Sealed With a Kiss (20 page)

Her eyes held an expression of longing as she gazed at him. “Rufus, I’m trying to tell you that I don’t have anything more to give.” He regarded her intently, sensing that insecurity was at the root of her insistence on their incompatibility. If she’d allow their relationship to follow its natural course, she’d discover that they had plenty in common. He didn’t have much hope for that, but he had to persevere for his own sake.

“I know you feel that way,” he told her, “and you may even be right, but sharing changes things.”

“What do you want, Rufus?”

Was he having a hearing problem? She couldn’t possibly be serious. “I want you, Naomi. Beyond that, I don’t know. And I won’t know until you give us a chance, until you let me know who you are. You took a big step when you called me, and also when you told me that you have problems that complicate your life, limit your options.”

“I said that?”

“In effect, you definitely did. And you told me that you need me; as long as you do, Naomi, I’ll be here for you.” Etta Mae hadn’t needed him, but for all her posturing and clever tongue, Naomi did, and so did his boys. And they could rely on him as long as he had breath and strength.

He watched Naomi carefully, already sensitive to every change in her. “Don’t close yourself off from me, Naomi; I’m not going to hurt you. And promise me you’ll stop concealing your emotions behind clever comments. Why do you do that, anyway?”

He stifled the desire that coursed through him when she raised her left hand and brushed aside the unruly hair that nearly hid her left eye. “Is that what I’m doing? Well, you met my grandfather. Can you imagine being indoctrinated by him from the age of seven, when he was already seventy-three? At least twice a day he told me to control myself, that tears were unacceptable, and that you didn’t let other people see any weakness in you. He even discouraged my showing him any weakness.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I guess he would do that; he was too old for such responsibility.” Mention of Judd reminded him of their torrid dance at the gala.

“Do you really want me to accompany you to the dinner dance?” He gazed quizzically at her, purposefully mischievous, his white teeth framing a deliberately roguish grin. “I shouldn’t think you’d be willing to risk dancing in public with me again.”

“Why not? I may even repay you. I think I’m entitled to that, don’t you?”

“Depends. I’ll look forward to it.” He draped an arm loosely around her shoulders.

She snuggled closer. “Depends on what?”

“As with most risks in this life,” he explained solemnly, “whether you should gamble depends on your willingness to live with the consequences.” He felt her tremble and held her to him. Then he noticed the quiver of her lower lip and was puzzled as to why she should be nervous. What was it? He had a driving desire to protect her. But from what?

“Sometimes, we have little choice.” Her voice seemed small and came to him as if from a considerable distance.

He shushed her. “When you’re ready to tell me everything, to trust me, Naomi, we’ll work through whatever it is together. Don’t dribble it out; I don’t think I could handle that.”

She leaned closer, as if unconsciously borrowing his strength. “I don’t understand, Rufus. Why are you bothering? A smart man wouldn’t invest any of himself in me when he’s been warned that a serious relationship is out of the question.”

“I’ve already invested a lot of myself in you, and whether or not you admit it, we’ve been in a serious relationship almost from the time we met. I finish whatever I start, and I’ve started something with you. I don’t fish often, Naomi; I’ve never cared much for the sport. But when I do catch a fish, believe me, I don’t throw it back into the water.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d rather not leave you right now. It’s poor strategy to walk out of a negotiation when it’s going your way, but I’m chair of a committee that’s meeting in twelve minutes.”

“Is this going your way?”

“It’s going
our
way, Naomi. You’re talking to me and you’re listening with more than your ears.” He squeezed her to him, lifted her chin, and searched her eyes. She glanced shyly away, but what he had seen satisfied him.

“You have something to give me, Naomi, something that’s real, and I want it.” He kissed her then, quickly, gently, and possessively.

“You can’t just ignore what I’ve been telling you, Rufus: I’m not for you; I can’t be.
I just can’t!
” But he sensed a wavering of her resolve, as he held her firmly but tenderly by the shoulders and let his gaze roam over her lovely coffee-colored face and her long, curly black tresses before seeking her eyes. It was her eyes that had first captivated him. Dark eyes. Large, wistful eyes that spoke silently of her innocence, her pain, and her longing. Eyes filled with mischief. Eyes that sometimes said, “I hurt.” And eyes that could grow dark and sultry with hot desire. He had a sudden impulse to take her and go somewhere, anywhere, where he could have her to himself, but it was a fleeting urge; he was not ready to make a total commitment to her, though he was far from certain that he never would be. She had become more important to him than he would have thought possible even a week earlier.

Naomi lowered her eyes under his intense appraisal, and he was glad that she seemed to misunderstand his mood. “There’s no place for us to go, Rufus; I think we ought to stop seeing each other.” He didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know that those words had caused her pain. But she laid back her shoulders, raised her chin, and smiled tremulously. God! He admired her!

He quirked his left eyebrow and summoned what he considered his made-to-order noncommittal grin. “You know, it never occurred to me that you might be daft, Naomi.” The grin swiftly vanished, and he projected a serious, almost severe mien.

“Can that idea, sweetheart. Don’t even dream it. I’ll meet you in the coffee shop at eight o’clock.” He tipped her chin up with his right index finger and studied her, trying to see beyond what she was showing. Then he tangled his fingers in her thick hair, gave her a quick kiss, and left her standing there, speechless.

After a while, she moved, dreamlike, to the balcony and stood fingering the glossy green leaves of the magnolia tree that thrived there in a large wooden tub. Restless, she stroked the satin-smooth wooden arm of the swing as if it had human properties, as if it were Rufus, then sat down and stared at the floor. She needed to get rid of the load she was carrying, to talk to somebody. But to whom? Rufus had said he’d be there for her. She put her flat palms on her knees and tapped her fingers. She wanted to believe he’d open his heart to her and give her a place that she’d never had, a place where she could leave her anxieties, her heart’s wounds, and her inner turmoil, but she didn’t think any such man existed. Besides, Rufus couldn’t even contemplate what a mess her life was.

She thought of the prizes at stake and wanted to take a chance. Then she remembered the penalties. She hadn’t ever let anything beat her down, and she wouldn’t now; she had made her choice, and she’d stay with it. She had to know her son.

Chapter 10

S
he needed nerves of steel to walk into that huge, crowded banquet hall with Rufus Meade. The commotion he’d caused at the registration desk should have warned her, but she had foolishly asked him to accompany her. Too late, she told herself. All I can do is look my best. And she did. When he greeted her with a sharp catch of his breath and a nod of approval, she was satisfied that her efforts had produced the effect she’d wanted. Rufus insisted on holding hands with her as they entered the hall, but she tried to hold back, claiming, “People will think we’re a couple, Rufus.”

He acted as if he couldn’t care less; he was a man at ease with the choice he’d made. “Fine with me. I don’t let what people might think dictate my behavior, Naomi. I believe in pleasing myself whenever I can.” She looked first at him, handsome and elegant, and then at the admiring looks that they received, and she couldn’t help being proud and squeezed his hand almost involuntarily.

He looked down at her. “When a man has a woman like you, he wants every other man to know it.” She bit her tongue. He has said that she should stop covering up her emotions, so she didn’t joke about it and she wouldn’t ask him what he meant.

Instead, she winked at him and drawled, “We women like to show off when we’re with a great looking guy, too.” She laughed disdainfully. “We’re being just a little too polite for my taste, Rufus. You look terrific, and I’m enjoying the jealous stares these women are giving me.” Rufus grinned, and she could see that her comment pleased him.

The fresh fruit cup, chicken à la king poured over flaky pastry shells, green peas, and potato croquettes had been pushed around her plate, and the tricolored three-layer coconut cake had been rejected. Naomi sipped her black coffee and consoled herself with the thought that at least she would lose some weight. The speeches that were somehow the same every year no matter what the occasion or who delivered them were over. People—mostly women showing off their expensive gowns—were table-hopping in order to be seen, and the band members had begun taking their seats on the bandstand.

All through their forgettable standard banquet meal, Rufus had quietly watched Naomi, responding to her rare remark and wondering how she could let long stretches of time pass without saying a word or seeming bored. She didn’t feel compelled to talk. He admired that in her and hoped it meant she was comfortable with him. She slanted him a sly smile, and he felt it from his toes to his fingertips. He reached for her hand.

The band swung into its third number, and he squeezed her fingers. “Dance with me?” She moved with him in a slow waltz until he switched to a sensuous one-step, sending her heart into a wild flutter, and she danced a little away from him.

He nudged her closer. “I thought you’d planned on getting revenge. You won’t get it dancing a mile away.”

Her nose lifted in disdain. “It wouldn’t be in good taste to bring you to your knees right here in front of all these people, especially since most of them are your fans.”

Rufus angled his head to one side and drawled provocatively, “Say what you mean. You’re afraid of falling into the trap you were going to set for me. Go ahead, lady; work your magic.” He grinned at her and goaded, “I’m immune.” He wasn’t and knew it, but what the heck? He got a thrill just from looking at her; if she wanted to do her thing that ought to be something to watch.

The band began a livelier number, and behind Rufus, Naomi saw a couple spinning and gyrating in the earthiest, sexiest dance she had ever seen on a dance floor. It would serve him right, she decided, and took up the challenge.

“Wait until the band plays something earthier,” she promised daringly.

He pulled her a little closer, held her there, and taunted, “It’ll be my pleasure.” As they walked back to their table, a light, carefree mood enveloped her. She hadn’t known that their sexual teasing could be so much fun. Happiness. It was wonderful.

The music began, and she leaned toward him. A frisson of fire shot through him at the gentle squeeze of her delicate fingers around his wrist and the provocative glint in her eyes.

“This one.”

Surprised, he rose and held out his hand. So she wants to dance a cha-cha, he mused, and swung into the seductive rhythm. He relished moving to the hot, pulsating beat, dancing it off time, taking one step for every two beats of the drummer’s stick. Heat suffused him in response to her seductive movements, the slow, tantalizing undulations of her hips, and the provocative invitations of her hands as she tossed her head from side to side in wild abandon.

Caught up in the storm of passion that she ignited, mesmerized by her frankly sexual gestures, he suddenly ceased to tease, and his mood for it deserted him. Blood roared in his head when she gazed at him dreamily, obviously half drunk on him and the music. Her words were almost slurred.

“Had enough?”

His lower lip dropped. The she-devil! “Yeah!” he gripped her to him, wanting her to feel his strength, to revel in his maleness. He took control of the dance, placing her left arm on his shoulder and her right hand around his neck. He held her to him and moved in a sensual step, the cha-cha forgotten.

Rufus came slowly out of his trance when he recognized a tap on his shoulder and glanced around to a man who was asking to dance with Naomi. He scowled ferally; some of those movers and shakers belong to another era. Let the guy find his own woman.

“Man, you must have left your mind back there in your chemistry lab,” he threw over his shoulder. Then he looked down at the woman in his arms. “You want to dance with this guy?”

She moved closer. “What guy?” When a second man wanted to dance with Naomi, Rufus glared at him and stopped dancing. Then, without a word, he led her from the dance floor and out of the hall.

Standing with him in the anteroom, she folded her arms and grinned mischievously. “Aren’t you supposed to yield when a man taps you on the shoulder?”

“You’re putting me on.” He couldn’t appreciate humor right then. “Some of my fraternity brothers have a weird sense of humor. Yesterday afternoon, Watkins expressed a lot of interest in…what was that he called you. Yeah. ‘That little fox,’ I believe he said. Then he had the temerity to try busting up my dance. I’ve seen the day when I’d have made him pay for that stupidity.” Rufus laughed inwardly. He saw no need to tell her about the times during his university days when he had cheerfully done the same to Watkins.

“Which one was Watkins?” she teased. His eyes must have reflected his murderous feelings, because she winced.

“You don’t need to know. Would you like to go to Corky’s and dance? Or to the Maple Leaf? There’re a lot of live jazz spots on Oak Street. Or we could go to Preservation Hall and listen to some Dixieland.” He let his hand caress her shoulder. “Tell me what you’d like.”

“I’m hungry. Let’s go around to the cocktail lounge and have some wine or something. Maybe they’ll serve hors d’oeuvres with the drinks. That dinner was awful.”

Rufus grimaced. “Make that ‘something.’ I had a glass of wine with dinner. Besides, there’s an old Ashanti proverb that says, ‘When the cock is drunk, he forgets about the hawk.’ And with all these hawks here tonight and half of the wives back at home, I need my wits.” She drank white wine and he sipped Perrier while the cocktail pianist plodded along.

He wanted to please her, but he’d had as much as he could tolerate. “Want to go to Preservation Hall?” he asked hopefully. “This brother needs to go back to music school.” She got a light stole and they took a taxi to St. Peter Street, but when they stepped out of the car, Rufus glanced around at the revelers, music makers, and crowds of onlookers, and the idea of a hot, noisy, and smoke-filled room held no appeal.

He took her hand. “Let’s walk a bit. It’s a pleasant night, or it would be, if we could get out of this crowd.”

“Okay. The next time I’m here, I want to go down to the levee. Maybe some warm summer night. The Mississippi should be prettier at night in the moonlight, when you can’t see how muddy the water is.”

“It isn’t summer, but it’s balmy and the moon is shining. We could get a taxi and go down there now. What do you say?”

“How’ll we get back?”

His arm slinked possessively around her waist as he hailed a passing taxi. “I’ll have the taxi wait.”

“Where you want to go ain’t exactly across the street,” the driver explained. He turned up his radio, and they heard a great rendition of
Jelly Roll Blues
as the taxi sped toward the levee. At the river, Rufus faced the water and Naomi stood with her back to him, enveloped in his arms. Her conscience pricked her; she wasn’t leading Rufus on, she told herself. She just wanted to be with him, to push aside even for a little while the problems that plagued her. She fought the temptation to worry about her future; this was her night, and she was going to be happy. As if reminding herself to enjoy the moment, she began to sing softly
As Time Goes By
in a rich throaty alto.

Rufus didn’t speak until she’d finished. “You have a lovely voice.”

“Of course I have,” she threw out. “Don’t you know that all black folk are supposed to be able to sing?” They both laughed, but Rufus cut his laughter short, and she knew immediately that it was because she had done it again.

“Naomi,” he asked grimly, “couldn’t you simply have said thanks? Was it necessary to belittle the compliment, to pretend that it was inconsequential? Stop shielding yourself from me.” He tightened his arms around her in a protective gesture, and she rested comfortably against him as they communicated in a way that didn’t require speech. The silence enveloped them, a full moon brightened the sky, and a fresh breeze swirled around them. Heaven must be something like this, she thought, as the voice of a nightingale pierced the night.

They didn’t speak for a long time, and she savored his nearness, relished his strong arms around her, and had to fight the urge to face him and lose herself in him.

“Have you ever been in love, Naomi?” Immediately she wished she hadn’t mentioned wanting to see the levee by moonlight. The scent of anything approximating a mystery piqued his interest, and there was no stopping him until he had the answer. She tried to think of a way of distracting him. But the full moon, fresh southern breeze, and mournful saxophone coming from a barely lit vessel that moved eerily and slowly downstream practically guaranteed that his mind would not waver from her.

“Have you?” Emotion colored his low, husky tone. “Look at me. I asked whether you’ve ever been in love.” He took her face in his palms and gazed into her eyes, but with the sweetest, most loving expression she had ever seen on a man’s face. She trembled with sensuous anticipation and excitement at his powerful, wordless communication. She should move, but she couldn’t. She should remind him that nothing could ever come of their relationship, but she couldn’t part her lips. His slow smile lit his eyes, transformed his mouth, and made his handsome face glow.

“You still haven’t answered me. Don’t you know?” He removed the scarf that had begun to dangle from her shoulder and draped it snugly, but attractively, around her neck, taking the same care with her as he did with his boys. Her heart constricted at his gentle gesture. Why was the forbidden always so desirable?”

It would have been easy to reply with a quip, but she knew he didn’t want that and wouldn’t accept it. And she didn’t want to respond that way, so she took a deep breath and decided to trust him with the truth.

“I don’t know the answer, Rufus, and I wouldn’t want to…well, I just can’t say.” She wasn’t going to lie, and if she said yes, he would want to know who. She couldn’t tell him that she loved him; maybe she never would.

He pulled her to his side. With her nonchalant façade and outward calm, only someone close to her would ever guess she was so vulnerable. He pulled her closer, wanting to shield her from whatever it was that she seemed to do constant battle with. He had the cool Louisiana breeze in his face and a sweet woman in his arms and he was…
Damn!
He was out of his mind! Or was he fooling himself? Maybe. But he had to know her, what she felt, what hurt her, what made her happy, who she had loved, and what he had to do to make her want him, and everything and everybody else be damned.

Why did she resist answering even the simplest question? He had to persist. He’d do it gently, but he’d get it. He was on the verge of falling for her against his good judgment and his repeated advice to himself, and it worried him. But if she had loved once, maybe he could teach her to love again. “Did you care deeply for him?”

Her answer was a startled stare, the look of a deer caught in the rays of high-powered headlights. He didn’t need the words.

“Whoever he was, he was a fool not to have kept you with him forever.”

She relaxed, and her sigh of relief was so powerful that he felt it. “I did care,” she said in a guarded tone. “Or at least, I thought so then.”

“What happened to make you question it?” He had the disquieting feeling that she was hedging, and he was certain that she didn’t want to talk about it.

She looked into the distance, and after a moment, spoke as one who carried a tremendous load. “Time and age.”
And you.
The light in her eyes dimmed, and she leaned toward him unsteadily.

“Sweetheart, what is it? I told you that I’m here for you, and I meant it.” She didn’t answer, but raised her parted lips to his. She’s what I want, what I need, he thought, when she clasped him to her, asking for more, taking him with her into a torrent of desire. When he was finally able to, he stepped back from her, shaking his head from side to side, running his fingers through the tight curls at its base. At some other time, he might have been amused, but there was nothing humorous about what he felt and the dilemma in which it placed him.