Sealed With a Kiss Page 4

  Her softly restraining hand on his arm sent a charge of energy through him, momentarily startling him. “I’m sorry, Rufus. About your wife, I mean. I had no idea that…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her, mentally pushing back the sexual tension in which her nearness threatened to entrap him. Expressions of sympathy for his status as a single father made him uncomfortable. He regretted the divorce for his sons’ sake, but Etta Mae had never been much of a wife and hadn’t planned to be a mother. She wanted to work in the top fashion houses of Paris and Milan and, when offered the chance, she said a hurried goodbye and took it. Neither her marriage nor her three-week-old twin sons had the drawing power of a couturier’s runway. She hadn’t contested the divorce or his award of full custody; she had wanted only her freedom.

  He watched the strange, silent interplay between Naomi and Preston, who appeared fascinated with the logo. His preoccupation with it seemed to intrigue her, and she smiled at the boy and glanced shyly at Rufus.

  “Do you mind if I give them some i-c-e c-r-e-a-m?” She spelled it out. “I have those three flavors in the freezer.” He eased back the lapels of his Scottish tweed jacket, exposing a broad chest in a beige silk Armani shirt, shoved a hand in each pants pocket, and tried to understand the softness he saw in her. He couldn’t believe that she liked children; if she did, she’d have some. She probably preferred her work.

  “Sure, why not?” he replied, carefully sheltering his thoughts. “It’ll save me the trouble of taking them to an ice-cream parlor where they’ll want everything they see.”

  “Do they have to stay in that thing?” She nodded toward the stroller.

  “You may be brave,” he told her, displaying considerable amusement, “but I don’t believe you’re that brave.” His eyes were pools of mirth.

  “What are you talking about?” She tried to settle herself, to get her mind off the virile heat that emanated from him. She had never before reacted so strongly to a man, and she disliked being susceptible to him.

  His suddenly huskier voice indicated that he read her thoughts and knew her feelings. “Preston can destroy this place in half an hour if he really puts himself to it,” he explained, “but with Sheldon to help him, you’d think a hurricane had been through here. We’re all better off with them strapped in that stroller.”

  “If you say so.” She knelt unsteadily in front of the stroller and addressed the twin who’d pointed toward the logo. “What’s your name?” A miniature Rufus right down to his studied gaze, she decided.

  “Preston,” he told her with more aplomb that she’d have expected of a child of his age, and pointed to his twin. “He’s Sheldon.”

  “How old are you?” she asked his identical twin brother.

  “Three, almost four,” they told her in perfect unison, each holding up three fingers.

  Naomi looked first at one boy and then the other, then at Rufus. “How do you know the difference?”

  “Their personalities are different.” He looked down at them, his face aglow with tenderness, and his voice full of pride.

  She introduced herself to the boys and then began serving the ice-cream. On a hunch, she took four of the plastic banana-shaped bowls that she’d bought for use in the logo and filled them with a scoop each of the chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry flavors.

  Rufus nodded approvingly. “Well, you’ve just dealt successfully with Preston; he’d have demanded that it look exactly like that painting. Sheldon wouldn’t care as long as it was ice cream.”

  Naomi watched Rufus unstrap his sons, place one on each knee, and help them feed themselves while trying to eat his own ice-cream. Her eyes misted, and she tried to stifle her desire to hold one of the children. She knew a strange, unfamiliar yearning as she saw how gently he handled them. How he carefully wiped their hands, mouths, and the front of their clothes when they had finished and, over their squirming objections, playfully strapped them into the stroller.

  “Do they wiggle because it’s a kid thing, or just to test your mettle?”

  He laughed aloud, a full-throated release as he reached down to rebutton Sheldon’s jacket. She would have bet that he didn’t know how; it was the first evidence she’d had that his handsome face could shape itself into such a brilliant smile, one that involved his eyes and mouth, his whole face. He had a single dimple, and she was a pushover for a dimple. The glow of his smile made her feel as if he had wrapped her in a ray of early morning sunlight, warming her.

  “Both, I guess,” he finally answered.

  He turned to her. “That was very nice, Naomi. Thank you. Before I leave, I want you to tell me why you hung up when I called you. Didn’t you know that I would have to send the police or come over here myself and find out whether you were in trouble? I brought my boys because I don’t leave them alone and I couldn’t get a sitter quickly.”

  “Don’t you have a housekeeper, nursemaid, or someone who takes care of them for you?”

  Rufus stood abruptly, all friendliness gone from his suddenly stony face. “My children are my responsibility, and it is I, not a parental substitute, who takes care of them. I do not want my children’s outlook on life to be that of their nanny or the housekeeper. And I will not have my boys pining for me to get home and disappointed when I get there too tired even to hug them. My boys come before my career and everything else, and I don’t leave them unless I have no choice.” He turned to leave, and both boys raised their arms to her. Not caring what their father thought, she quickly took the opportunity to hug them and hold their warm little bodies. His expression softened slightly, against his will, she thought, as he opened the door and pushed the stroller through it. “It was a mistake to come here. Goodbye, Naomi.” As the door closed, she heard Preston, or maybe it was Sheldon, say, “Goodbye, Noomie.”

  Naomi began cleaning the kitchen, deep in thought. Did they have low tolerance for each other, or was it something else? She had never known anyone more capable of destroying her calm, not even Judd. And there was no doubt that she automatically pushed his buttons. The less she saw of him, the better, she told herself, fully aware that he was the first man for whom she’d ever had a deep, feminine ache. “I don’t know much,” she said aloud, “but I know enough to leave him alone.”

  Naomi parked her car on Fourth Street below Howard University and walked up Florida Avenue to One Last Chance. She chided herself for spending so much time thinking about Rufus, all the while giving herself excuses for doing so. She had just been defending herself with the thought that being the father of those delightful boys probably added to Rufus’s manliness. He was so masculine. Even his little boys had strong masculine traits.

  Rufus had made her intensely aware of herself as a woman. An incomplete woman. A woman who could not dare to dream of what she wanted most; to have the love and devotion of a man she loved and with whom she could share her secrets and not be harshly judged. A home. And children. Maybe she could have it with…oh, God, there was so much at stake. Forget it, she told herself; he would break her heart.

  She increased her pace. It seemed like forever since the foundation’s board members had argued heatedly about the wisdom of locating One Last Chance’s headquarters in an area that was becoming increasingly more blighted. But placing it near those who needed the services had been the right decision. She walked swiftly, partly because it was her natural gait, but mainly because she loved her work with the young girls, whom she tutored in English and math. She welcomed the crisp, mid-October evenings that were so refreshing after the dreaded heat and humidity of the Washington summers. Invigorating energy coursed through her as the cool air greeted her face, and she accelerated her stride. Not even the gathering dusk and the barely camouflaged grimness of the neighborhood daunted her.

  Inside OLC, as the girls called it, her spirits soared as she passed a group playing checkers i
n the lounge, glimpsed a crowded typing class, and walked by the little rooms where experienced educators patiently tutored their charges. She reached the nurse’s station on the way to her own little cubicle, noticed the closed door, and couldn’t help worrying about the plight of the girl inside.

  Linda was half an hour late, and Naomi was becoming concerned about her. The girl lacked the enthusiasm that she had shown when they’d begun the tutoring sessions, and she was always tired, too worn-out for a fifteen-year-old. When she did arrive, she didn’t apologize for her tardiness, but Naomi didn’t dwell on that.

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?” Naomi asked her, attempting to understand the girl’s problems.

  “Five of them,” Linda responded listlessly.

  “Tell me what you do at home, Linda, and why you come to One Last Chance. Speak carefully, because this is our diction lesson for today.” Already becoming a fatalist, Naomi thought sadly, when the girl opened her mouth to object, but closed it without speaking and shrugged indifferently.

  “At home, I cook, clean, and take care of my mama’s children. I study at the drugstore where I work after school and weekends, but I have to be careful not to get caught. I come here for the company, so I can hear people talk good English and see what you’re supposed to wear and how you’re supposed to act. I can get by without the tutoring.”

  “Do you enjoy the tutoring, Linda?”

  “Yeah. It makes my grades better, but I just like to be around you. You treat me like I’m the same as you.”

  “But you are the same.”

  “No, I’m not. You got choices, and I don’t have any yet.” She smiled then. “But I’m going to have them. I’m going to be able to decide what I want. I’m going to learn to type and use computers. That way, I’ll always be able to get a good job, and I’ll be able to work my way through college.” She paused and looked down at her hands. “I’m not ever going to have any children, and I’m never going on welfare and have people snooping around to check on me. It’s humiliating.”

  Good for you, Naomi thought, but she needed to correct her about one thing.

  “I’m sure that motherhood has many wonderful rewards,” she told her. “When you fall in love and get married, you may change your mind.”

  Indicating what she thought of that advice, Linda pulled on one of her many braids and rolled her eyes disdainfully. “Not me,” she objected, slumping down in the straight-backed chair. “All I have to do is look at my mama and then look at you. There’s never going to be a man smart enough to con me into having a baby. After taking care of all my mama’s babies, I’d have to be touched in the head to have one.”

  Naomi didn’t like the trend of the conversation. “You’ll see things differently when you’re older,” she responded, thinking that she would have to teach Linda that life was more enjoyable if you laughed at it sometimes.

  “Really?” the girl asked skeptically. “I see you don’t have any kids.” Linda opened her book, effectively ending the discussion. Shocked, and unable to find any other way to get the privacy she needed, Naomi lowered her eyes.

  They completed the literature assignment, and as Naomi reflected on Linda’s above-average intelligence, the girl suddenly produced a drawing.

  “What do you think of this?” she asked, almost defensively.

  Naomi scrutinized it and regarded the girl whose face was haunted with expectancy. “You’ve got good technique, and this piece shows imagination. I like it.”

  Linda looked up and smiled wistfully. “I love to paint most of all. It’s one thing nobody can tell me is good or bad, because I always manage to paint exactly what I feel.” As if she had disclosed something that she thought too intimate to tell another person, Linda quickly left the room.

  Naomi watched her leave. Crazy about painting and forced to study literature. It was almost like seeing her own youth in someone else, except that she had had all the advantages of upper-middle-class life that Linda lacked. She understood now that her strong attraction to Chuck had partly been escape from loneliness. He had fulfilled her need for the loving affection that she missed at home, and he’d made her feel wanted. Cherished. God forbid that because of a desolate life, Linda should follow in her footsteps, she mused, getting up to replace her teaching aids in the cabinet that held her supplies.

  Rufus stole silently away from the open door and, deep in thought, made his way slowly up to the president’s office. He was a board member of Urban Alliance and stopped by One Last Chance to discuss with its president participation in the Alliance’s annual fund-raising gala. He hadn’t known of Naomi’s association with OLC and was surprised to find her there. Certainly, he would not have expected to witness her gently nurturing that young girl. She had empathized totally with the girl, whose background was probably the exact opposite of her own, holding him nearly spellbound. He mounted the creaky spiral staircase whose once-regal Royal Bokhara runners were now threadbare, thinking that perhaps he had misjudged Naomi again. He had gotten the impression from her letters that career and independence were what she cherished most and that, like his ex-wife, she thought of little else and wouldn’t take the time to nurture another human being.

  Maybe she was different from what she represented herself to be. She was tender and solicitous with his boys, who were immediately charmed by her. Captivated was more like it. Not because of the ice cream, either; they ate ice cream just about every day. No. It was more. He couldn’t define it any more than he could figure out why she’d had such a powerful impact on him, why she was constantly in his thoughts.

  She was brash and a little cynical. But she was also soft and giving. He remembered his sudden need to get out of her apartment, away from her; he had never had difficulty controlling his libido until he’d met that woman. He grinned. She affected his temper that way, too.

  He sat listening to Maude Frazier outline her plans for One Last Chance’s contribution to the gala, aware that her words held no interest for him; his mind was on Naomi Logan. In an abrupt decision, he politely told Maude goodbye and loped down the stairs in hopes of seeing Naomi before she left. He was relieved to find her in the basement laundry room. And what a sight! Without the combs and pins, her hair was a wild, thick frizz, and her slacks and shirt were wet in front. He leaned against the laundry room door and watched her dash around the room folding laundry and coping with an overflowing washing machine.

  “Want some help?”

  She dropped a clean tablecloth back into the sudsy water, braced her hands on her hips, and stood glaring at him.

  “See what you made me do? You frightened me.” He observed her closely, but with pretended casualness. Was she trembling?

  “Sorry. Anything I can do to make up for it?”

  “You can help me fold these things, and you can wipe that cocky grin off of your face.” She hated being caught off guard; he didn’t blame her. It put you at a disadvantage.

  She was obviously wary of him, and he wanted to put her at ease, so he spread his hands palms upward in a gesture of defenselessness. “I’m innocent of whatever it is you’re planning to hang me for, Naomi. Now, if you’ll show me how you want these things folded, I’ll help you.” She did, and they worked in companionable silence.

  Rufus carefully hid his inner feelings, controlling the heady excitement of being with her, but he wouldn’t bet that he’d be able to hold it back for long. He wouldn’t put a penny on it. She zonked him.

  His impatient nature wouldn’t allow him to wait longer before probing. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “And why would that be? Why do you think I don’t care about people?” she asked him, a bit sharply.

  Didn’t she know that her defensiveness was bound to make him suspicious? He was a journalist, after all. He shrugged and decided not to accept the challenge. He wanted to know
her, not fence with her. “Did I say that, Naomi? I’ve seen softness in you.” And I want to know whether it’s real.

  “Humph. Me? A career woman?” Her glance must have detected the tenderness, the protectiveness that he felt, because she reacted almost as if he’d kissed her. Her lowered eyes and the sensual sound of her sucking in her breath sent his blood rushing through his veins.

  Rufus quickly cooled his rising ardor. He sensed her nervousness but didn’t comment on it, as he weighed her consistent refusal to carry on a serious conversation with him. When she finally looked directly at him, he spoke. “You treat everything I say with equal amounts of disdain.”

  “Be fair. Aren’t you exaggerating?” He was sure that his words had stung her, though that was not what he had intended.

  “Not by much, I’m not,” he answered, running the fingers of his left hand through his hair and furrowing his brow. “Do you volunteer here often?” He switched topics in the hope of avoiding a confrontation and making peace between them. “You seemed to have unusually good rapport with the girl whom you were tutoring. Most kids in these programs don’t relate well to their tutors and mentors. How do you manage it?”

  He found her inability to disguise her pleasure at his compliment intriguing; it meant that she valued his opinion. If he let her have the psychological distance that she seemed to want, maybe she would open up.

  “You saw us?” He nodded. “It isn’t difficult; she’s hungry for attention and for a role model, and I really like her.” They were leaning against the washing machines, and he appraised her with a thoroughness that embarrassed her.

  “Is she one of the girls sent here from Juvenile Court? What had she done?”

  Naomi’s eyes snapped in warning, and her tone was sharp. “Linda found her way here on her own. She had the intelligence to realize that she needed help. I doubt she’ll ever become a delinquent.”