“I wish you’d told me that before,” Deniece had said petulantly. “You know I would have chosen you over my job in a heartbeat! You know how much you’ve always meant to me, Warrick.”
When he’d said nothing, she’d continued imploringly, “Please don’t be mad at me, baby. I was only trying to help. And it worked! You won’t believe how many phone calls and e-mails I’ve already received from readers who are excited about your company relocating its headquarters to Houston. I’ve heard from several people who plan to apply for a job at Mayne Industries as soon as the new office complex is open for business. I’ve even heard from mothers who hope their sons and daughters will get internships with you. Everyone is so excited, baby.”
“And what about your managing editor?” Warrick had drawled sarcastically. “How excited is he that you got the scoop and broke the story before your competitors?”
Deniece had said nothing.
“That’s what I thought.” His tone had hardened. “Don’t use me to advance your career or to settle personal vendettas, Niecy. Trust me, you don’t want to play that game with me.”
“I was only trying to help,” Deniece had said in a small voice, sounding thoroughly chastened. “I thought this was what you’d want. I heard that Raina is playing hardball about selling her property. Based on the way people are already responding to my article, she won’t be able to hold out much longer.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about Raina?” Warrick had suggested, in a milder tone than before. “Believe me, when it comes to competitors playing hardball, I’ve encountered a lot worse than Raina St. James.”
“I know you can handle her. You wouldn’t be where you are if you couldn’t handle difficult people. Anyway, enough about Little Miss Thang. We’ve wasted more than enough time talking about her. What’re you doing tonight, baby?”
“Hanging out with Xavier and Zeke.”
“Oh.” Deniece had sounded disappointed. “I was hoping we could get together this evening. I was going to make you dinner, then let you have me for dessert.” She had laughed, low and sultry.
Warrick had felt a pang of guilt, remembering what his uncle had told him yesterday about Deniece’s parents blaming Warrick for their daughter not being married. Don’t start something you can’t finish, Randall had warned.
When Warrick hadn’t respond to her provocative invitation, Deniece had heaved a pouty sigh. “All right. I suppose I can give you a rain check so you can hang out with the fellas tonight. But while you’re out partying on the town and meeting all kinds of women—’cause I know that’s what you boys do—let me just leave you with some food for thought. I bought a new negligee yesterday, and just to give you an idea of how skimpy it is, I nearly threw it away with the receipt because I almost didn’t see it. Oh, and did I mention it’s edible?”
Warrick couldn’t help chuckling softly. “I’m sure that thought will cross my mind once or twice while I’m out tonight.”
“Well, if you change your mind about dinner,” Deniece had purred seductively, “me—and the negligee—will be waiting.”
Warrick had hung up the phone smiling. But his good humor hadn’t lasted, and by the time he’d reached his temporary office downtown, his thoughts were once again dominated by Raina. He had sat through an hour-long videoconference with a team of his engineers, who’d eagerly updated him on the status of the vaporization project he’d commissioned. Warrick had jotted down notes, nodded at the appropriate intervals and asked all the right questions, but afterward he could hardly remember a word that had been said.
Thanks to Deniece’s article, he’d been besieged with interview requests from reporters at various newspapers and television stations. Warrick had returned some of the phone calls, then handed off the rest to his media relations director and tried to catch up on some paperwork. But when he found himself unable to concentrate, he’d finally given up and told his secretary he was leaving early. Mabel had raised a surprised brow and asked him if he was feeling okay, clearly wondering if there was something in the Houston air that had made her notorious workaholic of a boss cut out early two days in a row.
Warrick had assured his worried secretary that he was fine and had headed out, silently cursing Raina for tampering with his business. As if it weren’t bad enough that she was standing in the way of his construction project. Now she had to wreak havoc on his mental productivity as well?
He was still in a surly mood by the time he’d arrived at the Shawn Mayne Community Center, named in honor of his cousin, who was killed in a drive-by shooting when they were fourteen.
Stepping inside the large building—a building Warrick believed his cousin would have approved of—should have soothed Warrick’s temper. But it hadn’t.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he was caught off guard when his uncle suddenly charged past him and went for the easy layup. More applause erupted around the basketball court.
“That’s how you school him, Uncle Randall!” Xavier Mayne laughingly called out.
Warrick turned and glared at his brother, who had served as executive director of the community center since it had opened five years ago. “Don’t you have some paperwork to do?” he growled.
Xavier just laughed harder and traded a high five with Zeke, who, as the center’s athletic director, coordinated all sports and recreation programs and coached the center’s youth basketball league during the summers. The brothers, two years apart and in their early thirties, were not quite as tall as Warrick, nor were they as dark-skinned, having their mother’s caramel complexion. But they shared their older brother’s deep-set dark eyes and good looks, as well as his competitive nature.
“Xay, Zeke.” When his brothers glanced over at him, Warrick said, “Y’all are up next. Twenty-one. I’ll even spot you ten points.”
Zeke grinned cockily. “It’s on, man! And we don’t need your ten points.”
Xavier, for once, didn’t look as confident.
Randall chuckled. “Don’t take out your frustration on your brothers,” he said to Warrick. “It’s not their fault some woman’s got you tied up in knots.”
Warrick scowled. Lunging forward, he swiped the ball from his uncle and jumped up to make a basket. There was a smattering of applause from the young boys gathered around the court, whose loyalties were divided between their two heroes: Warrick, the former college basketball star and founder of the community center, and Randall, the easygoing retired cop who regularly volunteered at the center and gave the kids rides in his cool classic cars.
Randall, for his part, was not impressed by Warrick’s steal and resulting score. He had other things on his mind, judging by the knowing look on his face. “You didn’t deny what I just said, boy. So it is a woman.”
Warrick frowned. “Are we having shrink time or playing ball?”
Randall grinned. “I need a time-out,” he said abruptly, heading off the court.
Warrick hesitated, then reluctantly followed. He passed the basketball to a young boy as he and several other kids ran onto the court, joined by Zeke.
After shadowboxing with Warrick for a moment, Xavier announced that he was going back inside to do some “real work” since his bossy employer—Warrick—had decided to drop by unexpectedly.
Warrick followed Randall over to the bench where they’d left their towels and bottled water. Each man had always made a practice of keeping a change of clothes in a gym bag stored in the trunk of his car, always prepared for an impromptu pickup game.
They reclined on the bench and fell silent for several minutes as they drank from their water bottles and watched Zeke coaching the young players on the basketball court.
Warrick was proud of his younger brothers. After flirting with danger for a few years, Xavier and Zeke had finally resisted the lure of the streets and decided to make something of themselves. Both had attended college, worked hard, and landed good jobs, never expecting any handouts from their successful older brother. Both had been instrumen
tal in the founding of the community center, rightfully earning the high-profile positions they held today.
Without warning, Randall asked Warrick, “What’s going on between you and Raina?”
Warrick was so startled by the question that he choked on his water.
Chuckling, Randall reached over and pounded him on the back. “Didn’t mean to catch you off guard there, son.”
Warrick glared balefully at him. “The hell you didn’t,” he rasped.
“All right. Maybe I did.” Randall grinned. “Answer the question, anyway.”
Warrick took another sip of water, ostensibly to soothe his burning throat. What he was really doing was buying time.
Randall waited patiently, a knowing gleam in his eyes.
Finally Warrick muttered, “What makes you think something’s going on between me and Raina?”
His uncle laughed. “I may be getting old, War, but I sure as hell ain’t blind. I saw the way the two of you were looking at each other yesterday, like you couldn’t wait for me to leave so you could jump each other’s bones. Hell, why do you think I finally obliged you?”
Warrick stared at him, thunderstruck. “Why didn’t you mention any of this yesterday? I was with you the entire evening!”
Randall chuckled. “Sometimes I like to play dumb and wait to see how long it takes you to ’fess up, like I did when you were younger and you thought I didn’t know you’d done something you weren’t supposed to.”
“So what you’re saying,” Warrick drawled, “is that I shouldn’t have kissed Raina?”
“So you did kiss her, huh? I suspected as much, the way she went running out of there like a bat outta hell.”
Warrick scowled, pretending to take umbrage. “Some women happen to think I’m a good kisser,” he grumbled.
Randall smiled. “You know what I meant. I knew by the way Raina took off when I returned to the garage that something serious had happened between the two of you. And I was right.”
Warrick stretched out his long legs, his body stirring at the memory of the steamy encounter he and Raina had shared, which now seemed so long ago, like something he’d only dreamed. As it turned out, he’d been dreaming a lot about Raina lately. More than he cared to admit—even to himself.
“I can’t say I’m surprised about you and Raina,” Randall said.
Warrick frowned. “There is no me and Raina. We kissed. Doesn’t mean we’re eloping tomorrow.” He paused, then couldn’t resist asking, “But why aren’t you surprised?”
“Well, she’s a very beautiful woman,” his uncle said pragmatically. “And one thing you’ve always appreciated, War, is a beautiful woman.”
“That she is,” Warrick murmured, remembering the way Raina had looked that morning in a black pencil skirt that molded her lush curves, her long, toned legs accentuated by a pair of four-inch stiletto heels. The combination of the skirt and heels had made Warrick want to drag her into the nearest vacant office, yank her skirt over her thighs and take her against the door. Hard and deep, fast and furious.
He shifted slightly on the bench, no longer surprised by the way his groin tightened at the mere thought of Raina.
Raina, who’d been ten years old the first time he ever laid eyes on her.
Raina, whom he’d never seen as anything more than his kid sister’s best friend.
Glancing over at his uncle, Warrick said very casually, “You know, Deniece told me something interesting the other night over dinner. She said Raina had a crush on me when we were growing up.” He paused, gauging his uncle’s reaction. “Do you think that was true?”
Randall looked at him sideways, his eyes shrewd and assessing. “Now, what would you do with that kind of information?” he demanded.
Warrick frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you suddenly care whether or not Raina had a crush on you?”
“I don’t know. I was just curious.”
“Just curious, huh?” Shaking his head, Randall took a swig of water.
Warrick’s frown deepened. “Forget I asked,” he muttered irritably. “It wasn’t important.”
“It was important enough for you to ask.”
Warrick met his uncle’s knowing gaze.
Thankfully, his cell phone chose that exact moment to ring.
Warrick dug it out of the pocket of his sweat shorts and checked the display screen. The caller was a woman he’d met back in Philadelphia two weeks ago. A beautiful, ambitious attorney at a large downtown law firm. They’d met for drinks a few times, but their busy schedules hadn’t permitted much more. She’d been calling Warrick nearly every day since he’d arrived in Houston, leaving naughty voice-mail messages that made him chuckle. He was seriously thinking about flying her down to Houston for the weekend. Why not? They were long overdue for a real date, and he wouldn’t be back in Philly anytime soon.
Returning the BlackBerry handheld to his pocket, Warrick made a mental note to call the sexy lawyer before he went out with his brothers that evening.
Amused, Randall shook his head at him. “I know what that was about.”
Warrick chuckled, not even bothering to deny it. His uncle knew him better than anyone else.
Silence lapsed between the two men as they resumed watching the action on the court. Zeke—who, like Warrick, had also played college basketball—was helping a tall, lanky boy work on his jump shot. Warrick, who could already see that the kid had serious potential, made a mental note to talk to his brother later about arranging for the boy to attend Tracy McGrady’s summer basketball camp in July. Because the NBA player was a personal friend of Warrick’s, Mayne Industries already enjoyed a partnership with the Houston Rockets that awarded deserving students in the Houston area tickets to Rockets basketball games.
One of the reasons Warrick had founded the Shawn Mayne Community Center was to give at-risk youth from the Third Ward a safe haven from the streets—something he and his siblings had never had when they were growing up. The sprawling facility featured two indoor gymnasiums, a fitness center, a dance studio, a racquetball court, two outdoor basketball courts, two tennis courts, an aquatic swimming pool, a baseball field, a large playground and a modern cafeteria that served free breakfast and lunch to the children. But the center’s mission was not only to provide clean, spacious facilities and nutritious meals, as well as a plethora of recreational and educational activities. It was there to provide the kids with opportunities they would not otherwise have. Growing up in the Third Ward, Warrick had played basketball against boys who were far more talented than he was, but their potential had never been realized due to a lack of opportunities. Warrick had always vowed that if he ever made it out of the projects, he would never forget those he had left behind.
“About Raina,” Randall said suddenly, breaking into Warrick’s thoughts.
Warrick looked at him. Something in his uncle’s tone warned him a lecture was coming.
He wasn’t disappointed.
“I know I was teasing earlier about leaving you and Raina alone in the garage yesterday,” Randall said, “but all joking aside, War, I don’t want you to hurt that girl. God knows she’s been through enough with this family.”
Resentment stirred within Warrick. It had been more than twelve years since Yolanda Mayne had been incarcerated. Would Randall ever stop taking Raina’s side? What would it take to make him see the truth?
Deciding to overlook his uncle’s last comment—at least for now—Warrick said in a deliberately mild voice, “What makes you so sure I would hurt Raina?”
Randall cut him a don’t-insult-my-intelligence look. “Apart from the fact that you still blame her for what happened to your sister, which we won’t get into at this time, I know for a fact that you’re not ready to settle down yet. And any woman who becomes involved with you hoping differently is going to end up getting hurt.”
Warrick didn’t deny it. He couldn’t.
Instead he drawled sardonically, “And you think Raina would
hope—want—to settle down with me?”
Randall frowned. “She’s not like those shallow models you date—”
Warrick bristled. “Wait a minute!” he protested. “I don’t only date models. I date all kinds of women, from all walks of life, and they’re not all shallow.”
“No?” Randall’s voice was heavy with skepticism.
“No,” Warrick bit off. “The woman who just called me? She’s a partner at a law firm. Smart, funny, likes to read. Definitely not shallow.”
Randall quirked a brow. “How’s her appetite?”
“I don’t know,” Warrick said, exasperated. “We haven’t gone out to dinner yet. But I can tell she’s really down to earth. I don’t think she’d sit at a restaurant picking at her food—”
“Salad, you mean.”
Warrick opened his mouth, then promptly lost his train of thought and burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. His uncle knew too damned much about him, including Warrick’s ongoing quest to find a woman who enjoyed a good meal as much as he did.
As his laughter subsided, Randall said, smiling, “All right, so maybe all of your girlfriends haven’t been shallow. But I can guarantee you that none of them have the qualities that make Raina St. James so special.”
“How do you know?” Warrick challenged.
“Because if one had,” Randall said with calm, implacable resolve, “you would already be married by now.”
Warrick fell silent. What could he say? He didn’t know Raina well enough to judge whether or not she was marrying material, nor did he ever expect that to change. But he was intrigued, in spite of himself, by what Randall had said. Intrigued, and a little shaken. Because if anyone knew what Warrick would want in a prospective wife, his uncle did.
“Raina’s a good woman,” Randall said quietly, a note of unmistakable pride in his voice. “She’s the kind of woman who stands up for what she believes in, even if it costs her friends. She’s the kind of woman who makes time for her family. The kind of sister who makes a point of having dinner with her sibling every week, the kind of daughter who calls or visits her parents every day and who still enjoys trips to the hardware store with her old man. God knows she’s been more like a daughter to me than your cousin Lauren, who allowed her mother to poison her mind with lies about me.” He shook his head, his mouth twisting bitterly.
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