Twice the Temptation

by Francis Ray

  That’s why he didn’t want to mess up her wedding night. Both of them had wanted to wait and it had been hard. Now the time was here and he was nervous.

  His hand jammed into his pocket. The key. She needed it to take off her shoes.

  He knocked on the door. “Jessica.”

  “Come in.”

  “You for …” His words trailed off. She stood by the bed in something white, lacy, and decadent. He was profoundly glad he hadn’t known during the ceremony that beneath her gown she had on a merry widow. “I-I knocked.”

  “I know.”

  His gaze roamed hungrily over her. “The key.”

  “Yes.” She sat down on the bed and crossed shapely legs in sheer stockings and a garter belt.

  He swallowed, then slowly walked toward her when he wanted to run. Kneeling, he took one shoe on his knee, removed the lock, then repeated the process and took off her other shoe. The light fragrance she wore stirred his senses more.

  Her hand touched his face. “I love you, Gabe.”

  His control slipped a notch. His arms went around her, crushing her to him. “Don’t be frightened.”

  She laughed, and laughed again at his strange look. She kissed him quickly on the mouth. “Frightened! I’d fight anyone or anything that tried to take me away from you, from this. I don’t know what life holds, but I know with you I have the freedom to be me, not what someone expects me to be.”

  Love shone in her misty brown eyes. “You are my freedom, Gabe. You are my life, my love. Who could be frightened of that?”

  “Oh, Jessica.” His mouth found hers again, no longer hesitant. He drew her down on the bed, kissing her greedily. She met him boldly, her hands and lips as eager to touch, to taste, to savor, as his. Each caress was more desirable than the last.

  Clothes were cast aside in heated urgency. Gazing into her eyes, he made her his, watched the surprise and momentary discomfort break across her expressive face, then watched the slow spiral of pleasure.

  She came to him with all the innocence and fire he knew she possessed. She held nothing back. Neither did he. They both gave and in return received.

  Much later, Gabe drew Jessica to his side, his hand tenderly stroking her. “Like I always said, you’re incredible.”

  “If I would have known how incredible this would be, you would have had to fight me off.”

  Chuckling, he rolled her beneath him and kissed her. “Welcome to my world, Jessica Jackson. I’ll love you through eternity.”

  “And I’m going to love you right back, Gabe Jackson.” Her lips touched his and it was a long time before either had enough breath to speak again.

  a matter of Trust

  ONE

  Sebastian Stone was having the day from hell, and as the afternoon progressed it showed no sign of abating. But having a flat with no spare, being splashed with dirty water in his new Brioni charcoal herringbone suit as he stood on the sidewalk waiting for the auto service mechanic, then getting a speeding ticket while rushing home to change for his morning meeting at the theater, and all the other crummy things that followed, in no way compared to this latest development. “Do you mean to tell me that Gregory isn’t here?”

  Tianna, the young receptionist at Della’s House of Style who moments earlier had greeted him with a broad smile, noticeably swallowed, the smile in her attractive nut-brown face wavering. “He had an emergency, Mr. Stone.”

  Concern knitted Sebastian’s brow. In their six-year association, the tempestuous Gregory had never canceled. “What kind of emergency?”

  “Medical.” The receptionist glanced away, her right hand fluttering upward to push the shoulder-length braids off her shoulder. “He sprained his ankle last night.”

  Sebastian’s frown deepened. As far as he knew, the most strenuous thing Gregory ever did was operating the remote control for his entertainment system. He claimed standing in his Cole Haans for hours on end, twisting and turning to get the right angle to do people’s hair, was enough exercise for him. If he needed to burn calories, he had a better way. “How’d he do that?”

  Tianna’s gaze settled in the middle of Sebastian’s blue, pinstripe-shirted chest. “Jumping off a fire escape.”

  Knowing Gregory lived on the first floor of his apartment complex, and knowing his passion for the ladies, Sebastian decided not to question the obviously embarrassed woman further. Apparently Gregory had been burning calories with someone he shouldn’t. “I see.”

  Tianna’s braid-covered head quickly came up. She stared at him with pleaful, big brown eyes. “But I assure you the stylist your appointment is with is well qualified to cut your hair.”

  “Edge,” Sebastian corrected, aware that he was splitting hairs and unable to help himself. “My hair only needs to be edged.”

  Her smile slipped again and Sebastian felt like the demon from hell in the last play he directed. He probably sounded like an irrational fool. But, despite her position, in Sebastian’s opinion few women truly understood that letting someone loose with clippers, shears, or scissors on a man’s head was just as traumatic for him as for a woman getting a cut. Once the hair was gone, no amount of apology would bring it back.

  Sebastian had been in that unenviable position too many times in his past thirty-seven years to take it lightly. It had taken him five long years after his move from Los Angeles to New York to find Gregory. Once Sebastian found him, he had followed the gregarious Gregory wherever he went. Della’s House of Style was his third move.

  Gregory might wear a foot-long ponytail, but he knew Sebastian’s taste was conservative. No fades or shags for him. His haircut hadn’t changed since he graduated from Howard in the early eighties.

  “Gregory said to tell you he had complete confidence in Hope,” the receptionist offered.

  “Hope?” Sebastian repeated, foreboding sweeping through him. A woman had never cut his hair. He wasn’t a chauvinist. His mother and sister could testify to that. His father would disown him if he were. Sebastian simply believed men were more suited to some professions. This was certainly one of them.

  “Hope Lassiter,” Tianna finally said.

  Maybe he was overreacting. Although this was only his second time in Della’s, the salon had the highest reputation and it had a subdued elegance and airiness that he liked. The booths were spaced far enough apart so you didn’t feel cramped or have to listen to your neighbor’s conversation … . unless you wanted to. Mirrors abounded on the pristine white walls. A pink and blue marble floor sparkled beneath his Ballys. Fresh-cut flowers sat at every station. The setting was designed to be relaxing.

  It wasn’t.

  Perhaps the fault was his. Even after ten years as a director in the theater, the last three mostly on Broadway, the start of a new play with all its myriad problems always put him a little on edge. He never completely settled down until after the final curtain call on opening night. With all the difficulties he was having casting the right actress for the crucial female lead in A Matter of Trust, if he wasn’t careful, he’d be a basket case by opening night. “Which one is she?”

  “Her station is the fourth one.” Tianna’s slim hand gestured to the left.

  Sebastian’s worried gaze followed. There were two women at the station, but he immediately dismissed the elderly, gray-haired woman in a trim-fitting sky blue suit. The younger woman standing by her side wasn’t so easily discounted.

  She was tall and shapely, and her black micro-miniskirt peeked from beneath her pink smock each time she leaned over to speak with the grinning little boy sitting in the chair. Momentarily, she glanced his way. His breath caught, then came out in a rush. The promise of her elegantly curved body and long legs was backed up with interest by her beautiful mocha-hued face.

  Her pouting lower lip begged to be kissed. Chiseled cheekbones bespoke of a Scandinavian or Native American influence somewhere in her heritage. Unconsciously Sebastian took a step closer, hoping she’d turn to him again so he could see her face and determin
e the color of her eyes. Abruptly he stopped. His own eyes widened as the scope of his gaze broadened.

  “Goodness gracious.”

  He might not be able to distinguish the color of her eyes, but he had no difficulty with her hair … black and tipped two inches in garish purple. Worse, it was spiked over her head as if she had stuck her finger in a light socket. He quickly turned to Tianna. “No way is that woman getting near my head.”

  “Oh, my, Hope, he’s looking this way,” Bridgett Swanson said, excitement ringing in her voice. “He’s a handsome devil. His pictures don’t do him justice.”

  “You gonna ask him, Mommy? Are you?” Four-year-old Jeremy Lassiter bounced in the chair with every other word.

  “Of course she is,” Bridgett answered, then leaned over to whisper in Hope’s ear. “If I were twenty—no, make that ten—years younger, I might try out for the part myself. Next, I’d go after the man.”

  Hope laughed, and with the laughter, some of the tension she had fought all afternoon eased. Bridgett nodded her approval at the sound of the laughter.

  Hope smiled at her two biggest supporters, Jeremy and their friend and landlady, Bridgett Swanson. Sixty years old and widowed for seven years, Bridgett was an invariable tease and absolutely wonderful with Jeremy. The best thing that could have happened to them was renting the upper floor of Bridgett’s home on Striver’s Row.

  Leaning over, Hope kissed Jeremy’s soft cheek and winked at Bridgett. “If he turns me down for the lead in A Matter of Trust, I’ll let you work on him for me.”

  The older woman shook her head emphatically. “He’s too smart for that. Those four Tony Awards he’s received in the past attest to his ability to pick winners. He needs a versatile, powerful actress for his production and you fit perfectly.”

  “You’re the best, Mommy,” Jeremy said, his eyes wide. “Everybody said so last night and all the other times.”

  “Listen to your son, Hope. You were the hit of the show.”

  “Community theater is a far, far cry from Broadway,” Hope said, doubt creeping into her voice again. “Reading in Variety that Sebastian Stone was doing open casting for his newest play, then having Gregory call and ask me to do Sebastian’s hair, seemed as if fate were working for me to get back into real theater again.”

  “It is,” Bridgett said with complete confidence. “You said Della said it was all right for you to broach the subject with him, so all you have to do now is approach Mr. Stone.”

  Hope drew a deep breath. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “It is.” Bridgett reached for Jeremy’s hand. Immediately the child grasped it and jumped down from the chair to land with a solid whack on the shiny floor.

  Hope frowned down at him. “Jeremy.”

  “Sorry,” he said, an unrepentant grin on his beautiful, chubby face, his black eyes twinkling.

  Hope tried to appear stern, but a smile slipped through. Douglas, the father Jeremy had never known, could always get by her with the same look. And like his father, Jeremy was perpetually happy and mischievous. “One of these days that’s not going to work with me.”

  Jeremy’s grin widened. With his free hand, he beckoned Hope closer. When she neared his face, he kissed her loudly on the cheek. “I love you, Mommy.”

  Hope’s heart melted. Bending, she enveloped him in a hug. Thank goodness he still needed and wanted those hugs as much as she did. “I love you, too. I’ll be home by six with hopefully some good news.”

  “He’ll let you play the part, Mommy, I just know he will.”

  She stood. “I’ll know shortly.”

  “Good luck, Hope,” Bridgett said.

  “Thanks, and thanks for coming by with Jeremy to give me a pep talk.”

  Bridgett waved the words aside with a surprisingly agile flick of her wrist. Diamonds and emeralds glittered. “You’ve given me plenty of them. About time I returned the favor.”

  “You do that just by being there for me and Jeremy.” Reaching out, Hope briefly squeezed the older woman’s fragile, blue-veined hand. “I’ll walk you to the front and meet Mr. Stone.” Fighting the trembling that had suddenly invaded her legs, she turned and headed toward the front of the shop and what she hoped was the key to her future, Sebastian Stone.

  “But—but, Mr. Stone,” Tianna spluttered. “Hope is one of our best stylists. Gregory personally selected her.”

  “That may be, but I want someone else.” Sebastian glanced to the other side of the shop, looking for a male attendant whose hair and dress denoted some restraint. Although there were two other men there, neither inspired confidence. One wore clothes as loud as Hope’s hair, the other had a pair of shears in his hand zipping over a man’s head at only a fraction slower than the speed of light. “I’ll reschedule.”

  “But—but—” Tianna stammered.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Stone. I’m Hope Lassiter. Gregory asked me to service you this afternoon.”

  Sebastian felt a strange, white-hot something slither down his spine. Slowly he turned. The husky, beckoning whisper of Hope Lassiter’s voice went perfectly with the face and body. A combination like that had embodied man’s dream of the perfect woman since the beginning of time … until he looked at the sobering sight of her head.

  Unconsciously, he lowered his gaze to see the color of her eyes, and stared into a pair of heavily lashed almond-shaped black eyes. She was even more captivating close up. “You know who I am?”

  “By reputation and from what Gregory has told me,” Hope said, trying to tell herself to remain calm, that this was just another customer, albeit one who could give her back a dream that she thought was gone forever. However, his smooth, deeply compelling voice was sending her thoughts in an entirely, totally inappropriate direction.

  “Gregory went to great lengths to ensure that I understood how to edge your hair correctly.” Her black eyes narrowed as her expert gaze ran over his well-shaped head to give herself time to collect her thoughts.

  Bridgett was right. He was a handsome devil. Devastating, in fact, with piercing black eyes, a strong jaw, a talk-me-into-anything mouth, and a no-nonsense chin. Just her luck that she was a sucker for a man with a mustache. Sebastian’s was jet black and neatly trimmed.

  Since Gregory hadn’t mentioned it, Sebastian probably took care of it himself. However, Gregory had mentioned Sebastian’s previous misfortunes with barbers. The way those black eyes of his were staring at her, he had lumped her in their number.

  Trying to control the strange and unusual sensations swirling through her, Hope concentrated on the problem at hand, calming her potential client. This was no time to remember that the only males she had hugged lately were relatives.

  “You have enough natural curl to use the scissors to shape your hair. The shears and clippers will be needed only to edge the back and sides. Moderation and restraint is what Gregory said you desired. At Della’s we always give our valued customers what they desire.”

  Did her voice get even huskier when she said desire, the same way it had when she said service—or was it his imagination? Once he had arrogantly thought of women coming on to him as a great side benefit to being a well-known theater director, but as time passed and it happened more and more, the come-ons had quickly become an annoyance, then a nuisance. He preferred to do his own chasing. “My desire would be not to have to wear a baseball cap or a fedora for the next couple of weeks until my hair grows out,” he said in a clipped tone.

  In slow motion her smile withered. Her eyes narrowed and took on a distinct chill. “No one has ever been dissatisfied with my services in the past, Mr. Stone, but if you have reservations I’m sure Tianna can find someone else to assist you. As I said, at Della’s we strive to give the customer what they desire. If you’ll excuse me.” With a slight nod of her head, she walked past him to the front of the shop, where the elderly woman and the little boy who had been with her earlier waited.

  Stunned by her dismissal, Sebastian watched Hope hunker down to eye
level with the young child and open her arms. The child didn’t hesitate. Their shared laughter rang loud and clear. Somehow he knew the happy little boy clinging around her neck was her son.

  For some odd reason he thought of his ex-wife, Celeste, who had thought children would ruin her model-thin figure. Celeste, beautiful and as selfish as they came. He had lousy taste when it came to women. That was something else his mother and sister could attest to.

  “Mr. Stone, if you’d come with me, I can check the appointment book,” the receptionist said.

  Sebastian looked away from mother and child. “Certainly.”

  Hope was trembling, she was so angry. The compact, sturdy body of Jeremy giggling in her arms and against her body helped to calm her. The nerve of the man. To actually think she was trying to come on to him. She could tell from the sarcasm/flippancy of his statement, the piercing coldness of his gaze. She should know. She’d used a similar tone and look herself many times in the past to discourage men.

  “Hope?”

  Hearing the concern and question in Bridgett’s voice, Hope shook her head and stood. Bridgett would understand. Many times in their long association they had had to talk out of Jeremy’s hearing. With a bright smile on her face, Hope rose and said, “I’ll be home earlier than I thought. Why don’t we eat out tonight, my treat?”

  “To celebrate?” Jeremy asked, his gaze going from Sebastian, at the receptionist desk several feet away, back to his mother. “He’s gonna let you?”

  Hope’s smile wavered, then steadied. “We’ll see.”

  Bridgett, her mouth tight, briefly pressed her free hand to Hope’s tense shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”

  This time Jeremy didn’t budge when the elderly woman tugged gently on his hand. “But you were gonna ask him, Mommy. What did he say?”

  From experience, Hope knew her son wasn’t easily put off when he wanted an answer. Since it was just the two of them, she had a tendency to discuss her plans with him. He had also been around adults all his life and his vocabulary and thought processes were advanced for his age.