Sealed With a Kiss (9 page)

Naomi bubbled with laughter and lightheartedness, unable to remember being so happy. She turned around and skipped backward to keep up with his long strides, joy zinging through her, proud and even a little reckless as they ambled along, teasing and bantering. The brisk night air invigorated her, and the low hum of familiar city sounds lulled her into a carefree mood. How could one man change her world so drastically, so completely? They walked into the crowded Italian Brasserie, overlooking the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, and were seated facing the narrow stream. Soft lights, reflected from the restaurant, danced on the water, and she wished that Rufus would hold her hand. Walking in there with him was an experience she wouldn’t forget. She was unprepared for the smiles, stares, and waves that greeted him as they entered, giving her a sense of how famous he really was.

“I don’t believe I know any of them,” he told her in response to her question. “I played football some years ago, and I guess some people are nice enough to remember. But those days are behind me, Naomi, and I rarely look back on them. I’m grateful for the success I had, though, because it allows me to write, which is what I love to do best, on my own terms. I gather you aren’t a football fan.”

“No, I guess not. The roughness makes me nervous. I’ve often wondered how the families of those players can tolerate seeing their loved ones banged around like that. Some of those big guys seem to try to kill the ball carriers. I just can’t watch it.” He’s really modest, she thought. When had she last been in the company of anyone who showed such humility?

Rufus had been studying her intently. “Naomi, that tells me you aren’t as hard-boiled as you’d like me to think.” He handed her a menu. “Everything’s good here,” he explained, before she could respond, “but what they do to broiled stuffed mushrooms is sinful.” The waiter mixed their orders with those of another table, and Rufus gave him a gentle reprimand, alluding to his greater attention to Naomi than to their orders. Not that he blamed the man, he secretly admitted.

Surprised, Naomi opened her mouth to speak and thought better of it. Rufus was treating the handsome waiter to a lesson in the meaning of male territorial rights:
Don’t get on my turf
was the message on his fierce countenance. Of course, Rufus wouldn’t allow another man in his yard, she figured; he was too possessive for that. But he wasn’t consistent, and that made her edgy; she was beginning to accumulate a lot of questions about him. He had sworn that he wouldn’t become involved with her, but he acted as if he had a claim, a right to tell another man to stay away from her. Or maybe he was just demanding that the waiter show him proper respect. Enigma, thy name is man, she thought.

Rufus smiled as if nothing had happened. “I’m sure your thoughts are worth far more than a penny, so I won’t offer to buy. Where were you just then?”

“I was feeling bad for the poor waiter. You probably could have shriveled rock with the look you gave him.”

“I’m sorry if you were made uncomfortable, Naomi.” But not sorry that he’d reprimanded the waiter, she noted. Talk about self-possession; he had it.

“You haven’t made me uncomfortable,” she corrected. “It’s just that every time we meet or talk, you show me another facet of your personality. Riding in a Model-T Ford must have been something like that: bumpy and full of surprises.” When he merely shrugged a shoulder and didn’t comment, she decided that he didn’t bother with self-analysis. Strong, but unpretentious. She liked that. They finished their meal in companionable silence.

“The dinner was lovely,” she told him later, digging into her purse. “How much is the bill?”

Rufus reached for his wallet. “This isn’t a dutch treat, Naomi. I do not, repeat,
do not
go dutch with females, be they eight or eighty, sweetheart, wife, or sister.”

She gave him what she hoped was her most angelic plastic smile. “For your sake, I’m glad your rule isn’t etched in stone, because I pay my own way.”

Rufus frowned, a muscle twitching in his jaw, and she could see that he was giving his hot temper a stern lecture.

“Naomi, almost every time we’ve ever been together, our partings have been less than friendly. This time, could we please avoid that?”

She refused to back down. “Of course, we can, dear,” she agreed pleasantly, stressing the “dear.” “It’s very simple; try being less of a chauvinist, and we’ll leave here like two peas in a pod.”

The deepening of his frown into a fierce scowl delighted her; his temper was going to be his undoing.

“Naomi, you give me a royal pain in the…in the neck.” His long, labored sigh bespoke total exasperation with her.

Not caring that she’d gotten his goat, she told him, “Well, at least you can sit down. After I’ve been haggling with
you,
I usually have to stand up for a while.”

He stared, scowling, before his frown dissolved into a hearty laugh, and he reached over and squeezed her hand affectionately. Then he handed her the check. “Here. Pay the whole damned thing.”

Rufus fought to come to terms with the lightheartedness that he felt when they stepped out of the restaurant holding hands; neither of them behaved as if it was strange. The early November wind had become stronger and more biting, and after they’d taken a few steps, he tucked their joined hands into his left overcoat pocket. And they didn’t seem to find that incongruous with their professed intentions not to become involved with each other, either. Rufus shook his head in wonder. He disliked the fact that she made him happy, and if he had an ounce of sense, he’d put her in a cab and send her home. He glanced down and savored her serene smile. Oh, what the heck!

“Let’s stop by Saloon and listen to some jazz,” he suggested. “Carter is there, and they have great ribs. Maybe I’ll get some of their barbecued ribs to take home. It’s just down the street. I remember that you like opera;
La Traviata,
wasn’t it? I hope I’m right in assuming that you also like jazz. I like opera, too, but it’s never made me want to dance or hug anybody.” Not that he needed any added inducements to snuggle up with her. She was as potent a lure as a man could tolerate. And he was rambling, he realized to his disgust, something he never did. Another indication that he should put some distance between them.

Naomi laughed in that joyous way that always made him want to squeeze her to him. So much for his admonition to himself. “You can’t resist needling me, can you? I love jazz, and I don’t want to shock you, but I also love country music. As for the ribs, well, I’m afraid you can keep those. They’re fattening.”

He tugged her closer. “Wouldn’t shock
me;
I like country music, too. But in my book, no ribs, no soul.” Still holding her hand in his pocket, he squeezed it gently. He wasn’t overloaded with soul himself, but she didn’t have to know it. “And as for needling,” he told her, “lady, you’ve got that down to a very fine art.”

They reached the club quickly and found a table in the rear. An attractive waitress walked over with a bottle of ginger ale and a glass of ice for Rufus, spoke to him, and asked Naomi what she would have. Naomi ordered the same.

“I see you come here often. Do you come just to listen to jazz, or for more personal reasons?”

He watched her above hands clasped in pyramid fashion and decided not to growl at her. What was it about the woman that made him want to walk away from her one minute and love her the next?

“Naomi,” he began, as patiently as he could, “if I had anything going with a woman who worked in this place, I wouldn’t be so insensitive as to entertain you or any other woman here. You said you don’t want us to be more than friends. Buddies was the way you put it I think.” He threw his head back and rolled his eyes skyward, indicating what he thought of that likelihood.

“Exactly,” she said, head high and nose up. That particular affection was becoming familiar to him; she was covering up her real feelings.

Careful here, Rufus told himself, but he wanted to take advantage of the opening that she had unwittingly given him. He said softly, “Sometimes I sense that your razor-sharp tongue hides a lot of pain.”

When she stiffened, he quickly added, “Try to ward me off, if you ever anticipate that what I’m about to do or say will add to that pain. Promise me that.” For a brief, poignant moment, she relaxed her guard, revealing hurt that he had already begun to suspect was an essential part of her. And he received a thorough shock; for the first time, he couldn’t throw off his vulnerability to her. He had to accept his feelings. He wanted to take her and leave, but that, he knew, would be the wrong move.

“Have I offended you?” Her silence weighed heavily on him.

“Of course not,” she answered him. “You just surprised me, that’s all.” When the waitress brought another round of drinks, he noticed the way in which Naomi looked at her and figured that her stare duplicated the one he had thrown at their waiter. Both of them saw the similarity and appreciated the humor of it. They sat in rapt attention while Benny Carter’s soulful saxophone gave a memorable rendition of Duke Ellington’s
Solitude.
She drifted into the past, and Rufus took her left hand in both of his, bringing her back to him.

Naomi struggled to hide the jitters that overcame her when Rufus parked and started around to the passenger side of the car. I don’t want any of his mind-blowing kisses tonight, she told herself. They make a wreck out of me. She knew he’d be annoyed, but before he could reach the door, she opened it.

“I had a great time. Thanks,” she offered, attempting to dismiss him.

“Naomi,” he began, in a tone that suggested mild amusement. “You know that I’m going to see you safely to your door, don’t you? So you are going to save your breath about how often you get there on your own, now, aren’t you?”

She pretended at first to be speechless. “You’ve been associating with liberated women, haven’t you?” She bit her tongue; it was stupid to bait him when he was being so gracious.

He ignored the taunt and held her hand as they entered the elegant lobby; she would have withdrawn it if she could have forced herself to do so, but she knew he wouldn’t have permitted it if she’d tried. When they reached her door, he tipped her chin up with a strong but gentle index finger.

“Now you may tell me how much you enjoyed the evening.” She had learned that his facial expressions did not always reflect his mood. His lips were laughing, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw that they were serious with sensual longing. She suddenly lost her capacity for either pointed innuendos or meaningless banter.

He prodded her. “Cat stole your tongue?”

She stunned him with her loaded reply. “No. Cat
wants
my tongue.” His cool, off-putting response didn’t alter the fact of his genuine surprise, she noted, when his eyes darkened with suspicion.

“You know what my nickname is?”

She nodded and worried her bottom lip. “Yes. Marva, my best friend, told me one day last week. Until then, I hadn’t even known you’d played football. She said you ran like a lithe young panther.” With each word, she moved closer to him. Unconsciously. Tremors streaked through her as she stared at the dark desire in his mesmerizing eyes. Her every nerve tingled with exhilaration, drowning her in a pool of sensuality, when his long fingers caressed the back of her head, wound themselves through her thick, tight curls, and slowly pulled her to him. She parted her lips before he bent his head.

When his mouth finally touched hers, they both moaned aloud from the intensity of what they felt; more than desire; far more. Naomi turned toward the door, whether to invite him in or to escape, she didn’t know. But he stopped her, and she shivered as his strong arms pulled her to him. His firm lips brushed hers softly and then kissed her with such tenderness, such gentle sweetness, that she couldn’t bear it and sagged against him. The moisture from her eyes touched his mouth, and she trembled when his lips kissed the tears from her face. She rested her head against his strong shoulders and held him. She couldn’t disregard her awareness of him; it was too powerful. Sniffling softly, she relaxed in his warm protectiveness while he stroked her arms.

“I can’t leave you if I’ve made you feel bad, Naomi. Why are you crying? Are you afraid of something? Certainly not of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Rufus. I’m not.” She sniffled and snuggled closer.

“Then you’re afraid of yourself.” She tried to move out of his arms, but he held her there. “You’re afraid, because you want me, and for once, you’re not in control.” She twisted restlessly, and he let her go. “Don’t ever let that bother you, Naomi; I would never take what a woman doesn’t want me to have. And I don’t mean sex alone. I won’t accept anything that she gives grudgingly, nothing unless the feeling is mutual. And
that,
my lovely lady, is definitely written in stone.” He tipped an imaginary hat, gave her a brilliant smile, and left her standing there.

She watched him go, telling herself she was relieved. Inside her apartment, she undressed and tried to find oblivion in sleep. Hours later, she got up, showered and went back to bed. She needed Rufus, but she also needed to know her child. A sixteen-year-old isn’t capable of making decisions for a lifetime; they pressured me, but I’m the one who has lived with it and agonized over it for over thirteen years. I won’t be cheated like this; I deserve to see my child. But once she walked through that door, she knew she could say goodbye to everything that meant anything to her—the board of education, OLC, the twins, Linda…what would Linda say if she knew? And Rufus. After reading his current bestseller, in which he listed the causes of juvenile delinquency and placed mothers’ behavior at the top of the list, she knew he’d never accept her past.