by Donna Hill
“That’s not what I mean,” she said, cutting him off.
He glanced at her.
“I could run an Internet search on you if I wanted to know about your business life.”
He chuckled.
“Men don’t usually come into a bar alone unless they’re looking to meet someone or they have something heavy on their minds. What’s your story?”
“Is this the counseling bartender talking?” he teased, avoiding the question.
“No. Just someone who’s interested in knowing why a brother like you is out alone at a bar in the middle of the week.”
“Maybe I needed a change of scenery.”
Michelle stopped walking. Steven stopped short and faced her.
“What?”
Michelle glanced downward then looked him in the eyes. “I want to be honest with you and I hope you’ll be honest with me. I like you. I always did, from back when you were dating Renee. But I would never move on my friend’s man.” She drew in a long breath. “But Renee is married. I’m not seeing anyone and you’re out alone.”
When he looked at her and took in what she was saying, what she was offering, he had a sudden, sick sensation of guilt. What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t that guy anymore. He wasn’t on the prowl. He didn’t want to retreat to the days when he called all women “sweetheart” because he didn’t care or couldn’t remember their name.
Had this been a year ago, he probably would have taken Michelle up on her offer.
“Look. It’s only dinner with an old acquaintance. Nothing more. If I gave you that impression then I’m sorry.”
She pressed her lips together and smiled. “Now that we’re on the same page, let’s go before the kitchen closes.”
Chapter 11
Mia wasn’t sure if she should pretend to be asleep when she heard the key in the door or if she should let him know that she was up and was concerned about where he’d been. She peeked at the digital clock. It was nearly 2:00 a.m.
The bedroom door opened. Steven moved quietly around the room, taking off his clothes before going into the master bathroom.
Moments later, Mia heard the shower water running. She stared up at the ceiling. She tried to regulate her breathing and slow down the beating of her heart. This was a new place that she and Steven had entered. Since they’d been together, they’d never been out for most of the night separately. They’d never walked out on each other with friction hovering between them.
She knew part of it was her fault—the secret she was carrying around with her about her conflicting feelings about Michael, and her TLC assignment. She had to get a handle on it before things got worse between them.
The bathroom door opened. For a moment, Steven stood in the lighted doorway before turning off the light.
Mia felt the side of the bed sink from his weight and the covers shift as he got in beside her.
Steven turned on his side and draped his arm across her waist. He kissed her ear. “I know you’re not sleeping,” he said softly. “Can we talk?”
“Okay,” she said softly, while trying to keep her own guilty thoughts from giving her away.
“Something almost happened tonight.”
Her heart slammed in her chest. Then Steven was silent for so long she began to believe that her punishment for her own indiscretions was to never know what Steven had “almost” done.
“Look,” he finally said. “This whole baring my soul thing is not me. It never has been. But what happened tonight—that can’t go on between us.”
She was too afraid to move, to breathe.
“I walked out of here tonight because I didn’t want you to lie to me anymore.”
Oh, God, she was going to faint.
“Are you seeing someone else?”
Her relief burst from her lips. “No! Of course not.” She turned on her side to face him. “I wouldn’t do that. Never.”
From the dim light of the moon sliding in between the blinds, she saw the worry in those incredible eyes, felt it in the rapid beat of his heart and heard it in between the words he did not say; he loved her and was afraid he was losing her. What could she say to prove him wrong when she felt deep in her soul that he might be right—losing her to memories, possibility and unanswered questions.
What she wanted from Steven, she suddenly realized, was more than great sex, nice things and a guaranteed date on Saturday night. She wanted a man who was willing to give every ounce of himself to her, who wanted her so much that he was willing to build a house for her even if they weren’t together. She wanted someone to say the words I love you, Mia without the prompts, without it only coming as an echo of her own words.
“When things get so that they’re not working for you, you need to tell me,” Steven was saying, drawing her back and away from her cascading thoughts.
“I can’t imagine that happening.” But fear and doubt knotted her stomach. She cuddled closer. He tenderly kissed the top of her head. “You want to tell me what almost happened?” she tentatively asked.
“It didn’t. That’s what’s important. Didn’t come close, only the suggestion—if I’d been willing.”
Mia listened intently for words between the lines and beneath the surface. She found none. Only the simple truth.
Mia gently draped her leg over his. Their toes touched and played. She smiled inside.
Steven pressed his lips against the sensitive spot between the space of her neck and her collarbone. She trembled. He ran his hand down and along the curve of her body’s right side, covering each inch like the brush of a master painter.
Mia spontaneously arched her body into his. The pulse of his growing erection pressed between the juncture of her thighs. She moaned softly as he brushed his thumb across her nipple before cupping her breast in his palm and caressing it. Her body became infused with heat.
Steven eased her onto her back. He stared down into her eyes. He looked as if he was on the verge of saying something. Instead he kissed her long, deep and slow. And she gave in to the kiss, the feel of his hands on her body, the weight of him pinning her beneath him.
Mia closed her eyes, wrapped her arms and legs around Steven and let the sensations take over her mind, body and soul.
The following morning after Steven left for work, Mia set up the tools of her trade and spent the next hour watching the computer screen for activity and listening to the phone taps for something worthwhile.
Just as she was about to pack up and head to the office, Michael received a call on his Sag Harbor phone.
She sat up straighter.
“Hi, it’s Michelle. I need some extra hours. Slot me in for any upcoming openings. Thanks.”
Mia frowned. What did that mean? Was Michelle one of the alleged women in the service or nothing more sinister than an employee who needed some O/T or the cleaning lady?
She looked at the incoming call for the number. It read like a cell phone. She made a note to give it to Jasmine to see if she could get a last name and maybe an address.
Mia checked the time. It was nearly ten. She needed to stop by the cleaners on her way to work and drop off a few things. She had a conference call at noon.
She put everything away, shut off the computer and stashed her PDA and cell in her tote, along with her go bag. She collected the clothes that she’d tossed on the side chair in the bedroom. She added the two pairs of slacks and a dress shirt that Steven had hung on the back of the bathroom door.
One last look around to ensure that she hadn’t left any telltale signs of her clandestine activity and she hurried out.
“Good morning, Ms. Carol,” Mia greeted her.
Carol Bennett was the matriarch of the Bennett Dry Cleaning family. Mia had been bringing her clothes to them for years. And although there was a more modern cleaner closer to her condo, she preferred the personal touch, and it gave her a sense of pride to support a black-owned business.
“Mia, how are you, sweetheart?” Carol slipped on the glasses held
around her neck by a beaded chain.
“I’m fine, Ms. Carol. How is the family?”
“The children—” she shrugged “—they wish they had a different business to inherit. But it’s like I tell them all the time—baby doctors, morticians and cleaners will always have business.”
Mia chuckled. “You are so right.”
Carol held up each garment and jotted them down on the slip. “Okay, one ladies’ suit, two blouses, two dress shirts and two slacks. When do you need them back?” She peered at Mia from above the top of her glasses.
“Hmm. Tomorrow? Can I pick them up around six?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Thanks. I gotta run. Have a good day.” She picked up her purse from the counter.
“You, too, dear.” She gathered the clothes up into a bundle with the intention of putting them in the basket when some change fell out of one of the pockets.
Mia stopped. “I’m sorry. I should have checked the pockets.”
Carol picked up the change from the floor. “A whole sixty-two cents,” she said with a smile. “Not enough to retire on, so you keep it.”
Mia grinned. “Thanks.”
Carol went through each item to check the pockets. “This is yours, too.” She gave her a business card.
Mia took it and stuck it into her tote.
“That’s it,” Carol concluded.
“Good. If anything else turns up, just leave it with the clothes. Bye!” She hurried out. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get caught in traffic. She probably should have left home sooner, but she’d let her quest for answers—or vindication—consume her morning.
Once behind the wheel of her car, she dug her cell phone out of her tote and gave the voice command to call Ashley.
“Hey, Ashley,” she said through the speakerphone. “I’m running behind schedule. Hopefully, I should be there in about forty minutes.”
“No problem. I have everything covered.”
“Any calls?”
“Just one.” Ashley paused. “Michael Burke. He plans to stop by later.”
Mia’s brakes squealed as she nearly rear-ended the driver in front of her. She had about ten seconds to pull herself together before the cars behind her demanded her head on a platter for holding them up.
“Thanks,” she managed, easing her foot off the brake and onto the gas. “Did he say what time?”
“I told him we had an early-afternoon appointment. He said it would be around 2:30. He had some information on the event that he wanted to deliver personally.”
Mia’s heart skipped a beat. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.” She pressed the speakerphone button and disconnected the call.
What could he have to bring that he hadn’t turned over already? Ideally, she wanted to limit her face time with Michael to the bare minimum. Obviously, he had other ideas.
Chapter 12
Michael strolled into his suite of offices, feeling better than he’d felt in months. Since connecting with Mia again, his life seemed to take on a new purpose. He wanted more than the next big contract, a fatter bank account, more houses and more cars than he could live in or drive.
When Mia had left him, he had fallen apart, piece by piece, with the final straw being his divorce. He’d fallen into an abyss of not caring, of only wanting women in his life whom he could control. He drew a macabre pleasure out of getting them to do what he wanted when he wanted. But after five years, he’d grown even more restless. Nothing satisfied him. Not women, clients or money. And then the opportunity to get back in Mia’s life presented itself and the dark world into which he’d descended suddenly grew brighter. He walked down the hallway toward his office.
“Good morning, Michael,” Brenda greeted him, as she stepped out of her office into the corridor.
“Morning.”
She quickly looked right then left. “I thought you were going to call me last night,” she said in a hard whisper.
“Not now, Brenda.”
She flashed him a tight look, her mouth turning into a single line. “Then when?”
“I’ll let you know. Do you have details on the Chrysler account?”
She lifted her chin, unwilling to take the verbal smack he’d given her. “On your desk.”
“Thanks.” He continued toward his office, certain that if Brenda had daggers they’d be deep in his back. He opened the door to his office, then shut it behind him. He took off his navy-blue Armani jacket and hung it on the rack by the window.
For a moment he stared out onto the street below. Cars, trucks, buses and strings of yellow cabs filled the blacktop. Harried businesspeople darted around a casual slow-strolling, camera-toting tourist.
This was his city. The pulse and rhythm of it beat in his veins like nourishment, but he’d let it all go to get Mia back.
He slung his hands into his pants pockets. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy. There were many people who depended on him. He’d miss the excitement, the challenge, the danger and especially the money. But he’d do it for her. If she’d only give him the slightest indication that she still had feelings for him.
He sighed heavily and turned from the window. Before he got that far, there were still a lot of things he was going to have to settle and exorcise from his life. One of them was Brenda.
It was a mistake taking the boardroom into the bedroom. He knew it the moment he’d reserved the hotel suite at the Ritz Carlton. But his wounds were so deep after losing Mia, then his marriage and the endless series of faceless women, that the comfort Brenda offered was what he needed.
They’d fallen into a discreet routine, talking by phone in the evening, meeting for the weekend at his house in Montclair, New Jersey, or for short getaways to Vegas, the Bahamas, the Poconos and even the West Coast, on occasion.
The relationship worked for both of them. At least Michael thought it did. The scene that Brenda had put on after the meeting with Mia and Ashley was worthy of YouTube.
She’d stormed into his office, her eyes full of fire, and marched straight up to his desk.
“What is going on between you and her?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Like hell you don’t! I saw how you look at her. I hear how you talk to her. It’s more than business. Don’t BS me.” Her chest heaved in and out as her agitation grew. “I love you, Michael. You’re not going to do this to me.”
It took everything he had to control his rising temper. Had they been in a more private setting, things would have been entirely different. When his dark, brooding gaze pinned her, he saw her involuntary withdrawal, the moment of alarm that widened her eyes.
His tone was bitter cold. “I suggest that you leave my office. Please.”
She opened her mouth to speak. He held up his hand to stop her.
“Leave, Brenda, for both our sakes. We’ll talk later.”
The bluster with which she’d barged in had dwindled to a barely noticeable breeze.
She straightened her shoulders, then turned and walked out.
He’d said they would talk. But the truth was he really didn’t want to deal with her. She’d crossed the invisible line by telling him she was in love with him. Love couldn’t work between them. Ever.
He cared for Brenda. But he wasn’t in love with her and never would be. He released a long, slow breath. He had to handle this delicately. She didn’t deserve to be hurt, but he certainly had no intention of ruining this chance with Mia.
Mia got through her morning working hard to keep thoughts of Michael at bay. But what concerned her most was her on-the-fence feelings about Steven.
Before Michael reappeared, she’d been so certain that Steven was “the one.” Now she was filled with doubt.
The chirping of her cell phone drew her attention. She looked around for it on top of her desk to no avail. The chirp continued and she realized it was still in her tote.
She hurried across the room to her bag, which was on the side table, reached inside, turning
the bag over in the process. “Dammit.” She retrieved the phone from the floor just as it stopped ringing and went to voice mail. “Double dammit.” She bent down and picked up her belongings from the floor and was in the process of sticking an errant business card in her wallet when she stopped. Frowned.
Last Call Bar & Grill. The address was on Pier 23. Hmm. She didn’t recall ever having been there. And her business hinged on her knowing about the businesses in the city to best serve her clients. She flipped the card over and her heart felt as if it actually stopped.
Michelle Dennis. She stared at the number, unable or unwilling to let the numbers make sense. But she couldn’t deny what was right in front of her. It was the same number that had showed up on Michael’s phone. The same first name—Michelle. She knew this wasn’t one of her business cards. It must have fallen out of Steven’s pocket at the cleaner. This was where he’d been last night. This was what “almost happened.”
Her stomach rolled.
What the hell did it mean? Was this some ugly coincidence? God, how was Steven involved? Was he seeing some woman who might be part of this escort service?
Mia was suddenly so hot she couldn’t breathe. The implications of what might be going on she didn’t want to think about.
Then pushing its way past the suspicions, the doubts and fears was a surge of jealousy that shook her with its intensity. How far did things really go between Steven and Michelle? How long had he known her? Was she someone from his past?
Her gaze shifted to the neatly written name and phone number.
Mia, Ms. Organized, Ms. Anal-Compulsive, felt like she was coming apart. She couldn’t focus on anything beyond calling that number and demanding to know who Michelle Dennis was and what she had to do with Steven.
Mia reached for the phone, just as it rang in her hand.
“Your conference call is on line two,” Ashley said.
Mia’s hand shook. The room came back into focus. What in the world was she getting ready to do—“go hood” on this Michelle? She’d never argued or fought over a man in her life. What was wrong with her?