“Melissa! What— What are you doing here?” Her eyes beheld his beloved face before taking in the length of him, as though assuring themselves that it was he. “Melissa— Am I hallucinating?” He took a step closer.
“Adam— Adam, I...I’m standing in front of my new office.”
“My God!”
He didn’t want her there. Why had she thought he cared for her even a little? She wanted to back up, but the eerie, unsettling atmosphere and the shock of seeing him kept her rooted there. Her gaze followed the two lanterns as they neared the floor, and then she looked up at him walking to her, a determined man whose motives she didn’t need to guess.
“My administrative assistant didn’t say she’d rented this suite. Tell me why you are here.” He stood inches away, so close that she breathed his breath and smelled his heat.
“I—” He stepped closer, and her hand went to his chest. “I— Adam!” Quivers began deep inside of her when his hands grasped her shoulders, pulling her closer, and then wrapping her to him. She couldn’t wait for his mouth, but stood on tiptoe and pulled his head down until his lips reached her moist kiss. She refused to let herself remember that he’d told her goodbye. She had him with her, and she had to have what he was offering her. Her parted lips took him in, and with unashamed ardor she sipped from his tongue’s sweet nectar and fitted herself against his hard body. He thrust deeply into her mouth as though rediscovering her seductive honey, and she arched her hips into him. Her shameless demand must have threatened his control, for he eased the kiss and lightened his caress.
“I take it you’re glad to see me,” he said, a smile softening his face. He looked down, saw the two lanterns, and laughed as he reached for them. “Sweetheart, you’re so disconcerting that I forgot about the blackout. There may be some more tenants waiting for me. Come on.”
She couldn’t believe he’d said it. “Adam, you just kissed me as though we’d never get another chance, and now you’re acting as though you only patted your dog.”
The man grinned. “I don’t have a dog. Pets never appealed to me, and I don’t think of Thunder as a pet. He’s my friend.”
She gaped. “Who the devil is Thunder?”
“My stallion. Try not to be outraged, Melissa. For a moment there, I gave myself the choice of moving away from you and cooling things down or seducing you into letting me put you on the floor. You do not belong on any man’s floor, Melissa—so cut me a little slack, will you? Now tell me why you have an office in this building.”
He showed surprise at her explanation.
“I’m glad I worked late tonight. You would have been here alone if I hadn’t. We don’t have night watchmen in our buildings here, and most people don’t stay after hours, so if you plan to work after seven, notify my secretary.”
“Your secretary? Is there where you’ll be spending the next two months?” He nodded.
“Good Lord!” She didn’t want to know that instead of avoiding each other, their respective moves guaranteed that they’d be together more frequently now than ever.
* * *
The first repercussion from her having moved into the Roundtrees’ office building greeted her when she got home. News that a Grant had rented office space in the Jacob Hayes Building wouldn’t need wire service. She’d bet everybody in Frederick knew about it before dark. Rafer seemed to have been waiting to pounce.
“Now you’ve done it. You’ve really done it. You’ve moved into that building, and you’re paying them good Grant money. Haven’t they done enough to us? Don’t you have a bit of pride?” He paced the length of the foyer, turned and glared at her. “I assume you’re paying rent. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“I’m paying rent, and it’s my money, not Grant money.” She had expected his anger, but not his constant harassment. Rafer put his thumbs in the watch pocket of his vest, paced as he did when he had a judge to admire him, and told her, “I want you out of the Hayes Building tomorrow and not a day later.”
Melissa looked at him, snugly wrapped in the splendor of his self-righteousness, and knew two things: if she didn’t have her own home within two weeks, she’d go crazy; and she was going to learn not to care what her father said or thought. Her cold smile conveyed the message that the Melissa who returned home was different from the one who’d left ten years earlier.
“You’re a lawyer, Father,” she reminded him, “so I’m sure you know the penalty for breaking a lease without provocation.”
The following morning Rafer used different tactics. He arrived at her office minutes after she did and, with her office door ajar, lectured her for not being attentive to her sick mother, who Melissa suspected wasn’t sick, and demanded that she leave her office and go home.
She wouldn’t dignify it with an answer, she decided, and was about to close the door when she heard her friend Banks’s voice.
“Well, I’ll say, Mr. Grant, you’re a real sweetheart. I always ignored the things people said about you, since I figured nobody was all bad—but, honey, you make me rethink my philosophy.”
Melissa recalled having witnessed her father’s upbraiding once before. She heard Adam’s voice again and knew that as long as she was in her office, she’d have peace. But she had no doubt that she’d pay when she got home. Her father would never let her forget that, because of her, Adam Roundtree had ordered him off Hayes-Roundtree property.
* * *
She’d known he’d come. He walked through her open door at six o’clock that evening, an hour after the normal end of the workday, as if he’d expected her to be there. He closed the door.
“You’ll get more of that when you get home, won’t you?” he said without preliminaries. “Does he get violent?”
Alone with him, worn out and vulnerable after her father’s antics, she crossed her arms beneath her breast. “Yes, he’ll have his say, but he’s never been violent nor showed a tendency toward it.” Her words must have reassured him, because he became less tense.
“I hadn’t realized that your mother is sick. How is she?” A half laugh that was little more than a sigh slipped through her lips, and her shoulders flexed in a shrug as she pushed the frizzy hair away from her temple.
“I don’t think my mother’s sick. As far as I can see, she’s the same as always. She stays in her room as much as possible and doesn’t disagree with anything my father says or does. But I have noticed that when he’s away she comes out of her room more often, even goes shopping.”
“You came home because Rafer asked you to, or maybe he demanded it. But can you live in the house with him?”
She fidgeted with a rubber eraser and avoided his eyes. “I’m looking for a small house. I love the Federal town houses like the ones in North Court and Council, but I don’t believe anybody would sell me one of them.”
He inclined his head. “You’re right, but it’s a moot point, since they’re never for sale. Whoever has one is keeping it. Some of those houses have been held by the same family since the Civil War. Have dinner with me this evening.”
She sensed that he wanted to postpone the time when she’d have to deal with her father, and asked, “Why do you want us to have dinner together?”
His incredulous look brought bubbling laughter from her throat, and in her amusement she didn’t noticed the change in him. The breath escaped her in a sharp gush as he drew her into his arms. “Wha—” Her hands clutched the lapel of his jacket and then tried to pull him closer to her. His answering sigh encouraged her exploration of him, and her fingers eased first into the tight curls at the back of his head and then found their way inside his jacket, roaming over his chest and shoulders.
He broke away from her, walked to the window and turned his back to it, facing her. “Melissa, I’d thought that if we didn’t see or speak with each other for a couple of months, if we were out of touch, we’d either lose interest or discover that what we felt was more than the physical. But instead, here we are. How can you ask why I want to have d
inner with you? I want you and I want to find out whether it’s mutual.”
How could he have a doubt? Surely, he knew...
“Do you want me?” he persisted. She knew that his relaxed, casual stance as he leaned against the wall was misleading, and she sensed his vulnerability, that by asking the question he had exposed himself to an extent unnatural to him. Her pride wouldn’t let her lie, so she hesitated, searching for a way around it. He held her glance, waiting.
“Adam,” she began in a hesitant voice, “what I want or don’t want may prove irrelevant in this case.” His eyes dared her to look away, and she couldn’t doubt the importance that he attached to her answer.
“Irrelevant? That may be, but I don’t think so. I’m not asking what you plan to do about it. I just want an answer—yes or no.”
The fire in his eyes set her lips to trembling in anticipation as both fear and excitement clutched at her. If she said no, would he ignore it and attempt to seduce her? And if she said yes, when would he claim what she told him was his? She kicked at the half empty box of items that she planned to place on her desk and in its drawers.
“Well?”
“You...you know I do. Why are you forcing me to say the words? Will saying what you want to hear satisfy you?”
He walked toward her, shrouding her in his captivating aura, a male animal stalking his certain mate. “Say it, Melissa. Say the words. Tell me that you want me.”
“Yes. Yes, I want you, and you’ve had plenty proof of it. But nothing can come of it. My father is out of joint because I rented an office in your building. What do you think his reaction would be if we...if I—”
“If we became lovers?” he interrupted. “Can’t make yourself say it? Well, I don’t share your fear. Rafer is concerned about himself, his family name, another loss to the Roundtrees. Not about your virtue, I’m afraid. A man who loves his children doesn’t ridicule them in public. I’m sorry to say this, sorry if it hurts you, but it’s true. If you go on trying to please him, you won’t have a self to give. He doesn’t deserve you. I’d hoped we could have dinner together, but if you don’t want to—”
“Where would we eat?” The smile in his twinkling eyes stole her breath.
“I know just the place.”
* * *
Adam stopped the car at Rafer Grant’s front door, put the car in park, turned and looked at Melissa. She was preparing to get out quickly and leave him sitting there, as he’d known she would, and his right hand stilled her departure.
“Melissa, when have I ever left you to walk to your door unescorted? You underestimate me.”
She opened the door. “Please, Adam, not tonight. I’m not ready to do battle with him. I enjoyed dinner. Good—”
In an abrupt move, he took her gently to him. “You may refuse me permission to see you to your door, but not this—I’m taking this.” His kiss was hard and quick, but he knew he’d shaken her. He stayed there until the front door closed behind her and a figure, no doubt Rafer, approached her. He wanted to go into that house, to shield her from her father’s unkind words, from the torrent of abuse that awaited her. For the first time in his adult life, he faced what he regarded as an insurmountable barrier, but he refused to consider the one certain way around it, and he wouldn’t back away. She was in his blood.
Adam headed for Beaver Ridge, pensive and restless. He didn’t fool himself. If he had to see her every day, his desire for her would grow, not diminish. He cursed—since when had he spent so much time thinking about one woman? Bitter laughter spilled from his lips when he reminded himself that no woman had stood against him as she had. With any other one, he would have long ago plucked the bud, sated himself, and gone his way. It was the reason that sophisticated women had suited him. This one was different, very different. She would want it all, and he wasn’t ready to spring for that.
He realized that he hadn’t driven home, that Bill Henry’s house was at the next turn. He parked, remembered with considerable relief that it wasn’t necessary to lock the car, and started up the modest walkway.
“Well, what brings you here tonight, Adam?” His uncle’s voice came from a corner of the shadowy front porch, hidden from the light of the moon. “Come on up. Mosquitoes are hiding ever since I lit one of those lemony candles that Winterflower insists on sending me. ’Course, you didn’t come here this time of night to discuss mosquitoes. I was in town this evening—heard an awful lot of whispering about you. What’s her name?”
He regarded his uncle with affection. A tall, powerfully built and energetic man with smooth dark skin and a pencil thin mustache, he had been Adam’s childhood idol. B-H had had time to listen to his dreams for the future while his father strove to preserve the family legacy. He’d never wanted to be like his uncle though, because Bill Henry didn’t care about money or building empires; he was a seeker of contentment.
“What’s her name?” B-H asked again, and Adam noted that as usual he didn’t mince words, nor was he reluctant to get personal.
“Her name is Melissa Grant, and she’s head of the search firm that located my newest Leather and Hides employee for me, the one I probably ought to suspect.”
B-H nodded. “I see. And you think she might be in cahoots with this fellow—”
“The fellow we’re speaking about is my manager of Leather and Hides,” Adam cut in. His uncle released a long, sharp whistle.
“So you think she wants to sink the business? I know you’ll handle that one way or another, so that’s not all that’s bothering you.” When Adam didn’t respond, B-H allowed a considerable amount of time to elapse, before he asked, “Are you talking about Emily Morris’s daughter?”
Adam swung around. “Yeah. Why?”
B-H stood and walked toward the front door, signaling the end of their conversation. “Just watch your step. There hasn’t been a real blitzkrieg around here in over thirty years, and it looks like we’re in for one. Stop by again soon.”
* * *
Meals in the Roundtree home had always been a time of family bonding, and Adam raced down the winding stairs knowing he’d find his mother and brother waiting at the breakfast table. It was one of the reasons why he didn’t eat breakfast in New York. He couldn’t get accustomed to being alone at a breakfast table. Mary Roundtree didn’t spoil her sons, but she gave them as much mothering as they would tolerate. In Adam’s case that wasn’t much.
“It’s so good to have you home, Adam. Sit down, and I’ll get your breakfast.” He was about to tell her that he’d get it, when he remembered the tradition that she dictated what the family ate for breakfast. She couldn’t prevent their eating junk for lunch, she told them, but she could put a good, healthful breakfast in them. Adam had noticed Wayne’s unusual silence, but he waited until their mother left the room before inquiring about it.
“What’s on your mind, Wayne?” The brothers occasionally went fishing or played tennis on Saturday mornings when both were at home, a carryover from their boyhood days. “It’s too hot for tennis. How about spending some time with me at the office?”
“I’d rather we went over to Leather and Hides. Last night while you were out, Nelson called to report another vat of improperly tanned calf skins. He was so outraged that I’ve begun to wonder if he’s involved in this.”
They discovered nothing at the factory that Calvin hadn’t reported. Adam was more certain than ever that he was dealing with sabotage, because someone had brought formaldehyde from a locked cabinet in the basement up to the third floor and added it to the chrome tanning when zirconium salts should have been applied.
“What’s the damage?”
“We’ll have to find a buyer for this glove leather,” Adam told Wayne, “and we won’t be able to fill our orders for first-quality shoe leather. Whoever’s doing this is trying to destroy the family’s reputation along with the business. Somebody on our payroll is at the bottom of this.” As if he didn’t have enough to think about: he had to know whether Melissa had a role in
it, whether she’d selected someone whom she could depend on to wreck the business. He didn’t want to believe her capable of it, but the possibility existed, and his desire for her wasn’t going to overrule his common sense. “I’m going to the office to think about all this. I’ll let you know what I decide.”
* * *
Adam closed his office door, locked it, and stretched out on his luxurious leather sofa. He’d come to appreciate the solitude that living alone afforded, and he could only be assured of that total separation from others on Saturdays or Sundays in his office. Sunday was out—small town people went to church on Sundays, and if you had any standing in the African American communities of Frederick and Beaver Ridge, you’d better be there. To go to one’s office was to risk being labeled an infidel, and the brothers and sisters did not associate with nonbelievers.
He turned over on his stomach and remembered that he hadn’t eaten lunch, but food wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Melissa. He had to see her, but where could they be together without the wrath of their families or the speculations of gossip mongers? He couldn’t go to her house, and she wouldn’t be welcome in his, and if they went to a public place, the news would float back to their families within the hour. Did he dare even to telephone her? He sat up. For himself, he feared nothing, but he didn’t want to trigger her father’s mean behavior. He paced the floor, but with each step his desire to see her, to be with her, intensified. She’d said that her father was never violent. He dialed her number.
To his chagrin, Rafer answered. “This is Adam Roundtree. I’d like to speak with Melissa, please.” He hadn’t hesitated to identify himself, because surreptitious behavior wasn’t his style.
“What do you want? Isn’t it enough that your family stole her birthright? Now you’re after her! I won’t allow it.”
He listened to the man’s discourteous remarks with as much patience as he could muster. “If you won’t allow me to speak with Melissa, please tell her that I—” He broke off when he heard Melissa’s voice.
Against All Odds (Arabesque) Page 9