Her Lover's Legacy

by Adrianne Byrd

  Why Gloria’s gaze tumbled from his penetrating coffee-brown eyes to his deliciously plump lips at the question was beyond her. As to why her stomach looped into knots whenever she was around him? She didn’t even want to go there.

  “First,” she began, and then cleared her throat from what felt like a sack of marbles clogging her windpipe. “I wanted to extend my condolences for your terrible loss, Malcolm.”

  When he gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, she trudged on. “I know the past two years—”

  “Stop.” Despite the soft tone, the order held the authority of a military commander. “I appreciate your coming here and all, but, uh, if you came looking for an Oprah moment, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

  Slowly, Gloria tilted her head side to side and cracked the bones in her neck while she prayed for patience. What was it about Malcolm that got under her skin? From the first time they met, the sarcastic know-it-all rubbed her the wrong way.

  Why had she thought tonight would be any different?

  “Anything else?” he prompted.

  His abhorrent rudeness forced Gloria to silently count to ten. However, Malcolm took her silence as confirmation that she was through. He grasped her by the elbow to direct her back to the front door.

  The touch of his hand shot off a few more sparks, but Gloria planted her feet and jerked her arm free. “I’m not finished yet!”

  Malcolm sighed, rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets, widening the V of his robe and displaying a larger swath of honey-brown skin.

  Gloria licked her lips again.

  “Well?” he said, staring. “I’m sure you understand I’ve had a very long day.”

  “I need you,” she said. When his brows crashed together again, she realized what she’d said hadn’t come out right. “I meant, I need you to come to Harmon’s—I mean, your father’s—office and help pack up his things.”

  He was laughing before she finished the sentence.

  “Malcolm—”

  “Sorry,” he said, still chuckling and shaking his head. “You’ve come to the wrong one. This is a job for Shawnie or Ty or maybe even Mom.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded. “You’re the oldest—the head of the family. This is your job.”

  He went from laughing to scowling in less than two seconds. “I don’t need you to tell me what my job is, Ms. Kingsley.”

  “Oh, really?” Gloria arched her brows and crossed her arms. “You think it was your job to hole up in this apartment for the past three days and watch old videos instead of being at your mother’s and helping the rest of your family through this difficult time?”

  He said nothing, but Gloria saw a vein appear and twitch along his jawline.

  Still, she continued. “The way I see things, the least you could do is help me with Harmon’s office.”

  “The problem with the way you see things, Ms. Kingsley, is that nobody cares—especially me.”

  His words were a verbal slap, but she reeled back as if it was physical. Her chin came up, but when her tears came unbidden, she barely held them in check. “If it makes you feel better to lash out at me, then please by all means, do so. You’re hurting, and I understand it devastates the male ego to show any type of vulnerability—especially around a woman. But when you’re finished attacking me for your personal issues, I still need for you to help pack your father’s belongings.”

  They stood in a stalemate.

  “It shouldn’t take too long,” she added, gentler this time. “Plus, there’s a lot of legal stuff that you would have a better handle on than I would. And it might be one last thing you can do for him.”

  Malcolm drew a deep breath. The protruding vein disappeared, and for one brief moment, Gloria thought she saw his eyes soften. Had she hit the nail on the head?

  “Two hours—tops,” she lied.

  After a long silence, Malcolm nodded and surprised her. “Sorry. What I said was…I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” Gloria relaxed enough to smile. “Truce?”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. “Truce.” He opened his arms and she automatically stepped into his embrace. Arms like steel bands wrapped and pressed her against an equally hard body. His skin smelled fresh, like soap.

  Gloria closed her eyes and drew strength and comfort from a man she’d often found herself at odds with—and she took it. Greedily.

  She must have lost track of time because she jumped when Malcolm cleared his throat. She had to extract herself from his warm embrace, so they endured yet another awkward moment.

  “So, um, Monday?” she asked.

  “Monday it is,” he confirmed with a studying gaze.

  She cleared her throat and straightened her posture. It was time to make her exit. She’d got what she came for: the first step of many in her master plan.

  Chapter 3

  Malcolm needed to get his head examined.

  His father’s office was the last place he wanted to be, and after that strange visit from Gloria a couple of days ago, he wasn’t too sure if it was a smart idea to be alone with her in any capacity. If he hadn’t gotten her to release him when he did, Gloria Kingsley would have felt something else rising from beneath his robe.

  Actually, he was sort of curious how she would’ve reacted. Heaven knows it was a surprise to him, but the combination of her floral-scented perfume and her soft curves pressed against him awakened something within.

  Something he didn’t want to explore.

  Now staring up at the brick-and-glass building of his father’s local office, Malcolm scanned his mental Rolodex of excuses for one that would get him out of going inside.

  Something other than the fact that he simply didn’t want to do this. He wasn’t ready. He may never be ready.

  He sat in his car, watching a few employees trickle out, carrying their boxes of belongings—each unemployed now that Harmon Braddock had passed away.

  The brave soul who would run for the vacant Twenty-ninth Congressional District seat would hire his own professional crew, but a few, like Gloria, would remain and help with whatever transition was needed from the old guard to the new.

  Then what will she do? Malcolm wondered.

  The question puzzled him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know that much about Gloria’s personal life or her history. He just knew the meticulously organized woman who ran his father’s office like a well-oiled machine. As far as he knew, she was never late, always professional and thought the sun rose and set on Harmon Braddock.

  Simply put, her hero worship of his father annoyed him.

  But say what he will, his father seemed equally impressed and dependent on Gloria as well—to the point that she was like a second daughter, a feeling that seemed mutually expressed by Malcolm’s mother as well.

  Shawnie and Tyson were also cast under her spell and had bragged about her on more than one occasion. Yep, everyone loved Gloria, and yet whenever she and Malcolm were in the same room atoms and neutrons collided.

  “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.” He removed the keys from the ignition and climbed out of his silver hybrid SUV. “Whatever you do, stay calm. Don’t let her bait you or get under your skin,” he coached, as if he was gearing up for his old college football games.

  “Malcolm.” A familiar voice whipped out at him as he lumbered up the sidewalk. He looked up and smiled into Mrs. Blake’s kind face. Something about the grandmotherly southern woman made him think of Little League and homemade apple pies. Nothing about her said politics, but in truth she was one impressive campaign manager.

  “Hello, Mrs. Blake,” he greeted her when he reached her. He stooped over and kissed each side of her face and enjoyed the sound of her lighthearted giggles.

  “Such a handsome boy,” she murmured, like she always did when their paths crossed. “What a lovely service your family put together this past weekend. Your father was a very special man.” Her eyes shimmered. “I can’t
tell you how much he’ll be missed.”

  “We’ll all miss him,” he said, combating his own tears.

  “You know, I don’t even understand why he was driving himself that night,” she said. “He usually had his personal driver, Joe, take him everywhere.”

  Malcolm nodded solemnly. “I guess he just felt like driving himself that night,” he said. “The police report said he had to be speeding when he lost control of the car and skidded off the road. The car flipped over and…”

  “Don’t do this to yourself. You know he was so proud of you.” Mrs. Blake gave his right cheek a loving pat. “I know the past two years…”

  Malcolm tensed and dropped his gaze.

  Mrs. Blake patiently tilted up his chin; her smile never wavered. “He loved you,” she said succinctly.

  “I know,” he answered, and received another pat on the cheek.

  They quickly said their goodbyes and Malcolm trudged the rest of the way to his father’s old stomping ground. The moment he entered through the doors, the few people remaining all turned in their chairs. Most of them smiled, while the others gave sympathetic shakes of their heads.

  He gave everyone an awkward wave.

  “There you are, Malcolm,” Gloria said, rounding the corner and rescuing him before the curious descended.

  “I didn’t know so many people were still going to be here,” he whispered, trailing behind her military-like march to his father’s office.

  “There’s still a lot of work that needs to be done,” she said simply. “A lot of loose ends.”

  He nodded and made a quick glance at his watch. Two hours, he reminded himself.

  “I saw you sitting in your car,” she went on. “I was beginning to think you were going to chicken out.”

  Malcolm’s back stiffened. “It feels a bit too soon to be doing this,” he defended.

  “And yet it still needs to be done,” she said, rejecting the excuse.

  He huffed under his breath, thinking she was more robot than woman.

  Gloria walked over to the far right side of the office where a mahogany bookshelf held a library of his father’s law books. “This was Harmon’s personal collection. I believe it was passed down from your grandfather. I have these containers,” she pointed to a stack of blue Wal-Mart brand plastic tubs. “They are labeled and ready. Over here…” She pointed to another bookshelf. “As you can see, these are filled with Harmon’s personal pictures, awards and other personal effects. Those can go into these labeled clear tubs. I sent Mabel out to find us some bubble wrap and foam popcorn so we can minimize potential damages.”

  For that, he did roll his eyes. “I don’t think all that was necessary.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course it was necessary,” she said, and then flittered to another section of the office, where she had more containers labeled. Soon he tuned out her endless prattle and wondered when they were actually going to get down to the business of packing boxes. When she reached the file cabinets and started in on personal tax records versus business travel expenses, Malcolm concluded this was definitely going to take more than a couple of hours.

  Amazingly, she didn’t stop there. There was stuff on the desk, in the desk, pictures on the walls, pictures on the shelves. It was all mind-numbingly dull. Which was the only reason Malcolm’s gaze drifted to study Gloria’s petite body sheathed in a tight, gray pencil skirt (as Shawnie called them) and a cloud-white blouse that perhaps had one button too many open.

  Every once in a while when Gloria dipped or turned, he would get a peek of a creamy-brown breast or a black lace bra. It was a cheap thrill, but he was more than willing to take it…and enjoy it.

  “Maybe I should get us some coffee before we get started,” Gloria suggested, turning and almost catching him staring.

  She waited a moment, and then he realized that he was supposed to say something. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  “Coffee?” she asked, folding her arms and pulling her shirt open a bit and exposing a fair amount of what he guessed was a C-cup.

  She was still waiting.

  He caught and cleared his throat. “Yeah, um, coffee would be great.”

  Gloria nodded and placed the clipboard Malcolm hadn’t noticed she held down on his father’s old desk. “How would you like that? Cream, sugar?”

  “Black…if you don’t mind.”

  Her full lips split into an instant smile. “Just like your father.”

  A frustrated sigh escaped his chest before he thought better to contain his irritation.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, unfazed or ignoring the response. “You can go ahead and get started,” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed toward the door.

  Malcolm’s gaze traveled down her, taking in her every curve until she slipped out of the door. He sighed and then shook his head clear of the direction his thoughts were heading. He turned around and crashed gazes with his father’s portrait hanging on the wall.

  “What?” he mumbled toward his father’s stern expression. “Can’t a man look?”

  Drawing a deep breath, Malcolm turned and walked to one of the sturdy mahogany shelves lined with photographs. As his eyes brushed across a collage of images that summed up his father’s life, tears rose unrelentingly.

  Family pictures were mixed with his father posing with the president of the United States, the vice president, the speaker of the House and even his father’s good friends, Senator Cayman and Judge Hanlon.

  Harmon Braddock in his element.

  Was it a life well lived? Had his father accomplished everything he’d set out to do? Was his father happy about the man he’d become?

  Malcolm drew in a deep breath, wondering if he would ever know the answer to any of those questions. His father certainly wasn’t the man he’d once idolized.

  Selecting one iron-and-glass frame, he studied the photograph he’d known most of his life: the picture of his father and mother on their wedding day. His mother, an extraordinary beauty for any era, clung to and smiled up at her new husband through love-filled eyes. It was as if his mother knew without a doubt she’d married her second half, her heart, her soul mate.

  Harmon Braddock held his wife with equal fervor; his promise to love and cherish was evident in his expression. Everyone who’d ever seen this photograph commented on how striking and in love the couple seemed.

  To which his father always replied, “How can one not fall in love with Evelyn?”

  Malcolm smiled at the sound of his father’s voice echoing from a distant memory while his gaze caressed the picture. He’d always loved this picture, for reasons more clear to him now than ever before. His parents’ love was a rarity. Nowadays, marriages didn’t last as long nor did they seem to strengthen over time. As much as their love was inspiring, though, it was also intimidating.

  How did one know without any doubts they’d met their destiny? Malcolm thought he’d met her once but he’d been wrong.

  Setting the photo down, he casually glanced at another. Shawnie receiving her law degree from the University of Texas, Ty and Felicia’s official engagement photo…

  “Okay,” Gloria said, breezing back into the office with two steaming cups. “Black coffee for you and one hot tea for me.”

  Whatever heartache Malcolm experienced was temporarily forgotten when he faced Gloria and noticed in her approach a fuller display of her creamy brown breasts thrust high in a black-laced bra.

  “Here you go,” she said, trying to extend the mug out to him a second time.

  He lifted his hand but his mouth had slackened.

  She frowned and then followed his line of vision to see another button had worked its way free.

  “Oh, my God!” She thrust the cup toward him; his coffee sloshed over the rim and burned them both.

  Malcolm winced but managed to hold on to the cup.

  Gloria jerked her hand back, waved it in the air as she turned toward the large desk and set her tea down in order to attend to th
e blouse. “You know you could have said something,” she snapped.

  “Sorry,” he said with little conviction. “I was working on it.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  Lips curving, Malcolm rather liked seeing Gloria’s feathers ruffled, especially since before now he didn’t think such a thing was possible. “Look, Gloria. I—”

  “Forget it,” she muttered while glancing around the floor. “Just help me find the button.”

  Still wearing a smile, Malcolm launched into an immediate investigation for the missing clear button against the office’s champagne-colored carpet. That is, until Gloria lowered herself onto all fours and drew Malcolm’s attention to her glorious apple bottom.

  “It has to be around here somewhere,” Gloria mumbled, fanning her hands across the carpet as she crawled her way back toward the door.

  Time seemed to stop as Malcolm watched Gloria inch her way up the carpet. A near-unbearable heat scorched up the column of his neck and burned the tips of his ears. Malcolm fingered his collar loose, mistakenly thinking that it was the cause of his inability to get air into his lungs. Not to mention the unexpected throb and ache against his pants’ inseam.

  Just the sight of the uptight and always-proper assistant kneeling down on all fours made him fantasize about what else that position was good for.

  “Here it is. I found it,” Gloria exclaimed, pushing up to sit on her haunches.

  Malcolm came out of his trance quick enough to set his coffee down and offer his hand to help her up. “Glad that crisis is over with,” he joked, but his throat was still clogged with the residue of lust.

  When Gloria arched a delicately groomed brow, he quickly coughed as a lame cover.

  “Thanks,” she said, placing her hand into his.

  At the feel of her silky palm sliding into his, Malcolm was sure his body temperature soared into the triple digits.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t stand Ms. Gloria “Know-It-All” Kingsley.

  Right?

  Just then, as if to rescue them from themselves, Mabel burst into the office with her arms bursting with packing material.