Читать книгу In His Arms - Yasmin Sullivan - Страница 10

Chapter 2

Rashad Brown slipped the extra portfolio under his arm and followed Michelle to the elevator. He would have offered to take anyone home, but he was intrigued by this woman and wanted to know more about her. There was something about how easily she smiled and how open she was that let him know he would enjoy spending time with her. He couldn’t help being a little disappointed that she was taken already; son generally meant husband, as well. But she could still be a friend.

Now that class was over, he could actually look at her. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than he was, and her hair was long and loose, with a slight curl at the end. She had on a powder-blue top with lace around the neck, down the front, at the bottom of the sleeves and at the hem. It gave her a feminine quality that matched her smile. She also had on blue leggings that fit her curves in all the right places—at least as far as he could see. There was nothing fancy, but it all made her look beautiful.

When she turned around in the back of the elevator, he could see her face again. Her full cheeks gave her face the impression of always being on the verge of a smile. Her eyes were light brown, almost translucent, as if he could look right through them and they could do the same to him. Her lips were soft and plump, and they smiled now as she looked toward him in the crowded elevator and nodded. Now that he was facing her, he could see that her curves were filled out in every direction—supple, full, inviting.

Rashad glanced at the floor number when the elevator bell rang, frustrated that he couldn’t continue his perusal but mindful that it was probably for the best.

Their conversation erupted again—and as easily as it had before—as soon as they got to his car, which was in the parking garage right across the street from the Torpedo Factory.

“Can we park here?” Michelle asked. “I’ll be driving again by next week. My car’s only in the shop for a couple of days.”

Rashad hid his disappointment and explained the terms of the lot.

“There were other lots listed,” she said. “I’ll check those, too.”

“Before class started, you were saying that you aren’t an artist as yet.”

Michelle laughed. “I would love to say yes. But no. I love to draw and paint and want to learn how to really do it. I’m a student in the Department of Journalism in the School of Communication at Howard—”

“I went to Howard, as well, up through the MFA in design. Go Bisons!”

“Uh. Yeah. Go Bisons,” Michelle echoed halfheartedly.

Both of them laughed.

“I do support my home team,” Michelle clarified.

“But you don’t follow sports.”

Michelle shook her head as they were getting into the car.

“I’m an advertising student, and I want to be able to do original artwork for my advertising. We have to have a portfolio before we graduate, so now’s the time to learn. What about you? Why are you in the class?”

“I finished a few years ago, and I work as a graphic designer for a web design firm in downtown D.C.”

“Really?” Michelle said. “That sounds impressive. Congratulations.”

Rashad took his eyes off the road for a couple seconds and glanced over to see if she was serious. She seemed sincere, and that felt good.

“It’s not that impressive, but thank you. Anyway, I like being able to do my own thing rather than cutting and pasting all the time. I figure the more I know about drawing and the better I am at it, the more I can do and the better my work will be. My goal is to do more computer-based drawing, but you have to start with the fundamentals.”

“They have all of that at the Corcoran College of Art and Design. I wanted to take Digital Design I, but their prices are incredible, even to audit.”

The excitement in Michelle’s voice seemed to light up the car with energy. Rashad liked that.

“I checked there, too,” Rashad said. “It’s only more expensive because they offer regular college courses at regular college prices. The Art League offers some range, as well. We’ll have to see what’s listed for next semester. Why aren’t you taking this at Howard? It could be part of your regular tuition.”

Michelle sighed heavily. “I wish I could. I might be able to take a class or two later on, but now I can’t. I just started back at school, and they only took some of my credits. So to get out in the time I want, I have a full part-time load. I’ll see as I go on.”

“Hey, do you know where we are?”

“I have no idea.”

Both of them laughed again.

“I might have to meet you before our next class so you can follow me in.”

Michelle held her hand up. “No need. I have a zillion D.C. area street maps. I can’t thank you enough for the ride home. Not everyone would have offered.”

“It’s no problem, really. I’m not that far from you, and it’s my pleasure.”

“Still, thank you.”

Rashad heard the earnestness in Michelle’s voice and acquiesced.

“You’re welcome.”

Then he had a thought. “If you ever need a ride again, or if you ever want to carpool and save on gas, let me know.” It would be great to ride with her on a regular basis, get to know her better. He had to stop and remind himself that she was married.

“Okay, I will. But for now, I just want my car back. I’m lost without it, and I didn’t want to miss our first class, so I’m learning even more about the Metro.”

“And you already know that pretty well.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I take it you haven’t been in D.C. long. Did you come for school? How long have you been here?”

“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to make small talk. I’d appreciate the ride home regardless.”

“I want to know. You seem very nice, and it’s good to know someone in our class—just in case I need to get a homework assignment or something.”

That wasn’t all that Rashad was thinking, but it was all that he could say without the risk of offending her. He couldn’t let on that he was taken with her smile and her laughter and... What was he doing? The woman was married.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her peering at him, trying to determine whether he was actually interested or just chatting.

“Okay,” she finally said. “I’ve been in the D.C. area for two years.”

The laughter started low in Rashad’s throat and bubbled up to the surface, getting louder along the way until it finally broke free.

She gave his shoulder a light swat, but she was laughing, as well.

“I’m sorry. Two years, and you only know the Metro?”

“Well, I didn’t have a car the whole time. And I have work and—”

“You mean you haven’t gotten out very much.”

“Okay, no. I haven’t.”

Rashad wanted to say that he would make sure she got out more, but he didn’t know how to say that without implying what he really meant—that he wanted to take her out. He shook his head, pondering it.

“Street maps, I told you. I have street maps.”

Both chuckled again.

“And I do know where we are now.”

“That’s because we’re in Greenbelt now—we’re almost at your door.”

“Well, yes.”

She smiled, and he loved her smile.

“What’s your address?”

When she said the number and street, Rashad realized that they really were almost at her door. He got a rather let-down feeling. Strange.

He drove through the maze of buildings in the apartment complex until he found hers; then he pulled up to the walk to let her out.

“Again,” Michelle said, “I can’t thank you enough. Really.”

“De nada. I’ll see you in class next week—homework in hand.”

“Yes, you will. It was nice meeting you, and I’m glad to know someone else in the class. Let me grab my portfolio from the backseat so I can go get to my son.”

“Sweet dreams.”

He shouldn’t have said that; he should have simply said goodbye. But somehow this woman made him think of just that—sweet dreams. Now he had to figure out why.

“Good night,” she said.

On the way home, Rashad was aware of the quiet in the car, the absence of the energy that Michelle had brought to it. He pulled into his garage, turned off the engine and followed the walkway to his front door, still wondering what kind of spell had come over him.

He picked up his mail from behind the mail slot in the door and turned on the living room light. He looked around the room with new eyes and saw that he would be pleased to have her in it. His Ralph Lauren leather living room set had a high shine, and the Amish wood pieces matched it perfectly. Nothing in the room was frilly or feminine, but that was to be expected.

Unfortunately, nothing in the room was child-friendly, either. For the first time, he noticed the beveled edges of the glass coffee table, the sharp corners of the end tables and the points protruding from the wrought iron magazine rack. Ouch. There were also breakable things everywhere—the sculpture on one of the end tables, the glass he’d left on the coffee table that morning, the picture frames on the other end table.

But how old was Michelle’s son? She barely seemed old enough to be married with a child, so he couldn’t be that old.

Rashad whistled, and Shaka Zulu, his Yorkshire terrier, came bounding in from the kitchen.

“Hey, fella. Were you eating this late? Why didn’t you come when I got home? You mad at me for being out so late?” He scratched the dog under the chin. “You’re a child-friendly little one, aren’t you? Okay, I’m talking to the dog now.” What was it about that woman?

Actually, she seemed about his age, mid-twenties. Maybe early twenties. According to his brothers, that was more than old enough to be married with responsibilities, but Rashad put his brothers and their ribbing out of his mind.

Shaka followed him upstairs to his bedroom, where Rashad began changing from the long day. He loved that art class, but Wednesdays would be hell from here on—at least for eight more weeks. It also meant that he couldn’t stay at work late on hump day anymore.

Actually, he’d be glad to start leaving work on time if he could show Michelle some of the city. And there she was again—on his mind.

Rashad had dated during and after college, but not seriously. He was used to meeting women, going out, having a good time. He wasn’t used to liking a woman so much immediately, especially one who was off the market anyway.

And this one wasn’t really his type. It stumped him. But maybe that meant they were destined to be friends. He could live with that—or so he thought. But as he climbed into bed, he thought of Michelle’s ample curves and sighed.