“I want to see more of you, and I think you know that,” Warren said.

“It’s against club rules for me to make a date with you, but that’s all that has kept me from trying to ask you out.”

For heaven’s sake, there are other ways, Jackie thought, but to him she said, “I appreciate your discretion, sir.”

“I don’t know how to take that,” he said, surprising her with his directness, “and please stop calling me sir. Are you saying you’re not interested?”

Jackie stared into his eyes, darker now than usual and with a fire blazing in them that she had no trouble identifying as passionate attraction.

“Is that the only conclusion you can come up with?” she asked, determined to keep him guessing.

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle or discreet. I merely stated a fact. And I’d be a lot closer to you this minute if club rules didn’t forbid that, as well.…”

GWYNNE FORSTER

is a national bestselling author of twenty-three romance novels and novellas. She has also written four novels and a novella of general fiction. She has worked as a journalist, a university professor and as a senior officer for the United Nations. She holds a master’s degree in sociology, and a master’s degree in economics/demography.

Gwynne sings in her church choir, loves to entertain at dinner parties, is a gourmet cook and an avid gardener. She enjoys jazz, opera, classical music and the blues. She also likes to visit museums and art galleries. She lives in New York with her husband.

Her Secret Life

Gwynne Forster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading Her Secret Life.

Once I began to bring Jacqueline Parks—the heroine of this title—to life, she became one of my favorite female characters. I empathized with her, having at various times led a double life; I’ve been a teacher/ student/babysitter, student/disc jockey and grad student/waitress/vocalist. Remembering the different faces I’ve worn and the demeanors that I’ve adopted, I thought it might be fun to create a character whose double identity was at once necessary and a threat to her well-being.

I had to find a man who matched her in intelligence, accomplishments and concern for others, and I think Warren Holcomb fits the bill. I like most his humanitarianism, which is expressed primarily in his Harlem Clubs. In this story, Warren’s clubs get youngsters off the street and expose them to a life beyond boxing and basketball.

If you’d like to learn about other titles by me, please visit my Web site at www.gwynneforster.com.

Sincerely yours,

Gwynne Forster

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 1

Jacqueline Ann Parkton closed her laptop computer, put it into her desk drawer and locked it. She had one hour and twenty minutes in which to go home, change and get to her evening job on time. For the past three years, Jacqueline had worked two jobs in order to maintain her standard of living while providing the best possible care first for her mother, when her father’s resources had become depleted, and then for her father.

She stepped out of the building on Fifth Avenue and West 30th Street in Manhattan, which housed African American Woman magazine, took a taxi to her apartment on West End Avenue, and began the metamorphosis that she underwent every evening that she worked. Jacqueline Ann Parkton led a double life, and she was plagued by a constant fear that someone in one of her two worlds would appear in her other world and recognize her.

In less than two hours, she transformed herself from the conservative and sedate senior editor and crime reporter for AAW (African American Woman magazine) to a sexy bombshell who served drinks at the most prestigious private men’s club in New York City.

On that cold November day, Jacqueline Ann Parkton, known as Jackie Parks at Allegory, Inc., the men’s club in which she worked, adjusted her micro-mini pleated pink skirt, tied the strings of her tiny pink paisley apron and gazed down at the three-inch, pencil-slim heels of the sandals on her feet. “These things are a blueprint for curvature of the spine,” she said aloud and began brushing out the wig that nearly reached her hips. She put the brush on her dressing table and looked around at the sand-colored walls, the royal-blue and beige Kiernan carpet, the antique gold-framed mirror and her chair with the same antique gold finish. At least she had a comfortable and attractive dressing room.

When the bartender rang her bell, Jackie glanced at the mirror for a last inspection and went to work. With her right hand, she balanced a large silver tray filled with vodka martinis and gin comets against her shoulder and headed for the private lounge where Warren Holcomb entertained half a dozen business moguls.

As she approached the lounge, the unmistakable feel of a hand on her buttocks nearly caused her to spill the drinks. Normally, she showed the powerful men her perfect white teeth or winked when they became familiar and pretended not to mind, but that one had stepped over the line. He’d touched her. She had no tolerance for that order of brazenness and, by reflex, her left hand raised immediately as if in defense. However, her presence of mind returned just as fast, and she lowered it. Don’t forget girl. You need this job.

“Keep your hands to yourself, mister. No man paws me.”

“Do you know who I am?” It came out as a growl.

“Who you are makes a difference to me only when you stay in your place and keep your hands to yourself.”

She walked on, but she made a mental note to watch him. As far as she was concerned, he stood out in that group of men with a street quality that belied his status and position.

Ignoring the man’s face-saving remarks, she entered the private lounge and walked over to Warren Holcomb, a man with a commanding presence, but whose demeanor otherwise bespoke kindness, or was it sensuality? Maybe it was both.

“Good evening, sir. Would you like me to serve now?” She thought his smile should be patented, and that his large, almost obsidian eyes should be hidden. Every time she looked at him, carnal thoughts filled her head.

“Please. And thank you for bringing my order right away.”

“My pleasure, sir,” she replied and meant it. She pretended not to see Warren Holcomb discretely cataloging her feminine assets, but tiny, pinprick-like jolts of heat shot through her when his gaze landed on her breasts and settled there. She’d have given anything if she could rub them. Thank God, he didn’t pick that moment to shift his gaze to her face. She couldn’t even take a long, deep breath without giving herself away. A few minutes in the man’s presence would discombobulate her if she were less resolved.

“Anything else, sir?”

He didn’t seem to have heard her; a newcomer who sat nearby had his attention. That man, whom another guest had referred to as Mac, seemed out of place in Allegory, Inc., especially among Warren Holcomb’s guests. Jackie looked for a reason to linger. She wanted to observe the man closely.

“Did you say that was all, sir?” she asked, stalling for time.

“Well, perhaps you could bring us some hot hors d’oeuvres.”

She went to a phone about five feet from where he sat and phoned in the order, watching Mac as she did so. He was a misfit, and as a reporter, such characters always arrested her attention. Whenever she was in the club, her antenna didn’t stop working, for she had much to lose by working as a cocktail waitress in that high-profile, rich-man’s club, and she was always on the lookout for anything unsavory.

Where is my head? she asked herself when she was serving the hors d’oeuvres, suddenly aware that she moved at a much slower pace than usual. She justified it by telling herself that to move slowly and graciously rather than to gallop like a horse was more feminine. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to know what Mac was saying to one of the other guests. Never good at fooling herself, Jackie was smart enough to know that Warren was her main reason both for lingering there and for wanting to seem more ladylike than she appeared in the skimpy and revealing uniform.

Whenever she looked at him, or when he looked at her, she got a warm feminine feeling all over, and she couldn’t remember when last a man could lay claim to causing that.

“Anything else, sir?” she asked him, her right hand on the doorknob as she prepared to leave the private lounge.

“No. These are delicious. Thank you.”

“You are welcome, sir.”

She felt a small amount of pride as she noticed his failed attempt to appear businesslike. His furtive glances set her blood to racing, and what a pity that was. She had told herself time and again that she didn’t want an involvement with any man who frequented the club, and she believed she meant it, but Warren Holcomb was the epitome of temptation. Whenever she met him in the club corridors or saw him standing talking with someone, she thought of him as a young bull. Trim and powerful, the man’s six-foot four-inch physique made most of the club members suffer by comparison. It wasn’t his race but his bearing that distinguished him, and if he realized what a standout he was, he didn’t show it.

The following morning, she telephoned a former classmate, a law enforcement officer in Washington, D.C. “Hi, Clayton. This is Jacqueline. What can you get me on a guy named Mac with this description?” She described Mac.

“Right on, girl. Have it for you in a couple of hours. Why don’t you give up magazine editing and stick with crime reporting? You’re good at it, and I’ll bet it pays more.”

Let him think whatever he liked. “Because I like to eat, and AAW pays me a regular salary.”

“Marry me. You’ll be as poor as Job’s turkey, but when you’re in bed every night, you’ll be as happy as a little pig in hog heaven. How about it?”

Laughter flowed out of her as it always did minutes after she began speaking with him. “You’re a certified nut, but at least you’re a first-class one.”

“Thanks for nothing. Call me at one this afternoon.”

“Will do. Thanks, friend.”

By one-fifteen, she knew that Mac had been indicted twice for acting as a pimp for a Washington, D.C. madam, but had no convictions. She wondered whether Warren Holcomb knew Mac’s record. If he did, why would he associate with such a person?

At five-thirty each evening that she worked, Jackie Parks removed her eyeglasses, inserted prescription contact lenses that changed her irises from dark brown to dark hazel, donned a black wig that had hair that hung almost to her hips, put on a heavy coat of makeup, dressed and headed for the club. On this particular evening, to shorten the distance to her dressing room, she entered the club through a side door rather than through its imposing Fifth Avenue entrance, intending to take an elevator that she rarely used.

She was about to enter the elevator when Warren Holcomb charged out of it and sent her sprawling. Stunned, she lay on the floor, gazing up at him.

“Damn!” he said. “Have I hurt you? Are you all right?” Even as the words left his mouth, he hovered above her, reaching for her. And as if her five-foot, nine-inch frame didn’t weigh one hundred and forty-five pounds, he lifted her as he would a small child, cradling her in his arms.

“I’m…I’m okay. J-Just a little shaken up.”

He didn’t release her, but held her and stroked her back. “I’m so sorry. You’re the last person I’d want to hurt.” Jackie knew she should get out of the man’s arms, but her whole body tingled. Alive. Warmer and getting hotter. He had an aura of power, but to her, he communicated warmth and gentleness. Mastery. She wanted to put her head on his shoulder and rest it there. Her mind told her she was insane, but her body wanted to be close to him forever. Coming to her senses, she stepped back from him, found a spot beyond his shoulder and focused on it.

“Sure you’re okay?” he insisted. His voice, mellifluous, low and urgent sent tremors through her.

“I’m fine.”

The first to reclaim her wits, she tried to smile, but failed. She bent to pick up her pocketbook but, simultaneously, he attempted to retrieve it, and their heads collided.

“Ooh,” she said and, immediately, his arms went around her as if to soothe her.

“Looks as if I’m trying to kill you, but believe me, I’m not.” It seemed to her as if he hugged her; at least, she’d swear that he held her closer. He gazed down at her, his eyes ablaze, less with concern than with desire.

“I know that. Accidents will happen.” He was dragging it out, playing it for all it was worth, she knew, but she didn’t feel like calling him on it.

“Am I forgiven?”

“Of course.” Oh, the glorious feel of his hands on her, strong and masculine! Possessive, as if they had a right to her body. Man. All man. Lord! She had to straighten out her head. After a minute, she managed to step out of his arms.

“Where on earth were you going at that rate of speed?” she asked him. At his height and with his solid build, she was lucky to be conscious.

At her question, a troubled, almost frightened expression settled over his face. “Shoot, the parking meter. It would be my luck that the traffic cops would have my car towed.”

She frowned. “The parking meter? You mean you don’t have a chauffeu?”

“No. Why would I need one? I know how to drive.”

“B-But every man here has a chauffeur. I thought…never mind what I thought.” Hmm. So Mr. Holcomb was one big-shot who didn’t have an inflated estimation of himself. He’d just gone up several notches in her opinion.

Warren Holcomb had begun life at the bottom of the heap, so to speak, and remained there for almost half of his life. However, by his wits and ambition, he became, by age forty, sole owner of luxury hotels in Washington, D.C., Nairobi, Kenya and Honolulu. He was currently planning to build one on Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard in Harlem. He’d accepted membership in Allegory, Inc. to show that success and manners meant more than skin color, and he was always happy to inform anyone interested that he hadn’t applied for membership, but had been invited to join. So far, he wasn’t sorry that he was a member.

“I told the traffic cop that that Lincoln belonged to a brother, one of the very best,” the doorman said to Warren when he rushed down to check on his car. “She said you shouldn’t park it so close to Fifth Avenue, but she didn’t ticket you.”

“Thanks,” he said to the doorman, greatly relieved. “I’ll do as much for you sometime.” He handed the doorman a twenty dollar bill. “I’m not trying to pay you, but I am truly grateful for your help.”

“Yes, sir, and I do appreciate it.”

He walked back into the club, took a seat at the bar and ordered coffee and two aspirin. He didn’t have a headache. He needed to settle his libido, and a pain killer usually did the trick. Jackie didn’t know it, but when he’d had her in his arms and she’d looked up at him with lips parted and glistening, he’d come close to an erection. He couldn’t remember when he’d last reacted in that way to a woman he hadn’t kissed or fondled. It was his good fortune that she hadn’t seemed eager to move out of his arms. If he was lucky, it meant she was attracted to him. He cocked an ear when he heard her name.

“Man, that woman could melt snow in a blizzard just by showing up,” one man said.

“Yeah. I’ll bet she’s got a forty-inch top, and that’s just about the sweetest little ass I ever saw in my life. How tall would you say Jackie is, Ben?” the second man asked the bartender.

Warren drained his cup and stood, disgusted. He hated to hear men speak that way about women, and it doubly irritated him that Jackie was the object of their lewd expressions of admiration.

Wanting to put an end to it, he answered for Ben. “She’s about five-nine, and you guys sound as if you’re still living in Hell’s Kitchen.”

The offender stood and looked up at Warren. “Just because she’s black doesn’t mean you own her. She’s a hot piece. And I never lived in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Aw, knock it off,” Warren said. “You’re CEO of a big company, and it ought to show someplace other than in your wallet.”

“Come on, guys,” a fourth man said. “Jackie’s the reason I come here every evening. After I look at my horse-face secretary all day, I need to see that chestnut-brown beauty with those long legs that go on forever, that neat little waist and…” He looked at Warren. “Not to worry, buddy, I’m not touching the rest.”

Warren decided to call it a night. Hearing other men talk about Jackie in that way stuck in his craw and made him think of shortening the distance between their ears. He didn’t see himself attached to a cocktail waitress whose skirts barely covered her flawless hips, but that woman had something special, and he had a mind to investigate it.

He left the club, got into his Lincoln Town Car and headed for his home in Brooklyn Heights. As he drove, it occurred to him that the reason why the men had such loose tongues around Jackie was because they considered her a sexy bombshell who didn’t have a brain. He’d bet she would surprise them.

Warren couldn’t know the accuracy of his assessment. With a superior memory, Jackie knew more about some of the club members than they would guess or wish. At home, after a long and tiring day, she sat before the mirror of her dressing table, massaging her temples and relaxing, ruminating about the day’s happenings before preparing for bed.

Those rich men think a cocktail waitress is so empty-headed that they can discuss their business and personal secrets in her presence, and she’s too stupid to pick up on it. Well, this one isn’t. I’m not interested in disabusing them of their ignorance; they may one day become victims of their prejudices, and I hope I’m around to see it.

She fought the rising anger that welled up in her as she recalled how careless some of those men were with their manners and their talk, because they thought she didn’t deserve better. Not all of them. Holcomb respected her, and so did Ben, the bartender, and most of the older men.

Holcomb, how she wished they’d met in different circumstances. She had just completed that thought when the telephone rang. “Hello,” she said into the receiver.

“Hi,” her older sister, Vanna, said. “You’ve been on my mind lately. How’s Papa?”

“Pretty good. I’m going to see him tonight. How’re the children?”

“What can I say? Raising three kids by myself isn’t what I thought I’d be doing when I had ’em, but they’re precious, the little darlings.”

They talked for a while, and when Vanna said good-night and hung up, Jackie looked at her watch. If she hurried and pretended that Charlie Rose and Tavis Smiley didn’t exist, didn’t turn on the television, merely said her prayers and went to bed, perhaps she wouldn’t be so sleepy when she awoke the next morning.

As she did every morning at eight o’clock, Monday through Friday and an occasional Saturday, Jacqueline left her home for her office unrecognizable to the members of Allegory, Inc. On that morning, dressed in a conservative business suit and wearing medium-heel shoes, her shoulder-length hair in a braided chignon and her skin devoid of makeup, a smile settled on Jacqueline’s face when Jeremy, the guard, rushed to meet her as she entered the building that housed African American Woman magazine.

“’Morning, Dr. Parkton,” he said, tipped his hat and, as usual, took her briefcase and walked with her to the elevator.

“Good morning, Jeremy. You spoil me.”

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m gon’ do that every chance I get. You the nicest person that comes in here. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, Jeremy. You, too.”

“’Morning, Dr. Parkton,” the secretaries and clerks called out as she walked through the section. Jacqueline smiled as she greeted them, aware that each of them treated her as if she were special, different from the other editors who were her subordinates. She hung her Do Not Disturb sign on the door of her office, sat down and checked her mail.

“That man is boneheaded,” she said aloud and, for the second time, returned a short story to an Edmond Lassiter as unacceptable. “Please don’t send this to me again. It’s more suitable for a men’s magazine,” she wrote across the top of the page. Jacqueline hated to reject a manuscript for she empathized with writers, but what else could she do with that one?

Warren parked the Town Car in his garage and went to the deli two blocks away on Montague Street to buy his dinner. He hated eating alone in restaurants, and he disliked the idea of making a date with a woman when he only wanted company while he ate. Dressing up, going across the city, or even farther, to get the woman, making reservations at a fancy place and talking intelligently when he was so tired he felt like falling into the food? Give him the deli or the Chinese take-out window any day.

While he waited for his shrimp salad, rolls and cheesecake, his mind settled on Jackie Parks. How would she look if she wore less eye makeup and rouge? She had a body to die for and, at times, it seemed as if he would die wanting it. He didn’t allow himself to get hooked on the idea of having a particular woman with whom he didn’t have a relationship. But he wanted Jackie Parks.

“Here you are, sir,” the Korean lady said, handing him the bag that contained his supper. “Have nice day.”

He thanked her and left. What was he going to do about Jackie? Was she the one? He wanted eventually to have children, and he couldn’t imagine that hourglass figure swollen with a pregnancy.

The following afternoon, Saturday, found him where he spent most of his afternoons, at Harlem Clubs, Inc., his financial and personal investment in keeping children off the streets of Harlem and en route to a productive life.

“Come here, Charlie,” he said to a potential troublemaker. “Sit down. Would you like to fence in the Olympics two years from now?”

The boy’s shrug expressed a careless lack of concern. “Yeah.”

“Well, you are not going to.”

Charlie jumped up from his perch on the edge of the windowsill. “What? What do you mean? I’m the best here.”

Warren stared hard at the boy, having discerned that only challenge motivated him. “But your attitude is the worst, and I’m sick of dealing with it. Furthermore, I am not going to hire a coach for you any longer if you don’t work hard and practice. Got that?” Immediately, Charles shed his arrogance, grabbed a foil and began to practice.

On a sunny weekend, approximately ten days later, Jackie was Dr. Jacqueline Ann Parkton at Hampton University giving a sorority-sponsored lecture on the deleterious effects of teen pregnancy and crime in contemporary society. She noted that her audience included several men and a number of older women. In response to her question, half of the young women present were sexually active, and yet less than one fifth of those had had an orgasm.

When she asked why they had sex if they didn’t enjoy it, one student asked, “How do you say no if you want to be popular?”

She replied. “It’s spelled, n-o. Why buy a cow if you can get free milk whenever you want it and when you can have fun checking out different cows?” She had planned to discuss the hazards of drug use, but time went quickly as the students bombarded her with questions about sex, sexuality, virginity and male attitudes. At the end of her talk, the students crowded around her, asking questions, and a man fought his way through the group and introduced himself as Edmond Lassiter.

“I’ve wanted to meet you, Ms. Parkton, and when I read in the Norfolk, Virginia New Journal & Guide that you’d be here today, I wasn’t about to miss you. You are a very impressive speaker.”

He could spread butter on her as much as he liked, but she was not going to publish his chauvinistic short story. “Oh, yes. I remember returning your story a couple of days ago, and for the second time, too.”

His smile was that of a man accustomed to getting a lot of mileage merely by changing the contours of his face. “Let’s not discuss anything so unpleasant just now. I came a long way to meet you.” He looked at his watch. “It’s a quarter after one, and I’m starving. Would you do me the honor of having lunch with me?” She began to gather her papers. “Please. I came a long way to see you.”

Suffolk, Virginia, where he lived, was practically across the street from Hampton, but she didn’t remind him of that. She pretended to focus on the papers in her hand, her casual attitude belying her appreciation for his masculine attributes. He was a good-looking man and very much aware of his appeal.

“All right, but only if you promise me I’ll never see that short story again.”

His right hand went to the left side of his chest and, as if he’d taken lessons from Morgan Freeman or Jack Nicholson, his smile radiated. “You wound me, but what can I do? I promise.”

As he ate, he chewed his food slowly, deliberately, causing her to imagine him savoring the delights of a woman he adored. He might have attracted her interest if he hadn’t kept inserting bits of propaganda for his short story into the conversation. She refused to respond.

“How do you manage to write that provocative column along with all the other things an editor has to do?”

She was tempted to tell him that he was too free with the compliments. What she said was, “I try not to waste time…like going over your manuscript twice.”

He put a serious expression on his face. “I know you said you didn’t like it, but I wanted to give you a chance to change your mind.”

“You did, and now it’s set in stone, Mr. Lassiter.” She looked straight at him, and when he quickly diverted his gaze, she realized that he was attracted to her and preferred not to be.

“Send me something equally well written that doesn’t focus on women’s body parts and I’ll consider publishing it.”

It amused her that he had the grace to blush. “I think it’s a good story, but…” He threw up his hands as if in resignation and then let his face dissolve into an engaging grin. Looking at his dazzling smile, her thoughts went back to Jeff Southwall, the man whose mesmerizing masculinity had trapped her into making the biggest mistake of her life.

Before she realized she would say them, the words, “You’re wasting your time,” slipped out of her mouth.

But as if he hadn’t heard her, he said, “Thanks for having lunch with me. When I asked you, I thought you’d refuse.” He walked with her to the car she’d rented and opened the driver’s door. “You haven’t seen or heard the last of me. I don’t give up easily.” He extended his hand for a shake and added, “Be seeing you at one place or another.”

“I told you not to waste your time, and I meant it.” However, she doubted he heard her for, without answering, he turned and walked off, whistling as he went.

She let the engine warm up for a few minutes before heading to the airport. The man’s hands were those of a working man, calloused and hard, but he had the manners and demeanor of an educated person. She couldn’t reconcile the two traits. There was something about Edmond Lassiter that didn’t add up—something besides his terrible story.

Then she thought of Warren Holcomb, a warm and tender, yet equally masculine man. Captivating. The man she wanted with mounting urgency each time she was in his presence. There was no comparison. Edmond Lassiter was not even in the running. Granted, she’d been taken aback by his earthiness and blatant sexuality but, even before they separated, she’d become used to him and his sly way of seduction. She released the brake and put Hampton University behind her.

A she drove, she envisaged a life with a strong, warm and gentle man, a man like Warren Holcomb. One who made her forget everything and everyone but him. “It isn’t going to happen,” she said aloud. “If he hasn’t made a move yet, he never will.”

Jacqueline went from LaGuardia Airport directly to Riverdale to see her father. “You look wonderful,” she told him as they embraced. Her father always made her feel as if she was the apple of his eye, although she knew he loved her sister, Vanna, as much as he loved her. “How are you feeling, Papa?”

“I feel a lot better, so you can move me out of this mansion. It must cost a fortune, and I know you can’t afford it.” She didn’t tell him that she had an evening job that enabled her to afford comfort for them both.

“I learned it from you, Papa. I’m only taking care of you the way you took care of Mama, except that I haven’t mortgaged my pension to do so. Stop worrying.”

“It’s time you gave me a grandchild,” he said when she rose to leave. “Find a good man” rang in her ears as she kissed him goodbye.

When she arrived at work the following evening, her first call for service was to Warren Holcomb, who sat alone in one of the private lounges.

“Good evening, sir. What may I get for you?”

His right eyebrow shot up, and she reminded herself to be cautious about her language. He had detected her proper use of the word “may” instead of “can,” which a less-educated person might have used.

“Coffee.”

“Uh…anything else?”

“No. Look, I don’t really want any coffee. I want to apologize to you for having knocked the wind out of you the other night. It was careless of me, and I’ve stewed over it ever since. Are you certain that I didn’t hurt you?”

She tried to smile in order to put him at ease, for she knew he didn’t really want to apologize again for that accident, that he was using it as an excuse to talk with her. Still, she appreciated his subtlety. “You didn’t hurt me, and you certainly would never—” she emphasized the word never “—do so intentionally.”

Leaning forward, he braced his hands on his knees and seemed to study her. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.” Although silent for a moment, he gazed steadily at her until her nerves scrambled themselves throughout her body and her blood began a headlong rush to her lower region. But she refused to blink. It was his move.

Finally, he sat back in his chair, and although his gaze softened, his eyes nevertheless gleamed. “I want to see more of you, and I think you know that. It’s against club rules for me to make a date with you, and that’s all that keeps me from trying.”

For heaven’s sake, there are other ways, she thought, but to him, she said, “I appreciate your being discrete, sir.”

“I don’t know how to take that,” he said, surprising her with his directness, “and please stop calling me sir. Are you saying you’re not interested?”

She stared into his eyes, darker now than usual and with a fire blazing in them that she had no trouble naming. “Is that the only interpretation you can give it?” she asked. She was determined to keep him guessing.

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle or discrete. I merely stated a fact. And I’d be a lot closer to you this minute if club rules didn’t forbid that as well.”

“You’re a lot bolder than I thought. I’d better get back to my station.”

“I’ll take that coffee strong.”

“How many?” she asked and hated herself for letting him know that he’d rattled her.

But he didn’t capitalize on her slipup. “I have no guests this evening. I didn’t sit in the main lounge, because I wanted to speak with you.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes with your coffee.” As she left the lounge, she threw him a look over her shoulder. Just because he knew she melted when he picked her up off the floor and held her was no reason for him to get a big head. More than one man would affirm that she was the queen of denial. If he was as smart as he seemed he would realize that she hadn’t said she wasn’t interested, but she’d merely avoided answering his question.

Carrying a silver tray that contained a pot of coffee and an elegant coffee service, Jackie paused as she approached the private lounge. The small, illuminated yellow bulb indicated that the lounge was occupied. Did Holcomb realize that, with that light blinking, only she, the waitress, would enter that lounge or even knock on the door? The lump in her throat seemed to grow by the second. She opened the door, put the tray on the service table nearby, poured a cup of coffee and took it to him.

He examined the porcelain cup with what seemed like relish. “Thank you. I like it with milk instead of cream, and no sugar,” he said as he reached for it.

“I know how you like it.”

Both of his eyebrows shot up. “Mind my asking if you know how each of the forty-seven members of this club likes his coffee?”

“I don’t mind at all.”

A smile lit up his face, and the twinkle that always mesmerized her began to dance in his eyes. “Well, do you?”

“Definitely not.”

He put the cup and saucer on the table beside him and leaned toward her. “Are you playing with me?” An expression of disbelief roamed over his face.

She didn’t try to suppress the mirth that welled up in her and grinned when she said, “No more than you’re playing with me. You knew the answer before you asked the question.”

His smile broadened, displaying a left dimple. “Well, I don’t know the answer to this. How can I manage to spend some time with you without violating club rules?”

She let her gaze sweep over him. “If you figured out how to achieve such success that Allegory invited you to join before you were forty, you can figure out how to see me without breaking the rules. Since I’m not a whiz kid, and I’d rather not get fired, don’t expect any help from me.”

He crossed his knees, appeared to get more comfortable, and sipped his coffee. “Just the way I like it. Do you want me to figure out a way?”

On the verge of becoming exasperated—he had the privacy he needed; why didn’t he use it—she put her right hand on her right hip and stared at him. “Mr. Holcomb, nothing in this life is certain but taxes and death. From the moment babies begin trying to walk, they learn that they have to take a chance.”

As if he’d missed the point, intentionally or not, he asked, “Have you had any experience with babies?”

A moron would know that a straight answer to that question would give him more information than he was entitled to, so if he wanted to know, he would have to ask a direct question. “Only during the first year of my life,” she retorted.

She watched, fascinated, as he closed his eyes, rested his head against the back of the overstuffed chair and let the laughter roll out of him. When he stopped laughing, he said, “I can’t wait to get you all to myself.”

She didn’t answer, but she hoped that managing that trick wouldn’t take him too long.

Chapter 2

I don’t know what possessed me to agree to speak to that sorority on this particular day, Jacqueline said to herself as she rolled out of bed at four-thirty in the morning. I’m beat. Lord, I should have spent the night in Charlotte.

But she hadn’t. She was in New York, and she’d better get moving if she wanted to get that seven o’clock flight.

By the time the propeller plane landed in Charlotte, she was certain that her insides had been rearranged. In the terminal, she bought a bottle of cold water and drank it to settle her stomach. Then, she picked up a rental car and headed for Johnson C. Smith University. Whenever Jacqueline visited a university—and she did that often—she invariably felt old, compared to the vibrant, youthful students around her.

Jacqueline had accomplished a lot in the ten years after getting her undergraduate degree in English. She’d earned a doctorate in criminology and had become the senior editor of a very prestigious magazine, but she was also lonely. Her life was devoid of the intimacy she craved, and she saw little likelihood of a change in her single status. What man would be willing to share the burden of her father’s expensive illness or to settle for a woman whose father’s well-being came before everything else? Would a successful, polished man like Warren Holcomb allow himself to care for a cocktail waitress? And would he still be interested if he discovered who she really was?

She turned into the university’s campus, asked for instructions to the library, drove there, found a parking space and walked a few paces to the James B. Duke Library. She had to banish her passion for Warren Holcomb—and there was nothing else to call it—for she was playing with fire.

“Welcome, Dr. Parkton,” a pretty girl of about eighteen said when Jacqueline stepped into the lecture hall, where about seventy-five students and, she surmised from their apparent ages, teachers as well, awaited her. “I’m your escort for the day. The students are all excited, and I’ve already collected lots of questions for you.”

And so it went on many of Jacqueline’s weekends. The money she made from her lectures went into a special account from which she would pay for her father’s surgery in the event that he agreed to have it. She didn’t allow herself to consider the consequences if he refused. Lunch with the class that sponsored her appearance there followed the lecture and questioning period. She enjoyed the exchange with the eager students, but she was glad to leave.

I’m old enough to be their mother, she said to herself of the freshmen as she drove to the airport, and I definitely did not enjoy being addressed as ma’am.

She walked into her apartment at eight-thirty that night, had a glass of milk and two pieces of toast for supper, stripped and fell into bed. She couldn’t wait for Monday. Monday evening, in fact. Surely, if Warren—she thought of him as Warren, not as Mr. Holcomb—put his mind to it, he ought to be able to figure out a way to spend time with her in forty-eight hours.

Warren spent most of his weekend thinking about Jackie Parks and pondering schemes to be alone with her outside the club without violating Allegory’s rules. Expulsion from the club would mortify him and practically assure that, for years to come, Allegory wouldn’t have another African American member. Membership in it had enabled him to obtain generous donations to Harlem Clubs, Inc., funds that he used for scholarships and for professional tutoring for the children who frequented the clubs.

He could get Jackie’s address and wait for her at her home one night after she left work, but that strategy involved asking the club accountant for information about Jackie. He couldn’t do that. He could follow her, but that was unseemly. And what if she lived with a man? From his one conversation with her, he didn’t think so, but who could tell?

I’ll ask her where she lives. That’s not the same as making a date. I’d call her at home, but she’s not in the phone directory. Damn, but this woman is in my blood!

He was never at a loss for something constructive to do, but Harlem Clubs didn’t open on Sunday. The only person in New York City who he wanted to see was unavailable to him and he was at loose ends. He put on his jogging suit and a pair of running shoes and went for a run down to the promenade, but instead of returning home at once, he sat on the bench overlooking the East River and lower Manhattan. A chilly, but otherwise perfect day, he thought, as the early afternoon sun warmed his face. All around him leaves floated lazily to earth and a tugboat hooted hoarsely for wider access with its burdensome tanker. The couples who strolled along the promenade holding hands, hugging and staring into each other’s eyes increased his sense of loneliness.

“I wonder what she’s doing and who she’s with?” he mused as visions of her long, silky legs and her large round eyes filled his mind’s eye. “Something about her doesn’t add up. Women who exploit their sexuality have never interested me, but with that skirt barely covering her…Oh, what the hell!” He got up and jogged on home and wondered if he could bear to wait until Monday evening.

After fighting the covers all night, he arose early Monday morning, not because he was invigorated—enervated was more like it—but because he wanted to hasten the beginning of the day. He didn’t wait until he got to the club to reserve a private lounge as he usually did. Instead he telephoned his reservation as soon as the club opened at noon.

She had to stop, Jacqueline thought to herself after she changed clothes for the third time that Monday afternoon. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for work, and that sleaze Duff Hornsby would have an excuse to get her alone under the pretext of reprimanding her. Green wasn’t her best color, and suppose she ran into Warren before she changed into her uniform. Oh what the heck! If I’m late, I’m late. She took off the green dress and put on a red woolen sheath, added a strand of pearls and a spritz of Opium perfume, put on her coat and headed to work.

She walked into Allegory at precisely six-thirty and let herself relax. She was on time and Hornsby, the club’s president, wouldn’t have an excuse to harass her. She changed into her uniform and the stiletto-heel sandals she was required to wear and went to the storage room to get some linen cocktail napkins.

“What on earth!” She gasped and backed out of the storage room, closing the door on the half-naked couple she’d just interrupted. Was that Carl Spaeder’s wife? And if it was, why didn’t they save their lovemaking for their bedroom at home? And why didn’t they close the door? Have I been missing something about this ritzy place? she asked herself. Is Warren Holcomb the only man here who obeys club rules?

The light flashed on her intercom, indicating a call to the Reagan Suite. Wondering who had summoned her, she opened the door, and when she saw Duff Hornsby, she didn’t move two feet from it.

“Yes, Mr. Hornsby. How may I help you?”

A smile crawled over his face. “For starters, you can move closer. Over here.”

“I can hear whatever you say standing right here. I have another call. What do you want?”

“I want you.”

“Mr. Hornsby, I’ve worked here for going on three years, and you’re the first member of this club to break club rules and harass me. I suppose you know that my contract provides for redress in such an event.”

“Oh, come now. You can’t prove a thing. Besides, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“That’s impossible. Not if you owned every ounce of gold in Fort Knox. And don’t be too sure that I can’t prove you got out of line.” She let the door slam behind her, aware that eventually Duff Hornsby’s shenanigans could force her to leave Allegory.

She went back to her station and saw the light flashing for the lounge that Warren frequently used. She got a glass of ice water, a pot of coffee and a coffee service, arranged them on a silver tray and entered the lounge.

“I’ve been ringing you for the past ten minutes,” he said. “I was afraid that you didn’t come to work today. How are you?”

Thank God for the serving table beside the door, for it seemed that her arms and legs turned to rubber and she quickly set the tray on the table. “I’m…fine. I hope you had a…an enjoyable weekend.”

“I had a lonely weekend, and it lasted forever.”

What was she to say to that? Her weekend hadn’t been a rousing celebration, either. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I brought you some coffee.”

Even from the distance, she couldn’t miss the warmth of his gaze. “Thanks for your thoughtfulness. It’s just what I want. I’d ask for a vodka comet, but I don’t want it badly enough to drink it alone.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” She poured the coffee, put about two tablespoons of milk in it, placed it on the cocktail table in front of him. Shock reverberated through her system when his hand covered hers, and, unable to do otherwise, she stared into his eyes. Eyes bright with warmth, affection and, yes, riveting desire.

“Would you p-please g-give me b-back my h-hand?”

“Don’t ever call me ‘sir’ again, Jackie. My name is Warren, and that’s what I want you to call me.”

She looked down at him, and at his restive and agitated demeanor. If I don’t get out of here, we’re both going to explode.

“I’d better go. If you want something else, just ring.” She didn’t wait for his reply, but walked out as quickly as she could and closed the door.

She returned to her station, saw that Ben had called her and, instead of calling him, she went to the bar. “What is it, Ben?” she asked trying to sound normal.

“Hornsby’s in the main lounge, and he wants these drinks.”

“Ben, what am I going to do about that man? He keeps hitting on me, and I can’t stand him. He’s so sure that nobody will believe he’d harass a cocktail waitress. But Ben, he actually propositioned me.”

“I’d believe it. The guy’s gray suit on the outside and pure trash on the inside. Don’t let that jerk upset you. I’ll send Jack in with this.” She thanked him and, on her way back to her station, glanced toward the main lounge and saw Hornsby huddled with Mac. Birds of a feather, she said to herself as she got ready to deliver another order.

Warren Halcomb had been aware of Jackie’s reaction to his touch, and knowing that he made her tremble had excited him. But at that moment, he’d had more self-control than she, for if he had stood and put his arms around her, she wouldn’t have moved until his tongue was deep inside her mouth.

Long after Jackie had left, Warren sat alone in the private lounge, leaning against the back of the leather chair musing about her. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her, or at least he thought so, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe she had merely been frightened that he would take advantage of her. He’d certainly had the opportunity, for no one would enter a private suite other than a waiter or waitress called there to give service. But she was safe with him, she should know that by now.

What a mess!

He got up and went to the bar hoping for a glimpse of her. He found Ben squinting his eyes over a tattered copy of Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Ben looked up, saw Warren and lay the book, open and facedown, on the counter.

“Can I get you something?” he asked Warren.

He wasn’t going to pour out his intimate thoughts to any man, including Ben, whom he’d taken into his confidence on many occasions. “I was considering a vodka comet, but I think I’ll just head home.”

“We’re having stuffed crown of roast pork and drawn lobster for dinner tonight. You can’t get a better choice. Makes you wanna eat two dinners. If you don’t have an engagement…” Ben didn’t say more. They had a strange friendship, but Ben never allowed himself to get familiar with Warren. Too bad, Warren thought. In different circumstances, they could have been as close as brothers.

He rarely ate at the club more than the required four nights each month, and Ben knew it. “Thanks, buddy,” he said, ignoring Ben’s concession to rank. “Two of my favorites, but I can’t stay tonight. Thanks for letting me know.” Ben nodded, poured some vodka and aquavit over shaved ice, drained it into two glasses, added a few drops of lime juice and handed one glass to Warren.

“I know you don’t drink by yourself, so I’ll toss this one back with you if you like.”

Warren smiled. “I would indeed like it, Ben, and I appreciate the gesture. First time I decide to drink alone, it’ll be the last time I taste alcohol.”

“Can’t say that I blame you. It’s a habit that can quickly get out of hand.” The light flashed for service in one of the lounges, Ben turned to the business at hand. “You have a good evening,” he said to Warren over his shoulder. Warren had noticed that Ben never put anything or anyone ahead of work, and that probably explained why the man had succeeded at Allegory, Inc. In addition to his salary, the members tipped him twenty percent of the cost of every drink ordered, and he received a two-thousand-dollar bonus at Christmas. All of which allowed him to live comfortably in an attractive home in upscale Ardsley, New York, and send his two daughters to Princeton University.

“See you tomorrow,” Warren said, and with no reason to linger, he left without seeing Jackie again.

At eight-thirty on Thanksgiving Eve, Jackie started to the bar for an order and stopped. “Oh my goodness!” she said and groped toward the wall as darkness engulfed her surroundings. A few minutes later, she heard the guard’s voice over the loudspeaker. “New York’s in a total blackout. You can’t use the elevators, so take the stairs. I’ll have a light in the stairwell in a couple of minutes.” As she felt her way toward her dressing room, she heard a clicking sound and breathed deeply in relief when a faint light appeared.

“There you are.” She’d never been so happy as when she heard Warren’s voice, because she couldn’t see who held the light and had considered the possibility that she might have to deal with Duff Hornsby in the darkness.

“You don’t know how glad I am that it’s you and not—” She caught herself and didn’t finish the remark.

“May I drive you home?” he asked her. “Subways won’t be running, and buses will be scarce. Unless you want to spend the night here?”

She didn’t want to be at Duff Hornsby’s mercy. “If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience for you, I would appreciate a lift, but I live up on West End Avenue, and that’s a distance from here.”

“It will be my pleasure. I wouldn’t be comfortable knowing that you couldn’t get home. Get your things, and we can leave.”

He handed her the flashlight, and she changed into her regular shoes, got her handbag, put on her coat and rejoined him. She knew he would wait while she changed into her street dress, but she didn’t want to risk Hornsby’s seeing Warren standing beside her dressing room and making an issue of it.

“This may take a while,” he told her a short time later as they fastened their seat belts. “Without streetlights or traffic lights, I’ll have to drive slowly.”

“Are you sure you want to take me home?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything. Just be patient, and we’ll get there safely. I’ve spent a lot of time figuring out a way to see you away from the club, and Providence has given me a hand. I’m sorry so many people are inconvenienced by this blackout, and the day before Thanksgiving at that, but I’m glad for this opportunity to be with you.”

I’ve never been tongue-tied in my life, she thought, but…Why am I so nervous? He’s just a man, for goodness’ sake. The sound that was supposed to be her voice surprised her with its calm and intelligence when she said, “I thought you’d decided that you could find better things to do with your time than to spend it thinking of ways for us to be together.”

“You didn’t think any such thing. If you did, when you were in the lounge with me tonight, you found out how wrong you were.” He stopped at the corner to allow pedestrians to pass. “It wouldn’t hurt you to give a guy some encouragement.”

“How much more do you want than what you got tonight?”

“Now, I really have to be careful,” he said.

“I’m sure you’re always careful,” she said.

“Careful and thorough. I leave nothing to chance. Whatever I do is done well.” She didn’t miss the underlying meaning, either. He found a parking space a few doors from the building in which she lived.

“It took less time than I expected,” he said as they entered the building. “Which way is the staircase?”

When she stopped walking, he said, “You don’t think I’m going to let you walk up those stairs in the dark by yourself, do you? What floor do you live on?”

In the dimly lighted lobby, she looked at him and spoke softly. “The twenty-first.” She gave silent thanks that the doorman was busy and hadn’t addressed her as Dr. Parkton.

To her amazement, he grinned and took her hand. “Then we’d better get started.”

He lit their way with his flashlight, and they said few words, saving their breath and energy for the tiresome climb.

“Thank God,” she said when they reached the twenty-first floor. He walked with her to her apartment door, and she said, “Come in and rest for a few minutes.”

“Sure you don’t mind?”

“If I minded, I would have thanked you and said good-night.”

She found half a dozen pillar candles, put them on a tray, lighted them and placed the tray on the coffee table in her living room. “Have a seat. I’ll be back in a minute.” I am definitely not going to sit with him in this romantic setting with nothing on but this skimpy waitress uniform.

She put on a pair of flared black silk pants and a flattering dusty rose sweater that hung loosely around her hips. “I can offer you ginger ale, orange juice or cranberry juice. What would you like?”

“Cranberry juice. Is there a reason why you aren’t offering me an alcoholic drink?”

“I’d be glad to if I had any in the house.”

“So you don’t drink.”

“I drink wine in restaurants and here, too, when I have dinner guests.”

“I see. This is a very elegant apartment. I like your taste. It’s cozy and very…subdued. You like warm colors, and I suspect they’re a reflection of your temperment. Am I right?”

“I’ve never thought about it. Am I a warm person? I like people, and I don’t sort them as if I were grading food for sale in gourmet shops, supermarkets and mom and pop stores in El Barrio. I try to treat all people the same.”

“Do you have siblings, Jackie?”

“I have an older sister. She’s a divorced single mom of three. She isn’t having an easy life. My mother died three months ago, and my father has taken it very badly. We all did.”

He leaned forward. “I’m so sorry. I know how difficult it is to cope with the loss of a parent. Were you happy as a child?”

“Oh, yes. My parents were wonderful people. They loved each other deeply, and they adored my sister and me. And we could feel it. We weren’t wealthy, but we didn’t want for anything, and our home was rich in love and in the little day-to-day kindnesses and thoughtfulness that made a happy home life.”

He spoke softly, soothingly, and she realized that she loved his voice. “Where is your father now?” he asked.

“He’s in a private clinic in Riverdale. He needs an operation, but he hasn’t consented to it. If he doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do. He’s been a wonderful father, and I’d do anything for him.”

“How old are you, Jackie?”

Only a confident man would ask a woman that question with no preliminaries and no sugar-coating. “I’m thirty-three. I don’t know anything about you, except that Allegory invited you to join. You can’t imagine what a buzz that created at the club. It had never happened before. By the way, since you’re sitting here in my home, I assume you are not married.”

He sat forward and looked directly into her eyes as if he wanted her to know that he spoke the truth. “No, I definitely am not and have never been.” He draped his right ankle across his knee and leaned back. “The invitation to join the club is about the only thing that came easily for me. I worked like a dog for everything else. I was born in Durham, North Carolina, grew up there and finished high school there in the top ten percentile of U.S. high school graduates that year. That got me a scholarship to MIT, and after I graduated, I went to work in Silicone Valley developing computer hardware and software. The boom became a big bust, and I thought I’d have to sell shoelaces, but after about four months, I got a job with Pearson Triangle, an Internet facilitator. Being out of a job for four months was a great teacher, and I made it a point to become financially savvy. Pretty soon, the field became overcrowded, so I sold my shares in Pearson and bought a hotel in Honolulu. I made it stand out by targeting honeymooners, offering live classical jazz nightly and screening the latest movies right inside the hotel. I subsequently built similar ones in Nairobi and in Washington, D.C. where every patron gets a free tour of historic Washington.”

“What’s the name of the one in Washington?”

He told her and added, “My next hotel will be on Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard.”

“And your success has moved you to help change the lives of African American children where you live.”

“I live in Brooklyn Heights, but I built Harlem Clubs, Inc., for children five to eighteen years old, and I volunteer there for a few hours most days and every Saturday that I’m in New York. I want to do everything I can to eliminate crime among our children.”

Now Jackie leaned forward, for what she heard told her that they dreamed the same dream and worked toward the same goal. If only she could tell him about herself, who she really was and why Jackie Parks even existed. But she couldn’t risk it. He was a man who played by the rules, and she didn’t know whether his loyalty would be with her or with the club. She went into the kitchen and brought him a glass of cranberry juice.

He accepted the juice and drank a few swallows. “This environment really becomes you. You have created such a peaceful, gentle setting.”

Suddenly, she wished he would ask what she did during the day, for she wouldn’t be able to lie to him. She longed to reveal herself to him, to meet him on equal terms.

He looked at his watch and seemed shocked. “Would you believe it’s a quarter to one in the morning? I had no idea, Jackie, and I apologize for staying so late.”

She followed him to the door. “Don’t,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed every minute that you’ve been here.” When his eyes blazed with the fire of a man looking at the woman he wants, chills shot through her, and she got a feeling that she stood at a precipice.

He stepped closer and gazed down at her. “Don’t tell me that or anything else unless you’re sure you mean it. Do you?”

She couldn’t make herself speak, so she nodded. His hand stroked her left arm, and the fire of it shot straight to her loins. She knew better than to lower her gaze, for he already had the upper hand.

“You and your job at the club don’t match,” he said as he stared into her eyes, “but one of these days you’ll explain it to me. I don’t give up easily, Jackie. You’ve been in my blood, and now, you’re in my head as well. What am I to you?”

She sucked in her breath and, without thinking, covered his hand on her arm with hers. Her gaze dropped to his lips and, at last his fingers pressed into her flesh as he wrapped her in his arms.

“Open up to me. Let me feel myself inside of you,” he said, groaning as if in pain. His breath, warm and sweet, washed over her face, and she felt herself trembling in his arms as his hot mouth singed hers, and his tongue pressed for entry. She opened her mouth, took him in, and desire gripped her as he claimed her with his stroking, dueling tongue and pressed her body to his. She sucked his tongue into her mouth. More. Deeper. She needed, wanted all of him. She thought she’d go crazy if he didn’t get all the way into her. Heat permeated her vagina, and when her nipples tightened against his chest, he held her closer and groan after groan poured out of him. She rubbed from side to side against his chest to ease the pain in her nipples. Oh, how she wanted to feel his mouth on them. Her head told her to stop it, but her body begged for the feel of him deep inside of her. Crazy for more of him, after years of emptiness and deprivation, her hips betrayed her, and when she realized that she had undulated against him, she forced herself to step away.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” she whispered.

“Say my name, Jackie. I’ve never heard you say my name.”

She looked into his eyes and breathed the word. “Warren. Oh, Warren.”

He brought her back to him and folded her in his arms with a gentle caress. “I wish we could go even further…but at least, I know that you care for me.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You brought something out of me that I didn’t know was there, and I…I don’t know whether I’m happy about it.”

“There are things about you that I don’t understand, but your reaction to me tonight is not one of them. We’re attracted to each other, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re concerned because you would have preferred to control your feelings, but your passionate response has made me want you that much more.” He released her and took out a pad and pen. “What’s your phone number? I’ll call you in the morning around nine. Okay?”

She gave him her number, and he wrote it down. “Get home safely.”

A wide grin roamed over his face. “Don’t think for a minute that I’m leaving here without another kiss. You’ve got a lot to make up for.”

She opened her arms, but his kiss was quick. “You are one sweet woman. Good night.”

As Warren loped down the stairs, somehow he didn’t notice the distance. He stopped at the eleventh floor not because he was tired, but because he was so overcome with excitement that he felt light-headed. Jackie’s response to him had exceeded his wildest fantasies about her. He’d been at the point of erection—something he used to be able to control—when she stepped away from him and called a halt to the sweetest and most honest loving be could remember.

He leaned against the wall and breathed deeply. What would she do if she decided to make love with him? What would she be like? Shudders raced through him when he thought of the way she moved against him. “Get yourself together, man,” he said aloud. “You’ve got a long way to go with the mysterious Jackie Parks. You need to take it slowly.”

Nevertheless, when he awoke Thanksgiving morning, he could hardly wait until eight o’clock, which he considered a reasonable hour to telephone a person. He’d said he would call her at nine, but an hour didn’t make a big difference, did it?

“Good morning, Jackie,” he said when she answered. “I know it’s early, but I’ve been waiting for a decent time to call you.”

“This isn’t a decent time.”

He flushed with unexpected heat. “You’re still in bed? I…” He caught himself. He wished he was in that bed with her, but it was a little too soon to tell her that. Warren suspected that Jackie had some lines that he’d better not cross. He sensed that she was holding back. So instead, he said, “I’d lie if I said I was sorry. I couldn’t wait to talk with you. Think you can wake up sufficiently to talk with me?”

“Sure. I just have to get a drink of water or something. Catch me when I’m half-asleep, and I’ll promise you Fort Knox.”

He stared at the phone. Who was this woman? Nearly asleep, she spoke in a voice that was as refined as if she were wide-awake and measuring every word.

“I’m back. What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock. Do you always sleep late?” he asked with a chuckle. “Well, I guess you do, since you work at night.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, “but I woke up around seven, and I just didn’t want to get up. Besides, I’d been having such a wonderful, restful sleep that I—” She stopped as if she’d said too much.

“That you what?” he asked her.

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Then I’ll take it that you dreamed about me.”

“Worse things have happened.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “You’re wide-awake now, and I can hear that you have your wits about you. Can we have lunch? I’d like to go home later today to have dinner with my folks, but I also want to share Thanksgiving Day with you. Will you be hungry at noon?”

“I’d love to have lunch with you, but I want to have lunch with my father today since I can’t have dinner with him. They serve dinner around five-thirty at the clinic and, as you know, I have to be at work at six-thirty.”

The temptation to ask her to skip work loomed large, but he didn’t know her financial circumstances and, in any case, he valued dependability in an employee. “Then, can we have lunch tomorrow and spend the afternoon together? I’d like you to visit my Harlem Clubs.”

“What time?”

Nothing coy or coquettish, and he liked that in a woman. “May I come for you at twelve-thirty?”

“I’ll be ready. What time did the electricity come on last night?”

“It was on when I awoke at a quarter of seven. I’ll be eternally grateful for that blackout.”

“Come now, Warren. You would have figured out a way for us to spend time together. I can’t believe you wouldn’t have.”

“After discounting half a dozen ideas and being frustrated because you’re not in the phone directory, I had decided to give you my phone number and suggest you use it. Fortunately, I was saved by the inefficiency of Consolidated Edison.”

Her laughter, soft and sensuous, rolled over him, warming him like a sweet promise on an early spring evening. “That’s a stretch,” she said. “I can’t imagine there’s anything you set yourself to do that would get the better of you.”

“You know how to make a man feel good. Did you mean that?”

“Of course I meant it, otherwise, why would I say it? Hang up so I can get my act together. I want to buy some flowers and a box of chocolate for my dad, and it takes a while to get to Riverdale. See you tomorrow.”

“A really sweet woman would give me a kiss.”

She made the sound of a kiss. “Somebody’s been spoiling you.”

“How I wish! I haven’t stood still long enough to enjoy that, but I’m definitely going to change my ways. Until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow wouldn’t come fast enough for him. He told himself not to speculate about her, but to ask her anything that he wanted to know. Yet, he’d had enough experience to realize that an answer didn’t necessarily reveal the truth. He’d always thought that neither her manners nor her speech were what one would expect of a woman serving drinks in a gentlemen-only club. And as far as he could see—and he was a careful observer—she didn’t have a relationship with any man in that club.

She had impressed him as being modest when she changed out of that skimpy uniform, obviously unwilling to entertain him in her home while wearing it. A more worldly woman would not have done that. More points in her favor. But if I’m wrong, God help me. She’s in me, and she has been for months.

He went to the kitchen, put some frozen Belgian waffles into the toaster and four strips of bacon in the microwave and reheated coffee. “I’m not going to give up on her,” he said to himself. “I’ve got a gut feeling that whatever she is underneath is what I want.”

He didn’t care to eat lunch alone, so he dressed and went to the Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen on Ninth Avenue and helped serve food to the more than a thousand homeless and poor, who came there for a free Thanksgiving Day meal.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Jacqueline placed the receiver in its cradle and braced her hands on her knees. Hadn’t she vowed not to get involved with any man at Allegory, regardless of his status as a member or an employee? Yet, in all of her thirty-three years, she had never felt the passion for a man that she felt for Warren Holcomb, nor had she responded to one as she did to him. She got up and headed to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of coffee would help her clear her head. If he preferred the type of woman she appeared to be in her micro-mini waitress uniform and spiked-heel sandals, he wasn’t for her, nor she for him.

When I went to work at Allegory, I was only trying to be a dutiful daughter. Lord, please help me out of this mess. I believe he’s a good man, and I…I want him. What am I going to do? His type of man doesn’t fall in love with the woman he thinks I am.

If she continued to worry about her relationship with Warren Holcomb, she’d soon be a basket case, so she called her sister. “Happy Thanksgiving, Vanna. What are you and the children doing today?”

“We’re having a picnic with a neighbor down the street. She has a girl and a boy the age of my oldest two, and they get on well together. I called Daddy a few minutes ago, and he really was upbeat. He even told me one of his jokes. When you see him today, give him a hug for me.”

“I will. I plan to see him at lunchtime. He’s always liveliest at midday. By dinnertime, he’s usually tired. I’ll call tomorrow and let you know how he’s doing.”

“All right, Jacqueline. The Lord will bless you. I know that taking care of our father is a sacrifice on your part. If I could do more, I would, but I haven’t received a child support payment in three years. The court can’t locate Arnold to serve the papers, and my teacher’s salary hardly enables me to pay the mortgage on this house. The moral of my story is be careful who you marry. Love and passion don’t necessarily last.”

“I’m not thinking marriage these days, Vanna, but sometimes I wish I was.”

“Your day will come. Whoever he turns out to be, I hope he’ll be worthy of you. Have a wonderful day, sis. Bye.”

She hung up and told herself not to think about Vanna’s situation. As inexperienced as she was with men, she knew enough to shy away from men like Vanna’s ex-husband. The man was all charm and no substance, but neither she nor their parents had been able to make Vanna see it. Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, she dressed, walked over to Broadway to buy flowers and chocolates for her father, picked up her rental car and headed for Riverdale.

She found her father sitting in a chair beside his bed, and his face glowed with delight when she walked in. “How are you feeling, Daddy?” She put the roses in a vase and handed him the chocolates.

“Pretty good. Thanks for the candy. You know I love chocolate.” He nodded toward the flowers. “I love flowers, too, and your mother always had them in the house. They say I can go to the dining room, and we can eat lunch in there.” She went to the nurses’ station, got a wheelchair, helped her father into it and wheeled him to the dining room. Tables for two and four were covered with white tablecloths, vases of flowers and attractive place settings. She moved a chair from one of the small tables, settled her father there and sat opposite him.

“Isn’t this nice?” he said. “You know, they want me to have that operation, but why should I at my age? Seems pretty silly to me.”

She stared him in the face, careful not to glare at him, for she knew he would regard that as sass, a thing he didn’t allow. “What about Vanna and me, Daddy? We’ve lost our mother. Are you suggesting that we don’t need our father? Besides, you’re only sixty-four.” He didn’t answer, and she didn’t press the issue. She hoped he would think on her words.

After a very good turkey dinner, she took him to the lounge where they played rummy—a game she’d almost forgotten because she hadn’t played it since she left home to go to college—and his concentration on it was as much of a present as she could have wanted.

She left her father at four o’clock and drove to Manhattan, returned the rental car and went home and dressed for work. She was scheduled to begin her shift at six-thirty. As she approached Allegory’s front door, she remembered that Warren would not be there that night. She was so disappointed at the thought of not seeing him that she sat in her dressing room taking deep breaths to calm her emotions for ten minutes before heading for the bar.

Chapter 3

Warren left the soup kitchen at twenty minutes past one, hailed a taxi and made it to LaGuardia airport at five after two. He breathed a sigh of relief when the plane took off at three o’clock as scheduled. He wasn’t in a habit of disappointing his mother, and certainly not on Thanksgiving Day. He put his key into the lock of her front door at five o’clock and walked into the waiting arms of his nieces and nephew. He hugged them and went to find his mother, a stately woman of considerable accomplishment and of whom he was extremely proud. He walked into the kitchen, opened his arms to her and enjoyed her embrace, the love that he knew he could always count on, for no matter where he was or what he did, he was her son, and she loved him.

“Where’s Dot?” He loved his only sister and hated not seeing her when he went home.

“She went to buy some charcoal. The children want to toast marshmallows after dinner tonight. How long can you stay?”

“I just came for dinner. I need to be back in New York by midnight.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I won’t ask what you’ll do at midnight that you can’t do tomorrow morning, but you know your business.”

“I have an early appointment, and I want to be sure that I make it on time.”

She smiled and patted his shoulder. “That makes sense. Hold the pan while I turn this bird.”

He did as she asked, but his thoughts were elsewhere. What would she think of Jackie? If he didn’t tell her that Jackie was a cocktail waitress, she wouldn’t guess it. I can’t have a woman whose occupation I dislike. Oh hell! I’m not making sense. He sat on the high stool beside the kitchen window and watched his mother make biscuits as he’d done since childhood.

“Have you found a nice girl yet, son?” He expected that question at least once during his visit, because she never failed to ask it. What could he say? He’d found one that he wanted desperately, but he wouldn’t say she would be his life’s choice.

“You always ask me that, Mom,” he said, hoping to put her on the defensive. “I don’t meet many women like you and Dot, but I’m open to being swept off my feet.”

She rubbed the flour off her hands and wiped them on a paper towel. “In other words, you’ve met someone, and you’re keeping her close to your chest.”

He nearly fell off the stool. If she was clairvoyant, she’d never mentioned it to him. “You’re right. I’m in the process of figuring out what to do about her, and when I know, I’ll be glad to tell you. But for now, there’s nothing to tell. Is Rob coming in today?”

“No. Your brother-in-law flew out last night, and he’ll fly to Russia before he comes home. Then he’ll have two days off. People think a pilot leads a glamorous life, but every time I see Rob, he’s just tired.”

Warren looked out of the window, saw his sister building a fire with the charcoal bricks she’d just bought, and got up. “I see Dot’s back and building a fire in the barbecue pit. I’m going out to help her.

He greeted his sister with a hug, helped her build the fire and strolled around the property that he’d given to their parents. As he gazed at the beautiful house, terrace, gardens and swimming pool, he was more proud of that gift to his parents than of anything he’d ever attained. But his father was gone now, and his mother was there alone, except when Dot and Rob brought her grandchildren to see her.

He went back into the house. “Mom, did you ever consider marrying again?”

She seemed startled. “Good Lord, no. Whatever made you think such a thing?”

“It’s not so far-fetched. You need someone to share this with. It isn’t good to be alone so much.”

She pulled a chair from the table and sat near him. “Are you in love with this woman you’ve met?”

There it was, a mother’s uncanny intuition. “I don’t think so, but it could develop into that. I’d rather not talk about her, because I don’t want to influence myself one way or the other.”

She sat there silently looking at him for a few minutes. He was used to that. Finally, she said, “I’ll pray that it works out in the way that’s best for you.”

“Thanks.” He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “She’s…she’s so sweet. She’s so unbelievably sweet.” When he opened his eyes, a smile glowed on his mother’s face.

“I’m happy for you, son. When you think it’s appropriate, bring her to see me.”

“If I get to that stage, I certainly will.”

He helped his mother and his sister put the dinner on the table, and at six-thirty, they all sat down to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner of the type he’d known all of his life: corn chowder, roast turkey with cornbread dressing, cranberry relish, mustard greens, candied sweet potatoes and apple pie à la mode. His father hadn’t liked pumpkin pie, so his mother never served it.

At the end of the meal, he helped take the dishes to the dishwasher, clean the kitchen and straighten the dining room. “I’ll bet you don’t know another executive who’s willing to scrape dishes and clean up after a meal like this one,” Dot said to him. “As long as you stay this close to earth, brother, you’ll be a happy man, and the woman who gets you will be blessed.”

“Thanks,” he said to his older sibling, “but don’t tell me that. I’m acting the way I was raised. Well, I gotta split if I’m going to make that plane.” He hugged his sister and her children and went to find his mother.

“Thanks for a great dinner, Mom. I’ll call you when I get home.”

She walked with him to the door and wrapped him in her arms. “Get home safely, and don’t forget to pray.”

“I won’t,” he said.

An hour and a half later, he fastened his seat belt, said a word of prayer, leaned back and trusted God and the pilot of the Delta Airlines flight to bring the plane to New York City.

He walked into his apartment at five minutes after eleven, phoned his mother and began checking his calls. Three calls from the manager of his Honolulu hotel. She had fired the head of housekeeping and wanted to know if it was appropriate to hire a man for the job. He dialed her number. “Ms. Frazier, this is Warren Holcomb. As you know, we run an equal-opportunity business. If the man is your best-qualified candidate, and if he has a suitable personality and temperament, hire him.”

“The maids want a woman.”

“I’m sure you know how to tell them that you do your job as you see fit. You have my support. Good luck with it.” He hung up and waited for half past twelve when he could call Jackie.

Jackie kicked off her sandals, stepped out of the mini-skirt and low-cut blouse, jumped into her dress, zipped it up, slipped into her shoes and coat, grabbed her handbag and raced out of Allegory. If he called, she didn’t want to miss it, because he might not call back. She hailed a taxi, got in and breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t encountered Hornsby on her way out. He’d have used any pretense to delay her departure. She’d been home less than ten minutes when the phone rang. She ran to answer it and stood beside it with her left hand holding her chest as she tried to calm herself.

“Hello.”

“Hello. This is Warren.” The air seeped out of her. “Are you there?”

“Uh…yes. Did you go see your folks?”

“I did indeed, and I got home a little after eleven. Do you realize how long an hour can be?”

“What do you mean?”

“I had almost that long to wait until I could call you. You got home quickly.”

She didn’t tell him that she almost broke her neck doing it. “I took a taxi. How was your family?”

“I had dinner at my mother’s home with her, my sister and her three children. I always enjoy being with my family. How is your father?”

“Surprisingly energetic. We ate in the dining room, although I pushed him there in a wheelchair. That was the first time I’d seen him out of that bed in months. If only he would agree to the operation, he’d get well.”

“I’m glad he’s better. How old is he?”

“Sixty-four.”

“Hmm. That’s young these days. If you’d like me to talk with him, let me know. I’m told that I can be persuasive when I put myself to it.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Warren Holcomb couldn’t know that if she took him to meet her father, her dad would assume that the two of them had a commitment. “Thank you. I’ve had this burden practically alone for so long that I forget to ask for help. Besides, I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong impression.”

“Like what?” In her mind’s eye, she could see both of his eyebrows shoot up.

“Like thinking there’s more to our relationship than actually exists.”

“Not to worry, I can fence with the best of them, although I admit I’ve never crossed swords with a woman’s father. I’d like to help if you think I can, Jackie.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to admire you,” she said, and wished she hadn’t. “I wonder when I became loose-tongued,” she went on, before he could respond.

“I wouldn’t call it that. You spoke truthfully, because you don’t know me well enough to admire me. In fact, we don’t know each other, and I intend to change that if you’ll let me.”

“Come now, Warren. You wouldn’t normally look to a cocktail waitress for a meaningful relationship.”

“That wasn’t well put, Jackie. I am not prejudiced against any group, and it’s a good thing, or I’d have missed what I think is going on with us. Would you have turned your nose up at me twenty or so years ago when I waited tables at Seafood Forever, in Boston? Or would you have tried to find out who I really was?”

She heard what he didn’t say, and her heart nearly exploded with the joy that she felt. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. You won’t regret it.”

He was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, “I don’t think I will. You agreed to go out with me tomorrow. Remember?”

“I remember, and I’ll be downstairs at twelve-thirty.” Fortunately, her office had closed for the holiday weekend, or she’d have been hard pressed to give him a reason why she wasn’t free at midday, when he thought she only worked nights.

“Why downstairs?”

She didn’t intend for them to create a spontaneous combustion every time they were together, and he might as well know it. “It’s easier to prevent a fire than it is to put it out once it gets started.”

“Good Lord, you’re frank. It’s refreshing, though. I’d better let you get to bed, but I don’t want to. I could talk with you indefinitely.”

“I enjoy talking with you, too, but you’re right…I’d better get to sleep or I’ll be yawning all through lunch. Good night, Warren. Sleep well.”

“Not even a tiny kiss?”

She made the sound of a kiss and said, “That was a tiny one.”

She heard his kiss just before he said, “Good night, sweetheart.”

She hung up, but she couldn’t move. Her life was changing with the speed of a down-hill roller coaster, and it could be her ruin, but she didn’t want to change course. Every one of her senses told her that Warren Holcomb would introduce her to a whole new way of feeling and a new appreciation of life. And then what? Would he leave her adrift, to become another walking, breathing tragedy?

She mused over it as she prepared for bed. “Heaven help me, but I have to take the chance.”

He saw her at once, seated in the lobby facing the front door with her knees crossed and her left foot swinging, as comfortable as if she had been in her own domain. She rose with the grace of Aphrodite emerging from the Aegean Sea and walked to meet him.

He took both of her hands. “You’re the essence of grace,” were the words he said, but his mind was engaged with one question. Should he kiss her there in the lobby of the building in which she lived? She settled the matter by reaching up and kissing him on his right cheek.

“I appreciate punctuality,” she said, “because I hate to wait. Where are we going?”

“There’re lots of nice restaurants up in Harlem, but I thought we’d eat before we got there. I’m in the mood for Italian. What would you prefer?”

“I love Italian food, and I hope one of these days to go to Italy and eat my fill of it.”

“Then Italian it will be.” If I ever get the opportunity and we’re still together, I’ll show her Florence, Italy.

As they entered the restaurant, he noticed that two women leaving it wore shoes with heels three or four inches high and sharp pointed toes. He glanced at Jackie’s boots and relaxed when he saw that their heels didn’t exceed an inch and a half in height and that the toes of her boots were rounded.

“You’re not a slave to fashion, are you?” he said after they ordered.

She raised both eyebrows. “Me? Not! I wear what suits my lifestyle. Half the things in my closet are six or seven years old. I hate shopping, and I don’t make bills that I can’t pay at the end of the month.”

He leaned back, eager to hear more. “Girl after my own heart. Carrying charges have bankrupted many an honest person.” He decided to take a chance. “Something tells me you don’t like your waitress uniform.”

Her change in demeanor told him that he might have pushed the wrong button, and she seemed defensive when she said, “Do I look like the type of woman who would choose to wear that skimpy outfit?”

“No. That’s why I asked the question.”

The waiter brought their food—spaghetti with white clam sauce and tiny clams for her with a chef’s green salad, and veal marsala with an arugula and mushroom salad for him.

She could tell that he didn’t want to linger over the meal, that he wanted to move on to their destination. “I hope we’ll have more leisurely meals together, but right now, I can’t wait to show you my baby,” he said.

“This is your building.” It was less a question than a statement expressed in awe. “This is a community center. I had no idea I was coming to a place like this,” she said as they walked through the building. “It’s huge and ultramodern.”

“I try not to do anything halfway, Jackie. We use this facility for daily tutoring, sports, theatre, dance and music education, and each activity is carried on in a room built for that purpose. We have programs for children ages five to nine and ten to eighteen.”

“This is…wonderful.”

“My aim is to keep as many of our children as possible off the street and out of crime. This is home for a lot of them. I’ve been blessed to have the money, and I’m glad I found something useful to do with it.”

“You must be proud of this,” she said, but her thoughts were on the similarities of their interests and the things they had in common. If she could only share with him the part of her life of which he knew nothing. She longed to write a human interest story on the man and Harlem Clubs, Inc. for African American Woman, but she couldn’t do that without exposing herself. She made up her mind right then to find another night job that would enable her to care properly for her father.

“Have I lost you?” he asked her

She didn’t answer directly. “In my mind’s eye, I can see every room here filled with children, happy children eager to take advantage of a rare opportunity.”

“Most are like that, but quite a few are sullen or have big egos or are unhappy because they can’t keep up. Not many are troublemakers, because I don’t tolerate it, and they know it.”

He stopped to inspect a computer that a teenaged girl was building. “She’s very bright,” he said as they moved away from the busy teen, “but she has a bad home environment and spends as much time here as possible.”

“Mr. Holcomb, what’s wrong with this formula?” a boy asked him.

She noticed that he placed an arm around the boy’s shoulder as he looked at the problem. “You forgot the t. Rate of growth takes place over time. Remember?”

The boy grinned. “Yes, sir. I forget it every time. I’m going to make up my own formula.”

“Great,” Warren said, “as long as you remember the t.” He patted the boy’s shoulder and walked on. “He likes attention, so he always pretends he doesn’t know something. He knows it all right.” He unlocked a door. This is my office. I’m thinking of closing the one downtown and making this one my headquarters. If Bill Clinton’s office is around the corner, why can’t I have mine here?”

She peeped in and saw the luxurious accommodations that one would expect of a successful executive. “Elegant,” she said.

The touch of his hand at the curve of her back sent shivers up and down her spine. “Come on in.”

She stepped into his office and turned to face him. “Jackie.” His whisper of her name had the sound of reverence. “Jackie, let me hold you. Just let me feel you in my arms.” He didn’t touch her until she raised her arms to his shoulders, and then he laid claim, gripping her to him. What was happening to her? She wanted his hands all over her, but he only stroked her back as one would soothe a baby. She wanted to scream her frustration.

“Warren…I—”

“Shh. This isn’t the place for me to show you what I’m feeling right now.”

Get it together, girl, she told herself. Later…when he takes you home. She moved away from him with all the grace she could muster, and as if he hadn’t said a word, she spoke calmly the first repeatable thing that came to her mind. “If your theater group puts on a play, I’d like to see it.”

When he didn’t answer, she glanced up at him, and saw his perplexed stare. “Was I too abrupt?” he asked her, ignoring her meaningless remark. “I didn’t mean to unsettle you, but I know the consequences if I went any further with you. You’re a new experience for me, Jackie. I’ve always been able to control my feelings for a woman, if need be, but I can’t do that with you.” His right hand caressed her cheek. “I risk burning up every time you touch me, and your kiss…well, I don’t even want to think about that right now. Come on. I want to show you the sports and gymnastics halls and the swimming pool.”

Was she such an open book with this man that she allowed him to know that she wanted more than he gave? He’s a new experience for me, too, and I’d better learn how to deal with him.

He completed the tour and spoke to a man who walked out of the computer room as they approached it. “I noticed that one of the computers is missing, Ron. Order four new ones and keep the computer room locked unless you or one of the volunteers is in the room. Keep a record of who supervises that room and at what times.”

“Right, Warren. I’ll get on it Monday morning.”

“Forgive me. Ms. Parks, this is Ron Hackett, the club’s manager.”

Ron’s quick appraisal was not lost on Warren. Nevertheless, Ron spoke graciously. “I’m glad to meet you Ms. Parks.” She acknowledged the introduction, careful to make it as impersonal as possible.

When they walked outside, darkness surrounded them. “I didn’t realize we’d been there so long,” she said. “What wonderful opportunities you’ve given those children. I feel privileged to be with you.” And she did. She had liked him, indeed she cared for him, but now, she deeply admired him, and she had a sense of humility that, with his numerous options, he chose to spend his time with her.

“When I think of my own good fortune, Jackie, that isn’t so much.”

“Thanks for bringing me here, Warren. You’ve shown me a side of you that I wouldn’t have imagined.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get home and change so I can get to work by six.”

He appeared crestfallen. “Yes. Somehow, I forgot about that. In the back of my mind was the idea that you and I were going to have dinner and a leisurely evening together.” He shrugged. “So be it. I’ll drive you home.” He found a parking space a few doors from the building in which she lived. “May I see you to your apartment?”

If she said no, she would miss his kiss, and if she said yes, she risked her doorman greeting her as Dr. Parkton. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. If members of Allegory, Inc. knew that she was a reporter and unit manager for a national magazine, overhearing their conversations, witnessing business deals and the like, she would be fired summarily and probably sued for false representation. As he stared into her eyes, his gaze—hot and hungry—riveted her, and her breath shortened almost to a pant. Without another word, he got out of the car, walked around it, opened the door and held out his hand to her. She took it, and his fingers closed around hers, settling the matter.

When they entered the lobby, she managed not to look in the direction of the uniformed man who always greeted her with such reverence. In the elevator, she wouldn’t look at Warren, until he squeezed her hand. “Look at me, Jackie. You can’t escape what is happening to us. If you go to Japan or Australia, you’ll still feel it.” Suddenly, a smile lit his countenance. “At least we didn’t have to walk up this time.”

She still couldn’t find words. Maybe he could sound lighthearted, but she knew what was happening to her, and it frightened her that this man could so captivate her. As they stepped off the elevator, his arm slid around her.

“Warren, this is…moving too fast.”

He didn’t answer, but when she put her key into the lock, his hand covered hers. He turned the key, opened the door and waited. She walked in, heard the door close behind her, and then she was in his arms. Oh, the sweet feeling of his body tight against hers and of his heat firing her from head to foot. She looked up, and his mouth claimed her, stunning her with the tremors that it sent through her body. His tongue swept the seam of her lips and she opened to him and sucked his tongue deeply inside of her, as her arms gripped his shoulders. He let the wall take his weight, pulled her close and, with a hand at the back of her head, his other one gripping her buttocks and his tongue swirling and dipping in her mouth, he possessed her as no man ever had.

Heat settled in her groin and she tightened her hips in search of relief, but she needed more, much more, all of him. Her nipple hardened and, frenzied, she grabbed the hand that held her head, placed it inside her coat and caressed her breast with it.

He groaned as he rubbed the tortured areola. “I want my mouth on you.”

“Yes. Yes,” she moaned.

In a second, her coat and jacket fell to the floor, and she felt his hand on her naked flesh moments before he bent and sucked her nipples into his moist, warm mouth. “Oh,” she moaned and, in spite of herself, she undulated against him. Tell him to stop, her mind told her. Break it off before it goes too far, her common sense dictated, but she held his hips with one hand and pressed his head to her with her other one. Suddenly, his erection bulged against her belly, and she broke his kiss and leaned her head against his shoulder, unable to move or speak.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he said, when he couldn’t get her to look at him. “I know you didn’t mean for it to go so far, and I certainly didn’t mean for—”

“It’s all right,” she managed to say. “Considering what was going on, I don’t see how you could have avoided it. I…uh…I’d better get ready for work.”

“I’d take you, but if I do, someone will certainly see you get out of the car. I hate this secrecy, Jackie. I don’t like the idea of having to hide my behavior from anybody.”

She looked at him then. “I have no choice right now, Warren. It’s an honest living, and I need the job.”

“I know. Go on and get ready. I’ll wait here. I can at least see that you get a taxi.”

She didn’t want that, but to have refused would have raised his suspicions. She dressed conservatively, as she usually did, and took comfort in the fact that the doorman would be on his break when she left the building. She decided not to apply the heavy makeup that she wore as a waitress, and put her makeup kit in her handbag. Maybe he wouldn’t notice the difference.

But he did. As soon as she joined him in her living room, he said “You’re so much more beautiful without the makeup you wear at work. Why do you wear it?”

Her shrug was intended to suggest that the makeup was of no consequence. “My job description calls for a glamorous, sexy woman, and specifies that I wear that ridiculous uniform and high-heeled sandals.”

He stared at her with raised eyebrows. “Well, I’ll be damned. I wonder what idiot wrote that. It must have been Hornsby.”

“Whoever he was, I don’t thank him.”

He drove over to Broadway at 66th Street, double parked and hailed a taxi. “I’ll see you later,” he told her. “I’ll have some guests tonight, so when you get a call from me, remember that I won’t be alone.” He kissed her quickly, gave the address to the driver along with a twenty-dollar bill and said to her, “He’s been paid and tipped. Bye for now.”

She made it through the night in what she could best describe as a fog, thankful that she made no blunders and got her work done with a semblance of efficiency. But she couldn’t remember ever having been in such a daze. In every minute, she could feel him and taste him. And when she went into the private lounge to answer his call, she was practically tongue-tied.

“I’d like a round of vodka comets and a selection of hot hors d’oeuvres, please,” he said when she failed to ask what he wanted.

“Yes, of course, sir,” she replied, and left the lounge as quickly as she could without inquiring as to whether he would like anything else.

Twelve o’clock came slowly, but at last she could change into her street clothes and go home. She stepped out onto 63rd, walked toward Fifth Avenue to get a taxi and stopped for the light. Warren’s Town Car eased to the curb where she stood. “I’ll be on 64th just east of Fifth,” he told her, and drove off before she could answer. She walked to the next block and got into his car.

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