“Can I get you drinks?”
“Make mine a virgin strawberry daiquiri,” Safire said, rolling her neck, “or I might end up on the floor.”
“Make mine the same,” Darien said.
His voice was smooth and resonant, and Safire loved the thrill it sent up her spine.
“You don’t have to forgo the alcohol because of me,” Safire said. “Go ahead. Unwind.”
“I don’t really drink.”
That was a little odd to Safire, but she didn’t mind. Cute as he was, he really did seem to be rather unassuming, as well. Safire liked that.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t raised around alcohol. And I have a very hectic schedule, so I don’t actually get out much.” He shrugged.
“I shouldn’t have a virgin daiquiri myself. It must be four hundred calories even without the alcohol,” Safire complained. “But in for a penny, in for a pound—in this case an American pound.” She chuckled. “What do you want to eat?” she asked, turning to the menu. “We can order real food if you’re hungry. I’m fine with wings.”
“I’m— I actually don’t eat meat.”
Aw. Worrisome as it was—she’d never gone out with a vegetarian or vegan—Safire was glad to be sitting across from someone with convictions. This one wasn’t all play. That could be a good thing.
“Oh, they must have other stuff on the menu. If not, we can go somewhere else.”
“I’ll have some potato skins,” he said and closed the menu. “I’ll be fine.”
In the momentary silence that followed, Darien smiled at her, and his smile opened up his whole face, letting her peek at the boy she hadn’t known and the inside of the man he was now. She loved that smile.
“So how long have you worked for the Law Offices of Benson and Hines?” he asked.
“I’ve been with them almost two years now. Good pay. Interesting work.”
“Are you an attorney? You seem kind of young...”
“No, I’m a paralegal, and I’m twenty-three. I couldn’t have finished law school already unless I was a child genius.”
Safire laughed, and Darien joined her.
“What about you? Will you be joining the firm?”
Darien laughed at that. “No, no. I’m twenty-six, but I’m not a lawyer.”
Safire pursed her lips into a pout.
“What is it?” he asked. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
“No, I was just hoping for a brother or sister in the upper ranks. We need some color up in there, if you know what I mean.”
Darien chuckled, but then he nodded in understanding.
“I’m sorry that I don’t fit the bill. I hope you don’t mind having us as a client, though.”
His apology was so sincere that it touched Safire. He was a sweetie.
“Who’s us?” she asked.
“I work at the Heritage Community Arts, Education and Resource Center of Miami. Benson and Hines has agreed to start doing some pro bono work for our needy, and I’m helping to handle some of the arrangements.”
“Why did you need Janice?”
“That was a personal aside. I needed some advice about copyrighting my art. I’m an artist—primarily wood but also metal and clay.”
Their drinks and food arrived, and the two began nibbling.
“I’m also a full-time MFA student at Florida International University,” Darien said, “but I’ve worked at the Heritage Center forever. I do some administrative work and teach art.”
“Why do you do it?”
“I love it. I love the kids. I love the Heritage Center. I want it to do well.”
“I like your fervor.”
The passion in Darien’s voice drew Safire to him. She slipped off one of her shoes and found his shin with her toes, letting him know how attracted she was.
He paused over his potato skins and looked at her. “You move rather fast, don’t you?”
“Is that a bad thing? I go after what I want, and I like to have a good time.”
“Does it ever get serious for you?”
“What does that mean? Because I go after what I want, I can’t be serious?”
“You can be, but are you?”
“If it gets serious, that’s fine. If it doesn’t, it wasn’t meant to be. I’m serious right now about wanting you.”
Safire reached over and touched Darien’s face with her sticky fingers. Then she leaned over and kissed the sticky spot, licking the sauce from his face.
Darien let out a heavy breath.
“You do move fast, maybe too fast.”
“Doesn’t Darien like to come out and play?” Safire teased.
“In my wilder days—in a hot second. Now I take it a bit slower.”
Little warning bells had been going off in Safire’s head since they started their evening. She liked to play, and Darien seemed a little conservative for her. He didn’t drink. He didn’t get out much. He didn’t eat meat. Now he was into taking it slowly. For the fourth time that evening, Safire wanted to raise her eyebrows. This time she did, giving Darien a genuinely quizzical look. He chuckled.
“I guess I’ve mellowed.”
“But you’re not old. What made you a nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud?”
“Hold up. I said that I don’t drink often. That’s not a bad thing. And let’s talk about meat.”
“No, let’s not,” Safire said. “Let’s get to the real issue—”
“Which is what?” Darien asked.
“A beautiful woman finds you attractive and wants to get to know you.”
“That’s not a problem. In fact, that’s great.”
“Then why the brakes?”
Darien leaned back and looked at her. “No one ever tells you no, do they? But then, you’re a beautiful woman. Why should they?”
His compliment made Safire smile, despite the tension between them.
“Actually,” she said, “you probably don’t hear no a lot either. You’re a hottie if ever I saw one.”
Darien looked down and grinned, but it was clear he was trying not to.
“Thank you, Safire.”
“I guess I don’t hear no a lot,” Safire said, “because I usually look for people I have something in common with.”
“I take it that’s not me.”
Something had softened between them, renewing Safire’s desire to know this man. “The verdict is still out on that. How about if we go dancing?”
Darien rolled his eyes, and both of them laughed.
“I guess you’re not a big dancer,” Safire said.
“I’ve danced a bit, but not recently. Tell me, what else do you like?”
“I like broad shoulders, like yours.” She eyed him tellingly, but he waved her on to the next item. “I like music. I like jazz clubs.”
Darien started nodding, and his eyes lit up. “I have an idea. There’s a café called Sylvester’s about fifteen minutes from here. They have desserts and wine, as well. Sometimes they have poetry readings and live music. I think that tonight they have a jazz band. Let’s go check it out.”
“Okay.”
“Can you follow me in your car?” Darien asked, getting up and taking Safire’s arm to steady her.
“Sure.”
“I won’t be able to stay long, but it should be good.”
Safire shook her head. “Is it getting past your bedtime already?” she said, and chuckled.
“You really do think I’m a stick-in-the-mud, don’t you?”
“I was just teasing.”
“I’m actually a huge night owl, but I still have work to do tonight.”
“Then I won’t keep you out
late.”
They smiled at one another, arm hooked in arm, and Darien walked Safire to her car. Then he got his, met her and led them to Sylvester’s.
It was a Friday night, so there was a crowd. As they expected, there was a jazz band—a combo of four—filling the stage beyond the café tables. The place was small, and the band was using microphones, so it was much louder than it needed to be. They enjoyed the music, but they couldn’t hold a conversation over the sound.
Safire and Darien found a table at the counter along the wall, and Darien got them desserts and smoothies. Darien put his hand on the back of Safire’s raised chair. They sat close together and bounced their heads in unison as the band played standards like “A Night in Tunisia,” “’Round Midnight,” “Night and Day,” “Summertime,” “Blue Bossa,” “God Bless the Child” and “Take the ‘A’ Train.” Safire wished they could dance, but the café was packed, with tables almost touching.
“Do you like the band?” Darien asked, shouting over the music.
Safire nodded without losing the beat.
By the time the set was over, their desserts were gone.
“I hope you liked that,” Darien said. “It might be the only thing we have in common.”
Safire laughed. “I loved it. If only we could have danced.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Darien said.
There was sincerity in his expression and a rather boyish grin on his face at having pleased her. His deep voice crawled down Safire’s spine like a caterpillar.
“I did.”
“Well, at least there’s one thing this nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating—”
Safire started to laugh.
“I’m sorry to turn into a pumpkin before midnight, but I have to get home. Thank you for getting me out of the house for a bit—unexpectedly.”
“Anytime,” Safire said. “You just let me know. Because I have a life. I like to get out.”
“I see why,” Darien said as he got down from his stool. Once Safire was standing, he placed his hand on her back. “Let me walk you to your car.”
Safire nodded and smiled.
“So how did you come to like jazz?” Darien asked as they neared her car.
It was a question that took Safire off guard and made her think back. “My father,” she said. “He would play jazz albums almost every weekend.”
Safire recalled waking up on weekends to the sound of her father’s jazz records. The sun would be up already, but she would snuggle under the covers listening to the music that filled the house. She knew that her father was in the living room in his easy chair nodding his head in time to the rhythm and that her mother was in the kitchen humming along as she made breakfast. Safire could smell the bacon or sausage as it wafted through the house, and she knew she had to get up, but not right away, not while everything felt so peaceful and the world seemed so bright.
Without warning, tears began to well up in Safire’s eyes. Darien had evidently noticed. He stepped toward her and took her face in his palm. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more. Safire didn’t know what to say. She wanted those days back so much—those peaceful mornings when everyone was there and everyone was all right. She shook her head to clear it. Then, as if by way of explanation for her sudden fit of sniveling, she began recounting facts of her life that she generally kept hidden.
“He played them almost every weekend until my mother died. I was seventeen, still in high school. Then he stopped playing them. He died two years later.”
Darien’s other hand came up to Safire’s face, and he used his thumbs to wipe away the tears that had fallen.
The pressure of Darien’s fingers brought Safire back to the moment. His fingers were gentle, and his caress was filled with caring and understanding. She looked into his face and saw his concern for her, and a sweet ache filled her heart. Then she imagined what she must look like, standing there blubbering.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I don’t know what has me talking about all of this or—”
“It’s okay,” Darien said, and his deep timbre sent a shiver up Safire’s spine. “I’m so sorry to hear about your parents. You’ve been on your own for a while.”
“Not entirely,” she said. “I have siblings and friends. But I had to grow up and become independent quickly. I do all right.”
“It explains why you’re so mature at such a young age. Maybe it explains even more.”
He didn’t say what, and Safire wasn’t sure if she should ask. She was still wondering what had gotten into her—why these feelings had risen to the top, why now when they never did. She shook it off, regained her composure and looked at Darien.
“Well, Mr. Darien James—nondrinking, non-going-out, veggie-eating, take-it-slow hottie. I guess I better let you go.”
One of his hands still cupped her face, and he leaned his head near hers.
“Safire, this has been the best part of the whole evening to me—right here, finding out something real about you. You are beautiful. Don’t let that change. Don’t squander it away. Don’t play it away. It’s...amazing.”
Safire didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she opened her mouth to say something. But she didn’t know what to say. The intense look on this man’s face—so near to hers—took her breath away. His concern over her feelings moved something inside her, and his earnest gaze froze her to the spot. When she heard his deep voice, tingles went through her.
She nodded once and smiled weakly, not knowing what to say. They seemed so different that she didn’t really expect to see him again, not for another date. Things had gotten a bit tense between them at the sports bar. In the end, he was just a little too conservative for her taste.
She went to her car, and he turned toward his. Safire had put her key in the lock and opened the door before she felt his hand on her back. She turned around to find him immediately in front of her, taking her in his arms. When Darien kissed her, those soft, kissable lips felt like warm, melted chocolate. Her lips parted at their gentle, platonic touch.
But their kiss didn’t remain chaste. Darien’s tongue moved in between Safire’s parted lips, and her arms moved to his neck, pulling her closer to his body. His hands slipped farther around her back, feeding a fire that was growing inside her loins.
He stopped as suddenly as he started and stepped back from her.
“Good night, Safire. And thank you again.”
With the feelings that had built up inside her, Safire couldn’t resist. She smiled her Safire smile and offered, “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me and play?” She knew as she said it that she had broken their reverie.
Darien tipped his head down and leaned in so that his mouth almost touched her ear. “Slow down.”
His words in her ear sent a quiver through her frame, but they also shattered the last bit of their mutual trance. She swatted him playfully with her purse.
“You may not be a stick-in-the-mud, but you’re certainly too orthodox for me.”
“I take it that the jury is now in.”
Safire smiled and got into her car. She pulled up beside Darien as he got to his car, waved once as he closed the door and sped off into the night.
Chapter 2
Darien James was more on the casual side. He owned a few suits, but more often than not, he wore jeans with some kind of printed shirt or T-shirt, and to dress that up, he wore a nice shirt or a dashiki or a vest—maybe a jacket, if it was necessary. This was the second time in as many weeks that he’d had to step up his game, and he was starting to like it. He could see how to move back and forth between business and casual without losing sight of what drove him.
The last time had been just over a week ago, when he’d gone to the Law Offices of Benson and Hines. That was also the day he’d met Safire
Lewis and gone out with her. She had a list for him—nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud, or something to that effect. He had a list for her as well, and it included the word siren. He hadn’t seen her since that night, and they hadn’t exchanged personal information, so he didn’t think he’d see her again. They seemed to be on different paths or in different places in their lives. She was on the fast track, and he’d gotten off the fast track some time ago—a move for the better, actually.
Now he sat in a conference room at the Nova Investment Firm, where he was representing the Heritage Community Arts, Education and Resource Center of Miami and waiting for the arrival of two more potential corporate backers for some of their programs. Nova had put this together pro bono to help the Heritage Center garner support from the local business community. His role was to describe the programs—the ones being offered already and the ones being added to better serve the community. He had worked at the Heritage Center for so long that he was confident in his ability to do this with minimal preparation. Nonetheless, he’d put together a very professional-looking packet of information.
The backing would also help with their Legal Assistance Program, but he didn’t expect Mr. Benson to show up, and he didn’t think that anyone from Benson and Hines would be there. He was surprised to see Safire Lewis enter the waiting area and look toward the conference room. It turned out that she was representing the Law Offices of Benson and Hines.
He could see her through the windows surrounding the conference room. Her crescent eyes sparkled with some inner mirth, and her high cheekbones were shaped into plump circles that puckered with her smile. Her lips were thick and full, making Darien remember how soft they were when he kissed her. She had a small, impish nose and a wide forehead. Though her face looked young, innuendo was written subtly over her features—in the way one side of her lips turned up in a smile, and the way she looked at him as if on the sly, as she did now through the window.
Her long hair was piled up on her head, placing an emphasis on her face that made her look young. Well, it made her look twenty-three. But she also flashed that cryptic Safire smile, the one that seemed sweet but that hid the temptress underneath, the one that made her look as if she was having a naughty thought. That was part of her attitude, an air she carried with her—an air of availability. But it wasn’t ordinary, not the way she wore it. She carried herself as if she was in control, as if she would be deciding what, how, when...and who. There was an air of loftiness to her that made her untouchable and kept her from seeming coarse or crass or vulgar.
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