Sealed With a Kiss (12 page)

They reached her car and he leaned against the door, skillfully blocking her access. “It’s early. How about stopping for coffee?” She would have sworn that he didn’t expect her to accept, and her first impulse was to refuse. But that wouldn’t be shrewd; he would know at once that he had made her uneasy.

“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly. “Someplace not too far, if you don’t mind.”

He suggested Louella’s Kitchen on upper Georgia Avenue. At the door, he stopped her with a firm hand on her arm.

“Naomi, I’m not up to battling with you over your inalienable right to pay fifty cents for your own coffee. So, do we go in, or not?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Fine with me. I always offer because some guys can’t afford it, some don’t want to afford it, and a few want something for nothing. So I got in the habit of playing it safe.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to hassle with me about it?”

She tilted her chin upward and grinned. “I don’t hassle, though with you, it’s hard to resist. I’m not a feminist, unless that means standing up for my rights any and every time somebody attempts to abrogate them.”

He held the door for her and caressed her playfully on the cheek as she passed him. What man could resist her? She was physically beautiful with her flawless, dark tan complexion and enormous dark brown eyes, and man that he was, he was drawn to her feminine attributes. But for him, her spunk and character, the character she tried to hide, were far greater assets. He smiled inwardly; she’d never believe that.

Louella greeted them warmly and gave them a back table nestled in a romantic little nook. “Do you want your cappuccino with a dusting of cinnamon, hon?” she asked Rufus, “or do you want it plain tonight?”

His affectionate regard rested briefly on her time-worn, but unwrinkled, brown cheek before he pressed a kiss to her forehead and sat down. “Cinnamon, please. Lou, have you met Naomi Logan?” His love for Louella was unqualified, he realized; she had been a mother figure during his late teens, guiding him through attempts to achieve manhood.

Louella took Naomi’s extended hand. “No, Rufus, but I saw her on television in that wedding the other Saturday.” She looked at Naomi. “Honey, that bride had a lot of courage to let you be her maid of honor. She looked great, but you were really something.”

“Thanks,” she told the woman, “but it was the dress; dusty rose is my best color.”

“Pshaw.” Louella dismissed Naomi’s modest reply. “Go away from here, girl. You’d better enjoy it now while you got it; youth is fleeting, and when it’s gone, fifty face lifts won’t make you look like you look now. By the time I realized I was good-looking, it was too late to take advantage of it; too late for a lot of things. When I woke up, I was fifty years old, with three restaurants and an award-winning house. But I’m by myself on those trips abroad and expensive cruises, and I haven’t got a single heir.” She looked steadily at Naomi. “I hope you’re smarter than I was. One great thing about Rufus: he
knows
what’s important in this life. Don’t you, hon?” She gave his shoulder a squeeze and trudged on back to the kitchen.

Naomi inclined her head in Louella’s direction. “I could have missed that lecture. Is she always so candid?”

He leaned against the wall and fingered his jaw, deliberately disarming her with apparent nonchalance. “Lou’s one of the most respected restaurateurs around, but sometimes I think she’d exchange it for a couple of kids and a husband or even a live-in sweetheart.” He was certain that she didn’t want him to resurrect the subject of the wedding. But she was relaxed, and now was as good a time as any; you could wait weeks to catch Naomi off guard.

“Why do you dislike the idea of marriage, Naomi? Have you been married?” And why was she squirming? He had yet to see her lose her cool, seemingly unflappable façade; she didn’t even let herself get angry enough to lose her temper. But underneath that polished exterior was a warm, passionate woman. A sensitive woman. And he vowed to see more of that woman and less of the one that she seemed to want him to see.

“Why is that so difficult to answer?” he prodded mercilessly. “You either have been or you haven’t.”

She recovered quickly, he noticed. “It just brought back some bad, best forgotten memories.” She was hedging. Not lying, maybe, but he didn’t think she was telling the whole truth either.

“Well, have you? Yes or no?”

“I haven’t been married,” she replied softly, “and I don’t plan to be.” She paused. “You’re probably not interested, but if you are, I don’t intend to have an affair, either.”

That didn’t ring true, coming from a woman who could melt into a man as quickly and as completely as she, with only a couple of kisses for a starter.

He regarded her with seeming casualness. “You’re a mass of conflicts. You’re liquid fire in your responsiveness to men—at least to me—and don’t dispute it, because I
know
it. And I agree that you wouldn’t settle for a casual affair; but don’t expect me to believe that you don’t want marriage. If you’re counting on a life of celibacy, honey, you’re in for a big surprise.”

She watched his sensuous lips part to reveal perfect white teeth as he gave her a slow, mesmerizing grin. “You tempt me to go over the line, Naomi, and I don’t think you want that. But I’m just a man, and it isn’t clever of you to continue attacking my ego, especially like now, declaring to me that I’m never going to be your lover. This isn’t the first time you’ve done that.” The grin disappeared, and his face was as hard as steel. Like an accomplished actor, she thought, fascinated.

“Better let it be the last time, Naomi.” The grin was back in place, unsettling her and annoying her almost to the point of anger.

She refused him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected her. She wouldn’t have elected to live without a loving mate, but she hadn’t been allowed a choice. She attempted to hide her feelings behind what she hoped was a blank facial expression and to respond in a voice whose steadiness belied her inner turmoil. But her mouth twisted slightly and she shook her head as if denying something unpleasant.

“If you knew me better, you would know that nobody dictates to me. Judd Logan can testify to that, and I’d bet that he’s even dictated to the Lord on occasion. We can always discuss things, Rufus, but don’t dare me and don’t tell me how to behave; neither will get you anywhere.” She thrust her head up, convincing herself; she didn’t need him to remind her that he had only to take her in his arms and she would willingly dance to whatever tune he played.

Louella brought their cappuccino and slices of her prize-winning caramel cake. “The cake’s on the house,” she informed them. “And my great-grandmother is supposed to have said that this recipe is the only good thing to come out of nearly two hundred and fifty years of slavery. I figured I had to do something to make the two of you smile, and my cake’s guaranteed to do that.”

Rufus flashed a grin. “I’ve been smiling, Lou.”

She shook her head. “You’ve been grinning, and most of the time that means nothing. It’s just a mask you put on to hide your real feelings.” She looked at Naomi, who was observing them keenly. “Don’t let him get away with it. He’s not as tough as he seems.”

“You seem to know him very well,” Naomi prompted. But she failed to get the reply that she wanted and rephrased the question.

“How long have you known each other?”

“Since Rufus was a freshman in college. He worked his way through school in my first restaurant, starting as a busboy, but I promoted him after a week; he must have been the youngest maître d’ in the country.” She smiled, and Naomi sensed the woman’s deep affection for Rufus. “He never gets too important to drop by and see me a couple of times a month. I’m real proud of him.”

Rufus reflected on those days when life had been hard for a struggling young orphaned boy who had a younger sister to care for; but it hadn’t been complicated. There had been no fame or notoriety to make him question every woman’s motives; no heartbreaking, loveless marriage; and no consuming interest in a woman with whom he wasn’t sure he wanted a liaison, whom he didn’t understand, and who seemed unable to trust him enough to let him know her.

What a difference an hour could make, Rufus thought, as they walked back to his car, each obviously preoccupied with personal thoughts. The psychological distance between them widened during the drive to Naomi’s apartment. He could feel her sliding away, closing her protective shield around her. He said nothing when, apparently lost in thought, she waited until he walked around the car to open the door for her. That was out of character for her.

They reached her apartment door and he spoke first. “Most of the time, I enjoy being with you a lot, Naomi.” He didn’t think it necessary to tell her that tonight hadn’t been one of those times. “You’re stimulating, compassionate, lovely, intelligent. And you’re a real woman; in fact, I’m not even sure you know how much of a female you are. I don’t know what I want out of this relationship, but I do know that I can’t stand superficial relationships, and I hate conflict. That’s what my marriage was—endless conflicts, maneuvers, and challenges. Always a jostling for advantage. Etta Mae thought only of herself, never of
us.
And when I stopped letting her maneuver me and demanded that she treat our marriage as a partnership, our war began in earnest. I’m too old, too weary, and too contented to go that route again. You’re holding back something, and it’s definitely not a small thing. I readily admit that you’re entitled to your privacy, so let’s…let’s give each other some space; you seem to want it, and I…well, I bow to your wish.”

He had the impression that she had carefully digested every word he’d said. Her cynical laugh held just enough of a tinkle, just enough merriment, to rattle him. He stared in a detached awe, as she raised her chin, dropped her head slightly to one side, and smoothly derided everything that had happened between them since the day they’d met.

“Rufus, you sound as if we’re ending a love affair, when there hasn’t been anything between us to end. Lighten up, honey. As my grandpa likes to say, Franklin D. Roosevelt died and to everybody’s surprise, the world kept right on turning. We can both be replaced. Next year, you won’t remember that you ever knew me. And I…” She shrugged and let it hang, blew him a kiss, and turned to open her door.

Arms of steel spun her around. “I’m surprised somebody hasn’t blunted that sharp tongue of yours. I’ve told you that I will not permit you to banish me with the wave of your hand as if I’m of no consequence. No other woman has ever tried it, not even Etta Mae, and she was a master of games and feminine shenanigans. I fire you up as no other man ever has, and I can do it at will.”

Her tantalizing face-saving smile gave him the impression that she thought she was being indulgent, something that he refused to tolerate. He was already simmering from the effect that her laughter, her flowery, sexy scent, and her beloved feminine presence had been having on him since they’d left OLC. His temper and his libido blazed in response, and he reached behind her, turned the key that she’d just inserted in the lock, pushed the door with his foot, and pulled her inside. The words she would have uttered died inside of his mouth.

She knew he intended it to be a punishing kiss, an expression of his frustration and anger, but to her it was simply his kiss, his passion, and she surrendered to it. He barely touched her and she curled into him, turning his fire into a tender ravishment that electrified her, inflamed her as he’d said he would. She had been so hungry for his touch, so starved for the feeling of protection, of the wonderful masculine strength that she always found in his arms, that she forgot about his anger. Almost simultaneously with his touch; her arms went around his strong corded neck and her lips parted for his kiss. She forgot about caution and her decision to preserve a distance between them. Driven by her need for him, she melted into him, moaning her pleasure, as he deepened the kiss and raised her passion to the level of his own. He brought a hand to her hips, and held her tight against him, but she tried to nestle even closer and stilled his dancing tongue while she feasted on it.

His shudder made her aware of his need for relief, of relief in her, but she was lost in the emotional fog that he had draped around her and was oblivious to the warning. He slipped his hand inside her coat and caressed her breast through the sweater. She knew only that she wanted, needed more of what he was giving her, and, barely conscious of her actions, she pressed his hand more firmly to her. Naked awareness possessed her and she moaned his name. Was she falling, or had the world spun off axis? Her fingers dug into his shoulders, claiming him for her anchor.

“Rufus. Oh, Rufus!” The words were barely intelligible.

“Naomi, I can’t stand any more. Take me to your bed, or send me home,” he whispered in a voice husky and thickened with desire, as he put her gently from him. She stood trembling before him, disoriented, wanting him. “Do you want me? We can’t go on like this; we’re driving each other crazy. Tell me!” His overwhelming need must have pushed him beyond thought of what making love with her might do to them both. She gazed up at him and into eyes that glistened with passion and with a tenderness, a softness that nearly took her breath away.

“Tell me,” he repeated patiently.

She shifted her eyes from his consuming gaze, wanting desperately to embrace what she saw there, knowing that she could not. “I want you,” she told him softly, swallowing the lump that thickened her throat. “I don’t remember ever having had this feeling before—what I feel with you, I mean. But I can’t, and I’m sorry I let it get out of hand. At least you proved your point.”