Grown Folks Business (24 page)

“And something to read?”

Slowing the car, he reached over her, opened the glove compartment, and handed her a book like the one he had pulled out before.

In the dark she could see the gold letters—
Holy Bible, Pocket Edition.
She looked at Brock as if she hadn’t just spent hours with him.

Again he said, “What?”

She smiled. How could she tell him all that she thought when she looked at him? “Nothing. I just think…that was very nice.”

He leaned across the console. Before she could imagine what was happening, his hand touched hers. The moment was tender…and electric. His long fingers wrapped around her hand and squeezed gently. Then just as fast as his touch was there, it was gone.

She kept her eyes away from his, looking through the windshield, remembering his touch and the shivers that had surged inside her.

It’s a good thing he’s just dropping me off,
she thought, as he turned into her driveway.

Brock turned off the car, and Sheridan was surprised when she turned to him and he opened his door, leaving her. She’d been hoping he would touch her again. Give her a good-night kiss. Something to help her remember this night.

He’s way too much of a gentleman.

He helped her from the car, then walked her to the front door. For years she’d been able to open the door with her eyes closed, but tonight she fumbled with the key. Finally the lock clicked, and she turned back to Brock. In the dark his eyes were like matches, burning right through her.

“I had a great time,” she was able to say.

“I tried to tell you. Dinner with me is always a good time. So, I won’t have to work so hard to get a date next time, right?”

Next time?
She smiled. “I’ll give you a call.” She moved to turn, but he stepped closer, blocking her.

“I was hoping you’d give me something more.”

The horror on her face made him laugh. “A good-night kiss, Sheridan. That’s all.” Then his cheer went away, and his fiery gaze made her smolder some more.

Sheridan’s eyes darted around the surrounding homes, settling on Mrs. James’s across the street. She imagined the old woman peeking from behind those heavy curtains, watching her kissing a stranger at midnight.

“Why don’t you come inside?” she said.

It was his turn to show surprise and Sheridan’s turn to laugh. “I don’t want my neighbors…”

He nodded and followed Sheridan. The light from the outside door illuminated the room, washing it in a golden glow.

She leaned against the banister. “You know, Brock, I don’t know the rules, but I’m sure no one kisses on the first date.”

He chuckled. “You’re right. You don’t know the rules. People do a lot more than kiss.”

She shook her head. “Not this girl,” she said playfully.

“Glad to hear that.” She frowned, and he said, “Glad to know I was right about you. With what women are willing to do these days, it’s nice to meet someone who holds on to their principles.” He paused. “So good night, Sheridan.”

When he moved toward the door, she wanted to scream that she’d only been kidding. She wanted to at least feel his lips on hers. But before the words rushed from her, he turned around.

“You know, technically,” he began, rubbing his chin as if he were in deep thought, “this isn’t really our first date. We’ve been out twice—really three times.”

She laughed and crossed her arms. “You have to explain that to me.”

“Well,” he said, taking a step toward her, “the first time was when we met at church.” He held up his hand, stopping her protest. “In many circles, those five minutes count as a date. Now the second time,” he took another step, closing the space between them, “was when we were at Starbucks. Any time you spend a couple of hours with someone, it’s definitely a date.” He paused as he took another step. “And the third time,” he held up his hands as if he were resting his case, “was this wonderful evening.” The next step he took put him so close she could smell the lingering aroma of the cheesecake they’d shared. “So you see, Ms. Hart,” he said in that voice that had the potential to bring her to her knees, “I’ve been waiting for a kiss for a long time.”

She would have laughed if her heart weren’t beating so fast. With the confidence he’d worn since the moment they’d met, he lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was tender, soft, wonderful, just as she’d imagined. When his arms wrapped around her, her purse slipped through her fingers, and she fell into the gentleness of his embrace.

And then the stalker returned.

The images of Quentin and Jett. Holding hands. Touching. Kissing. Caressing.

She moaned, trying to push the images away. She moaned and he pulled her closer.

He leaned into her, and she could feel every inch of his desire. He wanted her. Quentin wanted Jett.

For a moment his tongue left hers, and he kissed her face, her neck, her shoulder, making her quiver.

“Sheridan,” he whispered in that voice.

She was ready to bow down. The heat inside her rose, taking her to a place where she had to have more.

Still connected, she backed him toward the staircase until he hit the first step. He pulled back slightly, and his eyes asked the question. Her lips answered when she pressed her mouth to his, and they climbed the stairs, legs, arms, lips entwined.

She wasn’t sure how they made it to her bedroom, but she was more amazed they were still wearing clothes.

He slipped her jacket from her shoulders and massaged her bare arms until goosebumps were on every part of her. He took off her top, and then his tongue teased her.

She wanted to scream, demand that he take her, take her quickly, or she would die. But she couldn’t pull her lips away to tell him.

She was sure hours had passed before she was standing covered only by her La Perla bra and panties. He pulled back for a moment, and she hoped it was a smile of appreciation that crossed his face.

He laid her on the bed, but when she reached for the buttons on his shirt, he gently pushed her hand away and stood.

“I just want to look at you,” he said.

He shrugged the jacket from his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. His eyes never left her as he stripped, slowly, seductively, making her a promise.

His eyes seared her. “You are so beautiful.”

Still he stood above her, until his naked, muscle-packed body glistened in the dark.

Still he stood above her, and she felt as beautiful as he said she was.

Still he stood above her. His eyes whispering that he wanted her. Her eyes screaming that she needed him.

It was torture. It was agony. It was ecstasy.

When he finally lowered his weight onto her, she kissed him, grateful to feel him once more.

His lips, his hands, his eyes did things to her she’d almost forgotten. He rolled over, pulling her on top. She removed her bra, and drank in the lust, love—it didn’t matter what it was—that was in his eyes.

She was a woman.

Wanted by a man.

She kissed him, then frowned when he reached for his jacket. It took a moment for her to recognize the plastic packet.

What am I doing here?

But that questioning thought was gone when he joined with her and she moaned as if it were her first time.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, because she had forgotten how to speak English. But the memory of love rushed throughout her body. And she forgot who she was. The only thing she knew was she wanted this man.

He made love to her as if he loved her. Slowly, at times. Gently, at times. Urgently, always. He caressed her with words, telling her he wanted every part of her.

And she drank in all that he said.

Their love continued for hours, until there was no more within them. At the end she collapsed into his arms. And he held her. And planted small kisses on top of her head. And he held her some more. Then he slept.

She didn’t close her eyes. She didn’t want to sleep. She just wanted to rest and remember.

Her legs covered his. His arms covered hers.

Sheridan opened her eyes to the glow of the new day’s sun peeking through the curtains. She had no idea what time it was, even though she’d fought to stay awake, wanting to be aware of each passing hour.

She twisted, trying to glance at the clock, but Brock’s embrace tightened. She wondered if he was awake. But his eyes were closed, his breathing sleep-steady. Even in his unconsciousness, he wanted her near.

“You wake up early,” he said, shattering that thought.

Still she smiled. “It’s not early.” She sat up and pulled a corner of the sheet over her. The clock told her she’d been right. It was just after ten.

“It’s early to me.” He turned on his side, rested on his elbow, and tugged the sheet from her, leaving her exposed.

She combed through her hair and turned away from his stare. With his fingers, he brought her back, making her look at him. “I had a wonderful time last night,” he said, as if he knew those were the words she needed to hear.

She leaned back and he sat up. He kissed her, gently. But then passion grew and she begged him to take her again.

“Mom!”

Sheridan’s eyes opened wide. “Oh. My. God.” She tore from Brock’s embrace and jumped from the bed. “That’s my son.”

“Okay.” Brock held up his hands. “Go talk to him. I’ll get dressed and then get out of here without him seeing me.”

Sheridan grabbed her robe. She was shaking when Brock jumped from the bed and held her for a moment. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Mom!”

His voice was closer. Sheridan stepped into the hallway, closing her bedroom door behind her. “Christopher, what are you doing home?”

He grinned. “Is that any way to speak to your number one son? I thought you’d be glad to see me.” He handed her purse to her. “This was on the floor downstairs.”

She grabbed her bag and waved her hand in the air. “It must have fallen…”

He moved toward his bedroom. “I just came to change my clothes and get my golf clubs. Darryl’s mom’s going to take us to the course.”

Darryl. Golf. She would have been delighted if she weren’t terrified.

Christopher stepped into his bedroom, and Sheridan leaned against the wall. But before she could inhale a breath of relief, Christopher leaned back into the hallway.

“Whose car’s in the driveway?”

Oh, my God.
“Ah, it belongs to a friend. Who had to leave his…their car here overnight…because…he…they needed to leave it.” She hoped it didn’t sound as stupid to him as it did to her.

Christopher frowned, shrugged, and then stepped back into his room, and Sheridan tiptoed back into hers. She had a quick moment of relief when Brock stood before her, dressed.

“I’m ready,” he whispered.

“Let me make sure he’s still in his bedroom.” Sheridan reached for the doorknob, but Brock pulled her to him. He kissed her, and even though her son was just feet away, she reveled in the embrace for a moment.

When she stepped back, he said, “I’ll call you.”

Sheridan peeked outside and then nodded to Brock. They stepped into the hallway.

“Mom!” Christopher came from his bedroom before they had taken three steps. “Mom?”

She decided this would be the perfect moment for Jesus to return. But then she wondered why she would turn to Him now. Although she had called His name a million times last night, she hadn’t been thinking about Jesus at all.

Sheridan took a breath, turned around, and said, “Christopher,” as if she were delighted to see him.

He moved toward her, his eyes all the time on Brock.

“Christopher, this is Brock Goodman.” She wanted to say more but couldn’t think of any new words.

Brock held out his hand. Moments passed, but Brock held his smile and his hand in the air. Finally, without a word, Christopher shook his hand, turned, and walked back toward his bedroom.

“Christopher, did you need anything?” Sheridan asked.

“Naw, never mind.” This time, he closed his bedroom door, and Sheridan closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Brock said.

At the bottom of the stairs, he said, “I’m sorry about Christopher, but I’m not sorry about last night.”

She allowed herself a moment to remember.

He touched her chin. “I’ll call you,” he said before he stepped out the door.

Her eyes followed him, and she stood until the Camry backed out of the driveway.

When she turned around, Christopher was at the top of the stairs with his golf bag draped over his shoulder.

Sheridan tightened her robe.

“I’m going back to Darryl’s,” he said, as he bounced toward her. He stopped at the door. “Is it okay if I spend the night over there?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She had to say something. “How was last night?” she asked.