Blessedly, the interior was warm. Once the doors were locked, he asked still shivering, “Is this weather normal for April?”
“April’s never normal,” Reggie pointed out. “This is Michigan. Let me take your coat.”
He handed it over but he couldn’t seem to shake the shivers.
“Welcome to our home, Mr. Reynolds,” her grandmother said, handing Reggie her coat, too. “Reg, take him in the living room and park him by the radiator so he can thaw out. I’ll get the coffee started.”
With a smile, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Jamal followed Reggie into the small living room. By his L.A. standards, the place was tiny. Living room, dining room, kitchen and maybe a small bathroom somewhere in the back. Bedrooms upstairs, he guessed. The furniture was worn but proudly polished. The beautiful framed abstract art hanging on the walls immediately caught his eye. The work, filled with muted reds and blues, was outstanding and he wondered who the artist might be even as he continued to shake from the cold.
“Radiator’s there.” She pointed at what appeared to be a bunch of pipes resembling an opened accordion.
Puzzled, he studied it. As he moved closer, he could feel heat but wasn’t sure how it was being transmitted.
She must have seen the confusion on his face. “You don’t know what a radiator is?”
“In California, we don’t need things like this.”
“Runs off steam. Hold your hands above it like this.”
Jamal mimicked her motion. The soft heat that bathed his hands made him groan with relief. “Oh, that’s good.”
She cracked a smile.
He liked her smile. He also liked the way she looked this evening. The simple black dress flowed around her like a song, giving her a sophistication and a polish that seemed to ramp up her natural beauty. He forced his eyes away from the strand of pearls draped sinuously around her throat because all he could think about was her wearing them while nude in his bed. “I like the paintings. Who’s the artist?”
“Gram. She did them as part of her rehab after her stroke. She didn’t want them framed, but I thought they were too good to be just tossed out.”
“When was the stroke?”
“About fifteen years ago.”
“Do you think I could commission her to do one for me?”
She shrugged. “You can ask.”
He studied the woman he was developing a craving for. “Are you sure you’re okay with me being here tonight? Six is early.”
“It is, but I’m okay.”
He had no way of knowing if she was telling the truth, but he was glad to have any amount of time with her, even if it was just long enough to drink a cup of coffee. He searched his mind for a topic that would keep her talking to him. “I like your hair down.”
“Thanks. Trina does it. Nothing like having your best friend be a hairdresser. What’s your best friend do to pay the bills?”
The question caught him off guard. “Hmm. Let’s see.” He mentally went down the list of people he could call friend, but decided none qualified as best. “Don’t have one.”
Her face showed confusion. “Everybody has a best friend.”
He shrugged. “I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Got my music. It’s the only friend I need.”
“What about family? Brothers, sisters?”
Again he shrugged. “Don’t have any of those either, far as I know.”
“What?”
“Raised in foster care.”
“Ah. Okay. Didn’t mean to be so nosy.”
“No problem. It’s a natural question.”
Reggie still felt bad. She’d never known anyone who didn’t have family somewhere, even if it was jail. How had that affected him growing up? she wondered. She decided she’d been nosy enough for one night, so she kept the question to herself. She looked at him looking back at her from where he stood by the radiator, and there in the quiet of her grandmother’s living room, Jamal Reynolds became more real.
“Coffee’s ready,” Gram called out.
Jamal’s feet had finally thawed, so he gestured for Reggie to go first. “After you.”
As she led the way, he watched the siren sway of her dress-covered hips, and all he could do was shake his head and say to himself, My, my, my.
Reggie sensed he was checking her out and her inner awareness of him amped up a few more notches. His eyes had been on her all evening; sometimes teasing, sometimes serious, but always there. It wasn’t something she was accustomed to. There was also the looming question of whether he was really interested in her or if this was just a game to get her to say yes to his proposal. She didn’t like that second part and so reminded herself that she’d only met him a few days ago. She also reminded herself that even though her grandmother had given him her stamp of approval, she knew her grandmother; Crystal Vaughn had a lot more questions. Jamal may have thought this was just a polite invitation to coffee, but he was about to learn why Reggie and Trina had nicknamed her The Grand Inquisitor.
After they took seats at the kitchen table and fixed their coffees to their likings, Reggie, sipping on a mug of decaf tea, sat back and watched.
“Mr. Reynolds, Reggie and Trina say you’re a producer. Would I know any of the names you’ve worked with?” Crystal asked.
He ran down some of the names Reggie had seen on his Web page, and again, it was an impressive list.
Gram looked impressed as well. “Some good folks there.”
“I think so.”
“How long have you been in the business?”
“Did my first CD when I was seventeen, so about seventeen years.”
“You must enjoy it?”
“Almost as much as this coffee.”
Her eyes were kind. “Help yourself to more if you like.”
“Thanks.”
Although he had ceased to be a cardboard cutout to Reggie, the jury was still out. Granted, he was so charming he had her grandmother eating out of his hand, and every time his eyes met Reggie’s, she found it hard to breathe, like now, but that didn’t change the fact that being a music teacher was the sanest decision to make at this juncture in her life.
Jamal noticed that Reggie hadn’t said much, but even as her grandmother continued to quiz him, he was unable to keep his eyes from straying over her mouth, eyes, the sweep of her cheeks and the way she was wearing her hair. That she didn’t appear cognizant of how gorgeous she actually was was yet another surprise. So many of the women he met were all about their looks.
Crystal asked, “Do you travel a lot, Mr. Reynolds?”
“Please call me Jamal, and yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Must be hard on your wife?”
“No wife.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Gram!” Reggie croaked through the tea she’d just swallowed.
Jamal smiled. “It’s okay. No special girlfriend either. Ladies don’t like being second.”
“To what?”
“My music. Can’t seem to find one who understands why I’m in the studio 24/7. But maybe one day.” His next words were directed at Reggie. “A beautiful woman can move you just like a beautiful song.”
Heat spread over Reggie like warm syrup over waffles, leaving her nipples hard and an answering riff between her thighs.
As if he hadn’t just set her on fire, he smoothly returned to Crystal, “And I’m not offended by your questions. I’m asking Regina to make a big decision. I figured this was going to be more than just a cup of coffee.”
Cute and smart, Reggie echoed inwardly again. Her grandmother had the decency to look embarrassed.
“My apologies for being so nosy. But you’re right, I want to know all about you.”
“I respect that. Have to let you know that I like your abstracts. They’re very good.”
“I had some health problems a few years back and the painting was therapy. You like them?”
“I do. Very much.”
&
nbsp; “Then next time I set up my easel, I’ll do one for you.”
Reggie smiled over her cup. Her grandmother hadn’t painted in years. In fact, Reggie was certain Crystal didn’t even know where the easel was. Guess the current is getting to Gram, too.
“How much longer will you be in the city?” she asked next.
“Not sure.”
He moved his attention to Reggie again and what she read there made her feel as if he’d already kissed her; had already brushed his lips over the side of her neck and down her breasts. It was as if they’d been lovers in times past and her body was preening for his remembered touch.
Crystal’s even-toned voice broke the pulsating contact. “So tell me where you grew up. What do your parents do?”
Reggie wanted to deflect the questioning before he was forced to explain his past, but he answered smoothly, “As I told Regina earlier, I grew up in foster care. No one adopted me, so I aged out of the system at eighteen.”
The impact of his words was evident on her grandmother’s face. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive my prying.”
“It’s okay. Being a foster kid taught me to be independent. I probably wouldn’t be who I am today without that experience.”
“Jamal, I’m very glad we met.”
“Same here,” he responded genuinely. “Thanks for having me in your home, and for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome. There’s apple pie in the fridge if you want some.”
His eyes lit up with such delight both women laughed.
She said to Reggie, “I’m going to leave you two alone.”
“Ms. Vaughn, you’re welcome to stay,” he assured her. “I’ve nothing to hide.”
“Nope. Heard all I need to. Reggie’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”
Reggie gave her a nod of thanks. Truthfully, she would prefer her grandmother stay in order to not be alone with him, but she knew that was out. “I’ll see you later.”
Crystal got to her feet, and Jamal stood, too. His show of chivalry won him more points. “And a gentleman, too? I think I’m in heaven.”
She made her exit while an amused Reggie watched her go.
After the departure, silence settled over the kitchen. Reggie glanced his way and found his eyes waiting. Beginning to drown in what she saw there, she cleared her throat and looked elsewhere.
Jamal couldn’t believe the strength of his attraction. In order to drag his mind away from wondering if her mouth would taste as sweet as it appeared, he asked, “How about I help you wash up these cups?”
“That isn’t necessary. I can handle it.”
“You’ve been putting up with my stalking for the past couple of days, it’s the least I can do.”
To Reggie the air in the room had become as humid and sultry as a summer day in July. All she could do was acquiesce. “Okay.”
After putting on an apron, it took her only a moment to make the dishwater.
He walked over to where she stood at the sink and suggested, “You wash and I’ll dry.”
“Are you always so helpful?”
“Not usually, but if it’ll get me a hearing with you, I’ll dry dishes outside in the snow.”
His dark gaze was working her overtime, and all kinds of things she’d rather not think about were pulsing inside. “Dish towels are in the drawer over there.”
In addition to the cups, the dishes holding the food her grandmother had taken to the potluck also needed to be washed, dried and put away. As they worked, conversation was minimal, but that was okay with Jamal. As he removed the wet dishes from the dish drain and dried them, he was content to watch her—the way she moved, the way she kept shooting little glances over her shoulder at him. He kept reminding himself it was her voice he was after, not the lure of her, or the challenge she presented, or the way she might look nude in his bed and wearing nothing but those pearls now lying in the middle of the table, but it was hard to remember.
With her hands in the soapy water, Reggie washed and then rinsed the big rose-patterned bowl used at the potluck to hold her grandmother’s signature jambalaya. She placed it in the dish drain just as he reached to take it out. Their fingers bumped and the sparks flew, startling them both.
“Sorry,” they apologized in unison.
A shy smile crossed her face.
“Like your smile,” he confessed.
“Yours isn’t bad either.”
Silence rose while they both rode the opening notes of a prelude only they could hear.
He asked, “When are you going to let me talk to you?”
Reggie got the impression that he was asking about way more than a recording session. She kept her voice nonchalant. “How about now? We’re done here.” She dried her hands and gestured him back to his seat at the table. “Do you want that pie? More coffee?”
“Yes to both. I’ll get myself another cup and you get the pie.”
He poured himself some of the still-hot coffee. She cut two slices of the apple pie and placed them gently onto paper plates.
“I’m having just a little piece,” she explained. “I don’t want to be up all night.”
Jamal had been having such a good time, he’d all but forgotten about her having to work in the morning. In his world, if it took all night to consummate a deal, so be it, but this was her world, and there were parameters. He felt the need to apologize. “I’m sorry, and here I am keeping you up, too. Forget the pie, let’s have a quick conversation, and we can work out the details by phone or something later.”
“I’m good. Have your pie and coffee. As long as I’m in bed by eleven, I’ll be okay.” She passed him a plate and a fork.
“What time do you usually get up?”
“Around four-thirty, and on the road no later than five-fifteen.”
“That’s early.”
“That’s life in hotel housekeeping.”
“How long have you worked housekeeping?”
But before she could respond, he groaned pleasurably in response to his first taste of the pie. “This is so damn good.”
Pleased by his testimonial, she replied, “Gram’s from Louisiana. She can make a cardboard box taste good.”
He glanced her way. “You cook, too?”
“Yep, but not as good as she does.”
“I’d be big as a Klump if I lived here.”
She chuckled. “First time I ever heard it put that way, but to answer your question about working in housekeeping, almost two years.”
That gave him pause. He wanted her to sing, not be on her knees scrubbing tubs even if it was good honest work. “Do you like working at the hotel?”
“I do. The guests can get on your nerves sometimes and it’s hard work, but it’s a job. In this economy, I’m glad to have anything that pays the bills.”
He knew she was right of course. The sheer size of his personal wealth insulated him from having to worry about the everyday issues that impacted folks on the opposite end of the economic spectrum, and it made him wonder how the Vaughn women were doing financially. Were they up-to-date on their mortgage or in danger of foreclosure? There was food in the house and they had lights and heat, but were they robbing Peter to pay Paul in order to make their bills? He didn’t know them well enough to ask something so personal, nor would he be so disrespectful, but she couldn’t be making much money cleaning rooms. Did she have health insurance? “Being in the music business can change your life.”
“For better or worse?”
He studied her over his raised cup. “I’d say better.”
“I’d say, depends.”
“Why?”
“I just do.”
“Come on, girl. You can’t just throw that statement out there with no explanation. What’s up with all this negativity?”
For a moment she didn’t respond, but he could see from her unfocused stare that she seemed to be elsewhere. “Talk to me, please?” he asked softly.
Reggie was debating whether to tell him
the truth. He’d been so polite and nice all evening she supposed he’d earned it. Maybe when he heard what she had to say, he’d understand the other reason why she was so hesitant to throw caution to the wind. “My mother had one of the best voices in the city. Sang backup for one of the Grady girl groups. A record executive turned her on to heroin and she overdosed one night in Copenhagen.”
Jamal’s heart turned over. This wasn’t even close to what he’d been expecting to hear. “How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “My condolences.”
“Thanks…”
She looked haunted by her sadness. Seeing it filled him with an urge to make it so she’d never experience such pain again. “I’m not going to rip you off or give you drugs. You have an amazing voice and you could go so far in this business. How’s your grandmother feel about my offer?”
“She’s all for it, of course. When I told her about meeting you, she called me Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and said it was time for me to put on my ruby-red slippers and start walking down the yellow brick road.”
“I like your grandmother.”
“She liked you, too.”
“But you don’t agree with her?”
“I do, but it’s hard to know what’s right. I have a job and prospects for a better one if I can keep saving up and finish school.”
“Okay, tell you what. I’m going to leave you alone for a few days. I’ll fly back to L.A., and then call you to see if you’ve made a decision.” He was not going to let the best voice he’d discovered in nearly a decade slip away. “You still have my card, right?”
She looked embarrassed. “No. I tossed it after you left.”
“You’re a mess, you know that?”
Holding his humor-filled gaze, Reggie wondered what it might be like to have him in her life for real.
“Do you believe in fate?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Well, I do and I believe that I was supposed to run into you at the hotel.”
“Why?”
“To hear you singing.”
She didn’t respond.
“The music gods have sent me to show you the way to the mountaintop, and I’m not coming back empty-handed, so know that.”
Rhythms of Love Page 4