Читать книгу Sealed With a Kiss - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 10

Chapter 4

An hour later, still puzzled over Rufus’s behavior, Naomi forced herself to answer her doorbell. Tomorrow, she was going to speak to the doorman about not buzzing her to ask whether she wanted to receive visitors. What was the point in having such an expensive place if it didn’t guarantee her security and privacy? She knew very well that if it was Rufus, the young doorman would be so awed that he wouldn’t dare insult him by asking his name and announcing him, as house rules required. With a tepid smile, she cracked the door open and saw him standing there, the epitome of strength and virility. She tried to curb her response to him, a reaction so strong that blood seemed to rush to her head. And that annoyed her. Her next impulse was to close the door with a bang, but she wasn’t so irritated that she wanted to hurt him.

“May I come in, Naomi? Not once when I’ve stood at this door have you willingly invited me in.”

Feeling trapped by her attraction to him, and hoping that a clever retort would put her in command, she gave him what she hoped was a withering look.

“What do you want, Meade? You’ve already gotten yourself off the hook with an apology, so why are you standing here?” She spoke in a low, measured tone, trying to keep her voice steady.

Rufus was silent for a minute, trying to gauge her real feelings, which he had learned were probably different from what she let him see. Her gentle tone belied her sharp words, and he welcomed it. He watched her bottom lip quiver while she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying not to respond to what he knew she saw in his eyes. His gaze traveled slowly over her, caressing her, cataloging her treasures—flat belly, rounded hips, wild hair, long legs, a full, generous mouth, and more. He wanted her badly enough to steal her. Badly enough to forget everything else and go for her. But he hadn’t come to her apartment for that. Telling himself to get with it, he reined in his passion and assumed a casual stance.

He cleared his throat, impatient with his physical reaction to her. “Naomi, it must be clear to you that we have to reach some kind of understanding. We have to work together for the next month, and if we can’t cooperate, that gala will be a disaster. So ease up, will you?”

He was taken aback by her forced, humorless smile. And her words. “Why don’t you level with yourself? You didn’t come over here tonight to make it easier for us to work together. You’re here for two reasons; your testosterone is acting up; and you’re feeling guilty about the way you behaved back there at OLC. Well, you can go home, wherever that is. Your boys will be ‘pining’ for you.”

Rufus could see that she wanted to take back the words as soon as they escaped her lips. Weeks earlier, those revealing remarks had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them—childhood hurts that remained solidly etched in his memory—and she had thrown them back at him. He knew that she saw pain in his eyes, that his reaction to her barb aroused her compassion. He regretted having exposed himself to her when he alluded to his unhappy childhood, and she could bet he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He hated pity. To cover her own insecurity, her own vulnerability, she had used it against him. But she reached out to him then with her heart as well as her hand, and he looked first into her eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, and then at her extended hand, grasped it, and walked in. Into her house and into her arms.

He breathed deeply, savoring the union, as they held each other without the intrusion of the passion and one-upmanship that had marked their brief relationship. When he felt himself begin to stir against her, he moved away.

“Naomi, if you’d put on more clothes, maybe we can talk this thing out.”

Her embarrassment at having greeted him in her short silk dressing gown was too obvious to conceal, and he noticed that she didn’t try, but expected him to understand that she had forgotten she was skimpily dressed. It was a small measure of trust, but it was something, and he welcomed it.

“All right. I’ll be back in a minute. There’s a bar; help yourself to a drink.” She left him in the living room and returned within minutes dressed, as promised. He liked that.

“Didn’t you find anything you’d like to drink?”

“I don’t drink anything stronger than an occasional glass of wine at dinner. Thanks anyway.” She looked great no matter what she was wearing, he observed, and told her so. “You’re really something to look at, you know that? My common sense almost deserted me when I saw you standing there in that red jersey robe, with that thick black curly hair hanging around your shoulders. Dark women look great in pinks and reds.”

She sat down and kicked off her shoes, and he could see that his compliments made her nervous. She did not want an involvement with him any more than he wanted one with her. He grinned. In their case, want didn’t count for much.

“Thank you,” she replied briskly, “but there isn’t anything to talk out, as you put it. I am not looking for a romantic involvement with you or anyone else, not now or ever, so we shouldn’t have any difficulty working together.”

Rufus glanced at her shoeless feet as she tucked them beneath her. A free spirit would do that, he figured. But she had caged that side of her, he guessed, and she had done it years earlier. He leaned back in the sofa and appraised her slowly and thoroughly until she suddenly squirmed. What a maze of contradictions she was! If she thought so little of romantic involvement and marriage for herself, why had she championed it for her young charge at OLC? The thought perturbed him; her adamant disavowal of interest in men didn’t ring true. He noted that the shoes were back on her feet.

Rufus leaned forward. “Sorry about that,” he apologized, referring to his blatant perusal of her. “But I can’t believe you know so little about what happens when a man and a woman get their hooks in each other. So I have to assume that either you’re being dishonest with yourself or you just don’t care to level with me. That kiss you gave me, Naomi, almost made me erupt; I’m still reeling from it. You were right when you said that’s why I’m here.”

“You’re making too much of this,” she told him, obviously uneasy with the drift of the conversation.

Her attempt to minimize it annoyed him. “When you kiss a man like that, giving him everything he’s asking for and letting him know that you’re loving what he’s doing to you, you’re either consenting or making demands of your own or you’ve gone too far.”

He ignored the outrage that he saw in her reproachful eyes and went on. “You and I want each other, Naomi. Don’t doubt it for a minute; we want to make love to each other. I confess that making love with you was one of the first thoughts I had when I met you. But I told myself then, and I’m telling you now, that I don’t intend to do one thing about it. You and I would be poison together.”

Naomi was a worthy adversary, he recalled at once. “Of course you aren’t going to do anything about it,” she purred, “because I won’t let you. As for me wanting you, let me tell you how much weight you can put on that. I saw a beautiful pair of green leather slippers in Garfinkel’s not long ago, and I wanted them badly. They were the perfect complement to something I had just bought. I took a taxi all the way back up here to Bethesda at a cost of twenty dollars, got my credit card, taxied back, and would you believe those shoes were gone? You know what I did? I shrugged my shoulders and bought a pair of royal blue ones that didn’t match a thing I owned. When I left the store, I was perfectly happy. Nothing gets the better of me, Rufus. Believe me, nothing!” He disliked her facetious grin. “So you’re right; there’s no need to make a big deal out of it,” she went on, her quivering lips belying her tough words. “You’ll find another one—darker or lighter, taller or shorter, but with the same basic equipment—and you’ll be just as happy.”

He shook his head in amazement. “I don’t believe you said that.” His blood pounded in his ears when she crossed her knees and let her right shoe slip off as she did so, revealing a flawless size nine foot with its perfectly shaped red toenails. His couldn’t take his eyes from her.

He swore softly. “You’d drive me insane if I spent much time around you. Stop acting,” he growled in a velvet soft voice. “You’re as vulnerable to me as I am to you.” He told himself to cool off. “We have to have a meeting Tuesday or Wednesday. Which would you prefer?”

“Neither.” His impatient glance provoked a hesitant explanation. “I tutor at One Last Chance in the afternoon of both days this week, and I can’t disappoint this girl; she has a lot of problems, and she’s known very little caring. The night you saw her with me, she showed me an excellent drawing that she had done with crayons; it was wonderful. She just needs guidance.”

“Then you believe she has talent for art?”

“Yes, but I’m not tutoring her in art. I’m helping her with math and English.”

“What’s the girl’s name?” He wondered if now was the time. Her feelings for this girl aroused his curiosity and his suspicions, too, he realized.

“Linda.”

Rufus hesitated, aware of a primitive protectiveness toward her, fearful of hurting her. “Naomi. If I’m wrong here, tell me. I get the impression that you have a special connection with this girl, that you have deeper feelings for her than for the others at OLC. And my instincts say that your concern for her has a personal basis.” He watched as she readied herself to divert him.

“Really, Rufus, what could have made you think such a thing?”

“I realize that you were tutoring her in English, but I didn’t know that you were qualified to teach math as well. What level?”

“She’s in her last year of junior high. I taught those subjects in high school for four years.”

“Why did you give it up?” Naomi was a complex person, he was beginning to understand, and the more he saw of her, the more he wanted to see. He leaned back against the deeply cushioned brown velvet sofa, watching her intently.

“I never wanted to teach, but Grandpa would pay for my education only if I studied to be a teacher. Teaching is the proper work for girls of my class, he told me a thousand times. I did as he wanted, same as everybody else always does, and I taught until I’d saved enough money to study for a degree in fine art. He hasn’t forgiven me for it, but, well, he’s done some things that I haven’t been able to forgive him for.” He nodded, letting her know that he sympathized with her, then lifted his wrists and glanced at his watch.

“I’ve got to get home; I told Jewel I’d be there by nine.” He hesitated to leave. “How did you get involved with One Last Chance?”

He pondered the reasons she might have for taking so much time to answer. “I saw the need for it. I’m one of its founders. Who’s Jewel?” On to another topic, was she? The tactic neither fooled nor amused him.

From Naomi’s reaction, he realized that his grin had been mocking rather than disarming, as he had intended. “Jewel’s my baby sister. Why? Are you jealous?” He couldn’t resist the taunt; it was the second bit of concrete evidence she’d given him that her interest was more than casual and his attraction for her more than physical. Yet he doubted that she would ever own up to it.

Her studied smirk as she slanted her head, tipped up her nose, and peered at him had all the arrogance that any crowned European could have mustered. It was admirable. What a gal!

“Well?” he baited.

“Put all your money on it,” she bantered, with a brief pause that he knew was for effect, “and then see your lawyer about filing for bankruptcy.” He smiled, enjoying the teasing.

“You’d be fun if you’d just forget about sex,” she told him, referring to his comment about their heated kiss.

He knew she meant to provoke him, but instead of indulging her, he quipped: “Forget about sex? Sweetheart, that is one thing I’ll remember even after I’m buried.”

His seductive wink, a mesmerizing slow sweep of his left eye, was aimed to strip her of any pretense about her feelings. And for the moment, it did. He held his breath when she dusted a speck of lint from the lapel of his jacket, pushed the handkerchief further down in his breast pocket, and rubbed a speck of nothing from his chin. The expression in her eyes nearly unglued him, but he kept his countenance and satisfied himself with a brush of his fingers across her cheek. He was unprepared for the warmth that quickly enveloped them and for the sweet, mutual contentment that they had not previously experienced together. Wordlessly, they walked to her door and stood there looking at each other, comfortable with the tension, with their desire in check. Simultaneously they reached out to each other, but didn’t touch and withdrew as one, as if it had been choreographed. He sucked in his breath and left without a word.

The rooms appeared to have grown larger after he left her, and her beloved apartment seemed cold and unfriendly. Her footsteps echoed along the short, tiled hallway. Strange, but she had never noticed that before. A restlessness suffused her. She reached for the telephone, then dropped her hand. So this was loneliness. This was what it was like to miss a man. She had to stop it now. Maybe it was already too late. She didn’t think she had the strength to face exposure, certainly not his rejection. Rufus already meant too much to her, had too prominent a place in her life, and she couldn’t bear his scorn if he ever knew about her past. One Last Chance was important to her, but if she couldn’t get Rufus out of her life any other way, she would have no choice but to leave it, to walk away from the most satisfying thing in her world other than her work. He was right; she had wanted him desperately. She still did. But if she walked away from him, away from the sweet and terrible hunger that he stirred in her, away from the promise of love in his arms… She went to bed trying not to think about Rufus and fell asleep imagining the ultimate joy that he could give her.

The next morning Naomi got up at six-thirty, unable to sleep longer, and phoned her grandfather.

“Why are you calling so early, gal? I thought you artist types worked at night and slept most of the day.”

She ignored his attempted reprimand for having abandoned teaching for art. “Grandpa, I think we ought to look up those people who want to find me and get it over with; I can’t stand this uncertainty. A month ago, I had a quiet life and was contented, all things considered. It’s like a death sentence must be; maybe the waiting and not knowing is worse than the actual execution.”

“Don’t you be foolish, gal,” he roared into the phone. “They may give up or I may find a way to discourage them.”

“But where does that leave me? Did I have a girl, a boy, twins? And are the adoptive parents loving, abusive, rich, dirt poor? What about my feelings, Grandpa? This is becoming unbearable.” She thought about Rufus and how devoted he was to his boys. He put them before everybody and everything, including his career. She recalled his painful allusion to his childhood when, after “pining” all day for someone, no doubt his mother, that someone had gotten home too tired to give him the love he needed. What would he think of her? She heard Judd’s insistent voice.

“What was that, Grandpa?”

“Where’s your mind, Naomi?” She imagined that he was rolling his eyes upward, expressing his frustration. “I said that I tried to spare you as best I could. But if you’re going to be foolish and go looking for trouble, I’d better hire a lawyer. Never could tell you a thing.”

“So the lawyer can tell you that we don’t have any options? This is something that has to be done on a personal basis.” She hated discussing it with him. Her grandfather would soon be ninety-five; he’d been born the last day of the nineteenth century, and she tried never to argue with him. Not only because he’d taken her in and made a home for her when her father had remarried to a woman who didn’t want a stepchild around, and had become her legal guardian when her father had died, but because she cared for him and didn’t like to upset him. He’s the product of anther era, she reminded herself, a time when a man did what he thought best for his family and expected them to accept it as he knew they would.

“We’ve got a problem, so we’ll get legal advice,” she heard him say in his usual authoritarian fashion. The sisters and brothers of the First Golgotha Baptist Church didn’t get out of line with their pastor, and forty-five years of such near idolatry had spoiled Judd Logan. “These hotshot lawyers are worthless,” he continued, “but you need them sometimes.”

“There’s no point in asking you not to, Grandpa, because you always do whatever you like. I don’t need a lawyer; I need to meet my child’s adoptive parents and ask them to let me see my child. If they want to reach me after all this time, there’s a good reason.” She wouldn’t say more about it then; it would take him a while to accept the idea, if he ever did. “I have to go over to One Last Chance, Grandpa. One of the girls is meeting me there at nine.” She didn’t say goodbye, because she knew he’d have a comment then or later. Twirling the phone cord, she waited.

“I want you to listen to me, gal. Don’t rush into anything. And I wish you’d stay away from those places like Florida Avenue,” he complained. “What kind of people do you meet over there? I’m sure Maude Frazier doesn’t waste time around there. It’s not proper for an unmarried girl of your class to hang around those people.” Naomi grinned, stifling a giggle as she did so. The old man was on a roll. He loved to preach, and it didn’t matter whether he had an audience of one hundred or one.

“Grandpa, you’re talking about seventy years ago.” Reminding herself that there was a generation between them and enough years in age for a two-generation gap, she let it pass.

“We’re never going to agree on certain things,” she told him gently. “You tried to save people’s souls. Well, when I’m at One Last Chance, I’m trying to help people mend their lives. There must be a connection there somewhere.” She told him goodbye and hung up.

Half an hour after arriving at OLC, Naomi looked at her watch. Linda was late. She knew that the girl wouldn’t offer an excuse, and when she arrived, she didn’t. Linda had missed several sessions, and Naomi had been tempted to speak with her mother but had refrained for fear of causing trouble.

“I spoke with your principal. Has he told your mother the consequences of your not going to the retreat and completing your art project?”

Linda’s eyes widened. “You mean he’s going to tell my mama I’ll be in trouble if I don’t go? Boy, that’s super cool! Tell me to tell her I can’t go to the retreat unless I have my hair done.”

Naomi laughed. “Linda, we tell the truth to the extent possible. The principal won’t be lying. That retreat is important to you; your career decisions may hinge on it.”

She knew that Linda admired her, but she was stunned when the girl suddenly told her, “I wish I could be like you, Naomi. I wish I was you.”

Naomi tugged at her chin with a thumb and forefinger. “My dear, if you knew everything there is to know, you might not want to be in my shoes at all.”

Linda stared directly at her. “With you, I’d take my chances.” Shaking her head, Naomi looked at Linda and remembered herself fourteen years before. If you got what you prayed for, she thought with wise hindsight, it could ruin your life.

She went home and began designing invitations for the Urban Alliance gala. There weren’t enough sponsors, she decided. Rufus would know what to do about it. She got his number and telephoned him. She was taken aback when his initial response to her call was unfriendly; he was deep into his current manuscript, Subculture of the American Juvenile, he explained, and hadn’t wanted to be disturbed. But he’d immediately become warm and agreeable.

“Give me an hour, and I can get over there,” he stated, as if confident that she would accept his offer. She couldn’t help smiling. To begin the day with Judd Logan and end it with Rufus Meade would tax a saint—that is, unless the saint was slightly sweet on Rufus, her conscience whispered.

She pushed the thought aside and asked him, “How far away are you, Rufus?”

“Fifteen minutes. Just over in Chevy Chase. Why? You need something that’ll melt? Or maybe something that’ll melt you? Hmm?” He laughed, but she refused to join in his merriment. She wished he’d be consistent and stop the sexual teasing, since they had both sworn not to get involved.

“Are you bringing the boys? Should I dash out and get some ice-cream?”

He answered gruffly, yet seemed touched. “Thanks, no. They’re over at Jewel’s house, playing with their cousins. I’ll see you shortly.”

Naomi hung up and leaned against the edge of her kitchen table. Rufus claimed that he would not permit anything to happen between them, and that was fine with her, because she couldn’t afford it. But his behavior didn’t always suit his words. He teased her, and though he didn’t telephone her, when they spoke, he took every opportunity to make her aware of him as a man. A desirable man. She shook her head in wonder, but her bewilderment was fleeting; she spun on her heels and headed for her bedroom.

“Two can play this game,” she told herself, as she remembered how elegant he’d been when he’d come to her house, even when he’d had the twins with him. “If he’s a phony,” she muttered, “we’ll both know it soon.” She reached into her closet for her silk knit “Sherman tank,” a sleeveless cowl-necked magnet for males, dismissed caution, and shimmied into it.