22
The following evening, Shayna waved good-bye to her teammates and nervously approached the waiting limousine. She felt strangely out of place, not joining her friends for celebratory pizza in Coach's suite. The day had been fantastic, with Shayna taking second in the 100-meter race, and third in the 200. Considering she'd not trained much for the past few weeks and had missed the platinum classics, she didn't feel too bad. Especially since she'd shown up and performed where it counted the most, the 4 x 100 relay with her girls.
She nodded a greeting as the driver opened her door, then she settled in for what she'd been told was a ten- to fifteen-minute ride. Retrieving the mirror from her purse, she eyed her reflection with a critical view. Turning this way and that, she finally agreed with Britt and Teeâthe upswept do made her look more sophisticated and Talisha's makeup job was spot on. Rarely one to wear makeup, Shayna was pleasantly surprised how the smoky eye shadow made her large doe eyes stand out, and the mascara promising “lashes so long you will swear that they're fake” was pretty much living up to its name. She licked her lips, still getting used to the bronze-colored gloss that Brittney had sworn would be a perfect match for the dress she'd insisted Shayna borrowâa formfitting cream-colored jersey silk that highlighted her curves like a yellow marker and hit her legs a few inches above the knee. “This is too much, too sexy,” she'd argued after first donning the garment. She'd turned in the mirror and almost gasped, feeling that her booty was way too prominent to be considered decent, and the neckline a little too plunging for her taste. Then both Brittney and Talisha had reminded her of the night's goal: seducing Michael Morgan. Back in Los Angeles, in the comfort of her condo, the idea had sounded genius. It had even still made sense this morning, when Michael had approached her at the track. But now, with her friends-barrier back at the hotel and the distance between her and Michael being rapidly eaten up by a limo driver on a mission, Shayna was now trying to find the mind that she'd lost.
“We're here, ma'am.”
Shayna looked up to find what appeared to be a large, Victorian-style brick home with defined shingles, several gables, and a windowed turret. Her expression was dubious. “This is it?”
“Yes, ma'am. The Belfry Inne and Bistro is housed in what is called the Painted Lady, a reference used for Victorian homes back in the nineteenth century when this was built. I've brought my share of guests to this establishment, and haven't ever heard of one who left disappointed.” He got out of the car to open the door for Shayna.
“Thank you,” she said, and then realized that she hadn't even thought of the cost of the ride. “I'm sorry, how much do I owe you?”
“All taken care of, ma'am,” the driver said, with a slight bow at the waist. “Go inside and enjoy.”
As Shayna approached the building's front door, she took in the charm, elegance, and grace of the place. Now, she didn't feel her outfit at all out of place, and was thankful that Talisha had talked her into wearing the dress instead of the slacks or pantsuit that would have been Shayna's choice. She entered, and was immediately taken to a table where Michael and who Shayna assumed was the XMVP representative already sat. Michael stood as she approached, his eyes hooded and unreadable. She hoped hers were as well, since the scenario she was imagining was making her nipples tingle and nana ache. He looked positively decadent in a tailored black suit and gray shirt. The woman was attractive, Shayna noted, wearing something that Shayna imagined the price of which could feed a slew of Haitian children.
“Shayna, hello,” Michael said, pulling her into a lightweight hug. “Let me introduce you to Dina DeVore, the VP of marketing for XMVP Shoes and Sportswear. Dina, this is Shayna, your next superstar spokesperson.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Shayna said, reaching for the outstretched hand that resembled a limp noodle when grasped. Whatever their differences, there was one thing Shayna had in common with her mother. She could read a woman's face and body language like a Kindle Fire. Shayna knew envy when she saw it, and given this potential endorser's rather frosty greeting, wondered about the relationship between this woman and Michael. If something was happening between them, then three would most definitely be a crowd.
“You looked fantastic today,” Michael said, once Shayna was seated. “Especially considering the fact that a month ago you were nursing cracked ribs. You should be proud of your showing.”
“I did okay,” Shayna said with a shrug. “This meet simply confirmed that I have a lot of work to do.”
The three made small talk as the waiter came over to take their drink order. Both Michael and Dina opted for wine while Shayna stuck to sparkling water, her drink of choice. After ordering appetizers, Cape littleneck chowder for Shayna, mussels for Michael, and Dina settling for the sirloin carpaccio, Dina's mini-interrogation began.
“So tell me, Shayna. Did you grow up in Los Angeles?”
“Yes, in Inglewood.”
“And did you always like to run?”
This question somewhat calmed Shayna's nerves. Talking about her passion, her first love, was easy. And it kept her from thinking about how that whisper of a mustache and goatee framed Michael's succulent lips. “I've been running for as long as I can remember,” she said, with a smile. “First with the kids, and then later
from
them. A teacher encouraged me to join the track team and then later a friend of the family” âtranslated: one of Beverly's many lovers, but no need to digressâ“noticed my potential and suggested I be entered into some citywide races. I was, and I won. My future was set and when USC came knocking, I never looked back.”
“Where do you get your talent?”
Shayna took a spoonful of chowder as she pondered her answer. She noted the aroma of the soup, identified the celery root and chorizo, along with some spices that she couldn't name. Big Mama thought the gift of speed came from her father, a belief that her mother had routinely shot down. “He wasn't fast enough to run away from the hood, to run from the lure of the streets,” Beverly had countered more than once. So many times, in fact, that Shayna believed her.
Any truthful answer she gave would be too complicated, so Shayna decided for a general approach. “I guess it's God-given,” she finally offered. “I just always loved to run. It makes me feel strong, and free.”
Michael ate his mussels and listened intently. In this moment, he realized that there was so much about Shayna that he didn't know. And he realized something else.
He wanted to know herâeverything. Everywhere.
As their meal continued and the wine flowed, Shayna noticed that the cold around Ms. Ice Princess began to thaw. Having had the time to study her, Shayna's assumption that Dina was in her thirties had been replaced by her believing the executive was in her forties instead. According to Dina, she'd been in the retail business for twenty years, having graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology and spending several years in Europe before settling on the East Coast. These days, Shayna learned, Dina split her time between coasts, having a home on Long Island and a condo in Beverly Hills. Michael eloquently stated the case for why Shayna would make such a great spokesperson and role model, and Shayna further won Dina over with understated charm.
As they finished their entrées of salmon, short ribs, and seafood risotto, Shayna pondered her next move.
How do I get Michael away from Ice Princess? Will saying I need to talk to him seem too obvious? Is trying to outlast Ice at the table not be noticeable enough?
Just as she began to think there was no cool way to pull his coattail and therefore no chance of seducing Michael Morgan, Dina's phone rang.
Her expression changed as she looked at the face of it. “Hello?” And then, “What is it, Jim?” She listened, appearing more worried as she held the phone to her ear. Finally she stood. “Michael, Shayna, excuse me. This will only take a minute.”
Dina had barely rounded the corner before Shayna spoke up, quickly, almost urgently, before she lost her nerve and along with it the hundred-dollar betâor “fun incentive,” as Brittney had called itâlying on the LA condo table. “Michael,” she said, lightly laying her hand on his muscled arm. “I need to speak with you privately. Is it possible for us to go back to your hotel room?”
23
For a moment, Michael didn't want to move. Because if he did, then he might wake up from what was surely a dream. Since seeing the vision enter the room wrapped in cream-colored loveliness, he'd basically had two things on his mind. Outwardly, to secure the deal with Dina DeVore and XMVP Sports. Inwardly, to get Shayna into his bed.
Had he just heard correctly? Had she just
asked
to go to his room? In his mind, her doing so was akin to the fly asking the spider for permission to visit his web. Thoughts bounced around in his mind like ping-pong balls.
What did she want to talk to him about? Had she hidden her interest and now wanted to get her groove on?
And then more sinister thoughts.
Is this a ploy to aid her professional success? Is there an ulterior motive to her wanting to get into my room? In the future, is there a way that she could use whatever happens between us against me? Or become a stalker, like what's her name?
Shayna's next words brought him out of his paralysis. “I'm sorry, Michael. I shouldn't have asked.”
“No, it's not that. It's just that Iâ”
“Probably have plans, or somebody waiting there for you already. I totally understand that. It was presumptuous of me to think any otherâ”
“Shayna!” Michael said, low yet forceful, reaching over to grab her gesturing hand. “There's no need to apologize. Your request took me by surprise, that's all. You're more than welcome to join me at the hotel. In fact, it will give us a chance to go over what was discussed tonight.” Michael figured to go over something all right, and it wasn't a discussion.
I just need to think of a way to get out of Dina's crosshairs.
“Look, this is going to sound crazy, but I need for you to do something. Right now.”
“What?”
“I need you to jump up from the table and run into the bathroom.”
“What?”
“I'll explain later, but as soon as you see Dina returning, you need to do this.”
Shayna's eyes narrowed. “Oh, so that's how it is.”
“No!” Michael hissed through clenched teeth. “I'll explain about her later, Shayna. Just do it!”
“What, like a Nike commercial?” Shayna wiped her mouth with the pristinely white linen napkin before slowing rising from the table. “I don't know about this now, Michael. I don't want to interfere with whatever'sâ”
Hearing the click-clack of Dina's heels and seeing the flash of red out the corner of his eye, Michael gave Shayna a not-so-subtle push away from him. Her face registered mild shock as she almost instinctively turned and rushed from the room, partly because he'd asked her, but mostly because the forward-propelled motion of his push suggested she keep her feet moving or fall down on her face.
As it were, in the process of leaving, she almost knocked Dina down instead.
“What's going on?” Dina asked after righting herself and rushing to the table where Michael now stood.
“Not sure,” Michael quickly replied, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a couple hundred-dollar bills. “She began to feel nauseous. It came out of nowhere.”
Dina watched as Shayna fled the room with her arm raised, her hand over her mouth, Dina presumed. “Maybe she's pregnant,” she drawled, partially believing what Michael told her, and partially not. The plan had been for her and Michael to spend the night together, but she'd seen the way he'd eyed her potential spokesperson all evening.
After tossing the money on the table, Michael placed a hand on Dina's shoulder. “Sorry, Dina, but I'm going to have to cancel our late-night meeting. I need to check on Shayna, make sure she gets back to her hotel okay.”
“How convenient,” was Dina's dryly delivered response, spoken to Michael's back as he rushed from the room.
He found Shayna near the foyer. With a firm hold on her arm, he ordered, “Let's go.”
Within minutes, Shayna was ensconced in a limousine next to Michael, looking back at the Belfry Inne and Bistro. Whether from nerves, fear, embarrassment, or genuine humor, Shayna couldn't tell, but she burst out laughing.
“What?” Michael asked, a big old “cheese” spreading across his face.
The more Shayna tried to explain why she was laughing, the more hysterically she guffawed. Soon, Michael's deep chuckle joined hers and the back of the limousine was filled with laughter. After a few comical moments, Shayna regained control of herself and wiped tear-filled eyes. “This is crazy,” she said at last. “I felt naughty back there, like I was lying to the coach to miss practice or skipping school or something.”
Baby, I'm getting ready to show you how naughty really feels!
She sobered. “But now that I'm here, I don't know if asking to see you privately was the right thing to do.”
“I'm glad you did,” Michael quickly reassured her. “I wanted to see you, too, just . . . didn't know how to ask you. Didn't know how you'd feel about it and I didn't want to come off as being forward or presumptuous or . . . any of those things.”
Shayna turned toward him, oblivious of the fact that when she did so, her dress rose up to midthigh and one juicy, cocoa orb peaked out from the dress's bodice. “So you first. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Mine can wait,” Michael replied, reaching for Shayna's hand and looking into her eyes as he continued. “What about you?”
“Mine can wait, too,” Shayna replied, suddenly feeling shy and a bit lost under his intense perusal. She deftly slid her hand from his before turning to look out the window.
Sensing her nervousness, Michael placed them back on neutral footing. “This your first time to the Cape?”
Shayna nodded. Then realizing the gesture might not be seen on this dark night, replied, “Yes, you?”
“I'm not a stranger to the area; used to attend Sean's white parties on Martha's Vineyard, and have a friend who moors his boat near Chatham.”
“What, a yacht or something?”
Michael shook his head. “Fishing boat. A little . . . never mind, it doesn't matter what type it is. One of my high school buddies fancies himself a fisherman and likes to go bass fishing in the summer.”
“You like to fish?” Shayna asked, not hiding the difficulty she was having in drawing a picture of Mr. GQ holding a rod and reel, let alone bait.
“I can take it or leave it. But I do enjoy the camaraderie with my boys, hanging out on the lake. There's something peaceful about fishing, being out on the water. After dealing with business twenty-four/seven, and the pace of the city, it's a nice change that I try and enjoy at least once or twice a year.”
Shayna eyed the passing scenery as she pondered Michael's comments. More than once, she'd thought she sensed a kinder, gentler soul beneath Michael's playboy personality and the fast-paced lifestyle. Before, she'd dismissed these as figments of her imagination, but now she wasn't so sure. As it were, there was no more time to ponder the issue. Surprising to Shayna, they'd reached their destination within minutes and with a quick thank-you to the driver, Shayna was being led up the stairs of a private home.
“Is this your place?” she asked.
“My friend's,” Michael responded, placing the key in the lock and turning it. “After you, baby.”
He'd probably used the term of endearment a zillion times, but that didn't stop a mini explosion from happening in her furnace of love. His hand at the small of her back as he entered behind her didn't help either. She hurried out of his grasp, trying to get in control of her emotions, trying to remember that she was the one who was supposed to be seducing him, and not the other way around.
Michael sensed Shayna's nervousness. Oddly, he too felt uneasy, something he hadn't experienced since giving Skittles to Robin before he was a teen. Michael pondered this thought as he observed Shayna.
Perhaps that's it,
he thought as he eyed the vulnerability seeping through the strong stare. The way her eyes flittered oh-so-briefly to the side before she determinedly locked vision again with him. Shayna was a most interesting mixture of opposites: athletically strong on the outside but emotionally vulnerable on the inside.
He tried to put her at ease. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Sure. What do you have?”
Michael walked to the bar. “I know you don't drink alcohol soâ”
“I'll try something light.”
Michael looked up at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, like maybe a . . . wine cooler?”
“Ha! I haven't heard that phrase since high school. Do they still make that alcoholic Kool-Aid?”
Shayna shrugged, feeling some of her nervousness leave on the wings of his laughter. “You know that I never was much of a drinker.”
“No worries. I'll hook up something for you, something fruity with a little kick. How's that sound?”
“Okay.”
While Michael made the drinks, Shayna took the time to look around her. The decor was simple and rather neutral; the place could have been owned by a man or a woman. There was an extra-long couch that sat beneath a bank of windows facing the street. On the right wall was a fireplace flanked by two wingback chairs. A small love seat and tree-stump end table sat between the living and dining spaces with the kitchen just beyond. The art reflected the area: seascapes and lighthouses, clam shells and fishing boats. The shades of blue and gray broken up with uncannily authentic-looking potted plants was soothing, and by the time Michael walked over with her drink, Shayna was fairly certain that her heart wouldn't jump out of her chest.
Then Michael handed her the drink, and their fingers touched. They both felt the spark.
Shayna took a sip of the drink that Michael had prepared for her. It was fruity, and carbonated, and tasted as if it contained no alcohol at all. “What's in here?” she asked.
“Perrier, fruit juice, and a splash of Grey Goose.”
“That's vodka, right?”
“Right.”
Shayna took another sip. “It's good.” She noticed Michael had poured himself a glass of wine. “I see you like wine.”
“Not so much. When I drink, which really isn't that often, I'm more of a beer guy. I just poured this because it's what I started with tonight.”
“Oh.” Shayna took another sip.
Michael lightly touched her arm. “Let's sit down.”
They sat on the couch. Shayna took another sip of her drink and told herself to relax. Michael reared back against the sofa, sipping his wine, watching Shayna. “So,” he began, his voice husky and silky smooth at the same time, “what did you want to talk to me about?”
Shayna took yet another sip of her drink, trying to buy time and remember all of the cute little lines her friends had supplied her with. In the light of reality, they all sounded . . . well . . . whack. She decided that the best approach was a straightforward one. So, taking another sip, followed by a deep breath, she turned to face him.
He was a good two feet away. Way too close.
“Nothing in particular. Just wanted to”âShayna forced herself to look him in the eyeâ“get to know you better.”
The message couldn't have been more clear had it been texted to his cell phone. Without breaking eye contact, Michael set down his glass on the coffee table. He lessened the distance between them, removed the drink from Shayna's hand. “There's something I'd like to know better, too,” he murmured, running a finger along her cheek, across her jawline, and down her neck.
Shayna's swallow was almost audible. “What's that?” she whispered.
Michael ran his finger across her lips. “These.”
His kiss was gentle, the merest of touching as he slowly moved his lips across hers. Shayna worked to control her breathing, content to let Michael take the lead in what she now knew was an inevitable dance. He pulled her to him, placing her neck in the crook of his arm while turning his body to better connect them. Still, the kiss was soft, a whisper really, even as he began to rub her arm, up and down, slowly, gently, massaging her shoulders, and back down again. He placed kisses on each side of her mouth, the tip of her nose and eyelids before raining them down her cheek until he finally nuzzled in the crevice of her neck. He lifted his head and looked at her. “You smell good.”
As soon as she opened her mouth, he kissed her, his skillful tongue pushing back her answer. Shayna was surprised that such a forceful move could be delivered in such a sensitive way. His mouth was pressed firmly against hers, yet his tongue was tender, searching, initiating a playful dance with hers. He moved his head in the same circular motion as his tongue. Belatedly, she realized that his hand had moved from her arm to the front of her dress and his thumb was recreating the same lazy circle over the material of her nipple. It was just a kiss, but Shayna felt herself about to burst. Michael's approach was so different from Jarrell's, the only other man with whom she'd ever been intimate. Her ex-boyfriend's kisses were hard and unyielding, and while Shayna had thought she liked his rough-and-tumble caveman approach, she now realized that when it came to lovemaking, she had a lot to learn. As Michael's mouth left hers and once more began a journey down her neckline, she also realized that he was probably a very good teacher.