A Private Affair

“It doesn’t piss me off, as you put it.” Defensive was not the sound she was striving for, but it came out, anyway. She took a sip of her Pepsi and tried again. “What I mean is, I like where I live. I didn’t intend to sound otherwise.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Hey, that’s cool. You’re a big girl. Feel any way you wanna.” He wanted to push her, to test her, test her sensibilities. Would she be put off by him? If he let her into his world, what would she do about what she saw?

“How’s the apartment?”

The question pulled him back from the turn of his thoughts. “Comin’ along. I’m settlin’ in.” He grinned. “Maybe you’ll get a chance to see it for yourself.”

Her stomach fluttered and she had to wiggle her toes to shake off a tingling sensation. “Who said I wanted to?”

He leaned closer across the table. “I know you do. Maybe not tonight, but you will.”

“You sound awfully sure of yourself for someone who doesn’t know me from Adam.”

And then he said the most startling thing, in clear, plain English, and she wondered for a second if he were a ventriloquist. “No, I’ve known you all my life, Nikita. We’ve just waited until now to make it official.”

He was one smooth talker, there was no doubt about that. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

He grinned, and all those pretty white teeth sparkled against that good-enough-to-eat skin. Nikita was in creamy-black-chocolate heaven.

“So, you got a last name to go with that first one?”

Nikita laughed. “Yes. It’s Harrell.”

“Hmmm.” Quinn nodded. “Nikita Harrell. Sounds important. You important?” His dark gaze probed her.

“I hope so.”

Echoes of countless conversations with Lacy danced through his head. How many times had she told him that your worth, your own importance, could never be measured by the make and model of your ride, or the size of the roll in your pocket, or how many people moved out of your way when you walked down the street? He hadn’t listened.

“You hope so. That’s kinda lame, comin’ from a girl like you. Either you are, or you ain’t. Simple. Don’t think about it. If you don’t know, then who will?” She had that look again, like somebody’d just pinched her behind and she was rarin’ to slap ’em. But he didn’t even care.

“You have a very interesting way of making my words turn into what you want to hear.”

“I call ’em like I see ’em. Ain’t that what women look for in a man—honesty?”

“A little diplomacy wouldn’t hurt your repertoire.”

Quinn laughed, a deep hearty laugh, and Nikita struggled to keep the smile from her lips.

“You know you wanna laugh.” He chuckled. “So why don’t you just let go and give in to how you feel? You ever done that before, Nikita Harrell, just gave in to how you was feelin’ without worryin’ about tomorrow?”

Then, suddenly, his tone changed—softened—caressed. His eyes moved in on her and the world disappeared. It was just the two of them. His finger stroked her hand, setting off the electric currents.

It’s getting hot in here. She opened her mouth to speak, but he just put that same finger to her lips. His mouth curved up on one side.

“Don’t answer. Not now. I want that first to-hell-with-the-world experience to be with me.”

She should have gotten up. She should have run as fast and as far away from this man as possible. But his presence held her there, as surely as if he’d tied her down.

“There you are.” Parris bent down and pecked Nikita on the cheek, successfully snapping her out of her trance. “I was wondering if you were still coming.” She looked from one to the other.

Nikita blinked and smiled up at Parris. “Of course I was coming. I’ve been here a while.”

Parris raised her eyebrow.

“Oh, Parris McKay, this is…Quinn. Quinn, Parris. She’s Nick’s wife. He owns the club.”

So this was the boss’s wife. Damn, Nikita Harrell traveled in high circles. He’d seen Parris’s videos and her face more times than he could count. He stood. “Nice to meet you. I was talkin’ with your husband earlier. He said he’d introduce us, but Nikita here saved him the trouble.”

“Oh, you’re that Quinn! Nick hasn’t stopped talking about you. When do you start?”

Nikita frowned. What in the world were they talking about?

Quinn shrugged. “Probably next week.”

“Great. I’m dying to hear you play. Girl, you didn’t tell me you knew such a fabulous piano player.”

“Had I only known.”

Parris squinted as if she couldn’t see her. “Anyway, I have to run. My first set starts in an hour. Come to the office afterward, Niki. We can talk then.” She stuck out her hand to Quinn, which he took. “Pleasure to meet you. Welcome aboard.”

“Same here. Thanks.”

Parris waved, then hurried across the floor and into the back room.

Nikita set her gaze on Quinn’s don’t-have-a-care-in-the-world face. “You play piano—here at the club?”

He chuckled. “I ain’t even gotta look up the word disbelief. It’s all over your face. What’s so hard to believe?” His smile was gone. “Hard to believe a guy like me could do anything besides—what—find a short way into your pants? Everything ain’t always how it seems on the outside. Take you, for instance.” He leaned back. “Under the icy, uptown, Ms. Clean exterior, I know there’s a hot-blooded, double or nothin’, wanna-take-a-chance-with-you-Quinn woman dyin’ to get out. All she needs is somebody to unlock the garage door.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he crooned and took her hand, pulling her to her feet and in line with his body, forcing her to look up at him. “I’m gonna show you, right now.”

He led her out onto the dance floor and they flowed as one perfect unit to the moods of Whitney’s “I Believe in You and Me.” One song segued into the next, as they glided together across the smooth hardwood floor.

Although short women never held much appeal for him, this one was different, he thought. She felt perfect. She fit. Like some missing piece—of what he wasn’t sure. Nikita Harrell was no Sylvie, that was for damned sure, or anyone else like her. She was more like those women on the cover of Essence and Black Elegance. You could see ’em, but not touch ’em. Getting with a woman like Nikita Harrell was that elusive dream. Would she be his dream come true?

Nikita closed her eyes. Allowed her senses to soar. She felt him everywhere, warm, hard, large and strong. Strangely enough she felt secure, as if this man could easily keep the bogeyman away. Keep her safe—from herself. He wasn’t threatened by the foreign world she only imagined being a part of, because he lived it. Still, she felt that there was more to him than the hard, thug-like, don’t-give-a-damn, too cool aura that he gave off like an expensive cologne. Against every bit of good judgment that had ever been ground into her, she wanted to find out what was beneath the surface.

“What do you do when you ain’t hangin’ in nightclubs and pickin’ up strange men?” he said deeply into her ear.

A flood of heat roared through her body, jerking her away from her daydreaming. She arched her neck back to be able to look up at him. His eyes were crinkling at the corners. She swallowed. “I work for Today’s Woman magazine. It’s pretty local at the moment. But we’re growing.”

“Cool. What do you work at?”

She smiled. “I do everything—read manuscripts, answer phones, lick stamps. But I’ve finally gotten my big break. The publisher, Ms. Ingram, liked my idea for an entertainment section, and she’s letting me write my first article. It’s going to be an interview with Parris.”