He tapped the flash button. “Melody, thanks for getting back to me. I’m going to make this quick, because I know you don’t like to talk shop when you’re not working.” He’d called the A.D.A. at her office, but had been told Melody Harvey was away from her desk and would return his call. It had taken her more than twenty-four hours to get back to him.
“No problem, Jordan. What’s up?” It took him less than ten minutes to give the prosecutor the details about Aziza’s harassment case. “If Bonner tossed it out before, what makes you think he won’t do again?”
“She has what translates into a rape kit.” Jordan told Melody about the condom.
A beat passed before she said, “She’s got him, Jordan. If you’re representing her, then you can guide her through the process. The tapes are inadmissible, but the content of the condom isn’t. I’d love to handle this case, but I just discovered that I’m pregnant again, so I’m planning to leave in a couple of weeks to work part-time for Jeffrey. I told him that he can fire me as an employee, but he can’t fire me as his wife and the mother of his children.”
Jordan laughed softly. He and Melody were law school classmates. “Congratulations on the new baby. Jeffrey is a lucky man to have you as a law partner, wife and the mother of his children. When it comes to this case, I’ve made a decision not to revisit the same well,” he said cryptically. “Ms. Fleming lives in Bronxville, so I’m going to have the Westchester County’s D.A.’s office handle the case.”
“Good move, Jordan. I hope you string the bastard up by his cojones.”
“I’ll take a felony conviction and the revocation of his license for starters. Thanks again, Melody. I’ll keep you updated.”
He’d replaced the receiver in the cradle when Aziza walked into the bedroom. She was stunning in a black pencil skirt, matching hip-length jacket with a shawl collar and white tailored blouse. Sheer black stockings and a pair of black-and-gray variegated snakeskin stilettos pulled her elegant look together. She’d brushed her hair off her face into a loose chignon. Expertly applied makeup accentuated her best features: her eyes and mouth.
Walking across the room, he closed the distance between them, cradling her face. “You look absolutely beautiful.” Diamond hoops had replaced the pearl studs.
Aziza lowered her lids and smiled up at him. She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d asked Jordan Wainwright to make love to her, but it wasn’t the warmth, ecstasy and fulfillment that had lingered for hours. She’d consciously not compared Jordan’s lovemaking to Lamar’s because there had been a time when she was so inexorably in love with her ex-husband that making love with him had been an extension of her deep affection.
Aziza wasn’t in love with Jordan, but there was something special about him and between them. To say the sex was good was an understatement. She’d thought she would’ve held back, unable to rid herself of the hang-ups she’d held on to because the man with whom she’d pledged her future had disappointed her and the man who’d offered to shepherd her professional career had shown her another side of his personality—deviance.
“Thank you. I hope what I’m wearing isn’t too casual.”
Attractive lines fanned out around Jordan’s incredibly luminous eyes when he smiled. “You’re perfect.”
“And you’re biased.”
“You’ve got that right,” he crooned, kissing the end of her nose.
Jordan wanted to tell Aziza what he’d gleaned from his conversation with Melody but decided to wait, not wanting to spoil the mood that had begun when he woke with Aziza huddled close to his length. He’d watched her sleep, wondering if she was dreaming, what she had dreamt about. When she finally did wake, she’d given him a shy smile, slipped out of bed to the bathroom, then returned and lay in his embrace until nature had forced him to seek out the bathroom.
They’d lingered in bed, making slow, passionate love, and when it had ended he’d known their relationship had changed. He’d held her, waiting for her respiration to return to normal, and they’d gone back to sleep. When they’d finally left the bed, the sun was high in the sky.
Aziza stepped around Jordan, picking his suit jacket off the bench at the foot of the bed while he fastened the cuff links in the French cuffs. Doubling as his valet, she held it as he pushed his arms into the sleeves of the dark blue garment.
“Turn around, Jordan, and let me check your tie.”
He complied and stared at Aziza while she straightened the navy-blue silk tie with minute white squares. Was this what she’d done with her husband before they’d gone out? Helped him into his suit jacket? Adjusted his tie?
I’m not going to ask you to make love to me because it would mean I’m using you to assuage a need I’ve denied for longer than I can remember. Was she, Jordan mused, using him? Had he becoming a willing replacement for her husband—a man she’d loved but couldn’t trust to protect her from a sexual predator? He wanted to tell himself that he was thinking too much, overanalyzing a new relationship when he should be enjoying it.
He forced a smile he didn’t feel. “Are you ready?”
“I just have to get my coat and handbag.”
Looping an arm around her waist, Jordan led Aziza out of the bedroom to the hallway where she’d left her coat and bag on the chair near a side table. He returned the favor when he held her coat. Hand-in-hand, they descended the staircase, he leading her to the front door and out into the lobby.
The doorman came to attention with their approach. Aziza averted her gaze from the man in the dark gray greatcoat and cap. He was staring at her as if she had a zit in the middle of her forehead.
“Good evening, Mr. Wainwright.”
Jordan nodded in acknowledgment. “Good evening, Hector.”
“Shall I call a taxi for you and your lady?”
“No, thank you. I’ve called for a car.”
Hector clasped his gloved hands together. “It’s best you wait inside where it’s warm. It’s very cold tonight.” A sweep of headlights lit the sidewalk under the building canopy. “I think your car is here,” he said, opening the door as a sleek black Lincoln, with its engine running, parked in front of the building.
Sergio was standing on the sidewalk with the rear door open when Jordan and Aziza left the building’s warmth. Aziza got in, sliding over on the leather seat to make room for Jordan. She sank into his embrace when the door closed with a solid slam.
“It is frigid,” she whispered. She and Jordan hadn’t left the duplex in three days.
Jordan pressed a kiss to her temple. “I don’t mind the cold. It’s the snow that bothers me.”
“You don’t ski?”
“No. I don’t like cold weather sports.” He closed the partition and then anchored her legs over his thighs. “Do you want Sergio to turn up the heat?”
“You’re all the heat I need,” she whispered. “What are you doing?” Jordan’s hand had found it way between her thighs.
Throwing back his head, Jordan laughed, the warm, rich sound filling the interior of the vehicle. “I’m trying to keep another part of you warm.” He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“That’s never cold.”
He laughed again. “I can attest to that.”
Less than ten minutes after they’d gotten into the car, the ride ended in front of a brownstone in Harlem’s Mount Morris Park Historic District. Lights blazed from windows in the four-story building. Aziza barely had time to feel the cold when Jordan, holding her to his length to share his body heat, led her up the stairs to the entrance of the century-old structure. The solid oak door with lead-paned glass opened within minutes of the soft chiming of the bell to the first-floor apartment.
A tall, solidly built dark-skinned man with a widow’s peak, wearing a black pullover and slacks, flashed a warm smile. “Welcome, folks. Come on in out of the cold.”
Welcoming heat wrapped around them like a comforting blanket when Aziza and Jordan stepped into the spacious vestibule. A mahogany staircase with ca
rved newel posts led to the upper floors. An antique credenza table held a Tiffany-style table lamp, and a leather chair with decorative walnut trim complemented the furnishings in the space.
Jordan exchanged a handshake with psychotherapist Dr. Ivan Campbell before they pulled each other close in a strong embrace. “Thanks, Doc.” Easing back and extending his hand, he drew Aziza to his side. “Zee, this is our host, Ivan Campbell. Ivan, Aziza Fleming.”
Ivan stared at the woman with Jordan, his eyes widening in appreciation. She was the perfect counterpart to the always well-dressed attorney who’d become his best friend’s law partner. She was stunning!
He offered his hand, smiling when she placed her groomed one in his. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you.”
Aziza’s head was level with Ivan’s. Four-inch heels had put her over the six-foot mark. “Thank you.”
Ivan shared a surreptitious wink with Jordan. “Come on in and join the others. We’re serving cocktails before dinner. Jordan, you probably know everyone here, so I’ll leave you to introduce your lady.”
Aziza gave Jordan a sidelong glance, wondering if he was going to abstain. He’d told her about his first attempt to sample alcohol at fourteen. He’d admitted it had taken another ten years before he drank again and always in moderation.
She exhaled an inaudible sigh when she realized she wasn’t over or underdressed for the gathering. Most of the women had chosen the de rigueur little black dress or slacks with dressy tops and the men suits with shirts and ties. The ubiquitous New York City black was in full effect.
A young man dressed in black with a white waistcoat bowed slightly. “May I take your coat, miss?”
Jordan helped Aziza out of her coat, handing it to the man assigned to coat check. She leaned close to him. “Do you know everyone here?”
His eyes scanned the small crowd standing and sitting in the expansive entryway in front of roaring fire in a minimalist-designed fireplace. A bartender had set up a portable bar between the entryway and the formal living room. He’d met most of the Campbells’ guests over the summer when they’d gotten together either at Ivan’s or Kyle’s house for outdoor cookouts.
Jordan had been as shocked as Kyle and Duncan when Ivan had announced that he was getting married. The older of the trio by several months, Ivan had the reputation of “love them and leave them,” but when he’d met and fallen in love with the exceptionally talented photographer Nayo Goddard, he hadn’t hesitated to give up his carefree social lifestyle to settle down with her.
“Practically everyone,” he said in her ear. “Can I get you something from the bar?”
“I’ll have club soda with a twist.”
Jordan pressed his mouth to her hair. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything stronger?”
“No, darling,” she drawled, smiling up at him.
“Damn, partner. You and your lady need to get a room.”
Jordan turned to find his law partner standing a few feet away. “Mind your neck,” he quipped, touching fists with Kyle Chatham. Placing an arm around Aziza’s waist, he pulled her close. “Aziza, this Kyle Chatham, partner, mentor and soon-to-be ex-bachelor. Chat, this is Aziza Fleming.”
Aziza extended her hand and was rewarded with a light kiss on her fingers. So, this is the dynamic Kyle Chatham, she mused. Jordan’s law partner was tall, very dark and strikingly handsome. His cropped hair was salt-and-pepper, but it was his slanting gold-brown eyes that drew her rapt attention. The woman who’d managed to get Kyle to commit was more than lucky. She was blessed.
Kyle stared at the tall woman beside Jordan, silently congratulating his partner on having exquisite taste in women. He’d observed Jordan with women over the years they’d come to know each other, but none had surpassed Aziza Fleming. He knew he was staring at her, but so were the other men in the room.
“It’s truly a pleasure to meet you,” he said, smiling.
Aziza returned his smile. “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.”
Kyle released her hand. “Thank you. Are you coming with Jordan?”
Knowing Kyle had put her on the spot, Aziza narrowed her eyes at Jordan, wondering what he’d told his friend about her. She’d stopped the practice of inputting her appointments in her cell phone once she’d set up the home office. Now that she’d committed to dating Jordan, she would have to go back to it.
“Yes.” She was certain she didn’t have any court appearances in February, so that meant whatever she’d scheduled for the Valentine’s Day weekend could be rescheduled.
“Hey, Jordan,” crooned a sultry voice. A petite woman wearing a white tailored blouse, black pencil skirt and a pair of Louboutin black patent leather pumps wended her way through those standing around drinking and nibbling on hors d’oeuvres set out on low tables.
Smiling, Jordan reached out and scooped Nayo Goddard-Campbell off her feet. He planted a noisy kiss on her cheek. There was something about the photographer’s face that reminded him of the prototype for a black Barbie doll.
“Happy New Year, Nayo.”
Nayo hugged him. “Thank you. Happy New Year to you, too. And thank you for the case of champagne.”
Jordan set her on her feet. “Enjoy.” Whenever he was invited to a soiree he usually ordered a case of champagne or their favorite wine and had it delivered to the host or hostess’s residence.
The sparkle of the diamonds in Nayo’s ears competed with the ones in the eternity band on her left hand. “Did you bring a date because I’ve arranged seating by couples?”
Aziza bit back a smile. Jordan’s friends asking him if he’d come with a date spoke volumes. They were aware that he wasn’t currently involved with a woman. And given his looks, money and social standing he could have a harem of women at his disposal. It was apparent he was just as discriminating about whom he dated as he was in his choice of attire.
“Nayo, this is Aziza Fleming. Zee, Nayo Campbell, our gracious hostess for the evening.”
Nayo peered at the tall, beautiful woman with Jordan Wainwright, wondering where she’d seen her before. “I know you.”
“I don’t think we’ve ever met,” Aziza countered.
“Why then do you look so familiar?” Folding her hands at her tiny waist, Nayo closed her eyes for several seconds. “I know,” she said excitedly. “Are you related to Al Fleming?”
Conversation ceased and all eyes were directed at Aziza. “Uh. Yes. He’s my brother,” she admitted reluctantly in a quiet voice.
Nayo applauded. “I knew it. I took a photograph of Al when I had an assignment to photograph as many sports figures I could find in a month. You and your brother were coming out of a restaurant on Third Avenue when I was waiting on the corner to catch a bus. I think he’d just come over from the Bears to play with the Giants. Unfortunately, the shot wasn’t that good, so I couldn’t use it.”
“You have a very good memory,” Aziza said.
“My memory is only as good as the images I’m able to capture on film. When you speak to your brother again, tell him I would like to take an updated photograph of him.” She frowned at Jordan. “And don’t stand there looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, Jordan Wainwright.”
He spread out his hands. “What did I do?”
“Why did I have to find out secondhand that the Viking is your cousin?”
“I didn’t know you followed football.”
“What about football, doll face?” Ivan had come over to join the conversation.
“Don’t you dare doll face me, Ivan,” Nayo said between clenched teeth. “You know I’m still pissed off about you, Kyle, Duncan and Jordan going to the Super Bowl without even bothering to ask your women whether we wanted to come along.”
Aziza stared at Jordan. “You’re going to the Super Bowl?”
A flush darkened his face. “Well…um…you know—”
Nayo waved a hand in front Jordan’s face. “Save it, counselor. It appears as if your girlfriend is as much in the dark as t
he rest of us.” She reached for Aziza’s hand. “Come with me, girlfriend. We need you to help us plan strategy.”
Jordan exchanged a confused look with Ivan. “What the hell was that all about?”
Ivan shook his head. “Man, you don’t want to know.”
“But I do want to know. What’s wrong with us going to a ballgame?”
“When DG told Tamara he was going, she got on the phone with Ava, who in turn called Nayo.” Ivan ran a hand over his face. “I don’t understand women, Jordan. We get together for a game every Sunday, and they walk around with major attitudes. I tried to tell Nayo that it is the shortest season for any sport, yet they mumble, grumble and push out their lips like spouts on a jug.”
“Have you invited them to watch the games with you?” Jordan asked.
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“They don’t want to watch it with us. Yet they bitch and moan about not going to the Super Bowl.”
Resting an arm on Ivan’s shoulder, Jordan shook his head. “It’s not about the game, but the parties and the hype. I’m willing to bet if you took your wife with you, she’d end up on Rodeo Drive shopping her brains out.”
Ivan blinked. “You think?”
Jordan nodded. “I know.”
“Talk to me, Wainwright.”
“I took a girl to Arizona for Super Bowl XLII and she spent the entire trip hanging out at a spa in the desert. I didn’t see her again until it was time to fly back to New York.”
“Damn, man. That’s wrong.”
“Tell me about it. That was the last time I invited any woman to go along with me to a sporting event.”
“What about Aziza? Is she into football?”
“Not really,” Jordan confirmed. “She’ll only watch when her brother is playing.”
Ivan blew out a breath. “I suppose that lets you off the hook.”
Kyle joined them, handing Jordan a glass with tomato juice, lime wedge and celery stalk. “There’s no vodka in it.”
Because of You Page 16