Every Beat Of My Heart

She was scrolling through her Twitter feed when she sensed someone else entering the room. She looked up, swiveled her head.

Walking up the aisle was a short, ebony-skinned elderly woman. Attired in a green pantsuit, matching flats and an abundance of shimmering gold jewelry, she leaned on a pearl-handled cane as she made her way toward the front.

Rashad stood and offered his arm. “Let me help you to your seat, Mrs....”

The woman offered a soft smile as she accepted his assistance. “Parker. Julianne Parker. Thank you, young man.”

Once Mrs. Parker was seated a couple of chairs to the right of Rashad, she leaned her cane against the next seat.

Lina kept her gaze on her phone as Mrs. Parker chatted with Rashad. She could hear snippets of their conversation, and it seemed Mrs. Parker was also there for the piano. Lina sighed under her breath. Just how many people would she be competing against to get the damn piano, anyway?

The room began to fill with people as the start of the auction drew nearer. As seats around her began to fill, Lina set her phone to vibrate and tucked it away. Looking around the room, she took in the faces of the other bidders. She had no way of knowing how many of them would also be going after the piano.

The sound of Rashad’s humming invaded her thoughts. Hearing that throaty sound reminded her of how well he could sing. Truth be told, the brother could blow. He had a killer tenor that reminded her of a cross between Luther Vandross and Miguel—the kind of voice that made a woman’s panties just fall off. She could clearly recall the late nights he’d serenaded her as she lay in his strong arms.

She glanced over at him, and he flashed one of his unforgettable megawatt grins in her direction.

She sank down into her chair.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Rashad glanced across the aisle at Lina, who looked as if she wanted to disappear. She seemed uncomfortable with running into him; he, on the other hand, was thrilled to see her. He’d been all set to come here tonight and put all his focus on winning the bid for the piano. Having her here simply meant he could accomplish two goals at the same time.

She was gorgeous in the figure-hugging sleeveless dress she wore. The slit up the side was parted now, allowing him a full view of her long, beautiful bronze legs. She sat demurely, legs crossed like any good belle would do. Her short-cropped hair was carefully coiffed and curled into the edgy style that framed her lovely angular face so perfectly. She wore very little makeup, and as always, his eyes were drawn to the shiny, plum-colored lip gloss she favored.

He could clearly recall the slightly sweet flavor of that lip gloss from the last time he’d kissed her. That had been months ago. Far too long for his tastes. The longer he looked at her, the more his groin tightened with desire. There was something about the way she carried herself that drove him mad with wanting. Now that she was here, sharing the same space with him, he wanted her just as badly as he wanted Monk’s piano.

What if he could have them both, make them both his in one night? Wouldn’t that be something?

In his mind’s eye, he saw himself sitting on the bench, in front of the grand piano, his hands poised above the keys. On top of the polished lacquer surface of the piano’s top, he saw Lina. Dressed in a teal sequined dress that barely grazed the tops of her shapely thighs, she lay on her stomach, facing him. The swell of her breasts threatening to spill out of the dress, she fixed him with a come-hither stare that set his blood on fire. Her round hips and shapely long legs, capped by a pair of sexy heels, drew his appreciative gaze. She was seduction personified. A woman so fiery and passionate that she put all others to shame.

The auctioneer appeared behind the oak podium, and banged a gavel. The loud thumping pulled Rashad out of his fantasyland and back into the present. Shaking off the remnants of his daydream, he grabbed his paddle from the empty seat next to him and turned his attention to the front of the room.

It soon became obvious that Monk’s piano would not be the first item to be sold. Rashad sat through the bidding on various paintings, furniture pieces and antiques, wondering when they would finally get around to it. Mrs. Parker placed and won a few bids, but he found he couldn’t muster any excitement for any of the other pieces. All the while, he stole glances at Lina, who seemed just as disinterested in the other items as he was.

“Now, we’d like to offer this embellished baby grand piano, played by the great musician Thelonious Monk early on in his career. The piano comes to us from the estate of a personal friend of Mr. Monk’s. We’re told Henry Minton gave it as a birthday gift to Mr. Monk. Henry owned Minton’s Playhouse in Harlem, where Monk developed his signature style as a member of the house band in the 1940s. The piano is gold embellished and was imported from Italy. It is in top condition, and is a rare find. We’ll open the bidding at ten thousand dollars.”

Rashad raised his paddle, and saw several others in the room go up, including those of Lina and Mrs. Parker.

“Do I hear ten thousand five hundred?”

More of the same.

“Eleven? Eleven thousand, five hundred? Twelve thousand...”

Rashad kept up with the lightning pace of the bidding, raising his paddle at every bid. As the dollar amount rose, the number of bidders began to drop off. By the time the auctioneer reached fifteen thousand, the only three paddles remained raised were Lina’s, Mrs. Parker’s and his own.

The three of them continued the bidding at a breakneck pace, passing seventeen thousand, then eighteen thousand, and then nineteen thousand dollars.

Before Rashad could raise his paddle to bid twenty-one thousand, however, Mrs. Parker grabbed the handle of her cane and got to her feet.

Her brown eyes flashing, the older woman called out a bid. “Twenty-five thousand.”

On the other side of the aisle, Lina countered. “Twenty-seven thousand, five hundred.”

Rashad stood. “Thirty thousand.”

A short, narrow man in a blue suit stepped up onto the stage, holding a piece of paper in his hand. He passed the paper to the auctioneer, who then said into the microphone, “Excuse me a moment.”

Rashad waited in silence with the others as the auctioneer read the note.

The auctioneer spoke again. “We have a call-in bid of forty thousand dollars on the table from an anonymous bidder.”

Mrs. Parker raised her paddle as if she meant to make another offer, but the auctioneer stopped her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve gone well over the time allotted for this item, and we have many others to get to. We’ll verify the call-in bid, and if it can’t be secured, we’ll resume bidding on the piano tomorrow evening.”

Rashad dropped into his seat, groaning. Either he’d just lost the piano, or he’d have to do this all over again tomorrow night. Whatever the case, things had not gone as he’d wanted them to.

He looked across to Lina, and saw her gathering her purse. While he might not have gotten Monk’s piano, there was nothing stopping him from talking to her before she left.

He watched her walk down the center aisle and out the door in the back of the room, then followed her.

In the hallway, she turned her head and saw him, but didn’t stop walking.

He didn’t stop, either, and he followed her out the door of the auction house and into the muggy evening air.

The sun was hanging low, but had not yet set. She stopped by the driver’s side door of her car and turned to him. “Rashad, why are you following me?”

He smiled in response to the pointed question. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, baby.”

She rolled her eyes and opened the car door. Flinging her wrap off and tossing it into the passenger seat, she snapped back, “Don’t call me baby.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want me to. All I ask is that you hear me out, just for a moment.”

Her frown softened just a bit. She stepped away from him, moving so that the opened driver-side door of her car was between them. “What is it?”

He locked eyes with her. “I want another chance with you.”

Chapter 3

Lina could feel her heart pounding in her chest like thunder. She blinked, sucked in a breath. But that only served to fill her nostrils with the woodsy, masculine scent of Rashad’s cologne. A shiver went through her body as she recalled the way that scent had smelled, clinging to her skin and to her bedding.

She raised her gaze and found him watching her in silence. Every bit of good sense she possessed abandoned her as she looked into his dark eyes. He was entirely too much man, and she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by him.

His soft lips parted. “Have a drink with me. I know a little place not far from here. You can follow me there, what do you say?”

Before she could think, the response fell out of her mouth. “Yes.” The moment she heard herself say it, she cringed, knowing it was too late to take it back.

He was already striding away, toward his pickup truck parked a few spaces away. “Great. I’ll drive slowly so you won’t lose me in downtown traffic.”

Resigning herself to go along with him as agreed, she climbed into her car, closed the door and buckled up. By the time she started the engine, he was already idling at the curb, ready to pull out into the road. She eased her car up behind his big truck and waited.

It took about ten minutes to arrive at the “little place” he’d spoken of, a bar called Shout Down Babylon. He parked in an empty spot right in front of the entrance, and she slipped into one a few spots over. By the time she’d unbuckled her belt, he opened her door and extended his hand to help her out of the car.

She took his offered hand and climbed out. Once her vehicle was secured, she followed him inside the small, one-story brick building.

The interior of the bar was smoky, as she’d expected. She could tell from the pungent scent that most of the people inside were smoking cigars or pipes instead of cigarettes. The wood paneled walls were covered with neon signs advertising beers and liquor, as well as a few battered license plates and sporting equipment. Among the artifacts were several photos of Bob Marley, Sean Paul, Mad Lion and various other performers of reggae, dancehall and soca music. One sign in particular caught her attention. She read the sign aloud. “Welcome to Bull Country. Warning: Bears Shot on Sight.” Shaking her head at the old athletic rivalry between two local universities, she raised herself onto one of the padded leather stools.

Rashad simply sat next to her, at his towering six foot two inches of height he didn’t need to stretch or stand on his toes to sit on a bar stool. As the bartender approached, he ordered a root beer.

When the bartender turned to her, Lina said, “I’ll have a ginger ale with lemon, please.” She knew better than to drink alcohol. It was hard enough for her to resist Rashad while sober. The last thing she needed right now was to make a stupid mistake with him, one she couldn’t take back.

With his bottle of root beer in hand, he asked casually, “How have you been?”

She offered a soft smile. “Pretty good. Actually, I just found out yesterday that I made senior partner at the firm.”

His easy grin broadened, his eyes lighting up as if to express his genuine happiness. “That’s great, congratulations! I know you’ve wanted that partner spot for a long time.”

She felt the blush creeping into her cheeks as he raised his bottle in her direction. She remembered the talks they’d had during their brief time as a couple. While he hadn’t been very forthcoming with details of his life, she’d openly shared her hopes and dreams with him.

He took a long draw from his bottle.

She squirted lemon into her soda and sipped from her own glass, noticing the awkward silence that had fallen between them. To break it up, she asked, “How about you? What have you been up to since I last saw you?”

He set the bottle down, his eyes connecting with hers. “You mean, other than thinking about you?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

He seemed to take the hint, and altered his approach. “I’ve been doing fine. I still work for the register of deeds office, still do the Wednesday night shows with the band, though we did take a little hiatus while Darius and Eve were on their honeymoon.”

She smiled at the mention of her best friend and her new husband. “These days, she’s glowing. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.”

“Darius is certainly happy, it even shows through in his playing on stage. Speaking of the shows, I haven’t seen you at one in a while.”

She lowered her gaze from his. “I think you know why, Rashad.”

He frowned. “Not really.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I know you and I aren’t together anymore.”

Because of your secrecy, she wanted to say. But she held her tongue and tried to keep the annoyance off her face.

“You can still come and enjoy the music.”

Rolling her eyes again, she met his gaze, and instantly regretted it. There it was again, that look he was so good at giving her. The dark, coffee-colored pools of his eyes seemed to hold a mixture of sincerity and desire. The longer she stared, the more she felt herself falling into them, being dragged back into his world.

The electronic jukebox behind her suddenly started up, blasting Shaggy’s hit “It Wasn’t Me.” The pounding syncopation of the music snatched her right out of Rashad’s world and back into reality. Shaking off the remnants of his charms, she decided to use this evening to her advantage. “So, how bad do you really want Monk’s piano?”

His back stiffened, as if he didn’t like that she’d changed the subject. “I’m sure I want it more than you do. You’ve never been into Monk the way I am.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “True, but my mother is about as big a fan of Thelonious Monk as a person can be.”

Now his brow hitched in surprise. “You mean you want the piano for your mother?”

She nodded. “She’s been feeling poorly lately, and I know she’d love to have it. It’s just the thing to raise her spirits, and since I got the promotion, I figured, what the hell?”

He cupped his chin, moving his fingers along his smooth, clean shaven skin. “That’s honorable and everything, and no offense to Mrs. Smith, but I’m going to do whatever I have to, to win the bid.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I hope your mother’s health improves, but we’re talking about a piece of jazz history here. If it wasn’t for Monk, I never would have touched the eighty-eights. I have to have this piano.”

She couldn’t hold back her chuckle. She had nothing but respect for civil servants, since she worked with them on a daily basis. However, she also knew they weren’t exactly well paid. “You and I aren’t the only ones who want it, and from the looks of Mrs. Parker, she’s got some serious resources.”

He shifted on the bar stool, downed the last of his root beer. His gaze hardened and focused on the wall of spirits behind the bar. “You don’t think I can beat her bid?”

“No offense, but it’s a possibility. She looks like she could outbid us both.”

“Speak for yourself. You don’t know everything about me.”

She scoffed. “That’s for damn sure.”

He swiveled his head toward her. “Are we really going to do this here? Do we really need to revisit your trust issues?”

She pursed her lips. “My trust issues? I’m not the one who always had something to hide.”

“Not telling you every single detail of my life is not the same as hiding things from you.”

Draining the last of her ginger ale, she grabbed her purse and slid from the bar stool. “That’s where we disagree, Rashad. I opened up to you, and all I got in return was the brush-off.”

“I’m not your ex, Lina. You’re never going to be happy until you stop blaming all men for his shit.”

That did it. She turned her back on him, and without anther word or a backward glance, strode to the door and left.

* * *

Rashad dunked a boneless buffalo wing into his cup of ranch dressing and popped it into his mouth. From his corner of the booth at the Brash Bull, he had a pretty good view of the big screens displaying various sporting events. The televisions were muted, as usual, with the closed-captioning turned on. Most of the noise in the place was coming from the booth he shared with the other members of his jazz quartet, the Queen City Gents.

The men were currently entertaining themselves by teasing Darius about his so-called honeymoon glow. Having returned less than a month ago from an island hideaway with his new bride, Eve, Darius’s personality had taken a noticeable turn toward sappy.

Darius, the band’s bassist and Rashad’s ace since their days in college, pounded his fist on the table. “Y’all are just jealous that I’m getting some on a regular basis, and from a gorgeous woman at that.”

Swallowing a mouthful of beer, Marco scoffed. “Please. I never lack for female affection.” The saxophonist, a native of Costa Rica and a self-proclaimed ladies’ man, wore an expression that conveyed just how sure of himself he was.

Darius groaned. “Marco, we’re not talking about man-whoring. We’re talking about commitment here.”

Ken “the Zen” Yamada, the band’s drummer, barely looked up from his phone as he spoke. “This is why I don’t bother with dating. Women are just a source of contention between us.”

Darius shot back. “You know, Ken, I’m starting to think your ass is gay.”

Rashad simply smiled at their banter, preferring to enjoy his wings and beer instead of get involved in their pointless debate.

From his seat on the bench, Darius elbowed Rashad. “Don’t you have something to say, man?”

Rashad shook his head, keeping his eyes on the television nearest the table. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”

He was watching the local twenty-four-hour news channel focused on happenings around North Carolina. An image of two wrecked cars appeared, and Rashad read the transcript ticking by on the screen.

As he focused on the news anchor’s words, he realized that the accident had taken place in Charlotte, and that the owner of the auction house he’d been at last night, as well as the auctioneer, had been injured. The story continued to scroll by, ending with an announcement that the auction house would be closed, and all auctions would be postponed for at least two weeks.

“What are you staring at, Rashad?” The question came from Marco, and cut into his thoughts.

“The news. It looks like I’ll have to wait for my shot at Monk’s piano. The auction house is shut down for a couple of weeks.” Rashad grabbed a napkin and wiped the wing sauce from his fingers. He’d been looking forward to going over to the auction house that night, though it wasn’t his usual Saturday night activity.

Now, with the auction delayed, he could put more of his focus on obtaining the other rare treasure he wanted to make his own: Lina.

He imagined how she would act in a courtroom, arguing some poor opposing counsel under the table; or in her office, diligently attending to client paperwork and phone calls. She took her career very seriously, and he didn’t blame her. Her passion for the law was evident, and as the old saying went, if you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.

Darius elbowed him in the ribs. “Rashad, I hear there’s drama at county. What do you know about it?”

Darius’s pointed question drew Rashad out of his fantasy, and he groaned. “All I know is that the county budget is being cut, drastically. Right now, we don’t know how it’s going to affect us at the courthouse.”

“Sounds like things are pretty uncertain over there.” Marco ran his hand over his chin as if thinking.

Rashad agreed. “They are. What about you, how are things in the fast-paced financial world?”

“Same old, same old.” Marco shrugged, as if his work as vice president of Royal Community Bank was no big deal.

Rashad knew better. Royal was the largest minority owned private financial institution in the state.

Ken volunteered, “I’m in the running for a pretty big design contract for the city. Hopefully the budget cuts won’t put the kibosh on it.”

Rashad doubted the budget cuts would cause problems for Ken. As a skilled graphic designer, Ken’s services were always in demand. Aside from that, it was almost always more economical to hire a freelancer than to take on the costs of a full-fledged employee.

Darius joked, “No one ever asks me about my work.”

Rashad shook his head, punched his friend in the shoulder. “That’s because we all know you don’t do any. As long as you keep inviting us down to the beach house, we’re willing to overlook it.”

“Don’t be jealous of my awesome retirement.”

Rashad scoffed and punched him again. “Don’t be an ass about it, then.”

The basket of wings in the center of the table was empty now, so Rashad used a couple of Wet-Naps to clean up. Grabbing his wallet from the back pocket of his black slacks, he pulled out a twenty to cover his share of the tab and tip.

“I’m out, guys.” Rashad eased out of the booth, keys in hand.

His friends said their goodbyes as he strolled out of the building.

Inside the cab of his pickup truck, he started the engine and pulled out of the small lot. He thought about Lina as he navigated the streets of downtown Charlotte, taking I-77 out of the city toward his luxury housing complex.

The way she’d walked out on him the previous night, he knew he should probably let her cool off. Since he’d obviously upset her, he was willing to give her some space. Still, he was not willing to walk away from her, and what they could have together.

She was such a cynic, and he understood why. According to Lina, her ex-husband, Warren, had been an asshole of the highest order. He’d cheated on her at every opportunity and then further insulted her by assuming she was too stupid to figure out what he was up to. Any woman would be cautious after what she’d gone through.

What Rashad didn’t understand was why she insisted on making him bear the burden of her mistrust. Sure, he flirted with the women in the front row when the Gents put on their shows, that was part of the act. He was lead singer, and if smiling and winking at a few women kept ticket sales up, what was the harm in that? Somehow, Lina had associated his stage persona with his true self, and assumed that if he winked and charmed from the stage, he must be seeing other women behind her back.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. When they were together he’d been faithful to her. Hell, since he’d broken up with her, he’d been on a self-imposed hiatus from dating and sex. After Lina, no other woman seemed to capture his interest.

By the time he pulled his truck into the two-car garage beneath his unit, he’d made up his mind. He’d back off for now, give her a few days to be mad at him. But come next week, he fully intended to ask her out again, so they could heal the rift between them.

A woman like Lina was as rare and precious a find as Monk’s piano, and he didn’t intend to let either slip through his fingers.

Chapter 4

By Monday morning, Lina had managed to push most of her annoyance at Rashad aside, in favor of working on a new case. He hadn’t contacted her over the weekend, and she was glad. She was about to embark on a new phase in her career as an attorney, and the last thing she needed right now was to be distracted. Rashad MacRae was about the biggest distraction she’d ever encountered.

She shifted through the case files on her desk, looking for a particular piece of paperwork she needed to get started on her research. After a few moments of flipping through the pile, she realized she wasn’t getting anywhere. She pressed a button on her intercom system and asked her legal assistant to come in.