Authors: Gail McFarland
“Oh.” The music changed, and still holding her in his arms, AJ kept dancing. “Still?”
Marlea nodded. “Still.”
His feet stopped, but he didn’t release her and she had no urge to go. “You could have told me, Marlea. You should have told me. It all makes sense now, but I thought you hated me.”
“I don’t hate you,” she said sheepishly, resting in his arms.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Now you’re just talking crazy.” Marlea sucked her teeth. “How was I supposed to say that to you?”
“You could have trusted me to understand.”
“You were a stranger, and I was dealing with something way out of my usual experience,” she said. “You’re a nice man, AJ, and a really good dancer, but can I tell you something else now?” He nodded. “I’m getting pretty tired.”
“Sorry. We dance so well together, that I forgot how tired you must be,” AJ grinned.
“Yes, I’m really beat, but…dancing with you was nice.”
His lips never moved, but his eyes said something Marlea couldn’t translate. Wishing him closer and afraid to hold on, she felt like a fool.
He’s like no other man I’ve ever known.
With most of the men she had known, she had always felt obliged to be less in the effort to make them feel like more. But with AJ there was an undeniable willingness of spirit, wholeness, and the interest it takes to be a part of someone else’s life.
When someone gives you something as special as this man is giving me, makes you feel as special as he is making me feel, what do you do? I could say…
“Thank you for the date, AJ. This is the best date I’ve had since…forever. I want to give you something.”
Reaching behind her head, she pulled the band from her hair. Long and thick, her hair fell to her shoulders. A perfect frame for the coppery oval of her face, it shielded her from him. Taking his hand between hers, she slipped it over his hand to his wrist. “My kids made this for me. I wore it when I ran my best 400, and I want you to have it.”
“I don’t know what to say, Marlea.” He turned his wrist beneath her hand. “This has to be precious to you.”
“You gave me a flower and M&Ms, and a chance to dance. That’s precious to me. The band is from my running, my past. Up until tonight, it was one of the most precious things I owned. Tonight, you gave me this date and a little taste of my future. That’s precious to me, too.”
“Does that mean our date is over? It’s still early. Are you saying goodnight to me?”
“For now.”
She saw him, knew that his face was coming closer, and she made no effort to get out of the way. Her arms rose of their own accord, her fingers locking behind his head, then pulling herself closer, Marlea met him more than halfway. Slowly, her lips brushed the corner of his mouth. Letting her lips find his, the sudden sweet crush of his lips challenged her, distancing control and reason. Questing tongues steered them toward an unspoken destination, and they both went willingly. Surrender should have sought a different name. In his arms, Marlea claimed as much as she gave. Holding her, AJ could not have asked for more.
It took energy, time, and the need to breathe to separate them.
“You’re a really good kisser,” Marlea admired.
“This surprises you?” AJ teased.
“No, what surprised me is that you’re really a good dancer. It makes me wonder what else you’re good at.”
He kissed her again, slower this time. “You let me know when you’re ready to find out.”
* * *
She was gone, but he could still feel her. The little band from her hair seemed to carry an intimate hint of who she really was. It surprised AJ how much he wanted to feel deserving of her trust. He remembered the last time he cared so much about what a woman thought of him.
Bianca.
I got down on my knees and asked for her hand in marriage, like some sucker in a fairy tale, and look where that got me.
Kicked in the teeth—and more than once.
He wrapped the band around his fingers and almost thought he could feel Marlea’s ebbing warmth. Dancing with her had been therapy—for both of them. Holding her in his arms felt like the most natural thing on earth. Letting her go had been harder than he would have ever imagined.
Out of thin air, he remembered sitting at the table with her on her first afternoon at the house. They had watched Rissa and Dench make their silly bet, and he had told Marlea that they were in love and didn’t have the sense to know it.
She laughed and said that she couldn’t imagine being in love and not knowing it.
AJ’s fingers caressed the hair band and he sighed.
Maybe Rissa and Dench aren’t the only ones.
Chapter 21
“Man, this is almost like planning a war.” AJ pushed his chair back from the table and stretched. “To tell the truth, when I volunteered for this, I figured all I would have to do was pose for some pictures and write a check.”
“In your dreams,” Harriet Blake laughed, tugging her green printed blouse down over her hips. The sound of her laughter was a lot like Harriet—big, round, solid. Brown-skinned and full-breasted, hers wasn’t exactly the body type most people would picture in a road race, but everybody in AJ’s library that morning knew that Harriet Blake didn’t hesitate to put her foot where her true heart was. The woman would run for anything that would benefit man or womankind.
“I told you up front that this was going to take a lot of work, and what did you say to me? You said,” Harriet deepened her voice, “you said, ‘I’m up to it. I’m fully committed.’ Those were your exact words, if I remember correctly—and I’m sure that I do.” She plopped an elbow on the desktop and laughed again. “But at least we’re getting the Hammond House for this.”
The historic Victorian house in Atlanta’s West End would be perfect for the reception. Dedicated as a museum, the beautiful old building housed an exceptional African-American art collection. The carefully landscaped backyard was large enough to hold a tent for the anticipated overflow crowd.
Sitting back in his chair and holding a gold-rimmed china saucer daintily beneath his coffee cup, Charles Wade said, “She still hasn’t told us why it has to be held in a tent.”
“It’s September in Atlanta,” Harriet said, as though that explained everything.
Charles frowned, prissy to a fault. Unconvinced, he added, “She hasn’t told us how they’re going to hang chandeliers in the tent and keep it cool enough for a thousand people to mill around in there, or why we need to decorate the rooms with topiary, either.”
“It’s decoration to set the mood, hon. That’s what party planners are for,” Sophia Edwards soothed, motioning Harriet to be quiet. “I’ve gotten volunteer commitments on everything, including manpower. We will be serving a full buffet supper, and we are going to have china dishes and real silverware and crystal glasses for the drinks. I’ve buttonholed every business and service provider I can think of to make sure of it. We’re going to set an appropriate tone for this event, and it will be reflected in the bottom line.” She gave Wade’s almond-skinned arm a solicitous pat. “It’s all going to be just fine, Charles. I have everything well in hand. You’ll see.”
He grumbled something unintelligible, clearly not pacified.
Mitch Foster strolled back to the table from his place by the windows. A small man, quiet and compact, he seemed to take comfort from viewing the gardens whenever he attended one of these meetings at AJ’s home. “It seems that we’re finished with detailing race logistics, staff, and sponsors. Am I right?”
“Unless you know of someone who wants to lace up his shoes and run this thing for me,” Harriet snickered. Charles Wade groaned. “Or if they don’t want to run, they could pick me up in a limo, or maybe a stretch Hummer,” Harriet said.
“We don’t have those kinds of sponsors, babe.” Sophia’s long nails flashed dismissal.
AJ dropped his chin into his hand and waited. “Ladies?” Sophia and Harriet turned to flutter their lashes in his direction.
“This is why this thing takes a year to plan,” Charles reminded everyone.
“Before we break up, I just want to do a final review of our donors.” Mitch opened a bright yellow folder. He passed a clutch of stapled sheets to everyone around the table. “This is my final list. I just want to make sure that none of you can think of a name to add.”
Even Charles Wade admitted that the list looked complete, and Harriet and Sophia were impressed by some of the names from the entertainment world.
“Omigod, looka here!” Sophia screeched, honing in on a name among the Ws. “I know he’s got a daughter at Spelman, but do you really think he’ll show up to run in our little race?” She sighed like a schoolgirl. “I’ve loved him since he was on television.”
“Ooh, girl, yeah. I remember when he was on
ER
. He was so young and so fine.”
“Now he’s got an Oscar, and he’s just grown finer with time.” Sophia bit her clenched fist.
“Could you two come back to the here and now?” Charles Wade snapped his fingers under the women’s noses. Trying not to laugh, AJ looked down at his own list.
“We’re up by a couple of thousand early entries,” Mitch explained. “I expect there will be about 1,500 more at the race site that day.”
AJ turned pages. “Man, I remember back when I was still in school and this race was only an 8K, drawing a couple of hundred die-hard runners, total.”
“It’s you, man—your stepping up and calling attention to the cause. I still can’t believe you’re willing to write a fat check, help us out with the media stuff, and put your foot on the road, too.” Mitch grinned proudly. “I can think of a whole bunch of brothers—some sisters, too—who would pay a bunch of money to run with you.”
“Some of ’em are already paying a bunch, thank goodness,” Harriet laughed.
“It’s for a good cause. I’m glad to do it. But let’s get back to this list. I want to see if there are any donors that I can talk into upping their donations.”
“Good idea; research can always use more money.” Looking over AJ’s shoulder, Mitch pointed to a name. “There’s a buddy of yours.”
Dench Traylor’s name was in the middle of the page. AJ smiled. “If you can get that old boy to run, then I already know that my sister’s name must be on this list somewhere.”
“Yeah, she’s on there, a few pages back. Flip back a few pages to the beginning, and I think you’ll see some others you know.”
AJ flipped to the first page, and came across the names of a few old friends. Turning the page, he placed his finger at the top of the column and Bianca Coltrane’s name leapt out at him.
“Take this one off,” AJ said brusquely, causing the volunteers to look at him curiously.
Straining to see, Mitch strained to read the name over AJ’s thick shoulder. “Bianca Coltrane? But she’s already accounted for. Her check cleared, and she’ll be at the reception and everything,” he protested.
AJ was adamant. “No, she can’t bring anything but trouble. Tell you what, I’ll write the check. Cash it and get the money back to her.”
“AJ, that’s just silly. Money is money, and she gave us hers. She wanted to make the donation from the goodness of her heart.”
“Not this one.” AJ’s finger tapped the sheet. “She never does anything from the goodness of her heart.”
“You sound like you know something,” Harriet said, looking at him closely. Then it obviously dawned on her. “Oh, was that this Bianca Coltrane?”
“Coltrane?” Charles Ward repeated. “Was she the one you almost…”
AJ was saved from answering when Marlea and Rissa slammed through the kitchen and rushed down the long hall arguing.
Moving backward, Marlea rushed through the open door first. “I beat you!”
“Did not!” Hot on her heels, Rissa wasn’t giving an inch. “Dench, you saw. We ran the length of the driveway, but I got here first, didn’t I?”
“You did not, I left your slow butt in the dust. That back you were following? It was mine!” Finally noticing the startled group gathered around the table, Marlea stopped moving and lowered her voice. “Uh…excuse me…”
“Uh-uh.” Desperate, Rissa swiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and appealed to Dench again. “Who won?”
No fool, Dench Traylor raised his hands. “Far as I could see, it was a dead heat, and you’ve got company here, in case you didn’t notice.” Loping across the marble floor, he snagged a muffin from a silver tray and glanced around. “Morning, all. Sorry for the intrusion—what did we interrupt?”
“Putting finishing touches on the plans for the reception tonight.” AJ turned to the committee members. “This is my sister, Rissa.” She raised a sweaty hand in greeting. “And these two are our house guests, Marlea Kellogg and Dench Traylor.”
Sophia tapped her cheek. “You comin’ tonight?”
“Long as I don’t have to run, I wouldn’t miss it,” Dench promised, jamming a chunk of his muffin into his mouth.
“Will there be dancing?” Marlea’s voice held enough longing to prompt everyone in the room to look at her.
“No,” AJ said slowly, “it’s not that kind of party.” Lowering his eyes, he shuffled papers. “This is more of a meet and greet kind of thing—something to get the donors and sponsors and the media excited about our cause.”
“What is your cause?”
“Special Olympics,” Rissa answered. “I told you about the fundraising support AJ gives them.”
“Are you going to come?” Harriet looked to Marlea and Rissa.
“No,” Marlea said, “I’m gonna pass.”
“The heck you are!” Rissa jammed her hands against her hips. “No way are you playing Cinderella up in this camp.”
“I wasn’t planning on anything like that. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Like I can’t find something in my closet to fit you. Oh, I know the perfect thing. Dreen did this original wrap dress for me, and it is so your style.”
Marlea took a step backward. “No, I wouldn’t dream of wearing something that was designed and made especially for you. Besides, I don’t have any shoes besides these—and what do you mean, my
style
?”
“Shoes are not a problem. I know exactly what to do about that. We’ll use that foam stuff that makes your running shoes fit.” Rissa looped her arm through Marlea’s, ignoring the pert style question. “We’ll do your hair up, and I’ll loan you my emerald necklace and earrings.”
“But…”
Dench shook his head. “Might as well give it up, girl. In case you don’t know, that’s Rissa-speak for ‘you’re going’.”
Rissa was already tugging her from the room. “And you’re going to look good when you get there, too.”
* * *
Dench Traylor looked good in the midnight-blue summer-weight wool shirt and slacks. He wore the tailored clothes well, but his best accessory was the smile on his lips. He looked like the big winner in the Lady Lottery, a beautiful woman on each arm. Tall and statuesque, Rissa Yarborough closed a possessive hand around his upper arm and smiled at him. Utterly charmed by the molten gold of her perfumed skin against the smoky gold-threaded cloth of her ankle-length dress, Dench flexed muscle he had almost forgotten he owned.
Seeing his sloppy grin, Marlea’s fingers became light on his other arm. Feeling like a third wheel, she let her hand drift to her side, setting the tall man and the object of his affection free to mix, mingle, and admire each other.
AJ saw them enter and smiled from the other side of the tent, immediately forgetting anything the man in front of him had to say.
Rissa was right
. Looking past Dench and barely seeing his sister, his eyes locked on Marlea. She was elegant in a way he had never seen before. Turquoise silk flowed in a sleek river of tiny pleats, from the halter at her throat to the wide-legged pants brushing the tops of the flat golden shoes she wore.
For a moment, AJ shifted into professional mode. He watched her walk, her gait smooth and even, her strength and balance apparent. Then the man took over and he lost himself in the curves of her body and the shift of her hips.
Her runner’s body, solid and gravity-defiant, teased and invited beneath the flowing silk. True to her word, Rissa had done something enchanting with Marlea’s hair, taking her workaday ponytail high and entwining it with gold.
She looks like a goddess
. AJ tried to come up with the name of some African equivalent to Aphrodite or Diana, the huntress.
I got nothin’
, he finally admitted,
but damn, she looks good
.
Totally unaware of her beauty or her presence, Marlea looked around the tent in awe. Her eyes rose to the crystal chandeliers adorning the tent’s roof and she smiled, fascinated. A pair of athletic-looking men stopped talking and headed in her direction, more than willing to explain the suspension of the lighting fixtures.
I don’t blame them; she’s stunning. Just gorgeous.
“You know her?”
The words snapped AJ back from the sight he had been enjoying. “She’s a house guest,” he said, eyes still trailing Marlea.
“Think I could meet her?” Kennedy Wharton, owner of Atlanta’s Best Bread asked, nudging AJ with an insistent finger.
“Maybe later.” The look on AJ’s face made the other man back off.
“And maybe not,” Wharton muttered, watching AJ head for the captivating figure in turquoise. Fortunately, he decided, spotting a pretty newspaper writer in a red minidress, the tent had an abundance of lovely women. He followed the mini-dress.
“Having a good time?” The familiar voice at her ear brightened Marlea’s smile and marked AJ’s territory as she turned to accept the slender flute filled with something golden and fizzy. “Ginger ale,” AJ smiled back.
Recognizing the arrival of the alpha male, Marlea’s two companions mumbled gentle excuses and left with regretful glances and private promises to return as soon as the former-pro interloper turned his back.
Marlea never noticed. “I am so glad I let Rissa talk me into coming tonight.”
“I’m glad you did, too.” AJ offered his arm and felt like a king when she took it. Walking through the tent, stopping to introduce her to several sponsors and loyal long-time runners, he admired her social grace, especially when confronted with recognition.
“Kellogg,” a dark panther-like man in khaki looked at her closely. He repeated her name another time or two. “This isn’t your usual kind of race, is it?”
“Marlea won’t be running this one, Kessler.” AJ felt Marlea stiffen at his side.
Maybe I should have let her handle that one on her own
, he thought belatedly.
Cranking his jaw to one side, Adrian Kessler studied Marlea. “I’m a writer for
Sports Today
, and I do some things for
Atlanta Sports and Fitness
, and I know you…Didn’t you run the 400?” He fingered his ear, then stroked his chin. “Yeah, you did—you’re the ‘glamazon’. Tall for the race, but fast as lightening. I saw you take first in St. Louis a few months ago, then you dropped out of sight. Everybody thought you were a cinch for the Olympic team, but you haven’t applied. What happened?”