Читать книгу Games of the Heart - Pamela Yaye - Страница 10

Adjusting her baggy gray cardigan, Sage stared down pitifully at the white blouse underneath. Worried Marshall might recognize her, she’d ditched her designer threads for glasses, polyester pants and penny loafers. Scratching the itch on her forearm, she expelled the bitterness clogging her lungs. Sage didn’t need the Fashion Police to spring from the bushes to know she looked awful. No makeup, no jewelry, hair hidden under a thermal cap. If her girlfriends could see her now, they’d fall over laughing. If it wasn’t mentioned in Vogue, Sage didn’t give it a second glance. But this wasn’t about winning a fashion contest or getting some guy’s attention. She had a job to do, and nothing, not even wearing used clothes and dollar-store perfume, was going to deter her from signing Khari Grant.

According to the scouting report, Marshall Grant was generous with his time and money. In addition to his at-risk youth center, he was the conditioning coach of the Westchester Academy basketball team, did regular talks at inner-city schools and delivered groceries to seniors. Reading about Marshall had sparked her imagination and given her a foolproof plan. All she had to do was deliver her spiel and let him do the rest.

As Sage climbed the steps, she felt her conscience prick her with the pin of truth. Assailed by doubts, she took a moment to rethink what she was about to do. Some might say posing as a volunteer was a cruel, unconscionable scheme. Booting the thought from her mind, she pressed the doorbell. Bringing attention to the plight of needy children could never be a bad thing, even if she did have ulterior motives. Her words breathed confidence. What she was doing was a good thing. A very good thing. Commendable even. Pleased that her plan would benefit the less fortunate, she made a mental note to talk to all of her friends and clients about sponsoring a child in Haiti.

While she waited for someone to answer the door, she took in her surroundings. The lawn was edged with shrubs and trimmed bushes. Mature oak trees shielded the windows from intrusive sunlight and, aside from a few scattered leaves, the lush, landscaped yard was litter-free. Sage could hear dogs barking, but the neighborhood was surprisingly quiet.

Sage patted back a yawn. It hadn’t been easy finding the place. All of the streets in Meridian Hills looked the same, and she’d wasted an hour driving around searching for Marshall’s address. A kindly dog walker had pointed her in the right direction and ten minutes later she pulled her rental car up to 73 Irvington Lane.

Battling a mixture of fear and anxiety, she jabbed the buzzer again. She pulled her finger away, but the bell stuck and continued to chime. “Oh, shoot.” Unzipping her tote bag, she groped around for her car keys. She was trying to pry the buzzer loose when the door swung open and Marshall Grant appeared.

“Can I help you?”

Groaning inwardly, she slipped her keys back into her pocket. Things were not off to a promising start. Marshall was supposed to be impressed with her, not growling at her. Standing ruler-straight, Sage fed him her friendliest smile. “I’m sorry about that, but the buzzer got stuck. You should get that fixed.”

Marshall looked peeved and Sage sensed that he was about to slam the door in her face. “I was hoping to speak to you for a few minutes, but I can come back if now’s not a good time.”

To her surprise, he said, “It’s all right. Go on.”

Sage could tell that he was trying not to be rude. Good, he did have a soft side. That would make her job that much easier. Moving her clipboard aside, she pointed to the World Mission logo on the pocket of her sweater. “My name is Sage Collins and I’m a volunteer for World Mission International. Might I speak to you for a minute about our life-changing sponsorship program?”

His lips relaxed into a grin. There was that dimple again. Today he didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as he had two days ago. Sage didn’t drool over brawny-looking men, but there was something about Marshall Grant that made her heart pitter-patter. He had a powerful chest, big man hands and a voice deeper than the Grand Canyon. Dazzled by the warmth of his smile, she stared up at him, utterly captivated.

“Sure, I have a few minutes to spare.” Leaning against the door frame, he folded his arms across his chest. “You were saying?”

“I…was…ah,” she sputtered like a fish out of water. This was a first. Men didn’t leave her flustered. She left them tongue-tied fools, not the other way around. But the more she tried to focus, the more delicious Marshall Grant looked. Soulful eyes, and a cleft chin that softened his facial features and detracted from his imposing height, he was as cool as he was fine.

Leo’s image flashed in her mind, yanking Sage out of her lustful haze and back to the present. Collecting her thoughts, she glanced down at her clipboard. “Thank you so much for your willingness to make a difference in a child’s life. Six thousand children lose a parent to AIDS every day. At World Mission, we believe that we can make a difference.” Sage held up a picture of Chibu, a seven-year-old Haitian boy with sad eyes. She didn’t know anything about the child, but from what she’d read online, he was an orphan, living in a center with hundreds of other kids. Moved by his story, she had filled out the sponsorship application and committed to paying forty dollars a month to maintain his care. Now Chibu would receive medical care and she would use this real-life story to reach Marshall.

“AIDS ravaged Chibu’s family and left him to fend for himself. He’s been living at the Center of Hope Orphanage, and though his basic needs are being met, he’s unable to attend school. His reading and writing skills are poor, but at World Mission International we believe that with you and the help of others like you, we can bring hope not only to the village of Jacmel, but to the entire country.”

“I can tell by listening to you that this organization is near and dear to your heart.” Admiration filled his eyes. “You’re very passionate about what you do. That’s commendable and I wish there were more people like you.”

“You do?” Reading Chibu’s story had stirred some powerful emotions in her too. She was supposed to learn more about Marshall and Khari, not prattle nonstop about the problems plaguing Haiti, but she couldn’t help herself. “As citizens of the world, it’s important that we all do our part, don’t you think?”

“I do. It’s not easy going door-to-door, especially during the winter.” His voice was awash with nostalgia. “The first job I had was signing people up for the Indianapolis Post. It’s a very difficult job, isn’t it?”

“You’re right. It is.” Or at least she imagined it was. After Sage left Marshall’s house, she wouldn’t be knocking on any more doors. It was back to the Four Seasons to work on the second half of her plan.

“I remember this one elderly woman who lived in Stanford Park. She took one look at me and slammed the door in my face!” Chuckling, he shook his head at the memory. “I had ID, but some homeowners still wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

Thankful she’d had the foresight to go to the World Mission office, she smiled inwardly. A quick trip downtown had put a small dent in her sign-Khari-Grant fund, but it was money well spent. The supervisor, Ms. Pittney, had beamed as she scooped up T-shirts, pens and other merchandise bearing the World Mission logo.

“I’m glad you stopped by. I’ve been thinking about doing something like this for a while, but never got around to it.”

Her eyes danced over his face. His skin was a rich, creamy shade of brown, and he had a strong, defined chin. Policing her thoughts, she blinked hard, and quickly regained focus. Enough lusting. It was time to make her move. She had done her good deed for the day, now it was time to do something for herself. And nothing would make her happier than signing Khari Grant. “Do you have any children, sir?”

“Sir?” Marshall shook his head in disapproval. “I know I’m old, but I’m not that old,” he teased, his tone rich with humor. “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. Thirty?”

He rewarded her guess with a smile.

“You’re not going to tell me?” she asked, liking how quickly he had changed from the snarling homeowner to the grinning neighbor. Attractive in a long-sleeve, collared black sweater and slacks, he looked more relaxed than he had at Westchester Academy. But then again, he wasn’t trying to stop her from beating up on the school vending machine. Today, she was a humanitarian. Feeling flirtatious, and enjoying their playful banter, she cocked her head to the right. “If you tell me your age, I’ll tell you mine,” she promised.

“Only if you come inside for a quick drink.”

He didn’t have to ask her twice. “I’m right behind you, Mr. Grant.”

One look inside Marshall’s house and Sage knew he was a momma’s boy. Everything from the dainty glass tables, plush, luxurious rugs and frilly cushions was a doting mother’s handiwork. From the outside, the house was no showpiece, but the three-story home boasted lofty ceilings, gigantic picture windows and polished floors. The house felt lived-in and had obviously been decorated with tender, loving care.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“A glass of water would be great,” she said, holding her clipboard to her chest. “Walking around all day is exhausting.”

“I bet,” he agreed with a sympathetic nod. “Has there been a lot of interest in the sponsorship program?”

Remembering what Ms. Pittney said about last year’s Christmas campaign, Sage shook her head regretfully. “Not as many as we would have liked. More people sign up during the holidays. I guess it pacifies their guilt for buying things they don’t need, but by the time the New Year rolls around most sponsors have had a change of heart.”

“That’s terrible.”

The solemn expression on his face squeezed her heart. He really did care about the orphaned kids in Haiti. And there was no doubt in her mind that she’d be leaving with a financial contribution for World Mission International. An image of Ms. Pittney flashed in her mind, assuaging her guilt and bolstering her spirits. “It’s warm and toasty in here.” Glancing around, she rubbed her gloved hands together. “I’m from Las Vegas and not used to such cold weather.”

“What brought you all the way to Indianapolis?”

Caught off guard by his question, Sage racked her brain for a suitable answer. Snippets of her hour-long conversation with Ms. Pittney resurfaced. “World Mission has its headquarters here, and I felt it was important to make the trip out.” Marshall nodded, his eyes kind, and his expression sympathetic. Encouraged by his obvious interest, she went on. “I’m on a multicity tour to drum up more corporate donations. The AIDS treatment center in Haiti is desperately underfunded and on the verge of being closed.”

“Well, on behalf of Mayor Ballard and the entire city council, welcome to Indy.” Smiling, he motioned to the suede armchair to his left. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back with your drink.”

“Thank you,” she said, resisting the urge to do the cabbage patch in the middle of the area rug. Sage never imagined it would be this easy getting close to Marshall. Five minutes into the plan, and she was sitting inside the Grant house. By the end of the week, Khari Grant would be her newest client. Confident she’d be thousands of dollars richer, she settled into her seat with the grace of a queen.

The harsh, riveting sound of Marshall’s voice knocked the grin off Sage’s face. He was warning someone named Dale Williamson to stop calling his house. Occupied with her thoughts, she hadn’t even heard the telephone ring. Sage could tell by the hostility in his tone that he was pissed off. It was the same tone he’d unleashed on her when he caught her kicking the vending machine.

Intrigued, she stood and tiptoed across the living-room floor. Holding her breath, she pushed open the kitchen door and peeked inside. Marshall stood beside the stove, his teeth clenched and his fists tight.

“I don’t care what agency you’re from. My son’s future is not for sale. And if you call here again, I’ll have you charged with harassment.”

Sage gulped. Sweat dripped down her back and the knot in her stomach tightened. Those weren’t empty threats. Marshall meant business.

“No, I don’t want you to call me back next week. My answer isn’t going to change. Khari’s going to study medicine and that’s all there is to it. The NBA will not take care of my son in the way he needs. He needs an education first, not groupies and more money than he knows what to do with.”

Filing that piece of information away, she pushed open the door farther.

“I’d prefer if you left us the hell alone.”

Her shoulders sank. So much for a lead! News of Khari’s remarkable basketball skills had gotten out and now offers were rolling in. It was just a matter of time before sports agents from In the Know Management and Legends of Tomorrow and a host of other agencies descended on the city.

“Who are you spying on?”

Sage whipped around so fast, the door whacked her on the butt like a wooden paddle. Khari Grant dropped his backpack at his feet and sidled up beside her. Like most basketball players, he was lean, trim and over six feet tall. Imitating her posture, he bent down and pushed open the kitchen door. He listened for a few minutes before turning back to her. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “That’s just Dad being Dad. He gets like that sometimes.” His lips expanded into a boyish smile. “What’s up? I’m Khari.”

“Hi, Khari,” she greeted, liking the teenager instantly. “I’m Sage.”

“Cool name.”

“Thanks. I like it.”

Khari chuckled. “So you work for World Mission, huh?”

“No, I’m a—” Sage caught herself before she unwittingly blew her cover. “Yes, I volunteer a few days a month. But I have a regular job there too.”

Bending down, he retrieved his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “I gotta hit the books. Got a paper to write about Hamlet and his boy Horatio. Check you later.”

“About what you saw when you walked in,” she began, feeling the need to explain. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. Your dad sounded upset…I was going to go in the kitchen to see what was wrong, but I…I got scared,” she lied, praying he believed her.

His smirk told her he didn’t. “It’s all good, Sage.” He winked. “I do it too sometimes.”

The kitchen door swung open. When Marshall spotted Khari, his entire face came alive. “Khari, you’re home. How was study group?”

“All right, I guess. I’m starting to get the hang of this Shakespeare stuff.”

“Did you get back your physics test?”

Wearing a sheepish expression, he scratched the side of his neck. “I got a B minus, but it wasn’t my fault. Mr. Diefendorf wouldn’t give me extra time.”

“Khari, if you’re going to get into Harvard, you have to bring your grades way up.”

“I don’t want to go to Harvard, Dad. I’m going to play in the NBA. Coach says I’ve got what it takes to make it all the way.”

“No, you’re going to med school.” His voice was firm. “If you get your degree and decide you still want to play professional basketball, that’s fine, but at least you will have something to fall back on if things don’t work out.”

“I don’t know about all that. I ain’t—”

“Pardon me?” Marshall’s words came out in a stern rebuke, not a question.

Khari stared down at his sneakers. “I’m not thinking about medical school right now, Dad. I just want to pass English Lit and graduate with my friends.”

Marshall opened his mouth, but when he spotted the woman from World Mission standing by the fireplace, watching them intently, he swallowed his words. “We’ll talk about this later. I’ll be up in a few minutes to help you with your homework.”

Khari continued upstairs.

“I’m sorry about that. I almost forgot you were here,” he confessed, handing her a glass of water. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Sage took the drink from his outstretched hand and inadvertently grazed his fingers. Her heart pulsed with desire. Their connection was intense, and when he smiled at her, she knew he had felt it too. Underestimating the power of his touch, she stepped back to create more breathing room. “He seems like a good kid. And tall too!”

Marshall chuckled. “I hear that at least fifty times a day.”

“I bet. He must take after you.”

Sensing she had ventured into troubled waters, Sage adjusted her cardigan and slipped back into character. Returning to the couch, she picked up her clipboard and retrieved a World Mission brochure. “Now, if you’ll just fill out your personal information on this sponsorship form, I can be on my way.”

“There’s no rush,” he told her, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Can I interest you in something to eat? A muffin, some chocolate chip cookies, maybe? They’re homemade.”

His endearing half smile and the soft hue of his voice warmed every square inch of her body. I wonder what it would feel like to have those big, strong hands on my—Sage shook the thought from her mind. She tried to focus on something—anything but his toned arms and that broad chest—but her internal wiring was on the blink. Sage inhaled. There was something in the air. It was profound, crippling, more devastating than a tropical storm, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d blow her assignment on the first day. “That’s very kind of you, but no thanks.”

“It’s going to take me a few minutes to fill this out.” He uncapped the pen, but she remained the focus of his gaze. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

“Not at all.” Pleased that she’d regained control, she stood patiently, determined not to be affected by his scent, his dimples or his calming vibe. For some reason, his buttoned-up persona and commanding presence was a serious turn-on. One she hadn’t expected. Overwhelmed by the silence, and wanting to keep the mood light, she said, “It’s been a busy day, but as long as I get home in time for 24, I’m good!”

“That show’s amazing. It’s in its seventh season, but I’ve never missed an episode.”

“Me too!” she gushed. “The writing is great, the plot is tight and the characters are hot, especially Jack Bauer. Ummm…”

Marshall chuckled. “You’re too cute to be with such a rebellious hothead. Not to mention he’s almost twice your age.”

Sage sequestered a smile. So he thinks I’m cute. No doubt, the clean face, casual clothes and curly hair gave her a more youthful look; but just how young did he think she was? His genial, if-only-you-were-older expression told Sage everything she needed to know. Marshall Grant thought she was jailbait.

“All my guy friends go gaga over Elisa Cuthbert, and I bet you do too.”

“She’s not my type. I prefer a more sophisticated woman.”

Their eyes held for a beat too long. Standing there, looking large and in-charge in his black-on-black ensemble, Sage wondered what it would be like to kiss the attractive single father. Her breathing sped up as her body slowly became infected with lust. I must be really desperate to be fantasizing about kissing this small-town guy. Unable to reel in her emotions, she stared into his soft, luminous eyes. The last time she’d had sex, platform shoes were still in style, so being in close quarters with a dark, chocolate hunk was more than Sage could stand. Basking in the light of his smile, Sage licked her lips, and settled her nerves with a deep breath.

They studied each other for a long, quiet moment. Marshall had a presence about him, something fierce and compelling that she wouldn’t be able to withstand much longer. The man was Denzel Washington in Training Day—cool and deliciously sexy. Her mission was in trouble and it was only the day one. Damn!

“Stay awhile. At least long enough for me to pick your brain about the season premiere.” He hadn’t lowered his voice, but she inched closer. “Were you as shocked as I was when Schector was killed?”

Sage had known Marshall all of five minutes, but when he gestured for her to take a seat, she did, and then chatted animatedly about her favorite TV show. Marshall was a deep thinker, who appealed to her on strictly an intellectual level. Or at least, that’s what she told herself every time her gaze strayed from his face to his chest.

“Looks like you’re almost done,” she said, watching him scrawl his signature at the bottom of the form. “World Mission appreciates your generosity, Mr. Grant. You’re going to help so many needy children.”

“I told you, none of that ‘Mr. Grant’ stuff. Call me Marshall.”

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Had he just given her the look, or was it just a figment of her imagination? With her goal front and center in her mind, she stuffed the sponsorship form in her purse and thanked Marshall for his time. “I should get going.”

“I know this is going to sound strange, but I just have to ask. Have we met before?” The words shot out of his mouth, pinning her to the couch. “I never forget a face, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to place you. Maybe it’s the glasses. Do you wear contacts, as well?”

“Um, no, I…” Her voice stalled. Nothing came out but a pathetic squeak. Lowering her eyes, she tugged at her black thermal cap. She’d overstayed her welcome and now Marshall was hot on her trail. “I really have to run.” Scrambling to her feet, she snatched up her purse and made a break for it. But Marshall met her in the middle of the living room, looking amused and becoming more handsome by the second.

“I’ll show you out.” Laying a hand on her back, he gestured toward the short, narrow hallway that led to the foyer. Sage felt like she was walking on a trampoline. Her legs were quivering and she worried she might trip over her feet. It was hard staying calm with Marshall at her side, watching her every move.

“Be safe,” he cautioned, unlocking the door. “And next time you’re in the neighborhood, be sure to stop by for a drink. We can talk more about trying to save the world.”

Frowning, she stopped and glanced up at him. That’s it? No, “I’d love to take you out sometime,” or “How about you give me your number?” Going out with Marshall was risky, but Sage felt oddly disappointed by his lack of interest.

“Again, thank you so much for supporting World Mission.” Playing her part to the hilt, she handed him a fridge magnet, and hurried down the steps. When Sage turned and saw Marshall watching, she added more bounce to her walk. A toothy smile on her lips, she waved and hopped into her trusty rental. I shouldn’t have run off, she thought, throwing the car into drive, but now I have that fine, ex-military man right where I want him!