You Sang to Me

“You’re the only woman who’s ever made me fly back like this.”

“And I suppose you’re looking for a reward,” she said.

“Any bone will do.”

Rising up on her toes, she kissed him, and it was all the incentive he needed to wrap her in his arms and drown.

They fed on each other with a lazy fervor that left them both breathless. He brushed slow heated lips over the warm scented skin of her neck and savored her soft gasps of response. As he blazed a meandering trail back to her lips, he knew that if he didn’t make love to her sometime tonight he might explode.

Beats of My Heart

Suddenly, he felt warm, gentle hands sliding over his rib cage as she pressed herself against his back.

Tristan felt his slow heartbeat begin to accelerate once again, as her busy fingers continued their exploration of his body. Using all the willpower he could muster, Tristan covered her hands to stop their slow progression, opened his eyes and looked at her beautiful reflection in the mirror.

As if sensing his question, Rayne said, “Tristan, I know what I’m doing. I want you.”

BEVERLY JENKINS

Beverly Jenkins is an award-winning African-American writer. She has lectured at such prestigious universities as Oberlin University, the University of Illinois and the University of Michigan. She speaks widely on both romance and nineteenth-century African-American history. Beverly was first published in 1994 and has published twenty-one novels. This is her first novella for Kimani Romance.

ELAINE OVERTON

Elaine Overton resides in the Detroit area with her son. She attended a local business college before entering the military, and serving in the Gulf War. She is an administrative assistant, currently working for an automotive industry supplier. She is an active member of Romance Writers of America.

Rhythms of Love
Beverly Jenkins Elaine Overton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my good friend Regina Belle—Beverly

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoy Reggie and Jamais story. Although the school where she volunteered is fictional, the woman for whom the school was named was very real. Madame Sissieretta Jones was an icon of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century and sang all over the world. Billed as the Greatest Singer of Her Race, she was the first African-American woman to sing at Carnegie Hall. Although her name has been lost through time, she helped pave the way. In commemoration of Black Music Month this June, please honor her by learning more about her.

Thanks,

B

Dear Reader,

Thank you for taking the time to read Beats of My Heart. I hope you have enjoyed getting to know Tristan and Rayne. I love music and during the writing of this book, I swear I could almost hear Tristans soulful voice in my ears! I hope you can hear it, as well.

Beats of My Heart is my first novella, so I hope I was successful in expressing the love between the main characters and the obstacles they had to overcome in order to be together. Please feel free to let me know what you think—my e-mail is Elaine@elaineoverton.com.

Elaine

You Sang To Me

Chapter One

Regina, aka Reggie, Vaughn turned the key in her ten-year-old Escort and prayed the car would start. The plea was a daily ritual. The present state of her finances made replacing the aged vehicle impossible, so she relied on divine benevolence instead.

After two tries, the engine finally rumbled to life. The rusted green body shook and vibrated as if it was going to fly apart, but with her prayers answered, Regina backed down her grandmother’s snow-lined driveway and headed off to her job at one of Detroit’s most prestigious riverfront hotels.

She’d been on the hotel’s staff for five years. Initially, she’d worked at the concierge desk, but when the economy hit bottom two years ago, so did the hospitality industry. Her position was eliminated, and it was either be laid off or take any opening the hotel had. She found a spot in housekeeping. It was good honest work and she made a point of doing it well. However, being downsized also meant bringing home a smaller paycheck, one that didn’t pay enough to handle both her bills and college tuition, so finishing school had to wait. Having to withdraw had been disappointing, especially since she was just a few credits short of obtaining her bachelor’s in Music Education. She wanted to become a music teacher. In her heart she knew her dreams would come true, but right now, she was just glad to have a job.

At the hotel, she parked in the employee lot and entered the building. Housekeeping was run out of a small office in the basement. Ms. Harold headed the operation and had been doing so for fourteen years.

As Reggie entered and punched in, Ms. Harold called out, “Morning, Reg.”

“Hey, Ms. Harold. How are you?”

“I’d be better if Trina hadn’t called in sick again. You’ll have to cover her floors today. Sorry.”

Reggie wanted to jump up and down and throw a tantrum at the idea of all the extra work, but because she was twenty-seven and not seven, she said simply, “Okay. I’ll see you later.” Sighing, she left Ms. Harold and headed off to start her day.

On the way to the room where the housekeepers changed out of street clothes and into their uniforms, she gave a wave to the waiters, valets and other service employees she passed. The hotel’s underground hive was already up and running, and she felt good still being a member of such a dedicated and award-winning staff.

Trina, however, was another story. She was Reggie’s best friend. They’d been close as sisters since fourth grade. Where Reggie’s dream was to be a music teacher, Trina’s was to become a beautician with her own shop. Reggie rooted for Trina’s dream just like Trina rooted for Reggie’s, but when it came to work outside of a beauty shop, Trina was not the most diligent employee.

Reggie entered the changing room, pulled on the shapeless gray dress that was her uniform, buckled the shiny belt and went to grab one of the carts that held all the towels, bedding and other necessities she’d need to spend the next eight hours cleaning rooms.

Upstairs on the twenty-fifth floor, multi-award-winning music producer Jamal Reynolds checked himself out in the mirror. Tall and dark skinned, he knew he was a good-looking man, but that wasn’t what drove his personality. The simple black turtleneck and black slacks were expensive but made him look casual and comfortable as opposed to the millionaire the music industry knew him to be. He preferred it that way. He wasn’t into blinding people with bling or hanging so much gold around his neck that he had to walk bent over. His work was his focus and the only bling he cared about were the Grammys and Platinum awards he and his stable of artists displayed on the walls of their homes back in L.A. At present, he was on his way to a breakfast in conjunction with the fiftieth-anniversary celebration of Grady Records, one of the pioneering recording companies of R & B. At thirty-three, Jamal was too young to have grown up owning any of the Grady hits, but he and everyone else in the music business owed their careers to the tracks laid down fifty years ago by the great Charles Grady.

The hotel room’s phone rang. It was the front desk informing him that his hired driver and town car were downstairs. Grabbing his bag, he quickly left the room.

He and the driver were just about to pull away from the hotel when Jamal realized he’d stupidly left his phone in the bathroom. Offering a quick apology to the driver, he hurried back inside.

A maid’s cart was outside his room and the door was open. Not wanting to scare whoever might be inside, Jamal entered and called out, “Hello?”

In reply, he heard a woman singing an old Anita Baker classic in a voice so fine it stopped him cold. The pitch and intonation were perfect. The resonation, pure. His heart raced as it did when he heard a new talent, so he peeked into the bathroom and got the backside view of a woman in a shapeless gray dress on her knees cleaning the bathtub. Headphones were in her ears, and her voice was rising and falling as if it had been sent from heaven.

He listened intently. Not only did she have amazing range, but more often than not an untrained singer sang flat when wearing headphones and this woman was blowing. Fighting to keep the excitement out of his voice, he called a bit louder, “Excuse me? Miss?”

Singing away and in her own world, Reggie happened to look around and jumped, startled at the sight of the tall, good-looking man in the doorway. He was dressed in all black and the dark beauty of him almost knocked her over. All she could do was stare at how absolutely gorgeous he was. She finally shook her mind loose, hastily snatched off the headphones and got to her feet. She wasn’t supposed to be plugged in while working and she prayed he wasn’t a new member of the hotel’s security detail.

“Um, I forgot my phone,” he explained.

Relieved that he wasn’t security, she asked, “May I see your room key, please?” No matter how cute, the rules came first.

He handed it over. As she walked to the open door and stuck the key card into the lock, she could feel his eyes on her. She tried to ignore the silent scrutiny but found herself peeking over at him just the same. The speculative amusement in his gaze made her hastily turn her attention back to the door.

Satisfied his key was legit, she handed it back, then reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew his phone. She handed it over. “I already called security about finding it, so make sure you let the desk know you have it. I don’t want them thinking I kept it.”

“I will.”

Reggie wondered why she couldn’t seem to move. He had his phone and she had a roster full of rooms to take care of but they were staring at each other like two people caught in time.

“I heard you singing,” he confessed.

“Please don’t tell anyone. I’m not supposed to have headphones on, but it makes the day go faster.”

“I understand. You have a great voice. My name’s Jamal Reynolds.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“I’d like to talk to you, if I could.”

“Concerning?”

“Getting you into a recording studio.”

That broke the spell. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Nice meeting you, Mr. Reynolds. Have a good day.” She moved back into the bathroom.

“No, wait. Here. Let me give you my card.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a platinum-engraved card holder.

“No, thank you.”

“But I’m a producer.”

“And I’m a maid with a bunch of rooms to do, so you go produce and I’ll clean.”

For a moment he appeared to be confused, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her. As if thinking maybe she wasn’t getting it, he stated plainly, “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Reggie knew better than to antagonize a guest, but the last thing she needed was to start her day having to fend off some joker intent upon Lord knew what. “Do I go back to work or do I call security?” she asked gently.

“So I can tell them you were singing when I came in?”

“Now you’re threatening my job?”

He stiffened a bit. “ No. I just want you to hear me out.”

“And if I don’t, you’ll tattle like somebody in middle school?”

He stared. He didn’t seem to like the sound of that. “Look, I’m Jamal Reynolds.”

“You said that, but did you hear what I said?” she asked quietly and as politely as she could manage. “I don’t have time to listen to whatever it is you think you’re going to run on me, so just go, please, so I can get done in here.”

He looked exasperated, then sighed. “Okay, you win. I’ll leave, but I can make you a star.”

“Uh-huh.” She took the embossed card he was holding out, hoping it might speed up his departure.

“I fly back to L.A. tomorrow night,” he said, looking all the world as if he couldn’t believe she was actually turning down his offer. “Would you call me when you get off work, please?”

“Sure.”

“Promise?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be expecting your call.”

“Okay, okay. Just go.”

So he did, and as soon as he disappeared, Reggie tossed the fancy business card into her trash can and went back to cleaning his room so she could move on to the next one.

At the end of the long day, she pulled into her grandmother’s driveway, turned off the engine and dropped her head wearily onto the steering wheel. Lord, I’m tired, she thought. Thanks to Trina not showing up, Reggie’s normal eight-hour workday had been lengthened to ten. There’d be overtime pay in her next check as a result, but at the moment the prospect of the extra money wasn’t enough to compensate her for the weariness plaguing every bone in her body. She’d made endless beds, cleaned endless bathtubs and vacuumed until her back begged for mercy. Now, all she wanted to do was crawl into a nice hot tub and soak until she turned into a raisin.

Inside the house, she found her pajama-clad grandmother chilling on the living-room sofa watching an old Western. Her long dreadlocks were piled neatly atop her head.

“Hey, Gram,” she said with a warm smile.

“Hey, baby. You look whipped. Long day, huh?”

“Too long.” Reggie plopped down into their worn green recliner. “Trina didn’t show up again.”

Gram looked over and smiled. “Good thing you love her so much.”

“I know. Otherwise I’d be tempted to kick her butt for having to cover for her again. How was your day?”

“Mr. Baines and I spent the morning riding through the Pointes looking at the rich folks’ homes. You should’ve seen the tulips on Lakeshore Drive. Absolutely beautiful.”

Mr. Baines was Gram’s current boo. They’d been together a few months but Gram wasn’t sure how much longer the relationship would continue. Being a retired English teacher, she thrived on intelligent conversation and that was not one of Mr. Baines’s strong suits. The Pointes, however, were a group of rich communities east of Detroit. You had to have large dollars to live there and the black families in the zip codes could be counted on one hand. Many Detroiters took pleasure in slowly driving past the big lakefront homes to look at the spring flowers, Halloween decorations and the lights hung during the Christmas holidays.

“What was Trina’s excuse this time?”

Reggie shrugged. “Who knows? I tried calling her to see if maybe she was sick but I got her voice mail.”

“Probably man related, knowing our Trina.”

“Probably. I’ll try her again later tonight.” A book could be written about Trina and her adventurous love life. She changed her men as often as she changed her hairstyle.

“At least you have the day off tomorrow,” Gram pointed out. “You can relax.”

“A little bit. The kids and I are having the final concert rehearsal tomorrow. Any errands you need me to run for you before then?” Reggie was the volunteer music director for a neighborhood elementary school.

“Nope. Mr. Baines and I got groceries today, so I’m set.”

“Good. Then I’m sleeping in.”

“Pancakes when you get up.”

“Deal,” Reggie replied with a tired smile and got to her feet. “Oh, I met a guy today who said he wanted to put me in the studio.”

“What kind of studio?”

“Music. Said he was a producer.”

“Did he give you his name?”

“Jamal something. Started with an R…Reynolds, I think. He was in one of the rooms on my route today, or should I say, Trina’s route. Gave me his card.”

“And you said?”

“No, thanks.”

Their eyes met. Reggie waited for her grandmother to reply, but when no words followed, Reggie planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for not fussing. I’ll see you later.”

“Get some rest.”

Upstairs, Reggie took her bath, came down to eat, then went back up to her room and booted up her old computer. She Googled Jamal Reynolds. The picture of him on his Web site matched the handsome man she’d met at the hotel, and his credentials were impeccable. He’d produced some of the world’s most famous R & B artists; most of whom were her favorites. He had numerous Grammys to his name and, according to his profile, was single. Not that she cared. What mattered was that he hadn’t lied to her about his identity, even though his truthfulness didn’t change her decision to turn down his studio offer. Once bitten, twice shy, she said to herself. Her curiosity about Reynolds satisfied, she shut down the computer and crawled into bed.

She couldn’t go to sleep right away though, because one side of her kept asking why she didn’t take the man up on his offer. Especially now that she knew he was legit. At one time in her life, being a singer was all she’d wanted to be. Even after the tragic death of her mother, she’d kept her eyes on the prize. With her old boyfriend Kenny producing and writing for her, they’d hustled her basement-recorded CDs from Detroit to Chicago and Windsor and back, only to have a producer they were working with disappear into the night with a slew of Kenny’s best songs and the three thousand dollars Reggie and Gram had scraped together to invest in demos the man said she needed. Once bitten, twice shy, she echoed. Her heart had been broken, dreams shattered. Deep down inside, a small spark continued to burn for the hopes she once had, but she refused to take such an emotional and financial risk again. She told herself sharing her love of music with the kids at the school was enough. Another plus was that as soon as she finished her degree, the school’s directors promised to hire her full-time. But the voice inside that wanted her to reconsider going back into a studio wouldn’t leave her alone. Finally, she fought it to a draw and slid into sleep.

Jamal thought about the singing maid for the rest of the day—through the breakfast he attended, through the hour-long seminar he gave at one of the local high schools and during the black-tie dinner held that evening to honor Charles Grady’s life and vision.

When Jamal returned to the hotel, he hurried up to his room to see if maybe she’d left a number on the phone, but there was nothing. Frustrated, he looked down at his watch and saw that it was past midnight. If she were going to call she would have done so by now. He also realized that he hadn’t gotten her name. He called down to the desk and was told very politely that under no circumstances would the hotel reveal the names of its employees unless there was a complaint, and since Jamal didn’t have one, he hung up.

He took off his tux coat and pulled the tie free. Removing the gold cuff links from the wrists of his snow-white shirt, he wondered if he’d ever see her again. It wasn’t like him to be so driven after such a short encounter, but he was. Her phenomenal voice and attitude were more than enough to make her memorable but there was something else in the mix. He’d sensed chemistry, or had it been his imagination?

He hung his tux in the closet. Wearing a black silk undershirt and boxers, he padded barefoot over to the bed and climbed in. Picking up the remote from the nightstand, he turned on the flat screen and clicked through the channels. Nothing he saw held his interest, mainly because memories of the morning’s encounter wouldn’t leave him alone. What singer in her right mind would turn down Jamal Reynolds? he asked himself. Admittedly, he was a stranger and her skepticism was understandable, but his ego asked, how could she not know his name? Maybe she was what Marvin Gaye called a Sanctified Lady and didn’t do popular music, but she’d been singing Anita Baker, so that couldn’t be it. Whatever the reason he had to overcome it. The competitive producer inside didn’t want her to be discovered by someone else, and the man inside was curious to know more about her.

He paused to watch Sports Center for a moment to check out the basketball scores, but her face came floating back, along with her sassy attitude. In his world, aspiring singers threw themselves at the feet of producers like himself, but not Ms. Maid.

He turned off the flat screen and stared into the darkness. Frankly, he’d never run into a situation like this one before and he wasn’t really sure how to proceed.

Chapter Two

Jamal awakened the next morning with a plan. He would be flying home that evening, but was scheduled to spend the day checking out some of the local recording studios Detroit was so famous for. He got on the phone and moved the studio appointments to later that afternoon. He was going to work from his room and wait for the singing maid. All he wanted was an opportunity to have an honest conversation and prove to her that he was all business. The music industry was filled with scam artists, but he wanted to reassure her his intentions were honorable.

But he had to see her again first, so with that in mind, he called room service and ordered breakfast.

The meal arrived a short while later. While he was enjoying it and looking over some of the lyrics one of his singers wanted on her next CD, a knock sounded on the door, followed by a cheery female voice calling out, “Housekeeping.”

Taking in a deep breath, Jamal strode to the door and opened it.

“Morning,” the unfamiliar woman standing on the other side said. She had short spiky brown hair, light skin and freckles.

For a moment he was caught off guard. “You’re not her,” Jamal heard himself say.

She blinked. “What?”

“Sorry. I was expecting the woman who was here yesterday.”

“You mean Reggie?”

“Describe her.”

“Brown skin. About five-three, ponytail, cute little body.”

The description fit but to make sure he asked, “Does this Reggie sing?”

“Everybody in Detroit can sing, but girlfriend can sang, as we say here.”

He smiled. “Do you know how I can get in touch with her?”

“Why?”

“I’m Jamal Reynolds, and—”

“The producer?” she asked excitedly. “I saw you on the BET Awards.”

Jamal was glad somebody knew who he was.

“You want to produce Reg?”

“Maybe, but I need to talk to her.”

“Hold on.” She moved aside a stack of white towels piled neatly on the cleaning cart and took out a cell phone hidden beneath. “Do you mind if I come in?” she asked him while punching up a number and placing the phone against her ear. “Not supposed to be on the phone. I get caught one more time, Ms. Harold’s going to fire me for sure.”

Jamal, wondering how anyone could be so animated this early in the morning, stepped aside to let her in.

“She isn’t answering.” The woman listened for a few more silent seconds then ended the call. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Can I have her number?”

“No. You may be famous, but I don’t know you like that.”

He understood, and, truthfully, applauded her caution. “Can I ask your name?”

“Trina Maxwell.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Maxwell.”

“Same here. Does Reggie know how cute you are?” she asked slyly.

He laughed. “We didn’t talk about that.”

“And you didn’t get her number either?”

“No. I did give her my card. She promised to call, but didn’t.”

“That’s because no woman in her right mind keeps a promise to a stranger. You live in L.A.?”

“Yes.”

Jamal was accustomed to women hitting on him, and he could see Trina sizing him up. “What’s Reggie’s real name?” he asked.

“Regina. Regina Vaughn.”

“Will you let her know how serious I am? All I want to do is to put her in the studio, nothing more.”

“You must be blind then, because girlfriend is gorgeous, even though she refuses to work it.”

“No. Not blind. Just professional.”

“Okay. I’ll track her down and see if I can’t hook you up. Just remember I get to carry her moneybags once she gets famous.”

“Noted.”

“Good. I’ll come back and clean your room after you finish your breakfast. Ciao.”

“Ciao.” A pleased Jamal closed the door. He now had an ally.

Seated at the piano, Reggie stopped playing in the middle of the song and glared at the reason. “Shana Thomas, why are you singing with the sopranos?”

The nine-year-old tried to look defiant for a minute, but in the face of Reggie’s obvious displeasure seemed to think better of that approach and looked away.

Reggie sighed. “How many times do we have to do this, girl? You have a beautiful alto voice, please use it the way you’re supposed to.”

“Yeah, you’re making the rest of us sing flat,” ten-year-old Alta Wayne snapped at Shana.

Grumbles sounded from the rest of the twenty-five-member choir of the Madame Sissieretta Jones Elementary School of Music. It was unanimous; Shana was getting on everybody’s last nerve.

“Okay, settle down,” she warned the grumblers.

Shana’s twin, Shanice, gave her sister an impatient look. “Quit it, or I’m telling Mama.”

Good, Reggie thought to herself. Mrs. Thomas wasn’t going to be happy hearing that her joke-loving daughter was cutting up at rehearsal again.

“All right, let’s start over.” Reggie played the opening chords and the children raised their voices in the singing of “Peace Be Still.” The sweet angelic tones filled the old gym and the purity gave Reggie goose bumps. They were fine-tuning the gospel concert scheduled for tomorrow evening. “Beautiful,” she said quietly as she accompanied them.

Madame Sissieretta Jones, for whom the school was named, was one of the most famous singers of the nineteenth century and the first black woman to sing at Carnegie Hall. The staff’s emphasis on academic excellence and music had resulted in much praise, but like most big-city schools, it struggled to pay its bills. There were infrastructure issues, too. The old building they were using was in dire need of a new furnace. The staff and parents hoped tomorrow’s fundraising concert would help with the purchase of a new one.

The choir was in the middle of Kirk Franklin’s “Brighter Day” when Reggie noticed Trina’s quiet entrance into the gym. Trina waved and Reggie smiled in response, but the jaw-dropping sight of Jamal Reynolds entering on Trina’s heels almost made Reggie lose her place on the piano keys. How in the world? Focusing on the faces of the kids in an effort to calm herself, she did her best to concentrate on the music and not on the tall, dark and handsome man standing by the door, but it was hard.

As the rehearsal continued, Jamal and Trina took seats on chairs positioned a short distance away from where the kids were practicing. Sitting quietly, an enthralled Jamal watched and listened. He couldn’t decide which was more impressive, the voices of the choir or the musical skills of the woman seated at the piano. He knew her name now—Regina Vaughn. From a producer’s point of view, the name had a good sound. Trina had described her as about five foot three, ponytail, cute little body, and that was in her favor, too. He could already envision her draped in a gorgeous gown on stage. He noted the flawless autumn-brown skin and ran his eyes over her erect posture at the piano. He could tell by the way she was beaming at the students that she loved what she was doing.

This wasn’t what he’d expected when Trina invited him to tag along. She’d told him Regina volunteered at a school on her days off, and he assumed that meant in a custodial capacity. Was he ever wrong. He was blown away by her expertise on the keys and the way she directed the children’s intonation and pace. Regina Vaughn was multifaceted; something else he found surprising. Where he came from people were about one thing—getting that break and making it to the top by any means necessary. No one he knew had ever volunteered their time to work with an elementary school’s choir unless there was something in it for them, but that didn’t appear to be the case here. She seemed genuinely enthused.

He also noted that after initially making eye contact with him upon his entrance she hadn’t looked his way again, not even once. More accustomed to women clamoring for his attention, he was beginning to see that a man’s ego was not Ms. Regina Vaughn’s priority, and he kind of liked that. A rousing rendition of “Wade in the Water” ended the rehearsal. Before the children could disperse, Reggie stood and asked, “What time does the concert start tomorrow?”

Twenty-five kids answered as one. “Seven.”

“And what time are you supposed to report to the music room?”

“Five-thirty.”

She cupped her hand around her ear. “I didn’t hear you.”

Giggling, they shouted, “Five-thirty!”

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. You sang like angels today.”

The grinning kids grabbed up their coats and backpacks and headed out the door. Only after they were all gone did Reggie turn to Trina and Jamal. “Trina, can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

Trina told Jamal, “If she kills me, my flatirons go to my cousin down in Atlanta.”

Reggie rolled her eyes. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Mr. Reynolds?”

He gave her a nod and she led Trina out into the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing with him?”

“He wanted to see you again, so I obliged. All he could talk about was you. Promised him I’d hook you two up.”

“And suppose I don’t want to be hooked up?”

“Do you know who he is?” Trina asked as if she couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation.

And before Reggie could respond, Trina went on a two-minute tear, ticking off a verbal list of all the singers he’d worked with. “And that’s just the folks I know about from reading Essence and People. Not only is the man gorgeous, but he really can make you a star, Reg.”

Reggie sighed. “Trina, you know I don’t want anything to do with the music business.”

“I do,” she said with sincerity, “but I also know that you’re wasting what the good Lord gave you and it’s gotta stop. Think how much you could do for Gram if you had some real cash to work with. Think about this school. You owe it to yourself to at least hear him out.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, you’re going to have to. It’s not like you can snap your fingers and make him disappear.” Trina’s phone sounded and she fished in her big black tote until she found it. Opening it, she read the message and said to Reggie, “It’s Brandon. He’s outside.” Brandon was Trina’s current man du jour and owner of the building where she styled hair on the weekends.

While Reggie looked on, Trina texted him back a reply. Done, she looked up. “Gotta go. He’s taking me to dinner.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yep.” Trina gave her a quick peck on the cheek, followed by “Love you,” and hurried down the hall in her high-heeled boots toward the doors. “Keep an open mind!’ she called back.

Reggie couldn’t believe this. Outdone, she glanced back at the gym doorway and there he stood, dressed in all black and looking like a man out of GQ magazine.

“Guess it’s just me and you, huh?”

His low-toned voice vibrated through her like a softly plucked bass string. His disarming smile didn’t help. She fought to keep herself focused. “Did the two of you plan this?”

“Not that I know of.”

Reggie understood that Trina thought she was doing the right thing by hooking this up but…

“I just want to talk to you, Ms. Vaughn. That’s all.”

“I thought you were flying back to L.A. today?”

“I am. Taking the red-eye.”

He was persistent, she had to give him that. Dark-chocolate gorgeous, too, an inner voice crooned. She pushed that aside. It was also obvious that he wasn’t going to go away until he had his say, so to hasten that, she said, “Okay. You can talk to me on the walk home.”

“How about we take my car. It’s out front.”

“You’re a stranger, Mr. Reynolds. We walk or we don’t talk.”

Tough lady, Jamal noted admiringly. She was right about him being a stranger, no getting around that. However, it was freezing outside. Being a Californian, he wasn’t accustomed to temperatures in the twenties, and he was not looking forward to being out in the cold, even for a short walk. But to allay her fears, and to keep her from rescinding her offer, he agreed. “We walk.”

“Fine. Let me get my coat.”

Moments later she returned wearing a long blue down coat, a bulky knit hat and gloves. He had a coat, too, but it was lightweight cashmere, more suited for show than warmth, and it was in the town car. “Mind if I get my coat?”

“Nope.” That said, she walked off down the hall toward the doors.

Shaking his head with amused amazement, Jamal hurried to catch up.

Jamal was freezing. So far, they’d only walked a short distance, but his feet in the fancy, black Italian tie-ups felt like blocks of ice. His hands and head were no better, and he got the distinct impression that she was enjoying his plight.

“So, talk,” she said as they rounded a corner onto a dimly lit side street lined with houses that had older model cars parked out front.

“How long have you been with the school?” he asked. By the look she gave him it was obviously not the question she’d been anticipating.

“Almost two years.”

“Not the question you were expecting?”

“No.”

“Good. Keeping you off balance is probably my best shot.”

“And why is that?” she asked, glad he wasn’t finding this easy.

“Because you’re different.”

“Used to women falling all over you, are you?”

“Something like that.”

“There’ll be no falling here.”

“Figuring that out.”

They didn’t need to look at each other to know they were both smiling.

He asked, “Do you enjoy being at the school?”

“I do. I’m hoping to finish my degree in Music so I can work there full-time.”

Another surprise. “How close are you?”

“Eight more credits. I had to withdraw when I lost my job at the hotel desk. Housekeeping pays a whole lot less.”

“Money from recording could help.”

“True, but I’m not interested.”

In spite of their not seeing eye to eye, walking beside her made Jamal feel like a kid in high school walking a honey home, although this honey was like no other. “Are you making this hard on purpose?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“So you’ll give up and go away, of course.”

He threw up his hands.

She laughed.

Jamal couldn’t believe how much he was enjoying her. “Woman, you are something.”

“I’m just a chick from the east side of Detroit.”

They’d stopped walking and were standing under a streetlight. She was looking up at him from beneath that knit hat, and he swore she had mischief in her eyes; there was a seriousness in them, too, as if she were trying to figure out who he really was. He told her softly, “I’ve never been turned down, and you’re not going to be the first.”

“Don’t be so sure,” came her softer reply.

In the drawn-out silence the urge to kiss her rose up in Jamal so fast and strong, it almost blazed past his defenses. Dragging his eyes away from the tempting curve of her lips, he stuck his hands in his pockets. “How much farther?”

“Just a little ways,” she told him. “You might want to use the buttons on that coat before you freeze to death. This is Michigan, not a photo shoot.” The front of his coat was open, revealing the black wool turtleneck, black sport coat and slacks beneath.

Shivering, he quipped, “Already there. Only thing missing is the undertaker.”

While she looked on, he attempted to do up the buttons with fumbling frozen fingers.

“Where are your gloves?”

“Don’t have any.”

She shook her head. “Pitiful.”

He chuckled and finally got the last button closed. In an instant, it made such a difference, he wished he’d done it earlier. “I’m new at this cold stuff. We never get this kind of weather in L.A.”

“Here, it’s as common as breathing.”

“So I’ve noticed. How much farther?” he whined mockingly.

“Lord.” She laughed in reply. “Come on. Almost there.” She walked off.

In spite of her misgivings, Reggie decided she could probably like him if she let herself do so. He appeared to be on the up-and-up, and he had a sense of humor, but she had her life already planned out and it didn’t include recording studios or a man who probably had women coming out of his ears.

“Trina said you two are best friends.”

They were in stride once again.

“From the day we met at her mama’s beauty shop. We even share a birthday. March 18.”

“She thinks the world of you, and your voice.”

Reggie went silent for a few moments. “I think the world of her, too. She thinks I’m wasting my gift.”

“Please don’t punch me, but I agree with her.”

“That’s because you don’t know how much money I lost the last time I said yes to someone like you.”

Even though Jamal was so cold he could no longer feel his ears, he stopped again and stared. “Trina never said anything about another producer.”

“Good for her.” And she struck out ahead of him.

Once again, he had to hurry to catch up, all the while wishing he was riding in the warm interior of the hired town car that was slowly trailing them. “When was this?”

“Ten years ago.”

“Who was the producer?”

“Man named Wes Piper, or at least that was the name he used. One day he was there, the next night he was gone.”

Jamal knew hundreds of people in the business but had never heard that name before. “How much did you lose?”

“Almost four grand. Most of which belonged to my grandmother.”

He didn’t know what to say, so for a while they walked on silently. “What if I offer to cover all expenses for demos and studio time?”

“No, thank you. I’m going to teach music.”

“But—”

She stopped in front of a small brick house. Its bright porch light illuminated the front door, showing three small panes and the old-fashioned sitting porch. A beat-up green Escort was parked in the driveway. “This is where I live. Thanks for the company.”

And, to his dismay, she slowly headed up the stairs. As she pulled open the outer storm door, he said, “Hey, wait.”

She turned back.

“You didn’t let me make much of a pitch.” He watched her study him for a moment and again wished he knew what she was thinking.

When she finally spoke it was not what he’d been expecting. “Good night, Mr. Reynolds.”

She disappeared inside.

Sighing his frustration, Jamal walked over to the car where the driver stood waiting beside the opened door, and got in. He’d never been so grateful for warmth. As the driver drove them away, Jamal realized this campaign to get her into the studio was going to be a whole lot harder than he’d initially thought, but at least he knew some of what he was up against. If and when he thawed out, he’d try to figure out what to do next.

Reggie watched the car drive away before she slid the shade back in place. As she hung her coat in the closet, she freely admitted that both Jamal Reynolds and his offer were tempting but she wasn’t risking her future on either one.

She found her grandmother in the kitchen washing collards at the sink. “Hey, Gram.”

“Hey. How was the rehearsal?”

“Interesting.”

“Meaning?”

Reggie told her about Reynolds’s visit.

“You should have invited him in. I would have like to meet him.”

“No, I shouldn’t have. You want help with the washing?” Reggie hoped the question would change the subject. The greens were to be part of the potluck dinner served tomorrow after the concert.

“No, I’m fine. You sit and tell me about Mr. Reynolds. Trina says he’s quite fine.”

Reggie froze. “When did you talk to Trina?”

Her grandmother transferred a large handful of dripping collards from one water-filled portion of the double sink to the other. “This afternoon. She called to confirm my hair appointment for Saturday, and to let me know she was taking Mr. Reynolds over to the school.”

“And you didn’t call to warn me?”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because you’re my grandmother,” Reggie said, outdone by this well-meaning but making her crazy conspiracy.

Gram’s answering smile resonated from her heart. “I am your grandmother, and I’ve watched you grow and blossom and get beat down by life and pick yourself up again. Dorothy, it is time for you to put on your ruby slippers and step onto the yellow brick road.”

“Great. Now, I’m getting The Wizard of Oz.”

“If the ruby slipper fits.”

Reggie gently bounced her head on the tablecloth before raising it and asking, “Et tu, Gram?”

Her grandmother laughed. “Yes. Me, too.” Her next words were serious. “Reggie, sometimes God, the universe, fate, whatever you want to call it, sends us a door that we’re supposed to open and walk through.”

“And you think that’s what Reynolds is?”

She nodded and said, “It’s possible.”

“I can’t afford another scammer.”

“True, but can you afford to see where this leads so you don’t spend the rest of your life wondering what if? Has he asked you for any money?”

“No. He offered to pay for the demos and the studio time himself.”

“Then case closed, at least for me. You get to make the ultimate decision of course, and I can only imagine how hard it must be for you to even think about putting your heart and dreams back out there again.”

“No kidding,”

“Even so, it’s time for you to gather up Toto and get ready for the Emerald City.”

In spite of the silly allusions, Reggie knew her grandmother was right. She was also correct about how hard it was for Reggie to consider resurrecting her dreams. Granted, she’d been younger then, only seventeen, and hadn’t known that someone you trusted could rip the heart right out of you. Now, at twenty-seven she was well aware that life could run you over in the street and not care, and she didn’t want that to happen to her again.

Gram took a seat at the table and wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll support you either way.”

“I know.” Gram, whose full name was Crystal Vaughn, was the world’s leading cheerleader of her granddaughter’s dreams, even when Reggie didn’t know she had any. Crystal had also supported the music dreams of her daughter, Brenda, Reggie’s mom. But Brenda’s had ended on the point of a needle in a fetid room in Copenhagen when Reggie was twelve.

“So, is he really as fine as Trina said?”

Reggie gave her grandmother a look. “You need to quit.”

“Come on. Answer the question, girl. Is he?”

“Yes, Gram. The man is fine. Quite fine, in fact.” She chose not to mention the sparks that had seemed to flare between them because she was certain nothing would come of them. She and Jamal were from two different worlds.

On the way back to his hotel, Jamal finally thawed out enough to raise his arm and check his watch for the time. He could easily make his flight home, but the challenge of Regina Vaughn made leaving town out of the question. Instead, he put in a call to his assistant, Cheryl, in L.A. She promised to take care of the flight changes and to get an extension on his hotel suite. Always grateful for her sunny disposition and amazing efficiency, he ended the call. Now, he’d be able to plot his next move. But first, he had to buy some gloves.

Chapter Three

Reggie was whipped from having worked all day, but the moment she walked into the school and saw her kids all dressed up, and their proud parents standing beside them, the weariness melted away. The excitement in the air and in their young faces was contagious.

After stashing her coat and purse in the school’s office, she and the principal, Dr. Baldwin, reviewed the night’s program. When they were certain they knew how things would flow, Reggie hurried off to the gym to make sure everything was in place. She swept critical eyes over the risers the children would be standing on, the many chairs fanned out around the area for the audience to sit in and the positioning of her piano. Everything appeared to be in place, so she headed down to the music room where the kids and their parents were gathering.

She was wearing her good dress; a simple, long-sleeved black dress with a hemline that brushed her ankles. It fit her curves well yet flowed freely enough for her to be comfortable in. On her feet were her black, high-heeled boots, and around her neck, her mother’s pearls. It was the dress she also wore to funerals, graduations and sometimes to church. Tonight it was concert attire.

Most of the kids were already in their seats. The others had ten more minutes to show up and she prayed no one would be late.

When Jamal arrived, there were only a few open seats left in the dimly lit gymnasium. He had no idea how many students attended the school but it appeared that families and friends had turned out in full force. He spotted Trina waving at him from across the room. He’d called her earlier to let her know he’d be attending, and she’d promised to save him a seat.

As he made his way, he could feel the eyes. His expensive clothing and bearing pegged him as an outsider, but he shrugged it off and nodded polite greetings to some of the older ladies as he passed by. They smiled back and nudged each other, whispering and giggling.

He took the open seat next to Trina. She introduced him to the woman seated beside him. She was older and sported beautiful gray dreads. “Jamal Reynolds. Reggie’s grandmother, Crystal Vaughn.”

Jamal paused. Leave it to Trina to catch him off guard. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” the woman politely responded.

Her grandmother. He remembered Regina referencing her while they were walking home last night. He wondered how much Regina had told her about him. Knowing her, probably nothing.

But the question was set aside as the children filed in and took their places on the risers. Some were dressed in suits and Sunday dresses while others wore jeans and T-shirts. Ringing applause greeted their arrival. When the smiling Regina entered next, the applause increased in both volume and enthusiasm. Jamal took it as a signal of how much she was appreciated. The sight of her with her hair down and makeup on, and all dressed up in the figure-skimming black dress with jewelry around her neck made him sit up straighter so he could get a better look. The first time he met her, she’d been wearing a shapeless gray housekeeping dress. Yesterday, jeans and a coat and hat that made her look like a brown-skinned Inuit. Tonight, she was hot. Her beauty was on full display and he couldn’t decide where to look first. The gleaming shoulder-length hair grabbed his attention as did the soft lines of her shoulders and arms. He found the sultry sweet curves of her breasts and hips captivating, but her mouth, highlighted with a muted toned lipstick, looked ripe enough to eat.

Her grandmother whispered, “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” he heard himself reply. Every fiber of his being was focused on Regina in a way he’d never focused on any woman before. Watching her gracefully take her seat on the piano bench, he realized he was rock hard. He shifted his folded coat over his lap to cover the evidence, but never took his eyes off the cause.

For the next hour, the audience in the gymnasium was treated to an outstanding performance. Some of the selections were slow and pure, like “Peace Be Still,” while a few songs by Kirk Franklin rocked the house. During the intermission, the school principal, a short brown woman named Dr. Baldwin, came out and made a poignant plea for financial support. She pointed out the lack of books, instruments and even working lightbulbs in the ceiling above their heads. She also spoke of all the academic awards the students had achieved in spite of being taught in a building that on some days seemed to be on the verge of crumbling. Her words were so moving and so passionate Jamal just wanted to know who to write a check out to. Music was his love and his life. Helping out a place that nurtured and celebrated that art was a no-brainer. After that he’d ask Dr. Baldwin how he might help in any other ways. He also planned to research Madame Sissieretta Jones, the woman for whom the school was named. He’d never heard of her, but she was a musical legend he needed to know.

He wanted to know Regina Vaughn, too; not intimately, although seeing her tonight made that statement a lie. For now, he chose to focus on knowing who she was inside. She was tough, intelligent and most of all intriguing, but what made her tick? Did she have a man? Children? Were her parents still living? There was so much he didn’t know. Watching her leading the choir in the last selection, he thanked the fates for bringing him to Detroit.

After the program ended Reggie toured the gym, praising her students and receiving praise in return from their families and friends. People were talking, taking pictures and setting up the table for the potluck. In the midst of the noisy madness, she took a moment to try to spot her grandmother in the crowded gym. She saw her over by the buffet table. Trina was with her and in between them stood Jamal Reynolds. As if cued, he looked up and into Reggie’s eyes. He held her there as if by magic and she swore she couldn’t have moved had she wanted to. Her grandmother called him a door, but Reggie had the overwhelming sense that if she turned the knob, there would be more inside than music. He exuded a maleness that was as charged as a downed power line and it filled her with the current. Just looking at him made her warm and want. Mentally shaking herself, she broke the contact. Praying he’d stay on his side of the gym, she turned her attention back to the students and parents.

He didn’t of course. In fact, when she looked up, he was walking toward her carrying two food-filled plates. Everybody in the place was watching. He, however, had eyes only for her, and the depth she read in them made her heart pound.

When he reached her side, she told him, “There are stalking laws in Michigan.”

He gave her a muted smile. “Really.” He handed her the plate.

She took it and the silverware. “Thought you were taking the red-eye.”

“Changed my mind.”

In his intense gaze, Reggie saw everything a woman could ever want to see in a man’s eyes, and the knowledge that he wasn’t hiding it scared her to death. She noticed her grandmother and Trina watching them, too. When her grandmother smiled approvingly and raised a forkful of greens in silent salute, Reggie playfully shook her head and refocused on Jamal. “How about we find a seat.”

“Lead the way.”

She chose two empty chairs near the risers.

Once they were settled, they started in on their plates. The food was good and Reggie was famished.

“Did you have to work today?”

“I did, and I’m looking at a six o’clock start in the morning.”

“Hardworking lady.”

“Tell me about it.”

“If I want to write a check to help out the school, who should I make it out to?”

“The school. Why are you writing a check?”

“This is a fundraiser right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

And before she could ask, he said reassuringly, “And I’m not doing it just to impress you.”

“You knew I was going to ask that.”

“I did.”

“Smart and cute. Who’d’ve ever thought?”

He laughed. She did, too.

“I want to do it because music is my thing, and if I can help a school with kids that love it as much as I do, I’m all over it. I mentor a couple of schools in L.A.”

Reggie studied the serious set of his features and responded sincerely, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

With the current humming in them both, they went back to eating.

An hour later, the food was packed up, the gym cleaned and everyone said their goodbyes. Trina hurried off to meet Brandon, leaving Reggie outside with her grandmother and Jamal. It was 9:00 p.m. and just starting to snow.

Crystal asked, “Mr. Reynolds, would you like to stop by for coffee?”

“Thank you, but I know Regina has to work in the morning.”

Cute, smart and considerate, Reggie thought to herself. She liked that and so she told him, “You can come, but let’s go. It’s cold out here.” The wind was starting to pick up.

“I had my car drop me off. Let me call the driver.”

“By the time he gets here, we could be home.”

So once again, the ill-dressed Jamal found himself walking through the frigid Detroit night.

Being California born and raised, snow was something Jamal rarely encountered and it was coming down like cold white rain. The wind blew stinging pellets of the stuff into his face, so he pulled his unbuttoned coat closer and hurried up the steps to the Vaughns’ porch.

The wind was howling now. While he waited for Regina to undo all the locks, he shivered as the cold cut through his pants legs as if he was naked.

Blessedly, the interior was warm. Once the doors were locked, he asked still shivering, “Is this weather normal for April?”

“April’s never normal,” Reggie pointed out. “This is Michigan. Let me take your coat.”

He handed it over but he couldn’t seem to shake the shivers.

“Welcome to our home, Mr. Reynolds,” her grandmother said, handing Reggie her coat, too. “Reg, take him in the living room and park him by the radiator so he can thaw out. I’ll get the coffee started.”

With a smile, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Jamal followed Reggie into the small living room. By his L.A. standards, the place was tiny. Living room, dining room, kitchen and maybe a small bathroom somewhere in the back. Bedrooms upstairs, he guessed. The furniture was worn but proudly polished. The beautiful framed abstract art hanging on the walls immediately caught his eye. The work, filled with muted reds and blues, was outstanding and he wondered who the artist might be even as he continued to shake from the cold.

“Radiator’s there.” She pointed at what appeared to be a bunch of pipes resembling an opened accordion.

Puzzled, he studied it. As he moved closer, he could feel heat but wasn’t sure how it was being transmitted.

She must have seen the confusion on his face. “You don’t know what a radiator is?”

“In California, we don’t need things like this.”

“Runs off steam. Hold your hands above it like this.”

Jamal mimicked her motion. The soft heat that bathed his hands made him groan with relief. “Oh, that’s good.”

She cracked a smile.

He liked her smile. He also liked the way she looked this evening. The simple black dress flowed around her like a song, giving her a sophistication and a polish that seemed to ramp up her natural beauty. He forced his eyes away from the strand of pearls draped sinuously around her throat because all he could think about was her wearing them while nude in his bed. “I like the paintings. Who’s the artist?”

“Gram. She did them as part of her rehab after her stroke. She didn’t want them framed, but I thought they were too good to be just tossed out.”

“When was the stroke?”

“About fifteen years ago.”

“Do you think I could commission her to do one for me?”

She shrugged. “You can ask.”

He studied the woman he was developing a craving for. “Are you sure you’re okay with me being here tonight? Six is early.”

“It is, but I’m okay.”

He had no way of knowing if she was telling the truth, but he was glad to have any amount of time with her, even if it was just long enough to drink a cup of coffee. He searched his mind for a topic that would keep her talking to him. “I like your hair down.”

“Thanks. Trina does it. Nothing like having your best friend be a hairdresser. What’s your best friend do to pay the bills?”

The question caught him off guard. “Hmm. Let’s see.” He mentally went down the list of people he could call friend, but decided none qualified as best. “Don’t have one.”

Her face showed confusion. “Everybody has a best friend.”

He shrugged. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Got my music. It’s the only friend I need.”

“What about family? Brothers, sisters?”

Again he shrugged. “Don’t have any of those either, far as I know.”

“What?”

“Raised in foster care.”

“Ah. Okay. Didn’t mean to be so nosy.”

“No problem. It’s a natural question.”

Reggie still felt bad. She’d never known anyone who didn’t have family somewhere, even if it was jail. How had that affected him growing up? she wondered. She decided she’d been nosy enough for one night, so she kept the question to herself. She looked at him looking back at her from where he stood by the radiator, and there in the quiet of her grandmother’s living room, Jamal Reynolds became more real.

“Coffee’s ready,” Gram called out.

Jamal’s feet had finally thawed, so he gestured for Reggie to go first. “After you.”

As she led the way, he watched the siren sway of her dress-covered hips, and all he could do was shake his head and say to himself, My, my, my.

Reggie sensed he was checking her out and her inner awareness of him amped up a few more notches. His eyes had been on her all evening; sometimes teasing, sometimes serious, but always there. It wasn’t something she was accustomed to. There was also the looming question of whether he was really interested in her or if this was just a game to get her to say yes to his proposal. She didn’t like that second part and so reminded herself that she’d only met him a few days ago. She also reminded herself that even though her grandmother had given him her stamp of approval, she knew her grandmother; Crystal Vaughn had a lot more questions. Jamal may have thought this was just a polite invitation to coffee, but he was about to learn why Reggie and Trina had nicknamed her The Grand Inquisitor.

After they took seats at the kitchen table and fixed their coffees to their likings, Reggie, sipping on a mug of decaf tea, sat back and watched.

“Mr. Reynolds, Reggie and Trina say you’re a producer. Would I know any of the names you’ve worked with?” Crystal asked.

He ran down some of the names Reggie had seen on his Web page, and again, it was an impressive list.

Gram looked impressed as well. “Some good folks there.”

“I think so.”

“How long have you been in the business?”

“Did my first CD when I was seventeen, so about seventeen years.”

“You must enjoy it?”

“Almost as much as this coffee.”

Her eyes were kind. “Help yourself to more if you like.”

“Thanks.”

Although he had ceased to be a cardboard cutout to Reggie, the jury was still out. Granted, he was so charming he had her grandmother eating out of his hand, and every time his eyes met Reggie’s, she found it hard to breathe, like now, but that didn’t change the fact that being a music teacher was the sanest decision to make at this juncture in her life.

Jamal noticed that Reggie hadn’t said much, but even as her grandmother continued to quiz him, he was unable to keep his eyes from straying over her mouth, eyes, the sweep of her cheeks and the way she was wearing her hair. That she didn’t appear cognizant of how gorgeous she actually was was yet another surprise. So many of the women he met were all about their looks.

Crystal asked, “Do you travel a lot, Mr. Reynolds?”

“Please call me Jamal, and yes, ma’am, I do.”

“Must be hard on your wife?”

“No wife.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Gram!” Reggie croaked through the tea she’d just swallowed.

Jamal smiled. “It’s okay. No special girlfriend either. Ladies don’t like being second.”

“To what?”

“My music. Can’t seem to find one who understands why I’m in the studio 24/7. But maybe one day.” His next words were directed at Reggie. “A beautiful woman can move you just like a beautiful song.”

Heat spread over Reggie like warm syrup over waffles, leaving her nipples hard and an answering riff between her thighs.

As if he hadn’t just set her on fire, he smoothly returned to Crystal, “And I’m not offended by your questions. I’m asking Regina to make a big decision. I figured this was going to be more than just a cup of coffee.”

Cute and smart, Reggie echoed inwardly again. Her grandmother had the decency to look embarrassed.

“My apologies for being so nosy. But you’re right, I want to know all about you.”

“I respect that. Have to let you know that I like your abstracts. They’re very good.”

“I had some health problems a few years back and the painting was therapy. You like them?”

“I do. Very much.”

“Then next time I set up my easel, I’ll do one for you.”

Reggie smiled over her cup. Her grandmother hadn’t painted in years. In fact, Reggie was certain Crystal didn’t even know where the easel was. Guess the current is getting to Gram, too.

“How much longer will you be in the city?” she asked next.

“Not sure.”

He moved his attention to Reggie again and what she read there made her feel as if he’d already kissed her; had already brushed his lips over the side of her neck and down her breasts. It was as if they’d been lovers in times past and her body was preening for his remembered touch.

Crystal’s even-toned voice broke the pulsating contact. “So tell me where you grew up. What do your parents do?”

Reggie wanted to deflect the questioning before he was forced to explain his past, but he answered smoothly, “As I told Regina earlier, I grew up in foster care. No one adopted me, so I aged out of the system at eighteen.”

The impact of his words was evident on her grandmother’s face. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive my prying.”

“It’s okay. Being a foster kid taught me to be independent. I probably wouldn’t be who I am today without that experience.”

“Jamal, I’m very glad we met.”

“Same here,” he responded genuinely. “Thanks for having me in your home, and for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome. There’s apple pie in the fridge if you want some.”

His eyes lit up with such delight both women laughed.

She said to Reggie, “I’m going to leave you two alone.”

“Ms. Vaughn, you’re welcome to stay,” he assured her. “I’ve nothing to hide.”

“Nope. Heard all I need to. Reggie’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”

Reggie gave her a nod of thanks. Truthfully, she would prefer her grandmother stay in order to not be alone with him, but she knew that was out. “I’ll see you later.”

Crystal got to her feet, and Jamal stood, too. His show of chivalry won him more points. “And a gentleman, too? I think I’m in heaven.”

She made her exit while an amused Reggie watched her go.

After the departure, silence settled over the kitchen. Reggie glanced his way and found his eyes waiting. Beginning to drown in what she saw there, she cleared her throat and looked elsewhere.

Jamal couldn’t believe the strength of his attraction. In order to drag his mind away from wondering if her mouth would taste as sweet as it appeared, he asked, “How about I help you wash up these cups?”

“That isn’t necessary. I can handle it.”

“You’ve been putting up with my stalking for the past couple of days, it’s the least I can do.”

To Reggie the air in the room had become as humid and sultry as a summer day in July. All she could do was acquiesce. “Okay.”

After putting on an apron, it took her only a moment to make the dishwater.

He walked over to where she stood at the sink and suggested, “You wash and I’ll dry.”

“Are you always so helpful?”

“Not usually, but if it’ll get me a hearing with you, I’ll dry dishes outside in the snow.”

His dark gaze was working her overtime, and all kinds of things she’d rather not think about were pulsing inside. “Dish towels are in the drawer over there.”

In addition to the cups, the dishes holding the food her grandmother had taken to the potluck also needed to be washed, dried and put away. As they worked, conversation was minimal, but that was okay with Jamal. As he removed the wet dishes from the dish drain and dried them, he was content to watch her—the way she moved, the way she kept shooting little glances over her shoulder at him. He kept reminding himself it was her voice he was after, not the lure of her, or the challenge she presented, or the way she might look nude in his bed and wearing nothing but those pearls now lying in the middle of the table, but it was hard to remember.

With her hands in the soapy water, Reggie washed and then rinsed the big rose-patterned bowl used at the potluck to hold her grandmother’s signature jambalaya. She placed it in the dish drain just as he reached to take it out. Their fingers bumped and the sparks flew, startling them both.

“Sorry,” they apologized in unison.

A shy smile crossed her face.

“Like your smile,” he confessed.

“Yours isn’t bad either.”

Silence rose while they both rode the opening notes of a prelude only they could hear.

He asked, “When are you going to let me talk to you?”

Reggie got the impression that he was asking about way more than a recording session. She kept her voice nonchalant. “How about now? We’re done here.” She dried her hands and gestured him back to his seat at the table. “Do you want that pie? More coffee?”

“Yes to both. I’ll get myself another cup and you get the pie.”

He poured himself some of the still-hot coffee. She cut two slices of the apple pie and placed them gently onto paper plates.

“I’m having just a little piece,” she explained. “I don’t want to be up all night.”

Jamal had been having such a good time, he’d all but forgotten about her having to work in the morning. In his world, if it took all night to consummate a deal, so be it, but this was her world, and there were parameters. He felt the need to apologize. “I’m sorry, and here I am keeping you up, too. Forget the pie, let’s have a quick conversation, and we can work out the details by phone or something later.”

“I’m good. Have your pie and coffee. As long as I’m in bed by eleven, I’ll be okay.” She passed him a plate and a fork.

“What time do you usually get up?”

“Around four-thirty, and on the road no later than five-fifteen.”

“That’s early.”

“That’s life in hotel housekeeping.”

“How long have you worked housekeeping?”

But before she could respond, he groaned pleasurably in response to his first taste of the pie. “This is so damn good.”

Pleased by his testimonial, she replied, “Gram’s from Louisiana. She can make a cardboard box taste good.”

He glanced her way. “You cook, too?”

“Yep, but not as good as she does.”

“I’d be big as a Klump if I lived here.”

She chuckled. “First time I ever heard it put that way, but to answer your question about working in housekeeping, almost two years.”

That gave him pause. He wanted her to sing, not be on her knees scrubbing tubs even if it was good honest work. “Do you like working at the hotel?”

“I do. The guests can get on your nerves sometimes and it’s hard work, but it’s a job. In this economy, I’m glad to have anything that pays the bills.”

He knew she was right of course. The sheer size of his personal wealth insulated him from having to worry about the everyday issues that impacted folks on the opposite end of the economic spectrum, and it made him wonder how the Vaughn women were doing financially. Were they up-to-date on their mortgage or in danger of foreclosure? There was food in the house and they had lights and heat, but were they robbing Peter to pay Paul in order to make their bills? He didn’t know them well enough to ask something so personal, nor would he be so disrespectful, but she couldn’t be making much money cleaning rooms. Did she have health insurance? “Being in the music business can change your life.”

“For better or worse?”

He studied her over his raised cup. “I’d say better.”

“I’d say, depends.”

“Why?”

“I just do.”

“Come on, girl. You can’t just throw that statement out there with no explanation. What’s up with all this negativity?”

For a moment she didn’t respond, but he could see from her unfocused stare that she seemed to be elsewhere. “Talk to me, please?” he asked softly.

Reggie was debating whether to tell him the truth. He’d been so polite and nice all evening she supposed he’d earned it. Maybe when he heard what she had to say, he’d understand the other reason why she was so hesitant to throw caution to the wind. “My mother had one of the best voices in the city. Sang backup for one of the Grady girl groups. A record executive turned her on to heroin and she overdosed one night in Copenhagen.”

Jamal’s heart turned over. This wasn’t even close to what he’d been expecting to hear. “How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “My condolences.”

“Thanks…”

She looked haunted by her sadness. Seeing it filled him with an urge to make it so she’d never experience such pain again. “I’m not going to rip you off or give you drugs. You have an amazing voice and you could go so far in this business. How’s your grandmother feel about my offer?”

“She’s all for it, of course. When I told her about meeting you, she called me Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and said it was time for me to put on my ruby-red slippers and start walking down the yellow brick road.”

“I like your grandmother.”

“She liked you, too.”

“But you don’t agree with her?”

“I do, but it’s hard to know what’s right. I have a job and prospects for a better one if I can keep saving up and finish school.”

“Okay, tell you what. I’m going to leave you alone for a few days. I’ll fly back to L.A., and then call you to see if you’ve made a decision.” He was not going to let the best voice he’d discovered in nearly a decade slip away. “You still have my card, right?”

She looked embarrassed. “No. I tossed it after you left.”

“You’re a mess, you know that?”

Holding his humor-filled gaze, Reggie wondered what it might be like to have him in her life for real.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “Not really.”

“Well, I do and I believe that I was supposed to run into you at the hotel.”

“Why?”

“To hear you singing.”

She didn’t respond.

“The music gods have sent me to show you the way to the mountaintop, and I’m not coming back empty-handed, so know that.”

“Now who’s a mess?”

He shot her a dazzling smile before glancing down at his watch. “I should get moving so you can go to bed.”

Reggie hadn’t expected to have such a nice time. “Thanks for understanding where I’m at.”

“No problem, but like I said, this ain’t over.”

She got the sense that he was enjoying the challenge. “If you say so.”

“I do.” He drained the last of his coffee and took out his phone to call his driver.

Jamal wasn’t anxious to end the evening. Watching her, he wanted to sit in her cozy little kitchen with his pie and coffee and talk to her until sunrise. He’d learned a bit more about her tonight, so he supposed he’d have to be content with that.

While he made his call, Reggie checked him out. Instead of the usual black he was wearing gray. On his wrist was an elaborately carved silver bracelet with a huge blue sapphire in its center. The handsome face hadn’t changed, though. The thin razor cuts that ran from his jaws down to the well-groomed hair on his chin gave his dark face just a hint of danger. Everything about him was enough to make a woman pant.

When he ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket, she got to her feet. “I’ll get your coat.”

“Thanks.”

More aware of his presence than she’d ever been of any man, she didn’t have to turn and look to know that he was following; she could feel his heat. She wondered if he could feel hers.

She suspected he could.

Opening the small closet by the front door, she withdrew his coat, a black wool topper, and handed it over.

He voiced his thanks as he put it on and did up some of the buttons. Once he was done, he stood silently for a moment watching her. That drowning sensation rolled over her again, but this time she didn’t look away. “Thanks for not pressuring me. It was nice meeting you.” The thought of him leaving for L.A. tomorrow and maybe never seeing him again left her with a strange sense of longing.

“Even nicer meeting you.”

A car horn blew outside.

“That’s my driver.”

She opened the door. Wind-whipped snow could be seen through the frosty panes of the storm door. “Have a safe trip back.”

He handed her another one of his cards. “Keep this one, okay? No trashing allowed.”

She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Okay.”

For a long moment they fed visually on each other, then he leaned down and pressed a soft parting kiss against her forehead. “Stay sweet,” he whispered. “I’ll be in touch.”

Before she could recover, he was gone. Dazed, she closed the door and leaned back against it. Her fingers touched the sweet sting left by his kiss. Her whole body felt warm, opened. If just that brief brush of his lips could deliver such a wallop, she couldn’t imagine what kind of fireworks his hands must set off. Good Lord. She was so stunned she was still standing that way when her grandmother came down the stairs a few minutes later.

“Are you okay?”

Reggie shook herself free and felt her brain come back to life. “I think so.”

“You look a little rocked.”

“Does it show?”

Her grandmother chuckled. “He is nice, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is.”

“A girl could do worse.”

“Yeah, but not a girl like me. He’s probably got a harem full of women back home.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Cinderella. I saw the way he was watching you at the table. He’s interested.”

“Yeah, but in what? Probably just wants to put my mop on his wall with the rest of his bedroom trophies.”

Her grandmother laughed.

“I’m going to bed,” Reggie declared.

“And I’m coming down to watch some TV.”

They met at the bottom of the steps and shared a hug.

Crystal whispered, “I love you, baby. Think about what he’s offering.”

“I love you more. I told him I would and I will. I promise.”

The embrace ended.

Reggie gave her grandmother a mock warning. “And don’t stay up too late, missy. You need your beauty sleep.”

“I’ll be up right after the late-night, dirty movie on Skinamax.”

A chuckling Reggie climbed the stairs shaking her head.

Sleep was long in coming. Jamal Reynolds filled Reggie’s mind. When she finally did drift off, his whispery voice telling her to “stay sweet” was the last thing she remembered.

In the dream, Reggie and Trina were climbing a mountain in a swirling, blinding snowstorm. Trina was above her on the mountain and Reggie knew she’d be left behind if she didn’t keep up. They were both perfectly outfitted for the weather, with parkas, backpacks and spiked boots, but the treacherous conditions made the struggling Reggie barely able to see Trina above her in the heavy snow. She kept yelling for Trina to stop so she could catch her breath, but Trina kept getting farther and farther away until the only thing Reggie could make out were the Day-Glo numbers 404 on the back of Trina’s pack. Cold and exhausted, Reggie called again, only to have her voice snatched away by the howling, screaming wind, and then she was alone.

Next thing she knew she was in a dark cave illuminated by a fire. Soft jazz could be heard. Jamal was sitting in the corner, and when their eyes met he stood. Dressed in all black, he came toward her. With each step he took, her clothes magically melted away. When he finally reached her side she was nude.

Then the scene changed and they were on a bed and his mouth was slowly worshipping the peaks, hollows and curves of her body. His fiery lips blazed slowly over the base of her throat and the crooning points of her breasts. While he lingered there, his hand played between her legs, doing such magnificent things her hips were rising and she was moaning in the jazz-hushed silence. He was nude, too, now—dark, hard and sleek. “Are you ready to be loved?”

The scandalous pleasure of his lips and hands had her so breathless, she had to fight to find the voice to reply, “Yes…”

So he took her and she came with a long strangled scream, then bolted awake.

Breathing hard, heart racing like a hydroplane on the Detroit River, she wildly looked around in the darkness. She was in her bedroom. Thank goodness! Her nipples were hard. The secret place between her thighs was throbbing and her whole body felt ripe with need. It was as if he’d slipped into her room, made love to her and slipped away again. She fell back onto the mattress. Mercy!

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