Sweetest Desires (A Sweetest Day Romance)

by Beverly Taylor

  “When are you coming back?” CJ had finally spoken, concern all over his face.

  “Soon, son. Hopefully, soon.” Any other answer outside could’ve thrown CJ into a hollow state of depression, what with everything else happening in his world.

  Carson stood, lifted Bethany from her chair, held her tightly in his arms, and, after several lengthy, emotional moments, returned her to her seat. Then he knelt and pulled CJ’s head against his chest and held him there for several long seconds. His lips touched CJ’s left temple.

  The dismal atmosphere made it difficult for Carson to leave but he had some things to do.

  Katharine escorted him to the door. “It’s funny,” she said. “You used to say how you were afraid I’d leave you someday because of your work—the long hours and the travel. But look at how things turned out. It’s not me who’s left.”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. Her comment could not be refuted. “What about the children?”

  “What about them?”

  “Spending some time with me.”

  “I’m willing to be generous on that score, provided . . . .”

  “I see.” He put his hands in his pockets. “All right, I’ll agree to your terms.” It didn’t take a PhD to figure out that the terms had something to do with Cindy.

  “I figured you would. Are you bitter about it?”

  He thought about this question. As a grown man, why should he allow his wife to choose his friends? Cindy was a decent and caring woman, and if Katharine would come to understand her, then she’d change her tune about Cindy. “Bitter?” he said finally. “No. I think after twelve years of marriage, all I am is numb. And maybe a little sad and disconnected.”

  She let silence be her guide, but Carson was well aware of her you brought it all on yourself, expression.

  He went to the door to open it. “Well, how’d I do?”

  “You did okay.”

  “It was a little tougher than I thought.” He turned to leave.

  “Carson,” she called behind him.

  “What?” He said it flatly, angry with himself for having to confront his children with his and Katharine’s marital mess. Guilt lay heavily on him for a moment.

  “Do you hate me? Did you tell the children that you loved me just to avoid telling them the truth?”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course not. As unhappy as I’ve been, I could never hate you.” He loved her, but he didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want to raise her hopes of a quick reconciliation.

  He squeezed Katharine’s hand—a signal that said, we’ll talk later.

  She squeezed back halfheartedly but this time did not pull her hand away.

  Chapter 14

  Carson shuffled the papers on his desk into a neat pile and placed them in a manila folder. Looking around at his office, he reflected on how far he’d come—not only from his first real job as a gofer to his current status as an award-winning sports reporter, but from bachelor to family man to—whatever he was now. Staring at the family photo on top of his credenza, he missed his children, incredibly. And, although he wasn’t ready to admit it, he missed Katharine too.

  Sleeping in the cramped efficiency apartment for the past week had been both uncomfortable and inconvenient. He’d have to find a more spacious apartment soon, but with his busy work and travel schedule, he didn’t see how he could manage it.

  The phone rang, cutting into his musing. He reached for the receiver. “O’Connor.”

  “What’s cooking, good looking?” Cindy’s sensual voice inquired.

  Blushing slightly, he swirled halfway around in his chair and relaxed his back.

  “I heard this was the telephone number of that guy who bears a striking resemblance to the handsome actor, Blair Underwood. Did I dial the right number?”

  Carson laughed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  “Purely social, Mr. O’Connor. I thought I’d ask if you’d care to have dinner with me.”

  Cautious of his own susceptibility, Carson hesitated, tapping the desk with his pen as he replied slowly, “Thank you for the invite. It’s really kind of you, but maybe we can have lunch instead.”

  Cindy paused before answering, “Good. I’ll meet you at your office at noon, and we can go from there to The Palais.”

  “The Green Palais?” Carson questioned. “That’s a little pricey, isn’t it?”

  “Nothing’s too good for you,” she purred. “Besides, you’re the one with the expense account.”

  “Ah, so it’s my expense account you’re after.” He smiled broadly.

  “Umph, I had to go and open my big mouth.”

  “So, all quiet on the western front today, huh?” he asked, pushing the conversation forward.

  “I thought I’d take the afternoon off to work from home on another grant assignment.”

  “Oh, I see—a multitasker.”

  “Yep, that’s me.”

  “Must be nice to be an independent, footloose and fancy free woman,” he said, doodling on a scratchpad.

  “It has it’s ups and downs,” she responded.

  Carson declined feedback. “Alrighty, then. I guess I’ll see you in a little while,” he concluded.

  * * *

  Lunch and dinner are two entirely different things, and going out for lunch with a man as fine as Carson was definitely not the same as going out to dine in the evening. She had to rethink her strategy.

  Cindy sat crossed-legged in the lobby, her low-cut dress pushed halfway up her thighs. Passersby, particularly men, paused to admire her long, shapely legs, which could rival Tina Turner’s any day. Most of the women cut their eyes hard, but she didn’t care what other women thought of her.

  Carson sauntered gracefully toward her wearing a smile that told her he wasn’t exempt from her charms. “Miss Lomax, I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to see you. Thank you for meeting with me this afternoon.” As he extended his hand to help her to her feet, she could see him struggling to keep his eyes away from her cleavage, but they kept straying in spite of his efforts. He draped her full-length faux fur coat around her shoulders. Even though the season dictated it, he’d though it was much too warm a day for fur.

  When they stepped into an empty elevator, he collapsed against the wall.

  “What was that about back there? You were so formal and all.”

  “Look at you.” His eyes moved up and down her physique. “I don’t want to be the subject of any office or news gossip. Gotta keep my nose clean.”

  “I figured since we’re lunching at a sophisticated place, that I’d dress the part. Besides, what about the beautiful and glamorous athletes’ wives you interview? I don’t compare.” She hoped he’d disagree.

  “They wouldn’t come to the office to be interviewed. I’d go to them or meet at a restaurant. But in your case, business attire would’ve suffice.”

  She playfully twitched her nose at him. “Maybe next time.”

  “Next time?”

  “Oui Monsieur,” she winked.

  The elevator doors opened on the parking garage’s first floor, reserved for the executive staff. Carson opened the front passenger-side door of his pearl-colored Cadillac Escalade and assisted Cindy inside.

  The Green Palais, an exclusive French restaurant located in the upscale Buckhead district, was naturally decorated in sage green.

  The appetizer was canapés, served with mousse de foies de volaille (chicken liver pâté). Cindy’s entrée consisted of emincé de volaille sauce roquefort-pommes de terre sautées (thinly sliced fillet of chicken with Roquefort sauce and sautéed potatoes). Carson chose fondue bourguignonne-salade verte (a burgundy beef fondue with lettuce served with béarnaise sauce). A Camembert cheese followed, presented on a wooden board and served with red Bordeaux. They both selected clafoutis aux abricots (apricot batter-pudding) and coffee for dessert. Cindy frowned when she saw a small piece of chocolate placed on her saucer.

  “Did you know that in France, t
he big fashion is to serve a square of dark chocolate with your coffee?” Carson enlightened her. “Dark chocolate is said to make the flavor and aroma of a good coffee more robust. Try it. I think you’ll like it.”

  Cindy did as instructed. “Mmm. Rich and strong.” Glancing around the room, she commented, “You act as if you’ve been here before.”

  “Many times. This is where I’ve interviewed some of the most gifted athletes in the world. Barry Bonds, Peyton Manning, Evander Holyfield, just to name a few. As a matter of fact, this is one of Michael Jordan’s favorite restaurants.”

  Cindy nearly choked on her coffee. “You met Michael Jordan?”

  “Wipe the dribble from your chin,” Carson said, chuckling.

  Her delight was probably the most honest reaction she’d shown in months. She tapped her napkin against her chin. “Ooooh,” she squealed. “What’s he like?”

  “Mike’s a nice, down-to-earth kind of guy.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” Cindy batted her eyelids flirtatiously.

  “Oh, I see,” he grinned spiritedly. “Well . . . from a guy’s point of view, he’s okay, but I guess you women would say he’s the handsome, manly type—if that’s what you’re asking.” He shrugged. “But I don’t roll like that.”

  Grinning, Cindy placed her hand against her chest to emphasize her surprise. “Excuse me? Since when did we learn to speak hip-hop?” She took a sip from her wineglass and noticed Carson hadn’t touched his.

  “That’s the other side of me when I’m interviewing the brothers. I got that one from Kevin Garnett,” he said smoothly. “I still remember my first interview with Garnett when he got drafted right out of high school. I met with him again after Minnesota traded him to the Boston Celtics in a seven for one deal.

  Cindy smiled and savored her dessert, watching him attentively. His eyes lit up as he talked about whatever sport it was.

  “Garnett . . . , I’ve heard the name, but sports has never been of huge interest to me—at least not until I met you. I’m learning a lot from you and it’s fun.” She gave a small, fake giggle to bolster the lie.

  Her words brought him back into the moment and he looked at her as if just realizing who was sitting across from him. He sipped his coffee and took a bite of apricot pudding as she said, “I’ve heard Michael Jordan is getting married again.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Some magazine.”

  “You didn’t actually hear it—you’ve read it. Was it a reliable source?”

  “Actually, I heard the words in my head as I was reading it,” she said pointedly as she corrected his correction. “It was one of those newspaper-style magazines in the supermarket, if you must know,” she rolled her eyes playfully.

  “Hmph. Figures.”

  “What do you mean by that? It’s just as reliable as your paper.”

  “Hardly. It means that your source is more than likely questionable. Mike’s a pretty private guy, and I’m not aware of any marriage announcement.”

  “Did you get his autograph?”

  “I’m not a star-struck journalist. I’ve been in this business far too long to be acting that way,” he said around a chuckled. “However, that’s one of the perks in this job. You get all the superstars’ signed photos, and you get to take pictures with them. That’s good for publicity and for my portfolio. Some of the lesser-known players—well, I don’t know—maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “Please, go ahead and tell me. After all, who could I tell? I don’t know anyone who’d be interested in whatever it is.”

  “Now how would you know that until I tell it?”

  “Will you just go ahead and tell it?” She was itching to know now that he made it seem intriguing.

  “All right, all right,” he said, grinning. “You seem trustworthy enough. It’s like I was saying. Some of the lesser-known players have offered me cash under the table to write an embellished article, giving them exposure and possibly involving them in controversy.”

  Cindy looked at him with unfeigned confusion.

  “It ups their stock,” he explained, pointing his thumb upward for emphasis. “You see, in this business, just like sex—controversy sells.”

  Cindy’s brows shot up. “Wow! Sounds like an easy way to make cash. Have you ever accepted any money from those guys?”

  “Never. It’s unethical.”

  “Who were some of the guys asking for the pub?”

  “I can tell you, but right afterwards, I’ll have to kill you.”

  Cindy gave him a cute smirk.

  “Katharine’s put together a collage of all the great athletes I’ve interviewed—past, present, and future superstars—into a huge photo album. She’s done a great job with it.”

  Cindy felt a stab of jealousy. Her grin faded.

  “Um—,” Carson said, fidgeting with his fingers.

  “Speaking of Katharine,” Cindy immediately intervened, leaning forward confidentially, “has my suggestion about the magazines been helpful?”

  She’d recommended the magazines as a means of arousing his sex drive for his wife, but it wasn’t desire for Katharine that she had in mind.

  Carson sucked on his lower lip, crinkled his brows, and stared into Cindy’s eyes. “She accused me of being addicted to pornography.” He sounded as if he were asking, Can you believe that?

  “Oh, my,” Cindy said, holding her dainty fingers to her chest to indicate shock and concern. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.”

  “I guess your suggestion backfired on me.” He frowned thoughtfully.

  She tapped her lips with her fingernail. “In my experience as a counselor, establishing a desirable behavior by using escape-and-avoidance conditioning usually proves effective.” She’d mentioned this idea several times before.

  “You’re using psychological jargon again,” Carson said smugly.

  “Oh, my bad.” She giggled.

  “My bad?” he raised his eyebrows. “So, you have met Garnett.” He chuckled at his own joke, and she joined in, covering her mixed emotions with real laughter.

  She hadn’t intended to hurt Katharine. It wasn’t like she’d planned on falling in love with another woman’s husband. It had just happened, and she’d done nothing to stop it.

  Carson had never had a problem talking to her about his sexual relations with his wife. She had a knack for making him comfortable discussing it, as if she were giving him free consultation from a woman’s perspective. These discussions were the reason he looked forward to lunching on Thursdays. But her apparently kind suggestions to increase the flames of his sexual passion didn’t work with a woman like Katharine.

  He cleared his throat. “Speaking of Kat and the magazines,” his voice trailed off and he lowered his eyes.

  “Oh,” Cindy said softly. “What happened?”

  “It’s funny,” Carson said humbly, rubbing his knuckles back and forth with his thumb. “I thought she’d want it this way.”

  “Want what this way?”

  “Well, since you told me that when a woman intentionally makes herself look unattractive to her husband—well, anyway. Well, never mind.”

  “What? What is it?” If he didn’t tell her quickly, she’d burst.

  He tapped his brown fist against his lips in a neurotic rhythm as if forcing himself to speak. “I’ve made a decision,” he said finally. “I’ve taken you up on your suggestion.” He scratched behind his ear nervously. “Kat and I have separated.” He stared at her helplessly as if seeking her approval.

  “Um, well, good,” Cindy said, smiling at him reassuringly. “I think that’s the right decision.” She looked tremendously relieved.

  “Is that furnished condo you showed me still available?”

  Chapter 15

  It’d only taken two days for him to sign a month-to-month lease and move out of that claustrophobic efficiency apartment and no more than half an hour to unpack. Because the condo unit was m
anaged by a friend of Cindy’s, he was given a substantial decrease in the monthly rental rate. Cindy, who was helping him to break in his new place, had just finished clearing the dinner dishes and settled comfortably beside him on the sofa. She turned to look at him.

  Carson studied her for a moment, warmth radiating from his light brown eyes, and then he turned his attention back to the roaring fire. He was starting to grow a mustache, as if to symbolize his new life, and he seemed much more relaxed than he had when she first brought him to the condo.

  “So tell me, Cindy, why are you still single? I know I’ve asked you before, but—”

  “Then why ask me again? You sound just like my mother. You do realize that before the 1960s, I would’ve been called a spinster?”

  A smile played around the corners of his mouth. “Some spinster,” he said.

  “Right now, I’m married to my career. I’m hoping to complete the research on cognitive behavior modification soon. The grant will expire in another few months, and I have to find more federal dollars because I can’t possibly complete the study by the end of the fall season. And the school counseling grant is just about to wrap up too.” She worked her way back to his original question. “I’m still single because so much of my time and energy is expended on my research. I don’t have enough to go around. Besides, I’m still waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “Waiting for him—the man of my dreams to find me and tell me how much being his wife and the mother of his children means to him.”

  “Is that so?”

  She moved closer. “Oh, yes, Carson. Yes,” her eyes turning soft. “I want him to offer me his unconditional love.” His body had interesting proportions. Broad shoulders. Slim hips. Long, long legs. Catching herself up, she grimaced.

  Pinching his throat, Carson looked uneasy and changed the subject. “When I stopped by to pick you up from your apartment this evening, I felt really worried about you. I didn’t know you lived in a secluded area. Some nut might be hiding out there in the bushes or the trees, waiting to pounce on you.”