# Every Beat Of My Heart

Kianna Alexander

The rhythm of loveLina Smith-Todd is a winning bid away from owning a piece of musical history. The auction heats up when she discovers that her chief competition for a piano owned by Thelonius Monk is the man who once shared her bed. The priceless baby grand isn’t all the seductive, supremely confident musician intends to possess. Rashad MacRae wants a second chance to be with Lina.Rashad’s passion for music was inspired by the legendary Monk. But if walking away with the prize means losing his shot at a future with Lina, he’s ready to concede defeat. To entice her back into his arms, Rashad has to find a way to regain the self-sufficient attorney’s trust. And now a family revelation could cost him everything. Can doubt be swept away by the promise of an everlasting love song they both know by heart?

The rhythm of love

Lina Smith-Todd is a winning bid away from owning a piece of musical history. The auction heats up when she discovers that her chief competition for a piano owned by Thelonious Monk is the man who once shared her bed. But the priceless baby grand isn’t all that the seductive, supremely confident musician intends to possess. Rashad MacRae wants a second chance to be with Lina.

Rashad’s passion for music was inspired by the legendary Monk. But if walking away with the prize means losing his shot at a future with Lina, he’s ready to concede defeat. To entice her back into his arms, Rashad has to find a way to regain the self-sufficient attorney’s trust. And now a family revelation could cost him everything. Can doubt be swept away by the promise of an everlasting love song they both know by heart?

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re mighty persistent, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to what I want. And I want you, Lina.” He reached out, his large hand cupping her cheek as he tilted her face up toward his gaze.

Her pulse quickened as the heat of his palm penetrated her skin. Once again, logic abandoned her and allowed her emotions free rein. Looking into his dark eyes, with the memories of all they’d shared passing between them, she knew it was only a matter of moments before he kissed her. And if he kissed her, it would be all over for her, as far as putting up any resistance went.

He rotated his upper body, slowly leaned in her direction.

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, torn between logic and desire. Could she really trust him with her heart again? Parts of her were still unsure. She needed to buy herself some time, give herself space to think this through more fully. So she blurted, “It’s going to rain any minute.”

Dear Reader,

Thanks so much for picking up Every Beat of My Heart! I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy it.

What can you do when you have to choose between something you really want and something that could change your life? That’s the question Rashad and Lina are facing. Only one of them can be victorious...or is that really the case?

Get ready to find out as you go on this steamy, sensual journey!

All the best,

Kianna

AuthorKiannaAlexander.com

Every Beat of My Heart

Kianna Alexander

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KIANNA ALEXANDER, like any good Southern belle, wears many hats: loving wife, doting mama, advice-dispensing sister and gabbing girlfriend. She’s a voracious reader, an amateur seamstress and occasional painter in oils. Chocolate, American history, sweet tea and Idris Elba are a few of her favorite things. A native of the Tar Heel State, Kianna still lives there with her husband, two kids and a collection of well-loved vintage ’80s Barbie dolls.

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For my daughter, whose inquisitive mind sees adventure around every turn, and whose loving heart embraces everyone she meets.

Acknowledgments

I’d like to thank Kianna’s Royal Kourt, for all their hard work in getting the word out about my books. I’d also like to thank the other Harlequin Kimani Romance authors who’ve embraced me as a new author to the line, making me feel like family. My appreciation is owed to my husband and children for bearing with me through the deadline doldrums. And of course, I thank each and every reader who has ever taken the time to read my work.

I’d like to salute fellow authors Rebekah Weatherspoon and K.M. Jackson for their work in increasing the visibility of diverse romance. Follow the #WOCinRomance and #WeNeedDiverseRomance hashtags on social media to add your voice.

This book heavily features the works of jazz pianist Thelonious Monk, who is considered a pioneer of the genre. I’m proud to say he was born in my home state of North Carolina. I encourage you to download or purchase Mr. Monk’s work. To find out more about his life and his art, visit the following websites.

Thelonious Monk’s official website: MonkZone.com

The Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz:

MonkInstitute.org

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

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 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter 1

Lina Smith-Todd breezed into her office, shutting the door behind her. Tossing her purse onto the floor next to her desk, she flopped down in her chair, a smile plastered across her face. She’d just returned from court. She had made such a compelling case for her client, she was sure the bailiff and court clerks were still talking about it. Well, at least that’s what she wanted to think.

She’d been tackling cases as an employment lawyer for the Lerner Law Firm for seven years now. Through the last days of her tumultuous marriage, a contentious divorce and those early days of singlehood, she’d managed to keep her sanity by focusing on her work. Throwing all her energy into her clients’ cases left her little time for pity parties.

Today’s showing in court had been especially impressive. She’d say it was in her Top Five Best Arguments of her law career. Her smile broadened as she recalled the flustered look on the face of Ray Deocampo, her opposing counsel. She hummed to herself as she booted up her computer, preparing to tackle her exploding inbox.

The phone on the top of her black lacquer desk started ringing before the email program had a chance to fully load. Typing with one hand, she grabbed the receiver and used her shoulder to hold it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Ms. Smith-Todd, I’d like to see you in my office.” The voice on the other end of the line belonged to Gwendolyn Lerner, the owner and executive partner of the firm.

“I’ll be there in just a moment.” Replacing the receiver in the cradle, Lina stood. She knew better than to enter her boss’s office with a victory grin, so she went to the small wardrobe that occupied a corner of her office. Opening the door, she looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting her expression from full tilt gloating to something pleasant, but professional. Satisfied, she left her office and headed down the hallway to see what Mrs. Lerner wanted.

She found Gwendolyn’s office door slightly ajar, and let herself in. Gwendolyn, dressed impeccably as always, today in a charcoal-gray skirt suit and matching pumps, looked up upon her entrance.

Lina watched her boss in silence, observing her manner and expression. Gwendolyn Lerner was an amazing litigator and very personable. At times, she could also be a hard-ass. Generally, one could tell if Mrs. Lerner was in a good mood or not within about thirty seconds of stepping into her office.

With a smile, Gwendolyn set aside the stack of paperwork she’d been reading and gestured to one of the empty chairs in front of her large cherrywood desk. “Please, Lina, have a seat.”

Relieved to see that Gwen seemed to be in good spirits, Lina slid into the chair. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Yes, and thank you for coming over so promptly.” Gwen leaned back in her chair, tenting her fingertips.

Lina smiled in response, curious as to what her boss would say next.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your argument in court today. Apparently it was very convincing, because I just received a call from the court saying that opposing counsel has dropped their case.”

Before she could stop herself, Lina gave a few triumphant fist pumps. But once she remembered where she was, she tempered her reaction a bit. “That’s great news.”

“Don’t stop celebrating on my account. You’ve earned it. And there’s something else you’ve earned.”

Lina’s ears perked up, and she shifted her body, sitting forward in her chair. Could this be it, the moment she’d dreamed of since she’d first come to Lerner Law as a lowly legal assistant?

“You’ve done impressive work for Lerner Law, from the very first day you arrived. You’ve shown yourself to be more than competent, and I think you’re ready for the next step.”

Lina was now on the edge of her seat, hanging on Gwen’s every word like a kid holding an ice cream cone on a hot day. It had taken her almost five years to make junior partner. Could she really be moving up so soon after her last promotion?

Gwen seemed to be enjoying drawing this out.

But the suspense was killing Lina.

Finally, mercifully, the smiling executive attorney said the words Lina had longed to hear ever since she’d watched her first episode of The Practice.

“I’d like to make you a senior partner in the firm.”

It took all Lina had to hold back the squeal of delight rising in her throat. She stood to shake her boss’s hand as the response she’d begun practicing the day she graduated law school fell from her lips. “I’m honored, ma’am, and I accept. I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations.”

Gwen smiled and released her hand. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

Lina watched as her boss sat back down, then followed suit. She was so giddy on the inside that keeping a straight face was becoming difficult. The moment she got back to her office, she knew she would be busting a celebratory move. It would probably be the Running Man, or the Butterfly. Hell, she was so excited, she might even have to throw in the Cabbage Patch.

Gwen’s voice broke into her thoughts. “It will take a few weeks to finalize things. Since I’m also going to offer Tara Mitchell a senior partner position, I’m going to go ahead and order new signage for the office, stationery and all that. Of course, I’ll talk to finance about adjusting your salary to reflect your raise in pay.”

Lina knew she was probably smiling too hard, but she couldn’t help it. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Mrs. Lerner, for having faith in me.”

“Call me Gwen. After all, before long, we’re going to be Lerner, Mitchell and Smith-Todd.”

Hearing that gave Lina pause. It had been four years since she’d divorced her ex-husband, Warren. Yet she still used his name to hyphenate her own, as if she were still married to the cheating asshole. She’d been so busy with climbing the ladder of success that she’d never gotten around to having it changed. Now that her name was about to be on the building, she sure as hell wasn’t going to be identified by the last name of a man she could barely stand to be around.

“Smith. Lerner, Mitchell and Smith. If my name’s going up in lights, I want it to be my name, not Warren’s.”

“Sounds like I just gave you the motivation you needed to go and get your name legally changed.”

Lina stood. “You sure did. Is there anything else you need from me?”

Gwen shook her head. “No, that’s all for now. I’ll have a contract drawn up for you to sign in a few days. In the meantime, it looks like you’ve won yourself some time off, since the Reedy case was dropped. So I’ll see you Monday.”

With a wave, Lina departed and went back to her own office.

Inside the glass walled room, she closed all the blinds on the wall facing the corridor. Then, when she was sure none of her colleagues could see her, she kicked off her pumps and performed a Running Man move that would have put any Soul Train dancer to shame.

The pinging of her email program, which was open and running on her computer, grabbed her attention. She shimmied over to the desk and took a seat. There, on the screen, was a calendar reminder she’d set for herself several weeks ago. Reading the text, she grinned.

She’d seen an article a while back on a social media site announcing an upcoming auction. After reading the article, she’d set the reminder because there was an item scheduled to be sold that she just had to have: a piano played by the legendary Thelonious Monk.

The auction would take place tomorrow night, and the timing couldn’t be better. Between her savings and the substantial raise she’d soon be getting as Lerner Law’s newest senior partner, she would be in a position to make a competitive bid on the piano. And when she got her hands on it, she planned to have it delivered straight to her mother, Carla.

Carla had been in poor spirits lately, as age and stress had conspired to cause her health to decline. But Lina knew that owning the piano played by her very favorite musician would do wonders on raising her mother’s spirits. Lina had been treated to Monk’s music from the cradle. She didn’t know anyone who appreciated Monk’s artistry the way her mother did.

Except for Rashad, her traitorous thoughts reminded her.

She sighed as she thought of her ex-flame. He’d been in her life for only a few weeks before she’d become unable to put up with his secretive ways. As a woman who’d already endured the humiliation of a cheating spouse and a failed marriage, she craved transparency and openness. Rashad had seemed unable, or unwilling, to provide that, so she’d walked away from him. And just as she always did when her personal life went awry, she’d thrown herself into her work. Only this time, her immersion in work had paid off in a big way.

Pushing aside thoughts of Rashad and his tight-lipped behavior, she began gathering her things. A three-day weekend in early June was a rare treat, and she intended to enjoy it. She’d kick back for the rest of the evening, then spend her Friday planning the perfect strategy for winning the bidding and securing Monk’s piano for his biggest fan: her mama.

Once she’d packed up, she grabbed her phone and purse and strode out the door.

* * *

Rashad MacRae ran a hand over his face, stopping at his mouth to stifle a yawn. A glance at the wall clock hanging across from him showed that it was eleven minutes past six. He should have left the courthouse over an hour ago. Summertime meant an increase in marriages, and as an assistant register of deeds for Mecklenburg County, the influx of paperwork always landed on his desk.

Stamping his name on the last few pieces of paper needing his approval, he stood from behind his desk and stretched his arms above his head, hoping to ease the tightness in his shoulders. He strode across the room to the single-cup coffeemaker he kept atop a bookcase and set it to make a cup. The way he was feeling, he would need the jolt of java to keep him awake for his commute home.

While the coffee brewed, he filed away the papers he’d been working on and searched around for the day’s edition of the Charlotte Observer. He’d picked up a copy at lunch, and even though he couldn’t see it amid the clutter on his desktop, he knew it was there somewhere. After a bit of straightening up, he still couldn’t find it.

He got his coffee, added a bit of sugar and sat back down at his desk. The first sip of the dark brew seemed to jump-start his memory, and he recalled where he’d stashed the newspaper. Opening the top drawer of his desk, he pulled it out. While he drank his coffee, he skimmed the front page. A small headline in the bottom right corner caught his attention.

King’s Guitar, Monk’s Piano, Among Items to be Auctioned This Week. See Article, p. 6A.

His eyes widened. Monk’s piano. Surely they didn’t mean... He quickly opened the paper to page 6A to read the article. Sure enough, the piano in question had once been played by Thelonious Monk, Mr. “’Round Midnight” himself.

A smile spread across Rashad’s face. As a young musician, he’d looked up to Thelonious Monk, studying his style and recordings almost religiously. It was Monk’s artistry that first inspired him to put his hands to those eighty-eight keys. So owning a piano once played by the master himself would be a lifelong dream come true. He knew the piano would cost a pretty penny, but one couldn’t really put a price tag on a piece of musical history as significant as this.

He pulled out his smartphone and opened the notes app, keying in the details of the location, time and date of the auction. As he did, he realized that the auction would be held the very next evening. Once he had the information saved to his phone, he tucked it away. Folding the newspaper, he went to tuck it back into the top drawer of his desk.

As he slid the drawer open, the smiling face of a woman looked up at him.

He lifted the photograph from the drawer and held it up.

It had been taken last fall at his friend Darius’s wedding. It was of Lina looking gorgeous in her bridesmaid’s dress, smiling brightly for the camera. Behind her, he stood with his arms looped around her waist.

They’d broken up months ago, but he hadn’t been able to part with the photo. She had looked so carefree, they both did. That day, they’d just started to explore what their mutual attraction could lead to. And it had led to plenty: plenty kisses, plenty smiles and plenty of good lovemaking. He’d started to fall for her, started to think about the possibility of becoming a one-woman man.

Then her mistrust had reared its ugly head, derailing their relationship before it really had a chance to get established. She assumed that because he didn’t volunteer every mundane detail of his life, he was hiding something from her. She didn’t seem to understand that he just wasn’t one for discussing things in that way. She’d demanded to know everything about him, but he hadn’t been ready to reveal so much of himself. So she’d dropped him, walked away without a backward glance.

What she didn’t know was that he’d never stopped thinking about her. She might have given up on their relationship, but he hadn’t. He’d stopped calling her once he realized she wasn’t going to speak to him, but he knew he’d get another shot. Charlotte was a large city, but not so large they wouldn’t eventually run into each other. And when they did, he intended for her to hear him out, just one more time. If she still didn’t want to see him, then so be it. But he had to try because deep inside, he knew she couldn’t resist the molten-hot physical attraction that had drawn them together in the first place.

Smiling, he tucked away the newspaper and the photo. Lina was out there somewhere, and he would square things away with her soon enough. Right now, he had another mission.

Come tomorrow night that piano was going to be his, and he didn’t care how much it cost.

Chapter 2

Lina arrived at the one-story building housing Cleveland and Wendell Auction House around four on Friday afternoon, a full two hours before the auction was set to begin. She wanted to make sure she got a good seat up front, where the auctioneer could easily see her paddle.

There were many items up for sale at that night’s event, including paintings, antique furniture and even a few other musical instruments connected to some important person or another. Despite the impressive array, she was only interested in one thing: Monk’s piano.

She’d chosen a black sheath and a pair of matching pumps for the evening. The dress was long, with a slit for ease of movement. She tightened her gray wrap around her shoulders to shield herself from the subzero air-conditioning as she went to the front desk to sign in and obtain her paddle.

After securing her paddle, she moved through the well-appointed corridor toward the suite where the auction would be held. The place had an aristocratic feel due to the decor; cream-colored wallpaper imprinted with a gold brocade pattern, dark maple furniture that looked more like artwork than something to sit on. The windows were covered by velvet drapes the color of eggplants, and the floors were covered with thick Berber carpet in the same shade. Side tables held dramatic floral arrangements of tall white calla lilies in gold vases, ceramic figurines and crystal dishes displaying wax fruit.

She entered the suite and found it was decorated in the same fashion. The room had been arranged with rows of chairs much less fancy than the ones in the lobby, but still plush and cushioned. A center aisle had been created to separate the seats into two sections. All the chairs faced a raised platform in the front of the room where a podium and microphone were set up. There was no one else there, and that made her smile. As the first to arrive she had her pick of seats, so she moved toward one on the front row of the left section, bordering the aisle.

She was just about to ease her behind onto the thick burgundy cushion when she heard a male voice.

“Lina, is that you?”

She recognized the deep timbre of it right away, and her eyes slid shut. She straightened and turned slowly toward the voice, all the while willing her instincts to be wrong.

They were not.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Rashad standing at the back of the room near the door she’d just come through.

He looked so handsome he threatened to take her breath away. He wore a coal-black suit with a soft blue shirt and black-and-blue-striped tie. The suit was cut to fit his tall, muscular frame, and was well complemented by the black wing tips on his feet.

Her eyes traveled up to his face, and to the thing about him that had always made her knees go weak: his hair. The impeccably maintained dreadlocks he wore were wound and bound low on his neck. But since she’d spent many a night running her hands through his hair, she knew it was long enough to reach the middle of his back. God, he was sexy.

While she sat there on the verge of drooling, he steadily moved closer to her.

He spoke again, his voice cutting into her fantasy. “It is you. It’s good to see you again, Lina.”

“I...uh... It’s good to see you, too.” She stammered the response, disarmed by his striking good looks and easy manner.

He smiled, his soft, full lips spreading to reveal his perfect pearl-white teeth. “This is so funny. I haven’t seen you in months, and this is the first place I run into you. What brings you here?”

She blinked several times as she struggled to remember why she’d come, or even where she was. What was it about this man that made her brain function slow down to a crawl?

He regarded her for a few silent moments as if waiting for her to answer his question.

Realizing she would never be able to answer him while looking at all his sexiness, she shut her eyes. That seemed to kick her brain back into gear, because she was finally able to respond. “I want to buy the piano.”

“Monk’s piano?”

She nodded, opened her eyes. “I don’t think there are any other pianos up for sale.”

He released a low, sexy chuckle. “Looks like we’re after the same thing, then.”

She drew in a deep breath. She knew from her time with Rashad that he loved Thelonious Monk just as much as her mother did, if not more. She’d been so focused on getting the piano, she hadn’t even thought about the chance he might know about the auction and make an appearance.

He strolled up the aisle, taking the seat opposite her in the right section. His manner was as maddeningly casual as always.

Not knowing what else to do or say, she sat down. There was still a good hour or so until the auction would begin. In the meantime, she fished around in her handbag and pulled out her phone. Generally she considered it gauche to use a phone in a setting like this, but she’d do just about anything to avoid looking at the painfully handsome man seated across from her.

She was scrolling through her Twitter feed when she sensed someone else entering the room. She looked up, swiveled her head.

Walking up the aisle was a short, ebony-skinned elderly woman. Attired in a green pantsuit, matching flats and an abundance of shimmering gold jewelry, she leaned on a pearl-handled cane as she made her way toward the front.

Rashad stood and offered his arm. “Let me help you to your seat, Mrs....”

The woman offered a soft smile as she accepted his assistance. “Parker. Julianne Parker. Thank you, young man.”

Once Mrs. Parker was seated a couple of chairs to the right of Rashad, she leaned her cane against the next seat.

Lina kept her gaze on her phone as Mrs. Parker chatted with Rashad. She could hear snippets of their conversation, and it seemed Mrs. Parker was also there for the piano. Lina sighed under her breath. Just how many people would she be competing against to get the damn piano, anyway?

The room began to fill with people as the start of the auction drew nearer. As seats around her began to fill, Lina set her phone to vibrate and tucked it away. Looking around the room, she took in the faces of the other bidders. She had no way of knowing how many of them would also be going after the piano.

The sound of Rashad’s humming invaded her thoughts. Hearing that throaty sound reminded her of how well he could sing. Truth be told, the brother could blow. He had a killer tenor that reminded her of a cross between Luther Vandross and Miguel—the kind of voice that made a woman’s panties just fall off. She could clearly recall the late nights he’d serenaded her as she lay in his strong arms.

She glanced over at him, and he flashed one of his unforgettable megawatt grins in her direction.

She sank down into her chair.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Rashad glanced across the aisle at Lina, who looked as if she wanted to disappear. She seemed uncomfortable with running into him; he, on the other hand, was thrilled to see her. He’d been all set to come here tonight and put all his focus on winning the bid for the piano. Having her here simply meant he could accomplish two goals at the same time.

She was gorgeous in the figure-hugging sleeveless dress she wore. The slit up the side was parted now, allowing him a full view of her long, beautiful bronze legs. She sat demurely, legs crossed like any good belle would do. Her short-cropped hair was carefully coiffed and curled into the edgy style that framed her lovely angular face so perfectly. She wore very little makeup, and as always, his eyes were drawn to the shiny, plum-colored lip gloss she favored.

He could clearly recall the slightly sweet flavor of that lip gloss from the last time he’d kissed her. That had been months ago. Far too long for his tastes. The longer he looked at her, the more his groin tightened with desire. There was something about the way she carried herself that drove him mad with wanting. Now that she was here, sharing the same space with him, he wanted her just as badly as he wanted Monk’s piano.

What if he could have them both, make them both his in one night? Wouldn’t that be something?

In his mind’s eye, he saw himself sitting on the bench, in front of the grand piano, his hands poised above the keys. On top of the polished lacquer surface of the piano’s top, he saw Lina. Dressed in a teal sequined dress that barely grazed the tops of her shapely thighs, she lay on her stomach, facing him. The swell of her breasts threatening to spill out of the dress, she fixed him with a come-hither stare that set his blood on fire. Her round hips and shapely long legs, capped by a pair of sexy heels, drew his appreciative gaze. She was seduction personified. A woman so fiery and passionate that she put all others to shame.

The auctioneer appeared behind the oak podium, and banged a gavel. The loud thumping pulled Rashad out of his fantasyland and back into the present. Shaking off the remnants of his daydream, he grabbed his paddle from the empty seat next to him and turned his attention to the front of the room.

It soon became obvious that Monk’s piano would not be the first item to be sold. Rashad sat through the bidding on various paintings, furniture pieces and antiques, wondering when they would finally get around to it. Mrs. Parker placed and won a few bids, but he found he couldn’t muster any excitement for any of the other pieces. All the while, he stole glances at Lina, who seemed just as disinterested in the other items as he was.

“Now, we’d like to offer this embellished baby grand piano, played by the great musician Thelonious Monk early on in his career. The piano comes to us from the estate of a personal friend of Mr. Monk’s. We’re told Henry Minton gave it as a birthday gift to Mr. Monk. Henry owned Minton’s Playhouse in Harlem, where Monk developed his signature style as a member of the house band in the 1940s. The piano is gold embellished and was imported from Italy. It is in top condition, and is a rare find. We’ll open the bidding at ten thousand dollars.”

Rashad raised his paddle, and saw several others in the room go up, including those of Lina and Mrs. Parker.

“Do I hear ten thousand five hundred?”

More of the same.

“Eleven? Eleven thousand, five hundred? Twelve thousand...”

Rashad kept up with the lightning pace of the bidding, raising his paddle at every bid. As the dollar amount rose, the number of bidders began to drop off. By the time the auctioneer reached fifteen thousand, the only three paddles remained raised were Lina’s, Mrs. Parker’s and his own.

The three of them continued the bidding at a breakneck pace, passing seventeen thousand, then eighteen thousand, and then nineteen thousand dollars.

Before Rashad could raise his paddle to bid twenty-one thousand, however, Mrs. Parker grabbed the handle of her cane and got to her feet.

Her brown eyes flashing, the older woman called out a bid. “Twenty-five thousand.”

On the other side of the aisle, Lina countered. “Twenty-seven thousand, five hundred.”

Rashad stood. “Thirty thousand.”

A short, narrow man in a blue suit stepped up onto the stage, holding a piece of paper in his hand. He passed the paper to the auctioneer, who then said into the microphone, “Excuse me a moment.”

Rashad waited in silence with the others as the auctioneer read the note.

The auctioneer spoke again. “We have a call-in bid of forty thousand dollars on the table from an anonymous bidder.”

Mrs. Parker raised her paddle as if she meant to make another offer, but the auctioneer stopped her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve gone well over the time allotted for this item, and we have many others to get to. We’ll verify the call-in bid, and if it can’t be secured, we’ll resume bidding on the piano tomorrow evening.”

Rashad dropped into his seat, groaning. Either he’d just lost the piano, or he’d have to do this all over again tomorrow night. Whatever the case, things had not gone as he’d wanted them to.

He looked across to Lina, and saw her gathering her purse. While he might not have gotten Monk’s piano, there was nothing stopping him from talking to her before she left.

He watched her walk down the center aisle and out the door in the back of the room, then followed her.

In the hallway, she turned her head and saw him, but didn’t stop walking.

He didn’t stop, either, and he followed her out the door of the auction house and into the muggy evening air.

The sun was hanging low, but had not yet set. She stopped by the driver’s side door of her car and turned to him. “Rashad, why are you following me?”

He smiled in response to the pointed question. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, baby.”

She rolled her eyes and opened the car door. Flinging her wrap off and tossing it into the passenger seat, she snapped back, “Don’t call me baby.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want me to. All I ask is that you hear me out, just for a moment.”

Her frown softened just a bit. She stepped away from him, moving so that the opened driver-side door of her car was between them. “What is it?”

He locked eyes with her. “I want another chance with you.”

Chapter 3

Lina could feel her heart pounding in her chest like thunder. She blinked, sucked in a breath. But that only served to fill her nostrils with the woodsy, masculine scent of Rashad’s cologne. A shiver went through her body as she recalled the way that scent had smelled, clinging to her skin and to her bedding.

She raised her gaze and found him watching her in silence. Every bit of good sense she possessed abandoned her as she looked into his dark eyes. He was entirely too much man, and she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by him.

His soft lips parted. “Have a drink with me. I know a little place not far from here. You can follow me there, what do you say?”

Before she could think, the response fell out of her mouth. “Yes.” The moment she heard herself say it, she cringed, knowing it was too late to take it back.

He was already striding away, toward his pickup truck parked a few spaces away. “Great. I’ll drive slowly so you won’t lose me in downtown traffic.”

Resigning herself to go along with him as agreed, she climbed into her car, closed the door and buckled up. By the time she started the engine, he was already idling at the curb, ready to pull out into the road. She eased her car up behind his big truck and waited.

It took about ten minutes to arrive at the “little place” he’d spoken of, a bar called Shout Down Babylon. He parked in an empty spot right in front of the entrance, and she slipped into one a few spots over. By the time she’d unbuckled her belt, he opened her door and extended his hand to help her out of the car.

She took his offered hand and climbed out. Once her vehicle was secured, she followed him inside the small, one-story brick building.

The interior of the bar was smoky, as she’d expected. She could tell from the pungent scent that most of the people inside were smoking cigars or pipes instead of cigarettes. The wood paneled walls were covered with neon signs advertising beers and liquor, as well as a few battered license plates and sporting equipment. Among the artifacts were several photos of Bob Marley, Sean Paul, Mad Lion and various other performers of reggae, dancehall and soca music. One sign in particular caught her attention. She read the sign aloud. “Welcome to Bull Country. Warning: Bears Shot on Sight.” Shaking her head at the old athletic rivalry between two local universities, she raised herself onto one of the padded leather stools.

Rashad simply sat next to her, at his towering six foot two inches of height he didn’t need to stretch or stand on his toes to sit on a bar stool. As the bartender approached, he ordered a root beer.

When the bartender turned to her, Lina said, “I’ll have a ginger ale with lemon, please.” She knew better than to drink alcohol. It was hard enough for her to resist Rashad while sober. The last thing she needed right now was to make a stupid mistake with him, one she couldn’t take back.

With his bottle of root beer in hand, he asked casually, “How have you been?”

She offered a soft smile. “Pretty good. Actually, I just found out yesterday that I made senior partner at the firm.”

His easy grin broadened, his eyes lighting up as if to express his genuine happiness. “That’s great, congratulations! I know you’ve wanted that partner spot for a long time.”

She felt the blush creeping into her cheeks as he raised his bottle in her direction. She remembered the talks they’d had during their brief time as a couple. While he hadn’t been very forthcoming with details of his life, she’d openly shared her hopes and dreams with him.

He took a long draw from his bottle.

She squirted lemon into her soda and sipped from her own glass, noticing the awkward silence that had fallen between them. To break it up, she asked, “How about you? What have you been up to since I last saw you?”

He set the bottle down, his eyes connecting with hers. “You mean, other than thinking about you?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

He seemed to take the hint, and altered his approach. “I’ve been doing fine. I still work for the register of deeds office, still do the Wednesday night shows with the band, though we did take a little hiatus while Darius and Eve were on their honeymoon.”

She smiled at the mention of her best friend and her new husband. “These days, she’s glowing. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.”

“Darius is certainly happy, it even shows through in his playing on stage. Speaking of the shows, I haven’t seen you at one in a while.”

She lowered her gaze from his. “I think you know why, Rashad.”

He frowned. “Not really.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I know you and I aren’t together anymore.”

Because of your secrecy, she wanted to say. But she held her tongue and tried to keep the annoyance off her face.

“You can still come and enjoy the music.”

Rolling her eyes again, she met his gaze, and instantly regretted it. There it was again, that look he was so good at giving her. The dark, coffee-colored pools of his eyes seemed to hold a mixture of sincerity and desire. The longer she stared, the more she felt herself falling into them, being dragged back into his world.

The electronic jukebox behind her suddenly started up, blasting Shaggy’s hit “It Wasn’t Me.” The pounding syncopation of the music snatched her right out of Rashad’s world and back into reality. Shaking off the remnants of his charms, she decided to use this evening to her advantage. “So, how bad do you really want Monk’s piano?”

His back stiffened, as if he didn’t like that she’d changed the subject. “I’m sure I want it more than you do. You’ve never been into Monk the way I am.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “True, but my mother is about as big a fan of Thelonious Monk as a person can be.”

Now his brow hitched in surprise. “You mean you want the piano for your mother?”

She nodded. “She’s been feeling poorly lately, and I know she’d love to have it. It’s just the thing to raise her spirits, and since I got the promotion, I figured, what the hell?”

He cupped his chin, moving his fingers along his smooth, clean shaven skin. “That’s honorable and everything, and no offense to Mrs. Smith, but I’m going to do whatever I have to, to win the bid.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I hope your mother’s health improves, but we’re talking about a piece of jazz history here. If it wasn’t for Monk, I never would have touched the eighty-eights. I have to have this piano.”

She couldn’t hold back her chuckle. She had nothing but respect for civil servants, since she worked with them on a daily basis. However, she also knew they weren’t exactly well paid. “You and I aren’t the only ones who want it, and from the looks of Mrs. Parker, she’s got some serious resources.”

He shifted on the bar stool, downed the last of his root beer. His gaze hardened and focused on the wall of spirits behind the bar. “You don’t think I can beat her bid?”

“No offense, but it’s a possibility. She looks like she could outbid us both.”

“Speak for yourself. You don’t know everything about me.”

She scoffed. “That’s for damn sure.”

He swiveled his head toward her. “Are we really going to do this here? Do we really need to revisit your trust issues?”

She pursed her lips. “My trust issues? I’m not the one who always had something to hide.”

“Not telling you every single detail of my life is not the same as hiding things from you.”

Draining the last of her ginger ale, she grabbed her purse and slid from the bar stool. “That’s where we disagree, Rashad. I opened up to you, and all I got in return was the brush-off.”

“I’m not your ex, Lina. You’re never going to be happy until you stop blaming all men for his shit.”

That did it. She turned her back on him, and without anther word or a backward glance, strode to the door and left.

* * *

Rashad dunked a boneless buffalo wing into his cup of ranch dressing and popped it into his mouth. From his corner of the booth at the Brash Bull, he had a pretty good view of the big screens displaying various sporting events. The televisions were muted, as usual, with the closed-captioning turned on. Most of the noise in the place was coming from the booth he shared with the other members of his jazz quartet, the Queen City Gents.

The men were currently entertaining themselves by teasing Darius about his so-called honeymoon glow. Having returned less than a month ago from an island hideaway with his new bride, Eve, Darius’s personality had taken a noticeable turn toward sappy.

Darius, the band’s bassist and Rashad’s ace since their days in college, pounded his fist on the table. “Y’all are just jealous that I’m getting some on a regular basis, and from a gorgeous woman at that.”

Swallowing a mouthful of beer, Marco scoffed. “Please. I never lack for female affection.” The saxophonist, a native of Costa Rica and a self-proclaimed ladies’ man, wore an expression that conveyed just how sure of himself he was.

Darius groaned. “Marco, we’re not talking about man-whoring. We’re talking about commitment here.”

Ken “the Zen” Yamada, the band’s drummer, barely looked up from his phone as he spoke. “This is why I don’t bother with dating. Women are just a source of contention between us.”

Darius shot back. “You know, Ken, I’m starting to think your ass is gay.”

Rashad simply smiled at their banter, preferring to enjoy his wings and beer instead of get involved in their pointless debate.

From his seat on the bench, Darius elbowed Rashad. “Don’t you have something to say, man?”

Rashad shook his head, keeping his eyes on the television nearest the table. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”

He was watching the local twenty-four-hour news channel focused on happenings around North Carolina. An image of two wrecked cars appeared, and Rashad read the transcript ticking by on the screen.

As he focused on the news anchor’s words, he realized that the accident had taken place in Charlotte, and that the owner of the auction house he’d been at last night, as well as the auctioneer, had been injured. The story continued to scroll by, ending with an announcement that the auction house would be closed, and all auctions would be postponed for at least two weeks.

“What are you staring at, Rashad?” The question came from Marco, and cut into his thoughts.

“The news. It looks like I’ll have to wait for my shot at Monk’s piano. The auction house is shut down for a couple of weeks.” Rashad grabbed a napkin and wiped the wing sauce from his fingers. He’d been looking forward to going over to the auction house that night, though it wasn’t his usual Saturday night activity.

Now, with the auction delayed, he could put more of his focus on obtaining the other rare treasure he wanted to make his own: Lina.

He imagined how she would act in a courtroom, arguing some poor opposing counsel under the table; or in her office, diligently attending to client paperwork and phone calls. She took her career very seriously, and he didn’t blame her. Her passion for the law was evident, and as the old saying went, if you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.

Darius elbowed him in the ribs. “Rashad, I hear there’s drama at county. What do you know about it?”

Darius’s pointed question drew Rashad out of his fantasy, and he groaned. “All I know is that the county budget is being cut, drastically. Right now, we don’t know how it’s going to affect us at the courthouse.”

“Sounds like things are pretty uncertain over there.” Marco ran his hand over his chin as if thinking.

Rashad agreed. “They are. What about you, how are things in the fast-paced financial world?”

“Same old, same old.” Marco shrugged, as if his work as vice president of Royal Community Bank was no big deal.

Rashad knew better. Royal was the largest minority owned private financial institution in the state.

Ken volunteered, “I’m in the running for a pretty big design contract for the city. Hopefully the budget cuts won’t put the kibosh on it.”

Rashad doubted the budget cuts would cause problems for Ken. As a skilled graphic designer, Ken’s services were always in demand. Aside from that, it was almost always more economical to hire a freelancer than to take on the costs of a full-fledged employee.

Darius joked, “No one ever asks me about my work.”

Rashad shook his head, punched his friend in the shoulder. “That’s because we all know you don’t do any. As long as you keep inviting us down to the beach house, we’re willing to overlook it.”

“Don’t be jealous of my awesome retirement.”

Rashad scoffed and punched him again. “Don’t be an ass about it, then.”

The basket of wings in the center of the table was empty now, so Rashad used a couple of Wet-Naps to clean up. Grabbing his wallet from the back pocket of his black slacks, he pulled out a twenty to cover his share of the tab and tip.

“I’m out, guys.” Rashad eased out of the booth, keys in hand.

His friends said their goodbyes as he strolled out of the building.

Inside the cab of his pickup truck, he started the engine and pulled out of the small lot. He thought about Lina as he navigated the streets of downtown Charlotte, taking I-77 out of the city toward his luxury housing complex.

The way she’d walked out on him the previous night, he knew he should probably let her cool off. Since he’d obviously upset her, he was willing to give her some space. Still, he was not willing to walk away from her, and what they could have together.

She was such a cynic, and he understood why. According to Lina, her ex-husband, Warren, had been an asshole of the highest order. He’d cheated on her at every opportunity and then further insulted her by assuming she was too stupid to figure out what he was up to. Any woman would be cautious after what she’d gone through.

What Rashad didn’t understand was why she insisted on making him bear the burden of her mistrust. Sure, he flirted with the women in the front row when the Gents put on their shows, that was part of the act. He was lead singer, and if smiling and winking at a few women kept ticket sales up, what was the harm in that? Somehow, Lina had associated his stage persona with his true self, and assumed that if he winked and charmed from the stage, he must be seeing other women behind her back.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. When they were together he’d been faithful to her. Hell, since he’d broken up with her, he’d been on a self-imposed hiatus from dating and sex. After Lina, no other woman seemed to capture his interest.

By the time he pulled his truck into the two-car garage beneath his unit, he’d made up his mind. He’d back off for now, give her a few days to be mad at him. But come next week, he fully intended to ask her out again, so they could heal the rift between them.

A woman like Lina was as rare and precious a find as Monk’s piano, and he didn’t intend to let either slip through his fingers.

Chapter 4

By Monday morning, Lina had managed to push most of her annoyance at Rashad aside, in favor of working on a new case. He hadn’t contacted her over the weekend, and she was glad. She was about to embark on a new phase in her career as an attorney, and the last thing she needed right now was to be distracted. Rashad MacRae was about the biggest distraction she’d ever encountered.

She shifted through the case files on her desk, looking for a particular piece of paperwork she needed to get started on her research. After a few moments of flipping through the pile, she realized she wasn’t getting anywhere. She pressed a button on her intercom system and asked her legal assistant to come in.

Randi Mayer entered a few moments later, the long strap of an attaché case slung over her shoulder. She was professionally dressed as usual, wearing a soft blue button-down shirt with a pair of navy blue boot-cut slacks. She also wore a pair of navy pumps with heels so high Lina wondered how she kept from twisting her ankles with every step. The young woman, a recent graduate of Duke Law, was extremely efficient at her job. If anybody could find what Lina needed, it was Randi.

“Are you looking for the Needleman files?” Randi asked the question as she crossed the room toward Lina’s desk.

Lina rubbed a hand over her forehead. “Yes. Do you know where they are?”

Randi extended a manila folder. “Here they are. I took them yesterday afternoon, typed them up and made copies. I should have told you, but by the time I finished, you’d already gone home for the day. Sorry about that.”

Relief caused Lina’s breath to escape in a long sigh. “Thanks, Randi.” Now that she had the files in her possession, she could get on with the rest of her day. As she flipped through the neatly typewritten pages, she thanked her lucky stars for such an efficient assistant.

“Do you need me for anything else?” Randi stood by the desk, waiting.

Knowing how tiresome it must be to stand in one place in those sky-high heels, Lina gestured to one of the two empty chairs on that side of the desk. “Yes. Go ahead and have a seat. With any luck, we can finish up our pretrial preparation before the day is out.”

Randi sat, pulling out a yellow legal pad and pen from her case. She crossed her legs and grasped the pen. “Okay, Ms. Smith-Todd, I’m ready.”

Opening the case file to the first page, Lina began dictating. “Case file for case number 26008, Howard Needleman versus Dewey and Fowler Incorporated.”

Lina then began to speak about the particulars of the case while Randi transcribed. Howard Needleman claimed to have been unfairly targeted by his new boss. Mr. Needleman insisted that his new superior, Kate Miller, was a female chauvinist who’d placed him on probation for no other reason than to threaten his job. At first, Lina had thought the case far-fetched, but Mr. Needleman and a few of the other men working in his office had presented her with compelling evidence to support his claims.

While Howard remained the only named plaintiff, four other men working in middle management within Dewey and Fowler all had similar stories. Two had been placed on the same kind of employment probation as Howard, and the other two spoke of several negative encounters with Mrs. Miller. One man had even taken it upon himself to use his smartphone to record audio of one of Mrs. Miller’s tirades. The Needleman case was, by far, the most interesting one she’d ever been tasked with.

As lunchtime approached, Lina’s bleary eyes and growling stomach made her close the case file. “Let’s take lunch, I’m starved.”

Randi ceased her writing and put away her pad and pen. “See you back here in forty-five?”

Lina smiled. “Tell you what. We’ve both worked so hard this morning, let’s make it an even hour.”

With a giggle and a wave, Randi left the office, closing the door behind her.

Pulling a tissue from the box sitting on her desk, Lina dabbed at her tired, watery eyes, careful not to disturb her eye makeup. She frequently ordered lunch from the deli a few doors down from the firm. They had great sandwiches and their proximity meant her lunch was always delivered in twenty minutes or less. Today, though, she’d been sitting in one place for so long she decided to walk down there and pick up her lunch herself, hoping the physical activity and fresh air would give her a second wind.

A few minutes later, she was strolling along Morehead Street, enjoying the early summer sunshine. The kelly green sleeveless sheath she wore was perfect for the weather, leaving her arms and legs exposed to keep her from overheating in the warm, slightly humid air. She’d left her cream-colored cardigan in the office—while she needed it to fight off the chill of the air-conditioning inside, she certainly didn’t need it out here.

As she grabbed the door handle of Rhino Market and Deli, the vibration of her cell phone in her purse caught her attention. She swung the door open and stepped into the cool interior of the deli, and then fished the phone out of her bag.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Lina.”

She pursed her lips, having recognized Rashad’s voice right away. Chastising herself for answering without looking at the screen to see who was calling her, she replied tersely, “Yes, Rashad?”

“You don’t sound happy to hear from me. Are you working through your lunch break?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, but that doesn’t mean I have time to talk to you.”

“Ouch. I know you’re mad, and I’m sorry if you were offended the other night.”

She went to the red plastic roll dispensing numbers and pulled one, noting how Rashad had succeeded at placing the blame for what happened squarely on her shoulders. “Well, you know how crazy and unreasonable we women can be.”

He was silent for a moment, as if carefully choosing his next words. “Lina, you’re not going to scare me off by being snappy. There’s something special between us, and we both know it.”

She eased into the line. There were only two people ahead of her, and she didn’t want to get into this with him now. “I guess you know about all the auctions at Cleveland and Wendell being postponed.”

The sound of his deep chuckle reverberated in her ear. “Yes I know about it, and I know you’re trying to change the subject.”

She let her eyes sweep over the menu board, even though she already knew what she planned to order. “I’m not talking to you about this right now, Rashad.”

“I’m fine with that. Let me take you out to dinner tonight, and we’ll iron it out then.”

The line moved as the first person in front of her left with their food. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

She closed her eyes briefly. Rashad was a charmer, always had been. It only took one night of watching him flirt with the female fans at a Gents show to see that. His ego told him that no woman could resist him, and while she’d love to take him down a peg, the truth of the matter was she couldn’t resist him, either. “What time are you picking me up?”

“Seven thirty. Thank you for agreeing, Lina.”

“You didn’t give me much choice.”

He chuckled again. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She disconnected the call just as her number came up. Shaking her head, she tucked the phone away and ordered her usual, a ham and Swiss wrap and baked chips.

With her food and a bottle of water, she left the deli for the walk back to her office. With every step, the dreadlocked hotness that was Rashad MacRae dominated her thoughts.

* * *

Rashad slowed his truck, his speed dropping below the twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit, as he neared Lina’s house on a quiet residential street. Her house was in the west Charlotte neighborhood of Wilmore. The area, located several miles from the hustle and bustle of the city center, was known for being diverse, family friendly and filled with eclectic charm. He rarely ventured to this neighborhood, preferring to live closer to the action and to his work in the city. Though, for someone as focused as Lina, he could see the appeal of living there.

He eased into a spot directly in front of her house. The large ranch-style structure had soft yellow siding, with multicolored stone surrounding the pitched roof at the doorway. The neatly trimmed yard was free of flowers, but there were a few bushes bordering the front of the house. To his mind, the home was very much reflective of the owner: beautiful and appealing, without any extraneous enhancements.

He got out of his truck, straightening his tie as he walked toward the door. He’d chosen to put on one of his best gray suits, minus the sport coat to keep him from bursting into flames in the Carolina summer heat. He hoped she’d approve of the charcoal-colored slacks, lavender button-down shirt, and purple-and-silver-striped tie he’d worn with his favorite gray-and-black wing tips. Sticking to the sidewalk to avoid trampling her grass, he made his way up to the house.

He raised his fist, gave a few sharp raps on the dark stained surface of her front door. Moments later, she swung it open.

As he took in the sight of her, he swore his heart skipped several beats. She was wearing a soft green sleeveless jumpsuit. He’d encountered these things before. He and the other guys in the band had jokingly referred to them as “adult onesies.” While he’d seen women wearing them on television and all over the Queen city, he’d never seen a woman who he thought looked good in one.

Until now.

The jumpsuit was made of a magical fabric that clung to every peak and valley of Lina’s curvaceous body. The low cut V-neck in the front gave him a glimpse of her cleavage. Figure-grazing fabric embraced her flat stomach and her round hips and thighs, and then flared out into a wide leg over her gold pumps.

“Hi, Rashad.”

Her voice snapped him out of his trance, and he realized he’d better stop ogling her so openly. His gaze drifted up to her face, taking in the barely there makeup and perfectly coiffed hair. “Lina. You look fantastic.”

Her sparkling raspberry lips tilted up into a smile, then parted. “Thank you. I could tell you liked the outfit by the look on your face.”

He smiled. What could he say to that? She’d caught him staring, and he couldn’t say he was sorry. She looked too damn good not to stare at. The reality was, she looked good enough to eat. He’d had the honor of tasting her before, and as his appreciative eyes raked over her once more, he hoped he’d have the honor again.

She turned away from him to lock her front door.

His eyes landed on the curvy roundness of her ass, and he shut his eyes briefly as the blood filled his manhood.

She faced him again, tossed her keys into her small handbag. “Ready?”

Oh, he was ready, all right, but in a totally different sense than she meant. Deciding to keep the thought to himself, he grasped her hand and led her to his truck. Once they were settled inside the cab and buckled in, he started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

The enclosed space of the truck’s cab subjected him to the sweet, floral aroma of her perfume. Her fragrance was so feminine and intoxicating he had to take shallower breaths to keep his focus on driving. He considered turning off the air conditioner and opening the windows, but it was too muggy a night for that. She didn’t say much in the car, seeming content to entertain her own thoughts while she watched the passing scenery through the passenger window. Picking up on her cues, he didn’t press her to converse. There would be plenty of time for that over dinner.

Once he eased the truck into a space at the Black Rose Inn, he cut the engine and went around to her side to open the door for her. In the time it took him to round the truck’s front bumper, she’d already swung the passenger door open. She was of average height, but his super-duty pickup was high enough off the ground that she might have to make a small leap to get out. He reached his hand out just in time to help her step down from the running board. Linking arms with her he escorted her inside.

The interior of the Black Rose was quiet, in keeping with the romantic atmosphere. The walls, covered in black brocade wallpaper, were decorated with framed photographic images of various rose varieties. A plush beige carpet was emblazoned with hundreds of black roses, alternating with loose petals. The round tables were cloaked in white cloths, and due to the absence of music being piped in, the only sounds were the few muted conversations being carried on by the patrons.

At the black lacquer podium near the door, Rashad gave his last name to the tuxedoed maître d’, who lead them to a secluded table near a window. Once they were seated and alone, Rashad looked across the table at Lina. She had opened the menu. Her shiny pink lips flexed slightly as she silently evaluated the choices.

He could watch her all night, but decided to try to choose his meal before the waiter arrived.

When the white-coated waiter arrived, Lina ordered the citrus glazed salmon and a green salad. Rashad placed his order for the medallions of beef with herb potatoes and zucchini gratin. Rashad kept quiet until the waiter deposited their glasses of iced tea on the table and departed.

He locked eyes with the beautiful woman sitting across from him and asked the question he’d wanted to ask since he ran into her that night at Cleveland and Wendell. “Why do you really want Monk’s piano?”

Her perfectly arched left brow hitched up a few centimeters. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you really want it for your mother?”

She nodded, the kind of slow nod you gave someone when you didn’t think they were following you. “Yes, I really want it for my mother, I told you that.”

He chose to ignore the insult of her slow nod, and shrugged. “I was just asking. I’m sure you know how valuable the piano is. It could bring in a lot of money on the open market.”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t really care about that, I make good money as it is. When I said I wanted it for my mother, that’s exactly what I meant. Once she has it, she can do whatever she wants with it. But she’s much too big a fan of Monk’s to sell it.”

Now he gave a slow nod of his own. “All right, then.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What about you? How do I know you wouldn’t resell it if you won the bidding?”

He leaned back in his chair, struck a nonchalant pose. “We both know I would never let Monk’s piano go, not for any amount of money.”

She folded her arms over her chest. The gesture blocked his view of her cleavage, and he immediately felt deprived. “To be honest, Rashad, I don’t really know you that well at all.”

He knew that remark was meant to cut him. More than anything it irritated him. “Really, Lina? This again?”

Her expression was as blank and disinterested as he’d ever seen it. “Truth hurts.”

Before he could line up a response, the waiter returned with their meals. The man set the steaming hot plates before them and strolled away. Rashad looked across the table at Lina, who seemed to be completely focused on her salmon. To give her time to cool off, he started in on his own food.

When he’d finished the last bite of his dinner, he set his silverware down. She was still eating, but he couldn’t hold back what he needed to say to her any longer. “Lina, I’m sorry.”

She paused, a forkful of salad hanging in midair. Her golden eyes widened and her gaze locked with his. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry. For not being open enough with you when we dated, and for whatever I said or did to offend you after the fact. I’m sorry.” Getting the words out was unpleasant to say the least, but certainly not any worse than the many days and nights he’d spent thinking about her since they parted ways. He’d tried everything short of apologizing to her up until this moment, and he still wasn’t positive he’d done anything wrong per se. Still, if this was what it was going to take to convince her that their relationship deserved another try, then so be it.

She blinked a few times, setting her fork down. Her expression serious, she asked, “Do you mean that, Rashad?”

He nodded. “Yes. I know I’ll have to work to win you all over again, but believe me, I’m willing.”

Her expression softened into a Mona Lisa–like smile. “Then we’d better go somewhere more private to talk.”

He grinned, not needing to be told twice. He’d finally penetrated her rigid exterior, and he planned to make the best use of his newfound access. Raising his hand, he signaled for the waiter to bring the check.