by Francis Ray
* * *
Everyone was late, and calling on her cell phone elicited little information. Worse, the electricity had not been turned on as promised, so there was no air-conditioning. She had long since plaited her hair, tied the pink silk top in a knot beneath her breasts and rolled up another two cuffs in her khaki walking shorts.
By five that afternoon she was hot, thirsty, and tired, and her temper was on a very fragile leash. Hearing the buzzer for admittance, she hit the control in her hand. Trent strolled in, looking cool and sinfully handsome in oatmeal linen slacks and a tan shirt, the long sleeves rolled back to reveal the fine sprinkling of black hair on his arms.
Puzzlement drew her brows together. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you, too.”
Irritated, she shoved a hand over her hair. “Sorry. This day has not been one of my best.”
“Janice called and said you were still waiting on some service people and asked me to check on you,” he explained. “My trucking company is a couple of miles from here.”
“Thanks. I can’t believe it’s taken this long,” she said, trying to keep her eyes from the white sack in his hand and not salivate at the smell of food coming from it.
“There’s a tie-up on Hawn Freeway going in both directions, and one on Central Expressway as well,” he explained, the sack still firmly in his hand.
“I hate to be gauche, but are you planning to share whatever’s in that sack that smells so delicious?”
“Here,” he said, handing her the bag and wondering if there might ever be a time when seeing her didn’t hit him like a hard punch.
“Thanks,” she said, hurriedly opening the bag. The aroma of fresh baked bread and spices wafted up to her.
Using one of her camera cases as a makeshift table, she placed the sack on top to use as a tablecloth and unwrapped her hot roast beef sandwich. Her mouth open, she glanced up to see Trent watching her intently. Her stomach did a predictable flip-flop.
She swallowed, then asked, “Do you want a bite?”
Yes, he thought, but not of the sandwich. Gracefully, he came down on the other side of the case. “I’ve eaten.”
She bit into the sandwich. The bread was soft; the beef juicy and delicious. She was aware of Trent watching her eat, but she was too hungry to bother worrying about it. Finished, she sat back and sipped on her drink.
“Missed breakfast, huh?” Trent said, his gaze running lightly over her mouth. The way she sometimes flicked her tongue out was driving him absolutely crazy.
“And lunch.” She took another sip of her drink. The sweetened iced tea didn’t help her dry throat. She wished he’d stop staring at her mouth. “I really appreciate your taking off work.”
“I was closer than Janice,” he explained easily.
For some reason his answer irritated her. “Thanks, anyway,” she said, getting to her feet.
“You’re welcome.” He rose with her and walked farther into the interior of the studio. “Your studio has a lot of glass.”
“That’s what makes the place so great. It’s like working outside.”
He glanced over his shoulders. “I would have thought you were more the indoor type.”
Her hand clutched the sack. “Somehow I think you mean the useless type.”
“And what do you like to do outside?” he asked, ignoring her dig.
“Take long walks. Jog. Ride.”
His gaze swept back over her before lifting to her face. “You certainly have the legs for it.”
A spear of heat lanced through her. The door buzzer saved her from answering. She whirled away and went to pick up the automatic opener on her desk.
“Don’t you think you should check before letting them in?” he asked.
She wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but anger was no reason to act irrational. She went to the door. “Yes.”
“Telephone company.”
She buzzed a tall, black man inside. After giving him instructions she turned to Trent. “Thank you for coming, and for the food.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Not a chance, Buttercup.” Folding his arms over his wide chest, he leaned against the white beam separating the glass in front of the studio.
She was so startled by the nickname that she didn’t say anything for a moment. “I beg your pardon?”
“Janice would skin me alive if I left you by yourself.”
Janice again. “I’m a big girl.”
His gaze intensified. “That’s the problem.”
Once again she felt the heat, this time more intensely.
“What kind of pictures do you plan to take?”
“Portraits mostly,” she answered, her voice not quite steady.
“How long have you been in the business?”
“Not very long,” she answered, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. Perhaps she should have given herself three years.
“Dallas has a healthy economy. You should do well.” He unfolded his arms. “I might even break down and have you do a photograph of me, although I don’t know who might want it.”
“The usual recipients are friends, family, lovers,” she said, knowing she was delicately probing.
He inclined his head toward the front. “An office supply truck just pulled up.”
“Oh.” Dominique went to answer the door, wishing the two men had waited a few minutes longer, then began chastising herself. She didn’t want to know anything about Trent’s personal life.
After that everyone seemed to come at once. She didn’t have time to talk to Trent, but he was always there, a silent, disturbing, almost brooding presence. The workers obviously felt it, too, because they kept glancing in his direction.
It was after eight when she locked the front door. Darkness had descended. Janice was right. The area had a creepy, deserted quality at night.
A silent Trent walked her to her car parked parallel to the studio. He regarded the shiny, red Jaguar with a frown, then swung his gaze to her. “I thought you were just starting out.”
She glanced from her car to the hard glint in Trent’s eyes. “It’s eleven years old, and the only car I’ve ever owned.”
He didn’t say it but the question was there in his expressive face, the narrow line of his mouth. How had she earned that kind of money?
“I paid for it myself with money I earned as a model in Europe, just out of high school,” she told him, each word tightly controlled with simmering anger. She started to turn away, but his hand on her bare arm stopped her.
Intense heat radiated from his fingertips. He released her instantly, his hand balling into a fist. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I wasn’t giving you one. I was just stating a fact.” This time she opened her door and got in. Tires spun as she sped away from the curb.
The hard blast of a horn from directly behind her had her gripping the steering wheel, but she slowed down, annoyed with herself that his opinion of her mattered, irritated that she had reacted so foolishly.
Trent meant nothing to her, she thought, totally ignoring the little voice that asked, Then why am I so hurt?
Chapter Five
Tires squealed. Trent was out of his truck and striding toward Dominique before her car engine died. His face hard, he jerked open her car door and glared down at her. “What the hell is the matter with you, driving like that?”
Calmly, Dominique picked up her purse from the seat and got out of the car. She angled her head back to meet his irate gaze. “I slowed down.”
“Since when is seventy slowing down?” he snapped, wanting to shake her for being so reckless and scaring him half to death, disgusted with himself for making her angry in the first place. He had stepped way over the line. Somehow, though, instead of his apologizing as he knew he should, he let his temper get the best of him.
Midnight-black eyes gave him glare for glare. “I was going sixty-five.”
“You’re exaggerating. I drive fast, but I’m competent.” She pinned him with a look. “Since you arrived when I did, you must have been driving the same way.”
He refused to back down. “How else was I going to keep up with you?”
Up went her delicate chin. “No one asked you to keep up with me. I told you, I’m a big gi—” She stopped abruptly.
His searing gaze lowered to her heaving breasts in the bright pink blouse. His hands clenched. He wanted to test their weight and resilience in his hand. Among other things.
A car passed. His gaze snapped up. Wide-eyed, she stared back at him.
He didn’t blame her. His anger was displaced. He was totally out of line.
For the second time that night he had taken his anger out on her. “I know you won’t believe me, but I’m usually a nice guy.”
A satiny brow arched on her beautiful face. The wind tossed wisps of her black hair playfully. It was all he could do not to reach out, take it down, and run his hand through its thick, glossy length. “You’ve said that before,” she reminded him.
“I know, and believe me I’ve never had to repeat myself in the past.” He hesitated, trying to find a way out of his dilemma without compromising his principle about never lying, without admitting to his unreasonable jealously of the men watching her that had sparked his poor behavior. “You want to go get some ice cream?”
“No, thank you.”
He hadn’t thought it would be that easy. “Janice likes lemon custard. I’m sure if we went, she’d want some.”
For a long time, Dominique studied his earnest expression. No one in her family was shy about speaking their mind, so his outburst hadn’t bothered her. Considering what she had gone through eight years ago, her reaction surprised her. She hadn’t cowered; she had faced him unflinchingly. It was as if on some basic level she instinctively trusted him not to harm her physically.
Another surprise. Rule Number Two: Give no man your trust until he’s earned it several times over. Rule Number Three was also on shaky ground: Trust your first instinct.
“If that was an apology it’s the sorriest one I’ve ever heard.”
He tugged on the brim of his Negro League baseball cap. “Probably because I’m out of practice.”
Up went that brow again.
“Now who’s jumping to conclusions?” he asked. “The reason I’m out of practice is that I try hard not to put myself in the position of offering them.”
The porch light clicked on. Janice stepped outside, her hand still holding the glass storm door. “Hello, you two. Dominique, I’m glad you’re home. Everything get finished?”
Dominique turned. “Hello, Janice. Yes, thank you.”
“Hi, Janice,” Trent called. “I was trying to talk Dominique into going and getting some ice cream. You want your favorite?”
Janice’s hand went to her slim hip in teal blue, wide-leg pants. “I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t resist. Go on, Dominique. You’ve had a trying day.”
“I don’t want it to become more trying,” she muttered to herself.
“It won’t.”
She spun toward him. His hearing must be as acute as hers and her father’s.
Trent met her inquiring gaze with that intense way he had of looking at her that left her restless and wanting something she didn’t dare let herself think about. He was not a restful man to be around. “I don—”
“Please.”
In her experience, a lot of men asked for a second chance, they even said please, but none made her stomach do flip-flops while doing so. At any other time, it would have been a clear signal to stay as far away from the man as possible.
With Trent living next door that wasn’t going to be an option. Since she hadn’t had these feeling in nine years, and never this strong, the best thing she could come up with was to stand her ground and hope familiarity bred disinterest.
“All right.”
“Great.” He grinned like a kid who had been granted a favorite treat. Taking her by the arm he led her back to his truck. “We’ll be back in a little bit, Janice.”
“Take your time. I have some paperwork to do,” she said, then went inside.
Dominique climbed into the cab of the truck, wondering what she had gotten herself into. The door closed, and with it came the feeling of intimacy she’d experienced the first time she was with him in his truck.
The engine came on and she buckled her seat belt, wishing she could harness her erratic emotions as easily.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, pulling off.
“Janice wanted some ice cream.”
“I would have brought it back to her.”
She turned toward him. “I know. Despite what’s going on between us, you and Janice are genuinely fond of each other.”
He stopped at a signal light. His gaze, searing and hot, found hers again. “What is going on between us?”
Her uneasiness on the topic clearly showed in her voice. “Perhaps you should answer that. You’re the one who became angry this afternoon and tonight for no reason.”
The light flashed to green. He pulled away. If he told her he was jealous of the men this afternoon, he’d be in more trouble than he was now.
“Well,” she prompted.
“Those men annoyed me the way they were looking at you,” he admitted, hoping he didn’t have to be more specific.
“Me? They could hardly work for watching you,” she told him. “You were like a dark, avenging angel waiting to dispense judgment and punishment on any person who displeased you.”
Flicking on his signal light, he pulled into the parking lot of the ice cream shop, searching for a space. He had never been very good at hiding his thoughts. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“The phone company said the rewiring would take no longer than an hour. It took three. The cleaning crew promised to be out in two hours. They brought extra help because they were late, and it still took that long. Th—”
“You win,” he said, holding up his hand as he parked. “You made your point.”
“Good.” Opening the door, she got out.
He met her at the front of the truck. His hand lightly touched her shoulder. “Wait.” His hand fell to his side when she did as requested.
“You’ll never know how sorry I am about what happened, especially the incident outside by your car. I have no excuse for such bad behavior.” He stuck out his hand. “But if you can see your way clear to forgiving me and starting over again, I promise never to jump to conclusions again, and you’ll never be sorry.”
Dominique looked from Trent’s steady hand to the steadfast gaze. His unspoken accusations had touched a hidden memory that had hurled her back into the past. She didn’t like the journey, nor how vulnerable it had made her feel.
“Be very sure, Trent. You were right. I’m not much on giving second chances.”
Neither his hand nor his gaze wavered. “I’m sure. We’ll seal the promise with a double dip of chocolate pecan.”
“Make it French vanilla and you have a deal.” She lifted her hand.
“Deal.” His callused hand closed securely around hers.
* * *
The line moved with quick efficiency. Before long, they were leaving the store with a hand-packed pint of Lemon Custard for Janice while eating their own double dip cones.
“Between you and Janice, I’m going to be fat,” Dominique said, climbing into the truck.
“You have a long way to go.” Trent slammed the door and got in.
“You want me to hold that?” Dominique asked, watching closely as Trent slid his tongue around the side of the cone. She felt funny again.
“Naw. After years of practice, I have this down pat.” He proved as good as his word as he managed to fasten his seat belt, start the truck, and back out of the crowded parking lot with ease. “You’re dripping.”
“What
?” She flushed.
“Your ice cream.”
“Oh,” she said, licking up the sides, feeling strange sensations growing, gathering inside her like forces of energy.
“You have to have good tongue actions. You need more practice,” he told her.
The force zipped like chain lightning through her, pooling in her lower body. She shifted on the smooth leather seat. Girl, get a hold of yourself. He’s talking about ice cream.
“Here. Watch me,” he said, and proceeded to slide his tongue expertly around the ice cream. “You have to go slow, so you won’t miss a spot and drip.”
She didn’t want to think about dripping. Her teeth bit into the cone, relishing the coldness.
“Hey. You cheated.”
She swallowed. “You didn’t say anything about rules.”
He glanced at her briefly, then centered his attention on the street. “I thought I did.”
Dominique was grateful for the ice cream. It gave her a reason not to talk and something to cool her down. The moment the truck stopped in Janice’s driveway, she was out the door. As before, Trent easily caught up with her.
“Do you always run wherever you go?”
“Sorry,” she said, but she kept walking fast. At the front door, he held the hand-packed ice cream for Dominique while she unlocked the door, then gave it back to her.
“Goodnight,” he said.
“You aren’t coming in?”
“You’ve had a long day, and I promised not to make it any longer.”
“You didn’t.” She smiled, meaning it. “Thanks for the ice cream.”
“I still have to teach you how to eat it properly,” he told her.
The urge to lick her lips was too strong for her to ignore. She didn’t. She tasted vanilla, but it left her wanting. She had a sudden craving to know how Chocolate Pecan tasted … on Trent’s lips.
“You missed a spot.” The pad of his finger grazed across the corner of her mouth and stayed there.
The strange feeling she had started having in the truck crystallized into desire. It would be ridiculously easy and so unthinkably foolish to turn her head and close her lips over his finger.
“Thanks again.” She averted her head and quickly went inside. Leaning against the door, she closed her eyes and tried to control the wild, pulsing need raging through her.