Passionate Game (Kimani Hotties) (11 page)

Chapter 11

T
amara entered Grant’s house for the second time that day. As the last SUV filled with crew members left the premises, the bustle that had surrounded the area was now gone. The quiet that always seemed to infiltrate and take over the space resettled over the house. Even his housekeeper moved through the rooms on whisper mode. Grant excused himself while she stayed put in the living room.

The tall cathedral ceilings allowed streams of natural light to illuminate the rooms. She loved that, besides refurbishing the floors and adding a few built-in bookcases, Grant had maintained the integrity of the Tudor-style guest home.

The house had four bedrooms with six full bathrooms. Grant had managed to hold on to his bachelor-style decorations, with computers and various related gadgets overtaking nearly all the rooms, except the living room and his bedroom.

“We have to wait to be summoned.” Grant walked into the room, dressed as if he was going to a business-casual event.

“Well, if you’re getting dressed up, so am I. I think I have a few clothes in your closet.”

“Just hurry.” Grant looked at his watch. She’d seen him this tense only when the film crew had started filming. She quickly changed and joined him again in the living room.

“What shall we do while we wait? Hey, I’ve got a fun activity.” Tamara laughed.

Grant shook his head vigorously. “This time we keep our clothes on.”

“Just kidding.” Tamara raised her hand to halt any further protest. “I’m going to see your mother, and I don’t want her to pick up on anything.”

“Good. Because my mother always knows stuff before I tell her.”

“Okay, your mother is sounding like I may need to be worried. What about your father?”

“Oh, he’ll love you.” Grant looked up. “Not that my mother won’t.”

“Yeah, right.” Tamara exhaled. Why had she agreed to this torture?

“How about we play checkers?”

“I’m not good at that,” Tamara complained.

“Great. This will be the redo of our golf challenge.”

Tamara laughed at Grant’s tenacity. If winning at a board game would rebuild his ego, then she was willing to play along.

They played two games, and she won both. They started in on a third game.

“I think you lied to me. You do know how to play.” Grant pushed his piece across the checkerboard. His new position on the board was a neutral spot. He studied the board with such intensity that Tamara couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I didn’t say that I didn’t know how to play. I just said that I’m not good.”

When it was her turn, Tamara studied the board and shifted her piece to the left. She spied the line to the king position.

Grant moved another piece.

She allowed her gaze to rest on his progress, noting that with another move he could shift into position to take out two of her pieces.

However, she still had that path that would take her straight to the crowning position. She smiled. He would have to come up with another challenge. The game would be over in a snap.

But only if she moved that piece down the diagonal path.

She hesitated, and finally she moved a different piece.

Grant pushed his piece into another spot, blocking any chance she had to stop his advance to be crowned.

Tamara almost wanted to wipe away his smug smile. But she had no desire to kill his joy over winning, especially since she knew she had made it easy for him.

He pulled her chin toward him and kissed her mouth. “Congratulations to me. I’m the greatest.” He winked. “Go ahead, agree with me.”

“Is this how you ended up a computer nerd? The neighborhood kids booted you out of the sandbox and sent you packing to play with your computer in your room?”

His smiled vanished. “Now that’s just cruel.” He kissed her again. “But yes, that sounds right.”

“Now we’re even,” she said.

“We’ve always been even, which is why I like you.”

A compliment had never boosted her spirit as this one did. More than boosting her spirit, his declaration lit hope in her heart because she could see his sincerity.

“It’s time.” Grant looked down at his watch.

The declaration might as well have been cold water dousing her. Tamara stepped away from the checkerboard and headed for the nearby mirror. She styled her hair and freshened her makeup. Not that she expected the matriarch to do a body check, but she made sure to wear underwear and hosiery with no snags.

Becky would be over-the-moon happy to see her acting like a young teen going out with her first love.

Love?

“Oh, hell no,” she muttered under her breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. I’m all set.” She stood, still overcome with a case of jitters. “Heading to the bathroom.”

Tamara closed the door and took a moment to calm her nerves. Had she trapped herself? What had happened to blocking out Grant’s sexual power?

Instead she seemed to be soaking up every ounce of whatever sexual energy he exuded. Now she was going to meet his mother. A meeting of that magnitude required days, not one hour, of preparation. She got small comfort from observing Grant’s nervousness. Normally, she’d find that funny and tease him. But if he was this nervous about meeting his mother, then she should be petrified.

She really wanted to see how Grant worked his charm between the two parents. So far, he seemed to be a big mama’s boy. She hoped that Mama Bear didn’t approach in full defense mode over her son. What if she wasn’t considered good enough?

Good enough for what, though? Girlfriend? Lover? Bride? How much sway did Mama Bear have?

Tamara wet her fingers with cold water and touched her cheeks and neck. It helped cooled down the intense debate that raged within her head. Time to go and face the unknown.

They walked from the smaller house to the large family mansion under the brilliance of the late-afternoon sun. She was grateful for Grant’s hand holding hers. He definitely appeared nervous. They both remained quiet as they strolled, lost in their own thoughts.

Humidity hung in the air as heavy as their silence. She didn’t know what Grant was thinking at the moment. She was determined to remain smiling and to work at being lighthearted.

Flowers always lifted her mood, and Grant’s property had amazing gardens. Various shades of green, lush and vibrant, covered the vast property. Whether planned or not, flowers grew out of rocky formations in wild assortments of vivid colors. With the backdrop of the vivid green carpet, the landscape had a British garden feel, full of magic and beauty.

They left the graveled footpath and walked up the steps leading to the door. When they hit the last step, the door opened.

“You’re late.” A tall older woman who bore a resemblance to Grant peered down at them.

“Uh-oh, how late am I?” Grant tapped the face of his watch.

“One minute, twenty seconds.”

“Tamara, this is my mother, Martina Benson.”

“Hi.” Tamara weighed the consequences of fleeing the scene.

“Come in.” His mother closed the oversized front door. Tamara’s nerves were now getting the better of her. She’d worked hard to stay calm, but Grant wasn’t helping with his own obvious anxiety.

With a slight pressure on her elbow, Grant guided her through the house. This walk felt like a death march into the unknown. It certainly didn’t help that Grant didn’t seem to know what to expect, either.

She looked up at his profile.

Maybe he did know. She couldn’t possibly be the only woman who had been brought before his mother. Was this how a new princess in England felt being led to Queen Elizabeth? She hadn’t practiced a curtsy since her high school ballet production.

“Now that we are all here.” His mother was now all smiles.

Tamara almost felt the need to bob at the knee in a curtsy. Instead, she shifted from foot to foot and gave his mother a quick handshake. “Good evening, ma’am.”

The shrewd woman assessed her with a frank gaze that scoured her from top to bottom. Although Grant did have a gaze that could rip someone to shreds, he always maintained an approachable demeanor, unlike his mother.

“Have a seat, Tamara, over here,” his mother said.

Tamara wasn’t going to refuse the softly spoken request. If she did, however, it would have been difficult since the older woman had her wrist in a viselike grip.

“Grant, you sit over there.”

“Why are there extra place settings?” he asked.

“I invited a few friends.” His mother turned to her. “Would you like a soft drink?”

“Water is fine.” Tamara stood behind her chair, waiting for the order to be seated. A small trickle of sweat rolled down her back. It was going to be a long night.

Meanwhile, Grant was suddenly a picture of relaxed elegance, and she wished that he wouldn’t be so at ease. Why should she be the only one suffering?

The doorbell sounded. A blend of voices, male and female, rolled into the dining room. Tamara made out Mrs. Benson’s voice greeting the new guests with a thousand percent more enthusiasm than she’d used to greet her.

Tamara faced Grant at the opposite side of the table. His attention was at the door. His forehead was deeply furrowed.

There was a lull in the conversation in the outer room, and the most distinctive female voice reached her.

Tamara’s eyes popped open. She held on to the back of her chair. What kind of blindside was this?

“Tamara, darling, isn’t this a wonderful surprise?” said her mother as she strolled into the dining room.

“Not really, Mom.” She hugged her mother.

“Oh, stop it. You’re so bad.” Her mom hugged her again. Unlike Mrs. Benson, her mom was a bundle of warm energy that reached out and enveloped a person.

“When Grant told me about you, and that was only because he slipped up, I realized that I knew your mother.” Mrs. Benson’s icy attitude seemed to have warmed up a few degrees.

“We play tennis at the club once a week,” her mother said with a light, charming laugh.

Oh, joy! This definitely put a new kink in the night. Her mother didn’t need to be involved in her personal life. But it was too late. Nothing could pry her mother off this trail.

“Grant, you are quite handsome,” her mother said.

Realization hit Tamara.

This
was
a setup.

From the look on Grant’s face, he had also come to the same realization.

“Sit. Sit. Your dad is the one who’s whipping up tonight’s dinner.”

“What?” Grant’s mouth actually dropped open.

Tamara obeyed the directive to sit just to give herself something to do. Otherwise, she’d remain gaping at her mother.

On cue, an older man came through the door with a silver platter in his hands.

“Dad.”

Tamara had thought he was the family’s chef, but the revelation that the patriarch had entered the room captured her full attention.

His father proudly set down the dish. “Hello, folks. This is a new recipe from my stash.”

“All of a sudden your father has turned into the Renaissance man.” Mrs. Benson rolled her eyes. “He won’t let anyone help him. He shouldn’t be carrying that tray.”

Despite her comments, Grant’s mother watched her husband’s progress around the table, and her face couldn’t hide the pride that she had for him and his new hobby. Tamara wondered how long they’d been married. The push and pull of their personalities and the quiet love between them spoke to a long life together. Their long marriage reminded her of her parents’ thirtieth anniversary party years ago and how madly in love they had been. Tamara was grateful that they had had the chance to celebrate such a milestone before her father had died.

She lifted her gaze from the plate to find Grant staring at her. He didn’t shift his gaze at being caught. His unabashed scrutiny unnerved her.

“Tamara, when did you meet Grant? Because imagine my surprise when Martina sprung the news that her son and my daughter were dating.”

“We didn’t start out dating.” Tamara hated being called to the carpet in such a public manner.

“She blew into my world with a business proposition,” Grant clarified.

“Trust my daughter to approach things in a business-only style.” Her mother turned her attention to Mrs. Benson. “Sorry, Martina.”

“Leave these young people to themselves,” Mr. Benson interjected. “They certainly don’t need any of us to throw in our two cents.”

Tamara resisted the urge to stand and give Mr. Benson a high five.

“Grant, why didn’t you ever bring her around to meet me?” Martina looked at Tamara and awarded her with a smile. “I can tell that she has worked to make her parents proud. And she’s so mannerly that I’m envious I didn’t raise a son who would have the manners to introduce his girlfriend to his family.” She turned a stern look at him.

“Well...I—”

“Martina, I’m not going to let my daughter off the hook, either. She didn’t trust me to say that she’d met a decent guy. I don’t know what has gotten into these young people. They forget how they were raised as soon as they leave the house.”

“Ladies, ladies, if you keep up your interrogation, you won’t enjoy my food,” Mr. Benson said. “If this recipe works, I’m submitting it to the contest.”

“Your father fancies himself a chef in the making. The grand prize in this contest he wants to enter is a six-month cooking show. Can you imagine that?”

“I plan to win. If I do, your mother can be my kitchen helper.”

Tamara couldn’t contain the chuckle that erupted from her. Mrs. Benson cut her eyes at her, then tilted up her nose like the queen she seemed to want to be.

Somehow the tone of the evening finally relaxed. They were all chatting, sharing stories among themselves and telling jokes. Eventually the conversation petered out. Between Grant and her, they had answered so many questions. Too soon the evening ended, and Tamara walked her mother to her car.

“When are you coming for Sunday dinner?” Tamara’s mother asked. “And you should come to church with me.”

“Good night, Mom. I’ll try.”

“Heard that before. And I still want to know more about your young man. Not that glossed-over nonsense you fed them. You’re treating me as if I’m the stranger.”