Читать книгу Every Beat Of My Heart - Kianna Alexander - Страница 12

Chapter 3

Lina could feel her heart pounding in her chest like thunder. She blinked, sucked in a breath. But that only served to fill her nostrils with the woodsy, masculine scent of Rashad’s cologne. A shiver went through her body as she recalled the way that scent had smelled, clinging to her skin and to her bedding.

She raised her gaze and found him watching her in silence. Every bit of good sense she possessed abandoned her as she looked into his dark eyes. He was entirely too much man, and she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by him.

His soft lips parted. “Have a drink with me. I know a little place not far from here. You can follow me there, what do you say?”

Before she could think, the response fell out of her mouth. “Yes.” The moment she heard herself say it, she cringed, knowing it was too late to take it back.

He was already striding away, toward his pickup truck parked a few spaces away. “Great. I’ll drive slowly so you won’t lose me in downtown traffic.”

Resigning herself to go along with him as agreed, she climbed into her car, closed the door and buckled up. By the time she started the engine, he was already idling at the curb, ready to pull out into the road. She eased her car up behind his big truck and waited.

It took about ten minutes to arrive at the “little place” he’d spoken of, a bar called Shout Down Babylon. He parked in an empty spot right in front of the entrance, and she slipped into one a few spots over. By the time she’d unbuckled her belt, he opened her door and extended his hand to help her out of the car.

She took his offered hand and climbed out. Once her vehicle was secured, she followed him inside the small, one-story brick building.

The interior of the bar was smoky, as she’d expected. She could tell from the pungent scent that most of the people inside were smoking cigars or pipes instead of cigarettes. The wood paneled walls were covered with neon signs advertising beers and liquor, as well as a few battered license plates and sporting equipment. Among the artifacts were several photos of Bob Marley, Sean Paul, Mad Lion and various other performers of reggae, dancehall and soca music. One sign in particular caught her attention. She read the sign aloud. “Welcome to Bull Country. Warning: Bears Shot on Sight.” Shaking her head at the old athletic rivalry between two local universities, she raised herself onto one of the padded leather stools.

Rashad simply sat next to her, at his towering six foot two inches of height he didn’t need to stretch or stand on his toes to sit on a bar stool. As the bartender approached, he ordered a root beer.

When the bartender turned to her, Lina said, “I’ll have a ginger ale with lemon, please.” She knew better than to drink alcohol. It was hard enough for her to resist Rashad while sober. The last thing she needed right now was to make a stupid mistake with him, one she couldn’t take back.

With his bottle of root beer in hand, he asked casually, “How have you been?”

She offered a soft smile. “Pretty good. Actually, I just found out yesterday that I made senior partner at the firm.”

His easy grin broadened, his eyes lighting up as if to express his genuine happiness. “That’s great, congratulations! I know you’ve wanted that partner spot for a long time.”

She felt the blush creeping into her cheeks as he raised his bottle in her direction. She remembered the talks they’d had during their brief time as a couple. While he hadn’t been very forthcoming with details of his life, she’d openly shared her hopes and dreams with him.

He took a long draw from his bottle.

She squirted lemon into her soda and sipped from her own glass, noticing the awkward silence that had fallen between them. To break it up, she asked, “How about you? What have you been up to since I last saw you?”

He set the bottle down, his eyes connecting with hers. “You mean, other than thinking about you?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

He seemed to take the hint, and altered his approach. “I’ve been doing fine. I still work for the register of deeds office, still do the Wednesday night shows with the band, though we did take a little hiatus while Darius and Eve were on their honeymoon.”

She smiled at the mention of her best friend and her new husband. “These days, she’s glowing. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.”

“Darius is certainly happy, it even shows through in his playing on stage. Speaking of the shows, I haven’t seen you at one in a while.”

She lowered her gaze from his. “I think you know why, Rashad.”

He frowned. “Not really.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I know you and I aren’t together anymore.”

Because of your secrecy, she wanted to say. But she held her tongue and tried to keep the annoyance off her face.

“You can still come and enjoy the music.”

Rolling her eyes again, she met his gaze, and instantly regretted it. There it was again, that look he was so good at giving her. The dark, coffee-colored pools of his eyes seemed to hold a mixture of sincerity and desire. The longer she stared, the more she felt herself falling into them, being dragged back into his world.

The electronic jukebox behind her suddenly started up, blasting Shaggy’s hit “It Wasn’t Me.” The pounding syncopation of the music snatched her right out of Rashad’s world and back into reality. Shaking off the remnants of his charms, she decided to use this evening to her advantage. “So, how bad do you really want Monk’s piano?”

His back stiffened, as if he didn’t like that she’d changed the subject. “I’m sure I want it more than you do. You’ve never been into Monk the way I am.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “True, but my mother is about as big a fan of Thelonious Monk as a person can be.”

Now his brow hitched in surprise. “You mean you want the piano for your mother?”

She nodded. “She’s been feeling poorly lately, and I know she’d love to have it. It’s just the thing to raise her spirits, and since I got the promotion, I figured, what the hell?”

He cupped his chin, moving his fingers along his smooth, clean shaven skin. “That’s honorable and everything, and no offense to Mrs. Smith, but I’m going to do whatever I have to, to win the bid.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I hope your mother’s health improves, but we’re talking about a piece of jazz history here. If it wasn’t for Monk, I never would have touched the eighty-eights. I have to have this piano.”

She couldn’t hold back her chuckle. She had nothing but respect for civil servants, since she worked with them on a daily basis. However, she also knew they weren’t exactly well paid. “You and I aren’t the only ones who want it, and from the looks of Mrs. Parker, she’s got some serious resources.”

He shifted on the bar stool, downed the last of his root beer. His gaze hardened and focused on the wall of spirits behind the bar. “You don’t think I can beat her bid?”

“No offense, but it’s a possibility. She looks like she could outbid us both.”

“Speak for yourself. You don’t know everything about me.”

She scoffed. “That’s for damn sure.”

He swiveled his head toward her. “Are we really going to do this here? Do we really need to revisit your trust issues?”

She pursed her lips. “My trust issues? I’m not the one who always had something to hide.”

“Not telling you every single detail of my life is not the same as hiding things from you.”

Draining the last of her ginger ale, she grabbed her purse and slid from the bar stool. “That’s where we disagree, Rashad. I opened up to you, and all I got in return was the brush-off.”

“I’m not your ex, Lina. You’re never going to be happy until you stop blaming all men for his shit.”

That did it. She turned her back on him, and without anther word or a backward glance, strode to the door and left.

* * *

Rashad dunked a boneless buffalo wing into his cup of ranch dressing and popped it into his mouth. From his corner of the booth at the Brash Bull, he had a pretty good view of the big screens displaying various sporting events. The televisions were muted, as usual, with the closed-captioning turned on. Most of the noise in the place was coming from the booth he shared with the other members of his jazz quartet, the Queen City Gents.

The men were currently entertaining themselves by teasing Darius about his so-called honeymoon glow. Having returned less than a month ago from an island hideaway with his new bride, Eve, Darius’s personality had taken a noticeable turn toward sappy.

Darius, the band’s bassist and Rashad’s ace since their days in college, pounded his fist on the table. “Y’all are just jealous that I’m getting some on a regular basis, and from a gorgeous woman at that.”

Swallowing a mouthful of beer, Marco scoffed. “Please. I never lack for female affection.” The saxophonist, a native of Costa Rica and a self-proclaimed ladies’ man, wore an expression that conveyed just how sure of himself he was.

Darius groaned. “Marco, we’re not talking about man-whoring. We’re talking about commitment here.”

Ken “the Zen” Yamada, the band’s drummer, barely looked up from his phone as he spoke. “This is why I don’t bother with dating. Women are just a source of contention between us.”

Darius shot back. “You know, Ken, I’m starting to think your ass is gay.”

Rashad simply smiled at their banter, preferring to enjoy his wings and beer instead of get involved in their pointless debate.

From his seat on the bench, Darius elbowed Rashad. “Don’t you have something to say, man?”

Rashad shook his head, keeping his eyes on the television nearest the table. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”

He was watching the local twenty-four-hour news channel focused on happenings around North Carolina. An image of two wrecked cars appeared, and Rashad read the transcript ticking by on the screen.

As he focused on the news anchor’s words, he realized that the accident had taken place in Charlotte, and that the owner of the auction house he’d been at last night, as well as the auctioneer, had been injured. The story continued to scroll by, ending with an announcement that the auction house would be closed, and all auctions would be postponed for at least two weeks.

“What are you staring at, Rashad?” The question came from Marco, and cut into his thoughts.

“The news. It looks like I’ll have to wait for my shot at Monk’s piano. The auction house is shut down for a couple of weeks.” Rashad grabbed a napkin and wiped the wing sauce from his fingers. He’d been looking forward to going over to the auction house that night, though it wasn’t his usual Saturday night activity.

Now, with the auction delayed, he could put more of his focus on obtaining the other rare treasure he wanted to make his own: Lina.

He imagined how she would act in a courtroom, arguing some poor opposing counsel under the table; or in her office, diligently attending to client paperwork and phone calls. She took her career very seriously, and he didn’t blame her. Her passion for the law was evident, and as the old saying went, if you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.

Darius elbowed him in the ribs. “Rashad, I hear there’s drama at county. What do you know about it?”

Darius’s pointed question drew Rashad out of his fantasy, and he groaned. “All I know is that the county budget is being cut, drastically. Right now, we don’t know how it’s going to affect us at the courthouse.”

“Sounds like things are pretty uncertain over there.” Marco ran his hand over his chin as if thinking.

Rashad agreed. “They are. What about you, how are things in the fast-paced financial world?”

“Same old, same old.” Marco shrugged, as if his work as vice president of Royal Community Bank was no big deal.

Rashad knew better. Royal was the largest minority owned private financial institution in the state.

Ken volunteered, “I’m in the running for a pretty big design contract for the city. Hopefully the budget cuts won’t put the kibosh on it.”

Rashad doubted the budget cuts would cause problems for Ken. As a skilled graphic designer, Ken’s services were always in demand. Aside from that, it was almost always more economical to hire a freelancer than to take on the costs of a full-fledged employee.

Darius joked, “No one ever asks me about my work.”

Rashad shook his head, punched his friend in the shoulder. “That’s because we all know you don’t do any. As long as you keep inviting us down to the beach house, we’re willing to overlook it.”

“Don’t be jealous of my awesome retirement.”

Rashad scoffed and punched him again. “Don’t be an ass about it, then.”

The basket of wings in the center of the table was empty now, so Rashad used a couple of Wet-Naps to clean up. Grabbing his wallet from the back pocket of his black slacks, he pulled out a twenty to cover his share of the tab and tip.

“I’m out, guys.” Rashad eased out of the booth, keys in hand.

His friends said their goodbyes as he strolled out of the building.

Inside the cab of his pickup truck, he started the engine and pulled out of the small lot. He thought about Lina as he navigated the streets of downtown Charlotte, taking I-77 out of the city toward his luxury housing complex.

The way she’d walked out on him the previous night, he knew he should probably let her cool off. Since he’d obviously upset her, he was willing to give her some space. Still, he was not willing to walk away from her, and what they could have together.

She was such a cynic, and he understood why. According to Lina, her ex-husband, Warren, had been an asshole of the highest order. He’d cheated on her at every opportunity and then further insulted her by assuming she was too stupid to figure out what he was up to. Any woman would be cautious after what she’d gone through.

What Rashad didn’t understand was why she insisted on making him bear the burden of her mistrust. Sure, he flirted with the women in the front row when the Gents put on their shows, that was part of the act. He was lead singer, and if smiling and winking at a few women kept ticket sales up, what was the harm in that? Somehow, Lina had associated his stage persona with his true self, and assumed that if he winked and charmed from the stage, he must be seeing other women behind her back.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. When they were together he’d been faithful to her. Hell, since he’d broken up with her, he’d been on a self-imposed hiatus from dating and sex. After Lina, no other woman seemed to capture his interest.

By the time he pulled his truck into the two-car garage beneath his unit, he’d made up his mind. He’d back off for now, give her a few days to be mad at him. But come next week, he fully intended to ask her out again, so they could heal the rift between them.

A woman like Lina was as rare and precious a find as Monk’s piano, and he didn’t intend to let either slip through his fingers.