Wayward Dreams (15 page)

Taking Bianca's arm, Harry stepped to the side to let another couple register. “I'm not an axe murderer.”

“I might be,” Bianca frowned. “You never know.”

Harry frowned back. “I'm pretty sure you're not. My brother does background checks.”

“Jokes,” Bianca huffed and her fingers toyed with the watch she'd borrowed from Julia. She looked at him hard. “Give me the ten-second bio.”

“Ten seconds?” Harry frowned. “What can you learn about anybody in ten seconds?”

“More than I know right now. Talk fast.”

“Are you always this difficult?”

“Ten seconds,” she repeated, looking pointedly at the watch. “Starting now.”

Hands on his hips, Harry saw she was dead serious. “Atlanta, born and raised. Oldest of two. Mother, Japanese. Father, African-American. Morehouse, Wharton Business. Mostly Baptist. Oh, and I'm always kind to old people, children, and small animals.” He opened his hands to Bianca. “Okay?”

“You did it with three seconds to spare.”

“Good. Now it's your turn.”

What can I tell him? And in ten seconds? Forget it!
There were simply no words to adequately explain who she was and how she'd come to be here. And then there was KPayne. What could she say about him and how that brought her to where she was today? Bet that didn't come up in Akemi's background search.

“It's complicated. I'm complicated…” she finally said. At a loss, she raised her hand, fingers spread helplessly, and he laced his fingers through hers.

“How about you share something uncomplicated? How long have you been in Atlanta—you don't sound like a native. What part of town do you stay in?”

“A while now, and I live downtown. Museum Tower, over near…”

“Centennial Olympic Park,” he finished. “I know where it is. I live there, too.”

Bianca's mouth dropped and she blinked. “You do?”
Oh, now it all makes sense. Julia knew he lived there. She knew it before she set us up.
“I'm going to kill Julia.”

“Don't do it,” Harry advised her. “You won't do well in prison; you're not the type. How about we just play nice—since we're here and we know we're neighbors? We said we would sing; I think we should sing. What harm could come from that?”

Bianca's lips pushed into a pretty pout. “You're too nice, you know that?”

Harry brought their meshed fingers to his chest. Bianca's breath caught in her throat when she felt his heart beat beneath their joined hands.

“He's my brother. I can't kill him.”

The sober look on his handsome face made her giggle, but she didn't try to move her hand. “Didn't stop Cain.”

“And look at how that turned out.”

Bianca looked back at their table. Across the room, Kemi and Julia sat with their heads together, stealing peeks at her with Harry.
They're watching us, waiting for one of us to do something that either brings us together or pushes us apart.

“All right, Harry. I'll sing with you, but I need to do something first.”

Looping her fingers into the collar of Harry's shirt, Bianca tugged slightly. Off guard and off balance, Harry's arms closed around her. His breath was warm and sudden against her skin; utterly disturbing, but she held him, anyway. Pulling him closer, she brought her lips to his. Taking his mouth, determined but not rushed, his lips were warm and soft, they felt right and good against hers.

Fingers locked in his collar, committed, her tongue swept his and she knew she wanted more, even as her teeth closed on his lower lip.
Enough
, sanity suggested.
More
, the crazy woman in her soul urged when her little sigh slid into him.
It's just a kiss between…strangers?
Deeper, more familiar than either of them had any right to expect, the kiss sweetened.

Shared breath and the magic of the moment bound them until the karaoke mistress cleared her throat. Bianca's fingers relaxed on Harry's shirt and she felt the heat of him against her. His arms still held her even as her tongue traced his lips a final time.

“I'm not complaining, but what was that for?” His lips hovered, a whisper away.

Releasing him felt like mortal sacrifice, but she managed, not sure she could get the words out—they were too bold. But he deserved an answer. “I thought we should get it out of the way. It's a love song. I shouldn't have to sing a love song with a man I've never kissed.”

Harry nodded. “Good idea, but maybe we should make it a real kiss.”

Her pulse stumbled when his fingers touched her cheek before finding a delicious spot beneath her ear and vivid awareness of him nearly crossed her eyes. His lips cruised hers and she felt need link them.

Her hands lifted to his face, framed him there, and Bianca Coltrane gave herself up for lost.
I could sing love songs with this man forever. Hell, I could write love songs with this man for an eternity.
His mouth covered hers and his tongue probed, making her dizzy, and she surrendered, then grew sad as he pulled away.

Judging from his kiss, Harry Jordan was a man to be reckoned with. She looked up at him, her eyes lingering on his lips, and her knees wanted to buckle. She had to take another breath before she reached his eyes and when she did, she saw him waiting for her to take the next step.

The karaoke mistress cleared her throat again, and pointed to the stage.

Singing seemed like the only thing left for them to do on a hot late spring night, in a bar and grill in Atlanta.

The words to the song were simple, but Bianca barely recognized them. She thanked God they were written down and that they flowed across the plasma screen at the foot of the small stage. When Harry put his arms around her, and swayed to the music of their voices, the song she'd heard hundreds of times suddenly made sense.

This is what I want.
He smiled and her knees went as soft as her voice.
Oh, God…What if he felt that?
His thumb stroked a line along her cheek and she was glad her next line was a deep sigh, because it was coming anyway. Harry swayed again and her voice lifted.
Don't ever let me go, Harry. Please don't…

As the music wound down, Bianca indulged in Harry's embrace. The applause from the crowd interrupted what the song had begun, and Bianca wished someone would ask for an encore. Nobody did, though several men moved to shake Harry's hand as they left the stage and the eyes of women, envious and admiring, followed them back to their table.

“You two made that look easy.” Akemi looked satisfied, but Julia glowed.

“Your turn now.” Harry barely glanced at his brother as he moved Bianca's chair. Julia became immediately entranced by a chicken wing and pretended not to notice Bianca's glare.

“We decided not to sing.” A half grin lurked on Kemi's lips.

Lifting the water glass to her lips, Bianca's eyes were on her sister. “Told you.”

“We saw the kiss,” Julia gloated, giving up on the chicken wing. She nudged Kemi and leaned back in her chair, the picture of contentment. “I'd say our work here is done. We don't have to sing. Not unless you just want to…”

Kemi tipped his chair back. “I'm good.”

“Told you,” Bianca said again, setting her empty glass on the table. “Well, now that you've accomplished what you set out to do, I'm going to call it a night.” She tucked her purse under her arm and aimed a dangerous glare at her sister. “I'll talk to
you
later.”

Harry had to move fast to catch her before she reached the door.

“I'll walk you to your car.”

“I don't need you…”

“Yes, you do.” He pushed the door open and got a pleasant reminder. She really did smell like fresh peaches.

On the sidewalk, beneath a city sky filled with stars and streetlights, she wondered:
How can a man like him still be single? He's almost too good to be true. Just look at him.
Walking beside him, she did just that—and ah, but the man was marvelous-looking. Japanese-American, he'd said. Maybe that accounted for the sumptuously caramelized skin, and the sheer blackness of his hair and defining brows.

This man was tall, tall enough for a tall woman to feel petite in his presence and delicate in his arms. Her eyes traced his shoulders, arms, and chest as he moved across the parking lot with her.
He's built like a wall, like a man who knows what to do with his body.

A vivid memory of his kiss invaded her thoughts.
What's wrong with him?
She looked at him again.
What's wrong with me? Any other woman would be out here flirting her ass off, trying to get closer to a man who looks like Harry Jordan.
A man who kisses like Harry Jordan…

They reached her car at the same time her thoughts were inching toward
other
things Harry Jordan might do well. She looked at him, saw that his lips were moving.

“I'm sorry,” she said, hoping he hadn't guessed her thoughts. “I didn't hear you.”

“More like you were lost in thought.”

He opened her car door and closed it for her. He watched her pull the seatbelt across body. Seeming to reach a decision, he tapped the door as she turned the key in the ignition. She turned and he leaned close enough to be heard over the Jaguar's hum.

“I believe you,” he said softly. “I believe you are complicated and enigmatic, and I'd like to see you again.”

“Uh…” Her foot tapped the gas and the Jag rumbled.

“I'm not asking for a life commitment, Bianca. Just lunch. You and me, good food, some time to talk. That's all.”

With a man like you, that could be enough.
“Lunch. When?”

“Sunday.”

Simple enough. Nodding, she pulled a card from her purse. Her hand shook lightly as she wrote her cell number on the back of the Kin Kura card and passed it to Harry.
Lunch is a good thing.
She murmured a farewell when he stepped back. Pulling from the lot, Bianca made her turn onto Ponce de Leone, and heard herself humming. “Baby Come to Me” played through her head all the way home.

* * *

Harry watched the Jag's taillights move out of the lot and into traffic.
Complicated.
That was the word she'd used.
Who knows? Maybe she really is.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed back to Dugan's.

He pulled open the door and stepped into the noisy bar and grill. A chunky male trio stood center stage belting out their version of hope in the promise of a kiss. Harry returned to the table and dropped into his chair, ignoring Kemi and Julia. He had other things on his mind.

What did she mean when she kissed me…other than not wanting to sing a love song with a man she had never kissed? And why is she available?
He looked at his brother and her sister.
Why does a woman like that need help meeting men?

Harry slumped low in his chair. He never noticed Betty refreshing drinks.
A woman as beautiful and complicated as Bianca is bound to have a past.

Harry lifted the cold long-necked bottle Betty had left on the table for him. Drawing a long and satisfying swallow, he knew lunch was a date he would keep.

CHAPTER 10

Kelvin Michael Payne was a long way from appreciating the sultry beauty of the Atlanta afternoon when he stepped away from the Studio door. The Studio, as the small house was known, had been in his family for the better part of a hundred years, and while it had history and air conditioning, it wasn't where he wanted to be today.

Today, he wanted to hang with his crew, be out and about, free to do the things they liked to do. But he couldn't. He had an appointment with Aldrich Christian, and he could think of fifty other places he would rather be on a Sunday. “Dude is going to have me sitting there in his office for as long as he can, trying to make it look like he's earning that fat retainer I pay him.”

“Retainer?” The single word came from Caressa, Alin's newest playmate. Little more than a kid, she was dressed in Baby Phat and Apple Bottoms.

Alin's taste was simple. Cute and sweet was nice, but hot and sexy in any combination always got his attention. Caressa came under the hot and sexy category. Barely five feet tall, she was marginally pretty, just missing cute. But she had a body like Barbie, and if they ever made a doll in her image, it would be called Baby Bend and Flex, 'cause she had it
just
like that.

But she's dumb like they were giving it away and she went back for seconds,
KPayne thought, watching Alin loop an arm around Caressa's tiny waist. She purred like a kitten when he explained the word to her.

A matched set,
Payne thought dismally, walking down the three steps leading from the wraparound porch to the stones paving the walkway and heading for his truck. It took less than a minute for him to hear the sound of Alin's Nikes following.

Amused, Payne watched him climb in the truck, grab the seatbelt, and snap it into place. “So you're just going to invite yourself along?”

Grinning sheepishly, Alin nodded. “Yeah. I figured somebody should ride shotgun. You're going to see the lawyer, right?”

Payne let the question slide. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled the truck onto Lynhurst. Slowing at the corner, he refused to move his face or his eyes.

“Going in on a day when I'm guessing he ought to be sitting up in somebody's church, I figure a lawyer is going to do some serious talking.” Alin looked out the window. “I figure it's about the money
she
owes you.”

“It's not too late for me to kick your ass out of my truck.”

“Man, I'm on your side,” Alin protested. “You know I'd take a bullet for you, but this ain't right, you going up there to talk to a nine-to-five man on a Sunday.”

“Now you're a church boy?”

Alin shrugged. “I'm just thinking somebody ought to ride shotgun.”

“And it might as well be you?”

“Might as well.”

My man has got all the best qualifications of a dog—stupid and loyal.

Alin screwed his hips around in the leather seat and persisted. “He tell you what he wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah, Bianca and my money.”

“He say how much?”

“What? Are you my banker, now?”

“You know I'm on your side. I'm just asking, is all.” Wounded, Alin's face sagged. “Well, the least she could have done was be grateful. Pay up like she's supposed to.”

“That's all I'm saying.” There was nothing else to say, so Kelvin made his mind a blank and ignored his passenger as he made the turn onto I-285. Traffic was never good on the road that circled Atlanta, so he spent the next fifteen minutes swearing under his breath and dodging the cars and trucks that chased and threatened him all the way through town.

Alin was still holding his peace when KPayne stopped in the parking deck and unclipped his seatbelt. Alin did the same, making sure his feet were moving when Payne's did. Keeping the other man's rhythm, he followed Kelvin Michael Payne off the elevator and into the offices of Christian, Barclay, and Jones.

Most of the lights were off, with only one or two other people drifting through the space, but it was still imposing when they stepped through the door. The offices were commanding, lots of heavily veneered wood, crown molding, and thick carpets. But KPayne had been in and out of these offices with his parents since, well, since forever.

At the reception desk, looking like the deacon he was, Aldrich Christian wore a starched white shirt and blue paisley-printed silk tie with his dark suit. Christian looked up from the stack of mail he was handling and Payne almost laughed. With his peanut butter-colored skin, thin wavy hair, and those wire-framed glasses perched on the end of his long thin nose, he looked so much like Ichabod Crane from “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” that it was funny. Payne guessed they were his Sunday-go-to-meetin' specs.

Laughing would have been rude, and he just couldn't do it out loud, not right in the man's face. He settled for bumping Alin with his shoulder. Alin got the joke immediately, and the corner of his mouth lifted when he dropped his eyes to the floor.

Looking at the duo, Christian prayed for patience.
I can't believe I passed up brunch for this.
It was unfortunate that Kelvin Payne had inherited the Reynolds money and the Payne looks, but none of the common sense inherent to either family. That simply made working with him an unpleasant, thug-related part of his job. As for Alin, he decided, he was just an evil part of the game Payne was trying to play these days.

When the attorney's myopic gaze turned staunchly disapproving, Kelvin shoved his hands into his pockets and said, “You wanted to see me. I'm here.”

“Indeed. It's in my office.”

Kelvin threw his hands into the air and frowned at Alin before he turned and followed Christian through the silence to his office.

Filled with dark wood and shelves of legal books, the office was dim even at one in the afternoon. Kelvin recognized the scent of lemon furniture polish on good wood. He remembered the smell from childhood and associated it with visits to this office with his parents. Coming here had always been the prelude to something fun with his mother or father.

But he was here on business today. He rolled his shoulders, and when the lawyer offered a seat he chose to stand. Alin dropped into one of the brown leather wing chairs and sat with his legs spread wide, trying to look bored.

KPayne turned his attention to the lawyer. “You said you had something for me? Something I had to sign for?”

Christian walked behind his desk and sat. His lips were pressed thin when he opened the lap drawer and pulled out a single blue-edged envelope and a ballpoint pen. Setting them on the desk, his fingers rested lightly on the envelope for a moment before he reached into the desk and pulled out an old-fashioned rusty black ledger.

“I'll need you to sign,” he said, flipping pages in the ledger. “Your full legal name, here.”

Payne looked at him. “Why?”

Tempted to say
because I said so
, Christian's fingers tapped the line. “Protocol.”

Payne took the pen and pulled the book closer. He signed his name quickly, then slapped the pen down beside it. Christian pulled the book back, slid the envelope forward.

KPayne ripped the envelope open and tapped the contents into his palm. A check. He read the amount and sucked his teeth. “This is it? I came all the way down here for this?”

Christian folded his hands and wished he was back in church. “Today is the date it was due. It arrived this morning, exactly the way her contract said it should.”

KPayne folded the check in half again. Part of him clearly wanted to rip it to shreds, but he didn't. He was breathing hard when he raised his eyes to meet those of his attorney.

Behind his wire-rimmed spectacles, Aldrich Christian blinked and hoped Payne would remain silent.
I hate being in the middle of this. It's bad enough she had the messenger deliver it here. Just take the check and get out.

Hope died when Payne flipped the tightly folded rectangle end-over-end, and watched it land on the desk near the lawyer's folded fingers. When he lifted his eyes again, Christian noticed that the younger man's usually clear green eyes had grown murky with emotion.

“What does she think I'm supposed to do with this?”

How the hell do I know? And why the hell do you think I should care?
Christian sat back in his brass-studded chair and said nothing while Payne shifted and mumbled.

“Can we at least repossess the Jag?”

“You asked me that before, and the answer is still no.”

Payne stomped his foot like a two-year-old in the midst of a tantrum. “So she gets to out-slick me again?”

Christian sighed. “You ignored all recommendations and put the car in her name when you paid for it in full.”

“Damn it! I can't even get the money back on the car, none of it?”

The attorney stroked his graying goatee, and his skin took on an ashen cast. Looking up at his client, he wondered what he should say. The son was nothing like his father, nowhere near as astute or willing to profit from the hard work of his accountants or lawyers. He simply wanted to do what he wanted to do, and damn the rest of the world.

He's in deep,
the lawyer figured.
Maybe too deep this time.

Pacing, Payne hooked his thumb into the belt loop of his jeans and hitched them up on his lean hips. Then he gave the secretary's chair a solid kick. The chair rolled a few feet away, then fell noisily on its side when he kicked it again.

“She's not gonna get away with throwin' nickels and dimes my way while she's out there livin' her life. I'm not gonna let her.” Payne's face, as handsome and intense as any movie star's, clouded. His eyes narrowed and the fine bow of his lips became a thin line. “How she gonna try to pass this chump change off as a payment?” He whirled on the attorney. “How she gonna do that?”

Christian knew the question was rhetorical, but he had a better one:
How did your parents spend all that money putting you through private schools, and you can't figure out how to use the English language?

“What are you shaking your head for?” Payne shouted. “I loaned her money, and she's going to have to pay it back. I have responsibilities.”

Probably to your scary-ass new friend.
Quiet as it was kept, and it was quiet, Christian had heard about Buoy Mann's intention to expand his business operations. He'd also seen Mann's signature on a pair of documents Kelvin tried to slide past him.
But paralegals don't know everything.
And that was why the documents found their way to his desk—for final review. A first-year law student would have seen the gaping holes in the documents, but it took a sharper eye to find the gouges dug into Payne's trust fund.

Kelvin Michael Payne really was in deep.

Christian watched his client stomp around the office. When he suddenly stopped, it made Christian hold his breath.
What next?

Payne slapped a hand to the desk and grabbed the check. He stuffed it in his pocket, then pointed a stern finger at the attorney. “You fix this, you hear me?
Fix this.
”

Fix this? How?
Christian wondered, his eyes fixed on Payne's retreating back.
Who does he think I am, anyway? His fairy godfather?
“Think it over,” he finally said. “I'll be here the rest of the afternoon. Get some lunch, think it over, and then decide on your next step.”

“Yeah. I'm going to do that. Get some lunch and think this through,” Payne said, pretending that taking time to think was his idea. “I'm going to get back to you.”

He hiked his baggy pants higher on his hips and strode from the office, his silent accomplice at his heels. And Christian was deeply grateful.

* * *

“Yeah, we're almost there. Get a table,” Alin said, closing his phone. “They're going to meet us at No Mas.”

KPayne tried to focus on driving, but it wasn't easy. What he really wanted to do was just plow right over the no-driving joker in front of him. He gripped the steering wheel and bit down on his lip instead.
No point in letting her ruin the rest of my day.

Turning into the No Mas Café parking lot and stepping away from the truck made him feel a little better when a pair of valets rushed up, recognizing the truck and knowing him by name. He liked it that way.

With Alin still dogging his steps, he made his way across the deck, past diners at crowded tables and the art on display. A young woman wearing a smile and the simple gauze pants and top that served as her uniform rushed to his side. He liked that, too. Unctuous to a fault, working toward a fat tip, she led him to the rear table where his party was already assembled.

As he and Alin approached, the people at their table grew quieter and made room for them. KPayne knew they were ready for fun—maybe enough fun to blow the dust out of his head and help get him over his meeting with Aldrich Christian.

Nobody at the table was interested in his meeting with Christian or the skimpy payment check in his pocket. His people had arrived early enough to have finished a first round of drinks and a pitcher of cold sangria, along with a thick platter of loaded nachos. Feeling a little left out, he took a seat and a menu. This had to get better.

Holding court was nothing new for KPayne, and he reveled in it. No Mas Cantina offered delicious food and casual dining in an exotic atmosphere, and he liked it there. With him picking up the tab, the other six people at his table, including Alin and the petite Caressa, all did their best to make him smile, and it was working, too. Right up until he looked up to see Bianca walk across the floor with a tall, attentive man.

He wished he could have said it didn't bother him to see her out with someone else, but he couldn't and it did. She didn't see him, but he saw her and she didn't look bad at all. In fact, she looked pretty darned good in her lacy white summer dress and gold sandals. He didn't recognize the dress or the shimmery earrings dangling from her ears.
Can't get my money to me, but she can go shopping? What's up with that?