Comfort of a Man (Arabesque) (7 page)

“Y
ou feel so good,” Isaiah whispered against Brooklyn’s ear.

Waves of passion crashed within her with each thrust. Her nails dug into his back as she tried to satisfy an insatiable hunger. “Please,” she pleaded, gripping the smooth curve of his butt in a vain attempt to quicken his rhythm.

A pool of ecstasy whirled around her while she lifted her hips in wanton abandonment.

“Please, what?” he asked, nibbling her earlobes, and paying special attention to the sensitive areas of her neck.

Despite Isaiah’s slow and deliberate tempo, a small blaze ignited, and in mere seconds, its intense flames licked her inner walls and consumed her in a raging
inferno. Her nails sank deeper into his soft skin and she ignored his sharp intake of breath while she thrashed among the pillows. A strangled cry of pleasure tore from her lips and for a few heart-pounding seconds, she lay still until she gathered control of her ragged breathing and opened her eyes.

What greeted her wasn’t the wide-open space of a Marriott suite, but instead the familiar decor of her own bedroom. As a reminder of what had transpired, her legs still trembled from the orgasmic relief she gave herself while lost in a sweet memory. A few seconds later, her alarm blared. It was time to start another grim and hectic Monday.

She rolled onto her side and hit the snooze button, and then snuggled back beneath the sheets as she contemplated taking the day off—which is what she thought about every Monday.

Thirty minutes later, she managed to pull herself out of bed and then survived a scalding-hot shower. Since school was out and she suspected it would be noon by the time Jaleel rolled out of bed, she made herself a solo breakfast consisting of an English muffin with jam and a cup of coffee. She didn’t know what triggered her reminiscent mood, but there she was, thinking about another time when her mornings were filled with cooking for her small family and making sure everyone had what they needed to start their day. They were hectic times, but she loved and missed them.

As far back as she could remember, all Brooklyn
ever wanted in life was to be a mother and wife. Maybe the desire stemmed from the admiration she had for her own mom. It was an admirable goal, she thought, and had convinced herself—which is why she felt no shame in not pursuing a career as many of her friends had done. What was the point? She’d had the good fortune of marrying a talented and ambitious oncologist, who went on to be a great provider and had allowed her to be a stay-at-home mom.

So what the hell happened?

Brooklyn drew in a deep breath, then sipped her coffee. “Life happened,” she answered herself. She got caught putting all her eggs in one basket and watched helplessly when they all splattered across the cement floor of reality.

Dr. Evan McGinnis broke her heart. It was a damnable fact that she tried to get over every day. Her once-doting son became resentful when her undivided attention was obliterated and focused on her job. It wasn’t easy becoming the first in her family to have been divorced—which was amazing within itself, considering the times in which they lived. But during
the worst thing that could have ever happened,
she found an independence she valued and vowed to never relinquish.

Once she’d finished breakfast, Brooklyn set about starting her day, but Monday wouldn’t be Monday if it didn’t start with bad news.

The phone rang as she made her way toward the front door. For a brief moment, she’d thought about letting
the call go to the answering machine, but then thought better of it and turned around to answer it.

“Hello.”

“Brooklyn, I’m glad I caught you,” Cassandra Michaels, Brooklyn’s attorney, said in a pinched voice.

Brooklyn’s heart squeezed, certain that an unexpected call could be anything other than bad news. “Is there a problem?”

Cassandra’s hesitation was answer enough for Brooklyn and she slowly lowered herself into the armchair next to the phone. “What is it?”

“I’m going to be in and out for most of the day. Is there any way you can meet me for drinks at Kelly’s after hours this evening?”

“Can’t you just tell me what it is?”

Cassandra’s long exhalation was not a comforting sound. “We should talk face-to-face. Can you meet me?”

Yasmine reached Isaiah through the hospital telephone lines and he was immediately reprimanded for turning off his cell phone.

“There are people who are concerned for you and your mother’s well-being, you know?” Yasmine scolded, not bothering to hide her rising irritation.

Isaiah was comforted at the sound of Yasmine’s voice despite her obvious annoyance with him. Their relationship was an odd one, but it was one that he cherished. “I’m truly sorry, Yas. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’ll buy that excuse. So, what’s going on? How is she doing?”

“Good. She’s even surprising her doctors,” he answered. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she staged this whole thing just so she could get me over here for a visit.”

“I told you that you needed to visit her more often.”

“That you did,” he said, nodding against the phone. “One of these days I’m going to listen to you.”

She laughed. “That should be an interesting day.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Well,” Yasmine said, taking a deep breath. “Pearls of wisdom: stop beating yourself up over this. I highly doubt your mother wants you to stop living your life so you can play baby-sitter, but you should carve out more time in your busy schedule for visits. Did I leave anything out?”

Isaiah smiled as he held the phone and relished the words he needed to hear. “No. I think you covered everything.”

“Good. I should be in Atlanta in a couple of days. Before you start protesting, it’s strictly business. I have a meeting with some of our people out of the Atlanta office.”

“Convenient.”

“Isn’t it?”

Isaiah crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “And I guess you’ll be needing a place to stay?”

“Know any place?”

“The company would be welcome,” he said. “Thanks, Yas. You’re the best.”

“That’s what you keep telling me.”

“Speaking of business, you’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday.”

“All right. Why don’t you spare me the guessing game and just tell me?”

“Macy Patterson.”

“As in the chief executive officer of Cryotech?”

“The one and only. And not only that, she’s invited me to dinner with her and her fiancé tonight.”

“I’m impressed…and jealous. You’ve got to be the luckiest bastard this side of the western hemisphere. We’ve been trying to get a meeting with someone at that company for the past two years.”

“I know. And get this—she’s aware of the progress we’ve made on the cryogenetics implants and expressed an interest of partnering with Rotech.”

“I hate you.”

“I ain’t got nothin’ but love for you, baby.” He laughed and looked at his watch. “I got to go. Make sure you give me a call the minute you land.”

“You betcha.”

Brooklyn stared openmouthed at Cassandra, unwilling to accept what she’d just told her as fact. “What do you mean Evan is filing for bankruptcy? He’s not broke.”

Accustomed to Brooklyn’s temper, Cassandra braced herself for the inevitable explosion. “All I can tell you is that he has filed chapter thirteen.” She shrugged, and
then tried to ease the pain by saying, “Frankly, I think this is just a ploy to get the courts to reduce his alimony and child support.”

“Will it work?” Brooklyn balled her hands at her sides, confident that she wasn’t going to like her response, and Cassandra’s silence was worse than any answer she could have given. “I don’t believe this!”

“Ms. Douglas, there isn’t any reason to get worked up until we know more. He might be experiencing financial difficulties.”

“And Elvis Presley is alive and well and living comfortably in St. Thomas. Evan just doesn’t want to pay—end of story.” She jumped up from the table.

Cassandra held up her hands as if to remind Brooklyn she was an innocent party to all of this. “If that’s the case, the courts will find out. At most this ploy will only buy time.”

“Time for what?” she asked in a near shout. “Time for him to come up with another way he can screw me?”

“Brooklyn, I understand your frustration. Really, I do. But I need for you to be calm. We will get to the bottom of this. Just give us a little time.”

She took a deep breath, but her lungs exhaled a long stream of fury. “This isn’t fair.”

Cassandra, too, drew in a breath. “I know. And I’m doing my best to fix this for you.” She stood. “You have my word.”

Brooklyn clamped her mouth shut to prevent her angry retorts from tumbling out.

Their meeting ended with stiff handshakes, and by the time Brooklyn made it to her car, she was engulfed by a rage as deep and as wide as any ocean. But the last thing she wanted to do was to go home and cry into her pillow. She was tired of playing the victim and it was time to pay a visit to her abuser.

Networking had always been vital to Isaiah’s success as a businessman. And this business opportunity with Macy Patterson was one he could hardly ignore. It was to be a late dinner, giving him plenty of time to spend with his mother so he wouldn’t leave feeling guilty.

But he did feel guilty.

He drove up the long spiraling driveway, impressed by the lavish landscape. He’d always suspected Macy Patterson was a high-maintenance kind of a woman, and what lay before him only confirmed his theory.

When he got out of the car and stood in the night’s stillness, his senses were greeted with a bouquet of floral scents he couldn’t differentiate. At his quick knock at the door, he was surprised to be greeted by an older, distinguished-looking African-American gentleman.

“Hello. You must be Isaiah Washington,” the man said, stepping back and allowing him to enter.

“That would be me,” Isaiah answered, stepping into an opulent foyer.

The gentleman closed the door and turned toward him with an extended hand. “Dr. Evan McGinnis, Macy’s fiancé. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Isaiah hid his mild surprise behind a polite smile and accepted the offered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Ah, I see you met the man of my dreams.” Macy’s lyrical voice floated lazily on a southern drawl toward the two men.

They turned and greeted her with smiles.

Dr. McGinnis moved to her side and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “You look radiant,” he praised.

Isaiah watched their tender exchange, but wasn’t convinced their open show of affection was genuine.

Macy’s cool green eyes turned and appraised Isaiah. He shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of her stare. When she flashed him a quick smile, her piranha glint disappeared. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said.

“I did eat a little something at the hospital,” he answered.

“Then you’re a braver man than I,” Evan joked with a boisterous laugh.

Isaiah didn’t know why, but he didn’t like this toothy character.

Macy, however, shared with him a businesslike smile. “How is your mother doing?”

“A lot better, I’m pleased to say.”

“That’s great news.” She nodded firmly. “I’m sure she appreciates you rushing to be with her. It speaks volumes for your character.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’m just a boy who
loves his mother,” he joked as his uneasiness grew without explanation.

“Tell you what,” Evan jumped in. “Why don’t we move our little get-together over to the bar and I can fix you something to drink? If you’ve spent the day at the hospital, I know you could use one.”

Isaiah smiled and allowed them to lead him to a handsomely decorated study. Everything he passed oozed wealth and elegance and he couldn’t help but wonder about Dr. McGinnis’s specialty.

“What would you like?” Evan asked, taking his place behind the bar.

“Scotch on the rocks.”

“I’ll have the same,” Macy ordered, easing beside Isaiah and searing him with a mischievous smile. “I hope this isn’t too soon for us to start talking about business,” she said.

“Not at all.” Isaiah smiled, liking nothing more than to get down to business. “What exactly do you know about our latest developments at Rotech?”

“Not much. Just what has made it into print. But I can tell you it has a lot of people on our team excited and talking merger.”

That was music to Isaiah’s ears—just before there was a loud banging coming from somewhere in the house.

Macy perked up and tossed a questioning look at her fiancé.

“Now who on earth is that?” Evan set their drinks
down in front of Macy and Evan, and then headed toward the foyer.

Macy focused her attention back on Isaiah and did her best to pretend the ruckus wasn’t getting louder, but all pretenses failed when a woman’s voice thundered throughout the house.

Macy’s expression fell as if struck with instant recognition. “I don’t believe this,” she swore, jumping down from the bar stool, and then rushing toward the explosion of voices.

Isaiah’s curiosity was piqued as well as he, too, thought there was something vaguely familiar about the woman’s voice. He left the bar and headed toward the now three screaming voices. However, he wasn’t sure when he’d walked out of reality and into that strange dimension frequently called the Twilight Zone. But that was exactly what happened. It was the only thing that could explain why when he entered the foyer he was staring at a raging Brooklyn Douglas.

When Brooklyn’s gaze landed on Isaiah, she stopped yelling in midsentence as her eyes bulged with shock. “Isaiah?”

Macy and Evan stopped screaming as well and their heads jerked from Brooklyn to Isaiah, and then back again.

“You two know each other?” they asked in unison.

B
rooklyn struggled to navigate her way through the shock that had entombed her body. This had to be some trick of the mind, some ill-placed fantasy clouding her perception of reality. But as the seconds ticked along, she realized Evan and Macy were still waiting for an answer to their question.

“Do you two know each other?” Macy asked again.

Suspicion and anger charged back into Brooklyn’s expression. “What in the hell is going on here?” Her hands balled at her hips as her gaze swung back to Evan.

“Is this some kind of a joke?”

Macy jumped in between Evan and Brooklyn, but looked uncomfortable for having made such a bold
move. “I think it’s time you left. We’re entertaining a guest.”

“I can see that.” Brooklyn stepped forward so their faces were inches apart. “Now if you don’t mind, I was talking to my ex-husband.”

“Ex-husband?” Isaiah said, coming out of his trance.

Brooklyn’s murderous gaze swiveled in his direction. “Like you didn’t know.”

He blinked, but confusion continued to cloud his features. “How could I have known?”

“Would either of you mind telling me how you know each other?” Macy demanded, settling her hands on her hips.

Isaiah supplied an answer while his eyes settled on Brooklyn. “We’re…friends.”

Brooklyn’s chin lifted, daring him to say more. As she held his pewter stare, her body awakened with renewed yearning. Afraid her conflicting emotions were exposed, she deserted his gaze.

Evan pushed Macy out of the way and glared at Brooklyn. “What sort of friends?”

Brooklyn had trouble maintaining her anger while battling confusion and embarrassment. “How do you know my husband?” she asked Isaiah, ignoring Evan and uncertain she wanted an answer.

“Ex-husband,” Macy corrected.

“And my ex-best friend,” Brooklyn added as her gaze sliced toward Macy.

Isaiah frowned. “I don’t think I understand what’s going on,” he said cautiously.

“That makes two of us,” Brooklyn answered.

“Make it three,” Macy chirped.

“Four,” Evan said, unable to hide his irritation. “I’m still waiting to hear what sort of friend this man is to you.”

Everyone’s gaze raked him with that ridiculous question until he physically winced. “What? I have the right to know what type of company you keep while my impressionable son is under the same roof.”

Brooklyn’s temper exploded. “Don’t talk to me about impressions, you two-timing, lying sack of—”

“Shhh, Brooklyn. I still have a guest,” Macy hissed, trying to regain control over the situation. “Can’t we discuss this at another time?”

She glanced at Isaiah, her brain unable to absorb the fact he was there—in Evan and Macy’s home. The scene reeked of scandal, but with nothing that made any sense. “Then I guess I’ll just leave you to your
company,
” she sneered, and then pivoted toward the door.

“Wait!” Isaiah received shocked glares from his host and hostess.

Brooklyn, however, snatched the door open and bolted through it as though the devil snapped at her heels. As she raced into the night, a cool breeze kissed and erased the dewy tracks of her tears. The emotional roller coaster had knocked the wind out of her and she needed to go somewhere so she could think.

Her name floated on the air, but she couldn’t squelch the desire to flee. She jerked open her car door and jumped into the driver’s seat.

Isaiah reached her and nearly lost his fingers when she slammed the door, and then cranked the engine.

“Brooklyn, talk to me. This isn’t what you think,” he yelled and tapped on the glass.

“You have no idea what I think,” she shouted back, and then slammed her foot down on the accelerator.

He jumped back in time to save his feet, but was left to stand in the darkness dumbstruck.

He turned his gaze toward the couple standing in the front door’s threshold while they stared back as if he’d suddenly turned into a two-headed alien. It was perhaps the first time he couldn’t rely on his politician’s smile to get him out of a sticky situation.

Evan’s earlier jovial features were now a stony mask of hatred. He stepped forward, but stopped when Macy’s hand shot out to clutch his arm.

“Let me handle this,” she said, and then rushed onto the porch and down the small set of stairs.

Isaiah braced himself.

When Macy stopped in front of him, she had no trouble putting on her best face. “Well,” she said, smiling, “that was rather unexpected.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he said. His gaze cast over her shoulder and up at Evan. “I think your fiancé wants to kill me.”

“Now
that’s
putting it mildly,” she agreed.

They exchanged polite smiles for the awkward humor.

“I should go,” Isaiah announced, saving her the trouble of asking him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, still smiling. “But perhaps that would be best.”

Though he nodded, his head threatened to burst with questions he wanted to ask, but he knew he’d have to go elsewhere for answers. He turned in the direction of his car.

“I still have your card,” Macy informed him. “Maybe I could give you a call and we can talk?”

Isaiah faced her again.

She shrugged. “My company is very interested in Rotech’s vision. And I’d still like to discuss our interest.” She shifted under his stare. “That is
if
you’re still interested.”

Isaiah’s politician’s smile rode to the rescue as he nodded. “I think we can handle that. Call me tomorrow. I know just the person you can talk to.” With that he turned and walked over to his car. All the while, Evan’s heavy stare followed him. It wasn’t until Isaiah reached the highway that he began to breathe easier.

But the questions swirling inside his head wouldn’t go away, and neither would the image of Brooklyn.

Brooklyn made it home mentally and emotionally exhausted. Parked in her driveway, she stared up at her house. It wasn’t the sprawling mansion Evan lived
in, but it was a nice two-story home centered in a nice subdivision that was the embodiment of the American dream.
What crap.

“Come on, girl. Pull yourself together,” she whispered, without conviction or motivation. She leaned back and laid her head against the headrest as she stared at the house.

The night’s events had her at a loss for words. Nothing made sense these days. Oh, how her world stopped when Isaiah walked into that foyer. Even now, she couldn’t believe it. Was it fate or coincidence that kept tossing this man back into her life? Looking back on the incident, she wasn’t too sure that embarrassment and not anger was the reason she’d hightailed it out of there.

A light flicked on in Jaleel’s room and she sighed with reservation. He was probably up wondering about her whereabouts. She gathered her things and got out of the car. When she entered the house, she was relieved to see that Jaleel had straightened up—that is until she made it to the kitchen.

What was it about that boy and dishes? A noise caught her ear and she stopped at the base of the stairs, but the house had gone silent again. Shrugging, she dismissed the sound and continued up the stairs. As she neared Jaleel’s room, she caught shadows of movement from beneath the door seconds before the light clicked off.

Her hackles rose as curiosity dominated her thoughts. She crept toward his door and leaned in to hear what was happening on the other side.

A girl’s muffled giggle flared Brooklyn’s outrage and prompted her to burst into the room and flip on the light switch.

Jaleel sprang out of bed like a calico cat, dragging the top sheets with him to wrap around his naked body. His teenage girlfriend, Theresa, wasn’t as fortunate. She was left trying to hide her nudity with her hands, and then with the limp pillows that were sprawled behind her.

Brooklyn fought to close her mouth, but instead a stream of profanity spewed forth.

Embarrassment and contrition colored the children’s faces, and it wasn’t until Brooklyn barked for them to “put some damn clothes on” that either bothered to dash for their garments.

Brooklyn stormed back down the stairs, clicking on lights as she went, and all the while grumbling, “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him.” She snatched up the cordless phone and jabbed the number from memory to Theresa’s house and broke the heartbreaking news to the girl’s shocked parents. By the time the two teenagers made it down the stairs and joined her in the living room, Brooklyn’s anger had yet to cool.

Theresa’s parents arrived in record time and escorted the sobbing teenager home.

When Brooklyn closed the door behind them and turned to face her son, she was indifferent to his mask of anger.

“Did you have to call her parents?” he asked.

Brooklyn crossed her arms and squared her shoulders as she glared back. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she said. “I am the parent and I don’t answer to you. As of tonight you have lost my trust,” she snapped.

“Dad wouldn’t have called her parents,” he challenged.

“You’re not living with your dad.”

“I will be in a few days,” he sneered.

“Maybe I should change that.”

Jaleel’s smug expression fell. “You wouldn’t.”

Brooklyn lifted her chin and held her son’s gaze. “I’ve been very tolerant of a lot of crap from you and I’ve had enough. Since you have made it clear that you couldn’t care less about my feelings, maybe it’s time I stop caring so much about yours. Go to your room.”

She walked past him and headed toward the staircase.

“I’m not going to be able to stay with Dad this summer?” he asked again as though he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

Upstairs, she slammed her bedroom door before tears of frustration slid down her face.

Seconds later, Jaleel’s door slammed, too.

She hardly remembered undressing or sliding into the torn shirt she’d stolen from Isaiah in New York. For some strange reason, she drew comfort from it—even now. She slid into bed, but as she hugged her pillow tight, she couldn’t help wishing she had someone to
share her load. As she closed her eyes, a faded image of Isaiah drifted across her thoughts and a sigh of regret crested her lips.