In spite of the intense debate whirling around her, Heather found it impossible to concentrate. She and her staff had worked for months to turn this series of panel discussions on substance abuse into reality. This last one in the series was on alcoholism.
Time and time again her thoughts traveled back to the meeting she’d had with Quinn Montgomery. The conversation had been very unsettling. And now Cynthia hadn’t come to school for three days. Heather was told the girl was out ill, and Heather was worried. Should she wait until after the weekend to find out what had happened? If she didn’t hear from Cynthia by Tuesday, Heather wouldn’t have a choice—she’d have to contact Quinn Montgomery again.
If only she could stop thinking about him. Recalling her strong reaction to the man, she was amazed at the way he had managed to throw her completely off balance. She had known him only since Tuesday, and already she thought of him as Quinn. She couldn’t seem to get him out of her thoughts. She recalled little things—things she hadn’t been aware of memorizing were lingering in her mind. At the most inopportune moments, she’d remember the graceful movements of his long-fingered hands or the tilt of his head when he concentrated. His eyes had smoldered like charcoal as he watched her cross his office to introduce herself. Yet later they had glinted like metal on a frosty December morning, when she’d lost her temper and told him what she thought of him.
Never, not ever before had she lost her professionalism. Why did she let her emotions take control of the situation? It made no sense, she argued with a shake of her head.
What was it about Quinn? In the past few days she’d asked herself that question at least a thousand times. And she still didn’t know the answer.
Heather had grown up in a male-dominated household. Being the youngest, she found the male of the species held little mystery. For as long as she could remember, she’d been teased, taunted, and protected. It had been exasperating at times, yet there had always been love.
Quinn wasn’t like any of her brothers or her father. Nor was he like Charles or any of the men she dated. He was too self-contained. He seemed to make an art form out of guarding his innermost thoughts and feelings—which he treated as if they were live ammunition that could someday be used against him. He was an enigma. He had concealed his emotions so successfully that even his only child didn’t believe he loved her.
Despite it all, Heather found him attractive... dangerously so. She had lain awake on more than one occasion thinking about him. He was hardly a dashing romantic figure. He was, in a nutshell, a highly paid, extremely successful, unemotional workaholic. No clear-thinking woman would become involved with such a man!
Yet Heather couldn’t forget the look in his dark eyes when they met. It had sent her blood pressure soaring toward the heavens, and just for a fleeting moment, she wondered what he’d thought of her. Did he find her the least bit attractive? How could he after what she’d said to him? Frowning, Heather stared down at the tape recorder in her lap.
Why was she tormenting herself this way? Even if he wasn’t off limits to her because he was Cynthia’s father, she wasn’t actively looking for a man. Her family, her friends, her career—plus the volunteer hours she spent working at the Crisis Prevention Center with teens who had attempted suicide, as well as being close to completing a doctorate in clinical psychology—didn’t leave her much free time to worry about not having one special man in her life.
Like so many single, successful men, Quinn probably had women falling over themselves to get next to him. He was so eligible that Heather was surprised he didn’t have the initials “S.B.M.” (single black male) stamped on his forehead. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t think of one girlfriend who’d doubt the man’s eligibility.
Could that be the problem? Was a woman the reason he spent so much time away from his daughter? One special woman who insisted he spend his nights with her?
Her heart raced when she wondered if Quinn was a skilled lover. Yes, she decided instantly. He was so utterly male, it was impossible for her to believe he was anything less than a talented lover—but that didn’t mean he was capable of giving of himself. Could a woman ever hope to know the inner man, the one he kept under lock and key?
Enthusiastic clapping abruptly brought Heather back to the conference on alcoholism. As the clapping ended, it galled her that she had spent so much of this special session focused on Quinn. He was not her problem, Cynthia was.
Heather threaded her way through the crowd in the school gymnasium in order to offer her personal thanks to the distinguished panelists. They included two of her father’s colleagues from Wayne State University and several well-known community leaders. She congratulated her counseling staff as well.
A local disc jockey was setting up his turntables, speakers, and lighting on the rear platform. A school dance had been planned immediately following the discussion.
“Ready?” Charles asked, just as the pulsating beat of a hard rock tune poured out of the loudspeakers. Teenagers far outnumbered the adults. A handful of the teaching staff remained to act as chaperones.
“Don’t you want to stay and get it on?” Heather teased.
Charles scowled. “This isn’t my scene. Mrs. Silvers seems to have everything under control.” Taking her arm, he led her toward the exit. “Besides—” he smiled, his first to Heather’s recollection for the evening, “—our leaving will give the crowd something to talk about. The entire school thinks we’re lovers.”
Heather shrugged, glad to see his sense of humor emerging. The air outside was heavy with the scent of lush blooms, but it was still a bit cool for the middle of May.
“Not shocked or horrified?” Charles teased.
“Nope. Why can’t men and women be friends? There isn’t a law against it, is there?”
He chuckled, unlocking the passenger door. He had given her a ride into work that morning and they had shared a meal before the panel discussion.
Charles had been unusually self-absorbed all day. Heather hadn’t a clue as to what had him so preoccupied. Yet she knew something definitely was bothering him.
“Heard from the garage?” he asked, after sliding behind the wheel.
Heather’s ancient Firebird had refused to start that morning.
“Carburetor. It won’t be ready until tomorrow. I hope that means morning. I don’t want to be without a car the entire weekend.”
“Tough luck,” Charles whistled, putting on the headlights. “A new carburetor can be pricey.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“What do you have on for tomorrow?”
“I’d planned on taking my nieces to the Hispanic ethnic festival at Hart Plaza and shopping for summer clothes. Oh, turn that up! I love that old song.”
Charles complied.
“To be young, gifted and black,” Heather sang loudly, clapping in time to the music.
Charles laughed, raising the volume higher on the car radio. “What do you know about Nina Simone? That song was way before your time.”
Heather stopped singing long enough to say “Uh-uh. You forget I have four older brothers and a sister. Mark, the oldest boy, used to eat and sleep with his guitar. To be...”
The lively music had served to lighten the mood somewhat, even though Charles still seemed to be brooding after the song ended.
“No date?” he asked.
“Yeah, with Max.”
“That football bean-head your brother introduced you to? Come on, Heather. His brains are in his biceps. Admit it, the only reason you’re going out with him is because you feel sorry for the guy. Who ever heard of a millionaire who can’t get a date?”
Heather giggled in spite of herself. “You’ve got some nerve! Did I mention where I thought your Beverly’s brains are located? Tell you what, I won’t critique your dates if you extend me the same courtesy.”
“Very funny. Tell me this, smart mouth, how long are you going to save it for Mr. Right? You’ve been going out with yo-yos like Max for years. I know and you know, the dude is safe and b-o-r-i-n-g. I said it before and I’ll say it again—you, my friend, wouldn’t know Mr. Right if he ran you over with a truck.”
Heather knew Charles was deliberately trying to get a rise out of her and had nearly managed it. No matter how dear he was, she wasn’t about to get into an argument with him just to make him feel better. Then she blinked as Quinn’s image appeared in her mind and faded just as quickly. Disturbed, she decided to change the subject. “I’m so glad the panel discussions worked out so well. But I swear—it seems as if I’ve been working on this project half my life. Do you think they went well?”
“Absolutely. Great job, kiddo.” Charles was silent for some time, eventually saying, “I’m sorry to be so hard on you. You know I love you, don’t you, sweet pea?”
Heather grimaced at the endearment, one of his favorites. “The feeling is mutual. So tell me, what’s the matter, hmmm?”
“Nothing. Everything is great—couldn’t be better. I think I’ll call brainy Beverly for a late supper tonight. Does that sound like I have a problem?”
Heather swallowed her laughter. She didn’t dare say what she was thinking.
“Have you spoken to Diane?” Charles asked.
“No, why do you ask?”
“Curious that’s all,” he said, concentrating on the road for a time. Then he asked tightly, “Why didn’t she show tonight? You would think the little flirt could postpone one of her endless string of dates for the sake of old Lawrence High. I know she’s your best friend. But even you have to admit, Heather, she thinks she’s God’s gift to mankind. Black men beware, Queen Diane is on the prowl! Only problem is she has absolutely no interest in marriage. How can you two be friends? You’re as much alike as a dolphin and a shark.”
“So that’s what’s bothering you,” Heather said as he turned right onto her tree-lined street.
“She was supposed to be there! She’s part of the faculty.” Having come to a stop along the circular drive in front of her condominium, he glared at Heather. His black brows were drawn harshly together. It was a dark, cloudy night. Neither noticed the sleek black Mercedes parked a few yards away or the man at the wheel.
Heather couldn’t remember seeing Charles so upset. She lifted her hand to soothingly stroke his cheek. “Don’t do this to yourself. I’m certain there’s a simple explanation as to why Diane couldn’t be there tonight. She’s a responsible person. She takes her career seriously.”
Diane Rivers, a tall, vivacious beauty, taught business and computer classes at the high school. She and Heather were roommates at Central State and had been good friends ever since.
The two career-minded women were alike in many ways, except for one major difference. Heather dated just as often as Diane, but Heather didn’t sleep around. She hoped to find a lasting relationship while Diane cherished her freedom and refused to even consider becoming emotionally dependent on a man.
“She’s a man-hungry piranha!” Charles said tightly, infuriated by his lack of control. Heather’s concern was evident. He leaned forward and kissed her. “You’re my best buddy.”
Heather sighed. She was beginning to feel like the cream in a sandwich cookie, smack in the middle of their problems. Diane and Charles had dated for a while. And then they stopped abruptly with no explanation from either of them. Lately they spent their time sparring like two prizefighters. And Heather was getting tired of it, especially since they complained about each other to her.
“Chuck, isn’t it time you told her you want more from her than a casual relationship?” Heather—privy to both their secrets—found it frustrating not to be able to offer an explanation. Diane didn’t want to end up like her mother, divorced four times and looking for husband number five. But Heather knew Diane cared for Charles.
“Do I look like a fool to you? She isn’t about to add my name to her extremely long list of conquests. When I found myself becoming too involved, I chose to bow out.”
“Sweetheart, you both have lists. And if we were to be so indelicate as to place them end to end, they would no doubt reach Montreal.” Heather laughed, saying, “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you Monday. Cheer up sugar dumplin’, and have a good weekend. Oh, give Beverly my love.”
She walked gracefully up the walk. She’d chosen her two bedroom condominium with care and was especially pleased with it. It was in the Lafayette Park area, close to her job and easily accessible to Greektown and Renaissance Center shopping areas.
Heather had just hung her jacket in the hall closet when the doorbell chimed. She opened the door without hesitation. “What did you forget?”
But it wasn’t Charles on the other side. Her eyes widened at the sight of Quinn Montgomery standing beneath the glow of the outside lamp. The business suit had been replaced by a snug-fitting black knit shirt and slim black jeans. A black leather jacket was thrown over one broad shoulder. He exuded a raw masculinity.
“Do you always open your door without checking?”
“Criminals don’t generally ring the bell, do they, Counselor?”
An appreciative gleam filled Quinn’s charcoal-gray eyes as he silently acknowledged her answer. His eyes took in the way her silk jersey dress hugged the fullness of her breasts, smoothed over her tiny waist and settled sweetly around her shapely hips and thighs. She was every bit as lovely as he remembered.
“I know it’s late, but may I come in?” Quinn asked. “I need your help.” It was difficult for him to make that admission, and he knew he would be lucky if she didn’t turn him down flat.
She stepped back, allowing him to enter. Her curled braids swung around her shoulders as she led the way down a short entrance hall, past the archway into the living room, carpeted in a sky-blue shag. Heather switched on cream porcelain table lamps.
Quinn’s gaze traveled along the L-shaped room done in shades of vibrant blues, peach, and touches of ivory. Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books lined the short wall beside the archway, a Queen Anne desk, brass floor lamp, and oak rocker filled the cozy corner. Her home generated warmth and comfort.
Quinn tossed his coat over the back of the rocker.
“What’s happened?” Heather asked.
“Nothing. That’s the problem.” His lips thinned beneath the veil of his thick moustache.
Quinn was a man who knew his own strengths. It took skill to sway reluctant judges or undecided jurors into accepting his view as sound. He knew he had a lot going for himself. He was both well read and able to intellectually discuss a wide range of topics. But when it came to expressing what was going on inside of himself, he was hopelessly inept.
It had taken him a while to cool down. By then, when he’d tried to talk to his daughter, he’d failed. Each new attempt left him feeling even more helpless, impatient, and frustrated. They’d also left Cynthia in tears, stubbornly insisting that he didn’t love her. Cynthia refused to discuss her condition with him. Now what was he supposed to do?
Cynthia was a part of him. He loved her. She meant the world to him. But somehow he’d failed her. When it came down to expressing his innermost feelings, the words never came. Cynthia was his daughter—why did he have to explain himself to her? He had done his best for her, given her everything she wanted in order to show her how he felt. He wanted to make her happy, but something had gone very wrong. Cynthia was why he’d come tonight. How in the world was he going to explain all that to this beautiful woman?
Did nerves account for the way his heart was pounding, beating erratically in his chest? Who was he trying to fool? He was sexually attracted to Heather. In his opinion, Heather was exceptionally easy on the eyes. Did she have to be so pretty? Just looking at the rich creamy texture of her golden-colored skin and the generous curves of her raspberry-tinted lips with that tantalizing mole in the corner of her mouth made him want to taste her lips. But it was more than her beauty that sparked his interest. She was a highly intelligent, gutsy lady. She wasn’t easily intimidated.
Heather was busily trying to settle her own nerves. She motioned with her hand, “Sit down, won’t you,” indicating the bright, robin-blue circular sofa accented with peach throw pillows. She sat on one end of the three-piece sectional, automatically kicking off her high-heeled black pumps and curling her legs beneath her.
Quinn remained standing, his face grim. “I owe you an apology. I was wrong the other day. Logically I recognized you were attempting to explain a difficult situation. It’s time I set the record straight. I do appreciate your interest in my daughter.”
Heather looked into his deep-set eyes and was touched by the sincerity she saw there.
“Apology accepted. Please, call me Heather, and won’t you sit down?”
If he noticed the unsteady tremor in her voice, he ignored it as he settled himself on the far edge of the sofa.
“I called before showing up on your doorstep. You weren’t home, so I decided to come by and wait.”
“Wait? Then you saw—”
“You kissing your friend good night. I thought for a moment I might have to wait until morning. Poor guy, or are you expecting him later?” Quinn found himself asking, knowing doggone well he was out of line.
“I’m sure you aren’t really interested in my love life, so shall we limit ourselves to Cynthia?” Her eyes sparkled like caramel-colored diamonds.
“I wouldn’t want my being here to become a problem for you.” Quinn could see that he had angered her. But why? There was nothing unusual about the question, even if it was a bit personal. After all, they were both adults.
“Are you always so blunt?” Her delicately shaped brows came together in a frown at the same time a blush of color heated her cheeks.
“Yes, I find it saves time.” Quinn smiled for the first time.
His lower lip was slightly fuller than the top. How had she failed to notice? Warning signs flew inside her head. Look out, the man could be charming. It meant he was especially dangerous for this woman’s peace of mind.
Heather inhaled sharply, answering in spite of her better judgment. “Charles is my friend, not my lover. And no, I’m not expecting anyone.”
He nodded, shocked by his own keen interest.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Now tell me about Cynthia.”