Читать книгу Captivated Love - Yasmin Sullivan - Страница 10

Chapter 2

Darien James was more on the casual side. He owned a few suits, but more often than not, he wore jeans with some kind of printed shirt or T-shirt, and to dress that up, he wore a nice shirt or a dashiki or a vest—maybe a jacket, if it was necessary. This was the second time in as many weeks that he’d had to step up his game, and he was starting to like it. He could see how to move back and forth between business and casual without losing sight of what drove him.

The last time had been just over a week ago, when he’d gone to the Law Offices of Benson and Hines. That was also the day he’d met Safire Lewis and gone out with her. She had a list for him—nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud, or something to that effect. He had a list for her as well, and it included the word siren. He hadn’t seen her since that night, and they hadn’t exchanged personal information, so he didn’t think he’d see her again. They seemed to be on different paths or in different places in their lives. She was on the fast track, and he’d gotten off the fast track some time ago—a move for the better, actually.

Now he sat in a conference room at the Nova Investment Firm, where he was representing the Heritage Community Arts, Education and Resource Center of Miami and waiting for the arrival of two more potential corporate backers for some of their programs. Nova had put this together pro bono to help the Heritage Center garner support from the local business community. His role was to describe the programs—the ones being offered already and the ones being added to better serve the community. He had worked at the Heritage Center for so long that he was confident in his ability to do this with minimal preparation. Nonetheless, he’d put together a very professional-looking packet of information.

The backing would also help with their Legal Assistance Program, but he didn’t expect Mr. Benson to show up, and he didn’t think that anyone from Benson and Hines would be there. He was surprised to see Safire Lewis enter the waiting area and look toward the conference room. It turned out that she was representing the Law Offices of Benson and Hines.

He could see her through the windows surrounding the conference room. Her crescent eyes sparkled with some inner mirth, and her high cheekbones were shaped into plump circles that puckered with her smile. Her lips were thick and full, making Darien remember how soft they were when he kissed her. She had a small, impish nose and a wide forehead. Though her face looked young, innuendo was written subtly over her features—in the way one side of her lips turned up in a smile, and the way she looked at him as if on the sly, as she did now through the window.

Her long hair was piled up on her head, placing an emphasis on her face that made her look young. Well, it made her look twenty-three. But she also flashed that cryptic Safire smile, the one that seemed sweet but that hid the temptress underneath, the one that made her look as if she was having a naughty thought. That was part of her attitude, an air she carried with her—an air of availability. But it wasn’t ordinary, not the way she wore it. She carried herself as if she was in control, as if she would be deciding what, how, when...and who. There was an air of loftiness to her that made her untouchable and kept her from seeming coarse or crass or vulgar.

She clacked into the room on two-and-a-half-inch heels wearing a green brocade miniskirt with a matching blazer and a green camisole. It was much like the outfit she’d worn when they’d met. But she was stunning even without the heels and short shirt. These made her attractive in an in-your-face kind of way that Darien found unnecessary. It wasn’t his bag, really, or at least it wasn’t until he saw it on Safire. She seemed to wear the culture of allure so naturally that it almost disappeared on her, leaving only her long legs and sharp eyes and shapely figure.

Still, she wore it, almost flaunting her beauty. He was used to the types who did this—or tried to do it. They were generally so impressed with themselves that they didn’t have time to be impressed with you, and they seemed to know that they could have anyone, so they eventually found someone they thought was better than you. In Darien’s experience, the beautiful ones who knew that they were beautiful were a danger, and almost everything he knew about Safire Lewis told him that she was one of these. Everything but the sudden tears that had fallen from her eyes like a brief burst of summer rain.

She was carrying a leather portfolio, which she plopped onto the table in the conference room before rounding to his side. She bent down and whispered, “Hello again, hottie.” She gave him a wink that the others could not see, and then she straightened herself, shaking his hand formally before proceeding around the table to introduce herself.

Darien couldn’t help being amused by Safire’s private greeting. He smiled and played along with her pretense of a polite exchange. He also took this as a signal to begin and pulled the packages he’d prepared out of his briefcase, handing them around the table as he followed Safire’s path introducing himself.

“You might want to glance through this as we wait,” he said to the potential backers. “The right-hand side has a detailed summary of our programs. Each description identifies our community’s need, our achievement goals, our assessment instruments and our projected program budgets, and each one indicates how long the program has been running or whether it’s a new addition to our fall lineup. The left-hand side is a packet of the brochures that we have describing the Heritage Center and its programs—current and forthcoming.” Darien finished handing out the packets and sat down. “I’ll talk about these once everyone is here, but you can browse through them now.”

“This is all very professionally done,” one of the panel members said.

“Well, we’ve been running for over fifty years, and we want to keep running for fifty more.” That drew genial laughter from the group. “Our programs have brought up SAT scores of participating high school students, and they’ve actually had an impact on student high school completion rates.”

“You seem a lot like the YMCA,” another panel member said.

“In some ways we are, but not all. We don’t run athletic programs. We do tutoring, family counseling and computer training, and we teach classes in art, reading and writing, music, history, math, science enrichment—”

“I see you’ve already started.” Alberta Evans, the manager of the project for the Nova Investment Firm, came in leading the two potential backers they were waiting for. Darien nodded and handed them all packets. Now they were really ready to begin.

Mrs. Evans opened up the meeting with remarks about their purpose for being there. Then she handed the proceedings over to Darien, who walked them through the packet and the programs. “The last thing I want to point out to you is the brochure for our upcoming fund-raiser. You’ll see all the ways you can participate on the back. These programs work, so they’re worth supporting.”

After Darien fielded questions, Mrs. Evans introduced Safire, who opened her portfolio and summarized what the Law Offices of Benson and Hines planned to do for the Legal Assistance Program, selling the whole package along the way. Darien was seeing Safire in action in the professional arena for the first time. She was efficient but endearing, and she was very persuasive. He could see why Benson and Hines had sent her.

After that, Mrs. Evans introduced the potential backers by name and industry, and they each said a bit about what kind of corporate backing they did and why they were considering investing in the Heritage Center.

“I can’t thank you enough for coming,” Darien said.

Mrs. Evans went over a few pages in the proposal that Nova had helped to draft for the Heritage Center. “Now,” she said, “I need to meet with the backers alone so we can create a response to the proposal. Don’t go far, Mr. James and Ms. Lewis. We’ll have our response ready within the hour.”

Darien and Safire moved into the waiting area and dallied at the table set up with refreshments.

“What does she mean when she says that they’ll create a response to the proposal?” Darien asked. “Does she mean that they’re going to decide now who’ll give what?”

“That’s exactly it,” Safire said. “These are the ones in charge, the ones who can make the decision.”

“It might be good that I didn’t know that going in,” Darien said and then chuckled.

“Nervous, Mr. James?” She eyed him in a teasing manner.

“Well, there’s a lot riding on this, like whether all those kids have a safe place to go where they can learn something or get help. It’s not about me. I’m incidental.”

“You don’t seem incidental.”

Safire looked at Darien and gave him that seductive half smile. He couldn’t tell whether she was making fun or not.

“Today you’re standing in for the director of the Heritage Center,” she said. “That’s not incidental.”

Safire had selected a pastry, and the sugar coating was all over her fingers, which she licked in the most alluring way. It reminded Darien of the sauce from the hot wings that she’d kissed and licked off his face in the sports bar, and the memory, paired with what she was doing now, made his body start to react. Was it him, or was everything about this woman erotic in some way?

They took seats in the waiting area, and Safire crossed one leg over the over, her long limbs showing in her short skirt.

Safire turned to him, genially placing her hand on his knee.

“So, Mr. James, are you still taking it slowly?”

“I guess I am,” he said. “I’ve tried it the other way.”

Her eyes flew open. “That says a lot about you. What about chicken and beef and lamb and pork? Have you gotten over your fear of meat yet? Or your fear of women?”

Safire’s teasing tone made Darien look at her to gauge her intent. “I never said I was afraid of meat or women.”

“Show me that you’re not,” she said, licking her fingers again.

Darien shook his head. “You don’t slow down for a minute, do you? What makes you need to move so quickly? What makes you afraid of really having a man in your life, someone who knows you, someone who—”

Safire uncrossed her legs and recrossed them in a huff.

“I’m not scared, Mr. James. I just know what I want, and I’m not afraid to say it. You might be fearful of empowered women. I want someone who’s not scared to go after what he wants and someone not spooked when I say what I want.”

“You don’t have to be wanton to have that, and you—”

“What if I like being wanton? Isn’t it okay if I have desires and express them? If I were a man, you’d be giving me a high five, and we’d be bonding.”

Darien couldn’t help laughing at that, but he didn’t agree.

“Not if you were a player. Not if you were seeking out one physical relationship after another.”

Safire threw her arms up—literally. “Hold up. Hold up, Darien. Who on earth says that’s what I do? That’s not on any agenda of mine.” She pointed her index finger up and followed her sentence with it. “So what makes that come into your mind? See, that’s on you, sweetheart. You’ve tried it the other way, and maybe that’s what you wanted.”

“Oh, no—”

“I think so,” she said and then laughed.

Without thinking about it, Darien cupped Safire’s face in his palm, and she went silent.

“You don’t have to put up a front with me, Safire. I’ve seen tears in your eyes. You’re not all hot and heavy all the time.”

With his palm under her chin, Safire stared into his eyes with her crescent-shaped pools. She was quiet for a long time, staring at him like that—frozen.

When he took his palm away, she leaned toward him.

“Come go out with me, Darien. Play with me. Let’s see where it goes.”

Her words were so quiet and her eyes so steadily trained on him that Darien almost thought he was hearing things. He paused a moment, his own breath caught in his chest. He righted himself and refocused. He was not hearing things. He’d never been asked out in such a sweetly alluring way.

“I have to work at the Heritage Center tonight,” he said, unable to refuse the request but unable to honor it immediately. He was also troubled by Safire’s phrasing. “And I don’t know if I want to play—as you word it. I want something real. I—”

Just then, Mrs. Evans came out and beckoned them into the conference room. The group of backers had responded favorably to the proposal, and they had arrived at a collective response to the budget, covering all the basic programmatic needs. Mrs. Evans showed him a penciled breakdown and said she would fax the completed document over when it was all signed. This meant that the programs were secure.

It was more than Darien had dared to hope, and he was elated. He lingered to talk with some of the backers and thank them, and to let them know what else the Heritage Center was doing to raise the full amount needed for the larger operating budget—overhead, management and so on. Safire lingered to talk to them, as well. One by one, though, they began to leave after signing the completed forms.

Soon only one was left, a banker talking to Safire. Darien turned to their conversation only to find that it wasn’t about the Heritage Center at all. The gentleman was asking Safire out. Darien looked at Safire, who was smiling her usual seductive, flirtatious smile with her butt propped up on the conference table much as she’d done with him when they’d met. She was slowly rocking her torso, and this only added to the seductiveness of her stance.

When she noticed him looking, she nodded and smiled his way and waited for his interruption before answering the invitation. Darien waved his goodbye, turned on his heel and headed to his car. Clearly, Safire was still playing the field, and when she had said play, that was what she had meant. Yes, this one was a seductress, but not only that. She was a player.

Darien got in his car and made it to the Heritage Center in time for his class, thinking all the while about Safire. She had seemed sincere, but she was just dating casually, if you would call it that. What bothered him was that he was actually miffed about it. He had no claim upon her. In fact, as they’d left it, he had turned down her invite to go out, by which she seemed to have meant tonight. Why should it rub him the wrong way if she took up another invitation from someone who was willing to play?

Darien pulled into the Heritage Center parking lot and got to his class, which comprised the little kids today—the ones who were between five and ten. He managed to focus on his class, but not without some distraction. Thankfully, they were molding shapes out of clay and didn’t require a great deal of his concentration once they had selected their subjects for the project. The clay kept them in their seats and occupied, if not clean, and he had only to tour the room looking at projects and offering tips.

When the hour and a half was over and the children’s projects were stored in the kiln to be fired, Darien greeted their parents. Mrs. Watson clacked in on her high heels wearing a short wraparound dress to pick up Jacob, an eight-year-old student. After she found out about his progress and collected her son, she clacked back out.

Her heels didn’t make an impact the way Safire’s heels did. They weren’t seductive. They didn’t show off long, shapely calves. They didn’t announce her presence to the world. If anything, the sound struck him—at least today—as a nuisance. Nor was her short dress a distraction. Paired with her gaudy earrings and fake weave, it made her look more like a hoochie mama. Yet Darien knew that he was merely reacting to his departure from Safire and her willingness to entertain an invitation from another man.

Once his students left, Darien found the director of the Heritage Center, Mr. Abraham Johnson.

“Hey, Mr. Johnson.”

“Abe.”

“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Darien had been working at the Heritage Center since he started as a file clerk in high school, but the director was still Mr. Johnson to him, even now that he himself was an associate director.

“How’d it go today?” Mr. Johnson asked.

“Great,” Darien said.

“I know.”

“Did Mrs. Evans fax over the signed forms with the figures from the backers?”

“Yes, she did.” Mr. Johnson stopped outside his office and raised his fists in victory. “We should celebrate.”

“We should. Oh,” Darien said. “I haven’t talked to you since last week. You’re a busy man.”

“Not as busy as you, but then I’m not as young as you.”

If Darien guessed correctly, Mr. Johnson was in his early sixties, but it didn’t show much. Mr. Johnson just liked to have someone to whom to delegate the legwork.

Darien followed him into his office. “Did you get the letters of confirmation that I collected from Benson and Hines?”

“Yes, I got those, too. You’ve been productive.”

“I already have clients signed up for the Legal Assistance Program for the next three weeks.”

“What are their issues?”

“Some of everything you might imagine—condo conversions, divorces, child custody or child support, spousal battery, even one criminal charge.”

Mr. Johnson turned to Darien and put a hand on his shoulder. “You know as much as I do now. When I’m ready to step down, my position will be yours.”

“I don’t know if—”

“It’ll be a while, son. Just start thinking about it.”

Darien nodded and left Mr. Johnson’s office. Moving up at the Heritage Center wasn’t what was occupying his mind. She was. Safire Lewis.

Darien had reading to do for his class on Wednesday, so he headed home. She was in the fast lane, and he’d gotten off that track—and for a reason. Besides, he couldn’t satisfy anyone who needed to go out all the time. Nor could he be satisfied by anyone who still needed to play the field—or to act as if she was still playing it. Man, this one was someone to be wary of. He’d been burned by her type before. So why was he still thinking about her?

At home, even his reading was disrupted by the thought of Safire. He had started an erotic piece that he knew was inspired by her. It was still in the drawing stage, but it would be a wood sculpture. He put down his book for his class in Caribbean art and went over to his sketches. It was the sensual nature of the piece that let him know Safire had inspired it. And this irked him to no end. He wanted to put her from his mind. But here she was—his muse.

The piece had gotten inside his head, and he had to finish it. If he could finish it, if he could capture the spirit of her in a piece, he could release her from his mind. It was really because she had entered his art that she continued to occupy his thoughts. Or was it?