Driving Heat (9 page)

She was startled awake by the sound of her son’s ringtone. Cynthia sat up while trying to free herself from the heavy thigh thrown over her hips and the sheet that entangled her foot. Sliding her leg from under Byron’s was easy enough, but because his heavy weight held the sheet taut around her ankle, it wouldn’t untangle. In trying to free her left foot or the sheet, her right foot slammed into a deeply sleeping Byron’s shin.

“Good morning to you, too,” he mumbled, still on his stomach.

“Move your leg, Byron! I’m trying to answer my phone!”

He moved. She raced to the purse that was across the room, retrieving the phone just as it stopped ringing. “Darn it!” Clearing the missed call, she noticed the time. “Oh my goodness. It’s nine o’clock?”

“Is that a problem?” Byron yawned and scratched, still trying to wake up as he sat against the headboard. Clearly the two of them woke up in different gears.

“Yes, it’s a problem. That was my son.”

“It’s not like you can’t call him—”

“Shh! It’s ringing.” Walking to the closet, she retrieved a guest robe and slid it on. “Good morning, sweetheart.” Byron got out of bed. “Yes, I know. The phone was in my purse.”

Cynthia eyed him wearily as if any minute he was going to bellow a greeting and reveal she was not alone. “I’m not at home right now. How are you? Did you and Bobby have fun last night?”

Once Byron had closed the bedroom door, Cynthia relaxed. She walked over to the room’s sitting area and perched on an armrest. “Oh, really? Well, let me talk to her.”

In her calmed state, images from the past eight hours filled her mind. The memories alone made her hot and bothered, sure that how well she’d been sexed was stamped on her forehead.
Diamonds aren’t the only good things that can come in small packages . . . who knew?

“Hey, girl, how are you? Did you invite Jay to go with you guys, or did he invite himself?” She spotted where her thong had landed after being flung to the floor, and walked over to retrieve it. “But I only packed enough for one night.” She nodded her silent agreement that their boys were the same size. “Well, thank you for including him. He’ll have a wonderful time.”

Byron walked out of the bathroom and hugged her from behind. She turned to face him with eyes conveying both excitement and a warning. “I only gave him twenty dollars. When you guys get back, let me know what I owe you.” He hugged her. She smelled clean skin and toothpaste, evidence of a quick wash-up.

“That will be great. You can call if you’d like, but I’ll be at home. Okay, thanks again. Bye.”

He watched her end the call. “May I speak now?”

She hugged him. “Yes, but I shouldn’t converse in person with anyone until I brush my teeth. Be right back.”

He tightened his embrace. “Not so quick, Ms. Hall. Let me at least get a good squeeze or two in before you run away.” He ran his hands along her waist to her butt, pressing her against his quickly hardening tool. “Just so you know it’s getting ready for you,” he whispered, before letting her go.

All kinds of sultry comebacks bounced around in her head, quips that Lisa would have already spouted. But this blatant sexuality and bold, tawdry proclamations were new for her. So simply smiling, she turned and walked away.

After a quick shower, Cynthia returned to the living area in nothing but a towel, and was surprised to see Byron wearing T-shirt and boxers, reading the room service menu.

“Oh.” She stopped, a bit embarrassed.

He looked up. “What?” His eyes took in her damp hair, bare feet, and the slender body he’d gotten up close and personal with last night, and he smiled.

“Nothing, I just thought . . .”

“And you thought correctly, babe. I’m nowhere near done with all that sweet, fresh goodness hidden behind that towel. I wanted to take care of one appetite before I took care of another one. But looking at the prices of breakfast on this menu, I think I’d need a second job. This shit is ridiculous!”

“Don’t worry about that. Get what you want.” He looked ready to object. She went on before he could. “You showed me such a great time last night—”

“And was the concert good, too?”

“Ha-ha, Mr. Carter. Everything was wonderful. So this morning’s breakfast is my treat.”

After placing their room service order, Byron took Cynthia’s hand and walked them to the sitting area.

“What are you doing?”

He tightened his grip. “Bringing you to sit next to me so we can get to know each other.”

“Isn’t that what we did last night?”

They sat down, with Byron keeping Cynthia close to his side. “It was a good introduction, there’s no doubting that. A lot of men are only interested with the physical aspect of a woman, but you’re much more than that sweet pot of honey you let me taste last night. While I intend to give that a good deal of attention, I’m genuinely interested in all of you.”

Cynthia took a deep breath.

Byron noticed. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“Frankly, yes. There are aspects of my life that have been buried, hidden, things that have caused me to be . . . reticent about opening up.”

“Re-ti-who?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I like hearing you talk all Wikipedia and shit. I’m like, damn! Y’all hear that? My woman is intelligent.”

He overenunciated each syllable and bobbed his head for extra emphasis. His actions made her laugh, calmed her paranoia, and helped her relax. “What do you want to know?”

“About your son, for starters. You were pretty nervous that you missed his call.”

“He worries when he can’t reach me.”

“Looks like you were pretty worried, too.”

“I try not to be overprotective, but I’m all he’s got.”

“Where’s his father?”

“Out of the picture.”

Spoken in a tone meant to dissuade more questions along this road. Unless you were from the Carter clan, who didn’t run from controversy and treated discomfort like a friend.

“Right, I remember you not wanting to talk about the sperm donor. Your son doesn’t see him at all?”

“No.” Clearly, he was someone she still didn’t want to discuss. Straightened back and clenched lips were the exclamation on this one word: Don’t go there.

Byron rolled right through the caution light. “Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t! The reason why is nothing I want to talk about.”

“Given how upset you get, you probably should.” She crossed her arms, silent. Curious to know more, he still shifted gears. “Tell me more about your family. Are you close?”

“We love each other but are not as close as the relationships I see in other families. My dad is on the quiet side, lets my mom rule the roost, which she does with a meticulous hand.”

“What does that mean?”

“Meticulous?”

“Yeah, you keep using fifty-dollar language on a five-dollar man. But I don’t mind. I can learn some new words and I might be able to teach you a thing or two.”

Her expression as she looked at him was hard to read. “It means finicky, critical, sometimes hard to please.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say that?”

“I didn’t know that—”

“Girl, I’m just messing with you.” He reached an arm around her neck and began massaging her shoulder. “Trying to get you to chill. You’re so uptight.”

“Certain topics will do that to me.”

“What about you and your brother?”

“Jeff is who I’m closest to, for sure, though even with him there’s still distance. Not so much because of either of our personalities, but more so because of the five years between us and the fact that I went off to college before he turned thirteen. We bonded when I had Jayden. He’s a great uncle, and my son adores him.”

“That’s good. A boy needs male role models in his life.”

“Just yesterday, I thought that very same thing and am hoping that Jeff’s schedule will allow Jayden a short summer visit.” Placing her hand on top of Byron’s, she rolled her neck to one side and the other. “That feels much better. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So tell me about your daughter and how it is that you have full custody.” The focus effectively shifted, Cynthia relaxed and pulled her feet beneath her.

“Tanya and her son’s father live together, a man I don’t particularly care for. When my daughter began feeling uncomfortable around some of the company they were keeping, and Tanya refused to stop associating with that company, I took care of it.”

“You were worried your daughter would be abused?”

“I was worried about a lot of things. Tanya is and always has been a party girl. Her and Rick keep it too turned up for my taste, especially with children around. My life is boring. I work. Go home. Hang out with my brothers. Nelson, the middle brother, has a daughter a year younger than Tyra. They’re like sisters, and love to play together. It works out.” He reached over, gently stroked her chin as he gazed at her with lust-filled eyes. “I’m an open book, baby. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. But it’ll cost you.”

“Oh, really? What?”

A knock at the door announced that room service had arrived.

“As soon as we knock out this breakfast and build up my stamina, I’ll be more than happy to show you the price.”

By the time Byron finished showing her the cost of learning about him, Cynthia wanted to pay him again. Once she’d informed him of her unexpected free Sunday, and the desire to spend another night at the hotel, they’d divided their time between talking, eating, and making all kinds of love. The things this brother did with his mouth was enough to make her forget all about her standards of a degreed, home-owning professional as the only choice for a mate. The melody his fingers played in her music box made concern for what her high-society friends might say a very low priority. The magic spot his slightly curved penis had discovered—which for her was equal in importance to Madame C. J. Walker discovering a straightener for kinky hair and Ford inventing an alternative to horse-powered transportation—gave her the kind of orgasms that produced thoughts of standing up to her formidable mother, something that Cynthia hadn’t done a day in her life.

Following a particularly mind-blowing, award-winning performance, Cynthia surprised herself by suggesting she perform oral sex, something she’d previously found undesirable but now felt necessary. “Do you want me to . . . you know . . . return the favor?”

“Hell, yeah!” Byron adjusted pillows behind his head, looking at her with such anticipatory delight and appreciation that it left her emboldened. She kissed him hungrily as he smoothed his hands down her back until they reached and squeezed her cheeks. His purposeful fingering brought her to wanton abandon and sent her on a journey from his mouth to his chest, and farther to the slightly flabby stomach that not long ago would have been a total turnoff. The guttural sounds heard when her tongue touched his tool made her feel powerful. She wanted to treat his body as reverently as he had hers, and wanted to make him feel just as good. Because it was something she’d suggested, something she wanted to do instead of what in other instances had been demanded or expected, she lost herself in the enjoyment of his pleasure, so much so that when his fountain erupted, she imbibed with fervent, if previously unexperienced, delight. By the time Monday morning rolled around and they checked out of the hotel, Byron had gone from being a convenient reliever of sexual tension to someone who’d seeped into her very soul. The thing was, Cynthia didn’t know it yet.

Which was probably why as the passing scenery went from uber-chic to urban blight and stages in between, a heavy dose of reality punctured the bubble that the past forty-eight hours of bliss had created. There was no plausible way Cynthia could see any type of lasting relationship happening between her and Byron. Simultaneously, however, she could not imagine any possible way of living without the sheer happiness she felt when around him.

“You okay?”

They’d reached Byron’s block before she realized it, and she’d been quiet most of the way. “I couldn’t be better.” She placed a hand on his arm as he pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. “Thank you for a wonderful weekend.”

“It doesn’t have to be over yet, you know. You’re welcome to come inside.”

“No, I have some things to do before Jayden returns home.”

“All right, then.”

After retrieving her bag from the back of his SUV, he walked her to her car and waited until she’d gotten inside and started it up. “Holler at me later,” he said, before slowly walking backward up the sidewalk to his door. He stopped and didn’t go inside until she pulled away.

She’d only gotten a few houses away before remembering that she hadn’t set her GPS. Pulling over, she quickly tapped the button for her preset address, then reached into her purse to get her sunglasses.

She popped the trunk, jumped out of the car, and quickly retrieved the designer case from the bag’s side pocket.

“Can I go with you?”

The close proximity of this strange male voice so startled Cynthia that she bumped her head against the trunk before whirling around to face the man who’d crept up on her without making a sound.

“Damn, baby, I didn’t mean to make you hit your head.” The man, dressed in jeans, T-shirt, backward ball cap, and dark glasses, took a step toward her and reached out his hand to touch the scratch on her forehead. “Let me help you feel better.”

“Get away from me.” What was intended to sound authoritative came out in a breathy tremor as she tried to push past him.

He blocked her progress. “I’m not going to hurt you, baby. Just trying to talk to you. Why are you acting all scared, like I’m getting ready to carjack you or something?” He glanced at the car, then back at her. “Although this is a nice ride.”

Again, Cynthia made a move toward her open car door. This time, the man turned and grabbed her arm as she passed.

“Let go of my arm!” She yanked her arm away and raced to get inside the car and lock the door.

“You scratched my arm you stuck-up bit—”

“Don’t. Touch. Her. Again.”

Cynthia had one foot inside the car but at the sound of that familiar, authoritative voice she removed it, turned, and stood straight.
Byron!

He ignored her, focused on the stranger who after seeing that Cynthia was watching once again found his voice. And a gun.
Click.

Byron’s focus went from the man’s face to the gun and back again. His expression didn’t change.

“Who are you?” he asked Byron in a taunting voice, ending the question in a harshness of language that gave Cynthia new appreciation for Byron’s use of muh-fuh.

“The brother who’s not going to let you mistreat the woman behind you.”

“How are you going to stop me? Or this bullet I’m getting ready to put in your chest.”

“I’m not afraid of you or that weapon, son.”

“Guess you’re not afraid of death either.”

“Not trying to get shot, but if I lose my life protecting her, I’ll die a noble man. Besides, death is something that can happen anytime. You might shoot me and then get hit by a bus as you try and get away. More than likely it will be one of my coworkers that I nudge on my way out.”

The stranger aimed the gun at Byron’s head. “Where you from?”

Byron had the nerve to laugh. Cynthia was amazed but too frozen with fear to show it. “You know where I’m from,
Clarence
. And I know where you’re from, too. I knew your father before he got locked up. And more than that, I know your grandmother.”

The stranger’s scowl remained, but the gun slowly lowered. “The bus driver.”

“That’s right. I’ve been driving Ms. Davis around for the past ten years. She sacrificed too much in raising you for this to be how you represent her. That’s what you’re doing, right? Representing?” No answer. “Why don’t you represent a proper way to exit by leaving me and my woman alone?”

The stranger glanced at Cynthia, then pointed the gun at Byron as he began walking. “You better be glad my boys aren’t with me.”

“You’re damned lucky my brothers aren’t around.”

The stranger spit out several expletives and threats as he continued down the street. Once he’d turned the corner, Byron rushed to Cynthia who fell into his arms.

“Oh, my God! I was so frightened.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He hugged her tightly, even as he continued to scan the street. “Park the car. Come into the house with me.”

Seeing how she was shaking, Byron quickly backed the car to his house and hurried them inside. He embraced her, until the shaking subsided.

She stepped away from him. “He had a gun.”

“So did I.” She pulled back to look at him. He removed a weapon from under his T-shirt. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. “A necessity, not a choice. I could have shot that young blood a dozen times while we were talking, but would only have done so if absolutely necessary.”

“You would have killed him?”

“No, but I would have trimmed his dreads.”

“This isn’t funny, Byron.
You
could have been killed.”

“Would you rather I had stood back and let him attack you?”

“No, but—”

“No buts, no need to answer. That would never happen. I’m not a violent man. I don’t like to fight. I don’t go looking for trouble, but won’t run from it if it finds me. And I will never stand by while someone hurts you, you got that?”