Finding Mr. Right (9 page)

“Daddy, can I have some ice cream? And can Miss Tyra have some too?”

“Yes, you may, and so may she if she wants some.”

As they sat at the kitchen table eating ice cream, he made up his mind to wait until Jonie came back. He didn’t want to take Tyra home, kiss her on the cheek and leave her. Every molecule of his body rebelled against the thought.

“Daddy plays the piano, Miss Tyra. Do you want to hear him play?” He looked at Byron. “You promised to play me the ‘Barcarolle.’”

“Okay. Wash your hands and we’ll go in the living room.”
Byron sat down, flexed his fingers and began to play. It was a piece in which he could lose himself, and soon he did. When he finished, he saw that Andy had taken a seat on the sofa beside Tyra.

“Play something else, Dad.”

“What would you like to hear, Tyra?” She asked for Rachmaninoff’s second piano concerto, one that he knew well and loved, and soon he let it carry him away.

“I never dreamed that you played so beautifully. It’s surprising that you didn’t become a concert pianist,” she said. “That was exquisite”

“I chose law, because I wanted to be able to support myself.”

“That sure was beautiful, Byron,” Aunt Jonie said, as she entered the living room. “I haven’t heard you play in years. Not since… Oh, excuse me. I didn’t know Miss Cunningham was here.”

“I was waiting for you to get back, because I’m not taking Andy with me.”

“But I want to go, daddy.”

“I can’t get back by your bedtime, so you won’t go with me this time. Tell Miss Tyra goodbye.”

“Are you coming back to see me?” Andy asked Tyra.

“Yes, I will. You’re a sweet, darling little boy, and I’m so glad we met. Do you think I could have a hug?”

He hugged her and kissed her cheek. “I’ll ask my daddy to bring you back to see me.”

Byron didn’t put too much emphasis to the long embrace between Tyra and Andy at his front door, because he knew how capable Andy was of grandstanding to prolong their departure. Still, he was much happier than he would have been if his son had disliked Tyra.

Tyra wasn’t in a daze. Overwhelmed described more precisely how she felt about her experience at Byron’s home.
That she liked his son did not surprise her, because she liked well-mannered children. But the little boy hadn’t only crawled into her lap and made himself at home there, but he had made his way into her heart. Of course, his stunning resemblance to his father could have been the reason, but it went much deeper, far beyond her feeling for Byron. For the first time she had felt maternal, almost as if Andy belonged in her arms.

“Does the weekend following Labor Day suit you for our time together?” Byron asked her as he parked in front of her house.

Wondering why he chose a time so far in the future, she frowned. “Okay, but why so far away? That’s ages from now.”

He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. “I’m glad you feel that way. It’s exactly two weeks from yesterday.”

She didn’t back down. “It still seems like forever. Okay. I’ll tell my boss that I’ll be away that Thursday and Friday. When and what time will you come for me?”

“Thursday morning around eight o’clock. Dress as if you’re going to Miami Beach, and bring two dresses for evening wear. If you’d like to change now, we could go to the jazz festival or the Weinberg Center, but I think we ought to have supper first.”

“Let’s go inside.” She glanced up at him and the expression of need on his face sent shivers plowing through her body. He wanted what she wanted, but her experience with sex didn’t make the wanting so urgent for her. It was when she was in his arms that she felt she’d die if she didn’t have him.

It had been a long time since she’d prayed. Really prayed, but as she headed up the stairs to change her clothes, she whispered, “Lord, I don’t ask for much, so please give me Byron Whitley. I need him.”

T
yra watched Byron until he got into his car and drove off, gathered her reserves and made her way up the stairs to her room. Shaken and troubled. In five minutes he had destroyed her will, weakened her resistance and reduced her to putty. Standing in her foyer, she would have given him anything that he asked for, but he had asked only that she let him love her. She had wanted so badly to make love with him right then and right there. The immediacy of it still rocked her as she dropped down on her bed. Did she want him or any man to have such power over her?

The minute he’d closed her front door, he went at her as if he wanted to devour her. “Love me, Tyra. I need you. Do you hear me? I need you,” he said, his voice urgent and demanding, but sweet and seductive. His big hands encircled her waist, moved up to her back and locked her to him. “Kiss me. Baby, open up to me.”

She parted her lips and he thrust into her, grasped her
buttocks with one hand and the back of her head with the other and pressed her to him, as he dipped in and out of her mouth, showing her what he intended to do to her, heating her to boiling point.

Her blood raced to her loins and her hard nipples began to pain her. More. She wanted more. She had to have more. Wild with desire, she undulated against him, giving him a sample of what she’d be like when he finally got into her. He bulged against her. And she grabbed his hand and rubbed her aching nipple. He braced her against the wall, unbuttoned her jacket, plunged his hand into her shirt and released her breast. She held her breath until his warm and eager lips pulled the nipple into his mouth and sucked it.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming. If only she could strip and feel him against her breast to breast and belly to belly. In spite of her efforts at control, moans escaped her and, as if that were a signal, he straightened her clothes, pulled her to him and stroked her with gentle caresses.

“I’d better go right now while I can,” he said. “I’ll call you later. That’s as close to losing control as I’ve ever been.” She couldn’t look at him, so he nudged her chin upward. “What just happened between us was sweet and sacred, so there’s no reason to fret over it. We’ll talk later.” He didn’t say good-night, merely opened the door and left.

Tyra sat up straight and tried to think. But after a few minutes she told herself that what had just happened to her with Byron couldn’t be explained or dealt with logically, that she loved him and maybe love automatically made a person susceptible. How would she know? This was her first experience with it. She undressed, slipped on a housecoat and went to the bathroom to prepare for bed. But as she walked, she envisioned herself alone in a private place with Byron free to do with him as she wished and just as free to accept whatever he wanted to give her. She hugged herself and
skipped right into her brother, who bounced up the stairs and on to the hallway.

“You’re very happy about something…or someone,” he said, leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Did you see Byron today?”

“He brought me home a minute ago. I spent the afternoon at his house with his aunt and his little boy, and then we went to dinner and the jazz concert at Weinberg. It was a wonderful day.”

“How’d you like his son?”

“He’s a darling, sweet, but just as no-nonsense as his dad. We got on fine. What’d you do?”

“I took Darlene to a meeting in Washington. She was ready to drive and didn’t have enough gas to start the engine. I told her she needs a nanny. You still planning on a weekend with Byron?”

“Absolutely. I’ll let you know. Gosh, Clark. This business of being in love makes you so vulnerable. It gives the other person so much control over your happiness, even if he doesn’t know it.”

Clark rubbed his hand across his brow, and his expression was that of a wise and experienced man. “Look, Sis. Don’t worry about that as long as you know he loves you. You’ll learn that if the guy loves you, he may be a lot more vulnerable to you than you are to him. Byron’s a tough guy, but I’ll bet you’ve never seen that toughness in him. You probably won’t, either.”

How easy it was to love the whole world and everybody in it. She hugged him. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that. Good night.” When she returned from the bathroom, her cell phone was buzzing, and she thought she’d fly out of herself. “Hi.”

“I was just about to hang up. Surely you weren’t already asleep.”

“No. I was in the shower. I’ll probably never sleep again. I’m on some kind of high, and it’ll be a miracle if I settle down enough to fall asleep.”

“Tell me about it. Did you ask to have your passport expedited?”

“Yes, so I should have it in a couple of days.”

“Good. I’m not sure I could handle a disappointment in this.”

“Byron, I’m sure you can handle anything that’s given to you.”

“Thanks for your confidence. You’re good for a guy’s ego.”

Ego-building wasn’t on her agenda. She wanted him to know what he meant to her, and she didn’t want to come right out and tell him, at least not yet. “I didn’t have your ego in mind, I was thinking of the way I see you.”

“The effect’s the same. Sleep well, darling. Good night.”

“Good night, love.” She hung up, wondering when, if ever, she would be with him always.

Byron had begun to feel uncomfortable in the role of advisor to Murphy Tate. He knew the man was within his rights in refusing his daughter’s request, but he personally did not agree with the man’s position. He had found in his years of law practice that what was legal and considered just by law was not always the humanitarian solution, and this was such a case. He’d do what he could, but his heart was not in it.

His two hours weekly at the Legal Aid Society had always given him pleasure in helping his fellowman, but he didn’t feel that way now. Perhaps he was tired. He could have taken Tyra to his summerhouse on the Chesapeake Bay, but he didn’t want either of them to have to do housekeeping chores. Besides, it would be too much like marriage or shacking up, and he had a way to go before he reached that point, if indeed he ever did. He could imagine himself married to Tyra and fathering their children, and if that happened, he’d be a happy man. But he could also imagine himself not doing it if their relationship failed to go smoothly over the next couple of months.

For himself alone, he knew that Tyra was the one, but he
had Andy to think about. So far so good, but time would tell the story. He answered the intercom.

“This is Whitley.”

“Mr. Whitley, a Mr. Cameron is on the phone. He wants to consult with you about suing for divorce.”

“Thanks. Put him on the phone.” The phone light blinked, and he lifted the receiver. “This is Byron Whitley. What may I do for you?” He listened to a litany of accusations against the man’s wife, and decided that he didn’t want to hear more of it. “Mr. Cameron, I’m not an expert on divorce. Louis Chambers, one of my partners, handles divorce for us. If you’d like, I’ll switch you over to him.” He punched Louis’s extension. “This guy’s headed for a long and messy divorce. Take it or leave it.”

“Thanks, Byron. That’s the kind that pays the most money.”

He answered his cell phone. “Daddy, can me and you and grandpa go fishing? Aunt Jonie said she wanted fish for dinner.”

He couldn’t help laughing. Andy always found easy solutions to every problem. He supposed the good thing was that, if things weren’t as he thought they should be, the child always sought a solution. “We can’t go fishing today, son, because I won’t get home early enough, but tell Aunt Jonie that I’ll buy some fish at the market on my way home.”

“You will? Okay. I’ll tell her. Bye.”

He hung up, propped his elbows on his desk and cradled his head in his hands. For a little over four years, Andy had been his whole life, and when the pain of loneliness for a different kind of love began to bear upon him, Tyra came into his life, just the woman he needed. It had to work. He’d make it work. He’d teach them to love each other.

Her long and anxious wait over, Tyra put her suitcase beside her front door and went into the breakfast room to check the table settings. “You coming back Sunday or Monday?” Maggie asked her.

“Sunday night.”

“That’s good. Never wear out your welcome. I don’t know what you’re planning, and I don’t have the right to ask, but I’ll tell you this, if you don’t come back here on cloud nine, honey, you’d better change gears.”

“Thanks, Maggie. I look at it this way, I’ve never had a real vacation, never been out of the country, never been on a boat, never took a cruise and never spent a weekend with a man. I’m bound to learn something.”

Maggie stared at her. “You can say that again.”

The doorbell rang, and she made certain that nobody got to that door before she did. “Hi. I made you some Belgian waffles.”

A grin spread over his face. “I love ’em. What am I going to put on them?”

“Well, you can have two. One with strawberries and cream, and the other with bacon and maple syrup. How’s that?”

He picked her up, swung her around and hugged her. “You’ve got my number going and coming. Are you going to give me some coffee?”

She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Sure, coffee and anything else that makes you happy.”

He arched his left eyebrow. “Be careful. I may take that literally.”

She put her hands on her hips and sashayed into the breakfast room ahead of him. “Suit yourself. You only get to live once,” she said, parroting Mae West, the drama diva of the 1930s. “And even if you get another chance, I may not be here.”

He put his arms around her and gently pulled her to him. “You are one fresh woman, but you suit me to a tee.” He took a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Andy asked me to give you this.”

She looked at the drawing of a little boy and what she supposed was a room full of bubbles. “Oh, Byron. This is so
sweet. Thank you. Do you have a picture of the two of you that I may keep?”

“Y’all better get to eating. That plane ain’t gonna wait for you.”

They sat down, and Maggie said the grace. “Tyra makes these fancy European waffles, and I admit they sure are good, but I’m not about to spend that much energy on a waffle. Hmm. Tyra, this is super. I never woulda thought of putting strawberries and cream on ’em.”

“They’re delicious. Say, where’s Darlene?” said Byron.

“Darlene leaves for work at seven-thirty,” Maggie said. “She just started driving, and she doesn’t like to drive fast.”

Byron savored a bite of waffle, and a smile of pure pleasure brightened his face. “Smart girl. Nobody should drive fast on that highway.” He drained his coffee cup and looked at Tyra. “I think we should start, sweetheart. We’ll be in rush-hour traffic.”

“Okay.” She leaned over and kissed Maggie’s cheek. “Don’t let Clark drive you up the wall. He’s stuck in the Middle Ages. See you Sunday night.” She had a right to do as she pleased, but still, Maggie wasn’t only her housekeeper, but her surrogate mother, and walking off in her presence to spend a weekend with a man suddenly smacked of effrontery. She lifted her shoulder in a quick shrug. She wouldn’t consider lying to Maggie about that or anything else.

Byron kissed Maggie’s other cheek. “Clark’s a good man. If he was taking my sister on a cruise, I’d behave precisely as he is, maybe worse. See you Sunday, Maggie.”

She grasped his left hand, detaining him. “You take good care of my child. You hear?” Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “She’s been mine ever since I pulled her out of her mama’s body. Before that, I didn’t even know what a newborn baby looked like, but it was blizzard weather, Mr. Cunningham was stuck at his office, and it was just me and her. For
tunately her mama was a doctor and knew what to do. This child is precious to me, Byron.”

He hunkered before her chair. “She isn’t more precious to you than she is to me. I will protect her with my life if necessary. So don’t worry.”

Maggie patted his hand and blinked rapidly to hold back the tears. “Y’all gone before you miss that plane.”

Byron sat beside Tyra in the back of the limousine he’d hired to drive them to the Baltimore-Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport. Her quietness disturbed him. “Are you sorry you agreed to our taking this cruise?” he asked her.

She found his hand without looking at him. “Of course not. But there are times when you need your mother, because you think you could ask her things that you wouldn’t dare ask another person.”

“If it has to do with you and me, or any aspect of our relationship, share the problem with me, Tyra, and we’ll solve it. I promise you that nothing will happen between us unless you assure me that you want it.”

She moved closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I don’t need any assurance about you Byron, I know who you are.”

“Good heavens, with that kind of reputation, I can’t act out even a little bit. What have I done to myself?” he quipped.

She snuggled closer. “I’m sleepy, and your shoulder isn’t soft.”

“Of course, it isn’t soft. Why are you sleepy?” He eased his right arm around her. “Couldn’t you sleep last night?”

“Sure. I slept like a baby. Every weekend, I go off with some guy, so this is nothing unusual.”

“Those guys don’t bend the frame, as they say. You can sleep from Baltimore to Fort Lauderdale.” She had a way of saying things that made him feel like a giant.

“What time does the boat sail?”

“Five-thirty. We’ll be there in plenty of time.”

“You bought first class tickets?” she asked him when they were boarding the plane.

“What kind of man would I be if I invited you for a romantic tryst and gave you the cheapest accommodations? Give me credit for some class, sweetheart.”

“This is all new to me. I feel like a butterfly in a garden.” They took their seats, and he put their carry-on luggage overhead.

“Champagne, orange juice or wine?” the stewardess asked.

He looked at the woman who seemed tired before the flight began. “I’ll have some coffee, ma’am.”

“I’d like a comet,” Tyra said. When he stared at her, she explained, “That’s a vodka comet without the vodka. Gosh, I’m so sleepy.”