Sealed With a Kiss (25 page)

“About the time I learned that Rosalie was looking for me, I met a man who slipped through the wall I’d built around me, even as this news about you tore me into shreds.” She told him of wanting to see him; to get to know him; to learn whether he was loved, well cared for, and happy; and of her certainty that the man with whom she was falling in love—the first to touch her in fourteen years—would not accept her having given a child up for adoption.

She flinched at the scorn in his voice when he interrupted her. “But you just said you didn’t want to give me up for adoption.”

“And I didn’t. But how could I prove it to him? Besides, my friend suffered personally from parental inattentiveness, and so have his little twin sons. He’s bitter about parents who don’t take care of their children.”

Aaron leaned back against the sofa, obviously drinking in her every word and gesture. “Is he in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed painfully. “I know he cares, but he hasn’t said he loves me.” The low quiver in her voice betrayed her growing distress, and she struggled to control it.

The boy’s ability to wait patiently for her words, to sit quietly and think, to mull over what she’d said before responding, unnerved her. How was it possible that he had her personality when he had lived for over thirteen years without ever having seen her? The eerie quality of it made her shudder.

He rested his left elbow on the back of the sofa, propped the back of his head up with his hand, and told her sympathetically, “Looks to me like you should just tell him. If he can’t handle it, find yourself a guy who can.” He could have been speaking to a child. “Do you like his kids?” She nodded.

The diffidence was gone, along with his nervousness. She knew with certainty then that he was old beyond his years, and as he sat there coolly sizing her up, she felt pride in him, pride tinged with a little gnawing fear. Was he capable of harsh revenge?

Aaron crossed his right knee and began swinging his foot. “You planning to tell him about me, or you just going to chicken out and pretend that me and him don’t exist?” This child had a man’s mind, Naomi realized, and tried to imagine the kind of life he’d had. It didn’t seem as though he’d spent much of it being a child.

“I promised him that he and I would have a frank talk, and I keep my promises.” Had she gotten through to him, made him understand the circumstances of his birth well enough to forgive her and at least like her?

He didn’t keep her in suspense. “I listened to what you said, but I can’t buy it. You didn’t say anybody forced you to have me adopted, so you agreed to it—right?”

“You have to believe me. I’ve told you things that no one else, not even Grandpa, know, because it’s important to me for you to understand that I wouldn’t have given you up if even one person at that clinic had supported my wanting to keep you. Everyone was against it, and my grandpa refused to interfere. Can you imagine how I feel when I think that I missed your first steps, first words, first day in school? I don’t know whether you had all your shots, if your teeth are strong and healthy, if you’re left-handed or right-handed…” Her tears began to flow in torrents, cascading down her face and onto her dress.

He jerked up and dashed over to her. “I’m left-handed. Please, don’t cry. For God’s sake, stop it! Look, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She tried to calm herself but couldn’t; instead, her sobbing intensified. Aaron responded as if he’d never seen anyone hurt so badly. Clearly shaken to the core, he flopped down on the arm of her chair, pulled her into his young arms, and held her until she became quiet.

After a time, he stood. “I’d better call my mom.”

She reached behind her, got a portable phone, and handed it to him. They had been together for little more than an hour, but in that time, her world had changed. Her son had put his arms around her, commiserated with her, tried to soothe her. It was sweet. And it had the bitterness of gall. She would love Rufus forever but she would never regret having made her choice—putting him out of her life and reaching out to her son. The seeds of love for her child had germinated within her heart and taken root. She would no sooner disown his existence or trade him for another love than she would sever her hands from her arms. She closed her eyes and leaned back.

“She’s having a hard time of it,” Naomi heard Aaron tell Rosalie Hopkins. “I think I’ll stick around till she gets her act together. Yah, she
is
nice.” Slowly placing the phone in its cradle, seemingly deep in thought, he looked warily at Naomi.

“You got anything here to eat? My mom says I eat her out of house and home. Say…” He paused for a long while, contemplating his next words, she thought, sensing his mood change. “What do you want me to call you?”

There was one name he would never call her, so it didn’t matter. “Whatever you like.” But she realized from that question that he wasn’t planning to make it a one-time visit and breathed more easily.

He joined her in the kitchen, and she fought to cope with the intense emotion that swirled within her, first catapulting her into euphoria and then jerking her back to humbling reality. He could decide that having seen her was all he wanted, or…please, God, she didn’t want to be just a curiosity to him. She quickly banished the idea and concentrated on the joy of cooking for her child.

She fried a chicken, baked some sweet potatoes in the microwave, warmed up leftover collard greens and buttermilk biscuits, and had a mid-afternoon meal with her son. He no longer seemed nervous or anxious, and she was grateful that he didn’t appear to be censorious. She knew that the acute pain he’d witnessed in her had softened him, forcing him to empathize with her. But she needed his acceptance, not his pity and not the barrier that he had erected between them. It was like a thin veil, but it was there.

“Hey, uh…this is good stuff. My mom can’t cook worth a…she can’t cook.” He put his fork down and looked at her, his eyes piercing in their intensity. “You don’t cook like this just for you. Does that guy live here with you?” Before she could reply, he answered his question. “I guess he doesn’t if he’s got two little kids. How old are they?” She told him.

“What do they call you?”

“Noomie. It’s easier for them to pronounce.”

He bit into a chicken leg, savored it, finished chewing his mouthful, and said, “Noomie, huh? I like that. Think that’s what I’ll call you. So where’d you go to school, Noomie?” She wondered if her heart would burst.

“Howard University and Columbia University,” she told him, pleased that he was interested. She couldn’t imagine why he was astonished to learn that she had studied fine art and was an artist.

“I can’t believe this; that’s what I’m planning to study. I guess I got that from you, huh? Did you do all this stuff here and in the living room?” She showed him the paintings that were hers and learned that he played the guitar and sang in the boys’ choir at school, and that painting and drawing were his special hobbies.

He thanked her for the meal and stood to leave, but she needed something else; she had to know what he thought of her, how he felt about her. Maybe it was unfair to ask him after one short visit, but the ache that permeated her body, the dread in her heart, overrode logical thought. She walked on unsteady legs to the door with him, paused before opening it, and saw at once that she’d made him edgy. I won’t back down now, she told herself, squarely facing his searching look.

“Aaron, do you think you can tell me where I stand with you?” She learned then that he was blunt and honest.

“I think we can get on, but the rest…well, I don’t know. I’m still not sure about that part where you were pressured into giving me up.”

She reached deep into herself for the composure that she needed. Had any woman ever had such a conversation with a child to whom she had given birth?

“I don’t have any proof, Aaron, so whether you believe me will depend on your faith in me.” After an awkward moment, she succumbed to her deep yearning, pulled him into her arms, hugged him, and released him. She smiled at the cocky thumbs-up sign he gave her as he left her standing in the doorway watching him walk to the elevator. He hadn’t believed what she needed most to have him accept, and it hadn’t even occurred to her that he would find that terrible truth implausible. Pain stabbed her chest; he had barely tolerated her hug.

“Oh, Rufus,” she moaned softly, “I need you. If you only knew how I need you.” She closed the door, changed into an old jogging suit, and began to clean her apartment. It didn’t help; if Aaron didn’t believe her, neither would Rufus. What could she tell him? Maybe she shouldn’t tell him anything. But he had said that no matter what troubled her, they would work through it together. Maybe he believed; she was less sure.

Chapter 14

H
ow could she have held her son in her arms the night before and yet look no different this morning? She moved away from the mirror and dressed hurriedly, anxious to get into the Christmas spirit. She hadn’t worn a cap in the shower, and her hair was frizzly and unmanageable. I don’t care, she told herself, as she tied it back with a small silk scarf, I’m going to be happy, and I’m not going to worry about my hair or Aaron or Rufus.

But as soon as she got caught up in the crowd of shoppers, she had an overwhelming desire to talk with someone with whom she could open up and tell all—the things that hurt her and the joy that flowed inside of her. Rufus. She needed him desperately. If screaming would have brought him to her right then, she’d have stood there in the middle of F Street and done exactly that.

In the fourteen years since that fateful day when she’d grown up summarily, her studies, her work, and the music that she loved had been her companions. Not even Marva had been her confidant. Today, she was unaccountably, woefully lonely. The city wasn’t a place for a person alone. But was any place? She finally brought presents for Judd and Marva, as usual, found a child’s guitar for each of the twins, and got an old-fashioned gold-plated fountain pen for Rufus. She ruminated about buying a gift for Aaron, uncertain as to how such a gesture from her would be accepted, and realized that that was the source of her forlorn mood. She didn’t even know what her child would enjoy. Refusing to indulge further in self-pity, she called Rosalie for advice.

“Do you mind if I give Aaron a small Christmas present?” Rosalie didn’t.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, and I suspect Aaron would be disappointed if he didn’t get something from you.” There was a pause. “Thank you for asking me about it, Naomi,” she said, and offered a few ideas. Naomi completed her shopping and rushed home to wrap the gifts. As she absently caressed her gift to Aaron, she considered the probable effect of changing her position on several amendments that the OLC board proposed to attach to the foundation’s constitution. She couldn’t continue to oppose boys’ use of the foundation’s services; she had a boy of her own.

She took her seat at the OLC monthly board meeting that evening with five minutes to spare and earned a reproving frown from Maude, who called it to order immediately as a reprimand.

Maude announced that she had invited Rufus Meade to join the board and asked for a vote. As Naomi expected, it was unanimous in his favor.

“Would someone go to my office and ask Mr. Meade to join us?” She looked directly at Naomi, who ignored her and left the task to another board member. Rufus walked into the room, took the seat that Maude had left vacant beside her, and looked around. The sensation that her heart had stopped beating flustered her. She was never prepared for the powerful aura of masculinity that enveloped him everywhere and all the time. Her face burned, and she wondered if everyone present could tell that she had been in his bed and that he had made love to her until she had practically flown out of her body in ecstasy. She caught her breath and pinned her gaze to the table, certain that she was giving herself away, but finally, unable to resist, she
had
to look at him.

She gasped audibly. Rufus’s gaze was locked on her, soft, tender, scintillating, and she realized with a shock that he didn’t care who knew what he was thinking and feeling. She glanced quickly at Maude, who fixed her eyes alternately on Naomi and Rufus. The rogue, Naomi thought, when she could collect her wits. He’s doing this deliberately.

But Rufus wasn’t playing a game; he didn’t play about serious matters, and he had become serious about Naomi. Gone was his uncertainty. He no longer equivocated about what he wanted from her. He had fallen in love with her, and he knew it was forever. She could use whatever ruse she chose, but he was going to get her and he wouldn’t be satisfied until she loved him as hopelessly as he loved her. It was the main reason why he’d suggested to Maude that he would be interested in joining OLC’s board; it allowed him to see Naomi while he waited for her to keep her promise. He had known that Maude would be delighted and he meant to work hard for the foundation, but his purpose in being there was Naomi Logan and he didn’t plan to let either her or himself forget that. He tuned out the boring drone of Maude’s monotonous voice and toyed with the notion that maybe he could reach Naomi by mental telepathy.

“A leading national magazine wants to run a cover story on OLC,” Maude said. “I realize that you have refused newspaper and television interviews, but this one is very important to us, Naomi. Would you consider it?” Naomi would, she advised the board. Rufus stopped wool gathering and put his mind on the meeting. So Naomi had made a practice of avoiding publicity; it hadn’t just been the occasion when he’d substituted for her on local television.

“…And we have to admit boys into our programs,” Judge Kitrell, the eldest board member, declared. “If we don’t, we’ll lose financial support of some of our most dependable donors. I think we ought to take a vote.”

Rufus watched in stupefaction while Naomi let it pass without saying a word. He remembered the finesse with which she had successfully fought the move six weeks earlier. Something of immense importance had happened with Naomi, he decided, and reckoned that she didn’t plan to tell him about it.

Oh, but I’ll find out, he silently vowed.

He blocked her way as she was leaving the boardroom. “Tell me that you weren’t planning to leave without speaking to me,” he chided gently. Rufus knew it wasn’t a fair statement; Naomi had spoken to him, but they had been in a circle with three other board members. He wanted a more personal greeting, and he didn’t doubt that she understood as much.

“How are Preston and Sheldon? Has Preston’s shoulder healed?” She knows I don’t want an impersonal conversation any more than she does, he told himself, but she isn’t ready for a serious discussion; maybe she never will be ready.

“Children’s bodies heal rapidly, Naomi, but it takes their hearts and minds a bit longer.” He stopped to make certain that his blow struck its mark. “Sheldon wants me to teach him how to use the telephone, and he wants your number. I’m going to give him the number and teach him how to use it. Then he can telephone you whenever he likes. If you object, take it up with Sheldon.”

“The last time I saw Sheldon, he was four years old, not quite old enough to run his life. I presume that hasn’t changed.”

“Not to my knowledge. One thing has changed, though; instead of asking for you two or three times a day, your name is almost every other word, and they talk constantly. What are you planning to do about your little friends, Naomi?”

She stared at the faded green in the frayed Persian carpet that covered the hall floor and was reminded of the shoes that Rufus had bought her. Probably an impulsive, impersonal act, she thought irritably. Be fair, she admonished herself. He wouldn’t do that or much else on impulse, and damming him wouldn’t make her life more bearable. She looked up at him and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the bitterness etched in his face. Oh, God. She shouldn’t have joked about Sheldon’s age; now he would think that after allowing the boys to care for her, she was callously deserting them.

She paused beside her car, not wanting the evening to end without her having so much as held his hand, but she couldn’t think of a way to bridge the chasm that separated them. “I’m still planning to see the boys Christmas day, if it’s all right.” She opened her car door.

“What’s the hurry? It’s only nine; let’s go up to Louella’s for a while. You drive; I’ll follow you, but don’t speed, Naomi.” She wrinkled her nose at him flirtatiously.

Louella greeted them with what Naomi took to be an innuendo. “I’m glad to see you two still together.” She glanced at Naomi. “Is he taking good care of you, honey?” Flustered, Naomi dropped her gaze. Apparently attuned to her, sensing her discomfort, Rufus put his arm around her in a protective gesture. Louella waddled off to get their drinks—ginger ale for Rufus and white wine for Naomi—and Rufus grinned wickedly and teased the woman encircled within his powerful arm.

“You’re an open book, sweetheart. Lou wasn’t saying what you were thinking, but believe me, by now you’re both thinking the same thing. Baby, people cannot look at us and know what we’ve been doing.”

“We aren’t. I mean, there was just that one time, so you shouldn’t put it that way.” He was making her nervous. She did not want to be reminded of that night, what he had done to her, and how he had made her feel, but she
was
reminded of it, and when he slid his leg against hers beneath their table, she swooned. Rufus exposed his beautiful white teeth in a mesmerizing grin, forcing her to confess that he had achieved his goal.

Captivated, she tried to hide it with a frown. “All right! I know you’re here, Rufus. Now, will you please get off of my case.” He howled with laughter.

“Never, baby. Believe me, I mean never.”

Louella brought their drinks and a cup of coffee for herself and took a seat opposite them.

“I enjoyed seeing your boys, Rufus. Bring them by again sometime soon, and I’ll fill them full of ice-cream free of charge. How are they?” Naomi imagined that Louella could recall some interesting experiences with Preston and his passion for ice-cream.

“I think they’re in mourning these days; apart from that, they’re fine. Hellions, but fine.”

“What or who are they mourning?” Louella inquired. Rufus showed his teeth in what passed for a grin, but his glacier-like eyes told the two women that the grin was plastic and the little metaphor about his sons’ mourning shouldn’t be taken lightly. Intuitively, Naomi knew Louella would discern that she was the source of the hurt that Rufus made no attempt to hide.

Louella sipped her coffee and leaned back. “Would you mind explaining yourself, hon? You writers have a way of making things clear by saying something other than what you mean.”

Naomi didn’t expect him to pull punches. Louella was more mother than friend to him, and he wouldn’t mislead her or lie to her. “Naomi taught my boys how to express themselves with crayons and pencils,” he told Louella, while his gaze scorched the woman beside him. “Now, they’ve got my house littered with drawings of her, and each one shows her either walking away or hiding from them. At least, they tell me that’s what they’ve drawn. They’ve used up three pads of drawing paper in the last two days, and every sheet is taped to the wall along my staircase. Another one of Naomi’s ideas. If that isn’t enough, every other word is ‘Noomie.’ Noomie this and Noomie that. Sheldon doesn’t even want me to read to him at night; he wants his Noomie. It’s sending me up the wall.”

Naomi shifted uncomfortably. She knew Rufus felt this more deeply than his words suggested; that it wasn’t something she would be able to explain away.

“Tell them that I’ll spend Christmas Day with them.” It was weak balm for a searing pain, and she knew it, but what else could she do? She had to affect conciliation with Aaron, and no matter how much she loved Rufus and the twins, Aaron had to have priority. He deserved it. And until she understood him, what he wanted from her, and how he felt about Rosalie, she would be there for him no matter what. It would be unfair to encourage the boys to become more deeply attached to her. And Rufus. Well, she would face that when she had to.

She glanced at Rufus and shivered from the tremors that his hot, desire-filled gaze sent snaking down her spine. He might be annoyed with her because the boys needed her and she wasn’t there for them, but he wanted her. Not that that meant much; she knew that Rufus put his boys before himself, and that he wouldn’t let his libido interfere with their welfare.

Louella intervened in the long silence that followed Naomi’s weak recompense. “Use the phone, honey. Kids love to get phone calls. ’Course, you could solve that another way, but I’m not one to meddle in other people’s personal affairs.” She drained her coffee cup, patted Naomi’s shoulder, and went back to her customers.

“Have they really been asking about me? I just left there four days ago. I didn’t think…”

“Four days are like four years to a child that age. Don’t you know that?” He waved a hand in dismissal. “This is my problem; I created it, and I have to deal with it.” He checked the time. “Naomi, I’ve got to relieve the sitter. Her husband will be there for her by ten.” She considered letting him leave without her and decided not to test his patience or his temper. They would still have plenty of time for a leisurely talk, if he didn’t intend to trail her home.

He parked in front of her building, and she drove into her garage. Raw nerves unsettled her as she walked into her building with the gentle guidance of his hand at her back. He was quiet and unreadable, and her nerves scattered wildly when they reached her door and he opened his hand for her key.

“Rufus?” He took a step closer.

“Give me your key, Naomi.” His woodsy cologne and masculine scent tantalized hers, and his heat surrounded her, weakening her and seducing her, drawing perspiration from the pores of her thighs. Dazed, she handed it to him. He unlocked the door, walked in with her already in his arms, kicked the door closed, and bent to her.

“I need to nourish my soul. Open your mouth for me.”

“Rufus…” She couldn’t give in to him. She wouldn’t. There was too much as stake: for her son, his children, Rufus himself. He was her world, but she had to push that aside. “Rufus, please. I don’t want this.”

“No, you don’t. That’s why you’re holding me as if your life depends on it. Kiss me. Open your mouth and kiss me. Sweet woman, I need you.” She whimpered and gave him kiss for kiss, twirling her tongue around his. Frantic to have all of him, she took his tongue into her mouth and held it captive there, feasting on it. She protested when he stepped away, separating them. But his heated, feral gaze warned her that he’d had as much as he could take. Then, in a gesture that contradicted his untamed look, he caressed her porcelain-smooth cheek with the backs of his fingers. Lovingly. Possessively. “Is that what you want from me right now? Do you want to make love with me?”