Heart's Masquerade Read online

  “Someone must have known and should have helped. An adult.” He heard pain in her tone and squeezed the steering wheel tighter.

  “I knew,” he said and tensed.

  “An adult,” she insisted.

  “Kenny and I were always in trouble. We were always getting into fights in the streets, at school. You name it. It was the way all of us lived, and none of us thought anything of it. Then it changed for me.”

  “How?”

  He sighed. “My mom OD’d, and my godfather came for me. He offered me a more peaceful existence.” Somehow Torrian didn’t want to tell her he’d gone to a private school and was tutored to catch up to the level he should have been on. Later, after he’d obtained his high school diploma, he went to a private college, everything paid for. At the time what he wouldn’t have given to go back and just be regular like Kenny.

  “You moved away,” Jaz supplied, and Kenny felt like you abandoned him.”

  “More or less,” he agreed. “Kenny and his dad got into one last fight. Kenny put him in the hospital and was sent to juvie for a while.”

  “Now he’s been in and out of jail a few times on small charges,” she said.

  He nodded. Torrian didn’t tell her each time, Kenny called him to bail him out. Torrian never failed to do so. Yet, nothing dulled Kenny’s hatred.

  “Stop blaming yourself, Torrian.”

  He frowned. “I’m not.”

  “Aren’t you?” She twisted to face him in her seat. “You’re obviously doing a little better than him now, and he resents it. That’s not your fault. Kenny is a man, and what he does with his life is his decision, not yours. I can’t imagine what it’s like not to have my family surrounding me, but no matter what they do or I do for that matter, it’s our individual decisions.”

  “Jaz—”

  “Hear me out,” she insisted. He fell silent.

  “Okay, so your godfather shows up one day. Did you say well, I’m out, cuz. Sucks to be you.”

  His eyes widened. “Of course not!”

  She smiled. “What did you say?”

  “Come with me.”

  She leaned toward him. “What?”

  He groaned. “I asked him to come with me, to leave everything and come with me. I told him even if I had to hide him in the attic and sneak him food, he should come. My godfather was a cold and distant man, but he felt like he owed my mother something from their old days. He’d promised her he would look out for me if anything happened to her. He kept his word. I figured I would take Kenny whether he liked it or not. I never asked him about my cousin.”

  “What did Kenny say?”

  Torrian sneered. “He said that he never wanted to leave South Boston, not for anything or anyone. It’s where he belongs he said, and where he will die.”

  “Let me guess. He thinks you’re a traitor for leaving?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jaz didn’t give her interpretation of what he’d just shared. Nor did he think any deeper into it. He let it sit there, hanging in the air for what it was. The tightness in his chest eased a bit, and he let go of the steering wheel with one hand to take one of hers. Her hands were warm, her smile sweet. He longed to take her home, remove her clothes, and make love to her all night.

  Torrian ran the tip of his tongue over his lip and felt the bump there along with a cut. When he drew up to the street where they had found the car, he looked for an open parking spot. “Here okay?”

  “Yup. Rhashon’s place is two doors down.”

  He parked and got out, then jogged around to help her with her door. Once she’d locked the car, she turned to him. “Hang on a sec while I return the keys.”

  He agreed, and when she came out of the apartment five minutes later, he let her snuggle to his side. Torrian walked in silence back toward her place. As he did, he came to a decision. At her door, he drew her close, kissed her, and then put her from him. “Jazara, I’m sorry. If you’d been hurt…”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She held up small fists and took a fighting stance. “I had your back.”

  He chuckled. “I think it’s pretty obvious Rhashon hasn’t been training you.”

  “That’s so rude.” She burst out laughing and punched his arm. He grinned and rubbed the spot, but all humor dissipated. He couldn’t see her again. Nothing would stop Kenny’s feelings, and while he was strong enough to accept they would never have the relationship they once had, he refused to risk Jaz getting injured because of his dysfunctional family. The problem was he wanted her so very badly.

  “Good night,” he muttered.

  When he started to turn away, she held onto his arm. “Come inside.”

  He made up an excuse. “I have to get into the office early.”

  “Then leave early.”

  Temptation kept him rooted to the spot when he should have pulled away. She released her hold and walked up the steps to her door. The jam of her key into he lock said she was pissed.

  “Whatever. Nobody’s begging you.”

  “Jaz.”

  She opened the door, stepped inside, and seemed about to slam it but stopped. “Good night, Torrian. I had a great time. Thanks.” The door clicked softly closed. Torrian stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and walked down the street.

  Chapter Eight

  Torrian sat on the end of the bench and straightened his arm while gripping the dumbbell. He’d done two sets already and prepared to do a third. His biceps burned, and sweat beaded his skin, but he refused to stop until he had completed his routine. Normally, he didn’t use the company’s fitness facilities but left it to his employees. However, today, he had to find a way to relieve stress before he bit off another person’s head. Over the last two weeks, those who could avoid him did so. Those who couldn’t braced for the impact of his anger.

  Sure, he had spent very little time with Jaz, but what he had spent with her he had enjoyed. She filled a hole in his otherwise mundane and lonely existence. She had made him laugh, and her huge heart shocked and inspired him. He wanted to see her and touch her, but he couldn’t. Therefore, everyone else grated on his nerves.

  “Yo!” One of his managers, Marcos, the one he least favored, entered the room. A big, burly type who seemed to live in the gym and thought every person man or woman focused on him, Marcos got the job done, but right now, Torrian couldn’t stomach the nonstop conversation.

  “I need to concentrate on this, Marcos.”

  Marcos chuckled as if he’d made a joke. “I’ll join you. How did you like the attitude of that ad exec this morning? Into himself, wasn’t he?”

  Look who’s talking.

  “I didn’t know if I would need to set him straight before the end of the meeting or not.” Marcos went on even as Torrian counted out his reps to himself. “I guess I’ll give him a call and drop a few pointers in his ear on how to approach you.”

  “Eleven, twelve…” Torrian raised his voice a little. Marcos prattled on, relentless.

  The face of Torrian’s cell phone lit up, and he recognized the ding of a text, but he didn’t stop to check. Marcos switched from criticizing the ad executive to discussing the next quarter’s projections. Torrian had already spent the better part of three days in meetings with his team going over those numbers. He had no wish to revisit it all now.

  “So I think—”

  “Shut the hell up, Marcos!”

  The other man’s teeth snapped together. His eyes widened, and he blinked at Torrian in silence. At first Torrian thought he’d gone too far, but then a slow smile appeared on Marcos’s face. Torrian’s hope for peace died a quick death. He thumped the dumbbell on the floor and stretched. Maybe he should just leave and go home. He’d tell them all he wasn’t to be disturbed except for an emergency. Of course, he knew from experience most of the people who worked for him considered everything an emergency. Sometimes he felt the secretaries, the mail staff, all those who held the lower-level positions, were the only ones with sense.

  �
��Whoa, ho, what’s this?” Marcos quipped. Apparently, his spirit hadn’t been squashed. Torrian glanced across at him and found Marcos holding his own cell phone.

  “Put it down,” Torrian ground out.

  Marcos stared at the screen, a wide grin on his face. “I didn’t know you were the type, man. Sexy.”

  Torrian stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

  Marcos tapped the screen. “The black girl. Oh, I mean African American. Have to be PC. She’s pretty sexy, and she’s sending you pictures like this? I wouldn’t mind getting a piece of—”

  Torrian tried to rip Marcos’s fingers off as he grabbed his phone. He stared down at the screen to find a picture of Jaz. She had sent it through text, and obviously the nosy Marcos had downloaded it. No words, just her in the Halloween outfit, posed in a suggestive way that set his blood boiling. Who took the picture, he wondered jealously and then remembered her sister or maybe a girlfriend? He doubted she would send the picture to him if she had a new boyfriend. Longing washed over him. Yes, he wanted her body, but he also desired to talk to her, to hear her laugh.

  That night after he dropped her at her apartment, he had called the next day to tell her the truth. He had no intention of seeing her again, not with the threat of Kenny or one of his friends hurting her. Jaz had argued with him, but then quickly told him if he couldn’t stand up to his cousin, he wasn’t the man she thought he was. That had pissed him off, and he hadn’t spoken to her since. Stand up to Kenny? How many times had he done so? Hell, he’d put Kenny on his ass plenty of times. That didn’t solve his problem. What would, he had decided, was knowing his place. That place was here.

  An ache tightened his chest as he glanced at Marcos, who had switched to telling him about the last woman he had been with and how he had tossed her aside because she got clingy. Somehow Torrian doubted that, but who knew. He wondered if it was time again to talk to Marcos about his mouth. How many times did it make? Should he order training for the man? Probably. Torrian sighed and stood.

  “I’m hitting the shower,” he said. Marcos jumped to his feet.

  “I’m going to—”

  Torrian glared him silent and walked away before he did something he would regret. The shower did nothing to improve his mood, so he followed through with his earlier decision—leave the office. Rattling around in his house gave him more of a feeling of isolation. Why couldn’t he just enjoy all of this? He scanned the room in the cellar of his house. A CNN newscaster droned on the ninety-inch TV, and Torrian sank onto the couch. He’d been staring more at his phone than at the screen for the last couple hours. As he rubbed his hand over his face, his phone dinged, and he nearly dropped it on the carpet.

  An e-mail this time, he noted, and he opened it. Various pictures were attached, charity event photos—an old guy eating, kids playing basketball at the center, Jaz sorting clothes, other junk in boxes, and more kids sitting in chairs while a frumpy guy spoke to them. He shook his head. In the body of the e-mail, she had written one line. You need this.

  Torrian hesitated and then switched over to the favorites on his contacts list. Once he had added her number, he had never removed it. Anticipation made him punch at the button with his thumb, and line began ringing.

  “Hello?” she said. His heart raced, but he breathed in deep, forcing himself to play it cool.

  “So what did the e-mail mean?” he said.

  “Just what I said.”

  He grinned for no other reason than he was speaking to her. “I thought you don’t chase men.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?”

  “No,” he rushed to say. “Uh, it’s work, right?” He didn’t want her to think she’d broken her own rule, even if she did. He understood the need to see her and speak to her, and it blew his mind and flattered him all at the same time to think the craziness in his head was mutual.

  “Yeah, it’s work,” she agreed. Relief sounded in her tone. “Um, did you get the other picture?”

  This time she hesitated. Torrian shut his eyes. He imagined her in the outfit. Oh hell, yes, I got it. “What other one?” he teased.

  “Never mind.”

  He wouldn’t tell her even if he never saw her again, that picture was his. In fact, the second he got off the phone, he would e-mail it to himself to make sure he had it for eternity. “So what are you wearing now?”

  “A muumuu.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  She laughed. “I’m about to go into a painting class for elderly women, and I’m wearing this muumuu so I don’t mess my clothes up. It’s pretty hot, let me tell you.”

  “I’m sure it is.” He shook away the unflattering picture she’d produced in his head and tried to bring the kitten back. “Do you always do that?”

  “Wear a muumuu?”

  “Jazara.”

  She grew quiet.

  “Are you there?”

  “Yes.” Her breathless answer made him wonder what was on her mind. “I have to be the one to fill in when the volunteers take off. I don’t mind at all. It gives me lots of variety to my days, but no, most of the time I’m on the phone trying to convince people to give.”

  Torrian recalled the large amount of money he had arranged to give anonymously to the center. He had also inquired about the building’s sale. If he bought it, he could turn it over to the community for permanent use as it was being used now. He realized his decision was for Jaz’s sake, but he didn’t care. Money meant nothing to him. He had it, so he gave it.

  “Tell me what you meant in the e-mail,” he said.

  Still, she hesitated.

  “Please,” he encouraged her.

  “Come to the center, Torrian.”

  A thrill raced through him at her pronunciation of his name.

  “Just come and do something. It doesn’t have to be big. You don’t have to run a class or talk to anyone if you don’t want to, but you need to be here.”

  He wondered if she was telling him he belonged in the community, and he didn’t believe that.

  “We don’t have to be lovers.” She spoke the words softly, and at first he thought he imagined them. Why would he? That wasn’t what he wanted. When he opened his mouth to answer, the quietness of the line struck him, and he pulled the phone from his ear to look at the screen. She’d disconnected. Her words echoed back to him again. They didn’t have to be lovers? Oh yes, they most certainly did.

  * * * *

  “But what if I can’t get a loan?” the sixteen-year-old asked Torrian when he’d outlined some of the services the Small Business Loan Administration offered.

  “Then you can look into angel corporations, friends, family. I’ll put together a list with resources, but if that doesn’t work, and even if it does, you start small. Really small. You work two jobs if you have to and you save. However, first, everything starts with a plan.”

  Torrian’s beautiful assistant began passing out the packets he had put together for the class. He tried not to stare, but a few of the kids had already noticed the way he looked at her and teased him about it. Aside from his inescapable attraction to Jaz, Torrian loved the class. Jaz had been right. He needed this. The kids looked up to him. They respected what he had to say, and every one of them was serious about becoming a success with their own business. He knew that was because Jaz didn’t allow anyone to sign up who didn’t take this particular offering very seriously. He’d heard her lecturing a few kids she had dropped from the program because of their attitudes. “Mess around with basketball, or the fishing class, whatever, but not this one. If you want to play games, this class isn’t for you. Period.”

  Torrian admired her. She worked hard and was focused. Others were drawn to her. Maybe he should force Marcos to take a class taught by her, he thought amused. When the classes ended for the day, Jaz bought him dinner, and they ate together in rooms after all the kids went home or down the hall to the gym. Torrian eyed the spaghetti dinner in a Styrofoam container and frowned.

  “Do
you cook?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes at him and smirked. “I know you aren’t saying all women should.”

  “No, just curious.” He liked that she wasn’t easily offended when he put his foot in his mouth. “I can burn pretty decently.”

  She gaped. “You can cook?”

  “No, I said I can burn.”

  She burst out laughing. “That’s an old expression meaning a person is a good cook.”

  “Oh.” He shook his head. “No, I can’t cook.” He started to say he hadn’t been in the kitchen to attempt to cook for himself since he was a teenager. His godfather had kept a housekeeper, and he in turn kept one after he bought his own house. As a teen with his mother high all the time, he had warmed food from cans in the microwave. That was as far as he’d ever gotten.

  “I do okay,” she said, “but I’m always busy. I don’t like to slow down much. So, I just get takeout. I know it’s not healthy, and one day it’ll catch up to me. You already saw what a great housekeeper I am at home.”

  He grinned. Her entire apartment hadn’t been as big as his cellar, and she was right, it had been cluttered and unorganized. At the time, he hadn’t cared because his gaze stayed on her—the way it did now.

  “So,” she said, pointing her plastic fork at him, “you’ll have to look for your Suzy Homemaker in another woman.”

  That made him curious. He knew it was a dangerous game to speak so seriously about forever with a woman. Avoiding it had become a skill, but he didn’t mind talking to Jaz about any subject. “So you don’t want to get married some day?”

  “Of course.” She wiped a napkin across sexy lips. “I want a husband, even kids. Most women probably do. I just haven’t found him.”

  “Kids, huh?” He imagined a mini-Jaz, big brown eyes, innocent, and sweet. “I would like five.”

  She choked on her spaghetti, and Torrian scooted closer to her to pound her back. When she could drag in a breath, she pushed his hands away. “I’m fine. Wow, you caught me off guard. You really want five kids?”