His Golden Heart

by Marcia King-Gamble

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Ah, bella, you wear me out,” Franco Santana puffed, rolling off Chandra and reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. He lit one and swirls of smoke spiraled upward to form patterns against the ornate gold-leafed ceiling. Taking another long drag, he passed it over to Chandra.

  The satin sheets were damp against Chandra’s naked skin. Franco got an A-plus for stamina, she admitted, but definitely not finesse. They’d been going at it for hours and her body ached. She was sore in places she didn’t think it was possible to be sore. Franco’s hands once more circled her breasts, cupping, teasing, and laving the nipples with his tongue.

  The man was a sex machine, virtually unstoppable, but not entirely in tune with a woman’s body. She’d become an expert at faking dozens of orgasms. The trick was to get loud, pant out his name, grow breathless, and writhe under him. She was good at it. The best. She’d learned the art of deception.

  It hadn’t been like this with Beau. With Beau she hadn’t needed to use her imagination. She’d simply gone with the flow, given in to her feelings. Her orgasms had come in waves, been multiple. No faking needed.

  She supposed a woman couldn’t have everything. Franco was beautiful but so was Beau. But Beau had lost the use of his legs and his sex drive had diminished rapidly.

  She’d wondered if something physical was wrong but hadn’t been brave enough to ask him. Vibrators worked in a pinch but weren’t exactly what she had in mind using for the rest of her life. She wanted a warm vibrant body on top of her, or underneath her for that matter.

  The cigarette was stubbed out as Franco’s hands settled more firmly on her breasts, squeezing gently. Chandra responded with what she thought was a sexy moan. Franco’s hand moved lower, settling between her thighs, testing the moisture. His thumb plunged inside her. Chandra winced. That thumb circled, probed, tested. Chandra moaned. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought about Beau. Beautiful Beau. She could smell the musk on his skin, see the short, bristly hairs on his head, the slant of his cheekbones, and the gray of his eyes. That devastating smile taunted her. She wanted to eat him up, wanted to take that gold earring between thumb and forefinger and give it a twirl. She really did miss her Beau-Beau. Missed the touch of his hands. Missed feeling him inside her. Missed him bringing her to the big O.

  Chandra’s body grew flushed. Sensations took over. She concentrated, thinking about Beau. His gentleness. His beauty. The timbre of his voice. It worked and the feelings grew in intensity.

  “Yes, yes,” she gasped, covering Franco’s hand, pressing his thumb into her more firmly. “Oh, yes. God, yes.” She was almost there.

  The world exploded in various shades of rainbow. Her body rocketed and surged, then found release. She cried out Beau’s name.

  The silence above her was so intense it was palpable. Had Franco heard? She couldn’t afford ticking him off. She opened an eye; he was peering at her intently, adoringly.

  “That was a good one, no?” he asked.

  “The best.” Chandra sighed contentedly. All the credit went to Beau. Her Beau. Why did he have to be crippled?

  She had only a few days left in Milan but Franco still hadn’t mentioned anything about making their arrangement permanent. He hadn’t even proposed they live together. She’d already extended her stay an additional ten days and Bellissima had footed the bill. Now she was scheduled to go back to the states and needed some sign of his commitment. She needed to know whether she could count on him. He obviously needed persuading. Chandra’s hand tightened around the base of Franco’s shaft, squeezing gently. The other cupped the soft flesh below, applying gentle pressure. He gasped and positioned her squarely on top of him. Under his permanent tan, his face was mottled. He was horny as hell. Time to press her advantage.

  “Honey, let’s make love again.”

  “Ah, Bella, we speak the same language.”

  Franco entered her swiftly. Chandra winced. He had a lot to learn about a woman’s body. No wonder she missed Beau. She would call him again. It didn’t hurt to keep Beau as a backup if things didn’t work out the way she wanted. She’d heard he was doing well. What if he managed to walk again? And ski? What if tomorrow he returned to being America’s golden boy? She’d be missing out so best not to bum all her bridges. And better not to burn them with Beau.

  * * *

  The van screeched to a halt in front of the doctor’s office where Beau waited. Kelly stuck her blond head out of the open window and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Am I late?”

  “You are,” he said, quickly wheeling himself down the ramp. “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”

  “Sorry.”

  Kelly waited until he was comfortably settled in the back of the van before asking, “How did it go?”

  “Dr. Weinstein says I’m making good progress. Far better than he thought.”

  Kelly’s golden smile beamed back at him. “That’s awesome. Somehow I’ve never imagined you not being able to ski again.”

  Beau gulped. He couldn’t imagine that either. Even today, his doctor had been so optimistic and hopeful that he might recover fully. He’d assured Beau the tingling in his legs was a good sign, meaning he was slowly regaining feeling. Continued therapy, he’d said, was the key to building confidence and muscles. Dr. Weinstein had felt there was a strong possibility that in the next week or so, Beau would be able to stand and maybe even take a few steps. The jury was still out as to whether he would ski again. But in his mind he was already flying down those slopes.

  “Where to?” Kelly called, pulling out onto the crowded street.

  “Hill Of Dreams. I promised to stop by.”

  “Oh. Sure you’re up to it?”

  “Have to do it.”

  Beau had promised Reggie he would drop by on his very first day of volunteering. He hadn’t told Mohammed he was coming and figured he’d surprise him.

  Minutes later, Kelly came to a stop in front of the low brick building.

  “We’re here,” she announced. “When would you like me to come back?”

  “How about seven? That gives me a full three hours.”

  “Good, gives me time to run some errands. I’ll wait until you’re in.”

  In a more positive mood, Beau guided his wheelchair up the ramp. To think he might get out of this chair and walk again was amazing. But until that happened, he would keep the news to himself, allow it to germinate and grow seed, until the possibility became real. Maybe he would work on standing on his own, and even try taking a few tentative steps. He wanted to surprise Shayna the next time he saw her.

  Beau had some difficulty opening the front door and finally resorted to banging the brass knocker.

  Kelly honked at him. “Want me to get that?”

  “No. Someone will let me in in a minute. At least they better,” Beau muttered.

  The door was thrown open and Mohammed faced him. “Hey, man, what are you doing here? We didn’t expect you.” He clapped a hand on Beau’s back.

  “Thought I would surprise you. Is there a reason you’re blocking the doorway?”

  With a toot of the horn, Kelly was off and Mohammed moved aside.

  Upon entering, he felt the frenzy in the air. Lots of negative energy swirling. “Tell me what’s going on?” he demanded.

  Mohammed bit down on his lower lip sheepishly. “We had a new guy come in today. The man went crazy moments after he arrived. He began shouting obscenities, tearing the place up. It took at least four men to restrain him.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I had to call the hospital. They sent an ambulance. He was sedated and taken away in a straitjacket”

  “Sounds like you had your hands full.”

  This was not the first time something like this had happened. It was a chance you took when opening up your doors to the homeless and downtrodden. Raised voices came from down the hallway. A television blasted in some unseen place. Groups of men huddled talking loudly,
the insane man still the topic.

  “I’m gathering everyone is still shook up,” Beau said, rolling his eyes in the direction of the men.

  “Yeah, they’re all still talking. No one knew if he had a weapon and we weren’t taking chances.”

  Beau looked around checking for Reggie. He was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Reggie DaCosta? Isn’t he supposed to be here?”

  “Out back, maybe, playing basketball with the men. I still don’t like the idea of his being here, Beau.”

  “Why not?”

  “The boy’s not especially likable and he’s involved in a high profile case.”

  “We’ve harbored criminals before,” Beau said giving Mohammed a pointed look.

  His manager flinched and Beau realized his dig had hit home. There’d been at least two cases that he knew of where there’d been warrants out for the arrest of men who were regulars. Mohammed too had a checkered past.

  Beau began wheeling himself up the hallway. “I might as well go say hi to today’s visitors. I promised the kid I’d be here for moral support”

  He stopped in the kitchen, where an enthusiastic Penny greeted him and invited him to stay for dinner and try her meat loaf.

  “We’d love to have you,” Penny urged.

  “It’s tempting,” Beau said, thanking her. “Let me see how the day goes.”

  The more he thought about it, the more he realized that it might be a good opportunity to chat with Reggie and get to know him better. It would be interesting to see how the boy acted when he wasn’t under the supervision of his sister. Maybe the teenager would relax and Beau could get a better handle on Shayna. He was still angry with her. Actually more hurt than angry.

  Why hadn’t she thought enough of him to tell him who she really was?

  He wheeled himself into the recreation room where a television blasted and several men huddled in front of the screen. They talked over each other, the conversation all about the insane man and his attempts to destroy the place. Apparently he’d tried to break the very same TV they all sat around. That hadn’t gone over well. But evidence of his destruction was visible. Broken Ping-Pong paddles lay on the floor alongside bent and discarded pool cues. There was even a dent in one wall where he’d hurled a man who’d tried to stop him from tearing up the place.

  “The guy went nuts, Mr. Hill,” a graying man, Beau recognized informed him. “He could have killed someone. We need to get us security.”

  Beau had thought about hiring guards before, but had been reluctant to do so. He knew he took chances, but he’d felt a screening process and metal detector out front sent a loud enough message. Besides, Hill Of Dreams was about embracing the underdog and giving opportunities to people who had given up on life. It was his duty to make these people feel they were trusted and special. The disheartened came here to be given a second chance and to feel they were productive, contributing members of society. His guests needed a place where they could come and go as they pleased and where they could speak freely. There had to be a suitable compromise.

  Beau surveyed the damage, realizing how lucky they’d been. This kind of anger needed to be challenged. Someone could have easily gotten hurt. Luckily the man hadn’t had a weapon.

  On the screen a solemn-faced newscaster announced the day’s tragedies. Beau paid scant attention to his ramblings until one of the men shouted excitedly. “Mr. Hill, ain’t that your father?”

  “Beau,” he responded automatically. Mr. Hill was not something he was ever used to being called. Sure enough, a picture of his dad filled the screen.

  Beau scowled at the television, trying to follow the story. His dad was out of town so this could not possibly be live. Reggie’s face flashed across the screen along with several other teenagers. The announcer dredged up the old story, adding his own editorial about unconscionable urban youth with a penchant for trouble. So much for remaining neutral and impartial.

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Mohammed muttered behind him. “We have our own problems here and taking that hoodlum on just added to them.”

  “Give it a rest, Mohammed,” Beau hissed. “It’s not like you’re a saint.”

  Mohammed muttered something Beau preferred to ignore.

  A woman’s face flickered across the screen. She was introduced as the victim, and she went on and on about being beaten up and stuffed in a closet while her place was ransacked. The reporter mentioned the upcoming trial, announcing that Reggie DaCosta’s attorney had insisted the boys were at a McDonald’s at the time of the alleged vandalism and assault. Ending with, “So far no witnesses have come forward.”

  “Really?” A voice behind Beau interjected. “I seen those boys. I seen them at McDonald’s.”

  Beau turned to see the same graying man who had spoken up earlier. The one who’d said the destructive man went nuts. His eyes were fastened firmly on the television.

  Beau looked at him with skepticism. “When?”

  “The night that reporter says they beat up that old lady. Them boys came running out of a beat up Focus. I never seen anybody order so much food. They sat in the back stuffing it down before taking off.”

  “What were you doing in McDonald’s?” Beau asked, wondering if the man was lying.

  The man shrugged his shoulders. “I was cold. The building was warm and I had just scored a twenty working at the salvage place. I sat in the back sipping on coffee and eating one ah dem Big Macs.”

  “What time was that? I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Ebenezer.”

  Beau knew that it must sound as if he was interrogating the man, but not everyone who came to Hill Of Dreams was upfront or honest. Before he went running off to tell Shayna the news, he wanted to be sure this wasn’t some wacko with a cooked-up story.

  Ebenezer scrunched up his nose, thinking. “Let’s see, it must have been after eleven. The T.V. was on so we could see the evening news.”

  “Would you recognize any of the kids if you saw them again?” Beau asked.

  “Sure thing. They sat for a while and they was noisy. The guy next to me had to ask them to shut up so that we could hear the television.”

  “One of those kids is working here,” Beau said matter-of-factly. “He’s in a heap of trouble, so anything you remember will be much appreciated.” Beau held out his hand. Ebenezer clasped it in his powerful grip.

  Through the entire conversation Mohammed had remained quiet. “Now shall I go find Reggie?” he asked, his demeanor changing.

  “Please. I’d like to have dinner with him in the private dining room. It would be interesting to hear what his impressions are so far. Can you join us?”

  “Sorry. I’ll have to pass. I need to run an errand and dinner’s about the only time I have.”

  Beau continued to talk to Ebenezer as Mohammed took off.

  Ten minutes later, Mohammed returned with a sweating Reggie whose stance said he was wary about being summoned.

  “Looks like you’ve been getting quite the workout,” Beau said, eyeing the wary boy. “Having fun?”

  “Yeah, man. It’s been awesome.” Reggie’s wide grin flashed, and he high-fived Beau. It was the first time Beau had ever seen him this loose or animated. “My team kicked butt.” Reggie was operating on pure adrenaline.

  “So you’re enjoying yourself?”

  “Oh, yeah. I thought it would be all work.”

  Beau winked at him. “We’re full of surprises here at The Hill.” He gestured to Ebenezer who stood off to the side observing them. “This is the kid I was talking about.”

  Ebenezer took his time assessing Reggie. “Yup, that’s one of them, all right.”

  “I’m one of them? What’s going on?” Reggie asked.

  Beau figured he’d better explain. He told Reggie that Ebenezer had been in McDonald’s the night of the alleged crime and thought he’d seen him.

  “See, and nobody believed me,” Reggie grumbled.

  “Shayna did. How about
you and I have dinner together? You can tell me about that night and talk to me about your sister.”

  The old Reggie resurfaced, tough and in your face. “So that’s it. You’re using me to get close to my sister. Why not just call her and talk to her about whatever’s on your mind?”

  “That’s always an option. Right now you and I are going to chill. We’re having some of that great meatloaf Penny cooked and we can shoot the breeze or just be quiet. It’s up to you.”

  Beau turned his attention on Ebenezer again. “Call me if you remember anything else. You’ve got the number here. Mohammed can get in touch with me at a moment’s notice.”

  “Will do,” Ebenezer said, touching his head in a mock salute.

  Beau counted on the old guy to be back in touch, if not he would just have to find him.

  Gesturing to Reggie to follow him, he wheeled himself out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “How’s Beau Hill doing?” Mary Jane Coppola asked, sipping her wine and eyeing the crowded LoDo sidewalk where men in business suits strolled by casting furtive glances at the female patrons. “I’ve got to start hanging out down here more often.” She ogled an attractive man in an expensive-looking trench coat, smiling when he looked her way.

  “Beau’s making progress,” Shayna said carefully, ignoring the fluttering in her gut. “Right now he’s not too happy with me, though.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Shayna told her how Beau had found out about her past and that she’d been Little Shay, a onetime Olympic hopeful.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Mary Jane said. “You mean I’m working with someone famous?”

  “I used to be famous,” Shayna corrected. It felt good sitting here and not having to rush home and get dinner started. It was Reggie’s first evening at Hill Of Dreams, and Shayna and Mary Jane were finally having that promised drink. Shayna was enjoying Mary Jane’s tart sense of humor and was incredibly relaxed. The cute sidewalk cafe lent itself to people watching, her favorite pastime.