by Francis Ray
She hadn’t had to deal with those emotions since her divorce, since her life had turned into a nightmare. She didn’t want to deal with them now, but she didn’t have a choice. Trent wasn’t going away, and she wasn’t running from another thing in her life.
She straightened. She had overcome problems in the past. Trent should be no different. Even as she went in search of Janice, she couldn’t quite convince herself.
* * *
Head bowed, Trent placed both hands on the closed door. Every muscle in his body tensed. His heart raced. Desire pulsed through him.
He hadn’t thought just touching her lip could make every cell in his body quiver with need, hadn’t thought he’d see a matching need reflected in her midnight-black eyes.
What a mess!
Pushing away from the door, he walked slowly to his truck, drove the short distance next door to his house, and went inside. He didn’t stop until he was stripped naked and standing under the powerful blast of shower water.
If he didn’t learn to control himself around Dominique, he’d have the highest water bill in Dallas.
* * *
Trent felt like a Peeping Tom, but that didn’t stop him from watching Dominique through the sheer curtains in his living room as she passed by on her morning jog. It wasn’t difficult to imagine her as a model. She was graceful and moved with a fluid elegance. He enjoyed watching her.
“That’s not all you enjoy watching,” he said aloud and dropped the curtain, aware he had done so because she had disappeared from sight.
He just didn’t understand himself. Two weeks had passed since Dominique returned and he was still as hot and as bothered as ever. Each time he saw her he wanted her. Each time, the wanting was becoming harder to deny.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been around beautiful women before. Although Margo didn’t have the unconscious sensuality of Dominique, she was gorgeous. And as dishonest as they came.
She’d had him so wrapped around her little finger that he hadn’t known up from down. He had sent resumés all over the country in his senior year in college. His grades were good enough so that a few Fortune 500 companies were interested in him, but he had wanted to work in a midsized company where the advancement opportunity was greater.
Margo’s father knew his daughter’s charm, and had brought her along when he came to his university. Five minutes after Trent took her fragile hand in his, he would have done anything legal to please her.
He had taken the position of manager before even seeing the machinery company, and at less pay then he had been offered by other companies. He’d been caught by the entreaty in Margo’s big, brown eyes and outrageously pleased that she thought he could bring her father’s company out of its slump.
Once he was on board Margo had become more obvious with touches, low-cut dresses, the elusive scent of expensive perfume. She’d dangled her lush body in front of him as the prize while Trent put her father’s company in the black again.
Fool that he was, he’d believed in her—his nose was “wide open.” He worked like a dog—sixteen hour days, sometimes longer, seven days a week—until the manufacturing firm slowly turned a profit for one quarter, then another.
On one of those long nights he found out just what Margo and her dear father thought of him. Trent had been working late and had cut the lights off just to bask in what he had accomplished in ten short months. He was congratulating himself on how far he had come in twenty-one years. Soon he’d have a wife and family. He’d belong.
He had heard her laughter first. When he first heard it at the university he had thought the sound a bit shrill, but after falling in love with her, he thought it had a childlike quality.
The mention of his name had Trent sitting up and smiling, sure that they were going to say what a good job he had done and that Margo’s father was finally going to give them permission to start planning their wedding, since the company was on solid ground.
He was wrong.
“Can you believe a nobody like Trent actually thinks I’m going to marry him?” Margo said, her voice scornful. “He could have insanity in his family.”
“You’ve handled him very well, Margo,” said her father. “A few more months and we can get rid of him.” He laughed. “He was so easy to manage. Thanks to you.”
“I hope you remember what a sacrifice I’m making when the dividends come in at the end of the next quarter. There’s a fabulous diamond bracelet and matching earrings I’ve been wanting.”
“You’ll have that, and more. Just keep playing him along.”
The voices had faded after that. Trent had stayed in his dark office, angrier than he’d ever thought possible, until the night cleaning man had come in. Getting up, he had shoved all the papers on the desk in his briefcase and walked out.
He hadn’t looked back.
Outside, he had stared at the ridiculously expensive sports car that he was struggling to pay for on his salary, one Margo insisted he drive—her future fiancé had an image to uphold.
Once back in his furnished apartment, he had looked around and knew there was nothing to keep him there. Packing his clothes, he had awakened his disgruntled manager to give her the key. His one stop was at the ATM machine, to draw out his $360.00.
He had taken the first interstate highway, then the next exit, and the next, stopping only for gas, until he ended up outside of Texarkana, Texas, with a busted water hose. Randle Hodge had come along, and once again, adversity had turned into opportunity.
Sighing, Trent released the past. He thought Margo had taught him to be wary of beautiful women who were financially unstable. He now steered clear of needy women like the plague.
He didn’t mind lending a hand to anyone getting started, but that was all. He wasn’t going to be used again by a greedy, unscrupulous woman, no matter how beautiful she was.
All that had been fine in theory until he had seen Dominique reclining on the lounger, heard her husky voice, watched the swing of her hips as she walked away from him. Lust, certainly, foolishness, most definitely, tested his rule each time he saw her.
Sipping the forgotten coffee, he headed to the kitchen and his breakfast. There was nothing worse than cold eggs, unless it was cold poached eggs. At least the coffee didn’t taste so bad. Either that, or he had killed his taste buds.
He grimaced. He hoped not. His mind, like a treacherous boomerang, homed in on Dominique. He had gone to bed more than one night speculating about the taste of her lips.
Something deliciously sweet and maddeningly elusive, he imagined—like cotton candy, each taste always enticing him back for another taste, then another, yet never quite fulfilling the promise, always leaving him with the hope that the next time his lips closed over the sugary confection his hunger would be appeased.
He wouldn’t mind coming back again and again, he was sure. The pleasure would be in the quest he would never want to end.
The ringing phone jerked him out of his musing. “Hello.”
“Trent. We got a call from the electric company. They have a hot load of transformers that need to go to Ohio. A storm just blew through this morning. Who do you want to send?” asked the dispatcher, who then proceeded to tell him who was available.
“I’ll take it,” Trent said, dumping the egg in the garbage disposal.
Surprise registered in the woman’s voice over the sound of the running disposal. “You haven’t made a run in over nine months.”
“So, I’m long overdue.” A few days away from Dominique might give him some perspective. “Be there in twenty. Have everything ready for me to pull out.”
Hanging up, he rinsed the dishes, stacked them in the dishwasher, grabbed his keys with one hand and his baseball cap with the other.
In minutes he was speeding away.
* * *
Janice was speaking on the kitchen wall phone when Dominique returned from her jog. Opening the refrigerator, she poured herself a large glass of orange juice. After taking a sip
she rolled the cool glass over her hot forehead.
“I’ll take care of the mail and newspaper. Don’t worry about anything. You just be careful. Good-bye,” Janice said.
“Someone had to go out of town unexpectedly?” Dominique asked, sipping her juice again.
Janice bit her lip. “Trent.”
“What’s the matter?” Dominique asked, her heart lurching.
“He said he had to make a run with a hot load of transformers to Ohio,” Janice explained, pulling her silk jacket over her leopard print blouse.
“He deals in stolen merchandise?” Dominique squeaked.
A smile took the lines of worry from Janice’s face. “Hot in trucker language just means they should have been there days ago. Trent is honest, and has the highest integrity. I just wish I knew why he’s taking off this way.”
Dominique sat the glass on the counter. “You said he had to make a run.”
“But he hasn’t been on the road in months. I hope everything is all right.”
“I’m sure it is.” Dominique picked up Janice’s purse and handed it to her. “Scoot. You have an eight o’clock appointment.”
“Your breakfast is in the oven,” Janice called, opening the back kitchen door.
“I told you I could fix my own.”
“I enjoy cooking. You know that. I’ll have to fix Trent something nice for his homecoming. Truck stop food ranges from excellent to awful.”
“Janice. Will you stop worrying?”
“I’ll try. It’s just that he’s been acting strange for the past few days.” Coming back inside, she kissed Dominique on the cheek. “Have a wonderful day.”
“I will,” Dominique said, waving good-bye. Heading for the shower, she tried to run over the list of things she planned to do that day, but she couldn’t put her godmother’s concern about Trent’s behavior out of her mind.
Most of all, she couldn’t help wondering if she had anything to do with his leaving.
* * *
Dominique’s studio was perfect. The curved rosewood desk Daniel had included with the computer system was elegant and graceful. On its polished surface were the black Mont Blanc desk set, her appointment book, her engraved cards, and the lucite piece Higgins had given her. She had found just the right small couch and a table and chair within her budget for the previewing room, where she planned to show her proofs and slides to her clients.
If she ever got any.
Trying not to sigh, Dominique glanced around the studio. The only sounds were the gurgle of the water cooler and the soulful voice of Anita Baker on the CD player. Even the usually busy traffic seemed to have disappeared. Along with the potential customers.
She knew three weeks in business wasn’t a long time, but she had thought she’d get some response from her radio ads on a popular R&B station or her web site. Well, she’d had some calls, but after she told people her prices they either tried to haggle with her or simply hung up.
Silver bracelets jingled on her arm as she picked up the slick brochure listing her prices, then leaned back in her leather chair. If she cut her prices, she wouldn’t be able to meet expenses. If she didn’t get some customers, she’d be out of business, anyway. This was where it got tough.
Either she could start second-guessing herself or figure out a way to get people into the studio. Her budget wouldn’t allow for any more large expenditures after the radio ads.
She thought of her dynamic, stubborn family. Not one of them would hesitate to go down fighting for what they believed in. This time she was going to do the same. She set the brochure aside. Not one price was changing. That left her only one alternative—to develop a marketing plan that was inexpensive and effective.
Her front door buzzer rang. She spun around in her chair away from the computer and pressed the buzzer for the person to enter. In came a rather austere looking woman, elegantly dressed in a lilac designer suit, carrying a small white poodle covered with tiny, lilac-colored bows.
“Good evening. Welcome to Dominique’s. Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Hightower. Mrs. Harold Hightower. Janice mentioned you had just returned from Paris doing photography, and I want you to do Scarlet.”
“Scarlet?”
“Scarlet,” Mrs. Hightower repeated, lifting the dog.
Dominique didn’t hesitate. Business was business. “Please have a seat and tell me if you have anything specific in mind.”
Thirty minutes later Mrs. Hightower left, saying she’d call. Dominique doubted it. Her eyes had widened like saucers when she saw the price list. As the saying went, another one bit the dust.
The buzzer rang and she automatically glanced up. Her body tightened. Her heart rate increased. The sound came again, and she finally moved to deactivate the lock.
“Hi,” Trent said, strolling in as if he hadn’t been gone almost a week without a word. “I haven’t been gone so long that you didn’t recognize me, have I?”
“No, of course not.” Did she appear as flustered as she sounded? Had the past five days passed so slowly because she had missed Trent, or because business was so slow? She didn’t know and she wasn’t looking too closely to find the answer.
Her hand swept over her hair and encountered the heavy silver and turquoise barrette at the base of her neck. The action was a sure sign of a woman primping for a man. Maybe she already knew the answer to why the past days had been so trying. “Hello, Trent.”
He glanced around, noting the canvas and props. He wore a chambray shirt and the usual tight jeans that defined his long, muscular legs perfectly. “Looks good.”
So do you, she almost said, and clamped her teeth together.
He turned back to her. “How’s it going?”
“As well as can be expected,” she said evasively. “How was your trip? Janice said you don’t usually go on runs.”
“I don’t like getting rusty.” He tugged the brim of his black baseball cap with Masters Trucking in red block lettering on the front of the crown. “I’d better be going. Thought I’d stop by and say ‘Hi,’ since it’s on the way home.”
“I understand. I have to get back to work myself.”
“Bye.”
“Bye,” Dominique said, and turned to the computer. After the door closed, her hands remained immobile and slightly unsteady. She had been so sure that she was over whatever it was that had affected her when Trent was around. She had been wrong.
One glimpse, one smile, and she was back where she started—sinking fast, and not a life preserver in sight.
* * *
Trent got into his truck and knew five days away had accomplished one thing—made his body hungrier. Flicking on the ignition, he drove home.
All he wanted was to sleep for the next twenty-four hours. After the run to Ohio he had headed to Rochester, New York, then to Laredo, Texas, then back to Dallas. Every mile of the way Dominique had ridden with him. At night she was there when he went to sleep, and she was waiting for him when he woke up. The past five days were the loneliest he had ever spent.
Now he was back, and wishing he hadn’t gone. He didn’t like the shadows in her eyes. He planned a little talk with Janice to see how Dominique’s business was going.
Something told him it wasn’t. If there was anything he could do to help, it was as good as done. Helping her out wouldn’t hurt anything. They weren’t dating or anything.
Once home, he showered and plopped down nude across his king-size bed. He had just settled his body comfortably when the phone rang.
He ignored the sound, knowing the answering machine would pick it up, and wished he had unplugged the thing. He was too tired to talk to anyone, and if it was business his staff could run things as well as he.
“Trent, this is Frank Lloyd. Just wanted to remind you that my wife and I are looking forward to seeing you and your guest Thursday night at the dinner party. Please call.”
Trent groaned into the pillow as the answering machine clicked off. Lloyd was a business
associate and a friend. He owned the company that had supplied Trent with diesel fuel at a very reasonable rate for the past five years. Since diesel was Trent’s highest outlay, he liked to keep Frank Lloyd happy.
Showing up without a woman on his arm tomorrow night was definitely not going to win points. Scowling, he rolled onto his back. He hadn’t dated in months. Had no desire to do so.
But he needed a woman.
One popped into his mind. Instead of his scowl deepening, he smiled, tired of fighting the inevitable. There was only one woman he wanted to take out, and somehow he was going to make it happen.
Dominique Everette broke just about every rule he had about women: She was struggling in her business. Worse, she interfered in his business. But something told him she was well worth the risks involved.
With a smile on his face, he rolled onto his side and went to sleep.
Chapter Six
“Good morning, Janice,” Trent said Thursday morning as he strolled into her office at the antique store, trying to be casual. He was anything but.
“Good morning, Trent.” She greeted him with a smile, resting her silk-clad arms on the papers strewn over the wide surface of the Chippendale desk, which was polished to a high sheen. “Dominique told me you were home.”
“I need your help.” He didn’t believe in wasting time.
Since awakening that morning he thought of little else except how to get Dominique to go with him tonight. He was convinced that a straightforward approach, his usual way, wouldn’t work this time. Breaking another rule seemed par for the course.
Janice frowned. “I knew something was bothering you. I called last night, but got your machine.”
“I was beat from the trip. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. I simply wanted to invite you over for dinner,” Janice assured him. “As for my help, you know you only have to ask.”
Trent lifted his cap, then ran his large hand across his head. Now came the hard part. “I hate to put you in this position, but I can’t figure out another way,” he admitted, then proceeded to pace on the Aubusson rug in front of her desk.