Della strutted back and forth between blind rage and anguished tears. Her emotions were on a serious roller-coaster ride. Every few minutes they took another dip, another wild curve.
No one should have the power to make you feel this way, she blasted herself. She was generally in control of her emotions, kept things in perspective. But from the moment she’d met Matt Hawkins, all of her guidelines to behavior went right out the window.
She plopped down on the bed and pointed the remote toward the television, sniffing and wiping her eyes with her free hand. She’d waited until she was certain everyone had left the shop before she went home, and had only spoken to Ruthie and Reggie from behind her closed office door.
How could he have done this to me? she fumed. Better yet, how could she have done it to herself? She slammed the remote on the bed in concert with a Jerry Springer guest who’d just delivered a right hook to her lying boyfriend. Inexplicably Della found herself rooting and cheering for the distraught young woman. “That’s it, girl, whip his tail.… You’re right, he shouldn’t have lied to you.… Don’t listen, sister, he’s just gonna lie again.…”
Della stared at the roaring crowd, who grew wilder by the minute as they watched the melee on stage.
“What am I doing?” she said suddenly, pointing the remote to shut off the set. “I’m just as bad as these fools on television.”
She padded off to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Looking up, she jerked back in alarm when she saw her reflection. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and her skin looked parched.
“This is ridiculous.” She splashed some more cold water on her face, then foraged around in the medicine cabinet for her cucumber cream, which she gingerly applied around her eyes. She turned on the tub and added two capfuls of almond oil and one cap of bubbles.
Out in the living room, she took a scented vanilla candle from the étagère, lit it, and placed it on the windowsill above the bathtub. Wrapping her hair in a towel, she put a Noel Pointer CD in the player and turned it up loud enough to be heard in the bathroom.
Della slipped in between the bubbles and sank down into the steamy water, letting it slowly ease the tension from her limbs. The last time she felt this way, her ex-husband David came home to tell her he was leaving her for another woman. It was that stunned, Say what? This can’t be happening to me sensation. She’d given that man eighteen years of her life and he’d discarded it like an old shoe for a new one. But once she got herself together, David Frazier became a distant memory.
She’d taken charge of her life from that moment on and hadn’t looked back. She was too old to be going through any changes about some man. So what if Matt made her feel good for a hot minute? So what if his kisses made her light-headed and his touch had her feeling like she was twenty years old again? She’d been around the block enough times to know that he was feeling it too. She emerged from the tub with a new attitude and plan. He wasn’t going to get off that easy.
Pulling out her favorite fire engine–red minidress, she laid it across the bed and began to prepare for a night on the town.
* * *
Matt sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the phone. He’d been debating for hours about calling Della and explaining what had happened. And for each reason he came up with for calling, he found another reason not to do it. Maybe Paul was right and he should turn the case over to someone else. He was no longer thinking objectively. At least it wouldn’t be him who had to drop the ax.
But that was the coward’s way out, and he’d never been one to pass the buck. What he needed to do was be honest about the situation and try to explain it to Della. She had to know that he’d tried everything, and the reason why he’d been trying so hard was because he cared about her—really cared.
He supposed what was so difficult for him to deal with was the fact that he would disappoint her. He’d made a promise and failed, and failure in himself was something he couldn’t swallow. But he couldn’t hide out in his apartment or behind his desk. He had to face her at some point. She deserved that much.
He reached for the phone and it rang in his hand.
“Hello?”
“So you’re not dead.”
“Della?”
“I guess you weren’t expecting to hear from me, even though I was expecting to hear from you.”
“Della, I can explain everything.”
“And you will. Are you dressed?”
He looked down at his jeans and wrinkled shirt, the clothes he’d been in all day. “Not really.”
“Well, why don’t you get yourself together and meet me in front of the Village Vanguard in an hour? Think you can do that?”
“Uh, sure. But—”
“See you in an hour. Don’t be late.”
Click.
Della briefly closed her eyes and prayed she knew what she was doing.
* * *
It was just about ten when Della pulled up in her Volvo in front of the Vanguard. Couples were filing in for the next show headlined by Wynton Marsalis and his band.
She eased into a no parking zone so she could watch the flow of traffic into the club. She was there about ten minutes when she spotted Matt coming down the block.
Her stomach started doing those little flips as she watched his approach. The man looked good, there was no denying that. He wore a cream-colored, three-button cotton knit shirt beneath a black leather jacket, with black pants. There was an assurance in his stride, the proud tilt of his head and easy body language as if he moved to a slow, intimate rhythm. She could almost hear the beat.
She smiled.
Matt stopped in front of the door and casually looked around. It was nice to know that he was looking for her, and Della wondered what he’d think when he saw her. She pulled off, drove around the block, and found a parking spot. Moments later she was turning the corner and turning heads in the process. Yeah, she still had it.
He turned and his mouth went dry. Della. She was a vision that moved toward him with total awareness as if he were the only man on earth. His hormones went on a sudden rampage and it took every ounce of willpower to keep the obvious under control.
“Glad to see you could make it,” she said, stopping in front of him.
The soft, intoxicating scent of her floated to his head, invaded his pores.
“You … you look—”
“So do you. Ready? The show should be starting soon.”
It was an exhilarating sensation to see the cool Matt Hawkins on simmer, Della thought with delight as she walked in front of him and inside the dimly lit nightclub.
They found a table and Della ordered a raspberry margarita. Matt ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. Maybe a good stiff drink would take his mind off Della’s legs, the dangerous dip in the front of that dress, and the come-hither look that intermittently flashed in her eyes.
He was totally confused, and suddenly felt like a pimply-faced teen in the backseat of his father’s car trying to figure out what to do with the prom queen. What was going on?
“The only thing I can think of is that somehow we missed each other earlier. Or maybe I was mistaken in thinking we had plans for this evening,” Della said over the rim of her glass.
“There was no mistake.” He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. “I should have called.”
“You ready to tell me why you didn’t?” She licked her lips, enjoying the fruity taste on her mouth and the look in Matt’s eyes.
He swallowed a gulp of his drink. “I have some bad news and I didn’t know how to tell you, not after the promise I made.”
“Whatever it is, you could have called.”
He lowered his head and nodded. “You’re right.” He took a breath and then began to explain everything that had happened, beginning with the phone call from Paul.
With every word, Della’s heart sank. Yet at the same time, her admiration for Matt grew. He wasn’t a coldhearted bureaucrat, but a man who cared—cared about her. Her heart beat a bit faster in her chest.
Della reached across the table and took his hand in hers. “It’s not your fault, Matt. You did everything you could. And I can’t let you jeopardize your job for me. I won’t let you do that.” She sighed. “I’ll just have to find a way to pay the money. Maybe a bank loan or something.”
“I could loan you the money.”
Her eyes widened in astonishment. “You can’t be serious.”
“Hey, if you need it, consider it done. We could work it out as a business loan. It’s going to be hell for you to get a loan from the bank when they see that you owe the IRS.”
“I can’t let you do that.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t. I’ll figure something out.”
“At least think about it, Della. I want to help. I—I care about you. More than I realized, and I don’t think I could stand it if you lost the shop, not knowing how much it means to you, to your staff.”
She let out a breath. “I’ll think about it. But it’s my very last alternative.”
“I understand.”
“What are you going to tell your boss on Monday?” she asked.
“Leave it to me, I’ll think of something.” He smiled gently at her. “How about a dance, pretty lady?”
“I think that’s just what the lady needs,” she answered.
The band moved into their rendition of the Billie Holiday classic “God Bless the Child.”
Della closed her eyes and rested her head on Matt’s shoulder, swaying to the music. “Mama may have, papa may have, but God bless the child that’s got his own,” she hummed. Isn’t that the truth, she thought.
* * *
Della and Matt spent the rest of the weekend together, putting their troubles aside and just enjoying each other’s company. They visited museums, popped in and out of sidewalk cafés in the Village, and ended up Sunday night at Banditos wolfing down some of the best Mexican food they’d both had in a while.
“I’ve had a wonderful weekend, Della,” Matt said on the steps of her brownstone. “I’m glad you seduced me,” he teased.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she tossed back with a wicked grin.
“If you hadn’t come to me, I would have come to you. I wouldn’t have been able to stay away,” Matt confessed.
“Is that true?”
“Absolutely.”
She reached out and ran a finger along his jaw: “What are we going to do, Matt? Our relationship has spelled trouble from the beginning.”
“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to pull myself off of your case. I have to. I can’t let this job come between us.” He stepped closer and slid his arm around her waist. “The only thing I ask is that you don’t wear that red dress for the next examiner. I wouldn’t want to have to hurt somebody.”
“You sound like someone staking out a claim, Mr. Hawkins. Is that what you’re doing?”
“What do you think?” he asked, seconds before moving his mouth slowly over hers, memorizing the soft texture of her lips, the taste of her, the feel of her breath as it rushed over his mouth. With great difficulty he eased away.
“So, tell me, Ms. Della, what do you think?”
Her eyes trailed up and down his face. “I’d say you have all rights reserved.”
“There’s no turning back for me, Della. Not now. I need you to understand that. I intend to put everything into seeing this work between us, whatever that takes. What about you?”
“It’s the best proposition I’ve heard in a long time.”