Longing and Lies (3 page)

“S
o are you feeling a little better about things?” Mia asked once she and Ashley had returned to the office.

Ashley gave a slight shrug of her shoulder. “I suppose.” She turned to Mia, her hand planted on her slender hips. “I've never lived with a man. Let alone a perfect stranger.” She frowned. “I like my independence.”

Mia dropped her oversized purse on the desk and looked at her friend. “Is that all that's
really
bothering you?”

Ashley glanced away for an instant then looked at Mia. She almost smiled. “He is kinda fine in a pain-in-the-ass sort of way.”

They both giggled.

Ashley dropped her tense shoulders. “I guess it will
be all right. The main thing is finding out who is behind the stealing and selling of babies.” A shiver ran through her.

“Exactly.”

Ashley pushed a smile onto her face, highlighting her prominent cheekbones. “So,” she said on a breath, “what's on the agenda for today?”

But even as Mia ran down the list of upcoming events they had to take care of, Ashley's mind was elsewhere.
Elliot Morgan. Babies. Twenty years. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

 

Ashley walked through her small one-bedroom apartment, which she'd worked diligently on to transform from the drab place she'd originally rented into her cozy abode. Being an R&B music buff, she had one wall in her living room dedicated to some of her favorite artists: Smokey Robinson, Stevie, Luther, Gladys, Anita Baker, The Temps, James Brown, Michael Jackson, Jazmine Sullivan, Earth, Wind & Fire, Frankie Beverly and Maze, and Maxwell to name a few. Her collection was extensive, going back to some classic 45s and collector's items album covers.

The sparkling wood floors were dotted with oversized pillows, low tables and standing plants. Rather than curtains or blinds in the windows, they were covered with hanging philodendrons.

But her bedroom was truly her sanctuary. Her queen-sized bed with its downy pillow-top mattress took up
much of the small space. But it was truly fit for a queen. To conserve room, she had her flat screen television mounted on the wall. The one great amenity was the walk-in closet that housed her extensive wardrobe, another one of her addictions—clothes.

That brought to mind these new living arrangements. How was she going to get along without her music and all of her clothes and shoes? Sighing she tugged off her cropped sweater and put it in the bag for the cleaner.

She sat down on the foot of the bed and pulled off her ankle boots, just as her cell phone began to ring. She pulled it from the case on her hip and frowned at the unfamiliar number. She pressed the talk icon.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Ashley?”

The low timbre shimmied up her spine. “Who is this?”

“Sorry. It's E—uh, Elliot Morgan.”

Her heart bumped against her chest. She cleared her throat. “Oh,” was all she could sputter as she tried to get her brain to catch up with the fact that he was on the phone.

“Look, I know I was being a jerk earlier today. And we, uh, probably got off on the wrong foot.”

Her brows rose in surprise. “Probably,” she teased and could almost see a smile on his face. She crossed her legs.

“So I was thinking that before we do this live-in
thing maybe we should try to get to know each other…first.”

“Meaning?”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No, I haven't.” She swallowed over the sudden knot in her throat.

“Can I interest you in dinner?”

What the hell!
Was he asking her out on a date? Her pulsed pounded and her thoughts short-circuited.

“Hey, maybe that was a bad idea. Guess I'll see you on moving—”

“No. I'm sorry. You just caught me off guard. Dinner. Sure.”

“I can pick you up in about an hour. Is that enough time?”

Her eyes widened even further. A real date. “Okay.” She started to give him her address.

“I already have it. In the file,” he added by way of explanation.

“If Jean is nothing else, she's thorough. I'll see you in an hour.”

“Right.” He hung up.

Ashley sat with the phone in her hand for a good two minutes mesmerized by what had transpired. Maybe the “real” Elliot Morgan would show up at dinner. She shook her head, her spiral curls and twists dancing on her head. Taking a quick look at her watch, she hopped up from her bed and began peeling off her clothes as she darted for the shower.

 

After numerous wardrobe changes, she'd finally settled on elegantly casual. She selected a pair of black straight-legged jeans, a pearl-gray blouse that shimmered in the right light, with a black silk button-up sweater. She was only five foot six in bare feet and Elliot was well over six foot, so she opted for her Ferragamo black ankle boots that oozed comfort even after long hours on your feet. She captured her hair carefree away from her face with a sparkling gray head band, pulling it into a halo around her face. Minimal makeup, a dab of African musk behind her ears and on her wrists and she was ready just as the doorbell rang.

Her stomach wobbled for a second and heat popped in her ears. She took a quick look in the mirror, left her bedroom and scanned the living room en route to the door, confident that everything was in its place. She went to the intercom, confirmed that it was Elliot and buzzed him in. Her heart pounded. Moments later her front doorbell rang. Straightening, she grasped the knob, turned it and opened the door.

The air stopped in her lungs. She wasn't sure what to expect, but seeing him again did something to her that she couldn't explain if you paid her. Everything about him was more intense, more magnified, bigger and brighter than when she'd seen him for the first time.

Was it the dark, searing eyes that seemed to peek into her soul from beneath half-lowered lids and silky
lashes, or the cool chocolate of his complexion that blended seamlessly with his shirt, slacks and hip-length suede jacket? The combination so enticing and perfectly matched that his attire was more second skin than a cover-up. Perhaps it was the half smile that moved like a lazy river across his full lips giving just a hint of beautiful teeth.

“Hey,” he said, his low, almost gritty voice snapping her out of her momentary trance.

“Hi. Come on in. I need to get my jacket and purse.” She turned and commanded her lungs to inhale and exhale as she crossed the space on shaky legs, knew he was watching the sway of her hips and prayed that not only did he like what he saw, but that she didn't trip.

Miraculously she made it to her bedroom. She drew in long, calming breaths of air. Blinking several times she focused on what she needed to do. She took her purse from the top of her dresser, checked for her cell phone, ID, house keys and wallet. She took her jacket from the back of the overstuffed armchair that sat like a Buddha near her window then went back out front.

She entered the room and watched him for an instant. He was turned halfway away from her, running his finger along the frame of a photograph that rested on a table in the short hall. His body was fluid almost as if it moved to some sultry beat in his head, so different from the tightly coiled man of earlier in the day. “All ready,” she announced.

He only turned his head in her direction, let his eyes run over her for a hot flash of an instant. “Cool. Let's go.”

Elliot opened the door for her and as she passed him she caught the faintest hint of something manly, a clean and seductive scent that was more him than off the shelf. She liked it. She locked the door behind them.

“Did you have someplace in mind?” she asked as they walked down the stairs to the outside door. She felt his heat as he walked inches from her on the wide staircase.

“Why don't I surprise you?”

She glanced up at him as he reached around her to open the door. His arm brushed her shoulder and she was certain she felt a jolt of heat race down to the pads of her fingers.

“I like surprises,” she said. “Most of the time.”

“We'll hope for the best.”

They stepped outside into the cool spring night. He pointed to a midnight blue Jaguar parked across the street.

“You're getting paid too much, or I'm in the wrong business,” she teased him as he opened the door of the lush automobile, its interior still carrying the scent of brand-new leather.

“Every now and then you have to treat yourself, especially in this business,” he said, as they settled in the car. “Unfortunately, I'm out of the country so much I rarely get a chance to drive it.”

Ashley fastened her seat belt. “How often do you…travel?”

He put the car in gear and she felt the gentle hum of the motor vibrate beneath her. Or was it more than the car that had her vibrating?

His jaw tightened. “I'm usually out of the country eight to ten months a year.” A hardness settled over his face, sending his prominent features into sharp relief.

“Hey, I'm sorry,” she said. “It's obvious that's not something you want to talk about.”

He turned his head in her direction as he pulled up to a red light. For a moment he took in her profile, the slight jut of her chin, the long lashes that shadowed her eyes, the pert nose and firm set of her glossy lips. Everything about the way she stared straight ahead to the line of her shoulders indicated that he'd done it again—went on the attack for no good reason. At least none that anyone other than himself would understand. It was complicated, too complicated to explain the kind of limbo life that he lived. His constant sense of disconnection, waking up day after day not knowing where he was or who he was pretending to be.

“Sorry,” he offered. “Tough topic. Let's talk about something else.” He gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter as her intoxicating scent wafted beneath his nose.

“Have you ever lived with a woman before?” she boldly asked.

Elliot tossed his head back and laughed from the pit of his gut. “You're definitely direct,” he said, still chuckling.

A tiny smile teased the corners of her mouth. “So I've been told,” she tossed back. She angled her gaze in his direction. “Well?”

He drew in a breath and relaxed against the smooth leather interior. “Actually, no. This will be a first for me.” He turned to look at her and their gazes bumped against each other for what felt like a blissful eternity.

A car horn blared behind them. They both jerked away from the thing that held them in place. Elliot pressed down on the gas and took them across the intersection.

He cleared his throat. “So, uh, what about you?”

“No.” She paused. “Guess it'll be the first time for the both of us.”

His mind went racing off in a million directions at once, all of them forcing him to adjust his position in his seat. Was this the same uptight, headstrong woman he'd met earlier? He knew there was fire beneath her she-warrior armor, but this was the kind of fire that burned from the inside out. Then his years of dealing with adversaries and those pretending to be something that they weren't kicked in.

“The lounge is on the next block,” he said, changing subjects to one in which he could control. “Hopefully I can find a parking space.”

Ashley instantly noticed the shift in attitude and the
sudden cool breeze in the car. She flicked a brow in dismissal and folded her arms.
Just like I said in the beginning
, she mused to herself,
a pain in the ass
. This was going to be a long night.

T
hey spent the next few minutes of the drive in an unspoken truce of silence. Ashley zeroed in on the passing traffic and pedestrians as if they were creations of the great Da Vinci and she had been commissioned to unlock the mysteries of the swaths of color and movement. In reality she didn't see a thing, blinded by flashes of red as her temper continued to boil. Her body curled into a tighter and tighter knot of tension as the minutes ticktocked in her head.

Why was it so easy for him to irritate her to the point of distraction? She'd had her share of relationships. She knew how to handle men—both casual and serious. Elliot Morgan was a new breed, however. Her lips tightened into a line so thin as to be almost invisible.

She was so intent on her ire that she didn't realize they'd come to a stop until her door was pulled open and Elliot's large hand was extended for her to take. She blinked and looked up into his face. Whatever it was that had her coiled tight enough to snap, slowly began to unwind, and she felt the slow thud of her heart against her chest. The veil of red that had descended in front of her eyes was lifted, and even in the twilight of evening she could see sunshine.

She made herself breathe as she placed her hand in his and felt the strength of his grasp pull her to her feet. He didn't bother to step back. When she stood there was a mere breath that separated them. For a moment they faced each other and she sank into the depth of his dark eyes and traveled to exotic places along the planes of his face.

“It's right up the street,” he said, his voice low, stroking her below her waist as surely as if he actually touched her there.

She bobbed her head and muttered, “Okay.”

He moved back to give her room and she felt as if a chasm had opened in front of her and she longed for the security of his warmth and closeness. Somehow he managed to reach around her to close the car door, having her momentarily encircled in his warmth. He gave her a half smile and extended his hand in the direction of the club. Ashley fell in step beside him doubling her pace to keep up with his long stride.

The half-block-long line signaled that they had arrived.

“Wow, it must be packed,” Ashley said. “We'll never get in.” She peered around the line of bodies.

“Not a problem.” He took her hand and walked her past the crowd, right up to the front door. “Hey, Lou,” he greeted the muscled man at the door. When Lou's tight gaze and even tighter expression landed on Elliot, he actually smiled.

“Oh, man! Good to see you, brother. You have a lovely guest, I see.” He stepped aside to let them pass. Ashley smiled.

“Be sure to see Gina,” Lou continued. “She'll hook you up with some good seats.”

Elliot clapped Lou on the back. “Thanks, man.”

“For you…anytime. Don't be a stranger.”

Elliot had yet to let go of Ashley's hand, and the longer he held it the more she liked it.

“I take it you've been here before,” she teased.

Elliot chuckled. “Yeah, the owners are friends of mine. Nick Hunter and Sam Blackstone. If they're around I'll be sure to introduce you…in case you and your friends want to stop by sometime.” He guided her to the hostess podium. “Gina,” he cooed at the modelesque woman, who was at least six feet tall with sharp Ethiopian features—voluminous dark eyes, sweeping forehead and high cheekbones. Her long, slender neck gave her an even more regal appearance. Her ruby-red lips spread into a slow smile as her long lashes lowered
over her eyes. She leaned forward taking Elliot's face in her hands and kissing each cheek.

“You bad boy,” she scolded. “Where have you been? It's been much too long.” Her accent was unrecognizable, a combination of nations that melded into something unique.

Elliot chuckled from deep in his chest. He looked deep into her eyes, lowered his voice. “Now, Gina, you know if I told you, I'd have to make you disappear.”

Gina tossed her head back on her long stem of a neck and laughed an almost musical melody. “You and your secret games.” She finally turned her attention to Ashley. “Welcome to Rhythms. Do not let this man charm you into doing anything naughty. He can be very persuasive.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Ashley said, not sure if the quickening in her stomach was from being let in on some private joke or the fact that Gina may have been a willing recipient of Elliot's charms.

“I'll show you to your table.” She took two menus from the stand and led them to the center of the club with a table in front of the stage.

Elliot helped Ashley into her seat.

“Nick is playing tonight,” Gina said, placing the menus in front of them. “You're in luck. Maybe you can sit in on a set.”

Elliot chuckled and shook his head. “I'm too rusty to get up there with the boys. It's been a while.” He leaned
casually back in his chair, his thighs spread and his arm draped across the top of the seat.

“Your server will be along to get your drink order.” She focused on Ashley. “You should convince him to play tonight.” Gina squeezed his shoulder and gave him a quick wink before walking away.

Elliot lowered his head for a moment and shook it as he chuckled softly.

Ashley rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “So what is it that I should be convincing you to play?”

“Naw. Don't even go there.” He waved off her question and almost looked embarrassed, his usual swagger momentarily gone.

“Why? Got something to hide?”

His gaze connected with hers. “No.”

“Do you play some kind of weird instrument?”

“No.”

“Tuba?”

“No,” he sputtered.

“Harp?”

“Very funny.”

“Banjo!”

He cracked a smile.

“I got it. The recorder!” Her eyes widened in delight.

Elliot laughed. “Not since I was about six,” he confessed.

“I knew it,” she teased and sat back, waiting expectantly.

“Trumpet,” he finally admitted.

She tipped her head to the side in appreciation. “Really? Wow. That's Miles Davis's instrument of choice.”

“So you know a little something about music. I should have figured as much with that collection you have at your place.”

She grinned. “One of my passions.” She paused. “So, how long has it been since you've played?”

He thought about the last time he performed. It was before his last assignment in Europe, which lasted nearly ten months, before everything got so dark and ugly and he couldn't tell the good guys from the bad, right from wrong. He glanced away. “A while,” he said, his voice distant and detached, almost wistful, Ashley thought.

She watched his profile in the light and shadows of the club and the parade of emotions that loosened and tightened his jaw. “I hear it's like bike riding. You never forget, you just have to get back on.”

He ran his tongue across his lips. His eyes settled on her mouth for a moment and Ashley felt a sudden pulse beat between her legs. She adjusted herself in the seat.

“That's what you heard, huh? Just get back on?” His gaze bore into hers.

A warm flush rose up from the pit of her stomach and settled in the center of her chest. She drew in a breath.
Her taunting challenges of only moments ago, having dissipated under his smoldering gaze and innuendo.

The waitress appeared to take their drink orders and the momentary spell was broken.

Elliot lifted his chin toward Ashley. “What would you like?”

You!
Her body shouted, even as her mind remained in disagreement.
I want to find out if everything is as hard as those biceps and thighs.
She cleared her throat. “Hmm, apple martini, please. Frozen.”

The waitress nodded. “And you, sir?”

“Courvoisier on the rocks.”

“I'll be right back with your drinks.”

The momentary reprieve gave Ashley the opportunity to pull herself together, take her eyes, mind and body off of Elliot and take in the surroundings.

The club gave off a feeling of back-in-the-day night spots of Harlem, dark, cozy, low music playing in the background, the smell of food wafting in the air.

“This place seems really nice,” she said. “I don't know how I missed it.”

“Nick had been negotiating to get it opened for a while. The building was abandoned and in pretty bad shape from what he told me. And not in the choicest of neighborhoods at the time.”

“The neighborhood has definitely changed. There was a time when most folks wouldn't come over here at night.”

Elliot nodded his agreement. “It's like that all over the city, Harlem in particular.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and set them on the table. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few minutes?” She looked from one to the other.

“Any suggestions?” Ashley asked.

“The seared salmon is excellent,” she said. “Or if you prefer we have stuffed chicken breast, hot wings, crab cakes, salads…”

Ashley turned her attention to Elliot and lifted her brows in question.

“You can't go wrong with the crab cakes,” he said.

Ashley nodded with a smile. “I'll have the crab cakes and wild rice with a small side salad.”

“Make that two,” Elliot said.

“Great.” She collected the menus and walked off.

Just as they turned their attention toward each other, the contact was broken once again.

“E!”

A tall, dark and extremely handsome man came up and clapped Elliot on the back. Elliot looked up and his expression beamed with pleasure. He pushed back from his seat and stood and the two Adonises—one more gorgeous than the other—did that hearty man-hug thing.

“Wow, my brother, when did you get back in town and why didn't you call me?”

Elliot chuckled deep in his gut. “Look, man I just got back day before yesterday. Getting my legs back under me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he teased, throwing his arm around Elliot's broad shoulder, and turned to Ashley. “And who is this beautiful lady?”

Elliot extended his hand toward Ashley. “Ashley Temple, this is Nick Hunter, the coowner of this joint."

Nick cut him a look, then shot Ashley with a smile that could melt a glacier. “My pleasure.” He came around to Ashley's side of the table and shook her hand. “Welcome to Rhythms.”

“Thank you. You have a great place.”

Nick straightened and tugged in a deep breath. “It took some work,” he said with obvious pleasure, “but we did it.” He turned back to Elliot. “You guys have everything you need?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Elliot said.

“Tonight is on the house. A welcome-back gift,” he said to Elliot, “and a welcome, too,” he said to Ashley. He started backing up. “Gotta get ready for my set. You know you're playing tonight so get your lips together.”

“Man, come on,” Elliot said.

“Forget it. Not taking no for an answer.” He walked off, grinning.

Elliot flopped back against the cushion of the chair. Ashley giggled.

“The only way out is to leave now. And I have no intention on missing out on those crab cakes.” She folded
her arms beneath her breasts and challenged him with her steady gaze.

A slow smile crept across his mouth. “Must be some kind of conspiracy,” he groused good-naturedly, hiding his soul by lowering his lids over his dark eyes.

“How long have you been playing trumpet?”

“Since high school. Played in the school band.”

“You!” she said, delight shining in her eyes and lifting her voice.

He chuckled. “Yeah, go figure. My folks thought it would keep me out of trouble.”

“Did it?”

He shrugged. “Not according to them.”

“I can imagine you must have been a handful.”

His voice lowered, his eyes lifted and settled on her face. “Can you?”

Something hot and sweet moved around in the center of her chest. Slowly she ran her tongue across her mouth, tried to swallow and couldn't. She reached for her drink and took a short sip.

“Well?”

Her brows rose. “Well, what?”

“You said you can imagine me being a handful. I asked you if you could.”

“Oh—” she glanced at the table “—You give the impression that you would do all the things that little boys do.”

He eased closer across the table. “And what do you imagine us little boys doing?”

Her eyes crinkled with laughter. “Chasing dogs, tugging little girls' ponytails.”

He slowly spun his glass on the table. “When little boys grow up they stop tugging ponytails and chasing puppies. They'd rather—”

Before he could finish, their food arrived and the lights dimmed on the stage as the band took their places.

“Welcome to Rhythms!” Nick said, taking the microphone. The room erupted into applause. “We have a full night of entertainment for you, and I want you to put your hands together for my man Elliot Morgan who will be joining us tonight on trumpet.”

Ashley applauded with all the others, her hands clapping high above her head. “Whoo-hooo,” she shouted, laughing heartily.

He wagged a warning finger at her that only made her laugh harder.

The band began with an original composition then segued to several standards, which all had the rapt audience bobbing their head and popping their fingers. From her perfect position at the table, Ashley could watch Elliot's every move, catch every nuance and expression. What she saw was a man who was comfortable in his own skin, who could easily transition from gentleman to lethal weapon in the blink of an eye, thoughtful, funny, talented and heartbreakingly sexy all rolled up into one fine package. It could be so easy for her to succumb to his obvious charms, but the reality was they were
partners in the investigation of a serious crime. Taking it beyond business was inappropriate, not to mention that he simply rubbed her the wrong way.