by Naomi Chase
“What do you mean?”
She raised her head from Brandon’s chest to search his face. “Let me rephrase the question. Do you believe that the dead can communicate with the living through dreams?”
“Hmm,” Brandon murmured. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve always had a healthy dose of skepticism when it comes to stuff like that.”
“Supernatural stuff?”
“Yeah. I don’t really believe in ghosts and things that go bump in the night.” He gave Tamia an amused look. “Why? Something you wanna tell me?”
She hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I’ve been having dreams about my grandmother.”
His expression softened. “The one who was murdered ten years ago?”
Tamia nodded. “Ever since I went to prison, I’ve been dreaming about her.”
“Good or bad dreams?”
“Hmm. It’s hard to say.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, on one hand, I’m very happy to see her and spend time with her. But on the other hand, there’s an undercurrent of sadness to all of the dreams. Like we both know our time together won’t last very long.”
Brandon tenderly stroked her cheek. “You wake up missing her even more, don’t you?”
“I do,” Tamia murmured, soothed by Brandon’s gentle touch. “You know, I’ve spent the past ten years wondering who killed her, hoping for a breakthrough that would help the police solve her murder. But during the dreams, it never occurs to me to ask Mama Esther who killed her. Isn’t that weird?”
“Not necessarily. Since you know you don’t have a lot of time with her, maybe you don’t want to dwell on unpleasant things, like her death.”
Tamia sighed. “Maybe.”
“What do you two talk about?” Brandon asked curiously.
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
Tamia nodded. “The dreams are so realistic and current. I mean, we have conversations about things that are happening in my life right now, not just in the past.”
Brandon’s eyes probed hers. “Maybe that’s your subconscious way of staying connected to your grandmother, since you were so close to her. If she were still alive, you’d still be able to confide in her. So when you’ve got things weighing on your mind, you dream about unburdening yourself to her.”
Tamia nodded slowly, pondering his words. “That makes a lot of sense.”
Brandon grinned crookedly. “Of course. I always make sense.”
Tamia snorted a laugh. “I wouldn’t say all that.”
“Oh, really?” he challenged, his eyes glinting with humor. “When don’t I make sense?”
“Well,” Tamia purred, smiling wickedly, “when I’ve got you speaking in tongues during sex—”
With a shout of laughter, Brandon rolled her onto her back and covered her body with his. “Speaking of which ...”
Tamia smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck as his warm mouth captured hers. “Happy Thanksgiving,” she whispered to him.
“It has been,” he murmured, staring into her eyes as he kissed her. “One of the best ever.”
Tamia wholeheartedly agreed.
No matter what tomorrow may bring, she knew she would never forget this amazing week she’d spent with Brandon.
Chapter 38
Brandon
The day after Brandon and Tamia returned from their trip, Brandon went into the office to catch up on some work so he wouldn’t feel bombarded come Monday morning. Since Tamia had errands to run, they’d agreed to meet back at his place by five o’clock so they could have dinner together. Afterward he was supposed to meet Dre for drinks.
Dre had called that morning to tell Brandon that Leah had put him out. Before he could elaborate, he’d been interrupted by the arrival of one of the Texans’ players, who needed some physical therapy before tomorrow’s football game. Dre had promised to give Brandon the lowdown when they met at Stogie’s, but Brandon already knew that his best friend’s troubles had something to do with Fiona. He could only hope, for Dre’s sake, that he hadn’t been careless—no, stupid —enough to get caught in the act of cheating.
As Brandon sat down at his desk to check his voice mail messages, his mind was still on the romantic, relaxing week he and Tamia had spent in Italy. So when he gazed out the windows, he saw moonlit canals and a lush green countryside dotted with villas instead of the steel and glass skyscrapers that formed Houston’s downtown skyline. He wished he and Tamia could have stayed away another week—hell, another month. Because while they were in Venice, they hadn’t thought about the tumultuous past year, or the obstacles they still had to overcome. When they were taking a romantic gondola ride or making love beneath a glittering canopy of stars, they could have been the only two people in the universe. Nothing and no one else had mattered.
“I take it by the smile on your face that you and Tamia enjoyed your trip.”
Snapped out of his soft-focus reverie, Brandon swiveled away from the windows.
When he saw Cynthia standing in his office doorway, he inwardly groaned. He wasn’t in the mood for another confrontation with her. He’d hoped to have more time to savor the memories of Italy before reality intruded.
So much for that.
“Cynthia,” he murmured, setting down the phone receiver without listening to the rest of his messages. “How’re you doing?”
“Not as well as you’re doing, obviously,” she quipped, her arms folded across her chest as she leaned on the doorjamb with her ankles crossed. She wore a belted cardigan sweater over black leggings and suede moccasins.
“How was Italy?” she asked.
“Italy was wonderful,” Brandon said evenly. “But I’m sure you don’t want to hear the details.”
“No,” Cynthia agreed, lips twisted sardonically. “My imagination has tortured me enough.”
Brandon said nothing.
“I didn’t expect to see you back in the office until Monday,” she continued, “but I’m glad you came in today because there’s something I need to discuss with you. And since hardly anyone else is here, we can have some privacy.”
Brandon instinctively tensed. “What do we need to discuss?”
Cynthia hesitated, biting her lower lip. “Mind if I come in?”
Brandon shook his head, then watched with mounting tension as she entered the office, closed the door behind her, and crossed to his desk.
“I decided to heed your advice and refocus my energies on making partner,” she explained, settling into one of the leather visitor chairs and crossing her legs. “As painful as that conversation was, you were right. I lost track of my priorities when we started dating, and I became the type of woman I swore I would never become. Thank you for making me see that.”
Brandon inclined his head. “That’s what friends are for.”
Cynthia winced, no doubt in response to the word friends. “Yes, well, I appreciate your honesty, though I didn’t at the time. I needed the reality check, and now I’m back on track, focused on achieving my most important goal.”
“That’s good,” Brandon murmured.
She nodded slowly, her eyes moving past him to stare out the windows. “There’s just one problem, though.”
“What’s that?”
She met his gaze directly. “I’m late.”
Brandon stared at her. “Late for what?”
She just looked at him.
As comprehension dawned, the bottom dropped out of his stomach.
Reeling with shock, he leaned back slowly against his chair and scrubbed an unsteady hand over his face.
Cynthia watched him, silently observing his stunned reaction.
After several excruciating moments, he found his voice—or a weak imitation of it that managed to whisper, “You’re pregnant?”
Cynthia nodded. “I think so.”
“You think so? Have you taken a pregnancy test?”
“Not yet,” she said almost defensively.
“Why n
ot?”
“I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t had a chance to schedule a doctor’s appointment. But I plan to do that on Monday.”
“What about taking one of those home pregnancy tests?”
She shook her head. “I don’t trust those, because I know too many people who’ve gotten inaccurate results. I’d prefer to wait until I can have a blood test done at the doctor’s office. But I know my body, Brandon. I’m never late—certainly not five whole days late.”
He frowned. “You’ve been on the pill for about a month, right?”
She hesitated. “Right.”
“Well, couldn’t that be throwing your cycle off?”
Cynthia looked him in the eye. “I’ve been on the pill before, Brandon, and it’s never interfered with my cycle. Ever.”
He regarded her a moment longer, then shoved to his feet and stood at the windows with his hands jammed into his pockets. The high he’d been riding before Cynthia’s appearance had evaporated, possibly for good.
“I guess it was too much for me to hope that you’d greet this news with tears of joy,” she said bitterly.
Brandon looked over his shoulder at her. “What do you want me to say, Cynthia? You come to me and tell me that you think you might be pregnant, even though you haven’t taken so much as a home pregnancy test. Why didn’t you wait until you knew for sure before you brought your suspicions to me?”
“Are you serious?” Cynthia demanded, eyeing him incredulously. “While you were off traipsing around Italy with your fucking porn star, I spent the past week agonizing over the possibility that I might be carrying the child of a man who no longer wants me. Forgive me for wanting to confide in you the moment you got back. Forgive me for wanting to give you a heads-up that you might be the father of my unborn baby!”
Guilt gnawed at Brandon’s insides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off like—”
“A selfish bastard? Too late for that.”
Brandon clenched his jaw, then exhaled a deep, weary breath and dragged his hands over his head. “Look, if you’re pregnant—”
“There’s no if about it.”
“—you know I’ll be there for you.”
“I truly hope so.” Cynthia’s hand went to her stomach, an instinctively protective gesture that further shamed Brandon. “I have no desire to raise this baby alone, B. It took two of us to create this life, so it’ll take two of us to nurture and sustain it. I’m not looking for financial support from you, because we both know that between my salary and the generosity of my parents, no child of mine would ever want for anything.”
Brandon scowled. “There’s no fucking way I’d ever let someone else—grandparents or not—assume responsibility for my kid. What kind of man do you think I am?”
Cynthia’s expression softened, her eyes probing his. “I hope you’re still the man I fell in love with nearly three years ago. The kind of man who understands the importance of providing a stable, loving home for a child because that’s how he was raised. The kind of man who’d put his child’s needs above his own selfish desires.”
Brandon silently absorbed her words, understanding the implications of what she was asking. She wanted him to choose between their unborn baby and Tamia.
“Our child doesn’t need someone with a bottomless bank account,” she continued with quiet resolve. “What he or she needs is a father they can count on to always be there for them. And I need a partner, Brandon. Someone to help me raise the precious offspring we brought into this world together. Someone to share the ups and downs, the trials and triumphs of being a parent.” Holding his gaze, she uncrossed her legs and slowly rose from the chair. “I hope you won’t let me and our baby down.”
Brandon eyed her for a long moment, then turned back to the windows.
“Get a blood test,” he said gruffly.
“And then?”
He closed his eyes. “Then we’ll go from there.”
Chapter 39
Tamia
“It’s almost time, chile.”
Tamia looked at her grandmother, who sat beside her on the gently rocking porch swing, her fingers deftly working her knitting needles.
“Almost time for what, Mama Esther?”
The old woman met Tamia’s curious gaze. “Almost time for you to decide what to do about your sister.”
Tamia heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t want to think about that right now, Mama Esther. Not when things are going so well between me and Brandon—”
“You can’t put it off much longer,Tamia. He won’t let you.”
“Who won’t let me? Brandon?”
But Mama Esther was suddenly staring off into the distance, her eyes filled with worry. “Trouble’s coming, chile.”
A chill swept through Tamia. “What kind of trouble?”
Her grandmother shook her head slowly. “The kind that’s been coming for years.”
“Years? What are you talking about, Mama?You’re starting to scare me.”
“I don’t want to scare you, baby. But I want you to know that your sister needs you. So when the time comes for you to go to her, don’t hesitate. ” The old woman’s eyes bored into Tamia’s. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Tamia swallowed nervously, then nodded.
“Good.”
Silence lapsed between the two women, punctuated by the click-click-click of Mama Esther’s knitting needles.
After a while, Tamia looked down at the unfinished knitting on her grandmother’s lap. “I think I know who you’re making that blanket for.”
Mama Esther’s fingers stilled. “Oh?”
Tamia nodded. “Brandon’s assistant is having a baby boy. So maybe I’m supposed to give her a blanket at her baby shower next weekend.”
“Maybe. ”The knitting needles were back in motion. “But that’s not who I’m making this one for.”
“It’s not?”
“No, chile.”
Tamia frowned at her grandmother. “Then who’s it for?”
Mama Esther wore a quiet, enigmatic smile. “You’ll know soon enough.”
Tamia opened her eyes, jarred awake by the ringing of the doorbell.
Rolling over in Brandon’s king-size bed, she peered at the alarm clock. She was surprised to see that it was past noon. She hadn’t meant to sleep so late, but she’d been exhausted from jet lag and hours of lovemaking with her boo. So the errands she’d planned to run would probably have to wait until tomorrow.
Assuming Brandon doesn’t keep me in bed all day, she thought slyly, stretching against the luxurious cotton sheets.
The doorbell rang again, sounding more insistent this time.
Tamia sighed, then climbed out of bed, padded to the walk-in closet, and retrieved Brandon’s bathrobe. The sleeves were too long, and the hem nearly reached her feet. But it was perfect, she mused as she snuggled into the soft fabric, savoring Brandon’s clean, wonderful scent.
It felt so good to be back in his bed, his home, his life.
This is where I belong, she thought contentedly, moving through the condo to reach the front door.
Since Brandon hadn’t mentioned that he was expecting company, she couldn’t imagine who was on the other side of the door.
Trouble’s coming, her grandmother’s sage warning whispered through her mind.
Tamia frowned, chilled by the thought even as she reminded herself that she’d only been dreaming.
Her voice trembled as she called through the door, “Who is it?”
“Gwen Chambers,” came the tart reply.
Tamia froze, her eyes widening with shock. What the hell was Brandon’s mother doing there?
Take an educated guess, her conscience mocked.
“Um, just a second.” Tamia combed shaky fingers through her hair and tugged the lapels of Brandon’s robe together, then drew a deep, calming breath before unlocking and opening the door.
Gwen Chambers stood there seething with haughty indignation. She wa
s an elegantly attractive, maple-toned woman who was a dead ringer for the actress Diahann Carroll. She wore a cashmere trench coat with a silk Hermès scarf and a black Birkin handbag on her arm.
Tamia forced a polite smile. “Hello, Mrs. Chambers.”
The woman raked her with a look of scathing contempt. “I don’t appreciate being kept waiting on the doorstep like some trespassing salesman.”
“I apologize,” Tamia said levelly. “I was asleep. Would you like to—”
Before she could complete the invitation, Gwen swept past her and through the door as if she owned the condo, the building, and the land it was built upon.
Alrighty then, Tamia mouthed as she closed the door.
Striving for composure, she asked politely, “Can I offer you something to drink, Mrs. Chambers?”
Gwen eyed her disdainfully. “Do not speak to me as if I’m a guest here. This is my son’s apartment. If I want something to drink, I can get it myself. Anyway, this isn’t a social call.”
“Color me surprised,” Tamia quipped under her breath.
Gwen’s eyes narrowed with displeasure. “I’ll get right to the point. How much will it take to make you disappear from my son’s life?”
Tamia stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t believe I stuttered, Miss Luke. How much will it take to make you go away and leave Brandon alone?”
Tamia eyed her incredulously. “Are you trying to pay me off?”
“If that’s what it will take to get rid of you.” Gwen reached inside her Birkin and removed a checkbook and a pen. “Name your price.”
Tamia shook her head slowly, numb with shock. “I don’t believe this.”
Gwen’s lips twisted scornfully. “Please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending to be outraged, Miss Luke. Bribery is the only language that a woman of your ilk understands. As I recall, you were more than willing to become Dominic Archer’s sex slave in exchange for his silence. So I know you won’t turn down cold, hard cash.” She opened her checkbook. “How does $250,000 sound?”