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slide 2 Chapter One
As Terrence entered the small, rectangular room and closed the door behind him, he could hear the mildly hysterical woman being questioned. He shook his head. It never failed to amaze him how people changed between those drab four walls. Most who entered, went in calm, some even cocky. Yet during the questioning, most plummeted into the essence of their raw, human emotions. Was it that most suffered from fits of claustrophobia? Or was it the pressure placed on their convictions, which inevitably caused them to boil over from the stress? Whichever the case, the results were usually the same: a super-nervous, high strung, or hysterical suspect.
Lifting an inquisitive brow, Terrence stepped over to the one-way mirror and positioned himself next to a police officer who was monitoring the conversation. Looking through the heavy glass that ran the length of the wall, he recognized the two detectives in the adjacent interrogation room.
slide 3 Jeff Ryebeck, a balding, middle-aged man, stood rigidly near the door. His arms tightly crossed over his wide chest revealed his well-known, surly disposition, as did the expression on his face. Jeff was a man who was not easy to like, Terrence had discovered in recent years. However, his partner wore a more understanding expression on his cream-complexioned features. Brian McKinney, an eager young rookie, sat at the metal table and faced the woman. He was vigorously taking notes.
Terrence ran a quick hand over his jaw, quickly coming to the conclusion that the two detectives had everything under control.
He then turned his attention to the witness. Immediately, the distance between them seemed to close in; everything else around him zoomed out of focus.
The woman had a perfectly oval-shaped face, although it was now drawn in sadness and worry. Her delicate features were complimented by the thick braid she had twisted her hair into, which spanned the length of her long, graceful neck and rested on her left collarbone. Her complexion was smooth, like butterscotch, and her pearly, brown eyes were red and puffy from crying.
slide 4 He imagined that they would be bright and dazzling in happier times. As she moved her full lips to speak, they seemed to tremble.
She's beautiful , he realized with a jolt.
He shook his head, a frown attacking his smooth brow. What was he thinking? Under the circumstances, that was irrelevant. Inadmissible, even. He was not one to get thrown off track by a pretty face.
Minutes before, Terrence had been in his office, working on a recent case, when he received a call about a homicide and was told a witness---a possible suspect---was being brought in for questioning. He was on his way to the crime scene, but first had to observe the witness. Reluctantly, his gut told him that she didnt seem the type to murder someone. But was that his instincts as an investigator or his hormones talking?
With a slight tilt of his head, he motioned to the officer standing next to him. "Is she the witness from this mornings homicide? "
With a nod, officer Walter Stanton replied, "Yeah, that's her." He placed his hands on what little hips he had. "Have you been to the scene?"
"No, I'm heading that way."
slide 5 "Well, this one's sticking to her story like a flea on a dogs tail, the officer confided with an insinuating nod. "Don't come across too many suspects like her. Seems too pretty to be a criminal." He snorted. "But it takes all kinds, right?" Doesn't make sense though. Why, would two men break into her apartment, and then kill her neighbor?" He shook his head in disgust. "Yeah, I'd say there's something mighty slippery about this one."
"Mm-hmm." Terrence's reply was noncommittal. Granted, her story sounded suspicious, but he couldnt jump to conclusions in his line of work. He'd develop his theory of the crime based on the evidence, not personal judgements or guesstimates. Nothing but the facts. Moreover, Terrence knew that Walter, nicknamed MC "Mini" Columbo by his fellow officers, believed that everybody had some kind of an angle. In his book, the accused were guilty until proven innocent. Walter solved cases in his own mind before the body was cold.
"Listen to this woman." Walter yammered on.
Terrence spared the overly critical officer the merest of sharp glances. The interrogation had his complete attention. But his keen ear was listening to more than what was actually being said. He centered his full concentration on her.
slide 6 More minutes elapsed, and Terrence continued his examination. Although Walters words about the witness didn't quite ring true, he did sense that there was something about this one. All of a sudden, he couldn't help wondering what was her angle. After he'd heard enough, he left for the interrogation room.
Denise struggled to concentrate on the questions the two detectives were asking her. She tried to recall every minute detail of the incident as accurately as she could, but her thoughts kept slipping back in time.
It had been close to two and a half hours since she first set eyes on these two men. And she was tired of their company. After they allowed her to change clothes, and nothing else, she was told that it would be easier to take her statement downtown.
Too confused to protest, she had agreed, and barely remembered the ride to the station.
When the paramedics had revived her earlier, she prayed that her memories of this morning were merely a bad dream. She still hoped that she would wake up any second now and find herself safely curled up in her own bed.
slide 7 But, reality was that it had happened. Every horrible moment had been real. The murder was real. The swarm of uniformed officers everywhere, the coroner, investigators, the detectives probing her extensively for information . . . were all real.
Sadly, Denise couldn't help feeling that it was all her fault. If it hadn't been for her, the killers wouldn't have known that Barbara Jean Sheldon was there. She'd led them right to her. Denise's asking her neighbor for help had gotten the older woman killed. She could have warned her. Mrs. Sheldon probably didnt even hear the intruders until it was too late. Denise felt that she shouldnt have involved her in the first place. But everything had happened so fast.
How was she to know what would transpire? She had been trying to save her own life. And because of that, Mrs. Sheldon was dead, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to change that.
"How do you think these two men got into your apartment?" The detective automatically repeated the last question.
"What?" She blinked, her glassy eyes refocusing on the detectives awaiting expression. She wasn't sure that she could take much more of this. She felt ready to explode. "I-I told you . . . I dont know. "
Denise tried to keep her composure, but she could
slide 8 feel her emotions welling within her again. How many ways were they going to ask the same questions? "I don't know how they got in. I always keep my doors locked." She thought that maybe Mrs. Sheldon had forgotten to lock her kitchen door again, but that didn't explain how the killers got into her apartment. "I . . . " Exhausted, she stopped. Her sable-brown eyes burned as if they were on fire and her temples were throbbing with a vengeance. Right now, all she wanted to do was go home. She had had just about enough of this.
As she continued, her voice carried the irritation that had been building with each question. "Look . . . I've told you all I know, everything that happened. Now, don't you have enough information from me to start looking for the killers?"
She didn't miss the harshness of the stare Detective Ryebeck was giving her, so she returned the favor. But then she cautioned herself. She had distrusted him on sight and wanted to keep away from him. She brought her gaze to the kneading hands in her lap.
As soon as Detective McKinney noticed the combative exchange between the witness and his partner, he stepped forward to run interference. However, he was interrupted when the door swung
slide 9 opened.
Terrence strolled into the interrogation room, dressed in an olive-colored cotton polo shirt, comfortably fitting blue jeans, and basketball shoes. His casual appearance seemed to match his casual manner.
"Excuse me," Terrence said politely, more for the lady than for the two officers. "Miss Richardson?"
Silently, she met his stare.
Now, as he stood over her, he was disturbed to find that she was even more beautiful up close. "I'm Detective Terrence O'Neal. I'll be the lead investigating officer on this case. I apologize for the inconvenience and I understand how hard this must be for you right now. However, there are a few more questions I would like to ask you before you leave."
Denise knew he'd said something to her because his lips---and what a sexy pair they were---were moving, but she just didn't think she could respond coherently at the moment. She closed her eyes for a brief second to gather her thoughts, hoping that her mind and mouth would start cooperating. She hadn't meant to stare, but those incredible mink- brown eyes of his were hypnotic.
"Fine," was all she could muster.
Terrence nodded assuredly. "This shouldn't take
slide 10 long." He seated himself next to Denise, parallel to Detective McKinney. Detective Ryebeck never left his guard post against the wall. Terrence tilted his head and continued. "Now, Miss Richardson, let's backtrack a little." He captured her worried eyes, readily skilled to monitor her every response. "You stated there were two men?" he asked, as Detective McKinney resumed taking notes.
Now back in control of her vocal cords, Denise answered, "Yes."
"What were you doing before the two men entered your apartment?"
Her smooth brows suddenly crinkled. She wasn't sure. She wanted to tell them for sure that she was fixing her morning tea, unloading her clothes from the dryer, and getting ready for work, but that wouldn't be true. She shuddered. The thought of someone in her home without her knowledge gave her chills, which made her rub her arms up and down for warmth.
"They must have entered while I was asleep."
"So you didn't hear them come in?" he asked carefully.
She had heard something while in her bedroom, felt something that she normally didn't feel, but had told herself that she'd only imagined that. "No."
Page 11 He nodded slowly, but his eyes never left hers. "You also stated that one of the men . . . threatened you, as you stood some distance away from your apartment, is that correct?"
"Yee-es." Denise replied suspiciously. Inwardly, she thought, he just walked in the room, how does he know this information? Her eyes glanced from the detective across the room to Detective McKinney, then back to Detective O'Neal. He was still nodding, but now there was a hint of smugness on his stunning features as he posed his next question.
"Did he shout it?"
"No. He just said it." She knew it sounded crazy by the way he looked at her, but it was the truth. "Only for me to hear," she added quietly.
"You must have exceptional hearing. Are you sure that it was a threat you heard?"
Denise's eyebrow jumped as she heard the insinuation behind his words. He was trying to discredit her, trying to discredit the truth. "Yes I do, and yes I am," she said tightly.
They glared at each other, neither blinking for several seconds.
Then, Terrence abruptly inquired. "Do you know your attackers, Miss Richardson?"
The question seemed to have stopped all motion,
Page 12 for the three detectives stared at her as if she was about to break down and confess to every unsolved case they ever had.
Outwardly, Denise fought to maintain her unruffled appearance, but inwardly questions buzzed through her brain let angry bees. What the hell is he implying? Who does he think he is? After what Ive been through today how dare he come in here, flash that handsome face of his, expect me to melt like I can't believe it's not butter, and answer his accusatory questions? Clearly offended and insulted, Denise arched her brows. Well, two can play at this game. She was not going to allow another man to make her cower today.
She glared at him. "Detective, while you were standing on the opposite side of that glass mirror, perhaps you didn't hear my answers the first time I was asked all these questions. No! I don't know my attackers . I've never seen them before, and I don't know how they got into my apartment. Apparently they broke in. And yes they threatened my life, because I saw them kill my neighbor. And I don't appreciate you insinuating anything other than what I've already told you!" as she completed her response, her words thundered.
Controlling the anger her tone incited in him,
Page 13 Terrence glanced at Brian McKinney, his face a mask. He'd mistakenly read her earlier tone and body language to be that of a helpless victim who was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This was a perfect example of why he didn't assume things.
Now, he had to admit this one was sharp.
In his most calm, confident voice, he replied, "I apologize, Miss Richardson. My questions were not meant to upset you. Please understand that I'm not insinuating anything. I'm merely verifying your statement." He paused for a moment, clearly sizing her up with new eyes, before he continued. "If you've told us everything, then, there's no need to be paranoid."
Paranoid! She fumed silently. Where does he get off calling me paranoid? He doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. That's it! I don't need this, I'm out of here.
Slowly and deliberately, Denise rose from her chair. Everything about her expression and body language told the men in the room that she was going to break it down for them so there was no danger of her being misunderstood.
I've had a very rough morning, Detective. I'm the one who witnessed a murder, remember?" Her tone held a razor-sharp edge as she steadily held his cool
Page 14 gaze. "There's no need to be condescending. I've told you everything I know."
She hoped her performance was convincing, because apparently, the course of this morning's events were progressively taking their toll on her. Even now as she hotly eyed the lead detective, her stomach began to quiver. Such sensations could only be caused by her ordeal, she told herself. Not by him or the strong attraction she tried to ignore in his eyes.
She only hoped she wouldn't faint again. Still, it would be a good idea to get out of here before she did. "If there's nothing else." she said softly, as she headed for the door.
Knowing he'd gone as far as he could go for now, Terrence rose from his chair and beat Denise to the door. Technically, they didn't have enough evidence against her to detain her, so she was free to leave.
"Miss Richardson, before you leave, you will need to read and sign your statement." Detective McKinney held the forms out to her, all too condemning, as far as she was concerned. Denise's anger made her want to refuse. For a fleeting moment, she imagined throwing the pages into the air and running out of the room. But she couldn't do that. She didn't want to say or do anything she might
Page 15 regret later.
Instead, she carried the forms to the table, signed her name without reading them, and then turned to leave.
"If you think of anything else . . . please let us know," the detective finished.
"'Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Richardson. We'll be in touch," Terrence added smoothly.
Denise glared at him. But the mélange of emotions continued to stir inside her like a quiet storm. He was being irritating on purpose, she decided as she looked into his eyes. And it took all of her will not to lose her cool in front of this man.
"I'm sure you will," she said curtly before turning and walking out of the room. The heels of her shoes echoed hollowly on the linoleum of the hall outside, and although she refused to give him the satisfaction of a backward glance, she was sure that she could feel his eyes on her back until she turned a corner and was out of sight.
Copyright © 2010 by Swanzetta Smith
Page 18 Chapter One
"I want the proposal ready and on the agenda for our July board meeting, along with our annual report. The sooner we get the board members to back the expansion project, the sooner well be able to get the ball rolling," Darien said into his cell phone.
"I agree. However, there may be a delay with the annual report," Douglas DeHaney replied.
A slight crease formed above Dariens brows. What sort of delay?
"The accounting department found some discrepancies in the financial statements in the third and fourth quarters. The numbers dont coincide with what has already been posted. There seems to be large sums of money missing," Douglas informed Darien. "Our auditing personnel have narrowed the discrepancies down to the Majestic in San Diego.
Darien filled his lungs to capacity before exhaling, pushing out the tension trying to invade his body. He didnt like the unnerved tone of Douglas usually assured voice. Darien knew the discrepancies must be significant for them to reach his chief financial officer.
Page 19 Gathering his thoughts, Darien tried to keep his voice non-threatening. His main concern was complete resolution. "Doug, I want the money found and reconciled by the time we present the board with the expansion proposal."
Both men knew that the new expansion project, when accepted, would carry great potential for Majestic Suites Hotels in its near future. They didnt need any shortcomings that could deter the possibilities for further growth.
"It's top priority." Douglas voice was back to its usual confident tone. Charmaine Jackson in auditing is in charge of the reconciliations. She'll trace it down.
"I want a full report, including dates and entries. We can't have any surprises interfering with our projections. Were ready to take the expansion to the next level," Darien stressed.
By no means did his inheritance of a single Majestic Hotel, which now included twelve locations throughout California, Oregon, Arizona, Nevada, Texas and Colorado, make it easier for him to become one of the most successful and wealthiest black men in the country. He owned several other companies powered by DM Corporation, prominently thriving enterprises that built solid economic relationships
Page 20 and promoted diversity while maintaining strong ethical practices. He planned monumental changes for Majestic Suites Hotels, and he would do everything in his power to make the expansion a success.
"Let's set up a meeting after I return from Houston next week," Darien said.
"All right. I'm sure things will be straightened out by then.
Darien gave a swift nod to his financial officer's response before ending the call. Lifting his black leather attaché case onto his lap, he unfastened the buckled straps and flipped through several manila folders placed there by Helen Grayson, his reliably efficient secretary. His thoughts shortly turned back to the conversation hed just had with Douglas. He was sure the problem was just an oversight. The company's financial data underwent extreme scrutiny under Douglas meticulous control that named him the bulwark of misappropriation. Douglas was a good man and had been Dariens right hand for many years. Darien trusted Douglas to keep Majestics finances safe. Shaking his head in volition, Darien decided not to let the news about the discrepancy put him in a bad mood. He was confident the missing funds would be found and posted correctly to reflect
Page 21 the company's accurate financial track record.
Darien loosened his tie and continued going through his attaché case. He had other matters that demanded his attention. Finally locating the folder for which he searched, he removed it from the case. Flipping the folder open, he scanned the papers that required his signature. His lawyer, Halston Chandler, needed him to review and sign some insurance documents regarding several of his properties in California and Arizona. While on the second page, his reading was interrupted by the driver sliding inside the car. He looked up as the window behind the drivers head slid down.
"Sorry for the wait, Mr. Michaels. They were just now wrapping the gift.
"That's fine, Ray. I had plenty to keep myself busy. Replacing the documents," Darien snapped the case closed and placed it on the seat next to him. He'd finish reviewing them later. Unconsciously, he ran a manicured nail along his bottom lip, something he did whenever he was deep in thought. "So, do you think she'll like it? Darien asked.
The driver exposed his calm profile to his employer. "Of course. Your mother thrives on diamonds." He shifted comfortably in the seat. "I think she expects it," Darien heard him mutter.
Page 22 Then, in his normal, warm-hearted voice, Ray said, "May I suggest flowers and a box of chocolate for Mother's Day next year. I'm sure Miss Michaels would be just as surprised, and it wouldn't be as expensive.
Smiling at the mere sentiment, Darien pushed that idea to the back of his mind, knowing that was out of the equation. "Ray, you know my mother would disown me if I came anywhere near her with flowers and candy. Her allergies and constant dieting prohibits any semblance of such innocent gifts. I think Ill play it safe with jewelry."
Ray chuckled lightly.
Raymond Thomas had been Dariens chauffeur for the past seven years, and they spent a great deal of time together. The two men had become good friends despite their twenty-year age difference. Darien sometimes looked at Ray who was in his mid-fifties as a father figure, something he had missed since his childhood.
"Suit yourself, but I like to get a good rile out of her every now and again. Keeps her on her toes," Ray replied jovially.
Laughing, Darien figured Ray had somewhat of a crush on his flamboyant mother and she in turn seemed to have an eye on the kindly gentleman, though neither one of them would admit to it.
Page 23 "Only you could get away with teasing her, Ray," Darien said.
Just then, Darien happened to glance out the window and caught a glimpse of a young woman walking by his limousine. He inhaled deeply, his breath leaving his body in a measured rush. There was something about her that would not permit him to tear his gaze away from her. Her gait was graceful; all motion around her slowed as she past. She seemed to have been contemplating something just before pausing in front of a boutique window, eyeing a particular dress then proceeding inside. From what he could see, she had soft features that held a youthful yet sophisticated appearance. The contours of a pleasing figure under her satiny cream pantsuit showed off feminine curves in places that a man could definitely appreciate. Her velvety dark hair reminded him of a milk chocolate waterfall, silky and gracefully cascading past her slender shoulders. Darien had watched the woman intently through the black-tinted glass, deliberating about whether to get out of the car and approach her.
He recalled back in the day when he was young and impetuous, how he wouldnt have hesitated. It hadnt taken much persuasion to get any woman he wanted back then or even now. It was something he
Page 24 didn't have to think about. Ever since he had started dating, he had been told by quite a few women he would never have to worry about being lonely. He had to admit, he was a man who enjoyed the presence of a beautiful woman on his arm, and on occasion in his bed. Although the company was satisfying for a while, he quickly learned most of them were after his money. With those women, relationships were short and meaningless. It had taken him reaching thirty-six to realize he was ready to settle down. But how would he begin? he wondered. He'd gotten so used to the attention he got from women he didn't know how to turn his charm off. Knowing it was wrong, he would find himself testing women he met with unconventional greetings or even gifts just to see their reactions. It was his way of trying to find a woman who looked beyond material things into his heart. So with a decision made, Darien told Ray to park it for a moment while he did a little shopping himself.
Tilting her head slightly sideways, Patrice Hathaway peered at the poised metallic-gold mannequin through the streak-free glass window with a studied gaze.
Page 25 The sexy red dress donning the slim, faceless body had snatched her back from her ruminating as she leisurely strolled on the crowded sidewalk of Rodeo Drive. After the humiliating scene at the restaurant that afternoon, she d decided to assuage her irritation by just window shopping.
Robert Spencer, an old boyfriend, had invited her to have lunch with him at Rubens, their once favorite Italian restaurant, to celebrate his recent promotion as senior rep of marketing at Quest Research Inc. She'd gladly accepted. They'd gone out off and on just as friends since their breakup two years ago. As they sat in the restaurant, she and Robert had chatted and eaten lunch enjoyably.
"Patrice?" A deep voice broke in their conversation. "I thought that was you.
"David. Hi." Patrice looked up and smiled, as not to show her surprise. David Cole, a financial consultant at one of her firms contracting businesses, had shown his interest in her three months earlier when they had met at a conference in the Wilshire District. Although they had dated a few times, they were far from lovers. Patrice introduced David to Robert and watched them exchange apprehensive nods.
"I'm glad I ran into you. We're still on for
Page 26 tomorrow, right?" David asked.
Not now, Patrice thought. She didn't want to get into her dinner plans in front of Robert. Aside from being friends, she felt her ex-flame didn't need to know with whom she spent her time. Another quick smile graced her full lips as she flashed her brown eyes toward her lunch mate.
"Why don't I call you later?" she simply insisted. But that hadn't ended the issue.
She noticed a frown appear on Robert's face as David began to talk about their planned evening. David had undeniably made his affinity for her clear as crystal and hadn't cared who knew it.
A minute passed and so had Robert's patience.
"Would you excuse us? We're having lunch." Robert was polite enough given the fact he hadn't appreciated the awkward intrusion---especially from another man.
David looked over at Robert with a raised brow. "Oh, my bad. I didn't think you'd mind the two of us getting our plans straight. It's so hard to catch up with this busy lady." He gave Patrice a quick wink. "After all, I know you don't think you're her only friend." He chuckled, laying heavy on the last word.
And that had done it. Patrice had heard the bell sound in her ears as she watched the two prized
Page 27 fighters step to the center of the ring, her mouth forming a perfect O.
Robert rose from his seat, causing David to straighten his bent posture. The two of them stood eye to eye, baiting each other for what seemed like the longest minute recorded in history as curious patrons looked on.
Did it always have to turn into a jealous impasse? she wondered. She'd heard of being the object of someones affection, but this was taking it a bit far. Since grade school, she'd had no luck with boys, and now that she was an adult, men were no better. And it was getting old. Along with her anger and just about all the embarrassment she could stand, she'd ended up walking out of the restaurant, leaving them both running after her.
Blinking away the memory, Patrice returned her gaze to the dress in the window. It was beautiful. The dress would hit mid-thigh, showing off her long, shapely legs, while accentuating the curves of her well-proportioned figure. Not to mention the color would be stunning against her honey-brown skin.
As a silky tress caught in a cool breeze, Patrice manipulated the stray lock of hair behind her right ear before going into the store to get a closer look at the attention-grabbing dress. Once inside, she
Page 28 she surveyed the exclusive boutique with its sleek evening dresses and dainty matching accessories. She knew she shouldn't be threatening to buy another stitch of clothing. Her closet had way too many clothes she hadn't even worn. Still, she talked herself into browsing just the same.
Patrice stopped in front of several clothes racks and shelves, pulling and touching the expensive garments with a careful hand. Soon after she entered the shop, a thin Barbie doll salesclerk wearing a lemon-colored blouse and a wraparound skirt the same vibrant color walked up to her.
"Is there anything I can help you find?"
Patrice barely glanced over at the woman. "No, thank you. Im just looking."
"Well, if you need anything, let me know," the saleswoman said, adding a friendly smile as she turned and walked toward the cash register.
"Thanks." Patrice returned a fake smile.
Most of the clothes she saw, she liked. Patrice reminded herself not to spend too much time in the store---it might get her in trouble. She hurried toward the red dress. Lifting it up by its hanger, she scanned the silky fabric, appreciating its appeal. She then surreptitiously searched for the price, but there was no tag. The store probably held the policy
Page 29 "If you have to ask you can't afford it" to discourage customers such as herself from being embarrassed. She guessed the cost at around two hundred dollars. But when she asked the salesclerk the cost, the inconceivable price of four hundred and ninety-five dollars spewed from the clerk's ruddy lips. Patrice knew it hadn't cost a third of that to make the skimpy creation. As a real estate appraiser, she made decent money, but she still had to watch her spending.
Smiling, Patrice thanked the woman and hung the dress back up. The elegant garment wouldnt be going home with her that day.
As she ambled toward the door, her curiosity satisfied, she stopped momentarily, her back facing the entrance. Another dress had caught her attention. She knew crossing the stores threshold would get her in trouble.
Within a few seconds, Darien entered the store and stood near the doorway, looking around as though he owned the place, as if he was in his natural environment---the lion in his native jungle.
He adjusted his broad shoulders in the tailored suit jacket he wore, fingering the pearl buttons of
Page 30 instinctively knowing he had just become the center of attention. He had stopped counting the number of times he'd been told he could easily grace any cover of the latest men magazine, being included as one of The Ten Sexiest Black Men in America. He only needed to show a little interest and women practically threw their numbers at him.
Noticing he had captured the flirtatious eyes of the blonde salesclerk, he confidently approached her, feeling a few heads turn in his wake.
"Hello," Darien enamored smoothly. "How are you?"
Immediately, he brought a wide smile to the salesclerk's face. "Hi."
He returned her smile. "I'd like to purchase that dress." He pointed at the enticing scarlet creation hanging inanimately on the metal rack. "In a size to fit--- he then swung his gaze toward the woman
wearing the cream pantsuit. "---her," he said, casting a sidelong glance at the clerk.
He glided over in her direction with a smile creasing his strong, handsome features. He stood behind Patrice as he implored her attention. "Excuse me. What size do you wear?"
Patrice casually glanced over her right shoulder, and met face-to-face with one fine brother smiling
Page 31 directly at her. She blinked a few times before asking, "I beg your pardon?"
"Would you mind trying on that dress for me?" he asked, waving his hand toward the salesclerk who was standing next to the steeple rack, waiting to hear a dress size.
Patrice focused on him with a leveled brow and spoke for his ears only. "Yes, I mind." She dropped her gaze from his face down his impressive frame, taking in all six-foot-two of him, then met his magnetic stare once again. "What, are you crazy?"
The corner of his lips slowly curved into one of his fascinating smile. "No," he continued without the slightest trepidation. "I just happen to think the dress is perfect for you." His amber eyes memorized every aspect of her as he spoke. He watched her scintillating brown eyes, highlighted with flawlessly arched eyebrows shimmer with a seductive fire---or
was it a gleaming anger? He wasn't sure which. She had a cute teardrop nose above kissable full lips, of which he imagined tasting the sweet succulence. He had no doubt her body would be just as pleasurable in his embrace. The woman was incredibly beautiful.
In his confidence, he waited patiently for her response. He could tell she really wanted to try on the dress, her deliberate gaze darting at the other
Page 32 women in the store, then back at the dress and then him confirmed it.
"Find yourself another mannequin. I'm not interested," Patrice said in a firm voice, then made her way around him to leave.
Slightly stunned, her response was not quite the one Darien expected, but he always had a backup plan. "Try it on and you can keep it," he called after her.
She stopped. Okay, he had her attention now, along with some of the other women in the store. Slowly twirling on the heels of her two-inch cream-colored pumps, she sure-footedly strolled toward him.
Patrice turned up a crescent smile, then ran a wanton gaze across his smooth features.
"And what's in it for you?" she asked with a raised bow.
"Just the opportunity to get to know you. "
Copyright © 2010 by Swanzetta Smith
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