The Foreigner's Caress. Kim Shaw
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she had heard every line from every guy, had memorized the instruction manual of the quintessential player trying to play her and could never again be caught off guard by anything, Stevenson Elliott entered her taxi and threw her completely off balance. This was especially true because of the fact that somehow she instinctively knew that the words he had just spoken were authentic and not just those of a smooth-talking Mac dropping sweet lines to hook some fresh catch.
Chapter 3
Sixty minutes turned into six hours. Those six hours were spent at a tall, round table for two, tucked in a back corner of a twenty-four-hour café sipping lattes and picking at powdered, sugar-frosted scones. Their conversation was slow and easy, straying from random subjects with the agility that usually came with time but had somehow been mastered by them instantaneously. Madison found Steve surprisingly candid, as he talked about his family and childhood. In addition, he was also as keen to listen to her speak as he was to talk himself, and she got the impression that he was genuinely interested in hearing her speak as opposed to simply trying to earn brownie points.
“I’ve been to England a few times myself…with my family. We visited London, of course, Buckinghamshire and Oxford. When my sister Kennedy was in high school she even entertained the idea of applying to the university there. I was struck by the beauty of the country, but I could never imagine living there. I mean, it was rainy most of the time we were there and the temperatures pretty much stayed the same all of the time. Have you ever thought about living somewhere else?” Madison inquired.
“Well, it’s not all that bad. I mean, it’s got a mixture of different types of people, great beautiful natural sights and besides, we’ve got two awesome football teams. I mean, it’s no New York City, but it’s nice.”
“I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to trash your homeland. I was just wondering aloud. I tend to open my mouth wide and stick my foot in it sometimes before I realize what I’m saying or to whom I’m saying it.”
“No, please don’t apologize. To answer your question, I have thought about living somewhere else. You see, I was not actually born in England.”
“Oh, no?” Madison asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
Steve’s clipped British accent was as authentic as any she’d ever heard. Secretly, the lilt of his words and the velvet cadence of his voice had already begun to do something to her. She found it hard to believe that he’d ever spoken any other language or dialect, so perfect was his intonation of the king’s language.
“No. I was born in the West Indies—St. Elizabeth, Jamaica, to be exact,” he confessed.
“I would never have guessed that,” Madison responded. “Do you visit home often?”
A noticeable shift in Steve’s relaxed features occurred and his eyes filled with something she could not discern, but could not deny existed. “Well, no, I haven’t been to Jamaica since I was five years old. It’s a long story, but once my parents made England our home, we pretty much left our earlier lives behind.”
Madison regarded Steve quietly, taking a long sip from her coffee. Though she’d only known him for a matter of hours, she could tell that the thing that cast a shadow over his words as he spoke about his birthplace was a profound sense of loss. As she didn’t know him well enough to push for more, she just reached across the table and placed her hand over the one of his that had absently begun drumming on the table.
“I know a little something about leaving the past behind. Sometimes that’s what you have to do in order to make way for a better future,” she said softly.
Their eyes met and held, and the flurry of emotions between them was combustible. Madison’s butter-pecan cheeks flamed, bringing color to her face and a glisten to her eyes.
“Someday you’ll have to tell me what that whole thing with the reporters was about,” he said at long last.
“Steve—” Madison began to protest.
Steve shook his head vehemently, cutting her off.
“I didn’t say today…someday, perhaps. Someday when you’ve grown to know me and to trust me with all of you,” he interrupted.
“What makes you so sure we’re headed toward that day?” Madison asked.
“I believe in fate, Madison. I do not believe that there are accidental meetings or chance phenomena. People come into your life for a reason. You are confronted with various situations for a purpose. Sometimes, we choose to ignore those signs…maybe because we’re afraid or because we believe that what we’ve planned for ourselves is the only avenue that we should travel. However, I’ve learned to accept what is presented to me, knowing that God would not put anything before me that is not meant for me to have.”
“Are you a religious man?” Madison asked.
“I like to think that I’m in touch with my spiritual self. When I was little, my parents and I attended Mass every Sunday bright and early. I took communion, listened to the word of God and did all the things a good little Catholic boy was supposed to do. Yet, I don’t think it was until college that I really began to understand what I’d been reading and hearing all of my life. Now I don’t go to church much, but I know that there is one ruler, one entity whose mercy directs all things great and small. I also know that the responsibility lies within me to live a good life and follow my purpose. What about you? Are you a good little church girl?”
“Me? Well, like you, I was raised going to church. Say your prayers, repent for your sins and honor your parents. I don’t think I ever really felt a connection to God though. I mean, believing in something is one thing but trusting in it to govern your life is something entirely different.”
Steve placed his other hand over Madison’s, smiling at her. “You have a hard time with trusting, don’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” Madison asked defensively.
They held each other’s gaze for a moment before they both erupted into side-splitting laughter.
“All right, so you might be right. But, in my defense, there are a lot of people out in the world who don’t mean you any good. You can’t trust everybody you come across. For all I know, you could be a mass murderer, wanted all across England for accosting women in taxis and dismembering them,” Madison laughed.
“For that matter, so could you. In fact, I do think I’ve seen a Wanted poster with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to you. Let me get a good look at you.”
Steve leaned closer, his chest resting against the edge of the round table that separated them. “Mmm-hmm—a perfect match.”
“What am I wanted for?”
“The charge was breaking hearts in the first degree. I think I’m going to make a phone call to see if they’re still offering a reward for your capture,” he said.
“Oh, like you need reward money. The Elliott Corporation is one of the highest-grossing corporations in this century,” she said.
“So, what does that mean?”
“That means you’re loaded. Oh, I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?”
“Let me correct you—my dad is loaded. The Elliott Corporation is his baby, not mine. Yes, I work for him, and yes, he’d like me to take over the business one day. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure if that’s what I want.”
“I see. Well, feel free to correct me again if I’m wrong, but your dad doesn’t seem like the type of man who’s going to let his son go off and find himself as opposed to taking his place at the helm of the family business. Just an observation,” she said.
Steve smiled a half smile and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not wrong, but I guess we’ll just wait and see what happens, huh?”
As the sun began to come up on the horizon, lighting up the never-sleeping,