Straight to the Heart

by Michelle Monkou

  “I’ve never seen you lose your head over anyone like this.”

  “And that should tell you a lot. Look, I’m tired of defending my personal life. Let’s agree that it’s off-limits.” Stacy grabbed her car keys and left.

  Her anger had gotten the best of her. But more than that, Omar with all of his sex appeal and hunky good looks had certainly scrambled her good sense.

  Her cell phone rang. She glanced down at the lighted display, expecting to see Brenda’s number. Instead the number displayed was new to her. Her hand hovered over it. Once in a while a fan would get through to her on the cell phone. She waited for the call to be kicked into the voice mail, hoping that the caller would leave a message.

  Stacy pulled into her condo parking lot, maneuvering through the underground garage to her reserved spot. Cell phone reception didn’t have a chance two stories below the surface. Her caller’s message would have to wait until she got up to her condo.

  Inside, she dropped her keys on the side table. Her shoes already lay strewn on their sides. On autopilot, she turned on her stove and placed the kettle on the burner. While the water boiled, she pulled off her clothes, opting for a lounging top and pants. Only then did she get her phone and retrieve her messages.

  Omar had to admit that he was disappointed that Stacy didn’t pick up when he called. He had to work late to finish an entertainment piece for the station. He’d hoped to be able to coax her into coming over, despite her earlier rejection. But his plans had changed.

  He was pumped with the plan he had in mind. The execution, on the other hand, gave him a slight queasiness. All the possible objections to his idea had gone through his head a million times. A new employee who worked with the company for less than a year, who didn’t know all the ropes, now had an idea. He could imagine the backlash.

  Nevertheless, the doubts didn’t stop him from holding his appointment with Ted Henderson, his immediate supervisor. His anxiety mirrored his emotional state at his interview. Even Mr. Henderson’s secretary wished him luck, since she had to reveal the reason for the meeting before making the appointment. He adjusted his clothes before knocking on the door, blowing out a nervous breath.

  Once Henderson granted him entry, Omar gulped at the luxurious office furnishings. The size and features were a little less than phenomenal. Maybe he should’ve worn a tie and dress slacks. One minor comfort was that, if Henderson tossed him out, most of the employees had left at five, although gossip only needed one nosy soul to spread like a virus.

  “Mr. Baxter?” Omar didn’t mean to sound so incredulous that the CEO and president of UTP was in Mr. Henderson’s office. “Good morning…I mean, afternoon.” Why shouldn’t the head of the company meet with his employees wherever he pleased? “Good afternoon, Mr. Henderson.” Remembering whose office he was in, Omar addressed his immediate boss.

  “Young man, it’s evening. What are you doing here at this hour?” Baxter asked. He sat on an overstuffed sofa off to the side where a small meeting area was staged with a sofa and two armchairs.

  “I had to finish a write-up for next month’s show. And I like to get started on my upcoming projects to keep a handle on everything.”

  “Smart man you have here, Henderson.” Baxter’s face didn’t crack a smile. Instead, Omar suffered under his scrutiny as if he were being assessed with the final verdict withheld. “I always judge a man by how many times he checks his watch and how fast he skips out of work at the end of every day.”

  “I agree. Omar has been doing a fantastic job with our aggressive push to get that younger audience. And the women love him,” Henderson said.

  Omar shifted uncomfortably.

  “Those other stations have their hosts decked out in gangsta-style clothes, looking like hoods on the loose. I’m glad that our people are savvy enough to go for the high-fashion style with a little touch of street.” Baxter wore a shrewd expression. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the sofa arm.

  “Well, Mr. Baxter, Omar is meeting with me to share a few of his ideas. Would you care to stay? Looks like we may have a visionary.”

  Omar offered a tight smile, unsure whether his boss was making fun of him.

  “I’m listening. I’m impressed by any employee willing to take risks by telling the man who signs his paychecks that what he is doing isn’t good enough.” Baxter drilled him with one of his famous stares. His dark eyebrows drew blunt, thick lines over penetrating dark eyes. Everything about the man was blunt. His features, body shape, even mannerisms had a powerful impact. He pointed to the chair across from him.

  Omar accepted the silent invitation, preferring to have a sturdy piece of furniture to support him.

  “I was throwing around some ideas with the programming goals in mind. We have the music-video angle, interviews and a few town-hall meeting sessions in our lineup.” Omar paused to check on his audience. Henderson and Baxter gave him their undivided attention. He continued. “I think that we should have TV specials where we go out and talk about the problems among the youth like a minidocumentary. Bring some awareness to common problems. At the end of the show, we could have viewers call in for help or counseling.” Omar finished, his chest heaving as if he’d run a sprint.

  What did they think? Would he be clapped on the back and allowed into the boys’ club? Or would he be told that he had ten minutes to clear his work area?

  Baxter stood. A big grin spread across his face. He looked down favorably on Omar. “I like how you think. Let’s kick this idea around with the other departments, Henderson.” He gripped Omar’s shoulder, gave a brief nod and left the office.

  Omar had never been around a person who could fill a room with his presence. Actually, as he thought about it, his brother had that ability. He hated to admit it, but the tension was more familiar than he’d have liked.

  “That went well.” Henderson looked at him minus the warmth. He returned to sit behind his desk. “We have a planning meeting in a week. I’ll bring it up then.” He picked up a few papers and tapped them into line. “Did you need something else?” Henderson looked at him as if surprised to find him still there.

  “I guess I thought you’d want to get more details.”

  “Why?” Henderson asked, with a raised brow.

  “When you speak to the others, they will need to know what the project entails for budget purposes.” Omar saw something flash in Henderson’s eyes—it couldn’t be disinterest. “This is more than an idea.”

  “I bet it is. You’re a young man working his way up the food chain. But paying your dues is also part of the game.” Henderson stood.

  Omar sensed the dismissal. With no other choice, he stood, meeting his boss eye for eye. “I believe in this idea. I wish that you’d give it a chance.”

  Henderson escorted him to the door, patting his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Your time will come to shine.”

  Omar followed the momentum of a gentle push through the door.

  “Now it’s time for you to go home. Don’t overwork or else those great ideas will stop coming.”

  The great oak door closed in Omar’s face. “If you think that I’m going to give up, you’re out of your mind,” he said through clenched teeth. As he picked up his work for the evening, he thought about going straight to Baxter’s office. At least he seemed genuinely impressed with his idea. Maybe even the president was having a good laugh at him.

  Omar went out into the night, his spirits dragging along with his footsteps. He drove through streets that teemed with nightlife. There was a time when he would have been out there ready to meet what Atlanta nightlife had to offer. Now he spent his evenings working on his career.

  Recently his work ethic had become a bit inconsistent. He marked the change with seeing Stacy in Montreal. He’d tried to see her when she’d returned to Atlanta, but her voice mail was his only contact.

  It was his habit to tell interested women that he would call them and then not do so, and he didn’t much like the tables being turne
d on him.

  One game had already been played on him tonight, one where he didn’t accept the rules. He wasn’t sure what he would do about it. And now Stacy played her own game against him. He refused to accept that, either. Now that he had a new plan, he changed directions and headed north. Before long he stopped at the gate of Stacy’s closed community, awaiting entry.

  Without warning, rain began to fall. Through the blurry windows, he could see the guard talking and turning his attention to him. He didn’t have a backup plan if Stacy refused to meet him.

  “Proceed, Mr. Masterson. Have a good night.”

  Omar saluted, much happier as the gates swung open. He drove through the neighborhood of single-family and condominium units. On his right he saw the community center. In the rainy darkness, the building’s many glass windows were well lit. He could see the impressive gym equipment, a large flat screen and an area with small tables and chairs. The outdoor pool was expansive. Farther down the main street, there were a row of tennis courts and an equal number of basketball courts. “Must be nice,” he muttered.

  As he approached Stacy’s home, he spotted her standing at the entrance waving at him. She was casually dressed, making him wonder if he’d roused her. Another disturbing thought popped into his mind. What if she was entertaining another man? He didn’t feel that secure given his circumstances with her.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” he greeted.

  “I’ve been incredibly busy, but I got your messages.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve been working late almost every night.” Omar struggled to act nonchalantly.

  He entered her home, a little surprised to see it simply furnished. Stacy didn’t strike him as the type to get too done up about anything. But the unit appeared underfurnished, as if she lived there only temporarily.

  “May I fix you a drink?”

  “No, thanks, I need to keep a clear head. Have an early morning ahead of me.” Omar studied the photos on her bookcase. The children in the photos were the same as the ones in her trailer.

  “My niece and nephew,” Stacy clarified from behind him. “I’ll fix us some hot chocolate, okay?”

  Omar nodded, then sat on a small love seat. The apartment had an open floor plan. He admired her as she made hot chocolate. Her hair, in relaxed curls, was loosely bound. Her tank top defined her figure, providing only a thin barrier to his imagination. Her smooth brown skin glowed under the fluorescent lighting. Even without makeup, she had a natural beauty that didn’t need to be concealed or disguised.

  “Do you need any help?” Omar inquired. Mainly he wanted to be in that small space near her.

  “Nope. You relax. I’m guessing from those yawns you’ve tried to hide that you had a hectic day at work.”

  He nodded, looking slightly embarrassed. Despite her reassurances, he walked toward the kitchen. He leaned against the entranceway. “Yes, I had a very hectic day. No, I didn’t come to lay down my burden.”

  “You don’t strike me as that type of man. But I am a good listener,” Stacy bragged before handing him the mug.

  “Delicious. I love marshmallows,” he said appreciatively.

  “I’m glad. Looks like you needed a little comfort food.”

  He set down the mug, none too gently. The liquid sloshed over the side, but he didn’t move to clean up the spill, nor did Stacy. He looked into her face, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t scare her. His mind fumbled through some sort of comment that would share some of the turmoil he felt. She needed to know how much he thought about her, how much he wanted to talk to her, how much he wanted to be with her.

  Stacy walked toward him and stopped only inches from him. She placed a hand in the middle of his chest. Her touch warmed the spot and the warmth radiated all over his body. His breath hitched as she slid her hand up toward his neck. He bit his lower lip to stop the groan that could embarrass him.

  “May I ask you something?” Stacy asked in a husky whisper.

  Omar could only gulp in response.

  “Do you want me?”

  “Yes,” he hissed. What was this woman trying to do to him? He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut to block out the kitchen light, her beautiful features, her soft botanical scent. He wanted to be a good, honorable guy with his barely concealed crush.

  “Would it help if I told you that I wanted you?”

  He nodded.

  “Then let me make love to you all night long.”

  His eyes opened to see her smiling up at him.

  Chapter 5

  Omar’s muscles twitched under the soft pressure of Stacy’s fingers kneading his chest. She placed her cheek against the warmth, listening to the hurried thump of his heartbeat.

  She tiptoed up to kiss the corner of each side of his mouth. His lips opened in welcome, but she only wanted to tease him with a sample. There would be time to trace the outline of his lips with soft kisses of her own.

  “You didn’t call me,” Omar accused under a strained voice.

  “If I had called, I would have begged you to stay.”

  “Instead, you used me for the moment.”

  She bore his hurt scrutiny. As an apology, she kissed the indentation at the base of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly.

  “I won’t be distracted, but you can kiss right here.” Omar pointed to his chin.

  Stacy obliged. “You wanted more from me than I was willing to give.” She hovered with her ministrations. “Let’s talk about this later.” She took his hands, wide and strong, and placed them on her hips. When he gently squeezed her hips, a tantalizing spike of sensuality coursed through her body.

  His hands slid a little lower, cupping the curve of her behind. She inched closer, pushing away any part of reality that would kill this moment.

  She pulled her tank top over her head and let it slide down her arm. With all her bold moves, it took great effort not to cover her bared breasts. His unabashed desire celebrated her femininity. Her nipples promptly hardened with an invitation all their own.

  “Take me to my room,” she commanded breathlessly, her pulse racing.

  He complied, lifting her in his arms. She curled up against his chest as he made his way down the hallway. She pointed toward her bedroom.

  He lowered her gently to the bed among the large number of cream-and-burgundy pillows and stuffed animals. She was less lonely surrounded by their softness. Many nights she fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, the TV cutting the darkness and empty silence.

  “Stacy, I’m not sure about this.”

  Stacy stopped tossing the pillows off the side of the bed to look at Omar. Conflicting emotions played on his face, a mixture of bewilderment and suppressed interest. “Don’t be afraid on my account. I want this, don’t you?” She knelt before him, unbuttoning his shirt.

  His taut muscles provided a perfect landscape of pecan-brown that stretched along the ripples of his chiseled body. She traced the peaks, feeling the hairs bend to her will. His breath hitched as she circled his nipples and drew a line down the middle of his stomach to his belly button.

  “I want you more than anything, Stacy. But if we do this, act on impulse, then we prove Brenda right.”

  Stacy paused in her delivery of feathery kisses on his shoulders. “This is not the time to think about Brenda, or any other woman, for that matter. Don’t you believe I know what I want? What I feel? You can’t tell me that you don’t want to lie here with me.”

  “Yes, I want you.” Omar lowered his head and kissed her so deeply that no part of her remained unmmoved. “I’ve thought about you since you suggested that I go after this job. You gave me a hand when I was struggling to find out what I wanted to do.”

  “You give me too much credit.” Stacy moved up the bed and slid under the covers. She refused to let this moment slip away.

  “I wanted time to court you. You didn’t give me that chance.”

  “Why are you talking like an old-fashioned guy? Courting! Why are you d
oing a 360-degree change on me? You didn’t strike me as the type who waited for the starting gun to sound,” she replied. All this talking didn’t help.

  “You’re different.”

  She tapped the space next to her on the bed. “Come show me how different.” She raised a hand to stop him. “And I don’t want to hear about Brenda while I’m trying to get my groove on.”

  Omar finally sat next to her, but he didn’t touch her. “I have a three-date rule.”

  “And that means…what?” Stacy frowned, waiting for an explanation.

  “I date at least three times before going…further.”

  Stacy blinked, hoping to wipe away any images of Omar in a tight embrace with another woman. The thought soured her mood. “Omar, has any woman ever objected to or tried to change your rule?”

  “Nope.” Omar smacked his knee. His male ego practically oozed and bounced off the walls around them.

  “Let me enlighten you. I’m in charge. This is my place and this will be on my terms.” Stacy pulled her panties off under the blanket and then held them over the side to drop near Omar’s feet. “Now, don’t keep me waiting.”

  “This is new.”

  “I know, big boy. You’re used to sitting in the driver’s seat delivering your high-octane sexuality in your conquests.” Stacy tossed the blanket aside. “I’ve wanted to do this to you for a long time, since I first got to know you. I’ll slow down long enough for you to jump aboard.” She grinned. She was nervous, but unafraid to lie side by side with this handsome, thoughtful man.

  Omar finished where she had left off and slid his shirt off. Obviously he cared about his body because not only did his chest and stomach show proof of a weight-training regimen, but his biceps bulged and tapered down to strong forearms. If she was with her girlfriends, she would appreciatively refer to him as a young stud, standing half-naked in only black cargo pants and black hiking boots.

  He finished undressing under her brazen observation. Stacy didn’t make the moment any easier for him. Instead, she propped herself on the pillows and waited as if she were Cleopatra on her royal chaise. When he stood in only his underwear with his hands cupped over his arousal, she giggled like a teenager.