A moment of quiet bloomed full and thick between them. Neema stared, her eyes locked on his face as she studied the emotion that painted his expression. His brow was creased and there was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. His mustache and the faintest hint of a beard had been meticulously edged. She suddenly wanted to reach out and trail her fingers along the line of his profile.
Their server saved her from embarrassing herself.
“Enjoy your dessert,” the young man named Todd said as he presented them with two plates that were visually spectacular.
The reputation of the restaurant’s pastry chef and co-owner, Genie Kwon, had preceded her, every review written worshipping her confections. The night’s dessert was an edible, crispy-wafer cylinder filled with a creamy sauce of white chocolate, milk chocolate and hazelnut, with caramelized banana chips and hits of lemon sauce and caramelized goat yogurt. The rich, decadent mixture melted against their tongues.
* * *
Neema heard herself moan. “This is divine!” she said, her voice a loud whisper. She leaned in close to him, the gesture feeling slightly conspiratorial.
Davis nodded in agreement, licking the last drop of chocolate from his spoon. “I think this dessert is officially my favorite course of the whole meal.”
Neema held up her hand and gave him a high five. “I know it’s mine,” she responded.
Another hour passed as the two continued chatting. Neema discovered that Davis was far more conservative than she’d initially imagined. He believed in the concept of traditional roles for men and women, and he felt that chivalry was on a serious decline. He was very much a mama’s boy, but in a good way. He held his parents in high regard and it was important to him that his actions always make them proud. He told her stories about his siblings, and it was clear they all shared a tightly knit bond. Being an only child, Neema was slightly jealous and said so.
“I wanted brothers and sisters. I used to pretend that my parents adopted all my dolls and they were my family. Then I’d boss them around.”
Davis laughed. “Your parents didn’t want more children?”
“My mother couldn’t have any more. She developed preeclampsia with me, and the pregnancy was deemed high-risk. My father says he almost lost both of us and he would never put my mother through that again.”
For a moment, Davis thought about his mother and the son she’d kept hidden. He considered telling Neema but didn’t, despite the level of comfort he was feeling with her. Because he was comfortable, and he liked that he wanted to be open and transparent with her. To build a foundation of honesty and trust as they navigated the newness of their relationship. But that bit of family business wasn’t public, and it would have breached his mother’s privacy. Although he would have welcomed the opportunity to express what he was feeling, this was neither the time nor the place. He said instead, “My brothers are my best friends.”
“And your sisters?”
“Bossy and Nosey are like two additional parents!”
Neema grinned. She suddenly looked around the room, realizing that they were the last two customers. Staff was clearing away the other tables and readying the space for the next day. “What time is it?” she questioned, her eyes wide as she reached for her cell phone.”
Davis looked down at his own watch. “It’s late. I hope I haven’t kept you past your curfew?”
“Aren’t you funny,” Neema said, shooting him a smirk. “But I really do need to be going.”
Davis waved his credit card in the air, gesturing for their server’s attention. “I had a great time tonight. I meant it when I asked about dinner again.”
Neema sat back in her seat, her hands clasped together in her lap. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
“Tomorrow then?”
She laughed heartily. “I have to work tomorrow.”
“What are you doing Friday evening? Would you be interested in going to an art show with me?”
“An art show?”
Davis nodded. “I have an old friend who has a show opening at the Taylor Gallery downtown. I was planning to go to show her my support. I’d love for you to go with me.”
“An old friend?” Neema quizzed, silently noting that he wanted to show “her” some support. “Is this an old girlfriend?”
“More like a sister,” Davis said with a soft chuckle.
She nodded, her expression smug as they stared at each other. A moment later, Neema said, “I look forward to meeting your friend.”
Davis grinned. “Then it’s a date!”
CHAPTER 5
Neema waved goodbye as Davis pulled his car from in front of her home and back onto the roadway. She had less than an hour to change her clothes and report to the office for her late-night shift. She’d already texted Tiger to let him know she was going to be late and she knew if she just headed to work in the dress she was wearing, he’d have questions she wasn’t interested in answering.
As the car’s taillights disappeared around the corner, she pushed open the front door and hurried inside. Bounding swiftly up the two flights of stairs, she was grateful her parents were still at the restaurant and not home to put her through an inquisition about her night out.
After kicking off her shoes, she pulled the dress up and over her head, dropping it to the floor. She snatched a pair of denim jeans and a knit tunic from a laundry basket of clean clothes and quickly dressed. Less than fifteen minutes after Davis had dropped her home, Neema was out the door again, headed to work.
Thinking about her evening had Neema knee-deep in her emotions. She was feeling out of sorts and trying to understand why was proving to be a challenge. She’d had a really great time. So much so, she completely forgot why she had agreed to the date in the first place. Hoping to get dirt on the man had taken a back seat to getting to know him. And in getting to know him, Neema had discovered that the more she learned, the more she wanted to know. Because she liked Davis Black. She liked him a lot. And liking Davis hadn’t been in her plans.
She huffed softly to herself as she turned onto East Illinois Street toward North Michigan Avenue. She was only a few short minutes from work and all she could think about was the time she and Davis had shared. And how she’d wished they could have spent more time together. She’d had fun and it had been a long while since she’d had fun with any man. Ages since she’d allowed herself to relax and just enjoy the moment with a date.
Dating had never been a priority for Neema, despite her mother’s efforts to pair her up with the sons of all her friends. Had her parents been able, they would have arranged a union for her years ago. But Neema had balked at the idea, having been less than enthusiastic about putting marriage and children before her career. She’d had plans that hadn’t involved a partner and nothing her parents said or did had changed her mind.
Her last date had been with the son of her mother’s hairstylist. An emergency room physician, he’d been nice, but annoying. His idea of an ideal relationship was a barefoot and pregnant spouse who had no ambition that didn’t revolve around him and his needs. He couldn’t understand why Neema would have wanted more. An hour into the meal, she’d been ready to leave. Once she was out the door, she’d vowed to never do that to herself ever again.
Davis had been attentive, and funny, and she imagined that if she’d been wholeheartedly honest with him, he would have been encouraging. Everything about him said that he would be supportive of her dreams and ambitions. When he had talked about his mother and his sisters, he had been proud of their accomplishments and respected that they wanted more for themselves. He considered that a favorable attribute for a woman to have, believing she could have it all if she wanted. But she hadn’t been honest. She’d been evasive and omissive, purposely allowing him to believe that her future was in her parent’s restaurant. That her dream was to carry on the family business. That she had
no other aspirations, which was far from the truth.
As she pulled into an empty parking space and shifted her car into Park, Neema couldn’t help but wonder what Davis would think of her if he were ever to learn the truth. How much would Davis Black hate her? Because in that moment, with all of it spinning like a storm wind in her head, Neema didn’t like herself much at all.
* * *
Davis wanted to call Neema but tossed his phone to the other end of the sofa. He was feeling out of sorts, like a teenager with his first crush. Wanting to call Neema had him anxious and excited like it was Christmas Eve and Santa had promised him the best present. He chuckled softly as he reached for the device, deciding instead to send a quick text message to thank her for a wonderful evening.
There was no denying their attraction. Had anyone been paying close attention, they would have noticed that there was something decadent growing sweetly between him and her. Something that seemed to just rise out of nowhere to take control of their good senses and render them both foolish. Davis imagined he would claim that it was nothing at all and she would simply ignore any questions and comments about the two of them. But neither could ever honestly deny that their nothing was actually something, and it was bigger than either would ever be able to find the words for. It would mean admitting that their something left them tongue-tied and silly, imagining all kinds of what-ifs and maybes.
Davis held the phone in the palm of his hand for a good ten minutes, hoping for a quick response. When none came, he tossed the device back against the cushions. He imagined Neema was probably fast asleep. Then he felt bad that he may have disturbed her rest.
“What is wrong with me, Titus?” he said, talking to the large Rottweiler who lay sleeping at his feet. The dog lifted his head for a split second then lay back down, ignoring him. Davis sighed, a loud gust of breath blowing past his lips. He reached to scratch behind the dog’s ears. Titus snuggled his muzzle against the palm of Davis’s hand.
“She’s pretty special, Titus,” he said, talking out loud. “I can’t wait for you two to meet each other. You’re usually a pretty good judge of character, so I trust you’ll let me know what you think about her.”
The dog grunted. Or maybe passed gas. Davis wasn’t quite sure which, nor was he interested in knowing. “A lot of help you are,” he muttered as he gave the animal one last scratch as he stepped over him and headed for the bedroom.
Leaving a trail of clothes from the bedroom door into the master bathroom, he turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm before stepping inside. He kept playing the entire evening over in his head, trying to recall each gesture and every comment. It had been a good time. A really good time, although he sensed that she had been slightly reserved. He wasn’t sure what to attribute that to because he sensed she had enjoyed herself as much as he had. At least, that was what he hoped.
Ending the evening and taking Neema home had been disheartening. He hadn’t wanted to say good-night. He’d enjoyed talking with her. She had a keen sense of humor and a flirtatious spirit. She’d made him laugh and he’d found their conversations engaging. He’d been comfortable with her. So much so that he’d let his guard down, telling her things about himself that he would not have necessarily shared with just anyone.
Davis pressed his palms against the tiled wall and leaned into the spray of hot water. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head beneath the flow, allowing it to rain down the length of his body. He let himself fall into a moment of reverie, allowing his mind to clear.
Minutes later, he slathered his body with vanilla-scented soap suds. The aroma was clean and fresh, elevating his mood even more. As he wiped a loofah sponge across his skin, he thought about his next steps, considering where he and Neema might go for dinner after the gallery showing. Thinking about when he should call her next. And he thought of introducing her to his family, but promptly tabled that idea. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, yet somehow it felt right to consider the possibilities. Because Neema Kamau had gotten under his skin, like an itch that was bone-deep and had his full attention.
The sound of glass breaking and the dog barking startled him. Cutting off the shower, Davis paused for a quick minute to listen. Titus was barking and growling, sensing a danger that Davis couldn’t yet see. He grabbed a large white towel and wrapped it around his waist. Stepping into the bedroom, he moved to the nightstand and pulled a 9-millimeter pistol from the drawer. He did a quick check to make sure a round of ammunition was chambered.
He peered out the bedroom door, down the length of hallway toward the living room. Titus looked like a small bear, the hairs of his thick coat bristling around his large neck. He stood imposingly, his hind legs stacked back, his broad chest pushed forward, as if prepared to pounce. When he spied Davis, he barked again, the deep tone vibrating through the room. Davis eased in beside the dog, noting the broken glass littering the hardwood floor. Someone, or something, had shattered the sidelight of his front door.
Davis snatched the door open, the dog and he both moving through the entrance into the front yard. His weapon was raised as he checked left and then right. The street was quiet, nothing out of the ordinary catching his attention. Across the way, his neighbor’s lights were on and he could see the elderly couple through their front window, the two watching television. He took a bracing inhale of the late-night air, holding it deep in his lungs before releasing it in a slow breath. Titus stood close to his side, panting softly. Giving him a gentle pat, Davis took one last look up and down the street before commanding him back inside the home.
Closing and locking the door, Davis surveyed the mess. He couldn’t begin to know who would have purposely vandalized his house. Turning from the foyer, he moved into the living room, trying to ascertain what had happened. And that’s when he saw the bullet hole; a dead-center piercing of the painting hanging on the wall beside his fireplace.
* * *
“There were two shots fired,” the police forensic specialist reported to Detective Armstrong Black. “They entered from the outside through the sidelight. One lodged in the painting and the other lodged in the wall beside the painting’s frame.”
“Mom gifted me that painting,” Davis snapped. He stood with his arms folded, his annoyance clearly evident. “Now there’s a canyon-size hole in the middle of it.”
“You’re lucky there’s no hole in you,” Mingus snapped back.
Davis had called the police, his brothers showing up on his doorstep with a quickness that would have surprised others. Armstrong had immediately taken up the investigation, barking out orders to the officers reporting to him. Mingus and Ellington had arrived in the same car, both hovering over Davis as if he’d been shot. When their father arrived, Davis knew that, despite his assertions that he was okay, there would be no dismissal of the seriousness of the situation.
“What do we have?” Superintendent Black asked, looking from one to the other.
“Two shots fired,” Armstrong answered. “It appears to have been a drive-by. We’re pulling all the camera footage in the area now to see if we can find anything.”
“Did your doorbell camera catch anything?” Jerome asked, shooting his youngest son a look.
“I haven’t had a chance to install it,” Davis said, suddenly feeling like he was headed into an interrogation. “It’s still in the box.”
“Your mother and I didn’t give it to you to keep in the box.” His father’s gaze narrowed. “So, who’d you piss off this week?”
Davis shrugged. “I don’t have a clue who would do something like this.”
“Mingus said you had a date tonight. What do you know about this woman? She doesn’t have a scorned boyfriend or lover who might have it in for you, does she?”
“No,” Davis said. He cut his eye toward Mingus, his brother avoiding his stare. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“You don’t
know that,” Armstrong interjected.
“Yes, I do,” Davis retorted, his curt tone moving them all to stare at him.
Mingus chuckled. “It’s like that, huh?”
“Shut up, Mingus!” Davis snapped.
The brothers all shot each other a look. An awkward silence rippled around the room. Jerome threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but we don’t need you boys at each other’s throats right now. Mingus, see what they’re saying in the streets. If someone’s put a hit out on your brother, I want to know about it yesterday.”
Mingus nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m on it.”
“Where’s Parker?”
“Stomach flu,” Armstrong answered. “I’m keeping him in the loop.”
“I expect you to run point then. Pull whoever you need to help you. And let’s keep the lid on this. I don’t want the media running with some story that may ruffle someone’s feathers and put your brother in greater harm.”
“Is all this necessary?” Davis asked. His father shot him a look that made him take a step back, his lips pursed tightly together as he fell silent.
“You must have a death wish,” Ellington muttered under his breath.
The brothers all chuckled as Davis eyeballed the ceiling.
Jerome shook his head. “You just keep your head down and try to stay out of trouble, please,” he said, reaching to pull his son into a tight hug and tapping him on his back. The relief that flooded the patriarch’s body was corporeal, feeling as if it slapped the wind from Davis’s lungs.
“And let’s try to figure out who did this before we tell your mother. I don’t need her worrying.”
“Yes, sir,” the brothers all echoed in unison.
* * *
Tiger shoved the last bite of a donut into his mouth. He was following a thread of messages on his cell phone when he jumped with excitement.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021 Page 77