One More Night

by Brenda Jackson

  “You must come here often,” he said, moving to stand at her side.

  She glanced over at him and smiled. “Practically every day. It’s not far from the shelter and I enjoy the walk. And I like their grilled chicken salads.”

  Moments later they were being escorted to a table in the rear. Darius shifted his full attention to the people whose tables they passed. They either greeted her by name or smiled a hello. “You’re pretty popular, I see,” he said when they had taken their seats.

  She shrugged. “Most are regulars who know that I work at the shelter. They believe it benefits the community and appreciate our presence.”

  They halted conversation for a while to scan the menu. Darius was the one deciding what he wanted since Summer was getting her usual. However, she was inclined to check out the soup of the day, or at least pretend that she was doing so. It was hard concentrating on anything, even food, while sitting across from Darius. As he studied his menu, she studied him over the top of hers.

  She almost laughed out loud at the intense expression on his face. Deciding what hamburger he wanted couldn’t be all that serious. But then Darius had always been a very serious man. Especially when it came to making love.

  For a heart-flipping moment she wondered why a memory like that had crossed her mind, but she knew. Darius was the kind of man that oozed sexuality as potent as it could get, making those incredible urges consume the lower part of her body. They’d only had one night together, but it had been incredible. No matter what had happened after that, she could not discount how he’d made her feel.

  He was the most gifted of lovers. Pleasing her had seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to Darius. She hadn’t realized just how selfish Tyrone had been in the bedroom until after she’d made love to Darius. How could she have realized when Tyrone had been her first? No matter what her sexual experience had been with Tyrone, one time with Darius had made everything just fine.

  Darius glanced up and she took in a lungful of air. The intensity of his gaze—she wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. It was as if she were held captive by his deep, dark eyes.

  “Here are your waters.”

  Summer almost jumped when Tina appeared with two glasses of water. “Thanks.” Barely giving her a chance to set the glass down in front of her, Summer picked it up and took a long gulp, feeling the need for the ice-cold water to cool her down.

  Tina hung around long enough to take their food and drink order before moving on again.

  “So, what do you like about your job?”

  She glanced over at him to answer his question, making an attempt to keep her gaze trained on his nose instead of his eyes. “Everything, but mostly the satisfaction I get from helping women in distress, those who might feel broken up because of what has happened. I like letting them know they aren’t alone and somebody cares.”

  What she didn’t add was that she enjoyed giving them the same support he had given her during those first crucial days, when she had begun doubting herself, second-guessing the situation and believing that maybe she had been the cause of Tyrone’s problems instead of the other way around.

  “I notice there’s not a director at the shelter,” he said.

  Her gaze drifted down from his nose to his lips. Focusing on his mouth was just as bad as looking into his eyes. He had a sexy mouth. It was a mouth that could move with agonizing slowness when talking...or when being used for other things. She swallowed before responding.

  “When I was hired by the TCC it was decided that I could handle it all for now. When they complete the proposed expansions and decide to fill the position, I’m hoping I’ll be considered for the job.”

  Darius nodded. He had not been a part of the TCC committee that had done the hiring for Helping Hands, which was one of the reasons he’d been surprised to discover her working there. He would have recognized her name the second it came across his desk.

  “The shelter is pretty full now. How do you manage it all?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I think the most challenging times are when I’m called in the middle of the night to a police station or hospital to comfort a woman who’s been beaten or raped.”

  Darius’s jaw twitched at the thought of anyone treating a woman so cruelly. Mistreatment of a woman was one thing he could not tolerate.

  “It’s also difficult at times when manning the abuse hotline. Someone is there to take calls twenty-four hours a day—usually a volunteer trained to do so. Every once in a while, a call will come through that I need to handle. Those are the ones that can get pretty emotional, depending on the circumstances.”

  Darius could tell from her voice that she was dedicated to what she did every day. To stay on safe ground and not stray on to a topic neither of them wanted to deal with, he decided to keep her talking about her work at the shelter.

  For the first time since seeing her again, he was lowering his guard a little.

  When the waitress finally delivered their order, he had to admit the food looked good. And after a bite into his hamburger, he had to own up that it tasted good, too. One of his uncles in Charleston once owned a sandwich shop that used to make the best burgers around. As a kid, he enjoyed the summers he spent there and the older he got, he found himself comparing every hamburger he ate to his uncle Donald’s. None could compare, but he had to admit this one came pretty close.

  “How does it taste?”

  He glanced over at Summer and could only smile and nod, since he couldn’t talk with a mouth full of hamburger.

  A half hour later, on the drive back to the shelter, he reflected on a number of things he hadn’t expected. Mainly, he hadn’t figured on sitting across from her for almost an hour and enjoying her company without animosity or anger seeping in. However, what couldn’t be helped was the sexual tension. Although they had tried to downplay it with a lot of conversation, it was there nonetheless.

  There was a lot about her he could barely resist. Her scent topped the list. Whatever perfume she was wearing filled his nostrils with a luscious fragrance that seemed to get absorbed right into his skin. And then there were her eyes. He was fully aware that she’d tried to avoid looking at him, which had been hard to do since they were sitting directly across from each other. Each time he would catch her staring at him, he would feel a pull in his stomach.

  Thankfully, his hands were gripping the steering wheel because at that moment, it wouldn’t take much for him to reach over and touch her, stroke that part of her thigh exposed beneath her skirt. Seeing her flesh peeking at him was making his mind spin, so he tried focusing on the road and decided to get her talking again. Anything to keep his mind off taking her.

  “So, where do you live?” he asked.

  He kept his gaze glued to the road. She didn’t need to see the heat in his eyes, a telltale sign that although he wished otherwise, she was getting to him.

  “I bought a house a block from the post office,” she said.

  He noted she didn’t provide him with the name of her street. There were a couple of new communities sprouting up near the post office, as well as a number of newly renovated older homes that had been for sale. “Nice area,” he heard himself say.

  “I like it. My neighborhood’s pretty quiet. Most of the people on my street are a lot older and are in bed before eight at night.”

  He nodded. From the information she had just shared he could safely assume that she had purchased one of the renovated homes in the older, established communities. Doing so had been a smart move on her part; they were a good investment.

  She then opened up and began telling him about it, saying she was having a lot of fun decorating the house. He didn’t find that hard to believe. When she’d lived in Houston, her apartment had been small but nice and he’d been surprised to learn she had done most of the decorating herself.

  All too
soon he was pulling into the parking lot of the shelter. “Thanks for taking me to lunch,” she said, reaching to unsnap her seat belt even before he could bring the car to a complete stop. “Although I have to admit, riding in the car instead of walking only means I have to get my daily physical activity some other way,” she added.

  He came close to saying that he knew another way she could get her physical activity, and it would be something she would enjoy—he would make sure of it. Instead, he decided it would be best to keep his mouth shut.

  “But since it will probably be dark when I leave today, I’ll take the day off from exercise,” she tacked on, getting out of the car.

  He glanced over at her. “Why are you staying late?”

  “Because I have a lot of work and can’t leave until I’m finished. I’m meeting with Mr. Novak on Friday and there are a number of reports I have to run. More than likely, the TCC will have heard about the incident today and will want a full report on what happened.”

  He tightened his mouth after almost telling her that he’d already given them one. While at police headquarters, he had gotten a call from Mitch, Justin and Kevin. Lance had told them what had happened. Minor details had been given on television—since it was a women’s shelter, no television crews or reporters were allowed to show up in order to protect the women staying there.

  He knew if Summer stayed beyond five o’clock, she’d be pulling a long day. But for some reason, he had a feeling that was probably the norm for her. “Isn’t there someone who can help you with those reports?”

  “Afraid not. Besides, I’d rather run them myself, especially since I plan on pleading my case to Mr. Novak for an expansion of the shelter sooner rather than later.”

  Darius didn’t say anything, but considering what had happened earlier that day, he wasn’t crazy about her walking out to her car alone. Although the parking lot was well lit, he still didn’t like it. Two security guards had shown up after the incident. He decided that before he left for the day, he would talk to the guards and make sure one of them walked Summer to her car.

  When they reached the door he decided that unlike her, he intended to leave at a decent time. He had a meeting with the fire chief later, and it was a meeting he didn’t want to miss. And besides, the last thing he needed was to end up in the office late at night with Summer—alone.

  Chapter 4

  Darius grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and popped the top before tilting the can to his mouth, appreciating the cool brew that flowed down his throat. When the can was empty, he scowled before crushing the aluminum and tossing it into the recycling bin.

  His frown deepened as he sat down at the kitchen table, thinking that today had certainly not gone like he’d planned. He was convinced that the incident at the shelter was the prime reason his protective instincts toward Summer had kicked in. He had been ready to do bodily harm to anyone who even thought of hurting her. And he could admit that the reason he had driven her to police headquarters and then later to lunch was because he hadn’t wanted her out of his sight. He was becoming attached again, and that wasn’t good.

  He rubbed a hand down his face. Maybe he needed to rethink the notion of exacting some sort of revenge on her and instead, just put distance between them and let it go at that, treating her the way he would other groupies or gold diggers whenever they crossed his path.

  But he wasn’t able to do that. If anything, today proved that when it came to Summer, he didn’t think straight or logically. Right now, the only thing he should be thinking about was hurting her the way she had hurt him. Therefore, regardless of any protective instincts he might have, he would continue with his plan to make her think something special was going on between them. Then, at the right time, he’d drop the bomb that she meant nothing to him, and she’d discover she had gotten played, just like he had.

  When his cell phone went off, he stood and pulled it off his belt. “What’s up, Lance?” After his meeting with Chief Ingle, he had stopped by the TCC Café and had dinner with Kevin and Justin. Lance and his wife had driven to Houston to attend some sort of function there.

  “I got your message. So Ingle thinks the fire was started with some sort of petroleum-based product?” Lance asked.

  “He’s pretty sure of it. But it wasn’t one that could easily be detected, which is the reason the investigation took so long. They’re trying to narrow the components down. However, he believes it’s the same kind found in lubricating oils used for ranch equipment,” Darius responded.

  “Something that Montoya could easily get his hands on, since he owns that cattle ranch,” Lance was quick to point out.

  Darius shook his head. “His men are the ones working his ranch the majority of the time, Lance. Montoya’s heavily involved in his import/export business.”

  “For crying out loud, Darius, you just don’t want to believe he’s responsible for that fire, do you?” Lance asked with frustration in his voice.

  “What I don’t want is for you to be so convinced Montoya is behind the fire that you start overlooking any other possible suspects.”

  “There aren’t any other possible suspects, Darius. Montoya is the only one who hates me and Mitch bad enough to do such a thing. At the end of your investigation, you’ll see that all the evidence points in Montoya’s direction.”

  A few hours later, the fire investigation was the last thing on Darius’s mind when he finally eased into bed, determined to get a good night’s sleep. Moments later, after a number of tosses and turns, he discovered doing so wouldn’t be easy when thoughts of Summer filled his mind. When he thought of what could have possibly happened had he not been there today. Even now he was worried that she was still at the center working, and he was tempted to go check for himself to make sure she was all right. But then he quickly recalled he had spoken with security to make sure someone escorted her to her car whenever she did work late.

  He breathed in deeply, getting angry with himself that his concern for her, this feeling stirring deep within him, was making him weak. He refused to let that happen. But each time he closed his eyes, he saw her, remembered a better time between them, a time when she had been his whole world.

  He stared up at the ceiling, determined to remember that she was not his whole world any longer, would never be it again. It was something he couldn’t lose sight of. He would keep up his guard with her, no matter what.

  * * *

  “Thank you for walking me to my car, Barney, but it really wasn’t necessary.”

  “No problem, ma’am. Besides, it was Mr. Franklin’s orders.”

  Summer raised a brow at the uniformed guard. “Was it?”

  “Yes.”

  Summer pondered that. How could Darius give an order to a guard who didn’t work for him? Evidently, Barney had no problem following an order from someone who wasn’t his boss.

  “Well, good night,” she said, opening her car door and getting inside.

  “Just a minute, Ms. Martindale. This was pinned to your windshield beneath the wipers,” he said, handing the piece of paper to her.

  Summer tossed the flyer onto the seat beside her. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Summer drove off, noticing Barney was still standing there, watching her pull out of the parking lot. No doubt he was still following Darius’s orders. After what happened today, she could understand his concern and appreciated him wanting to make sure she was all right. Just like she had appreciated him taking her to lunch.

  There had been something strange about sitting across from a man who had once undressed her, rubbed his hands all over her naked body and made love to her in a way that thinking about it took her breath away. A man who’d shown her that foreplay was an art form that could be taken to many levels, and that a person’s mouth was just as lethal as his hands when making love.

  When her car came to a stop
at a traffic light, she turned on the radio, hoping the sound of music would drown out her thoughts of Darius. That wasn’t going to happen, she thought, when she recalled how long after she’d left Houston she would lie in bed and think of him.

  Her stomach growled and she remembered she’d missed dinner. When she got home she would make a sandwich and a glass of iced tea. It was one of those hot August nights.

  As she waited for the light to change, she glanced over at the flyer she’d thrown on the seat and picked it up. Her breath caught in her throat and chills ran up her spine when she read the words, “I take care of my own.”

  The light turned green but she didn’t realize it until the driver behind her blasted his horn. She accelerated, wondering which husband or boyfriend had placed the note on her car. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the abusers of the women at the shelter blamed the staff for keeping his family from him. Mr. Green had taken the same position earlier that day. She wouldn’t be surprised if it had been Mr. Green who had placed the note there, since her car had been parked in one of the spaces reserved for shelter personnel.

  Summer tossed the paper aside, thinking of Mr. Green and the baseball bat, and his terrified wife. She sighed. She had long ago stopped trying to figure out why some men could treat a woman they claimed to love so shabbily.

  * * *

  The next day, Darius studied the computer screen in front of him and tried not to think about the woman a few doors down. She had been holed up in her office all morning and it was almost noon. He would bet any amount of money she would not be stopping for lunch.

  A part of him knew it was really none of his business whether she ate or not, but another part decided to make it his business. Just as well, since he hadn’t been able to concentrate worth a damn anyway.

  Before arriving at the shelter, he had dropped by the refinery to take a look around the area damaged by the fire, hoping he would find something that had been overlooked previously. He hated admitting it, but Lance was right. All the evidence accumulated so far was pointing at Montoya, especially since the man didn’t have an alibi for that night and he’d been seen in the vicinity of the refinery. However, the evidence was too cut-and-dried to suit Darius—way too pat. As far as he was concerned, if Montoya wasn’t guilty, then someone who knew about the feud between Montoya and the Brodys was certainly making it look that way.