Captivated Love

Darien got in his car and made it to the Heritage Center in time for his class, thinking all the while about Safire. She had seemed sincere, but she was just dating casually, if you would call it that. What bothered him was that he was actually miffed about it. He had no claim upon her. In fact, as they’d left it, he had turned down her invite to go out, by which she seemed to have meant tonight. Why should it rub him the wrong way if she took up another invitation from someone who was willing to play?

Darien pulled into the Heritage Center parking lot and got to his class, which comprised the little kids today—the ones who were between five and ten. He managed to focus on his class, but not without some distraction. Thankfully, they were molding shapes out of clay and didn’t require a great deal of his concentration once they had selected their subjects for the project. The clay kept them in their seats and occupied, if not clean, and he had only to tour the room looking at projects and offering tips.

When the hour and a half was over and the children’s projects were stored in the kiln to be fired, Darien greeted their parents. Mrs. Watson clacked in on her high heels wearing a short wraparound dress to pick up Jacob, an eight-year-old student. After she found out about his progress and collected her son, she clacked back out.

Her heels didn’t make an impact the way Safire’s heels did. They weren’t seductive. They didn’t show off long, shapely calves. They didn’t announce her presence to the world. If anything, the sound struck him—at least today—as a nuisance. Nor was her short dress a distraction. Paired with her gaudy earrings and fake weave, it made her look more like a hoochie mama. Yet Darien knew that he was merely reacting to his departure from Safire and her willingness to entertain an invitation from another man.

Once his students left, Darien found the director of the Heritage Center, Mr. Abraham Johnson.

“Hey, Mr. Johnson.”

“Abe.”

“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Darien had been working at the Heritage Center since he started as a file clerk in high school, but the director was still Mr. Johnson to him, even now that he himself was an associate director.

“How’d it go today?” Mr. Johnson asked.

“Great,” Darien said.

“I know.”

“Did Mrs. Evans fax over the signed forms with the figures from the backers?”

“Yes, she did.” Mr. Johnson stopped outside his office and raised his fists in victory. “We should celebrate.”

“We should. Oh,” Darien said. “I haven’t talked to you since last week. You’re a busy man.”

“Not as busy as you, but then I’m not as young as you.”

If Darien guessed correctly, Mr. Johnson was in his early sixties, but it didn’t show much. Mr. Johnson just liked to have someone to whom to delegate the legwork.

Darien followed him into his office. “Did you get the letters of confirmation that I collected from Benson and Hines?”

“Yes, I got those, too. You’ve been productive.”

“I already have clients signed up for the Legal Assistance Program for the next three weeks.”

“What are their issues?”

“Some of everything you might imagine—condo conversions, divorces, child custody or child support, spousal battery, even one criminal charge.”

Mr. Johnson turned to Darien and put a hand on his shoulder. “You know as much as I do now. When I’m ready to step down, my position will be yours.”

“I don’t know if—”

“It’ll be a while, son. Just start thinking about it.”

Darien nodded and left Mr. Johnson’s office. Moving up at the Heritage Center wasn’t what was occupying his mind. She was. Safire Lewis.

Darien had reading to do for his class on Wednesday, so he headed home. She was in the fast lane, and he’d gotten off that track—and for a reason. Besides, he couldn’t satisfy anyone who needed to go out all the time. Nor could he be satisfied by anyone who still needed to play the field—or to act as if she was still playing it. Man, this one was someone to be wary of. He’d been burned by her type before. So why was he still thinking about her?

At home, even his reading was disrupted by the thought of Safire. He had started an erotic piece that he knew was inspired by her. It was still in the drawing stage, but it would be a wood sculpture. He put down his book for his class in Caribbean art and went over to his sketches. It was the sensual nature of the piece that let him know Safire had inspired it. And this irked him to no end. He wanted to put her from his mind. But here she was—his muse.

The piece had gotten inside his head, and he had to finish it. If he could finish it, if he could capture the spirit of her in a piece, he could release her from his mind. It was really because she had entered his art that she continued to occupy his thoughts. Or was it?

Chapter 3 (#ulink_cedb68c1-652a-5b9e-82f0-c2cb1d1f0e2a)

Safire parked, grabbed her briefcase and started toward the Heritage Center. She was wearing a skirt suit, as usual, but this one was made of a shiny turquoise shantung blend. The jacket flared out at the waist and cuffs, and the miniskirt flared at the hem. She had on her black pumps, and the heels tapped out her approach.

This afternoon she was representing Benson and Hines in the Legal Assistance Program. There were so many people seeking help that the firm decided to have her put in some time on the project doing preliminary interviews. This way, she could do a portion of the initial research and set up appointments for the clients with the right attorneys.

It had been two weeks since Safire had last seen Darien James, and she didn’t know if she would run into him today. They were so different that she hadn’t planned to pursue it any further. In fact, she hadn’t known she would see him at the Nova Investment Firm meeting. He said he did a little administrative work at the Heritage Center, not that he stood in for the director at important fund-raising meetings. Well, plan or no plan, she might see him again today, perhaps if he was teaching an art class.

She didn’t know how she’d feel if she did see him, but then, she didn’t know how she’d feel if she didn’t. She remembered the first day that she met him and the way he’d kissed her at her car. He was so firm, so gentle, so unlike everything she had known. And there was that moment at the investment firm when he’d cupped her chin and looked into her eyes. There was something about him in those moments, this tenderness. It just arrested her, froze her, threw her off-kilter. It didn’t shut her down, but it immobilized her and halted her play. And it wasn’t just because he was so sinfully good-looking.

Then again, Darien James was still a nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud. Chocolate hottie though he may be, he was still too conservative for her. He wanted her to slow down rather than quench her needs, and she wasn’t having it. Slow just wasn’t her pace.

Safire opened the door to the main office at the Heritage Center only to find that there was no one at the receptionist’s desk. Offices surrounded the reception area, but most of the doors were closed. She listened for a moment and heard no signs of movement, so she called out.

“Hello. Is anyone here?”

“Just a minute,” a voice called back.

Then Darien’s head popped out of a door. He had a phone to his ear and gestured for her to wait. Then he strode out from the office. He was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt with a white shirt on top of it, and over that he wore a silver vest with words like freedom and respect embroidered in black thread. Around his neck he wore a leather rope with wooden beads that had a fist handing down at the center. Safire looked at him and couldn’t help smiling. Now that he wasn’t wearing a suit, he looked the part of an artist. His long braids were tied back at the nape of his neck, as usual, and his astute brown eyes stood out among his chiseled chocolate features, good enough to nibble on.

“Ms. Lewis,” he said and held out his hand as he approached her.

“Mr. James,” she returned. “Why so formal?”

“I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”

“Safire is just fine. I’m here to—”

“To do the interviews for the Legal Assistance Program. I know. I’ll be serving as your staff liaison this afternoon, and you’ll be using my office.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. Your office?”

“Come with me.”

Safire had grown up in North Miami and had come to a few events at the Heritage Center, but she’d never been inside the administrative suite.

Darien led Safire to his office, which held a large wooden desk and two facing chairs with another chair in the corner. There were paintings of every kind all over the walls, some clearly by children. The shelves were lined with art books and sculptures made of wood and clay and ceramic. There was color in every conceivable corner. The file cabinets were covered with images—mostly watercolors—held on by magnets. Around the room were framed posters of events that had been held at the Heritage Center.

In addition to a computer and printer, the desk was strewn with papers, books and various art supplies.

“I just have to get a few things that I’ll need out front, and I can make some room for you to work,” Darien said, gathering things and clearing a space for her. “The first clients are in the small conference room across the reception area. I’ll bring them in when you’re ready, and I’ll be at the reception desk to greet the next ones. We set appointments at the top of each hour, and you have four this afternoon.” He nodded at her. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”