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Curiosity winning out over suspicion, Misha walked toward him. “Exactly what is your intention for this feature?”
“What time may I expect you on Monday?”
Misha muttered under her breath and attempted to control her temper. “Don’t for a second think you can rile me in my own business. I don’t know yet what you’re trying to do—”
“Trying to do, love? I’m trying to give you a story.”
“Mmm-hmm, I know what you’re trying to give me, Tali.”
“Is that so?” She was close enough to touch and he took advantage. “Why do you keep running from me, then?”
Misha didn’t try to twist out of the grip he had on her forearm. Patiently, she waited for him to release her but discovered too late that he had more in mind first.
The kiss and caress that followed wasn’t forced. Misha leaned into it willingly, needingly. Talib loosened his hold on her arm the instant their lips met. He didn’t move from the rail and only began to caress her when she moved closer. Her hair brushed his hands when he massaged her back and shoulders. Whimpering sounds vibrated from both of them while their tongues fought a slow duel. Misha raked the silky curls tapered at Talib’s neck and arched closer into the powerful wall of his chest.
Reluctantly, Talib acknowledged that he’d have to be the one to end things. He’d take her right there against the rail if he didn’t let her go soon. Breaking the kiss smoothly, he let his mouth trail her neck.
“So when may I expect you on Monday?”
The words, no matter the elegant tone they were delivered in, were like a cold splash. Misha twisted away from him.
“I’ll call you.” For the second time that afternoon, she stormed away from him.
Talib’s cool expression merged into one less certain. Slumping on the railing, he prayed this plan of his would have a chance at actually working.
“What’s Talib done now?” Riley drawled while setting her baby’s stuffed animals to a far corner of the crib.
“Why don’t we talk about how long you’ve known about Justine Duke’s new publication.”
Riley’s hands paused on the toys. “You know I always keep up with the competition.”
“But you had to know I’d be interested in something like that. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you flying off the deep end about the woman. You almost lost your mind over the crap she pulled before and with your history…”
“Riley, please, you’ve got no idea about our history.”
Riley made sure the baby’s monitor was on, then firmly ushered Misha into her bedroom which was connected to the nursery.
“I need my phone,” Misha said, remembering.
“It’s already on the nightstand.” Riley motioned for Misha to sit down on the bed next to her. “Talk.”
“What—” Misha spread her hands “—is this about, Justine?”
“This is about you telling me the rest of what happened. Now.”
“We… Justine and I worked together before—”
“Hell, Misha, I know all that.”
Wearily, Misha leaned forward, resting her elbows to her knees. “There was a client…Talib and Asher were preparing to sign him. They were just starting up the agency. Talib had been in town wooing clients while Asher was still setting up shop in Phoenix.”
Riley got up and moved over to sit on the vanity stool before her dresser and listened.
“Anyway, the guy they were going after the hardest…he was a real jerk. Nothing like Vic,” she said, referring to The New Chronicle’s former fact-checker and Hud-Mason’s newest client, Victor Lyne. “Ray Simmons was his name. I got to meet him a few times at some parties Talib took me to. That was enough to tell me that the guy was just in it for the money. At the time, me and Justine were both working for The First Beacon.” She shrugged and curled against a pillow lining the headboard.
“We were good colleagues. Not friends, but good enough coworkers to feel comfortable bouncing ideas off one another. There was the occasional chatter about men and dates. I told her about Talib, meeting his new client and how money hungry the guy was.” Misha leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “Justine was trying to make a splash with her entertainment features even back then. She was a so-so writer, looked down on being an assistant when what she really wanted were full-fledged reporting creds. She figured Ray Simmons was just the ticket. So she wrote a splashy story on the guy and got the paper to run it because he had connections to the up-and-coming Hud-Mason agency. Humph, Hud-Mason never had the chance to sign him. Justine’s story revealed that Ray held no loyalties to anyone—he was going with whoever got him the biggest bucks. Another agency worked up a deal for him and scooped him right out from under Talib and Asher.”
“Talib didn’t take that too well, I guess.”
Misha gave a mock salute in Riley’s direction and closed her eyes on the memory.
“Men take betrayal far more seriously than women do. He was like someone I didn’t know. He accused me…accused me in ways and of things… He said I’d slept with him for the story. It took days before I even knew what the hell he was talking about.”
The despair in Misha’s eyes tore at Riley’s heart. She wanted to go to her, but resisted, knowing there was more to the story.
Absently, Misha fidgeted with the frame holding Asher and Riley’s photo on one side and Ahmad’s ultrasound on the other. Seconds passed before she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and raised the hem of her dress. She rubbed the scar at the bend of her knee.
“This won’t ever heal, which is probably a good thing. That way I’ll always have a reminder of—”
“The accident.”
“Of why I had the accident.”
“Misha—”
“I was completely out of it. Talib was the only thing on my mind. It’s a wonder I knew where my keys were, let alone how to drive a car. I’m still amazed that I didn’t kill myself.”
Riley bristled then but knew she had to ask. “Is that what you were trying to do?”
“No. No.” She spoke without hesitation and repeated the word when Riley stared. “I love living too much for that, but that night…me and Talib would’ve been together three years if that story hadn’t broke. We met at a charity event. It was his third year in the league. I was there with someone from work. The guy couldn’t dance worth a damn but it was a good networking opportunity. I’d just met someone from the Beacon and gotten an interview. I was even feeling good enough to risk my toes to a poor dance partner who twirled me right into Talib. His date was not thrilled.”
Riley covered her mouth when she laughed.
Misha’s amusement didn’t last. “Three years later he couldn’t stand my guts. That story came out and he wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain. I saw him that day, tried one last time to talk—it didn’t go well at all.” She pounded a fist to the gray comforter. “None of this was my fault. Idle chatter with a coworker who took it and ran. I thought about that, getting madder and crazier every minute. Then I got in my car.” She left the bed and walked to the windows overlooking the backyard.
Riley nodded, finally understanding her friend’s real fear.
“I can’t fall for him again.” Misha turned her back on the windows. “Correction. I can’t fall any deeper for him. If it fizzles again… What if the next time I get in my car…”
“Hey.” Riley left the stool and came over to smooth her hands down Misha’s arms. “You’re smarter than that. Way too smart to let something like that dictate a decision not to have a future with the man you love.”
“Talib doesn’t love me.” Misha shook her head, not willing to speak to the status of her own emotions then. “I don’t know what he’s up to, but it isn’t about love.”
“And how are you so sure?”
Misha flinched and turned back to the windows.
“So the question you have to answer is, why do you still want to keep Talib away?”
The party finally thinned out a couple of hours later. Riley insisted on Misha taking a nap in one of the guestrooms. When she woke, Misha decided to leave through the back and call later to let Riley know she was okay.
But leaving through the back was out of the question once she reached the garage and found her Acura blocked in by a black Navigator. She didn’t have long to curse the driver, who arrived moments later.
“What the hell?” She waved toward the hulking vehicle.
“Slipping out through the back, what would our hosts say?” Talib chastised as he crossed the carved stone pavement.
“Move it, Talib.”
“What time shall I expect you on Monday?”
“Didn’t I say I’d call?”
He was standing over her so suddenly she hadn’t even noticed he’d quickened his pace.
“It would be unwise for you to continue to play with me on this. I’m as busy as you are.”
“Then you’ll understand why I can’t drop everything to come running when you command it.”
His dimpled smile emerged then and he rubbed the material of her bodice between his thumb and forefinger. “I remember a time when you always came running for me.”
The suggestion in his words had her leaning back on suddenly weak legs. “Well, I’m not that girl anymore.”
He backed off, as well. “No, you’re not that girl anymore. You’re a high-powered editor whose bosses won’t appreciate knowing we haven’t even set up our first meeting.”
“And you’re a jackass.”
“Then you should understand how uncomfortable I could make this for you, love.”
“Is it really worth it, Talib? The agitation?”
“I, for one, don’t see it as agitation. And yes, it’s really worth it.”
She watched him for a long moment and then stopped trying to figure him out. “Fine. Monday at ten.”
He grinned. “Make it nine. You can treat me to breakfast.”
“Talib, you—”
“I really like that place Red Sun.” He was already striding off to move his car. He started the engine, backed out and left the truck idling while Misha fumed.
For the third, and what she hoped to be last time for that day, she stormed off. She was frustrated that Talib convinced her to take the meeting and even more frustrated to admit to herself that she wanted to.
Chapter 3
Over a mug of coffee on Monday morning, Misha thought about all that had happened between her and Talib during the past several months. Going back any further than that was dangerous.
She stayed in for the remainder of the weekend following Ahmad’s baptism party. She wouldn’t call it cowardice. New York was a big place. It wasn’t like she was going to run into Talib at every turn, for Pete’s sake. Breakfast that morning would be more than enough “together time.” Besides, she’d needed the rest of the weekend to mull over Riley’s insights over her real resistance to Talib’s sudden interest.
She wasn’t afraid of a relapse but of something else she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit. What did that mean? She smirked into the coffee mug and berated herself.
Jeez, Misha, can’t you even be honest with yourself in your own damn house?
What she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit was that she still loved him so very much that the emotion went far deeper than falling for someone. She loved and was in love with him as much as she’d been the day she’d cursed him and gone mad over the fact that he didn’t believe in her.
There was more to that in-house admission, but before she could continue, the bell rang. She checked her watch, realized she wasn’t wearing one and frowned when she noticed that the clock above the dining-room table read 7:35 a.m. What the hell?
“What the hell?” She uttered the phrase aloud when she opened the door to Talib. “It’s 7:35 a.m.”
“I thought I’d give you a lift.”
“You know, regardless of my record, I can still handle a car, Talib.”
He closed his eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know how you meant it. I’ll see you there.”
He wouldn’t let her close the door. “And what sense does that make?”
“All the sense in the world, considering our breakfast appointment isn’t until ten.”
“Nine, remember?” He walked inside. “Besides, I thought you might like an idea of what we expect with this story.”
“So now you want to talk about it?” Misha let the door slam and followed him into the living room. In awe, she listened to him go on about the message they wanted to send with the piece. “Did you come here to tell me how to do my job, Talib?”
He didn’t answer straightaway. Instead, he strolled the apartment, loving the soft warmth radiating from the comfortable yet elegant décor. He didn’t comment, knowing she wasn’t ready to hear compliments from him.
“I spoke with Gloria.” He unbuttoned the hunter-green suit coat and eased one hip onto the edge of the dining table. “She agrees that a detailed human-interest piece is best. We’d like to show folks that Hud-Mason is more than another shallow company scraping up millions for pampered athletes.” He folded his arms and stared thoughtfully at the artwork lining her walls. “We were thinking of maybe a three-or four-part series.”
“Are you insane?” She bolted toward him. “I don’t have time to devote to something that expansive! Talib!” She followed him when he left the table and disappeared down the hall leading to her bedrooms.
“Gloria gave it the green light and we don’t want anyone else on it but you.”
Misha was seconds away from raining blows across his back but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her come undone. “Would you just go?” She spoke as softly as she could.
“But we haven’t had our breakfast yet.” He was studying her DVD collection next to the flat-screen television in her master bedroom.
“I think you just explained everything we were going to discuss.”
“And now we can enjoy our food without business interrupting.”
She massaged the bridge of her nose and turned away when he advanced. “Business is the only thing between us.” She sighed.
“Is it?”
Misha knew he was but a touch away without needing to look back and prove it to herself.
“Is it, Misha?” The back of his hand trailed the dip of her spine. His finger curled into the belt around her robe in case she had any thoughts of moving away.
“Is it?” he insisted.
“Talib, what do you want from me?” She almost moaned and received her answer seconds later.
She was turned promptly and kissed thoroughly. Like before, like always, she responded in kind. Her tongue thrust eagerly against his, giving as much fire as his gave. She was so intent on the kiss, so absorbed in that fantastic cologne he wore that she hardly registered him hoisting her against his body and following her down to the bed.
Finding her nude beneath the robe, Talib took full advantage. Without a care for his tailored three-piece suit, he threw himself into the task of pleasuring both Misha and himself. Misha bit her lip and let herself go. She’d denied herself a man’s touch for so long. To now be with the man whose touch she truly craved bordered on heavenly.
Talib kissed his way down her body, almost painfully aroused by the supple curves on her slender form. Her bottom was full and molded perfectly to his palms when he cupped them beneath her. Her breasts were small, firm, perfectly rounded mounds that beckoned his lips, teeth and tongue. And when he had his fill of tonguing her nipples into a frenzy, he ventured lower.
Misha tunneled her fingers into the silky dark curls covering his head. Gradually, she took stock of their position—more accurately her position. Half out of her robe and flat on her back beneath a provocative, impeccably dressed male. Silently, she completed the admission which had been interrupted when Talib first rang the bell. The thought drained her arousal and instead of gripping his shoulders to draw him close, she began to push him away.
Talib tuned in easily and didn’t try to coax her into going further. This wasn’t the time, yet he was approaching the point where he nearly didn’t care. This was happening far more quickly than he’d expected, but then didn’t everything where he and Misha were concerned?
He allowed himself a moment to graze his nose across her belly and the faint dusting of curls above her womanhood. Then he muttered something about letting her get dressed and left her alone.
Red Sun at 8:50 a.m. was of course a madhouse. The Japanese-owned eatery was anything but the usual. The breakfast menu spanned the globe and easily appealed to an extensive array of tastes.
Misha couldn’t find a thing she wanted to order. Talib handled it all as though her sour mood hadn’t fazed him. She snapped her fingers suddenly as if she’d been wracking her brain to come up with a discussion topic and finally latched onto one.
“We should set up some meetings to cover the story.”
“Later, all right?”
She was opening her mouth to insist.
“I also wanted to invite you to a party.”
“With you?”
Talib stroked his jaw. “Isn’t that the way it’s done, love?”
“I can’t, I… The baby, the baby’s party put me so far behind.” She fidgeted with a lock of her hair. “I just don’t have the time.”
“I haven’t even told you when it is.”
Misha clenched her fist beneath the table and waited.
“Consider it research for the story.” Talib smiled as their waiter approached. “It’s for a new client—about a week and a half from now.”
Misha managed to remain silent until after her coffee and Talib’s tea had been placed on the table.
“You really have lost your mind, haven’t you?” She flopped back on the redwood chair and laughed shortly. “Either that or you’re just in need of a little side entertainment while you’re in town and torturing me is the best you could come up with.”
“Maybe I am daft.” Talib spoke as if he were talking to himself. “Because I’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Do you remember the last client party I attended?”
Talib frowned. “Vic?”
“Not Victor.” She rolled her eyes then glanced across her shoulder to see if anyone had noticed her outburst. “Ray Simmons,” she hissed.
Talib had truly forgotten, for his powerful frame tightened visibly the moment he heard the name. He was quiet, coolly going about sweetening the hot tea in the mug before him.
Misha was about to take a sip from her black coffee when Talib’s fist suddenly came down on the table.
“Will we ever get past all that?” He grimaced, not expecting an answer. “I guess not, especially when you won’t even let me talk to you about it.”
“It ruined us.” Pain clearly colored her words. She kept her eyes focused on her coffee. “But it was only one of the things that ruined us—all the rest built slowly.”
“Crickey, Misha, what rest?”
“Come off it. I was never good enough for you and you made that pretty damn clear when the Ray Simmons story broke. How many times did you say my supposed betrayal was something you should have expected from a woman like me? A slut that would sleep with a man for a story? And why not? Hell, I grew up with nothing, so why not do whatever it takes to have it all, right?”
Talib was speechless and stunned. He watched her as though suddenly realizing what her anger, her fear, was about.
Misha looked away, stunned as well that she’d admitted so much. She kept her face turned when the waiter arrived with their meal.
“Misha…” He didn’t know what else to say when they were alone.
She considered it a blessing when they were interrupted again seconds later by a few men who’d gotten wind of Talib’s presence at the restaurant. Of course they all recognized Misha, admiring her blatantly as they greeted.
“Why don’t you guys stay?” She left her chair quickly, waving at the fruit, croissants and cheese on her plate. “And help yourselves—this hasn’t been touched.”
She was almost home free when Talib caught her wrist on her way past him.
“We’ll talk later, all right?” His thumb slipped beneath the cuff of her blouse to caress her bare skin.
“Not about…” She glanced back toward the table where the others were already making themselves comfortable. “Not about what I said.”
“Sure, but we’ll talk later, all right?” he insisted.
She had no choice but to nod.
“Very impressive, Mr. Hudson,” Misha raved when she saw Asher leaving the elevator.
At once Asher’s light stare was less serious and more playful. “Well, hey!” He approached his wife’s best friend with open arms and enveloped her in a tight hug.
“I hope I’m not interrupting. I just needed to see you for a second.”
“Stop talking silly.” Asher kissed her cheek, then moved back to frown into her face. “Is everything all right?”
The words weakened her resolve and Misha cursed her visible reaction. Asher took heed and ushered her someplace more private.
“Sorry,” Misha sobbed when they were behind the closed doors of Asher’s office. She curled up on a sofa in the corner. “Thanks.” She took a deep sip of the black coffee he provided.
“Stop apologizing and tell me what the problem is.”
“What’s Talib up to?” she asked the moment he joined her on the sofa. “Why’s he so hell-bent on us…being friends all of a sudden?”
Asher’s smile was slow and knowing. “I think you know he wants more than a friendship.”
She nodded. “So it’s about sex,” she said as though that possibility were easier to handle.
Asher’s chuckling filled the room. “It’s about love.”
“He doesn’t love me.”
“Now look. I’ve been friends with Talib for a while now. And even though he keeps mum as far as the two of you are concerned, I swear that he does. And what’s more I don’t think he’s ever stopped. But I’ve already said too much.” He took the cup she’d drained. “Y’all need to talk and stop avoiding it because you’re afraid of the past.”
“I can’t handle that. I don’t have the strength—not a second time.” She pushed her hair away from her face and cleared her throat. “He’ll see that…he’ll see once he’s done deluding himself that two people like us never had a chance.”
“Well, I can’t speak to whether he’s deluding himself, but I do know Talib Mason is a finisher. He doesn’t quit midstream.” Asher made a bridge with his fingers and shrugged. “This may not sit well with you, but I don’t know what will make him stop until he’s seen this through to the end.”
Misha arrived late to the daily budget meeting for The Stamper Court. The business crew always gave their input toward the end of the meeting. Staff writer Trenda Greene was giving her report when Misha got there.
“You okay?” Riley asked when Misha took the seat next to hers and nodded quickly.
“Is there anything else, folks?” Riley addressed the group when Trenda concluded her report. “Wendell?”
“We all know this subject’s taboo here at The New Chronicle.” Wendell Stevenson tapped a hand to the stack of papers he stood before. “But I feel it’s important to note that our competition has seen healthy revenue increases since they’ve added entertainment sections to their pubs.”
Everyone groaned. Some threw wadded balls of paper at The Stamper Court’s accountant. Overall, The New Chronicle family was pretty much in agreement that celebrity gossip wasn’t the sort of news they were interested in. Since one of their own ran in such circles, much of that agreement was in a show of support for Riley’s and Asher’s right to privacy. Besides, Cache Media, the Chronicle’s parent company, never complained of the money woes which had driven the competition to incorporate more sensational news into their publications.
“I just think it deserves to be mentioned!” Wendell smiled when the group silenced. What the accountant lacked in height, he made up for in strength of voice. “The brass at those pubs are already crediting their entertainment inserts with the revenue surge—more revenue means more readers. Readers who most likely aren’t reading our paper.”
“Thanks, Wendell.” Riley made a note to her agenda. “The Court, as you know, wouldn’t be able to accommodate such a section, but you’re welcome to carry your suggestion higher up the chain.”