Rogue Descendant (Nikki Glass) (16 page)

I’d have called Jamaal’s cell in an effort to locate him,
only I wasn’t sure he’d answer if he saw my name on
caller ID, and he might make himself scarce once he knew I was looking for him.

I headed down the stairs toward his suite, my pulse tripping along even as I rolled my eyes at myself for being nervous. I’m not a shy person, nor was I as intimidated by Jamaal as I probably should have been, but asking him out on what was essentially a date was well beyond my comfort zone. Especially when I felt sure it was going to turn into a battle of wills.

After a deep, calming breath, I knocked on his door. If he was out in the clearing working with Sita, then I was going to settle in and wait for him. Frankly, if I never saw another tiger for the rest of my life, that would be fine with me. I would never forget the feeling of her breath on my face.

Footsteps told me at once that Jamaal was in, and my pulse picked up even more speed. Damn, I was as nervous as a sixteen-year-old girl asking a boy to the junior prom. I wiped my palms on my pants legs in case they were sweaty, then tried my best to brace myself for the rejection that was sure to come. I might be able to talk him into coming with me, but I’d faint in shock if his first answer wasn’t a resounding no.

The door opened, and I was suddenly face-to-face with Jamaal. Well, face to chest. Jamaal is about a foot taller than I am, so I always have to look up to meet his gaze.

His cheekbones looked a little sharper than usual, and I wondered if he had lost weight. But other than
that, he looked good enough to eat, as always. He was still wearing the tiger-colored beads in his hair, and he had on torn jeans and a faded T-shirt. The outfit would have looked scruffy on, say, Anderson, but it somehow looked carelessly sexy on Jamaal.

He didn’t scowl on seeing me on his doorstep, and I figured that was a good sign. He didn’t smile, either, but then he didn’t do a whole lot of smiling even at the best of times.

“If you’re here to get on my case about what happened with Sita the other day, you can turn around and go back upstairs,” he said. The scowl made its appearance after all.

“Really?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and giving him an exasperated look. “You think I’d come down here and knock on your door to lecture you?” I didn’t for a moment believe that was why he thought I was here. He was just trying to establish a sense of distance before we’d even started.

He leaned against the doorjamb. It would be nice if he’d invite me in, but I wasn’t surprised he didn’t. “I don’t suppose we have much else to talk about.”

It appeared I was lucky he hadn’t slammed the door in my face. Whatever had caused the new friction between us, it wasn’t getting better over time.

“Why don’t you stop acting like a jerk and let me in?” I’d often found that tact was overrated when dealing with Jamaal.

His scowl darkened. “Like I said, we have nothing to talk about.”

The fact that he still hadn’t slammed the door in
my face made me think some hidden part of him was more interested in talking than he liked to admit.

“Yeah, actually, we do,” I countered. “And I promise it won’t involve any of that girlie-talking-about-feelings stuff you hate so much.”

I thought I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes before he shut it down. “In that case, we can talk about it right here.”

“You hiding a girl in there or something?”

Jamaal gave a grunt of exasperation and stomped into his sitting room, leaving the door open. I guessed that was as much of an invitation as I was getting. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Jamaal watched me with suspicious eyes as I invited myself to take a seat on his futon sofa. I might have hoped he would join me, but he remained on his feet, giving off keep-away vibes.

“Did you hear about the new Indian exhibition opening at the Sackler later this week?” I asked, and was rewarded by a look of complete confusion on Jamaal’s face. Bet he didn’t see that one coming.

“Huh?”

“Sackler. Exhibition. Indian stuff.” I nodded my head toward the small Indian painting that was the focal point of Jamaal’s sitting room. “Did you hear about it?”

The look on his face told me he was still busily trying to figure out where I was going with this. “Yes,” he admitted cautiously, as if he expected the answer to get him into some kind of trouble.

“Well, how would you like a chance to visit with
the curator and have her give you a personal guided tour of the exhibition before it even opens?”

Boy, did I ever have his attention now. I saw the spark of greed and excitement in his eye before he managed to hide it under his habitual grumpy face. “Are you claiming you have contacts at the museum?” He sounded skeptical, but I heard the undertone of hope.

“No, but Steph does.”

Jamaal shook his head, rattling his beads in a way that had become familiar to me—and strangely endearing. “I don’t know what you’re trying to talk me into, but the answer is no.”

“I’m trying to talk you into getting a sneak peek at the exhibit. That’s all.”

Another shake of his head. “No way. Offers like that come with strings attached.”

Considering Jamaal’s life experiences, his attitude and suspicion weren’t surprising. “The only string is that I’m going with you.” Of course, that might be the kind of string he considered a deal breaker.

His lip lifted in a faint sneer. “You’ve suddenly developed an interest in Indian art?”

“No, but I’ve developed an interest in fixing whatever’s gone wrong between you and me. I thought maybe if we stopped avoiding each other and spent a little time together, we might figure out how to start acting normal again.”

Jamaal rubbed his forehead like he had a headache, then reluctantly came to sit on the couch—as far away from me as he could get. I remembered our little make-out session on this couch with a pang of regret.
But asking Jamaal out wasn’t about trying to get into his pants—though my libido thought that sounded like an excellent idea—it was about trying to keep him from withdrawing from everyone around him.

“I know you’re the kind of woman who wants to fix everyone,” Jamaal said. “But it’s time for you to stop trying to fix
me.
”

“Why? Because you’d prefer to be miserable so you can bitch and whine about it? Of course, you’d only bitch and whine to yourself, because you won’t let anyone else near you.”

Jamaal’s temper would have normally risen to meet mine, but not today. “I’ve been broken in one way or another for more than a hundred years. What makes you think you can snap your fingers and make it all better?”

“I don’t. I’m not completely naive, Jamaal. It took years for my adoptive parents to bring me back from the brink of becoming a juvenile delinquent, and I don’t suppose I’ll ever be as well adjusted as someone who spent their whole childhood in a good, loving home. But I’m in a lot better shape now than I was when the Glasses took me in.

“I’m not trying to
fix
you. I’m just trying to be a friend.”

“You’ve been a much better friend than I had any right to expect,” he said gruffly. “But now, you have to let me be.”

“Why?” I demanded. “What’s different now?”

“Didn’t you promise we weren’t going to talk about feelings?”

“I lied.”

His lips lifted in the faintest of smiles. “At least you’re honest about your dishonesty.”

“And I’m not that easy to deflect. We have to live and work together for God only knows how long. We’ll do a lot better job of it if you get whatever’s bothering you out in the open.”

“Haven’t you interfered enough with my life already?” he snapped.

His attitude might have pissed me off if that weren’t so clearly the reaction he was hoping for. “You think if you’re a big enough asshole I’ll flounce off in a huff and leave you alone? I’m way more stubborn than that.”

He snorted, but the hostility faded and his shoulders slumped. “I’ve noticed.”

Maybe what I needed to do was pull back a bit and stop trying to make him talk. Every emotional guard he had was up and running, and the chances of me slipping past them were low. I wished I could get him to spill whatever his problem was with me, but I didn’t have to get him to do it
now
.

“All right,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me about your feelings. I wish you would, but I understand that it’s hard for you.” A little condescending, maybe, and I saw the spark of annoyance in Jamaal’s eyes before I hurried on. “But please come with me to the museum. It would do you good to spend some time around people for a change, even if one of those people is me.”

“Remember what I said about trying to fix me?”

What an exasperating man. But I hadn’t expected any less. “My parents’ house was burned down, and my condo was burned down with people inside, all because some nutcase has decided I’m responsible for all his or her problems. Did it ever occur to you that maybe
I’m
the one who could use some fixing right now? That maybe I want to go out to the museum as much for my sake as for yours?”

He flashed me a dry smile. “No, it never occurred to me. If you were just looking for a way to forget your troubles for a few hours, I doubt you’d do it by going to a museum.”

He had a point. Maybe that argument had been a bit thin. “That’s the opportunity that fell in my lap, thanks to Steph. Look, she’s already arranged a meeting for us with Dr. Prakash, the curator. We’re supposed to meet her at seven tonight.”

Jamaal glared at me. “You didn’t think it might be a good idea to ask me about it
before
setting something up?”

“If Steph had given me any warning, I’d have asked first. I only brought this up to her yesterday. I never dreamed she’d work this fast.”

He looked at me suspiciously.

“She said Dr. Prakash had already rearranged her schedule to fit us in. Surely it won’t kill you to spend a couple of hours in my presence, and I
know
you want to see the exhibit.”

I could see from the look on his face that he was torn. He really, really didn’t want to spend that much time with me. But he also really, really wanted that
private look at the exhibit. I decided it was time to rest my case, so I clamped my lips shut and gave him some time to think. If this didn’t work, I was going to have to have a talk with Anderson, see if there was something he or his other
Liberi
could do to persuade Jamaal to engage in some more human interaction. They were all glad not to have to tiptoe around his temper anymore, and they might not want to risk making him change back into the powder keg he’d been. His temper had been so volatile he’d almost been kicked out of the house, and he’d had to undergo a tribunal and a brutal punishment to prove how committed he was to trying to control himself.

Thankfully, Jamaal made such a drastic action unnecessary.

“All right,” he said softly. “We’ll go to the exhibit. But this isn’t a date, and it isn’t the start of a beautiful friendship. It’s best for everybody involved if you and I stay at a safe distance.”

“Why?” I asked.

But I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer.

I had no idea
what to wear for a private visit with a museum curator, so I decided to dress for comfort and warmth on this wet, gloomy winter night. I paired a teal cowl-neck sweater with soft black cords and water-resistant ankle boots, then examined myself in the mirror. I decided the outfit was dressy enough to be classy, but not so dressy as to look like I’d dressed up for a special occasion.

I met Jamaal in the foyer. He’d gone with what for him was a pretty dressed-up look, wearing black jeans with an orange polo shirt. Tiger colors again, I noted, though I kept the thought to myself. I didn’t bother arguing with him about who would drive. He liked to refer to my Mini as “the clown car,” and though he fit in it just fine, he liked his black Saab a hell of a lot better. He’d made a concession in agreeing to come with me tonight, so I made my own about transportation.

When we were in the car with the doors shut, I noticed the faint scent of clove cigarettes in the air. Before he’d learned to summon Sita, Jamaal had tried to keep his temper in check by chain-smoking clove cigarettes—or pot, when things got really bad.

“You still smoking?” I asked, though I don’t know why I was surprised. People don’t just quit without a concerted effort.

“Not as much,” he said defensively. “Just because I don’t
need
cigarettes anymore doesn’t mean I don’t like them anymore.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just curious.” Had he smoked tonight because he needed the extra help to stay calm in my presence? His body language told me he was agitated in a way I hadn’t seen for a long time.

We had to come to a brief stop while waiting for the gates at the head of the driveway to open, and Jamaal took that opportunity to roll his neck from side to side. The crackling sound made me wince.

Why was going out with me such an issue for him? If it wasn’t about my attempt to leave, and it wasn’t about our experiment with romance, I couldn’t imagine what it
was
about. The curiosity was killing me, and his continued reticence just made it worse.

“How did you get into art, anyway?” I asked, just to make conversation. “You don’t seem much like an art geek to me.”

“By ‘art geek,’ do you mean rich white guy?”

I suspected he was trying to start a fight—maybe so he could use it as an excuse to turn the car around
and go back—but I wasn’t about to take the bait. “When I think of an art geek, I think of a sensitive beta male,” I said calmly. “You don’t fit the description.”

The comment won me a reluctant laugh, and a little of the tension eased out of his shoulders. “You shouldn’t put so much stock in stereotypes,” he said, but there was no rancor in his voice.

“I’m sure you’re not the only macho man who likes art. You’re just the only macho man I
know
who likes art. Or at least who
admits
it.”

“Macho man?” He sounded affronted, and there was no hint of a smile on his face, but I was 99 percent sure he was teasing.