Sitting in the big fan-backed chair, with a shaft of afternoon sun backlighting him, Harry Jordan looked like he could have been anything from a king to a generous angel, and the look suited him. He turned his head, and she studied his profile—infinitely easier to look at than his full face with those disturbing eyes and distracting lips.
His face was a clean oval, with highly defined cheekbones and a firmly squared jaw that saved him from being too pretty. His nose was long and straight, its broadness acknowledging African his heritage. And without meaning to, she loved his dark eyes with their unexpectedly long lashes. Those were gorgeous, but they didn’t make things any easier. Panic and embarrassment thickened in her throat, and as their server turned from the table, she pressed her lips together, afraid of what she might say and how he might take it. After what he just saw, he’s going to think I’m some kind of crazy shyster or thief.
Harry moved dishes and unfurled his napkin. Trying not to meet his eyes, Bianca looked at her napkin. Knowing she couldn’t stare at it all day, her mouth opened.
“I used to live with him. I borrowed money for my business from him. The business was robbed and, at first, the police thought I did it but now they don’t. He threw me out. I had to get a job. Your brother hired me and now I’m paying the debt off as fast as I can.” Like a clock with a busted spring, she finally wound down. “I guess this was a mistake, and you’ll want to take me home now.”
“We just got here and we haven’t eaten yet. Why would I want to take you home?” Harry asked, taking her hands. “Look, Bianca, you and that guy have a past and some differences, and that’s why he’s an ex-boyfriend. That’s not my business, but for this little while, you are my business, and I’m not ready to give him any of my time with you.”
“Me and all my complications?”
“You want to make it better?” He dropped her hands and looked at his watch. “You’ve got ten seconds.”
“Oh, you’re kidding! I’ve already told you…”
“Starting now.”
“I…oldest of two, parents deceased, clothing designer, Vive la Reine is the name of my store, uh…I really want you to like me, but…” Realizing what she’d said, she pushed back her chair, started to stand. “I can’t do this.”
Harry caught her wrist. “Where are you going?”
“Away from you.” Trying to free her wrist, she took two steps in a failed escape attempt.
Harry kept his fingers on her wrist. “Sit down. This was supposed to be a leisurely lunch, not a footrace, remember?”
“This has been a disaster. I don’t know why either one of us is still here.”
“Hey, we’ve kissed and shared a love song, it’s too late to turn back now. Sit.” He watched the urge to flee leave her face, and loosened his fingers. “It can’t be all bad.”
“Not all bad,” she echoed, dropping back into the chair. “I really do have a new contract, with Neiman’s.”
“Ah,” he smiled, “the silver lining.”
His smile was genuine, and she felt glad to be on the receiving end of it. The corners of his eyes did that cute crinkling thing, and her spirits rose. The man didn’t know her from Adam’s housecat, yet his opinion mattered and he wasn’t judging. “You’re really too nice, you know that? Any other man would be halfway down the street right now, running from me and my messy issues.”
“Maybe I was tempted to run—for a minute. But I’m drawn to complications.”
“Obviously. After Kelvin’s appearance, I can’t even imagine what you’re thinking.”
“I can tell you now. I’m thinking of you.”
Now why did he want to go and say something like that? Why did he have to go and say something that made her want to fan herself? If it was a line, it was a good one.
Her fingers grazed the back of his hand, and he felt the power of her sincerity shimmer between them. Touching him made her pulse bump, bringing up another potential complication. Men who made her pulse bump usually meant bad news, but this one—this one felt different.
When she’d first met him, Kelvin had made her pulse bump, too. But Harry Jordan really was different, kind of reminding her of someone. It took a moment for her to remember who, and then it clicked.
AJ Yarborough.
He had that same kind of clean-cut, bone-deep character, and they both possessed a kind of inborn decency that kept Harry from flinching or turning up his nose when Kelvin appeared and got nasty. Harry had defended her, given her the benefit of the doubt. That made him kind, and Bianca knew what she’d done with and to kind men in the past—this man deserved better. He deserved…
“I’m thinking maybe we should just wait and see what develops.”
Bianca’s pulse bumped again. “Harry, when I kissed you, I didn’t plan for it to be any more than that…a kiss. Then we came here and…Was I wrong to kiss you?”
“No, not wrong. I can truthfully say I enjoyed it.”
“I’ve read that Japanese people are not likely to do something like that.”
“Because my mother is Japanese, you think I’d mind kissing a pretty woman?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But you are pretty, and I did enjoy kissing you. I didn’t mind at all.”
Bianca concentrated on her food. She wasn’t going to eat it, but as long as she moved it around she could pretend he wasn’t waiting for her to hold up her end of the conversation—and she needed a minute. He had no intention of breaking the silence, so she finally surrendered.
“I don’t know you well enough to appreciate your heritage, and I didn’t want to offend you.”
“By kissing me?” He didn’t quite laugh, but she saw the amusement on his face.
Now he’s making fun of me.
“I just know that at Kin Kura, Akemi seems to revere his Japanese roots, and I thought that since you’re brothers…Do I sound like some kind of bigot?”
“No. Just a little limited. Kemi and I approach our heritage from different angles. We each embrace what we love. I love the language, the history, and my family—on both sides.”
Bianca put her fork down and tried to gather her dignity. “So what am I supposed to make of that?”
“You’re just going to have to treat me like you would any other black man in Atlanta. I grew up in southwest Atlanta, not Tokyo’s Shibuya ward.”
“But you’ve been there.”
“I’ve also been to Kyoto, Osaka, and Kanagawa. I’ve taken the Yamanote Line to Harajuku Station, but I grew up using MARTA and passing through Five Points, right here in Atlanta. I use chopsticks about as well as any grown man, though I have to admit I prefer a fork. I’m Baptist, not Buddhist. I speak several languages, but my Southern drawl still comes through if I’m not careful.”
“You didn’t tell me any of that when I first asked you about yourself.”
“You only gave me ten seconds.”
“I’d like to hear your Southern drawl.”
“Would you really?” He drew the words long, making them deep and Southern and sexy, letting them touch her like a warm caress, and Bianca would have willingly listened to him read the phone book if he’d used that voice.
“That was nice.” She forgot about being called limited. “Now say something in Japanese.”
He reached across the table and his fingers traced the line of her arm. “Kimi wa bokuga imamade mitanakade mottomo utsukushii josei da,” he murmured, so quietly that she knew the words were for her ears only.
“What does that mean?” she whispered.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said quietly, watching her lips part.
It wasn’t the first time Bianca had heard the compliment, but in that moment, she would have sworn it was the first time she had ever believed it.
“You know, your brother and my sister went to a lot of trouble to get us together.”
Harry ran a slow finger along the back of her hand. “But where do we go from here?”
Her fingers fluttered and she tried to shut out Julia’s voice, but the words slipped through, anyway: The best way to get over an old man is to get under a new one.
“I know where my sister thinks we should wind up.”
“Probably the same place my brother thinks we should wind up.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’ve already seen I’ve got a little baggage.”
Willing to take a chance, Harry shrugged. “Who doesn’t?”
“I don’t know. There’s a child over at that table.” She pointed toward a family, obviously on an after-church outing. Sitting between two larger children and wearing a red bowtie, the little boy smiled brightly and waved to her. “He’s probably baggage-free.”
“I don’t know, he looks shifty to me.” Harry grinned.
“Where are we going with this, Harry?”
Some part of his brain sounded a warning, and he clamped down on the answer he might have given her. What if he was the one who wanted more than she was prepared to give? He looked at her in her pretty white summer dress, with her hair falling so soft and easy around her face and shoulders, holding his hand. I don’t have a clue where this is going, he wanted to say. I only know that I want to know, so, for right now, I’m going where you’re going.
“I enjoyed the lunch…and I value your trust.”
My trust has value for her?
“I want to do it again…soon.” She licked her lips, the tiny sweep of her tongue leaving them moist and inviting. “Harry, I’m going to feel like the biggest fool in the world if you don’t say something.”
Harry had no clue where the rest of the afternoon would lead, but he knew he was willing to follow this woman long enough to find out. Holding her hand, feeling her heat, he finally said, “I want to get to know you better, so we’re going to do this and a lot more. Together. Soon. Often.”
“Promise?”
A little pod of desire burst in him. “I promise, but let’s finish this day together.”
Her smile was like a wash of light when she stood and followed him out of the restaurant.
CHAPTER 11
“I think he was tempted to just let lunch just be lunch, but I figured that if I pushed hard enough, he would call her again.” Kemi dropped the newspaper to the wrought-iron table and set his coffee mug beside it.
“And it worked. Man, I am so glad you guys don’t follow some stupid man rule about calling after a first date.”
“I don’t know about any of that, but I do know that they’ve been talking all week, sometimes a couple of times a day.”
“I know more than that—she took him to Vive la Reine to see the work she’s done on it.”
“Really? When?”
“Wednesday or Thursday night. I think he was going to help her hang some wallpaper, or something.”
“Got to say I’m impressed,” Kemi said, unfurling the yoga mat and giving it a snap to straighten it before dropping it to the terrace floor.
“What’s all that noise? Are you getting ready to work out?”
“Yeah.” Talking with Julia and stretching had become a morning routine, and he had to admit that he looked forward to the conversation. The regular check-ins with Bianca’s sister were preferable, by far, to his morning encounters with Paisley Denham and her giant puppy.
“Got to give it to you, that last call was genius.” Julia licked at the foam topping her latté as she fumbled with her car remote. She was glad she’d taken a different route from the one her trainer usually took. Glenda would wear her butt out if she knew about the stop for coffee, especially since Julia had gotten it fully loaded: whole milk, sugar, the works. “Whatever you said to Harry pretty much lit a fire under him.”
“And set your sister on slow burn.”
“Slow burn is better than no burn,” she said, defensive against the pride she heard in Kemi’s voice. “And I think that getting from lunches to dinners is definite progress.”
“It is, but don’t you think that breakfast would mark even more progress?”
“Ask your brother.”
“I would, except I think he went off without his phone. My calls have gone straight to voicemail. It wouldn’t do that if he had it with him. Wonder where he is?”
“Where do you think he is?”
“With any luck, maybe your sister knows.”
“At ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, if she knows for the reason we’re hoping for…well, she won’t be answering the phone…”
* * *
Stepping off the elevator, Harry slapped at his pockets. He found his phone and was glad, not that he was anticipating an emergency; carrying it was simply a habit—a habit he’d begun to rethink since meeting Bianca Coltrane. She was interesting enough to make a man rethink a lot of old habits.
Like sleeping alone.
He still couldn’t believe they were neighbors, but they were and there was no reason not to take advantage of it. He punched in her number and listened for her voice. The worst thing she could say was no, but he hoped she wouldn’t.
“Hello?”
Her voice, languid and dreamy, excited him at the same time.
“Good morning, Bianca. This is…”
“I know who you are, Harry. Good morning.”
Sweet and appealing, the sound of her voice was totally arousing. Harry wondered what she slept in, and desire nipped at him. How long had it been since he’d said ‘good morning’ to a woman before breakfast, and in a non-business context? “I was wondering what you have planned for this morning?”
“Are you trying to make a date with me?”
Flustered, Harry pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it. How did she do that? I am the owner of a Fortune 500 company and this woman has me stammering like a kid. Trying to man up, he cleared his throat and moved the phone back to his ear. “I thought that since we’re neighbors…”
“Since we’re neighbors and it’s almost ten on a Saturday morning, would you like to have breakfast with me?” She was in bed; he knew it when he heard the covers rustling.
“I’m not much of a cook, but if scrambled eggs, toast, juice, and coffee tickle your fancy, I can manage it.”
“You’re a mind reader.”
“No, I just remember that you said you liked breakfast. Twenty minutes?”
“Is that enough time?”
“If you give me thirty, I’ll look cuter.”
Thirty minutes later, he stood in front of her door debating whether he should have run to the store and picked up some flowers. No, maybe a small fruit basket, something to show that he appreciated her invitation. Still undecided, his knuckles hit the door; the gourmet coffee would have to do. He looked down at the elegant one-pound bag his assistant had insisted on ordering. Rene said he should save it for a time when he could slow down and enjoy it.
The coffee, decked out as a gift, seemed like a silly indulgence when he found it in his pantry. But Rene had insisted he keep it, promising he would enjoy it when he had time. This morning, he had both time and a reason for good coffee. He reminded himself to give Rene a raise, and stood a little taller when he heard the locks click before Bianca swung the door open.
Her whole face, especially her eyes, welcomed him. True to her word, thirty minutes had given her time for the touches that made women cute, and she had pulled them all together with a soft yellow sleeveless top that stopped at the sweet curve of her waist, inches above the flat band of her sleek jeans. He didn’t know if she was one of those pretty women who just woke up that way, or if she had to help nature out a bit. This morning, casual in jeans and flat shoes, she looked natural with her gold-threaded hair pulled back into a ponytail and the burnished gold of her skin glowing without makeup.
At her invitation, Harry stepped forward, thinking that good morning and an invitation to enter was as good as it got, so he wasn’t prepared for what came next. She stood on her toes and wrapped a bare arm around his neck, hugging him close. Pressing
her cool cheek to his was nice, her lips pressed to his cheek was nicer, but he thought he would remember the firm curves of her body mated to his own when she leaned into him.
Surprised, he moved his free arm to her waist, his hand meeting warm skin at the juncture of her shirt and low-cut jeans. Feeling dizzy, he had to remind himself not to stray past that damned waistband. Determined to do the right thing, to go no further than invited, he let his hand rest at the crest of her hip.
Lowering herself, separating slowly, she asked, “Hungry?”
He didn’t speak for a minute, because he could have sworn she struck him dumb. Being mute didn’t include his sense of touch, though. His fingers rose to her face, gently memorizing the rise of her cheekbones, her tender skin, and the lips he found himself making plans for.
At her chin, she took his hand and she led him across her threshold, and into the condo. He remembered the coffee still tucked in its little gift bag.
“For you.”
She peeked into the bag, then looked up at him. “When did you have time to pick this up? Or did you just have it on hand, waiting for a good excuse?”
“Would you believe a little of both? My assistant picked it up and I thought it would be a nice addition to breakfast.”
“Works for me.” She took his hand and headed for her kitchen.
Trying to keep his thoughts away from the curve of her jeans, Harry noticed differences between her eighth-floor unit and his penthouse. Her view was nice, but his was better. Her kitchen had a window; his had a wall of windows, but there was no need to mention it.
“It’s been a long time since a man watched me cook.” She set the coffee on the counter and turned in a small circle. Fumbling with a pair of drawers, she didn’t seem to find what she wanted. She opened the pantry and slammed a few cabinets. She finally looked at Harry and said, “To tell the truth, I don’t really cook all that often.”
“Then maybe you’d better let me help.”
“You?”
“Yes, me,” he said with a smile.
Bianca folded her arms under her breasts and leaned against the counter, not knowing whether to believe him or not. When he opened his hands to her, she pulled open a small drawer, found aprons, and handed one to Harry.
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