The Edge of Midnight

  Sarita didn’t trust the mirror to give her a true read, so she turned to face him. “Why do you keep doing this?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “If I had a real wife, she would expect me to keep her in the best style my money can afford. And that”—he nodded nonchalantly at the sapphire-centered snowflakes—“is part of that style.”

  A silent Sarita peered down her chin to the gold at her throat, then up to his unfathomable eyes. “Believe me when I say I would never, ever, pawn something this beautiful. Never.” She wanted that fact to be clear, but the mask over his features made it difficult for her to gauge whether he believed her or not.

  The silence that followed made her so uncomfortable she turned back to their reflections in the mirror. “Thank you, whatever the reason.”

  Their gazes met in the glass and held. The crackling of the wood burning in the fireplace was the room’s only sound. Time seemed to stretch and suspend. His dark eyes searched and probed hers, making her remember the kisses they’d shared. Had they affected him as much as they had her?

  He turned away to retrieve something else from the table. It broke the spell. She struggled to regain her composure.

  He came back to her holding earrings to match the necklace. He waited silently while she removed the gold studs she had in her lobes. When they were replaced, she turned to face him once more.

  Myk’s attention moved from ear to ear, then down to the sapphires circling her smooth brown throat. The thought that she was everything he didn’t want in a woman surfaced in his mind again. She was mouthy, stubborn, and opinionated enough to drive a brother out of his mind, but he found himself wanting to cancel the evening activities. He suddenly had no desire to share her with anyone else. He had a stronger need to pull her into his arms and taste that lightly painted mouth, then run his lips over the bare edge of her throat and smell her perfume. At that moment he could well identify with those eccentric collectors of rare art who never let their treasures be seen. Standing before him was a black porcelain masterpiece. “You make me want to keep you home.”

  Sarita swallowed. She thought he meant to punish her for bringing up the street value of the jewels. “Look, I didn’t mean to imply I would fence the gems. When I said I wouldn’t, I was serious.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Sarita read his blazing meaning, and her breath stacked up in her throat. He wanted her, no apologies. The implications were so staggering, she had to look away.

  Myk placed a finger against her jaw, and with a gentle insistence brought her ebony eyes back to his. Her skin trembled beneath his touch; a trembling he’d felt before, tasted before; a trembling he wanted to soothe away with his lips and his touch. That afternoon’s kisses at the photo op had been the appetizer to a dish he wanted to order double helpings of, even though she wasn’t supposed to be on the menu. “I’ll try and make this evening as easy on you as possible. Considering this will probably be the only wedding reception I’ll ever have, I’d like the memories to be good ones.”

  His finger traced the satin skin of Sarita’s cheekbone with a tenderness he’d never exhibited before. “No fighting tonight, okay?”

  He seemed to be addressing himself as well.

  “Okay,” came her softly spoken reply.

  For a moment neither spoke. In the silence, he absently continued to stroke her cheek, making the heat and trembling gripping her that much more intense. She took a hesitant step back. “Um, shouldn’t we be going?” She slipped past him, feeling like a rabbit.

  His eyes continued to pursue her. “One last thing.”

  Out of his pocket he extracted another small, black velvet box. The princess-cut diamond inside wasn’t the largest she’d ever seen, but its beauty and detail rivaled the necklace. “I knew you would probably fuss if I got you a large stone, so…”

  Sarita met his eyes.

  “Hold out your hand.”

  She complied, and he pushed the sparkler onto the third finger of her left hand.

  “Now, we can go.”

  Without further word, he pulled out his phone and dialed Walter to see if he had the car out front, then escorted her to foyer closet to get their coats.

  Eight

  Faye Riley hated Sarita the moment she laid eyes on her—one, because Sarita was obviously younger and, two, by all rights Faye should be the one standing by Myk’s side in this crush of a party. Faye wished the people ahead of her in the receiving line would hurry the hell up so she could get a good look at the nappy-headed heifer up close, but people were taking their time, lingering over their congratulations as if Myk’s marriage was really something to celebrate. Because of all the guests and their chitchatting with the bride and groom about nothing, the line behind Faye stretched out into the hallway. It was almost as long as the line of people in front of her. Faye wanted to scream, Hurry up, dammit! when she saw one of the members of the City Council and his loudly dressed, skinny wife going on and on with the newlyweds. Someone behind Faye bumped her accidentally and she turned on the offender with a glare. She pulled her new fox stole tighter around her designer-gowned shoulder as if trying to protect herself from a disease. She felt like a princess in a cattle car, and she would never ever forgive Myk for putting her through this.

  Drake, on the other hand, was standing in the receiving line and thought Sarita an absolute delight. After having watched Myk carry her screaming and cussing up the stairs that night, Drake had worried how she’d fit in; but his fears had been laid to rest by her smile, her patience with the people in line, and the way she looked in that stunning dress. Who knew she would morph into this brown-shouldered fox. He peered down at his tall, immaculately dressed brother stoically accepting congratulations from the guests. For someone who hated this sort of thing, Myk seemed relatively relaxed, but who wouldn’t be with a woman like Sarita by his side? Leave it to big brother to pull a dark-eyed rose from the ashes of that diamonds fiasco. Anyone else in the organization would probably have discovered an armed opponent in Fishbein’s room that night instead of this satin doll, but once again, the Chandler luck held. The legend lives on, Drake thought wryly.

  Standing between Chandler and Mayor Randolph, Sarita wasn’t sure what kind of impression she was making. There were so many people! She was quite sure she wouldn’t remember half of the names, and she was very conscious of saying the wrong thing or embarrassing herself. Although Chandler seemed relaxed beside her, she knew better than to use him as a barometer. The line of well-wishers seemed endless, and no matter how many hands she shook, or how many gracious smiles she gave, the guests kept coming.

  Myk asked her between greetings, “How’re you doing?”

  Terrible, she wanted to whine. Her feet hurt from the heels she was wearing, her face hurt from all the smiling, and her hands hurt from all the pumping. Grown Black women didn’t whine, however, especially in the presence of the mayor and a ballroom packed with people, so she lied, “I’m okay.” They’d only been at it an hour.

  Myk ran his eyes over the sapphires hanging around her neck. The sight aroused him as much as it had back at the house. He raised his eyes to her face. “We’ll get a seat in a few minutes.”

  Taking him at his word, she turned away. As the next group of well-wishers approached, she plastered on her smile

  The few minutes he’d promised turned into another half an hour. By the time Sarita finally got a seat, she didn’t want to shake another hand, smile into another face, or stand on her feet for the rest of the night.

  The head table had been placed on a horizontal riser that lifted them a few feet above the floor, making the bride and groom visible from most points in the big ballroom. From her vantage point, Sarita could see everyone and everything. The room had been tastefully decorated with trimmings of ivory and gold. She’d never been the main show for so many people. Politicians, auto execs, television personalities, athletes and their owners—the well-known and the unknown had all turned out to help celebrate the
marriage of a man they obviously thought they knew. Many came up to the table and offered their congratulations. She wondered how they’d react if the truth about Chandler’s extracurricular activities suddenly showed up on the front page of the paper.

  There was a small orchestra setting up near the back of the room. Ringing the dance floor were at least a hundred small tables set for dining with white tablecloths, polished silverware, gleaming china, and gold-edged linen napkins. To Sarita it looked like a giant cabaret, but it was not your typical Friday night BYOB. She hoped there were enough seats to go around; but that didn’t seem to be a problem, even though newcomers continued to file in. The orchestra started up, but the music had a hard time competing with the din of clinking glasses and the low buzz of a hundred conversations.

  Many of the guests had brought gifts. Surprised, Sarita watched the beautifully wrapped items being placed in a steadily growing pile by a crew of tux-wearing young men. She didn’t need gifts. Chandler already owned everything! Maybe he’d let her donate the presents. There had to be a lot of items that could be put to good use by the families at her center. She made a mental note to talk to him about it later.

  Thinking about him made her look for him in the crowd. He’d left their table to speak to the musicians and promised to be right back. That had been over twenty minutes ago. She scanned the room hoping to spot him, but became distracted by the sheer size of the crowd. Everyone was dressed so elegantly. There wasn’t a pair of gym shoes in the house. The men were in tuxedos. The women were draped in furs. She wished her kids at the center could be here to witness this. None of them had ever been invited to such an elegant affair. Thinking about them made her realize that she missed her people very much. She just hoped she’d be able to convince Chandler to let her return to work soon. Problems needing her attention were probably stacking up like rush-hour traffic on the freeway.

  She finally spotted Chandler in his classic tux standing just to the left of the musicians. He was talking with a tall, fair-skinned sister with red hair. The two were too far away for Sarita to hear their conversation, but she could see the woman’s angry gestures, the agitation in her face, and the fluffy blue fur draped over one arm. Sarita assumed the woman was upset about something. In fact she looked furious.

  “Faye,” Drake said beside her.

  Sarita turned.

  “Faye Riley,” he said explaining further. “Myk’s old lady friend.”

  “Oh.” Sarita turned back to check the woman out. By any standards, Faye was beautiful—tall, thin, and shapely. And well aware of it, it seemed, because the dress Faye had on was so thin and transparent it would have made the church ladies at home break out their fans. The pale dress shimmered over her body like pink stars, but in this setting, she caused not a ripple.

  The mayor cracked, “She came dressed to kill though, didn’t she?”

  Sarita got the impression that Drake didn’t think much of Miss Faye.

  The meeting broke off abruptly, and an unruffled Chandler walked back toward the head table. His ex appeared less than satisfied. Tight-faced, Faye threw the blue fur around her shoulders and made her way stiffly through the crowd. When she reached the exit, she kept going.

  “Uhp, she’s leaving,” the mayor said with a mocking sadness. He then lifted his glass in a sarcastic toast.

  Sarita couldn’t suppress her grin. “Not one of your favorite people, I take it?”

  “You take it right.”

  When Myk returned to the table, he set a glass of cola with ice in front of Sarita, then shared a loaded look with his brother.

  Drake quipped, “How’s Faye?”

  Myk didn’t answer. He was certain Faye was going to cause trouble somewhere down the line, he could feel it; but he planned to cut her off at the pass. He told Sarita, “I think everybody’s waiting for us to start the dancing. Let’s go.”

  Sarita had never heard a less gracious request in her life, but she held her tongue and stood. He took her cold hand in his. She assumed his thoughts were elsewhere because as he led her out onto the floor he didn’t look at her once. Sarita put her bet on Faye. Why the idea of him thinking about another woman bothered her, Sarita didn’t want to deal with. However, when Chandler escorted her to the center of the ballroom floor, and the guests broke into thunderous applause, the searing eyes said Sarita was the only woman on his mind.

  The music began, and they moved together like true lovers. His hold on her waist was light but pos sessive. The swell of applause faded away, replaced by the sweet drifting notes of a saxophone. Where he led, Sarita followed instinctively. They were the only couple on the floor, and they might as well have been the only couple in the world. She could feel the curve of his arm burning across her back, and she was unable to tear her eyes away from the commanding power in his. They danced silently, assuredly, steps blending naturally while the crowd looked on enthralled.

  No one knew anything about the woman Mykal Chandler had married, but the passionate look in his eyes as he gazed down at his bride made even Faye’s friends envious. In fantasy, they were the subject of Chandler’s hot stare. The palm he was now turning to his lips belonged not to Sarita, but to them; and it was their hand not hers touching his face so softly in response. When he stopped dancing altogether and lowered his head, their lips parted to receive his kiss. The whole room felt the heat.

  When Chandler finally broke the kiss, Sarita could hardly stand. She had the vague sense of wall-shaking applause coming from the guests, but she couldn’t be sure. He still held her in the circle of his arms, and she clung to him for balance. Her head was on his chest, and her senses were spinning. He gave her no time to recover though. Placing a finger beneath her chin, he gently raised her eyes back to his burning ones, then bent and kissed her again, whispering his lips across the parted corners of her mouth, plunging her back into the abyss.

  “Mykal, stop, please…”

  Reluctantly, he pulled away, but his finger traced her lips. “Is this all I have to do to get you to call me by my first name…just kiss this sweet mouth of yours?”

  To test his theory, he kissed her again, deeper this time.

  The guests were delighted. It was quite plain to everyone in attendance that Mykal Chandler had finally lost his heart to a chocolate-shouldered sparkler with flashing eyes who looked every bit as in love as he.

  Sarita wasn’t sure how she made it back to the table, but dinner was served immediately after, and for that she gave thanks; having to concentrate on eating helped distract her from her overwrought nerves. Chandler, on the other hand, didn’t seem affected at all. That was the part that threw her. A few moments ago, he’d drawn her soul from between her lips and made her such a mental wreck she’d had to plead for him to stop, but he was sitting and talking with his brother as if nothing had happened. Could he possibly be that good an actor? Had he really felt nothing? She’d melted out there, literally. Desire was thundering so loudly between her celibate thighs it was a wonder everyone in the room didn’t hear it. How in the world was she going to be with this man for a year? If he could put her body in such an uproar after only a few days, what would she be like in three months’ time?

  “How’s your food?” Myk asked. He wondered if she knew how kiss-swollen her lips looked.

  Still trying to gather herself, she said. “Fine.” The salmon fillet was grilled and flavorful, just the way she liked it.

  Myk forced himself to turn away and concentrate on his meal. As he ate, though, he couldn’t get the taste of her kiss and the sound of her voice whispering his name out of his mind. Thinking back on it made him hard all over again. He wasn’t supposed to be wanting her; he’d told himself that a thousand times in the past few days. He also knew that sleeping with her would make this mess even more complicated, but he wasn’t accustomed to denying himself a woman whose desire seemed to match his own.

  At that moment, the ballroom filled with the sound of tinkling glass. Sarita scanned the seated dining g
uests for the source. The diners were being waited on by a crew of white-jacketed young men and women who were weaving in and out of the tables with unobtrusive efficiency, but the sounds, rising now to a musical crescendo, came from the guests. Each and every one was happily tapping a piece of silverware: knives, forks, spoons, lightly against the side of their water glasses. Sarita had no idea what it meant.

  Myk saw the confusion on her face. “Never seen this before?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a wedding tradition that’s not so common in our communities, but the glass tapping is a signal. The guests want a kiss from the bride and groom.”

  The explanation only added to her bewilderment. “I am not kissing everyone in this room, Chandler. Forget it.”

  The sound had risen to a high-pitched roar.

  Myk chuckled at her stance. “That’s not what they want. They want this…” And he kissed her, silencing all of her confusion with the warm pressure of his lips. Once again, he left her spinning and breathless, and when she opened her eyes, he was leaning above her, looking very pleased and very male indeed.

  The guests applauded their approval.

  The mayor then proposed a toast to the newlyweds. In response, Chandler entwined his black-coated arm with her bare one. Their eyes locked. She drank from his cup, and he followed with a sip from hers. He leaned over then and sealed the matter with another, slow-as-molasses kiss. She could taste the champagne on his lips and he could taste the same on hers. When he pulled back, she was dizzy. The guests responded with more applause.

  The glass chimers interrupted the meal three more times before the dinner plates were finally whisked away. Each time Chandler responded, his kiss became more and more potent, and her senses became more and more aroused. Although Sarita tried to play it off by smiling and looking calm, she was a basket case. Every inch of her body was on fire. Her nipples were hard, her lips were parted, and she didn’t even want to talk about what was happening in all those places that made her a woman. She wanted to hike up her dress and run out of the ballroom like Cinderella, but doubted that would go over real well.