A Private Affair (29 page)

“She's cool. Gettin' ready to buy that magazine that she works for.”

“Get out. Ya'll gonna be livin' large.” She laughed.

“Ain't nothin' change but the day.”

“I hear ya. So when you gonna come out and see a sista?”

He laughed. “I'ma make it a point to do that. Got good hotels around there?”

“Forget hotels. You stay with me. I got plenty of space.”

“You got it like that, huh?”

“No doubt.”

They both laughed.

“So make plans to come out and let me know.”

“I'll do that.”

She took a breath, not wanting to let him go, but knew that she had to. “Hey, listen, Q, I gotta run. So call me. Okay?”

His stomach did a slow dance. “No…doubt.”

“Good talkin' to you, babe,” she whispered.

“You, too.”

She hung up before she could say something really stupid, then sat there and stared at the phone. She hadn't asked him why he never said goodbye.

Quinn lay across the bed and stared up at the ceiling, running the conversation over and again in his head.

He threw his arm over his eyes and wondered what life was like in California.

 

Nikita took a bite of her cherry cheesecake. “He probably just got held up in the studio.”

“Hmm,” her mother mumbled.

Her father signaled for the check. “Tell him we asked about him.”

“I will.” She smiled, fuming inside.

They parted at the door, exchanging hugs and promises to call soon. Nikita got in her car and couldn't get home fast enough.

He heard her the moment her key connected with the lock. He thought he was prepared for what he knew was coming. He wasn't.

The shrill whistle of the teakettle pierced in unison with the
diatribe that Nikita hurled in Quinn's direction. Her petite body perched on shapely legs, paced with uneven footsteps across the hardwood floor, like a professor lecturing to an errant student.

She spun toward him. “Why do you do this, Quinn?” Her shoulder-length locks swung around her face, following his cat-like gait.

Apparently without a care, which only fueled her fire, Quinn took a short stroll to the far side of the living room and stretched out unceremoniously on the mud-cloth-draped black leather couch. Dark eyes cut at her from beneath his thick lashes. “Why we gotta go through this every time I don't do what you want me to do, be where you want me to be?”

Her light brown eyes widened. She expelled a long, exasperated breath between her teeth. She was the one who stayed up nights wondering where he was, worrying what had happened to him, until exhaustion lured her to sleep.

“We are on the planning committee for one of the biggest publishing events in ages, and you didn't even bother to show up. Not to mention that you never showed up for dinner. I was the one who had to pretend that your no-show was no big deal!”

Which had given her mother the perfect entrée to recite her laundry list of reasons why Quinn was wrong for her. Judging from this latest fiasco, maybe she was right. God, she didn't want her mother to be right. Not this time. Not about Quinn.

She took a breath. “Does it ever occur to you that I may be worried? Does it ever occur to you to call?”

A slow smile lifted the corners of his rich mouth. He eased his six-foot-plus frame to a sitting position. His shoulder-length locks swept the sides of his face, shadowing his dark, chiseled features in an erotic silhouette of light and shadow.

He was feeling too good after talking to Max. He didn't want to lose that sensation by fighting with Nik about something that was over and done with.

“Aw, come on, baby. I'm here now.”

His dark eyes sparkled with that old, barely contained passion. He held his hand out to her in an offer of peace and she felt her anger begin to melt like skillet-heated butter.

His touch always aroused a level of sexuality that left her weak. The acceptance of that reality put her in a state of vulnerability, easily susceptible to Quinn's unorthodox lifestyle, which continually wreaked havoc with their lives. The only thing that had changed about Quinn in their two years together was his age.

She refused the olive branch he offered. “I…can't keep living like this, Quinn. I want more than you're willing to give this relationship. I want a man I can count on. Someone who is going to be there for me. Someone who is willing to share his goals and dreams with mine, and together make them come true.”

“So this is all about you.” His dark eyes narrowed. His voice grew dangerously low. “You sayin' that I don't have goals, that I ain't about nothing? What about what I want? What I need? Huh? Maybe I didn't wanna sit up in your people's faces all night and listen to the bull. Have them treat me like I was somethin' on the bottom of their designer shoes. Ever think of that?”

Nikita flinched. But she realized at that moment that if she backed down again, if she allowed his powers of persuasion to overrule what she truly felt, things would never change.

“What is it that you want, Quinn—to hang in the street till the sun comes up, to make a quick buck doing God knows what?” Her nostrils flared as she sucked in air. “Those seem to be your goals in life, you and that crowd you associate with.” She shook her head. Her tone softened. “You have so much potential, so much to offer, and you waste yourself and your talents. You're a gifted musician and a brilliant writer, if you'd just stick with it.”

Quinn pushed himself up from his seat and stood towering above her. His voice projected an eerie calm. “You don't know what you're talkin' about. I ain't like you, Niki. I never lived in
white
America. I didn't get to go to private school, or to the
continent,
” he singsonged, “when I was seventeen. I was strugglin' for my life! I didn't have a mother or a father who gave a sh—what I did with my life. This is me. All there is. You supposed to love me? Then love me for who I am—not who you figure I oughta be 'cause Moms and Pops say so.”

She felt as if she'd been slapped, and a sudden sensation of doom spread through her. “I do love you.” She stepped to him.
“I do care what happens to you.” Her heart beat faster when he wouldn't meet her eyes. “You've got to know that. If I didn't, do you think it would matter to me what you did, or with whom?” Her eyes frantically scanned the planes of his face.

She so wanted him to just tell her what was in his heart. What he really thought and felt, what dark corner it was that he always turned into and shut her out of. If he would only let his guard down just this once, and let her in.

He smiled a bittersweet smile, caressing her face with his large hand. He gently brushed her trembling lips with the pad of his thumb.

His darkly haunting eyes, eyes that had seen too much, trailed up and down her face, seeing himself through hers. It was then that he realized with vivid clarity that they would always be in two different worlds. How could he ever hope to cross the bridge that separated them? Yet he needed her. His unspoken love for her helped him to face each day, and the decisions that lay ahead of him.

Slowly he lowered his head until his mouth was inches away from hers.

Niki trembled.

When his warm mouth touched hers and his tongue parted her lips, she knew that all she ever wanted was to be with this man—to have him within her—always. She loved him with a desperate yearning that frightened her. She knew he was right about her parents. He was everything she'd been taught to stay away from, a parent's worst nightmare for their daughter. He was their eleven o'clock news.

But she couldn't stay away. Somehow they'd find their way. They'd find a middle ground.

She clung tighter to him.

Without words, Quinn led her upstairs to their bedroom, slowly undressing her along the way. With a patience that belied his need, he took his time, finding a slow, soothing rhythm that stoked the embers of her fire, only to be quenched by his eruption of release.

Quinn gave himself to her, body and soul, as he'd always done before.

She never did see the silent tears that slid down his chiseled cheeks.

This union was different.

So very different.

 

When Nikita awoke the following morning, her heart and mind were filled with a sense of peace. Something wonderful had transpired between her and Quinn the night before. Their souls had somehow touched, and she wanted to finally understand the shadows that haunted him.

She was mildly surprised to find that he wasn't sound asleep next to her. Rising early was not his strong point. She smiled. He was probably downstairs. Maybe working on a new piece.

She was eager to talk to him, tell him that she was really willing to work out their relationship—together, not just on her terms.

Quickly she got out of bed and hurried into the adjoining bathroom for a short shower. She was sure she'd find Quinn in the living room sipping his morning glass of grapefruit juice, his feet propped up on the coffee table, waiting for her to tell him to take them down.

What she found instead was an envelope stuffed with money for the next six months' rent, and a note that changed her life and shredded her heart.

Startin' Over and Over

N
ikita sighed and turned away from the puffs of cottony clouds that floated around the speeding Boeing 747. Three years. Three long years. A time that was behind her, and best forgotten.

She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes, letting the motion of the slipstream currents lull her into a light, dreamless sleep. She didn't want to think about Quinn anymore, and, oddly, she hadn't for quite some time. The trip to Nigeria from which she was returning—the one that she and Quinn should have taken together—coupled with faxes and letters of correspondence from her executive editor, Monica Frazier, had caused the old wounds to seep open.

When she'd received the fax from Monica about a fabulous new book by a Q. J. Parker that her entire staff was abuzz about, it had thrown her completely off balance.

But, of course, the notion that Quinn had actually written a book was ludicrous. Once she'd been able to dispel the notion that it could be Quinn, she, too, got caught up in the possibility of a bestseller. She was eager to get back in the driver's seat and see what all the excitement was about. Yet, as much
as she'd tried, nagging memories of Quinn pricked the back of her mind.

To this day, three years after his unannounced departure from her life, Nikita still did not understand why he'd left her. She could forgive him anything—but not that. All that she had left of their two-year tumultuous affair was one of his favorite T-shirts and the hastily scrawled note saying that he was sorry.
Sorry.

Fuck you, Quinn!

It had taken months for the shock to wear off. Day by day she'd discarded whatever clothes he hadn't taken. And then she'd slipped into a state of numbness. Maybe it was a good thing, she reflected, allowing the memories to settle over her once again.

Quinn's betrayal of her love had unwittingly been the catalyst that had propelled her to where she was today—owner and publisher of a growing black book-publishing company. She'd taken the money from her parents and what he'd given her and bought out Ms. Ingram's magazine, expanding it.

Now, her company, Harrell Publishing, had been responsible for launching the successful careers of several black authors that other companies had refused to touch.

She knew in her bones that Harrell Publishing was on the brink of national attention. What would put them solidly in the company of Dutton, Penguin and the like was a major blockbuster novel. And from the sound of Monica's fax, the new manuscript they had in their possession could be the one.

Nikita sighed. At thirty, she was in an enviable position. She had her own business, a solid circle of friends, and one of the few small female-owned black presses that were making inroads into mainstream America. And she had Grant, she added almost as an afterthought. Yes, she had it all, along with an unyielding sorrow that followed her like a shadow.

The voice of the captain filtered through her brooding thoughts.

“This is your captain speaking. Please observe the fasten-your-seat-belt sign. We are making our approach to Kennedy Airport. We anticipate touchdown in approximately twelve minutes. 2:00 a.m. eastern standard time. The temperature is sixty degrees. Thank you for flying with Delta.”

Slowly, Nikita opened her eyes and looked around, shaking off the remnants of the intrusive memories. Within moments she would be back in New York, soon back to work and back to Grant.

Grant.
Her glossy lips flickered with a smile. They'd finally started seeing each other again. Had been a couple for the past three months. He was the first man she'd been with since Quinn. Somewhere in her mind, going back was easier than going forward, starting again.

Grant Coleman was everything Quinten Parker was not. Grant, she knew, would be waiting for her at the airport, even at the ungodly hour of 2:00 a.m.

She frowned, knowing that if it were Quinn, he would be explaining how he'd overslept, or was hanging out with his boys and missed her flight. They'd have their yelling match, or at least
she'd
be yelling, and he'd soothe. Then they'd be in each other's arms, making love.

A shudder skipped through her. Or was it just the plane landing with a subtle thud?

Nikita unfastened her seat belt and stretched her legs before standing. No one paid any attention to those seat belt signs once the plane finished its taxi, anyway.

 

As she threaded her way through the web of straggling travelers, she spotted Grant's tall, lean form standing out amidst the throng. He was attractive—there was no question about that—in a quiet sort of way. She was happy that she'd decided to get back together with Grant. He almost filled all of the emptiness. And her parents adored him.

Her smile bloomed as she drew near.

Grant was what she needed in her life.

She stepped into his solid embrace.

Secure, dependable Grant. Her rock.

Quinn, her grains of sand.

“Six weeks seemed like forever. It's good to have you back again, sweetheart,” Grant breathed into her hair, holding her close.

Nikita stepped back and smiled up at him. “It feels good to
be back.” She kissed him softly on the lips, vanquishing the remains of Quinn.

“You look good enough to eat.” He slid his arm around her waist, ushering her toward the exit.

“The motherland was good to me,” she said, doubling her step to keep up with his.

“Not as good as I'm going to be to you.”

“Hmm.” Nikita smiled and snuggled closer, hoping to achieve the intimacy she craved, and failed. “There's so much I have to tell you.”

“I bet you do. And I want to hear every detail. Later. We have the rest of the weekend to talk.”

They stepped outside to where the chauffeur was waiting and took her bags.

“I didn't plan anything special. I thought you'd wind up with a whopping case of jet lag,” he said, helping her into the backseat, then positioning himself next to her. “So I thought we'd just relax at my place. So I can take care of you.”

The truth was, he was still too uncomfortable at her apartment—the one she'd shared with Quinn. He couldn't understand why she'd never given the place up.

“Sounds heavenly.” Her stomach clenched.

Grant kissed the top of her head. “It's only just begun. I want to show you just how much you've been missed.”

San Francisco

Maxine moved quietly through the two-story town house, humming softly right on key to Whitney and CeCe's tune from the
Waiting to Exhale
soundtrack—man, she loved that song—opening windows, pushing back curtains, watering plants and simply enjoying a lazy Sunday morning. “Count on me through thick and thin, a friendship that will never end,” she crooned in her sultry alto. Yeah, that was
her
song.

She trotted downstairs and opened the front door to retrieve the papers. She was anxious to see what kind of deals the airlines were running this week. She grinned and shook her head, strol
ling into the sunny kitchen on the ground floor. If it wasn't one airfare war, it was another. Made her job an exercise in ingenuity. And hot damn if she wasn't good at it!

Her favorite mug, one that she'd found in an old antique shop in the downtown bay area one Saturday afternoon, hung from a little rack in the corner by the microwave. It was a good old mug, she mused, taking it from its hook. Had a little chip in it right along the rim. Sometimes it reminded her of the chip in Dre's front tooth. She smiled.

He'd called her about a month ago. Said he was doing well and was in the process of opening another location. Was getting married, too, some chick he'd met “on the job.” She was happy for him, after she'd gotten over that New York minute of jealousy.

She filled the mug with water, put it in the black box and nuked it for thirty seconds. Sitting down at the white Formica table, she spread out the paper and took a short sip of her scalding mint tea. The sun beamed in through the window, streaming across the kitchen like “the force, Luke.” She chuckled inwardly. She'd always liked that line.

She crossed her long, bare legs at the knees, swinging her foot in time to
her
song. Immersed in the ads and taking mental notes, she didn't know he had eased up behind her until his lips pressed down on her neck.

“Mornin', babe.”

His locks brushed against her cheeks, making her tingle. “Hey, yourself.” She looked up and pushed out her lips for a real g-o-o-d morning kiss.

“Hmm. Now that's better,” she breathed against his mouth. She pecked him one last time. “What's happenin' with you today?”

Quinn pulled up a chair, turned it around and straddled it, folding his arms across its wicker back. He pressed his chin down on his arms.

He stretched out a hand and covered hers. “I need to talk to you about somethin', Max.”

“Sure, babe. What is it?” She closed the paper and turned her full attention on him.

“I'm going to need to go to New York for a while, Max.”

She went completely still. Her throat tightened, and her heart was knocking so damned hard that it was kind of hard to breathe. “Yeah?” She bit down on the side of her mouth, trying to be cool, like this was a regular event.

“Just for a while. Need to straighten some things out.” There was no easy way to say this, no easy way to do it.
Just do it.

She pulled her hand away and got up, nearly kicking him when she uncrossed her legs, and wished she had. She dumped her tea in the sink and began scrubbing the cup as if it had the plague.

“Max. Just listen for a minute.”

She spun around, her long fingers dripping with water and Ivory dish liquid, flinging water on her freshly washed ceramic tile floor. “What you got to tell me, Q? Huh?” She planted her hands on her round hips and cocked her head to the side, her oversize T-shirt inching farther up, revealing the elastic leg band of her peach panties.

He got up and moved toward her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. Looked down into her face, into eyes that challenged him to tell her the real deal. “It's about the book deal, Max. You know that.”

“Yeah. And? People write books from all over the world and never meet the publisher, Q. So cut the bull and get to the point. You're goin' to see Nikita. Just say it.”

“I have to, Maxine. The book did a lot for me. It helped me to get out all those things, the confusion, the hurt, everything that's been buggin' me for years.”

“So then why go, Q? You still haven't told me why.”

“There's still unfinished business, Max.” He took in a lungful of air. “I walked out on a woman who loved me. Leavin' her nothin' more than some loot and a note. Nobody deserves that. And it's been eatin' me for the past three years.”

She stiffened under his fingertips.

“I ain't never gonna be free, Maxine, really free, until I see her face-to-face. That book that I wrote tells a lot. And maybe she'll see it for what it's worth. Me, tryin' to tell it like it was, and is. Straight. I don't want to go through the rest of my life with that weight hangin' over my head.” He placed his forefin
ger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. “And I don't think you want me to.”

She swallowed, hard. “I guess, somewhere deep inside, I always knew this day was comin'.” Her smile flickered around the edges. “Can't say I wanted it to.” She chuckled softly. She looked into his eyes, seeing all the years, all the shared hurts and triumphs, and most of all, the sincerity. She knew this man as she'd known no other. If they had never been more than this, right this moment, she knew they'd always been for real with each other.

“You do what you gotta do, Q. I always told you that.”

She took a breath and the tension eased and flowed away between them. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her body against his.

She pressed her body a little closer. “But, just so you don't try to get slick, I'm bookin' that
round trip
flight, along with a hotel far enough away from Miss Thang, with a three-day return. So travel light, my brother.”

He threw his head back and laughed, hugging her close. “Max, you're the one, baby. You are definitely the one.”

She pressed her head against his chest, an unnamed fear gripping her like a bad case of the flu.
They'd just have to see. Wouldn't they?

 

They chatted on the drive to the airport as if the trip were a regular business trip—not one that had the potential to turn their lives upside down.

Maxine had gone to the hairdresser the day before, had her nails professionally done—something she'd never done in her life—worn some new lingerie instead of one of his sports T-shirts to bed, and worked him out last night so he wouldn't forget that ride for a long time to come. And had bought a slammin' new outfit for the drive.