Rhythms of Love: You Sang to Me / Beats of My Heart. Beverly Jenkins
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she replied, “Gram’s from Louisiana. She can make a cardboard box taste good.”
He glanced her way. “You cook, too?”
“Yep, but not as good as she does.”
“I’d be big as a Klump if I lived here.”
She chuckled. “First time I ever heard it put that way, but to answer your question about working in housekeeping, almost two years.”
That gave him pause. He wanted her to sing, not be on her knees scrubbing tubs even if it was good honest work. “Do you like working at the hotel?”
“I do. The guests can get on your nerves sometimes and it’s hard work, but it’s a job. In this economy, I’m glad to have anything that pays the bills.”
He knew she was right of course. The sheer size of his personal wealth insulated him from having to worry about the everyday issues that impacted folks on the opposite end of the economic spectrum, and it made him wonder how the Vaughn women were doing financially. Were they up-to-date on their mortgage or in danger of foreclosure? There was food in the house and they had lights and heat, but were they robbing Peter to pay Paul in order to make their bills? He didn’t know them well enough to ask something so personal, nor would he be so disrespectful, but she couldn’t be making much money cleaning rooms. Did she have health insurance? “Being in the music business can change your life.”
“For better or worse?”
He studied her over his raised cup. “I’d say better.”
“I’d say, depends.”
“Why?”
“I just do.”
“Come on, girl. You can’t just throw that statement out there with no explanation. What’s up with all this negativity?”
For a moment she didn’t respond, but he could see from her unfocused stare that she seemed to be elsewhere. “Talk to me, please?” he asked softly.
Reggie was debating whether to tell him the truth. He’d been so polite and nice all evening she supposed he’d earned it. Maybe when he heard what she had to say, he’d understand the other reason why she was so hesitant to throw caution to the wind. “My mother had one of the best voices in the city. Sang backup for one of the Grady girl groups. A record executive turned her on to heroin and she overdosed one night in Copenhagen.”
Jamal’s heart turned over. This wasn’t even close to what he’d been expecting to hear. “How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “My condolences.”
“Thanks…”
She looked haunted by her sadness. Seeing it filled him with an urge to make it so she’d never experience such pain again. “I’m not going to rip you off or give you drugs. You have an amazing voice and you could go so far in this business. How’s your grandmother feel about my offer?”
“She’s all for it, of course. When I told her about meeting you, she called me Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and said it was time for me to put on my ruby-red slippers and start walking down the yellow brick road.”
“I like your grandmother.”
“She liked you, too.”
“But you don’t agree with her?”
“I do, but it’s hard to know what’s right. I have a job and prospects for a better one if I can keep saving up and finish school.”
“Okay, tell you what. I’m going to leave you alone for a few days. I’ll fly back to L.A., and then call you to see if you’ve made a decision.” He was not going to let the best voice he’d discovered in nearly a decade slip away. “You still have my card, right?”
She looked embarrassed. “No. I tossed it after you left.”
“You’re a mess, you know that?”
Holding his humor-filled gaze, Reggie wondered what it might be like to have him in her life for real.
“Do you believe in fate?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Well, I do and I believe that I was supposed to run into you at the hotel.”
“Why?”
“To hear you singing.”
She didn’t respond.
“The music gods have sent me to show you the way to the mountaintop, and I’m not coming back empty-handed, so know that.”
“Now who’s a mess?”
He shot her a dazzling smile before glancing down at his watch. “I should get moving so you can go to bed.”
Reggie hadn’t expected to have such a nice time. “Thanks for understanding where I’m at.”
“No problem, but like I said, this ain’t over.”
She got the sense that he was enjoying the challenge. “If you say so.”
“I do.” He drained the last of his coffee and took out his phone to call his driver.
Jamal wasn’t anxious to end the evening. Watching her, he wanted to sit in her cozy little kitchen with his pie and coffee and talk to her until sunrise. He’d learned a bit more about her tonight, so he supposed he’d have to be content with that.
While he made his call, Reggie checked him out. Instead of the usual black he was wearing gray. On his wrist was an elaborately carved silver bracelet with a huge blue sapphire in its center. The handsome face hadn’t changed, though. The thin razor cuts that ran from his jaws down to the well-groomed hair on his chin gave his dark face just a hint of danger. Everything about him was enough to make a woman pant.
When he ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket, she got to her feet. “I’ll get your coat.”
“Thanks.”
More aware of his presence than she’d ever been of any man, she didn’t have to turn and look to know that he was following; she could feel his heat. She wondered if he could feel hers.
She suspected he could.
Opening the small closet by the front door, she withdrew his coat, a black wool topper, and handed it over.
He voiced his thanks as he put it on and did up some of the buttons. Once he was done, he stood silently for a moment watching her. That drowning sensation rolled over her again, but this time she didn’t look away. “Thanks for not pressuring me. It was nice meeting you.” The thought of him leaving for L.A. tomorrow and maybe never seeing him again left her with a strange sense of longing.
“Even nicer meeting you.”
A car horn blew outside.
“That’s my driver.”
She opened the door. Wind-whipped snow could be seen through the frosty panes of the storm door. “Have a safe trip back.”
He handed her another one of his cards. “Keep this one, okay? No trashing allowed.”
She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Okay.”
For a long moment they fed visually on each other, then he leaned down and pressed a soft parting kiss against her forehead. “Stay sweet,” he whispered. “I’ll be in touch.”
Before she could recover, he was gone. Dazed, she closed the door and leaned back against it. Her fingers touched the sweet sting left by his kiss. Her whole body felt warm, opened. If just that brief brush of his lips could deliver such a wallop, she couldn’t imagine what kind of fireworks his hands must set off. Good Lord. She was so stunned she was still standing that way when her grandmother came down the stairs a few minutes