house, opened the door with her key, entered with her and flicked on the light in the foyer.
“This was wonderful, Kisha. I want to see you again. I want to get to know you.” His gaze seemed to bore through her.
I should say something, she thought, but nothing came to mind. His elegant style, his charm and good looks were reducing her to a simpleton. She told herself to get it together. “I enjoyed the evening, too, Craig.” She opened her bag, got a business card and wrote her home phone and cell phone numbers on the back of it. “I look forward to hearing from you. I work late some nights, so if you don’t get me here, call my cell.”
He gave her his business card. “I’ll call you tomorrow evening. Thanks for a most pleasant evening. Good night.”
“Good night, Craig.”
She closed the door. “Well I’ll be damned. Not even a peck on the cheek,” she said aloud. She’d have to think about that. True, she took a chance when she allowed him to come inside, but she wasn’t one for making out in public. She had expected a light kiss, since he didn’t seem the type to make a nuisance of himself. But a simple good-night and may I see you again? Would miracles never cease!
She sat on the sofa in the darkened living room and kicked off her shoes. Would she have kissed him? Probably. A sensible woman did not get involved with a man who looked like Craig Jackson, a towering Adonis with long-lashed dreamy eyes, a well-toned body and a voice that could lull a woman into a stupor. She rested her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. She had needed that to remind herself of her resolution to never again fall for a man who looked too good to touch.
Chapter 2
Craig sat in a big beige leather lounge chair in his living room with a bottle of cold beer numbing his fingers. He shook his head from side to side, wondering what he’d been thinking. He didn’t have time to get involved in a relationship with Kisha Moran or with any other woman. He knew that if he did, he’d focus on the relationship, giving it everything he had, and if he did that, his career goals would slide down the drain. In his business, a man had to be on his toes every waking minute. He had to keep his eyes open and his wits sharp, or he’d spend the rest of his life as a lawyer. Opportunities were rare. You didn’t have any friends at work, because it was every man for himself. He let out a long, sharp whistle. He’d been with her three times, and he’d need a hell of a lot of willpower to prevent himself from trying to see her again.
He looked at the small, elegantly wrapped package that she had given him in the restaurant along with her softly spoken congratulations.
He opened the package and gazed at its contents. He had several palm-size tape recorders, but when he read the information on the side of the small box, he gasped. None of his old recorders were equipped to download to his desktop computer.
He telephoned her. “Kisha, this is fantastic. Where did you find it. I didn’t know anybody had made one of these. This is…I’m speechless.” He actually whispered the words.
As if she’d given him a little nothing, she said, “My receptionist’s brother works for the company that makes them. They will begin marketing it next month. I ordered it from the company.” It wasn’t the cost, but her thoughtfulness in finding something unique and especially useful to him that made the gift so special to Craig.
It wasn’t Kisha Moran’s beauty or that suggestive body of hers that seemed to make his clock tick faster and louder. Physically attractive women were a fixture in his life. What set her apart was the sweet softness of her personality, her intelligence and that way she had of engrossing him in conversation. The woman was like a magnet. He put the bottle to his mouth and downed a swig of beer.
He’d watched her mouth all evening as it moved when she talked and at one moment, he’d imagined kissing it, but when he had the chance, he hadn’t. A schoolboy would at least have kissed her cheek, but all he’d done was bid her good-night. He finished the beer, took the empty bottle to the kitchen and disposed of it. Heading up the stairs, he stopped midway and chuckled. For once, his head had ruled his hormones. Still, he wouldn’t mind if he could get her off his mind one way or another.
After a rough, sleepless night, Kisha dragged herself out of bed, remembered that it was Saturday and took her time getting dressed. She liked the autumn. The crisp air, the trees’ paintbrush colors and the fresh apples made it her favorite time of the year. She made coffee and went out on her deck to drink it. Looking at her backyard, she remembered the thing she liked least about autumn. She disliked raking and discarding the leaves that drifted down from her tree and those nearby.
“May as well get to it,” Noreen King, her next door neighbor said. “There’ll be that many more tomorrow.”
“I know, but raking leaves was not on my agenda this morning. How’re things?”
“I’m firing on all cylinders, friend. I got that job, and I’m gonna be pitch woman for Dainty Diapers. I got a two-year contract. Would you believe that? Poverty go ’way from my door.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you. What does the job entail?” Kisha asked her.
“Some public appearances. I was one month from foreclosure. Girl, I’ve used up all my savings, and I’ve been eating grits three times a day. The Lord will provide.”
“I knew it was rough. Over a year out of work and a mortgage to pay…Well that’s over now. Maybe we should celebrate.”
“Sounds good to me. I thanked the Lord, and now I’m ready to kick up my heels. How about eating at Red Maple and then checking out the club?”
Kisha frowned and leaned against a post. “I hate going to places like that without a male date. Some guy always hits on you.”
“That’s not so bad. I met my ex-husband at a place like that one, and we stayed married for seven years, till he reached the age of forty and decided that he’d get all the use possible out of his happy rod while it still worked. Great, if he’d confined his fun to me, but he needed variety. I ditched his butt.”
She was not going to touch that one. “Nobody likes to have fun more than I do, Noreen, but I’m not sure about Red Maple. I like to dance.”
“Don’t be such a homebody.”
Kisha had no enthusiasm for Noreen’s idea, but she didn’t have a better one. “My coffee’s gotten cold. I think I’ll rake some leaves. Suppose I make a reservation for dinner at seven-thirty. Okay?”
“Works for me.”
She went inside, put on a pair of jeans and some sneakers, hooked her portable radio and her cell phone to her belt, got the rake and some black plastic bags from the cellar and began raking leaves. When the voice of Billie Holiday singing “Easy Living” drifted from her radio, her thoughts went to Craig and the impression he’d made on her after being with him only three times.
Even though he was something of a local celebrity, Craig seemed unaffected by his celebrity. On the air, he was sharp and assertive, but with her, he was more…well…lighthearted and personable and didn’t use so many four-syllable words. Not that she had anything against them. She prided herself on her vocabulary. She let the garden rake lean against her belly and threw up her hands. How much more time and energy was she going to waste mooning over Craig Jackson, she admonished herself.
She
