difficulty controlling his libido until he’d met that woman. He grinned. She affected his temper that way, too.
He sat listening to Maude Frazier outline her plans for One Last Chance’s contribution to the gala, aware that her words held no interest for him; his mind was on Naomi Logan. In an abrupt decision, he politely told Maude goodbye and loped down the stairs in hopes of seeing Naomi before she left. He was relieved to find her in the basement laundry room. And what a sight! Without the combs and pins, her hair was a wild, thick frizz, and her slacks and shirt were wet in front. He leaned against the laundry room door and watched her dash around the room folding laundry and coping with an overflowing washing machine.
“Want some help?”
She dropped a clean tablecloth back into the sudsy water, braced her hands on her hips, and stood glaring at him.
“See what you made me do? You frightened me.” He observed her closely, but with pretended casualness. Was she trembling?
“Sorry. Anything I can do to make up for it?”
“You can help me fold these things, and you can wipe that cocky grin off of your face.” She hated being caught off guard; he didn’t blame her. It put you at a disadvantage.
She was obviously wary of him, and he wanted to put her at ease, so he spread his hands palms upward in a gesture of defenselessness. “I’m innocent of whatever it is you’re planning to hang me for, Naomi. Now, if you’ll show me how you want these things folded, I’ll help you.” She did, and they worked in companionable silence.
Rufus carefully hid his inner feelings, controlling the heady excitement of being with her, but he wouldn’t bet that he’d be able to hold it back for long. He wouldn’t put a penny on it. She zonked him.
His impatient nature wouldn’t allow him to wait longer before probing. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“And why would that be? Why do you think I don’t care about people?” she asked him, a bit sharply.
Didn’t she know that her defensiveness was bound to make him suspicious? He was a journalist, after all. He shrugged and decided not to accept the challenge. He wanted to know her, not fence with her. “Did I say that, Naomi? I’ve seen softness in you.” And I want to know whether it’s real.
“Humph. Me? A career woman?” Her glance must have detected the tenderness, the protectiveness that he felt, because she reacted almost as if he’d kissed her. Her lowered eyes and the sensual sound of her sucking in her breath sent his blood rushing through his veins.
Rufus quickly cooled his rising ardor. He sensed her nervousness but didn’t comment on it, as he weighed her consistent refusal to carry on a serious conversation with him. When she finally looked directly at him, he spoke. “You treat everything I say with equal amounts of disdain.”
“Be fair. Aren’t you exaggerating?” He was sure that his words had stung her, though that was not what he had intended.
“Not by much, I’m not,” he answered, running the fingers of his left hand through his hair and furrowing his brow. “Do you volunteer here often?” He switched topics in the hope of avoiding a confrontation and making peace between them. “You seemed to have unusually good rapport with the girl whom you were tutoring. Most kids in these programs don’t relate well to their tutors and mentors. How do you manage it?”
He found her inability to disguise her pleasure at his compliment intriguing; it meant that she valued his opinion. If he let her have the psychological distance that she seemed to want, maybe she would open up.
“You saw us?” He nodded. “It isn’t difficult; she’s hungry for attention and for a role model, and I really like her.” They were leaning against the washing machines, and he appraised her with a thoroughness that embarrassed her.
“Is she one of the girls sent here from Juvenile Court? What had she done?”
Naomi’s eyes snapped in warning, and her tone was sharp. “Linda found her way here on her own. She had the intelligence to realize that she needed help. I doubt she’ll ever become a delinquent.”
Her fierce protectiveness of the girl puzzled Rufus; his reporter’s instincts told him that something important lay behind it, but he didn’t consider it timely to pursue the matter. He looked at the pile of laundry that they’d folded and sorted. “Well, that’s finished. Anything else?”
“No. That’s it. I’ve got to get home and deal with my work.” When he didn’t respond, she looked up, and he had the satisfaction of seeing guilt mirrored in her eyes. Guilt for having been provocative again without cause. He altered his censorious appraisal of her, relaxing his face, letting the warmth within him flow out to her, and her expressive eyes told him that she responded to what he felt. She should have moved, but she didn’t, and he reached for her, involuntarily, but quickly withdrew his hand. He looked into the distance, then glanced back at Naomi, who remained inches from him, standing in a way that told him she wouldn’t mind if he touched her. He didn’t want to leave her, he realized, but he had little choice unless he found a casual way to keep her with him.
“I promised to attend a lecture on the family over at Howard, and I’d invite you to join me if your clothes were dry.” He thought for a second. “Well, you can keep you coat on. Think your work can wait an hour or so?” She smiled, and he sensed an inner warmth in her that he hadn’t previously detected. He’d always thought her beautiful, but that smile made her beauty ethereal.
He took her hand. “Come on. Say yes.” She nodded, and he clasped her hand, soft and delicate, in his. At that moment, he knew he felt more for her than he wanted to or than was sensible and made a mental note to back off.
Chapter 3
They left the lecture in a playful mood. “Okay, I agree that he wasn’t a genius,” Rufus declared, “but he did make some good points.” His changing facial expressions fascinated her. Naomi watched a grin drift over his face slowly, like a pleasant idea dawning, and walked closer to him. She was not inclined to give the lecturer as much credit as he did, though, and they joked about the man’s shortcomings.
Arm in arm, they crossed the street to where two boys in their mid-teens stood beneath the streetlight. One cocked his head, gave them a hard look as they approached, and then ran up to Rufus.
“I don’t believe it, man. Look who this is! How ya doin’, Mr. Meade?” Naomi watched while Rufus autographed the boys’ shirts, since they had nothing else on which he could write, answered their questions, and gave them reasons why they shouldn’t hang out in the streets. The happy youths thanked him and promised to take his advice.
“Right on, man!” one said, as the two ambled toward what Naomi and Rufus both hoped was home. He’s a kind and gentle man, she decided. And not merely with his own children. What other celebrity with his stature, a best-selling author, would stand on a street corner at nine at night and give autographs to two street urchins? She frowned. And when had boys like those begun to read books on delinquency? Maybe they knew his journalistic writings, but she didn’t think so. No doubt there was something about him that she didn’t know.
At her car, he told Naomi, “I’ve enjoyed being with you tonight, Naomi. I enjoyed it a lot.” He paused, making up his mind, remembering his earlier vow to back off. She was a heady lure, a magnet, and he wasn’t going to get mired in her quicksand. He took his
