“Oh, Malik, wait!”
“What is it, Chanel?” Malik said, grimacing as he pulled off the heavy jacket.
Chanel hurried down the hall. “A Doctor McNeil called. He wants you to get in touch with him.” She handed her boss a pink message slip.
For a moment, Malik was sure his heart had stopped beating. He noticed Chanel watching him strangely and ordered himself to get hold of his emotions.
“Thanks. I’ll make the call from my office.”
Chanel only nodded, her hazel eyes tinged with worry.
Malik tossed his jacket to the sofa and headed to his desk. Not wanting to prolong the inevitable, he picked up the phone and entered the necessary digits.
“Doctor McNeil’s office,” a perky voice greeted after the first ring.
Malik hesitated for a moment, and then cleared his throat. “This is Malik Badu I’m returning Doctor McNeil’s call.”
“Oh, Mr. Badu,” the secretary sighed. “Doctor McNeil asked if you wouldn’t mind coming in.”
Malik’s long lashes fell over his eyes. He almost demanded to be told at that moment, but managed to keep a lid on his temper.
“I’ll be there within the hour.”
In an effort to forget Dr. McNeil’s mysterious call, Zakira decided to make another sinful dish. This time, she selected a recipe for fudge-ripple-swirled cookies. She always added her own special touches to any dish that wasn’t her invention. It was the mark of a true cook, her mother always said. Unfortunately, Zakira was so preoccupied by the call that her usual creativity was somewhat hampered. And it was amazing that the cookies were ever ready for the oven. Zakira could not stop herself from looking out the window each time she heard a car pass. Several times, she found herself staring at the phone and wishing Malik would call.
Of course, the doctor’s call could have easily been something routine. If only it weren’t for the other inconsistencies in Malik’s behavior. Zakira knew she wouldn’t feel at ease until she spoke with her husband.
The delicious cookies didn’t take long to bake. When they were done, she rushed upstairs to change her clothes. The waiting and wondering had finally gotten the better of her. In half an hour, she was leaving for the restaurant.
“Zakira! Honey, I was just asking Malik if you were coming in this week.”
A suspicious smirk touched Zakira’s lips as she watched the older man at her side. “Why? More suggestions concerning the menu?”
Head chef Carlos Hamils gave the boss’s beautiful wife a knowing stare. “I’m done making any more changes. I know the organizers of the event have it hard enough without having my dedication to perfection getting in the way.”
Zakira pressed her hand to Carlos’s shoulder. “We really appreciate it,” she whispered.
Carlos round, dark gaze was already focusing on the basket Zakira carried. “So what have you got there?”
“Damn, you don’t miss a thing,” she remarked, having forgotten her reason for stopping by the kitchen.
“Nothin’ gets by this,” Carlos told her, pointing towards his long, angular nose. “So tell me what you’ve been mixing up in the kitchen. And don’t tell me you’re about to stop sharing ideas.”
Zakira threw her head back and laughed. “Please! I’m the one who should be asking you to share ideas.”
Carlos pressed his hand to his chest and sighed. “You’re so good for my ego.”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, I did bring something for you guys,” Zakira revealed, lifting the basket she carried.
“I knew it. What is it?” Carlos inquired, already taking the package.
Zakira clasped her gloved hands together. “They’re chicken potpies. I used herbs from my garden to season the pastry. The vegetables are fresh, and the chicken has been marinated in an herb sauce, also courtesy of my garden.”
Carlos closed his eyes in happiness. “I can’t wait to dive in.”
“Well, there’s enough for you and the rest of the guys, so let me know what you think. We’ll meet Friday morning to discuss some other things pertaining to the charity dinner.”
Carlos saluted her and headed farther into the kitchen with his delicious burden. Zakira smiled and relished the welcome vibe she received whenever she visited the restaurant. She had always felt a sense of acceptance from the Badu’s employees and since she’d started organizing the cancer fund-raiser, she’d experienced an even deeper sense of acceptance. The staff truly seemed to enjoy working with her on the event and they respected her opinions and ideas.
Zakira sighed before heading upstairs.
“Zakira!” Chanel called, a bright smile on her face. “If you’re looking for Malik, he left.”
“Damn,” Zakira muttered, setting her purse on Chanel’s desk. “Did he tell you where he was going?”
Chanel shook her head. “Sorry, he didn’t.”
“Do you know when he might be back?”
“I’m sorry, he really didn’t tell me anything before he left.”
Realizing she would just have to wait it out, Zakira spent a little while longer at the restaurant, then headed home.
As Zakira was leaving Malik’s office, he was arriving at the doctor’s. He shut the door to his black SUV, but leaned against the car instead of walking away from it. He knew none of what he would hear that day would be good. He stroked the strong line of his jaw for a moment, thinking of how his life was about to change. Then, taking a deep breath, he headed into the building.
Dr. McNeil was in the lobby speaking with his receptionist. He turned when the lobby doors opened.
“Malik! Glad you could make it on such short notice.”
Malik’s dark eyes narrowed, and he gave the doctor a humorless smirk. “Why prolong it?”
Dr. McNeil gestured in the direction of his office. “This way.”
Malik’s stride was rapid but steady as he followed the doctor. When the double oak-paneled office doors closed behind them, he turned and spread his hands. “Well?”
Dr. McNeil headed toward his desk. “Have a seat, Malik.”
With a grimace, Malik watched as the doctor calmly took his position. He followed suit, choosing one of the cushioned chairs in front the wide pine desk. “How long have I got?”
“Malik…” Dr. McNeil faltered, trying to find the right words.
“Listen, Doc, can you please just get to it?”
Dr. McNeil studied him for a moment. Then, sighing, he removed his round, gold-rimmed spectacles and leaned forward. “The mass of tissue we discovered after the scan is a tumor. The tests showed that it’s malignant.”
Though Malik had assumed as much, the news was a shock. He felt a strange tightening in his chest, as though his breath were being shut off. Bowing his head, he buried his face in his hands and groaned.
“This isn’t the end of things, Malik. There are treatments.” Dr. McNeil informed him.
Malik leaned back in the chair and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “How did this happen?”
Dr. McNeil frowned. “The tumor?”
Malik nodded.
“Well, it’s difficult to say,” the doctor replied. “Actually, the cause of tumors is unknown.”
Malik pushed his tall, athletic form out of the chair and paced the floor. “Dammit, you’ve got to have some clue!” he snapped.
“Malik, a lot of money and time has gone into studying tumors and their causes, but there’s still no concrete piece of evidence that gives a satisfactory explanation. Studies have shown that cancer can be caused by viruses, forms of radiant energy, even heredity.”
Malik shook his head and pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. “This hasn’t happened to anyone else in my family.”
“There’s always a first,” Dr. McNeil quietly pointed out.
“Thanks,” Malik replied dryly, rolling his intense dark gaze towards the ceiling.
“There is the possibility of surgery,” Dr. McNeil suggested.
“No way. No surgery.”
Malik firmly refused, his slanting eyes narrowing further.
Dr. McNeil stood behind his desk, obviously surprised by Malik’s attitude. “You do realize that this could save your life?”
Malik waved his finger at the doctor. “Yeah, well, what if something goes wrong with the surgery, what then? This is my brain we’re talking about. Can you guarantee that if I survive the surgery I’ll be all there, mentally?”
Dr. McNeil sighed. “No, I can’t. There is always a risk when surgery is involved.”
“Well, Doc, that’s a risk I don’t want to take.”
“Malik—”
“Doc, please.” Malik interrupted, raising his hand. The stress of the moment had finally gotten the better of him and he dropped to the windowsill and sat there holding his head. “Believe it or not, all this scares the hell out of me. But surgery scares me more than the tumor.”
“Malik, I can understand how this might be affecting you, but you should keep a positive outlook on this. The operation could very well be a success.”
Malik’s voice was slightly muffled beneath his hands covering his face. “I can’t let Zakira see me that way, stuck in a bed. And I can’t let her see me die.”
By eight o’clock that evening, Zakira’s nerves were in overdrive. After leaving Badu’s, she took a long drive, did some Christmas shopping and visited a few friends. Feeling a little better, she decided to go home. When she called the restaurant and discovered Malik was not there, nor had he been home, she became worried again. Trying to keep an open mind, she washed her hair and braided the thick mass into two pigtails which she wrapped around her head. She even cleaned the already immaculate house in an attempt to keep from fretting over the whereabouts of her husband. So much activity eventually exhausted her, and she collapsed on the sofa for a short nap.
Malik’s key scratched the lock some thirty minutes after Zakira fell asleep. He entered the house quietly, not wanting to frighten her if she was still awake. The tense, guarded look in his dark eyes turned softer when he found his wife fast asleep in the living room. He crept across the thick carpet so he would not awaken her. Easing his heavy frame to the sofa, he took a seat next to her.
Malik’s exquisite charcoal gaze roamed Zakira’s face as though he were trying to memorize her lovely features. Very lightly, he traced the soft line of her brow and Zakira instantly awoke.
Frowning a little, Zakira got her bearings before glancing up. When she saw Malik leaning over her, she bolted up on the sofa. Her small fingers, curled around the lapels of his suede jacket and jerked him close to her.
“Where have you been all day? Why didn’t you call me?” she asked frantically.
Malik pulled Zakira’s hands away and held them tightly in his. “Shh. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to the tops of her fingers.
“Where were you?”
Malik shrugged and let go of Zakira’s hands as he leaned back on the sofa. “There was someplace I needed to be.”
“Like Doctor McNeil’s office?” Zakira softly inquired.
Malik’s narrowed gaze snapped to her face. “How’d you—”
“He called today, but you weren’t here. It sounded urgent.”
Malik ignored the faint pain near his temple. “It was just an exam. Routine.”
Zakira propped her elbow on the arm of the sofa. “You didn’t tell me you changed physicians. That’s why I was worried.”
“Damn, Zaki, does it matter?” Malik snapped. He desperately wanted to confide in her, but something wouldn’t allow him to. The inability to be honest with his wife caused his already short temper to boil.
Zakira’s eyes widened slightly at the outburst, but she chose to ignore his mood. “Why don’t you come sample what I worked on today?” she asked instead. She knew Malik too well to believe nothing was wrong. She would just have to use a different tactic to get some answers.
Malik’s gorgeous grin instantly returned. He leaned across her and lowered his mouth to the side of her neck. “Should I go to the kitchen or the bedroom?” he teased.
Zakira burst into laughter. “The kitchen, man!” she ordered, pushing away his heavy body.
A look of mock disappointment clouded Malik’s handsome dark face, but he did as he was told. It took much longer than usual to reach the kitchen with his hands tugging at Zakira’s blouse.
“Sit!” she ordered, when they finally reached the kitchen.
Malik got comfortable at the kitchen island while Zakira removed the light dinner she had prepared from the oven. There were the delicious chicken potpies, a mixture of broccoli, tomatoes and cucumbers marinated in a zesty wine vinegar and crushed herb dressing, and huge apple-walnut muffins. A light white wine topped off the tasty meal.
For a while, the only sounds in the kitchen were the clinking of utensils and glasses as they feasted on the dinner.
Several times, Zakira’s wide gaze traced every nuance of Malik’s face. She tried to search out any signs that something might be wrong. Of course, he looked as fit as ever.
“These dinners get better and better,” he complimented, after taking the last swig of wine from his glass.
“Thanks, baby,” Zakira whispered across the table, genuinely pleased by the compliment. “Did you have enough?”
Malik massaged the back of his neck and stood. “I’m just gonna get another drink.”
Zakira’s wide eyes followed him as he made his way to the counter. He lost his footing, just before he reached his destination. He had to grasp the edge of the oak counter for support.
“Malik?” Zakira called, rising from the table as well.
“I’m all right, Zaki,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing. “I don’t think I need another drink.”
Zakira was not amused by his teasing. “Are you having another dizzy spell?”
Confusion etched on Malik’s face and he turned. It was obvious that the comment took him by surprise. “What do you know about my dizzy spells?”
Zakira leaned against the edge of the table and regarded the handsome giant trying to put up a brave front. “I know you’ve been having them at least three times a week. But, of course, those are only the ones I’ve seen. I even know where you keep the pills.”
The depths of Malik’s eyes took on a darker tint and he looked as though he wanted to respond. Then, thinking better of it, he ran his fingers through his dreads and moved away from the counter.
“I’m goin’ to bed,” he mumbled, leaving Zakira alone in the kitchen.
The task of cleaning the kitchen turned out to be less time-consuming than Zakira anticipated. After she finished, she headed for bed.
Malik was still in the shower, when she walked into the bedroom. She decided to slip into her nightgown, since she had taken a shower just before starting dinner. She was smoothing lotion across her skin when Malik walked out of the steamy bathroom. For a moment, he stood staring at her while drying the droplets of water from his chest. He tossed the towel to the dresser and headed across the room, stopping just behind his wife. He grasped her hips in a firm hold and pulled her back against him. Burying his handsome face in the crook of her neck, he inhaled her sweet scent.
“I know you’re tired of hearing it, but I am sorry,” he whispered, his deep voice sounding muffled.
The soft apology sent shivers down Zakira’s back. She closed her eyes briefly and savored the moment. Then turning, she raised her face to his for a kiss.
Malik did not disappoint her. He pressed the tip of his tongue to the corner of her mouth, before tracing the lush full line of her lips. Zakira repeated the intimate action as she traced the wide sensual curve of his mouth.
When the kiss deepened, Malik lifted Zakira against his nude body and carried her across the room. Setting her down next to the bed, he lay back and pulled her down to him. With her straddling his huge form, Malik’s large hands trailed possessively over her thighs and beneath the hemline of her gown.
Zakira threw h
er head back and moaned when she felt Malik’s thumb caress the soft bud of her womanhood. The light circular motion of his finger soon had her wet with need. He removed his fingers and slid both hands around her hips to cup her full bottom. Lifting her easily, he slowly set her down over his throbbing arousal.
Zakira’s hands caressed Malik’s sexy, dark chocolate form, tracing his chiseled torso and abdomen. She rotated her hips and smiled when she heard him groan in response. Feeling his hard length inside her forced cries from her mouth.
Malik’s touch traced every curve of her body, fondling her full breasts beneath the silk nightie she still wore. One hand reached up to pull the pins from her hair, before he unraveled the thick braids. When the black mass fell across Zakira’s shoulders, he cupped her neck and pulled her down for a deep kiss.
Soon though, Malik wanted control and flipped Zakira to her back. He draped one of her shapely legs across his shoulder and deepened his thrusts….
“Malik?” Zakira whispered a long while later when they lay sprawled across the bed.
“Mmm-hmm?” he murmured, smoothing his palm against her flat stomach.
“Baby, if there were something wrong…you would tell me, right?”
Zakira never saw Malik squeeze his eyes shut as he answered. “I promise I would.”
Chapter 3
Zakira woke early the next morning wanting to make love to her husband again. “Malik…” she sighed, reaching across the bed. When her fingers touched the cool sheets, she sat up and looked around the bedroom. Malik was nowhere in sight, but Zakira was certain he was still home since he never left without waking her.
Slipping into the wispy gown that had been tossed aside the night before, she went in search of her husband. The moment she stepped into the hallway, delicious aromas drifted upward from downstairs. Nose in the air, she followed the wonderful smells all the way to the kitchen.
Wearing nothing but a pair of burgundy silk boxers, Malik was at work in front of the stove. A wicked smile tugged at Zakira’s lips as she crossed her arms over her chest and enjoyed the sultry view. After a moment, her eyes drifted to the dinette table and she noticed the spread. There were fluffy-looking, round pancakes, fresh orange juice, milk and seasoned hash browns.
Pride and Consequence Page 4