Читать книгу Hollington Homecoming, Volume Two - Adrianne Byrd, Pamela Yaye - Страница 18

Chapter 9

At ten o’clock the next morning, Terrence turned onto Penrose Drive and searched for house number forty-nine. The suburban neighborhood of East Point featured impressive homes, neat lawns and a surfeit of shiny convertibles.

Terrence found Kyra’s condo at the end of the block. Decorative flower plants flanked the porch and fine calligraphy script beautified a pair of wooden rocking chairs. Trees arched gracefully along the entrance, and behind the row of mailboxes was a small pond. A red Dodge Viper car was parked in the driveway. Knots of tension twisted in his stomach. That wasn’t Kyra’s car. So whose was it? Charles’s?

His luxury sports car rolled to a stop, but Terrence didn’t take his foot off the brake. What was Charles doing here? Had he come for breakfast or had he spent the night? He hadn’t considered, not even for a moment, that Kyra might be in love with Charles Roberts. She rarely mentioned the guy, and when she wasn’t working late she was with her friends. Terrence didn’t want anyone up under him 24/7, but if Kyra was his woman, he’d want to see her all day, every day.

He’d been smiling ever since he’d reunited with Kyra and thoughts of her snuck up on him when he least expected it. Yesterday, he was confident that he was making progress, but now he was back at square one. Still annoyed about his run-in with Aimee last night at The Tavern, he released a long, pained sigh. Aimee’s arrival had ruined everything. And he knew that she’d badmouthed him to Kyra after he left the table. That’s just the kind of girl Aimee Phillips was. He shook his head at the inanity of the situation. Of all the women in his past, he’d been dogged by a sister who could be the spokesperson for the Gold Diggers of America.

Terrence considered his options. Coming clean about his fling with Aimee would open the door to other conversations about his past. Did Kyra really need to know about that raucous weekend in Rio? Or about the DUI he’d been charged with last year?

His knee was acting up, but he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to see Kyra. He’d popped a couple of aspirin, had a shot of whiskey and jumped into his car. His decision was an easy one to make. He was going to do what he’d always done in the face of adversity. Forge ahead. After all, Charles Roberts was the least of his problems. Kyra’s temporary boyfriend wasn’t the biggest obstacle. Their past was.

Terrence released his seat belt. He had his work cut out for him. It was going to be an uphill battle to win Kyra’s trust, but he was nothing if not determined. Shoving his keys into his pocket, he reached across the seat and grabbed the bags of takeout.

Strolling up the walkway, he took the steps two at a time and rang the doorbell. A half-minute later, he heard light footsteps. Terrence wasn’t sure how he’d feel if Charles answered, but before he could reflect on it, the door swung open. Terrence didn’t know if he should be surprised or relieved. Aimee didn’t speak, but her arched eyebrows and upturned mouth spoke of her annoyance. “What do you want?”

Staggered to see her, he greeted the personal chef with all the kindness he could muster. “How’s it going, Aimee?”

Her frown deepened.

A dead ringer for the late singer Aaliyah, she wore her hair parted down the middle and a revealing, bone-white dress that offered two cupfuls of cleavage. “You look very nice today. Are you catering an event this—”

“You didn’t drive over here to hand out compliments, so get to it.”

“I’m here to see Kyra.”

“She’s busy.” Her tongue clicked against her teeth, making a loud, annoying sound. “You really should have called first. Showing up uninvited is in poor taste, Terrence, even for you.”

“You don’t understand. I—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she snapped, making a face that could rival Ugly Wanda. “Don’t think for a second that I’m going to let you play my best friend, Terrence. I know your MO and I’m onto you, so don’t even try it.”

The devil doesn’t wear Prada, he thought, she wears Apple Bottoms. Like a menacing-looking security guard at a gated mansion in the Hollywood Hills, Aimee was barring his entrance into Kyra’s house and seemed to take great pleasure in insulting him.

“Kyra’s expecting me,” he told her, annoyed that she was spoiling for a fight at this ungodly hour. “If it wasn’t for the accident on Ninth, I would’ve been here an hour ago.”

After five miserable hours of sleep, he’d dragged himself out of bed and made the hour-long trek to East Point to have brunch with Kyra. He wasn’t here to listen to Aimee run her mouth. That was one of the reasons he’d stopped calling her. She talked constantly and had something to say about everything. In her mind, silence was the enemy, and if there was a break in the conversation, she felt it was her duty to fill it with mindless jibber-jabber. “Are you going to go and get her for me?”

Aimee shook her head, her ponytail swishing back and forth. “She’s getting dressed and I’m on my way out, so call her later,” she suggested, gathering her purse. “Now, get out of my way. I’m running late.”

“No problem. You go about your business and I’ll wait for Kyra in the kitchen.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Arms folded, she sneered at him with open contempt. “There’s another man in Kyra’s life and I don’t think he’d like you sniffing around.”

“It’s not like that. Kyra and I went to Hollington together. We’re old friends.”

Surprise colored her cheeks. Her green-eyed glare spoke of her malevolence, but she loosened her grip on the door handle. “You’re not interested in Kyra romantically?” she asked, her tone accusatory. “Last night at The Tavern, you sure looked interested. You had your arms around her and you were drooling like my brown lab!”

Appearing nonchalant, he hung his thumb off the front pocket of his jeans. “We’re old friends,” he told her, producing a smile. His mother had taught him nothing good could come from lying, but if he wanted to get past Aimee, he had to tell her what she wanted to hear. “Kyra’s seeing someone and I’m not looking to catch a beat down. I’m just landscaping her yard. Nothing more than one friend helping another.”

Aimee’s frown fell away and was replaced with a smile so bright it could power the entire state of Georgia. Eyes centered square on his face, she twined one leg behind the other and wet her lips with more flair than Marilyn Monroe. It was like letting the air out of a balloon. Her face softened, the tension in her shoulders receded and she looked like she’d been worked over by a masseuse.

Terrence thought he heard movement behind her and peered inside. The shutters were open, and the sun was making mosaic shapes on the mahogany floors. Cool blue walls blended easily with the opulent, crystal chandelier, the oak staircase and luxurious draperies. He felt connected to Kyra, and Aimee—or any other temptress who tried—wasn’t going to come between them.

After a nasty spill off his motorcycle a few years back, he’d heeded his coach’s advice and cleaned up his act. No more late nights at the club, no more bar fights, and no more girls like Aimee Phillips. He wanted more than just another pretty face and a bangin’ body. He wanted the total package. Someone thrilling and fun who wasn’t concerned with where he ranked on lists of richest athletes.

“Oh, I see. Well in that case, we should definitely hook up while you’re in town. I’m moving down here soon, and I could really use a friend.” Aimee asked if he needed a date for Snoop Dogg’s album release party and thrust her breasts in his face for good measure. “Are you game?”

Terrence shook his head. Aimee hadn’t changed one bit. The personal chef was still looking for someone to take care of her. And not just anyone, either. It had to be someone famous and ridiculously wealthy who could use their celebrity status to open doors for her. Though she’d once ditched him and hooked up with a hot-shot baseball player with a fleet of luxury jets, Terrence harbored no hard feelings toward her. Why would he when he had Kyra? Aimee had perfected the naughty-but-nice look and had the longest legs outside of Nevada, but Kyra was the type of woman he’d been looking for. Authentic, straightforward and more beautiful than words, Terrence knew that he could always count on Kyra to tell him the truth. Aimee had the loyalty of a stray cat, and though she was an attractive woman, she couldn’t be trusted.

“Aimee, you’re still here?”

Terrence stepped around Aimee and pushed open the door. Without makeup, Kyra barely looked legal, and the fuchsia bandana covering her hair enhanced her youthful appeal. Her extra-long tank top and shorts were loose-fitting, but her beauty was unmistakable. It shone from within, from her core, from the depths of her soul. Aimee was decked out in white, but Kyra was the one who looked innocent. And when she greeted him with a cheery wave, his heart thumped louder than a hundred conga drums.

He held up the bags. “I brought brunch.”

“Something smells delicious.” Aimee pointed a jeweled finger at the bag. “Do you have poached sausages in there?”

Terrence nodded. “I have breakfast enchiladas, too. They’re Kyra’s favorite.”

Groaning, Aimee rubbed a hand over her stomach. “I wish I could stay, but I have a meeting downtown with a potential client.”

“Then you better get going. Traffic’s thick heading south.” Terrence didn’t mean to be rude, but when Aimee stomped off, he knew she’d taken offense. An eye roll, a flick of her hair, and she was gone. Not wanting to appear eager, he waited until he heard the door slam, before setting his sights back on Kyra. “Great house,” he said, glancing around. A marriage of classical and urban architecture, the two-storey home featured an arched opening, cherrywood furniture and generous shelf space. “The decor’s very cool. Eclectic but modern. I like it.”

“Your place is probably ten times this size.”

“It’s not the size of a house that makes it a home,” he told her. “It’s the people who live there and the love and respect they share.”

“Uh-oh. Someone’s been watching too many Jimmy Stewart movies.”

“Who?” Terrence scratched his head. “Is that the guy in all those old movies you used to force me to watch?”

Her laughter filled the room. It was a soft, almost musical sound and her eyes were sparkling. Terrence felt his heart inflate. Finally, something was going right. Kyra was laughing, and that was always a good thing.

“I forgot, you never liked the classics. Baby Boy is more your style, isn’t it?” Kyra wore a coy, closed-mouth grin and if it wasn’t for the distance between them, he would have kissed her. He’d never been one to push up on a woman, but he was only human. How could anyone withstand that delicious smile? Desire consumed him and the more he fought it, the more he wanted her. It was that age-old cat and mouse game; he was enjoying the chase.

“So, what were you and Aimee talking about?”

“Nothing.” To put her mind at ease, he decided to tell the truth. “Kyra, I don’t know what she told you, but we were never a couple. We went out a few times, but nothing happened between us.”

Kyra shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I was just curious.”

“I’m going to set up brunch out on the patio,” he said, anxious to distance himself from his past. “Why don’t you meet me outside with a pitcher of your famous watermelon lemonade?”

“But—”

“Ky, don’t argue. Just let me do something nice for you.” In four long strides, he was in her personal space. She smelled like orchids and her lips looked sweet. Terrence was a quick study and though he’d only been back in Hollington for a week, he had a good picture of who Kyra Dixon was. The PR director was a woman of incredible poise and strength, but beneath all of her admirable qualities was someone who was hurting. Terrence had to show her how special she was. With that thought in mind, he slipped a hand across her shoulders and led her through the French doors.

* * *

Chuckling, Terrence put down his glass and sat back in his wicker chair. “Come on, Kyra. Everyone knows women lie more than men. Weaves, acrylic nails, five-inch heels to make you taller.” He lifted the tablecloth and paused when he saw her red painted toes poking out of her sandals. “It’s all part of the female conspiracy, and every time a guy buys a woman and her girlfriends a round of cocktails, he feels like a sucker.”

Kyra giggled. “We get all dolled up to go out because that’s what you men like. You guys drool over curvy centerfolds and we sisters are just trying to stay in the game.” She pointed a finger at him. “And just so you know, no one wakes up looking like a sex kitten. Eva Menendez has bed head and bad breath just like the rest of us!”

Their laughter floated on the afternoon breeze.

“Sounds like someone has a touch of celebrity envy,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “God, I hope you don’t have a secret aspiration to be an actress or something because I’m sick of meeting women whose life goal is to be on the big screen.”

“I couldn’t handle all the scrutiny that comes with being famous. Hell, I’d get a tummy tuck, too, if I was dissed on one of those gossip Web sites.”

“I’d die before I’d let you do that. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

“And all natural!” she added, laughing.

“That you are, baby. That you are.”

Kyra took a bite of her four-cheese omlette. Chasing it down with water, she noticed the defiant slope of his jaw and the odd look on his face. She wanted to know what he was thinking, but didn’t have the courage to ask. Steering the conversation to a safer topic, she asked about his plans for the weekend. “Are you going to Snoop Dogg’s party? It’s all Aimee could talk about during our workout.”

“That depends. What are you doing tonight?”

He looked deep into her eyes and when he smiled, her heart murmured. Kyra made a point of dropping Charles’s name into the conversation, but every time their fingers accidentally touched, she had an overpowering desire to kiss him. To just lean over and plant one on him. Her face flushed at the thought. She’d obviously lost grip with reality, and if she knew what was good for her, she’d stay on her side of the table. “Charles is taking me to the theater.”

“Mind if I come?”

“Right, like you’d skip the biggest party of the year to see an all-woman play.”

“I would,” he affirmed with a quick nod of his head. “I’m sick of the single scene. If the right woman came along, I’d propose in an instant.”

Her mouth creaked open.

“Don’t look so surprised, Kyra. I haven’t been an Eagle Scout, but I’m not as bad as the media makes me out to be. Pro athletes need love, too!”

“With your wild bachelor lifestyle, I find it hard to believe you’re ready for a monogamous relationship.”

“Having a wife and family is all that really matters.”

Kyra wasn’t convinced. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“There’s nothing sudden about it. I’ve been partying like a rock star since I entered the NFL, and now it’s time to grow up. At least, that’s what Big Mama says!”

His deep, rumbling laugh brought a smile to her lips. He sobered, and spoke openly about the challenges of being wealthy in a country obsessed with looks and celebrity. Kyra listened, enraptured by the sound of his voice. In that moment, Terrence reminded her of the sweet, caring guy she’d fallen for all those years ago. And if she was being honest with herself, he’d never, ever left her heart. In spite of their acrimonious breakup, he still represented everything she wanted in a man. Sincere, down-to-earth, chivalrous. In her book, Terrence was still one hell of a guy and the more he talked about family and community, the more she fantasized about kissing him.

“I want someone to come home to. Someone who has my back.” Pain filled his dark brown eyes. “You can’t put a monetary value on love, Kyra. It’s a special thing, and hard to find. I want a wife, kids and a happy family. That’s my definition of success.”

“You really mean that?”

His gaze pinned her to the chair. “With all my heart.”