Sweet Heat (4 page)

“Suzanne.”

She jerked her eyes back up to his face, feeling the blood heat her cheeks as he caught her looking again. Despite her dark skin, blushes showed up remarkably well.

“Brandon.” Her voice came out breathier than she’d intended. Behind her, she heard Marcel snicker.

She shot a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder and he held up his hands, zipping his lips.

Apparently, he’d finished paying his bill, because Christine faded back to her desk with a wink.

“Do you work here, Suzanne?” He cocked his head to the side, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. She liked the way he said her name. It made her heart turn over in her chest.

She shook her head, her curls swaying with the motion. “Nope. Just wandered in off the street.”

He laughed, his cheeks creasing. The sound rolled through the room like thunder. “Ah, thanks for that, Suzanne. I was having a very bad morning, and I needed that badly.”

At her desk, Christine whispered, “Oh, Jesus, that’s just
unfair
.”

Suzanne agreed. Her knees felt weak. That had never happened to her before. She gripped the edge of the counter.

Brandon folded his arms on the counter and leaned slightly forward, wafting more of that orange and clove scent toward her. She didn’t know what possessed her to touch him. Maybe it was the faint flicker of sadness in his blue eyes. Whatever it was, she brushed her fingertips over the top of his arm. His skin was warm, the hair fine and silky, and despite his pale coloring, his skin wasn’t pasty. It was tanned the color of tea with milk.

His big grin shrank for a moment as he looked down at where she touched his arm. Then he lifted his gaze and it grew even wider. He leaned in even closer.

Suzanne realized the faint smoke smell was his skin. She resisted the urge to take a deep whiff.

Brandon looked directly into her eyes. “I think we’re going to have a good time on our date, Suzanne.”

She pulled back, her heart rattling against her ribs. Her lungs tightened and she felt a giggle well in the back of her throat. She swallowed it. “We’re going on a date?” Her voice trembled. What was wrong with her? She was usually much more cool than this. Brandon had practically turned her into a giggling schoolgirl.

“We’re definitely going on a date.” Brandon spoke the words quietly. His tone was cocky, but also intimate.

She shivered and pulled back. The skittering of her heart was suddenly edging toward panic. His presence was so overwhelming.

What was she thinking? She was a young, professional black woman. She needed to be concentrating on her career and behaving with decorum in the workplace, not flirting with some cocky white boy, no matter how good-looking.

And hadn’t she just gone on a date with another man last night? Should she be flirting with Brandon at all?

Suzanne knew that voice in her head saying all those things was her mother’s. Deeper down, she could hear her grandmother’s voice urging her to go for it. But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled through the fierce blush and shook her head.

“I don’t think so, Brandon. I’m sorry but…” What was she going to say? You overwhelm me? “I just don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re a customer, and I’m… very busy.” She was scrambling, and she knew he could tell.

His grin didn’t waver in the least, though. He wasn’t pissed off or insulted. He didn’t even look daunted.

“I thought you said you didn’t work here?” He cocked one slim blond brow, his blue eyes dancing.

“I… uh…” Her mouth just sort of hung open. She giggled.

Brandon winked. “That’s okay, Suzanne. I’ll change your mind. You’ll see.” He rapped his knuckles lightly on the counter again. “Thanks again for the laugh. I did really need it.”

He turned to leave, and Suzanne couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She watched as he turned and strolled toward the doorway, his gait rolling and relaxed. And, of course, he had a tight, fantastic ass.

“Lord have mercy,” breathed Christine in her ear, joining her at the counter.

He stopped and turned back around. “What’s your last name, busy Suzanne?”

She blinked at him, speechless. Christine elbowed her, but she just nodded. As if that was a valid response.

“Headley!” Christine grinned ear-to-ear. “She works upstairs in HR.”

Brandon shot Christine a thumbs-up. “Thank you again, Christine. Have a good day!”

And then he was gone. The room seemed suddenly not quite as bright. All the air rushed out Suzanne’s lungs.

“What was
that
?”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Christine snickered. “That, Suz, was
chemistry
.”

The flowers arrived later that afternoon. A gorgeous spray of bright white gerbera daisies mixed with some other bloom she didn’t recognize, with clumps of small purple flowers that smelled of cherry pie. The scent reminded her of her grandmother, and brought a smile to Suzanne’s lips.

So did the card.

The handwriting was slashing and masculine. He must have stopped after he left the office. Suzanne’s heart fluttered like a trapped butterfly in her chest.

I hope these brighten up your day as much as you brightened mine. The flower shop girl says they’re daisies and heliotrope? All I know is they’re pretty and they smell good, so they reminded me of you. In case you find you’ve changed your mind…

And then he’d written his number, and a B.

It was an incredibly sweet thing to do. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had sent her flowers. Brought flowers along on a date, maybe. But sent them to her? And all she’d done was make him laugh.

Despite the fact that he mentioned them going out again, it didn’t feel pushy. She almost wished she’d taken it him up on his offer, or suggestion.

She tapped the card on her desk.

All the reasons she’d had for declining earlier seemed ridiculous now, with a little distance. Yes, she’d been knocked off balance by the sheer magnitude of her attraction to him, and his level of attention — she’d never had a man zero in on her like that, not in a creepy way but intense never the less, but hadn’t Christine been right? That’s exactly what she’d just been saying she’d wanted this morning.

An intense connection. A
passionate
connection.

She’d felt both those things with Brandon. And it seemed safe to say he did too, if the lovely, sweetly scented bouquet sitting on her desk was any indication.

He was not at all her usual type, and not just because he was white. Normally, she dated guys who were in investment banking, or accounting. Slender, bookish… slightly nerdy. Kind of like Antoine, only less condescending. Preferably.

Brandon was big and fit and jovial and a bit rough around the edges. And utterly captivating. She couldn’t just ignore that.

Her lungs felt made of crumpled paper and her heart sat on the back of her tongue. With shaking fingers, she reached for her desk phone.

Just as her hand touched the receiver, it rang, startling her into a squeak. She grabbed it and brought it to her ear, swallowing hard.

“Hello?” She was so frazzled she didn’t give her normal, professional greeting. Would Brandon be on the other end of the line?

“Suzanne?” The voice was soft and cultured. Not Brandon. Her mother. “Darling, are you alright?”

She blew out a breath and tried to slow her galloping heart. “I’m fine, Mother. How are you?”

“I’m wonderful. We just got in a new shipment of Hermes scarves. You know how I feel about Hermes.” Her mother gave a deep, long sigh of contentment.

Suzanne chuckled. “Sounds like accessory Nirvana. How’s Daddy?”

Her mother a dismissive ‘pfft’ noise, and Suzanne could almost see her casually flicking her long, elegant fingers. “Stop stalling, Suzanne Eleanor Headley! I want to know how your date went last night.”

She sighed. Of course her mother wanted to know about her date. With Antoine, of the couched derision and dislike of music.

“It was… nice.” She really didn’t want to spend the next twenty minutes on the phone with her mother, dissecting every aspect of her date, and if she complained, they would. Her mother would want to know what he’d done, and then probably try and change her mind.

Suzanne knew her mother meant well, but her idea of what was good for Suzanne, and Suzanne’s idea were often fairly far apart.

When her grandmother was alive, she would always encourage her to stand up to her mother. “Follow your heart, baby. I promise you, it will never steer you wrong. You just have to listen to it. Really listen.”

She felt again the pang of loss as she thought of the warm, giving, supportive woman who’d been such a large figure in her life growing up. Her parents were loving, but not in the same all-encompassing, expressive way her grandmother had been. She’d always needed that.

When her grandmother passed away last year, just before she graduated college, Suzanne had been devastated. She missed her every day.

Suzanne realized her mother was talking and she’d missed some of what had been said.

“Marcia said he was just raving about you, darling. I knew you two would hit it off. Daddy says there might be a future for Antoine at his firm, if he ever wanted to move from Wall Street to the courtroom. He graduated in the top ten percent of his class at Brown, you know.”

“Mother.” She groaned. They’d been on one date, and her father was already talking about getting him a job at his firm? That was several steps beyond even marriage! My God, even if she’d had a good time last night, she wouldn’t be thinking anything so serious so soon.

What if it had been Brandon?

The traitorous thought invaded her mind and her eyes slid over to the flowers. She’d gone on a date with Antoine last night, and he hadn’t even called like he said he was going to. She’d only shared a brief conversation with Brandon, and he’d sent flowers.

“Don’t ‘Mother’ me, Suzanne. I just want what’s best for you.”

This was a common refrain in their conversations. Usually it came up when her mother was trying to get her to agree to something she wasn’t very enthusiastic about. And it was very hard to argue with, because she knew her mother was sincere. She did want what was best for Suzanne. They just had very different ideas what that was.

Rebuffing her mother’s heartfelt attempts to organize her life was difficult at the best of times, and impossible others. Especially with her grandmother no longer around to snort and say, “Leave the girl alone, Monique. She’s got to make her own way in the world, just like you did.”

“Sorry, Mother. I know you do.”

“So…” Her mother drew the word out for several syllables, and Suzanne’s stomach dropped. “Your father is having a small gathering tonight. Just a few friends, for cocktails.”

Suzanne rested her forehead in her palm. “That’s sort of short notice, Mom.”

Her mother laughed lightly. “Well, I’m down to ‘Mom’, so you’re wavering.”

Of course she was. She almost always wavered. She knew how important these functions were for her father. As much as she abhorred them, she didn’t want to let her parents down. “I wouldn’t be able to stay for long, though.”

“Oh, no! Just a drink or two with a couple of people from Daddy’s firm, that’s all. I promise. So, you’ll come?”

Yet another night she’d have to forgo a really good yoga pants veg session. The weekend would be there soon; she’d hopefully get some down time then.

“Alright, I’ll come. For a little while. I should get home around five-thirty so —”

“Great! Antoine will pick you up at quarter past six!”

Suzanne banged her head against her hand. She should have known. “Mother. You didn’t say anything about Antoine being there this evening.”

“You said you had a nice time! And he knows some of the same people as your father. It’s really no big deal, Suzanne. It hardly even counts as a date.”

“Seeing each other two nights in a row is a bit… much, Mother.” She’d barely made it through dinner last night. Now she had to endure one of the interminable cocktail parties her father and his cronies through with the man?

Her mother made the fizzling, dismissive noise again. “It’s just drinks, dear. I’m not asking you to marry him.”

The ‘yet’ was implicit. Suzanne gritted her teeth.

“Fine. A few drinks. That’s it!”

“Of course, dear. What else would it be? I’ll see you tonight!”

The line clicked before she could come to her senses and tell her mother Antoine was a boor and rude and she didn’t want to ever see him again, let alone show up as a couple to Daddy’s function.

She remembered how stilted their conversation had been at Les Halles the night before, and imagined the stuffy, boring gathering she’d most likely be facing later with the added spice of having the music-hating, Michael Bay-loving, non-reading, fat-shaming, ultra conservative Antoine constantly at her side.

Oh, joy.

Her gaze lit on the bright blooms Brandon had sent her, and she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if he was her date to the cocktail party. A grin split her cheeks as she imagined his booming laugh rolling through her parent’s parlor, his glittering with good humor, his muscled form easily dwarfing the staid suits from her father’s firm.

What would he wear? Did the earthy blond own a suit? He would look fabulous in one, Suzanne had no doubt. But he didn’t seem like the suit type. And honestly, he’d look good in anything.

She pictured him lounging in one of the elaborately carved, antique fabric upholstered chaise lounges in the fitted t-shirt and relaxed jeans he’d been wearing earlier. Despite the incongruity of the image, it was an undeniably hot one.

And she had not one little doubt that the party would fly by for her had Brandon was escorting her. Instead, she was in for a more interminable time that usual.

Suzanne took a deep, fortifying breath, inhaling the delicious fragrance of the flowers, and forced herself to get back to work.

***

Brandon cracked open a beer and handed it to Hollis.

“Here you go, Probie. Better make it last, ‘cause that’s all you get.” He grinned as Hollis rolled his eyes. The kid was good about taking the light-hearted ribbing. They all went through it when they first joined up, and anyone who couldn’t laugh at themselves wasn’t going to fit in real well with the crew.

Fox whistled piercingly from the couch. “Yo, Probie, bring me one of those, wouldja?”

That was part of being the new guy too. Hollis grabbed several beers and the opener and headed back into the living room, handing them out.

Brandon chuckled and shook his head as the guys razzed Hollis about one thing or another. He enjoyed having them over like this, watching a game and drinking beer and shooting the shit. They didn’t have to worry about listening for an alarm. They could just kick back and relax, having a good time.

Venatta was lamenting that his oldest son had begun dating and he’d had to have a serious talk with the kid, because he was terrified his boy would knock someone up. It was crazy to think V had a son old enough to knock someone up, though he was the oldest of the group, aside from the Chief, at forty.

Hollis was, of course, the youngest, having just turned twenty-one.

“Oh gawd, don’t even talk to me about dating.” Pete flopped back against the couch, spreading out his long legs and scrubbing a hand through his shaggy brown hair. He too was on his 3 off, and sported a scruff of dark stubble along his narrow jaw. He swigged his beer, swallowing nearly half the bottle before belching.

Fox slid over, making room for Brandon on the smaller couch as he shook his head at Pete. “I thought you said you were never getting back in the game, Decker.”

Everyone at the station knew the story of Pete’s bitter divorce. His ex, Lucia, had been a knockout. Like, a ten to Pete’s seven (on a good day). Pete and Lucia got along like a house fire most of the time, cooing like a pair of lovebirds and always kissing and sneaking away to get some alone time. But when they’d fought, it was always a 5-alarm.

She’d come from a very religious Hispanic family, and her parents had never approved of her marrying a non-Catholic. Lucia defied them and married Pete anyway, but any time they fought (which was almost as much as they fucked), she threw it back in Pete’s face.

They’d managed to stay together for four years before the relationship finally crashed and burned for good, and Pete had a lot of resentment. Toward Lucia, her family (who he placed what seemed to Brandon like an inordinate amount of blame on — probably because he was still in love with Lucia), and women in general. And a lot of anger. Though, Brandon thought some of that was just a mask for the hurt.

He understood that, to an extent. But he had always been a more laid-back guy than Pete. His buddy was volatile before he ever met Lucia. It was part of what had made him and the equally hot-blooded Lucia work so well… and fail so spectacularly.

“I’m telling you, man,” Pete said now, reaching for another beer. “I tried this online thing Doyle told me about. He swore up and down he’s been meeting hot chicks all the time from this site. So I sign up and look around and there’s maybe two decent looking profile pictures. I chat up one of ‘em. Pam. She says she’s twenty-three, just graduated from NYU.”

Pete scoffed. Brutarsky raised bushy eyebrows black eyebrows.

“Kinda young for you, ain’t she, Pete?”

“What, I’m only thirty-two. Not like I’m ancient as you, Brute. Or V over there.”

V made a show of cupping his hand around his ear, as if he was hard of hearing. “Huh?”

That cracked them all up. All of them but Pete, who was still scowling.

“Anyway,” he continued, leaning on the word. “We agree to meet at Jerry’s.”