ve arranged to have a car pick you up at your home tomorrow morning at 0800 hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I hope this won’t pose a problem for you.”
“No, sir. Of course not.”
“Good. See you then, Colonel.” He broke the connection.
James Knight had spent forty years of his life in the Special Forces unit of the Air Force. Taking orders without question was second nature. Slowly he replaced the receiver. Taking orders was the reason his life had never been his own, the reason that haunted him every day of his life for the past fifteen years—the reason why his son must never discover what those orders had commanded him to do.
Claudia clutched the phone to her breasts and squeezed her eyes shut. When would they ever leave them alone? For fifteen years, they’d lived under the thumb of that demon from hell—Murphy. They’d never let James live in peace even after all that he’d done in their name. The military had stolen his spirit and Sukihara had stolen his heart.
Chapter 6
“After we check into the hotel, I need to head over to the office,” Maxwell announced, as they moved through Los Angeles International Airport.
Reese and Carmen doubled their steps to keep up with his brisk, long-legged strides.
“I’ll be going with you,” Reese stated. “So I’ll need a few minutes to freshen up.”
Maxwell looked at her over his shoulder. He wanted to say that she looked fabulous just the way she was. Her raven mane was twisted into a fuss-free French roll, and her statuesque form was coated in a teal suit of micro-silk with a skirt that hit her just above those gorgeous knees. His eyes snaked down to those luscious legs that were shadowed by a sheer pair of black hose. Briefly he wondered if she wore pantyhose or real stockings with garter belts. In any event, there was no way she looked like she’d been on a plane for six hours.
“If you think it’s necessary—to freshen up,” he qualified. “But I don’t have time to wait around all afternoon.”
Reese and Carmen exchanged glances. “I’ll be sure not to keep you waiting—too long,” Reese coed sweetly.
Once inside her hotel room, Reese was suitably impressed. This room outdid the Hilton by light years. The living area looked out onto rows of swaying palms and gentle breezes. The thick ecru carpet was so deep it tickled her ankles when she walked. She crossed the room and twisted the gold knob of the door.
Her breath caught in her throat. A huge canopy bed of eggshell white demanded her immediate attention. Along the canopy’s posters, white diaphanous fabric was dramatically draped. She smiled. Maxwell Knight certainly knew how to do things with panache.
Reese quickly tucked her suitcase and garment bag in the walk-in closet. She’d unpack later. She unzipped her garment bag and retrieved a pale peach suit of clinging rayon and silk. From another zippered compartment she took out a matching pair of low-heeled sandals. In record time, she’d changed clothes, repaired her minimal makeup, and tucked in some stray strands of hair.
Satisfied with her transformation, she grabbed her purse and briefcase and headed out of the suite. As soon as she stepped off of the elevator, she spotted the unmistakable figure of Maxwell pacing among the lobby crowd. For a moment, a rush of electricity whizzed through her, and she stood still as an Egyptian statue. To watch him, unobserved, was to see raw energy barely contained beneath bone and sinew. What would it be like to unleash that energy, to see it reach its apex? How would she ever find the words to convey to the reader what was almost mystical, something that had to be experienced—not explained—especially now when her emotions were beginning to cloud her judgment?
It was as if he sensed her presence, like a jungle cat becoming aware of a predator. He turned, not his whole body, just his head and looked straight at her with those incredible eyes.
The sudden contact caused Reese’s heart to slam mercilessly in her chest. There was no mistake. What she saw in his eyes was pure, unadulterated hunger.
The current that snapped back and forth between them was broken when Carmen approached Maxwell and tapped him on the shoulder.
“The car is out front,” she said.
Maxwell tore his gaze away from Reese and she was finally freed from the magnetic hold of his eyes.
Putting on her best smile, she approached the duo. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
The hot coals of his eyes raked over her, and it took all she had not to tremble.
“Not at all. I just came down myself.”
Reese couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d smacked her. Where were the cutting remarks, the sarcasm?
Maxwell sat opposite Reese and Carmen in the limousine. “Did you talk with the housekeeper, Carmen?”
