Careless Rapture (9 page)

“That’s a cynical approach to marriage.”

“Just honest.” He pulled her close and began
to move in rhythm to the music. “You know, when I’m on the market
for a third wife, perhaps you’ll still be around.” His voice
lowered. “Or we don’t have to stop seeing each other at all.”

She smiled brightly. “Yes, you’re right.”

“Good.”

“But I walk dogs, I don’t date them.” She
patted his cheek, pleased by his startled expression, and stepped
back.

“There you two are,” Clay said. “Can’t leave
you two alone too long.” He nudged Brian in the ribs. It was a
casual gesture, but applied with enough force to make Brian wince.
“Wouldn’t want you chatting up my bird, now, would I?”

Brian’s eyes darted between them. He lifted
his chin, his pride still hurt from Jackie’s refusal. “I see that
it would never have worked, you can’t fake polish.”

“Doesn’t take much to pass yourself off as a
poncy twit. Seemed to impress your wife.”

Brian stormed away.

Jackie watched him leave, then turned to
Clay, furious. “What the hell was that?”

Clay quickly dropped the accent. “You wanted
someone rough about the edges.”

“You needn’t have made a farce out of
it.”

“A farce was watching him sniveling all over
you.”

Her anger turned to embarrassment as she
remembered Brian’s behavior. “It was awful. To even think I
considered him husband material doesn’t say much about me. I’m
sorry you saw that.”

He grinned wickedly, rocking on his heels.
“I’m not. Did you accomplish your goal?”

“Well, I wanted him to be regretful, but I
didn’t expect that.” She glanced at the reception hall. “How come
revenge never quite works out the way you picture it?” She shot him
a steely glare. “Then you had to act like a reject from a Noel
Coward play and make me look ridiculous. I shouldn’t have come. I’m
an idiot.”

He nodded. “It’s always helpful to identify
the problem first. Ow!” He cried when she hit him. He rubbed his
arm. “So what are we going to do now?”

“I don’t know. What does one do after a
hollow victory?”

He tucked her arm through his. “We could play
a little game.”

“What?”

He nodded to a woman in the corner “What do
you suggest I serve her for dinner?”

Jackie snatched her arm away. “Arsenic, for
all I care.” She headed inside.

Clay grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Do
I detect a note of jealousy?”

“No.”

He released her. “You were interested
before.”

She took a step closer, then tilted her head
to the side. “You know what would interest me?”

Clay looked down at her suspiciously, aware
of the teasing glint in her eyes. “What?”

“What would you cook for me?”

He slowly smiled, shaking his head.
“Dangerous waters, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

He glanced away, his voice low. “I know
that.”

She moved closer. “You haven’t answered my
question.”

He stepped back. “I don’t plan to.”

“Why not’?”

His voice deepened. “You know why.” He lifted
her chin. There was nothing subtle about the gleam of interest in
his gaze. “The night suits you, my little mischief maker.”

Jackie narrowed her eyes, her voice a
whisper. “I don’t cause mischief.”

“I guess you only inspire it.” He bent down,
she waited breathless for his lips to meet hers. He kissed her
cheek instead.

She stared at him her heart crashing to her
feet. “A kiss on the cheek? What was that?”

“A warning. Be careful who you try to
bewitch.” He turned and walked toward the hall.

“Are you afraid I may bewitch you?”

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.
“No, but you should be,” he said, then disappeared inside.

Nearly a week
later, Jackie could still feel the tingle of Clay’s lips against
her cheek. In her imagination his lips went much lower than that.
She dreamed of what it would be like to bewitch a man like him and
banish the shadows from his eyes. Just the thought brought heat to
her face. She took a deep breath. Today she needed to focus. She
adjusted the collar of her blouse and straightened her skirt as she
rode the elevator to Payton Winstead’s office. Presentation was
key. She knew people tended to indulge her as they would a Girl
Scout selling cookies because she was cute. However, that wouldn’t
be advantageous now. People weren’t willing to donate large sums of
money to a little girl. She gripped her portfolio as the doors
opened. To her surprise, she didn’t have to wait long before being
ushered into his office.

The secretary said he would be with her
shortly, then partially shut the door. Jackie took the opportunity
to glance around Winstead’s office. The style was studied
sophistication mingled with unmitigated conceit, displayed by the
number of photos of Payton posing with various important
people.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said,
entering the room.

“Not at all.” Jackie stood and shook his
hand.

Powerful shoulders offset a sagging middle.
He was fully aware of his physical defect and used his striking and
prominent features to divert attention away from it. He brushed his
russet-brown hair back so nothing could compete with his high
forehead and cool brown eyes.

“Would you like anything to drink?” he
asked.

“No, thank you.” She opened her portfolio.
“I’d like to get right down to business.”

“Certainly.” He settled on the couch. “What
do you have for me?”

Jackie sat next to him and dived into her
usual sales pitch. She described all that her company offered,
adding little anecdotes of successful clients. “I believe you used
to donate to HOPE a while back and would like to persuade you to do
so again. How can I do that?”

His eyes brightened. “You would like to offer
the same arrangements as Latisha?”

Jackie chose her words carefully. “Since I am
not aware of how Latisha did business, I can’t promise you
anything. However, I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement
ourselves.”

“I’m sure we can.” His gaze briefly dropped
to her legs. “You look very flexible.”

Jackie paused. She didn’t like the strange
emphasis he put on the word “flexible.” She stiffened when he
leaned back and rested his arm the length of the couch, brushing
the back of her neck. “I won’t deny that an immediate decision
would be helpful.” She zipped her portfolio, ready to leave.
“Naturally, I will give you time to think this over.”

“Don’t worry,” he said in a smooth tone, “I’m
thinking things over right now.” His eyes trailed the length of
her
this time. “Making quick decisions comes easily to
me.”

Right then she didn’t care what his decision
was. He could take up self-mutilation for all she cared. She
gathered her things.

“I think you’ll do.” He grabbed her wrist
before she stood. “Wait, you have fuzz on your blouse.” His hand
grazed her breast as he removed invisible fuzz.

She lowered her eyes as heat filled her face.
Not from embarrassment—rage. Her voice remained cool. “I see.”

Winstead interpreted the demure expression as
an invitation. His hand dropped to her leg and began its ascent up
her skirt. “I’m glad we understand each other.” He leaned close,
his lips brushing her ear. “My wife’s a bitch.”

She grabbed his crotch, not enough to hurt
him, but enough to cause discomfort and promise more. Her eyes met
his. “Yes. Unfortunately, so am I.” She lowered her voice, but kept
her tone light. “Here is another opportunity to make a quick
decision. Do you let go of my leg or do I crack your balls?”

His hand fell.

She stood, her voice composed. “I’m afraid
this meeting is over.”

He towered over her, eyes blazing. “No one’s
going to invest in your stupid little program out of kindness.
People want to make money, not give it away to lazy derelicts who
are a burden to society. This is a big boy’s game.”

Jackie glanced down at his trousers. “Not
that big, apparently. Good-bye.” She opened the door.

He slammed it shut. “You’ve obviously
forgotten who you’re dealing with.”

Jackie grasped the door handle. Whatever he
did, she wasn’t moving from that spot. “Oh, I know
what
I’m
dealing with.”

His finger traced the line of her jaw,
leaving her skin cold. “And just
what
would that be?”

Jackie boldly met his eyes, but said
nothing.

“I can feel you trembling.” He began to
smile. “You have every right to be scared. I destroyed Latisha and
I could destroy you.”

Jackie continued to stare, her look of
contempt more forceful than words. The willful stance enraged him.
He grabbed her arm, his hands like a tourniquet. He whispered, “I
dare you to scream.”

She quivered inside, every part of her
wanting to collapse. She didn’t move.

“I get what I want. Latisha didn’t quite
understand that. We had a nice little arrangement until she wanted
to change the rules. I wasn’t pleased and let her know it. She’s
now living under another name in a city where nobody knows her.
Plant a few incriminating business transactions, call it blackmail,
and a career is destroyed.”

“Thank you for that information,” she said in
clipped tones.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Yes, I believe you and so do my colleagues
who are listening to this conversation right now.”

His smug veneer slipped. “Colleagues?”

“Yes. I’m working with Hodder Investigations
on behalf of Latisha and they’re listening to the wire tap right
now. We can overlook this confession if you let me leave now, or
you could start getting your lawyers together. You decide.”

His grip tightened. She bit her lip to keep
from crying out. “Show me the wire.”

“It’s in a place you will never see. And if
you try to find it, I’ll bite you until I draw blood.” Jackie
flashed a grin for emphasis.

He released his grip and took a hasty step
back. Jackie spun around and raced out the door.

Once outside, she felt her legs give way. A
group of senior tourists grabbed her before she collapsed onto the
sidewalk.

“Are you okay?” a man in a bulky D.C.
sweatshirt asked.

She gathered strength from their support and
comfort. “I just felt dizzy a moment. I’m fine.”

A woman in a sun visor patted her hand.
“You’re probably just pregnant.”

Jackie nearly laughed. “Uh, no.”

“Ignore her,” a husky-voiced woman said.
“She’s just missing her fertile years.”

Jackie straightened and forced a smile.
“Thank you.” She waved, then walked away, trying to tame the
remnants of anger and fear that still gripped her as his hand had.
Thank god he believed her lie. She had become an expert liar during
childhood and had learned not to show fear. The streets were not
kind to weaknesses. It was a place where grown men looked at
seven-year-old girls with decidedly adult thoughts. A place where
your wits were your greatest tool. If you were weak, you were prey.
She couldn’t risk that.

When she returned to HOPE Services later that
day, Patty and Faye looked at her expectantly.

Jackie walked past them into her office.
“Winstead is a definite no,” she said firmly, inviting no
questions. She closed the, door, then paced, wanting to break
something. She hated him for making her feel vulnerable, for
reminding her that she was powerless, that men like him did rule
the world. Jackie clenched her fists and wished she’d squeezed him
harder.

Clay was right, she didn’t like the word
“no.” Perhaps it was West Indian arrogance, but she didn’t like
being told she couldn’t do something. She and her brothers had once
been one of those derelicts, as Winstead liked to call them. But
they had succeeded in becoming much more. And so would the people
she helped. They would become viable citizens. She just needed
money. Jackie would find an investor eventually. She wouldn’t let
HOPE services disappear as many other nonprofits had. She refused
to fail.

***

Mack hung up the phone and stared at it in
wonder. “What the hell was that?”

Clay sat in his chair with faxes Brent had
given him. “Strange call?”

“That was Payton Winstead. He said he would
destroy us if we released the tape.”

Clay paused. “What tape?”

Mack scratched his head. “Beats me.”

“Did he sound sober?”

“He sounded scared—worried. Worried men are
dangerous.” He folded his arms, pensive. “He could do some damage
to our reputations if he wanted to.”

“Did you tell him you didn’t know what he was
talking about?”

“Of course not.” Mack clasped his hands
behind his head. “I told him he could pay us off and consider the
tape erased.”

Clay stared, amazed.

Mack raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, it
made him relax. I did a good deed.”

He frowned. “What if those tapes show up
somewhere?”

“Then I’ll think of something.” He grinned.
“I always do.”

That night Clay lay on his couch with a beer
can resting on his stomach. He flipped through the TV channels for
the mind-numbing entertainment it usually provided. Someone knocked
on the door. Clay took another swig of beer. He rarely got visitors
and figured someone would discover they had the wrong address. They
knocked again. And again. He set his beer down and stood. “Who is
it?”

“It’s me,” a female voice replied.

He looked through the peephole, but only saw
the back of a woman’s head. He opened the door. “Can I help
you?”

Jackie turned and smiled up at him. “Hi, you
wouldn’t believe the day I had.”

He stared at her, then softly swore. He still
wanted her. He’d hoped the feeling would pass. “This is a bad
idea.”