Wayward Dreams (16 page)

Payne sized up the man she was with: older, taller—and definitely working out. With those eyes and the shape of his face, the brother had an exotic, almost foreign look. The sigh of the woman at his elbow made KPayne look harder at the way the man was looking at Bianca. But the problem was the way Bianca was looking at the man. They seemed to share some private joke, and crossing the room, her soft eyes held the man and no one else.

He had a mental flash of the man in bed with Bianca.
My
Bianca. The thought of her sensually flushed body and all of that tousled hair was almost too much for him.

KPayne watched them being seated and placing their orders. Bianca's smile and the color climbing her cheeks were almost unbearable. He knew all too well the appeal of her voice, lowered to include only the man with her. The small movement that threw her hair over her shoulder revealed a golden chain holding a locket he'd never seen. When her fingers strayed to the back of the man's hand, it was almost more insult than KPayne could take—
that used to be me, all about me!

KPayne found himself shoving past the woman at his side and heading for Bianca's table. Self-righteous and not caring about the people he passed so roughly, he couldn't stop his roiling thoughts:
How is she going to owe me money and think I'm going to sit here while she's flaunting this brother? Wonder what he's paying for the privilege? I wonder what…

Bianca sensed his presence seconds before she saw him; KPayne was targeting her with the precision of a laser.
Please don't let him make a scene…
But the look in his eyes told her a scene was inevitable. Somewhere in her heart she suddenly knew the truth of Newton's Third Law of Physics: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Her throat locked.

“Bianca? Is something wrong?” Harry's eyes followed hers to the rapidly advancing man.

KPayne's steps looked like the approach of every lie she'd ever told, every plot she'd ever manipulated, and Bianca wished the earth would simply open between them and swallow somebody—she didn't even care who.
Just let it be over. Please.

When he reached the table, KPayne leaned in and planted his hands on the white tablecloth. He looked briefly at Harry, but aimed his wrath at Bianca. “You're just out having lunch, enjoying the day, huh? Well, I want my money. Now.”

“Kelvin, this isn't the time or the place.”

He slammed his heavy hand against the table and she jumped. “Damn a time or place!” he said, his green eyes flashing.

Ashamed, and aware that Harry was watching, Bianca prayed for reason to surface. “Kelvin, I sent your payment to your attorney, and, as far as the next one goes, I have to ask you to be patient.”

“I ain't gotta be patient.”

Hope for reason died. Bianca's throat went dry and her hands trembled in her lap. Kelvin was pushing his anger and her limits, as she clung to the remnants of her pride. “We have a contract, and I'm doing my best to honor it. I've just signed a major contract and the money from the vendor will cover some of my debt…”

“Did I stutter, or are you just hard of hearing? I said I want my money. I want all of it.”

“Excuse me.” Harry's voice was calm and reasonable, but his tone was not to be ignored.

KPayne shifted his eyes, and swallowed hard when he met Harry's unyielding gaze. “What?”

“It seems you have a business concern that would be better addressed outside this restaurant. It also seems your language and actions are inappropriate.”

“What?” KPayne balled his hands into fists, emphasizing his point.

“Whatever you thought you needed to say to this lady, consider it said. You need to leave.” Harry stood.

KPayne ran a hand along his jawline and decided a fight wasn't worth it. He pulled at his jeans and took a step back. Looking from Bianca to Harry, he said, “This ain't over.”

“Yes, it is,” Harry said.

Knowing his crew was watching and that this man meant business, KPayne shook his finger at Bianca. “We'll talk.”

Turning on his heel and trying hard to keep his stroll cool and even, Payne managed to reach his table. He looked into the curious faces staring at him, but there was nothing they could do for him; they didn't even look like fun anymore.
Hell with them.
He slapped money to the tabletop. “I'm out.”

Maybe none of them wanted to be stuck with the final bill. Maybe they actually felt some loyalty to the man who usually paid it. Maybe they had watched his confrontation and felt sorry for him. Whatever the reason, the people at the table stood and moved when KPayne did. Bumping one another, talking louder than necessary, they tried to look cool shambling across the floor in their expensive video-flavored street chic and overdone jewelry.

Harry watched Payne and his entourage file out of the restaurant and across the patio. When they paused before descending the stairs to the parking lot, Harry took a good look at him.
Late twenties, early thirties; young and overindulged
, he thought.
Probably comes from money; had good skin and teeth, expensive jeans and shoes. Too young to appreciate something good.
Harry frowned slightly when he looked back to Bianca.

“Wait,” she blurted before he could speak. “I need to apologize for that scene.”

“No, you don't.”

“Yes, I do.” She raised her hands, then let them fall into her lap. “That was Kelvin.”

“An ex-boyfriend.”

“If you think you know something, you don't. I told you my life was complicated. He's one of the complications. I used to…” Her eyes fell to the hands twisting in her lap. “Date him,” she finished.

“I see.”

“No, you don't.”

Food arrived, but for the life of her, Bianca couldn't come up with any words that made sense. How was she going to make what had just happened between her and Kelvin make any sense to the man sitting across from her? He was a nice guy, attracted to her, and she was attracted to him; that only made things more difficult.

Sitting in the big fan-backed chair, with a shaft of afternoon sun backlighting him, Harry Jordan looked like he could have been anything from a king to a generous angel, and the look suited him. He turned his head, and she studied his profile—infinitely easier to look at than his full face with those disturbing eyes and distracting lips.

His face was a clean oval, with highly defined cheekbones and a firmly squared jaw that saved him from being too pretty. His nose was long and straight, its broadness acknowledging African his heritage. And without meaning to, she loved his dark eyes with their unexpectedly long lashes. Those were gorgeous, but they didn't make things any easier. Panic and embarrassment thickened in her throat, and as their server turned from the table, she pressed her lips together, afraid of what she might say and how he might take it.
After what he just saw, he's going to think I'm some kind of crazy shyster or thief.

Harry moved dishes and unfurled his napkin. Trying not to meet his eyes, Bianca looked at her napkin. Knowing she couldn't stare at it all day, her mouth opened.

“I used to live with him. I borrowed money for my business from him. The business was robbed and, at first, the police thought I did it but now they don't. He threw me out. I had to get a job. Your brother hired me and now I'm paying the debt off as fast as I can.” Like a clock with a busted spring, she finally wound down. “I guess this was a mistake, and you'll want to take me home now.”

“We just got here and we haven't eaten yet. Why would I want to take you home?” Harry asked, taking her hands. “Look, Bianca, you and that guy have a past and some differences, and that's why he's an
ex
-boyfriend. That's not my business, but for this little while, you are my business, and I'm not ready to give him any of my time with you.”

“Me and all my complications?”

“You want to make it better?” He dropped her hands and looked at his watch. “You've got ten seconds.”

“Oh, you're kidding! I've already told you…”

“Starting now.”

“I…oldest of two, parents deceased, clothing designer, Vive la Reine is the name of my store, uh…I really want you to like me, but…” Realizing what she'd said, she pushed back her chair, started to stand. “I can't do this.”

Harry caught her wrist. “Where are you going?”

“Away from you.” Trying to free her wrist, she took two steps in a failed escape attempt.

Harry kept his fingers on her wrist. “Sit down. This was supposed to be a leisurely lunch, not a footrace, remember?”

“This has been a disaster. I don't know why either one of us is still here.”

“Hey, we've kissed and shared a love song, it's too late to turn back now. Sit.” He watched the urge to flee leave her face, and loosened his fingers. “It can't be all bad.”

“Not all bad,” she echoed, dropping back into the chair. “I really do have a new contract, with Neiman's.”

“Ah,” he smiled, “the silver lining.”

His smile was genuine, and she felt glad to be on the receiving end of it. The corners of his eyes did that cute crinkling thing, and her spirits rose. The man didn't know her from Adam's housecat, yet his opinion mattered and he wasn't judging. “You're really too nice, you know that? Any other man would be halfway down the street right now, running from me and my messy issues.”

“Maybe I was tempted to run—for a minute. But I'm drawn to complications.”

“Obviously. After Kelvin's appearance, I can't even imagine what you're thinking.”

“I can tell you now. I'm thinking of you.”

Now why did he want to go and say something like that? Why did he have to go and say something that made her want to fan herself? If it was a line, it was a good one.

Her fingers grazed the back of his hand, and he felt the power of her sincerity shimmer between them. Touching him made her pulse bump, bringing up another potential complication. Men who made her pulse bump usually meant bad news, but this one—this one felt different.

When she'd first met him, Kelvin had made her pulse bump, too. But Harry Jordan really was different, kind of reminding her of someone. It took a moment for her to remember who, and then it clicked.

AJ Yarborough.

He had that same kind of clean-cut, bone-deep character, and they both possessed a kind of inborn decency that kept Harry from flinching or turning up his nose when Kelvin appeared and got nasty. Harry had defended her, given her the benefit of the doubt. That made him kind, and Bianca knew what she'd done with and to kind men in the past—this man deserved better. He deserved…

“I'm thinking maybe we should just wait and see what develops.”

Bianca's pulse bumped again. “Harry, when I kissed you, I didn't plan for it to be any more than that…a kiss. Then we came here and…Was I wrong to kiss you?”

“No, not wrong. I can truthfully say I enjoyed it.”

“I've read that Japanese people are not likely to do something like that.”

“Because my mother is Japanese, you think I'd mind kissing a pretty woman?”

“That's not what I said.”

“But you are pretty, and I did enjoy kissing you. I didn't mind at all.”

Bianca concentrated on her food. She wasn't going to eat it, but as long as she moved it around she could pretend he wasn't waiting for her to hold up her end of the conversation—and she needed a minute. He had no intention of breaking the silence, so she finally surrendered.

“I don't know you well enough to appreciate your heritage, and I didn't want to offend you.”

“By kissing me?” He didn't quite laugh, but she saw the amusement on his face.

Now he's making fun of me.

“I just know that at Kin Kura, Akemi seems to revere his Japanese roots, and I thought that since you're brothers…Do I sound like some kind of bigot?”

“No. Just a little limited. Kemi and I approach our heritage from different angles. We each embrace what we love. I love the language, the history, and my family—on both sides.”

Bianca put her fork down and tried to gather her dignity. “So what am I supposed to make of that?”

“You're just going to have to treat me like you would any other black man in Atlanta. I grew up in southwest Atlanta, not Tokyo's Shibuya ward.”

“But you've been there.”

“I've also been to Kyoto, Osaka, and Kanagawa. I've taken the Yamanote Line to Harajuku Station, but I grew up using MARTA and passing through Five Points, right here in Atlanta. I use chopsticks about as well as any grown man, though I have to admit I prefer a fork. I'm Baptist, not Buddhist. I speak several languages, but my Southern drawl still comes through if I'm not careful.”

“You didn't tell me any of that when I first asked you about yourself.”

“You only gave me ten seconds.”

“I'd like to hear your Southern drawl.”

“Would you really?” He drew the words long, making them deep and Southern and sexy, letting them touch her like a warm caress, and Bianca would have willingly listened to him read the phone book if he'd used that voice.

“That was nice.” She forgot about being called limited. “Now say something in Japanese.”

He reached across the table and his fingers traced the line of her arm.
“Kimi wa bokuga imamade mitanakade mottomo utsukushii josei da,”
he murmured, so quietly that she knew the words were for her ears only.

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

“You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” he said quietly, watching her lips part.

It wasn't the first time Bianca had heard the compliment, but in that moment, she would have sworn it was the first time she had ever believed it.