Duncan swung his legs off the sofa. Reclining had allowed him to relax. He was scheduled to meet with a new client, and initial meetings were usually long, with a litany of ongoing questions. Many of his Harlem clients couldn’t afford to take the risks as he’d executed with those who’d signed with CEMS.
Clients like Gail Hamilton were self-centered, greedy and impatient. They expected their brokers to work miracles. Anytime their portfolios were in the seven-figure range their attitudes changed, they became more demanding and at times quite aggressive. They checked the stock prices on the Internet, television cable channels dedicated solely to finance and read the Wall Street Journal from the first page to the last.
The longer Duncan had worked at CEMS the more he’d come to respect the clients who tended to micromanage their accounts. Who better to watch one’s own money than oneself?
However, the risks he initiated on behalf of the firm’s clients did not apply to him when he set up his own portfolio. Duncan invested only what he could afford to lose. He’d begun with an initial investment of twenty-five-thousand dollars, doubled that the second year, and within four years the bottom-line figure in his personal portfolio was staggering. After purchasing the condo, he withdrew all but ten percent, reinvesting in treasury bills and municipal bonds, also known as “munis.”
He returned to his desk and buzzed Mia. “Do I have any messages?”
“You have four, Duncan. Micah Sanborn called from the Kings County DA’s office. He said you can call him back at your convenience. He left numbers where you can reach him.”
Duncan knew Micah was calling him about his aunt’s former tenant, who was out on bail, out of the classroom and living with his mother in Queens. “What’s the second one?”
“It’s from Ava Warrick. She asked for your e-mail addy because she’s sending a mailing list you’d asked for.”
Clicking a button on the wireless mouse, Duncan saw that Kyle’s fiancée had sent him the names and addresses for the get-together at his condo. He downloaded the attachment and printed out two copies. One he would leave in the office and the other he would take home. Ava had sent him a list of twenty-three names. The starred ones indicated those who would bring a guest.
“I got it, Mia. Who else called?”
“A Mrs. Fletcher called to say your order is complete, and you can pick up everything tomorrow morning any time after ten.”
A smile of complete satisfaction deepened attractive lines around Duncan’s eyes. “Please call the car service and have a driver pick me up at my house tomorrow morning at nine.”
Duncan never had to follow up on whatever he told Mia. She’d been referred to him by a social services agency which sought to employ Harlem residents in Harlem-based businesses. When Mia had come in for an interview, her only marketable skill was the ability to answer the telephone in a businesslike manner. Her computer knowledge was limited to the Internet.
When he suggested she take some part-time business courses to improve her skills, courses he’d offered to pay for, Mia had told him she couldn’t afford to pay a babysitter to watch her toddler daughter who attended a state-funded daycare center during the day.
Duncan paid for the business courses and the cost of babysitting and his investment in Mia Humphrey was repaid tenfold. Her organizational skills proved invaluable during the tax season. “What’s the last call?”
“Dr. Wolcott. She wants you to call her because she needs a referral for a divorce attorney.”
He whispered a silent prayer of gratitude. She’d gotten back to him. “Did Dr. Wolcott leave a number?”
“Yes. It’s her cell.”
“Please give it to me.”
Duncan wrote down the number and then repeated it. When Tamara had called him, the number that had come up on his ID was her home number. He didn’t have her cell number or a number at the hospital. He knew it was probably easier to reach her through the hospital but hadn’t wanted to breach the boundaries Tamara had established. If she’d wanted him to have her alternate numbers she would have offered them.
“The receptionists are ordering lunch for the building. Do you want anything?”
“No, thank you. My one o’clock meeting won’t be in the office.” Duncan had made it a practice not to see first-time clients in the office because he discovered people were more relaxed when conducting business while eating and drinking. “I’m going to return these calls, then I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”
Duncan decided to call Micah first. He called his office number, but was informed that the ADA was meeting with a judge, and wouldn’t be available until later that afternoon. He hung up without leaving a message, knowing he could always reach him at home.
Taking a quick glance at his watch, Duncan noted the time. He had to leave within fifteen minutes to get to the Upper-East-Side restaurant before his potential client arrived. He’d learned early in his business career that he should always arrive at a designated location at least a quarter of an hour before his client. A late arrival indicated not only a lack of respect, but also a total disregard for the other’s importance.
He dialed the number of Tamara’s cell, his fingers drumming nervously on the top of the desk as he waited for the connection. “Hello, Duncan,” she said in singsong.
Duncan smiled. “Hello, Tamara. How are you?”
“I’m good. Did your secretary give you my message?”
“Yes she did. Did you get my message?”
“What message, Duncan?”
“I called you Monday.”
“I’ve been away since Monday, and I hadn’t bothered to pick up my messages. What did you say?”
“You’ll find out when you listen to the message.”
“That’s not fair, Duncan.”
“What’s fair is once you get a boyfriend you should always check your voice mail.”
There came a beat. “Is that what you are? A boyfriend?”
“What else can I be, Tamara? I’m definitely not your lover.”
Another pause ensued before Tamara said, “I can’t respond to that now because I’m in a public place.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the waiting room of a train station. I’m on my way back to the city.”
Duncan sobered. He’d hoped she would respond to his reference to being her boyfriend. “You were asking about a divorce attorney.”
“Yes. I know someone who’s thinking of divorcing her husband and she would like a consultation before she files the necessary papers.”
“I know Kyle doesn’t take on divorce cases, but I’ll let you talk to him. I’m going to put you on hold while I call him.” Duncan hit speed dial for Kyle’s private number and listened to a recording that Kyle Chatham would be out of the office and would return the Tuesday following the holiday weekend. He reconnected with Tamara. “He’s out of the office until after Labor Day.”
The entire building would be closed the following day. He, Ivan and Kyle had agreed when they’d set up their businesses in the brownstone that they would give their employees the day off the Friday before a holiday weekend. They would be given a four-instead of a three-day weekend.
“Damn,” she whispered, “I suppose I’m not going to get anyone until after the holiday.”
“If you’re really anxious to talk to Kyle, then come with me to his place this weekend.”
“What’s happening this weekend?”
“He and his fiancée are hosting a cookout on Sunday.”
“Duncan, I’m certain he’s not going to be in a mood to talk business at a cookout.”
“He will if I ask him.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“No, Tamara, I’m not kidding. Kyle, Ivan and I are as close as brothers. If one of us needs something, then the others step up and do it. No questions asked.”
“You guys must have an awesome bond.”
“We do,” Duncan confirmed without a hint of guile. “Now to change the subject. When am I going to see you again?”
“Are you free tomorrow night?”
He smiled. “It just so happens that I am. In fact I’m free all day tomorrow. What do you want to do?”
“Are you ready for your cooking lessons?”
“Yes. But we don’t have to start tomorrow night.”
“Yes, we do, Duncan. It’s futile to avoid the inevitable.”
“We’re going to have to go food-shopping.”
“Don’t worry about that, darling. I’ll call in an order and have it delivered to your place. I plan to give you a crash course in preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
Duncan wondered whether Tamara was aware that she’d called him darling. “Are we going to cook at your place?”
“We can’t. Remember, I have a roommate.”
“Well, since I don’t have a roommate, then you can stay with me.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for a house guest?”
“If the guest looks like you, then the answer is yes.” Duncan took another glance at his watch. “Look, baby, I’d love to talk some more, but I have a meeting out of the office and I have to leave now or I’ll be late.”
“Call me at home tonight and we’ll set a time to meet tomorrow.”
“You’ve got it. I’ll talk to you later.”
“La-ter, Dun-can,” she sang in singsong.
“La-ter, Ta-ma-ra,” he intoned, smiling. He was still smiling when he walked out of the brownstone to hail a taxi to take him to his favorite East-Side restaurant.
* * *
Tamara heard the music on the fourth-floor landing, and it became louder and louder as she approached the top floor. There were only two apartments on the fifth floor—hers and that of an elderly couple who’d moved in during the rentcontrol era. The driving baseline beats of hip-hop, approaching earshattering decibels was coming from her apartment.
Groaning inwardly, Tamara unlocked the door. The volume on her sound system was so high that she was unable to understand the lyrics or identify the hip-hop artist. She had to talk to Rodney about the loud music because the last thing she wanted or needed was problems with her neighbors.
She kicked off her shoes, set her bag on the floor and dropped a stack of mail on the foyer table. Walking on bare feet, she made her way through the living room, coming up short when Rodney walked out of the bathroom without a stitch of clothing on.
Her jaw dropped. “Whoa!”
“Sorry.”
She and Rodney had spoken in unison.
Tamara recovered first and turned on her heel, heading for her bedroom. She didn’t mind Rodney staying with her, but he couldn’t walk around naked, and he couldn’t play his music that loud. She hadn’t taken more than three steps when the music stopped.
Sitting on the padded bench at the foot of her bed she thought about the three days she’d spent in Wheatley Heights with Renata when she’d wanted to spend that time with Duncan.
Tamara smiled. Even when she spoke to him by phone she felt as if he was right there with her, that a vaguely sensuous sensation came through the phone to wrap her in a cocoon of longing and protection.
She remembered he said he’d left a message on her voice mail. Moving off the bench, she reached for the phone and punched in the code to retrieve her messages. There were three—one from Renata, who thanked her for being there for her. The second was from a clerk at a bookstore who’d called to say the book she wanted had come in. The last one was from Duncan: “Tamara, this is Duncan. Please do not invite me to share your bed again, and then expect me to walk away without making love to you.”
She closed her eyes as the impact of his sensual warning seeped into her, bringing with it heat, then chills. When they’d gotten into bed together to watch the movie she hadn’t planned on falling asleep. She hadn’t known when he’d turned off the television, the bedside lamp or when he had left her apartment.
“Wolcott.”
Tamara turned to find Rodney standing outside the bedroom. He’d put on a pair of jeans with a T-shirt. “Yes, Fox?”
“I’m sorry about flashing my naked ass.”
She smiled. “Try and remember I’m not your girlfriend. I don’t need to see your family jewels. And, you can’t play your music that loud. I have elderly neighbors at the end of the hall who—”
“I understand,” Rodney interrupted. “It won’t happen again. By the way, I have a couple interested in the condo. The bank has preapproved them because they’re willing to offer a thirty-percent down payment. I hope I’ll be out of your hair by the beginning of October.”
Tamara stared at her friend, thinking he seemed more boy than man. He looked even younger with his shorn scalp. “I told you before that you can take all the time you need to find a place.”
“That sounds good now, but what’s going to happen when you invite a man home? He’s not going to be that understanding when you tell him your roommate is a man. I know I wouldn’t if you were my woman.”
“I’m not your woman, Rodney.”
“Whose woman are you, Tamara?”
“Mind your own business, Fox.”
“He better be good to you.”
“Or what?” she asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Fox.”
Rodney shook his head. “I’m not jealous. Just think of me as your overprotective older brother.”
She winked at him. “Okay, big brother.”
Rodney returned the wink. “I’d better get going.”
“Are you working tonight?” Tamara asked.
“Yeah. But this is the last night. On Tuesday I start days.”
Tamara stared at the space where Rodney had been. She had to get up and unpack her luggage, sort laundry for a pickup and call in a grocery order for a Chelsea delivery. Duncan had reassured her that she’d be able to talk to his friend about her sister’s marital problems, and as much as she hadn’t wanted to be drawn into the domestic fray, she had to support Renata. After all, blood was thicker than water.
* * *
Duncan, waiting for Tamara to exit the elevator, schooled his expression not to show what he was feeling at that moment. It was as if he’d been waiting an eternity for someone like her to fill up the empty space in his life left by the loss of not one but two women.
Tamara was different from Kalinda Douglas in physical appearance and temperament. He had been drawn to Kalinda because he believed she needed rescuing. Kali affected an air of vulnerability that was palpable, and the first time he’d approached her Duncan knew he would become the one to free her from her cloistered world of strict rules and regulations.
It wasn’t until after they’d announced their engagement and he slept with her for the first time that he realized the woman to whom he’d pledged his love and future wasn’t what she’d presented. The line in the sand had been drawn when he’d asked her father’s permission to marry her, and the official engagement was as binding as an exchange of vows.
The elevator door opened and the woman who’d occupied his waking thoughts stood before him. He went completely still. Tamara Wolcott was a chameleon. Every time he saw her she looked different. The curly hairdo was missing. She’d straightened her hair, thick strands falling from a natural off-center part to brush her shoulders. A white body-hugging tank top, matching linen walking shorts and black ballet-type shoes exposed and flattered her curvy womanly body.
Reaching for her weekender, Duncan leaned over and brushed a light kiss over her mouth. “Thank you for coming.”
Tamara wrapped an arm around Duncan’s slender waist. She’d missed him, missed touching and smelling him much more than she wanted to acknowledge—at least openly. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Easing back, Duncan stared at her upturned face through the lenses of his glasses. Her fresh-scrubbed face radiated good health. “You don’t need an invitation to come over. Anytime you want a change of scene or need a break from your roommate, let me know and I’ll make it happen.”
Tamara rubbed his back. “I didn’t know you were a magic genie. How many wishes do I get?”
Duncan went completely still. Nothing on him moved, not even his eyes, as he held his breath until he was forced to release it. He felt as if he’d stepped back in time. Kali had called him her magical genie because he’d made all of her dreams come true.
He shook his head. “No, Tamara. There’s nothing magical about me.”
She patted his shoulder, smiling. “If not magical, then you’re special.”
He forced a smile. “Special?”
Tamara considered Duncan as an unfamiliar rush of total attraction held her spellbound. She’d admitted to him that he was special, but how special? Was he special enough for her to let go of her distrust of men? Special enough for her to open her heart to permit herself to feel love? Special enough to make her think about sharing not only her passion but also her future with a man?
“You’re nothing like any other man I’ve ever known.”
“If you’re referring to my sleeping with you on Sunday, then I can assure you that it won’t happen again.”
Tamara met his steady eyes. “I heard your voicemail message. Let’s say I’ve been warned.”
“As long as you understand where I’m coming from, then we should have a good time. Come, let me show you to your bedroom.”
Tamara blinked. Duncan was becoming quite adept at segueing from one topic to another without pausing or taking a breath. She followed him across the expansive living/dining room to the staircase. It was apparent she would sleep in the bedroom next to Duncan’s.
She’d asked herself over and over whether she wanted to sleep with Duncan, whether she was ready to make love with him, and the answer was a resounding yes. It was after three months of dating that she’d permitted her college boyfriend to share her bed, and she and Edward had met in secret for two years before marrying and sleeping together for the first time the day she celebrated her twenty-second birthday.
Tamara had always been cognizant of her grandmother’s warning: act in haste, repent in leisure. With the first two men in her life she’d acted in leisure, but in the end she’d repented in leisure. Edward Bennett had turned her off on most men until fate brought her and Duncan Gilmore together.
She’d finally figured out that what had attracted her to Duncan—other than his devastatingly good looks—was his quiet strength. Tamara knew she’d come at him with everything in her verbal arsenal, and he’d parried it with his own comeback that was never insulting or disrespectful.
He cut an elegant figure in tailored suits, custom-made shirts, silk ties and imported footwear, but she preferred the sexy nerd in jeans, T-shirts, running shoes and glasses.
Duncan opened the door to the bedroom, standing aside to let Tamara enter. “Take your time settling in. If there’s anything you’ll need, just let me know.”
She smiled at him. “Thanks. I scheduled a three-o’clock delivery for the groceries. It’s almost three, so call me when they come so I can pay the bill.”
A slight frown appeared between his eyes. “I’ll pay it.”
“But it’s a lot of—”
Duncan held up a hand, stopping her in mid sentence. “I said I’ve got it.”
Scrunching up her face, Tamara stuck out her tongue at him. She wondered if he’d be so willing to pay the bill when he saw the total. She shopped at one of the most expensive gourmet markets in the city. But it was worth the price because of the quality of the meat, fish, dairy, fruits and vegetables. The consortium of merchants sold everything from imported olives and cheese to the finest domestic and imported wine. Whenever she called in her order, it was delivered to her door within twenty-four hours.
“I…” Tamara’s retort trailed off when she heard a whining sound. Walking into the bedroom, she stopped when she saw a crate in a corner with a fluffy white puppy in it, standing on its hind legs, front paws pressed against the wire.
Her eyes filled. She turned and smiled at Duncan as tears of joy streaked her face. “You didn’t.”
He nodded. “Yes, I did. And no matter what happens between us, I won’t ask for her back.”
Tamara sniffled in an attempt to bring her fragile emotions under control. “You got me a girl?”
“Yes. When I saw her I knew she’d be perfect for you. Why don’t you open the crate and meet Miss Wolcott.”
Duncan watched Tamara take tentative steps as she approached the crate. The puppy whined to get out. Tamara went to her knees, sliding back the latch and seconds later she was cradling the wiggling puppy against her breasts.
“She’s beautiful, Duncan. Thank you.”
“The papers attesting to her pedigree are on the table along with a printout of her vaccinations. The breeder said the cream shading on her chest may or may not disappear. If it does, then she’ll be all white as an adult.”
Tamara looked at Duncan over her shoulder. “When did she get her shots?”
“I stopped at a vet after I picked her up from the breeder this morning to have her checked out and he said she’s in good health. She’s three months and weighs three pounds, seven ounces. And she’s also paper-trained.”
Burying her face in the soft curly coat, Tamara closed her eyes. Her new puppy wouldn’t replace Snowflake, but she would love this one as much or more because Duncan had given it to her.
“I just came up with a name for her.”
Duncan approached the woman who’d managed to turn his life upside-down within the span of a week. Going to his knees, he wrapped his arms around both Tamara and the puppy.
“What are you naming her?”
Tamara raised her head, her gaze fusing with his. “Duchess Wolcott-Gilmore.”
His gaze dropped to her parted lips. “Shouldn’t it be Gilmore-Wolcott?”
“No, darling. If Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt can name their children Jolie-Pitt, then I can name my baby Wolcott-Gilmore.”
“Easy, mama,” he crooned, “I didn’t mean to insult your baby girl.”
Rising slightly, Tamara pressed her mouth to his, deepening the kiss when his tongue slipped between her lips. A swathe of heat swept over her, and she moaned as a ball of desire exploded between her legs. It was merely a kiss, but she felt as if she lay naked with his hard sex inside her.
The chiming of a bell echoed throughout the condo, signaling a bark and wavering sound from Duchess that resembled howling.
Duncan stood up, reached down and helped Tamara gently to stand. “That must be the food.”
He crossed the room and pushed a button on the intercom near the bedroom door. “Yes?” he said into the speaker.
“I’ve got a delivery from Gotham City Market.”
“Come on up.” He punched another button, disengaging the lock on the outer door. Shifting, he saw Tamara with Duchess cradled to her chest, staring at him. “How much is the bill?”
“Six hundred and seventy-eight dollars and thirty-nine cents.”
“What on earth did you buy? Caviar?”
She smiled. “Yes and a few other things. That’s why I told you I’d pay for it.”
Duncan pointed a finger. “I told you I’d get it. I always keep cash in the house.”
Turning on his heel he walked out of the guest bedroom and into his own where he kept a supply of cash in the event of an emergency. He’d begun the practice after the August 14, 2003, blackout, when he had less than twenty dollars on his person and was unable to access ATMs.
He counted out eight one-hundred-dollar bills and descended the stairs. A close-circuit monitor showed the image of a man in coveralls with Gotham City Market stitched on the pocket and on the front of his cap.
The door opened and the deliveryman pushed three oversized plastic bins on a dolly out of the elevator. “Where do you want me to unload these, mister?”
“Follow me.”
Duncan stood numbly by as the bins were emptied and fresh fruit, vegetables and containers and cans of foodstuffs littered the countertop. He smiled when he spied a tiny tin of caviar.
“That’s it, mister.” The stocky deliveryman, who sported a thick black handlebar mustache, removed an invoice from the pocket of his coveralls.
Duncan handed him the crisp bills. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks!”
“You’re welcome.” He walked the deliveryman to the elevator, waiting until the door closed. Turning a key in a wall switch, Duncan locked the elevator door. Tamara met him as he made his way back to the kitchen. She handed him a book.
“Cooking for Yourself,” he mumbled, reading the title aloud. “It looks like interesting reading.”
Tamara threaded her fingers through Duncan’s free hand. “It looks more intimidating than it actually is,” she said, when he gave her a pointed look.
He placed the book on the counter next to some jars of mustard. “Did you order quail eggs to go along with the caviar?”
“Not this time.”
Wrapping his arms around her waist as Tamara began sorting through the jars, tins and boxes on the countertop, Duncan eased the hem of her tank top from the waistband of her shorts. “I’m going to enjoy playing house with you.”
Tamara closed her eyes and pressed the back of her head to his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his hands on her bare skin. At that moment she didn’t want to play house. What she wanted was the real thing.
When they’d been stuck in the elevator she’d told Duncan that she had loved being married. Even so, there was never a time when she’d actually felt like a wife, because she’d become nothing more than a legal companion. She and Edward rarely saw each other, and when they did it wasn’t to make love but to talk about their work. That was something she could’ve done with any man.
Duncan heard the soft hitch in Tamara’s breathing when he cupped her breasts. They were full, firm and heavy, like ripened melons. The undeniable magnetism that had been so apparent when they were trapped in the elevator, the vaguely sensuous anticipation felt whenever they occupied the same space, frightened him because he feared losing control.
He’d gone for prolonged periods of time without sleeping with a woman, but now Duncan wanted to make love to Tamara with an intensity that threatened to embarrass him.
“Duncan.” His name came out in a fevered whisper when Tamara felt his erection pressing against her hips.
He answered her entreaty, fastening his mouth to the side of her neck. “Baby…I can’t…”
Tamara was drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into an abyss of longing that threatened to swallow her whole. She wanted Duncan to take her—right there in the kitchen, throwing caution to the wind.
“Don’t move, darling. Please don’t move,” she pleaded. If he did move then it would be all over and she’d beg him to make love to her.
But he did move. He turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her trembling with an intense throbbing that left her wet and shaking. Closing her eyes, she waited for the long-forgotten pleasurable sensation to fade.
Tamara wanted to shower but knew putting away fresh meat, fish and dairy items took precedence. Three-quarters of an hour passed before the freezer section of the refrigerator was filled with wrapped and labeled meat and fish, the refrigerator shelves with dairy, vegetable drawers with fruit and vegetables and pantry shelves with neatly stacked jars, bottles, cans and tins of nonperishable items.
She went upstairs to her bedroom to find Duncan sitting in a chair with the puppy asleep on his lap. Avoiding his eyes, she went over to the weekender resting on a luggage rack and opened it.
“Please put Duchess back in her crate, or she’ll get used to someone holding her while she’s sleeping.”
Duncan didn’t move. “I want to make her feel secure in her new environment.”
Tamara removed a dress with spaghetti straps and set of underwear from the bag. “I don’t want you to spoil her, Duncan.”
“What if I spoil you, Tamara?”
“I’m too old to be spoiled.”
He ran a finger back and forth over the puppy’s ear. “A woman never gets too old for spoiling. All you have to do is ask my aunt. I try and give her whatever she wants because I love her.”
Tamara turned and stared at Duncan, her eyes widening when she saw something in his that hadn’t been there before. “The difference, Duncan, is that you don’t love me.”
A slow smile tilted the corners of his mouth—a very sexy mouth that did things she’d forgotten the existence of to her body. “Do you know that for certain?”
A rush of heat slammed her face, making it hard for Tamara to think or to draw a normal breath. “No—no, I—I don’t know for certain,” she stammered.
Duncan pushed to his feet, still cradling the puppy. She wasn’t certain, but he was. He didn’t love Tamara Wolcott. However, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was falling in love with her. He couldn’t right the wrongs of her ex-husband, but he’d promised himself that he would try to make whatever time they had together fun and memorable.
“Duchess and I will be on the terrace.”
Tamara’s jaw dropped when Duncan opened the sliding door to the terrace, stepped out and closed it behind him. Walking over to the wall of glass, she closed the floor-to-ceiling sheers then the silk drapes, closing out the sunlight and the image of the man and her dog reclining on a chaise.
She knew her feelings for Duncan were intensifying with each telephone call and whenever they shared the same space. She wasn’t certain how he felt about her, but she was more than cognizant of her feelings for him. Tamara Wolcott was falling hopelessly and inexorably in love with Duncan Gilmore.