Fools Rush In

“I…I think you’re nice, Wayne, and we can go out sometime.”

He rested his hand on hers. “On a steady basis?”

Just because the man was wonderful wasn’t a reason to chuck her common sense. “Well, let’s see if that’s what we want. Okay?”

“Works for me.”

They reached Frederick well before driving at the legal speed limit would have allowed. When Wayne parked in front of the white brick house at 75 North Teal, she breathed in sweet relief. “Thanks for the ride home. See you soon.”

He took her hand and walked toward the front door. “I assume you don’t live out here on Teal Street. Let me have your keys.” He unlocked the door with his free hand and walked with her into the darkened foyer. “I’m glad we met. Goodnight, Leah.”

She jerked her hand from his. “I told you not to call me—” His mouth warm and firm settled on hers and scrambled her brain, and she grabbed the lapels of his jacket to steady herself. She’d never felt anything like it. Shivers coursed through her body until she trembled in his arms.

He broke the kiss and gazed down at her as though in wonder. “Is there a guy in your life? Serious, I mean?”

She blinked her eyes. “Why’d you do that? You caught me off guard.”

She luxuriated in his grin, its warmth toasting her like midday sunshine on a deserted beach. “If I’d asked you, I’d never have gotten that kiss, and especially not one that honest. And I’m calling you Leah. Period. Get that?”

He was out of the door before she could tell him he’d be talking to the wind, because she’d refuse to answer him. She lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and made up for lost time.

Duncan told the last of his guests good night, extinguished the lights, and headed upstairs. The light shining beneath Justine’s door caused him some concern, and he left his bedroom door ajar so he could hear her if she called out to him. He stripped and slid into bed. Justine was across the hall from him, crying for all he knew, since she hadn’t come back downstairs, and he was helpless to do anything about it, because she hadn’t trusted him. Then there was Wayne Roundtree and his kid sister. Kid? She was twenty-seven. He hoped the man had sense enough to realize that she was a tenderfoot, that she hid her innocence behind her sharp tongue. He flipped over on his belly. He’d hate to flatten his boss, but he’d do it in a New York minute and wouldn’t think twice about it.

Across the hall, Justine struggled with her reaction to Duncan’s almost kiss. She had wanted it. She rolled over to untangle the sheet twisted around her body. Her unloved body. Behind closed eyelids she saw his lips moving toward hers, slowly. Teasing. Tantalizing her. She parted her lips for the taste of his hot velvet tongue and moaned in despair when it failed to penetrate her welcoming mouth. When her breasts began to ache for his stroking fingers, she swung out of bed, took off her gown and showered. She didn’t fool herself. Duncan wasn’t the only source of her discontent, nor could she attribute it to celibacy, for she’d never been fulfilled. The certainty that she’d never been loved, that her failure at lovemaking with her husband wasn’t her fault, had triggered in her a need to explore herself, to fly. Because Kenneth Montgomery hadn’t loved her, his heart hadn’t been in his lovemaking. She knew that now. And sleeping within fifteen feet of her every night was the epitome of temptation in the person of Duncan Banks, a good-looking, mesmerizing, and powerful hunk of a man who wanted her and whose lure beckoned her. Torment was right here on earth.

Chapter 4

“Phone for you, Justine. I’d appreciate it if you’d answer the phones; I can’t stand those things. I like to see who I’m talking to.”

“All right, Mattie. In a second.” Justine put Tonya in her crib and rustled across the hall to her room.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Justine. I told you I’d call. Big Al gave me your number.”

She looked to the ceiling. Just what she needed, a pursuit by the biggest ego ever to strut on Howard University’s campus. “Hello, Warren. I didn’t tell Al to give out my telephone number. What can I do for you?”

“Well, thanks for the nice warm greeting. How about going to the automobile show with me tomorrow night?”

She had forgotten his passion for cars. “Sorry, Warren, but I’m working tomorrow night.”

“If you weren’t, would you go?”

No wonder he had amassed a fortune by the time he was thirty; he had the tenacity of an ant after sugar and didn’t know the meaning of the word, no. Never had. She walked as far as the cord would reach, then back to her desk. She didn’t need Warren in her life right then. He’d pick until he knew everything and wouldn’t be averse to using against her whatever he uncovered.

“I don’t think so, Warren. Would you excuse me now? I have to see about Tonya.”

“All right, lady, but I’m not giving up. You remember that. I get what I go after, and a lot of people will attest to that fact.”

She didn’t want him plundering around in her life. “Waste your time somewhere else, Warren. We’ve got a business arrangement through Al. That’s all. Look, I have to go. Good-bye.”

Bulldogged as ever, he drawled, “That’s my girl. Same Justine. If you committed a murder, I bet you’d do it in the best lady-like manner. Bye for now.”

She hung up and regrouped. An involvement with any man, not only Warren, would complicate her life. Besides, she couldn’t afford to have Duncan question her suitability as a nanny for Tonya, and he might if she had men visiting her. Still, if she concentrated on another man, maybe she’d spend less time thinking about Duncan Banks.

She got back to the nursery in time to see Tonya’s shoe drop out of the crib. The baby smiled at her, banged her other shoe against the bars and sang out, “Juju.”

Justine stopped herself just as the words, “Mummy’s coming,” perched at the tip of her tongue. She slapped her right hand over her mouth, horrified. Lord forbid that she should ever make that mistake. Weakened by the significance of what she’d almost done, she slumped into the rocker beside the crib, closed her eyes and leaned back. Instead of getting easier as the days passed, the pain became sharper and the charade more difficult. But she couldn’t envisage turning back. Not now. She could never leave her child.

She lay Tonya in bed for a nap, put on a cassette of Mozart chamber music, collected several letters to Aunt Mariah, sat beside the child’s bed and perused them.

“Dear Aunt Mariah, My boyfriend is seeing another girl. He didn’t say so, but I know he is, because he hasn’t called me in two months. Should I drop him? Tearful.”

Justine controlled the urge to laugh, because Tearful had a serious problem. You couldn’t drop what you didn’t have. She wrote:

“Dear Tearful, be a good sport and let him out of it gracefully. A gentle note saying it’s been nice knowing him, and all the best would sound just the right chord, though he doesn’t deserve that. If he’s cheating, forget him. Yours, Aunt Mariah.”

A ringing phone sent her scrambling into the hallway to answer it before Mattie gave vent to her ire.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Justine, Big Al here. I got a couple of great letters about your column. I told ya people would love it, didn’t I? Keep it up. You’re doing good. Just give ’em plenty of horse sense and that family stuff. But you…er…sat down pretty hard on…let’s see, some woman wrote you that her husband—Linden, I believe—was fooling around. You told her to leave him. Justine, baby, that is not family stuff. The only advice you ever give to a woman who’s man is unfaithful is to kick him out. You gotta do better than that, babe.”

So that was why he’d called. Might as well set him straight. “Thanks, but that’s what they deserve. By the way, why did you give Warren my phone number here?”

“You didn’t want him to have it? He said you gave it to him, and he lost it. Wait’ll I chew him out.”

The man hadn’t changed since school days. Dear as he was, she’d have to reprimand him. “Next time, please ask me first.”

“Okay, but you could do worse than Warren. He’s smart. A real go-getter. I know. I know,” he said, as though he anticipated her censure. “He can stick to you like glue, but you can handle that. He’s a good guy. Not a lot of ’em are your equal, you know.”

“Speak for yourself, Al.”

“Okay. Okay.” She could imagine his hand palm out before him. “I won’t do it again. Say, I could have your mail sent to you by messenger.”

She knew that gesture was meant to appease her, but instead, it alarmed her. She didn’t want him to have Duncan’s address. Thinking rapidly, she said, “Then the messenger would know where Aunt Mariah lives.”

She thought she heard air seep through his lips. “Fast thinking. You’re on the ball, honey. We’ll leave it as it is.”

She hung up, slipped back into the role of Aunt Mariah and finished the column, but she couldn’t make herself advise Rose Akers to stay with her abusive man. “Leave him,” she wrote. At the other extreme, Annie K. couldn’t make up her mind to marry a prince of a guy. Justine wrote, “Annie, dear, a woman who doesn’t know champagne from grape juice doesn’t deserve champagne. Yours, Aunt Mariah.”

“Is she still asleep?”

Startled, her head jerked up. She hadn’t heard him climb the stairs. Please Lord, don’t let him ask to see what she’d been writing. She presented him with what she hoped was a smile. “Yes. She’s asleep.”

“How can she sleep with the radio on?” he continued as he entered the room and stepped with a jazzy rhythm directly to her. She didn’t believe he did it intentionally, because there was nothing personal in his facial expression, only concern for his child. But intentional or not, his dancing gait set her on fire. Darn him. She looked away.

“It isn’t the radio, it’s a cassette. She sleeps most soundly when this music is playing, and if she’s awake and I put on Mozart’s ‘Concerto for Flute and Harp,’ she’s very quiet and smiles a lot. I think she enjoys it.”