Thief of My Heart Page 5

  “Good.” He smiled. “They have a chocolate gelato that’s to die for.”

  “Mmm, chocolate,” said Desiree, her eyes dreamy. “I can’t resist a good chocolate dessert. I can’t resist a good chocolate anything.”

  Decker guessed from her expression that she thought her comment might have been too suggestive. He couldn’t resist saying, “Do I qualify?”

  Desiree laughed and gave him a reproving look. “Behave yourself. You knew what I meant.”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “but you blush so prettily.”

  The waiter arrived at that moment and asked if they’d like to order pre-dinner drinks. Desiree declined, as did Decker. “We’d just like to go ahead and order a bottle of wine with dinner,” Decker said to him.

  After they’d ordered and the waiter had gone, Decker said, “Earlier you mentioned a karate instructor. I’d heard from Colton that you and your sisters started taking karate when you were kids, but I didn’t know you still practiced.”

  “Oh, yeah, I love it,” Desiree said, meeting his eyes. “It’s like therapy to me. It keeps me centered.”

  “What level have you achieved in it?” Decker asked, curious. He practiced kung fu and had earned a black belt when he was sixteen. He still studied, and, as Desiree apparently believed, he also thought the discipline helped to keep him together physically, mentally and spiritually.

  “I’m a third-degree black belt,” Desiree said without a hint of self-congratulation, which he noted with surprise.

  “That’s quite an accomplishment,” he said. “Yet you stated it as if it’s just an everyday occurrence.”

  “That’s because it’s nothing to brag about,” Desiree said. “My being a black belt means no more than another woman being an accomplished baker. It’s something you have to learn and keep doing until you’re good at it. Lauren told me you’re also into martial arts.”

  He nodded. “Kung fu, which I admit I got into as a kid because I loved Bruce Lee movies.”

  Desiree smiled. “I understand. I think I’ve seen every martial arts movie ever made, beginning with Enter the Dragon. Bruce Lee was so cool.”

  “The coolest,” Decker agreed. “Okay, so we both like the martial arts. What else do you like to do?”

  “I run,” Desiree said. “I love the high it gives me.”

  “I run, too,” Decker said. “See how much we have in common? What are your favorite books and movies?”

  Desiree moistened her lips and wrinkled her nose. Decker noticed she had a habit of wrinkling her nose when she was thinking hard. “I’ll go first,” he offered. “I like science-fiction novels by writers like Isaac Asimov and Octavia Butler.”

  “I love Kindred by Octavia Butler,” Desiree exclaimed.

  “I must have read Parable of the Sower ten times,” Decker said excitedly. “She could really make you get lost in her stories. It was sad when she passed away.”

  “Yes, she was one of the greats,” Desiree agreed.

  “And your favorite writers?” Decker asked.

  “Walter Mosley, Dean Koontz, Margaret Johnson-Hodge, Melanie Schuster, Toni Morrison, Barbara Kingsolver, Neil Gaiman, Colson Whitehead, Dorothy West, Zora Neale Hurston and on and on. I read every day. There’s always a book on my nightstand. Often, I’ll go to sleep with a book in my hand.” She laughed. “That sounds pretty pitiful, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” Decker assured her. “It sounds sweet. And you’re not the only one sleeping with books nowadays.”

  The look she gave him was disbelieving. “You’re not about to tell me that you’ve been without a woman in your bed for as long as I’ve been without a man in mine?”

  “I don’t know how long it’s been for you,” he said, eyes boring into hers. “But it’s been quite a while for me.”

  “I haven’t slept with anyone since Noel,” Desiree stated flatly.

  “Not that long,” Decker admitted, smiling at her. “And why haven’t you?”

  “Because I have to be in love before I’ll go to bed with anyone,” Desiree said softly. “That’s just the way I’m built, and I make no apologies for it.”

  “Then what do you do to satisfy the urge when it hits you?”

  Desiree hesitated. “I can’t believe we’re talking about sex on our first date.”

  “Why shouldn’t we? You’re a mental health professional, as you said earlier,” he reminded her. “We’re adults. We should be able to talk about anything.”

  She sighed, and to his relief, let down her guard and answered his question with “I do what any red-blooded woman would do—distract myself. I stay extra busy, take cold showers, read too many books, watch movies with hot guys in them and dream and eat chocolate.”

  “That’s pretty much what I do,” Decker joked, “except for the part about watching movies with hot guys in them.”

  Desiree cocked her head to the side, watching him closely. “Decker, if you’re not a player, why do you pretend to be?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “I’m hiding behind the facade because I’m afraid of getting hurt again.”

  “Someone broke your heart?”

  “No, she tore it from my chest and stomped on it for good measure.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his tone, but failed.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Desiree asked. The expression on her face was so genuinely caring that Decker felt compelled to tell her anything she wanted to know. He resisted that impulse with every fiber of his being. Nothing, he felt, would derail this relationship more effectively before it could even get started than hearing what a fool he’d been over a woman who had tossed him aside like so much trash.

  “I can’t tell you who she is, because you know her. Pretty much everyone in Raleigh knows her.”

  Desiree leaned forward. “Isn’t that exaggerating a little? How can everyone in Raleigh know her?”

  The waiter arrived with their plates, saving Decker from having to answer right away. He breathed an inward sigh of relief as they were served. He didn’t want to talk about Yolanda tonight.

  After the waiter had poured wine into their glasses, he left them to their meal. Decker smiled at Desiree and said, “Please, dig in.”

  Desiree picked up a piece of the garlic toast piled high with a mixture of marinated tomatoes, mozzarella and olive oil and bit into it. He knew instantly when the juxtaposition of flavors hit her taste buds because she softly moaned with pleasure. She smiled at Decker. “You were right, this is wonderful.”

  Decker smiled his satisfaction, and for the next few minutes they ate in silence. He was the first to speak again. He took a swallow of the white wine and cleared his throat. “You know, Desi, I made a promise to myself that if you ever decided to give me a chance, I would give you all of me, and not hold anything back. I want you to know everything about me, even the embarrassing stuff. So here goes—five years ago I was in love with a beautiful woman who I thought was perfect for me. She was smart, talented, down-to-earth, or so I thought, and we fit, you know, we were so compatible that I knew we were meant to be together forever. Then she got her big break. For years she had been trying to break into the movies. She majored in theater in college, moved to New York City upon graduation and worked in off-Broadway plays for several years. But one day, she got the call. A big director had seen her in a play and wanted her to audition for a major part in his next film. She auditioned, and she got it. She called me the same day and told me it was over between us because I didn’t fit into her image of her life anymore. Fact is, she’d been dating a well-known actor for months, and he’d been the one who arranged the audition.”

  Before he’d stopped talking, he saw the spark of recognition in Desiree’s eyes. She was smart. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out to whom he was referring.

  “You’re talkin
g about Yolanda Reynolds, aren’t you?” she asked, eyes stretched in horror, to his dismay. Why did the thought of Yolanda horrify her?

  She rose, her expression almost accusing as she grabbed her shoulder bag off the back of the chair and said, “Excuse me, I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

  Then she hurried away. Dumbfounded, Decker sat watching her retreating back. He started to get up and follow her but thought better of it and remained sitting. She obviously wanted some alone time, or she wouldn’t have sought refuge in the only place he couldn’t follow her to.

  * * *

  In the ladies’ room, Desiree went into a stall and sat down on the closed toilet seat. Decker had dated that snake in stilettos? How could he fall in love with Yolanda Reynolds and be attracted to her? It made no sense. She and Yolanda were nothing alike. But then, some men didn’t care about a woman’s character as long as she was sexy and beautiful, and Yolanda had those attributes in spades. She just didn’t have a heart.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said softly as she rose. “I’m not staying in the bathroom because my date used to date my high school bully.”

  “Did you say something?” the woman in the next stall asked. “Are you out of toilet paper? I’ve got plenty over here.”

  “No, thank you,” Desiree said, and walked out of the stall. She went to a sink and splashed water on her face. Dabbing it dry, she smiled at herself. For a moment the same insecure feeling she used to get when Yolanda and her clique of mean girls would corner her at her locker and harass her mercilessly had come over her. On one hand, Yolanda and her friends had made going to school back then pure hell, but on the other, if not for that experience, she probably wouldn’t be a psychologist today. It was the bullying that had inspired an interest in finding out why people behaved the way they did.

  She fixed her makeup, smiled at herself again and left the bathroom. Decker had been forthcoming with her, revealing the identity of the woman who had broken his heart. The least she could do was be equally forthcoming with him. Let the cards fall where they might.

  When she got back to the table, Decker eyed her with concern as he rose and pulled out her chair for her once more. She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  He sat down across from her. “Are you all right?”

  Desiree took a swallow of her wine. Setting the glass on the table, she met his eyes. “I don’t suppose Yolanda told you what her high school days were like?”

  He looked puzzled, which didn’t surprise her. He’d seemed pretty shocked by her behavior when she abruptly left for the bathroom in order to compose herself.

  “Only a few things, like she was homecoming queen, head cheerleader and was in the drama club.”

  Desiree forced a smile. Yolanda would tell him only the positive things she’d done in high school. Who would brag about being a bully? That was a bit too much truth when you were trying to impress a man.

  She tried a different approach. “Were you ever picked on when you were a kid?”

  Decker laughed shortly. “I was big for my age, and studying kung fu. Nobody messed with me.”

  Desiree realized trying to find common ground with Decker wasn’t going to work. He continued to look at her with concern written all over his face. Perhaps he was regretting all those months of asking her out only to learn that she was not the woman he thought she would be. The mental health professional possibly suffered from a mental illness herself.

  “You’re lucky,” Desiree said, looking him straight in the eye. “From ninth grade to twelfth, your ex-girlfriend made it her business to make sure I knew she and her friends couldn’t stand me. She would leave disgusting notes on my locker. Her nickname for me was Nappyrella, a combination of the words nappy and Cinderella, because I wore my hair natural and they didn’t approve of that style. Once they enlisted the help of a guy they knew I had a crush on to pull a practical joke on me. He asked me to a school dance and on the night of the dance, he didn’t show up. The next day they’d plastered photos of him and another girl at the dance, having a great time together, on my locker. They had a lot of fun at my expense.”

  Decker went to her, knelt beside her chair and pulled her into his arms. “I knew she was evil, just not how evil. Damn, Desi, why didn’t you kick her ass?” He leaned away in order to meet her gaze. Desiree fought back tears. She was touched by his gesture.

  “You know why,” she said, smiling.

  “Because we’re taught not to use our skills against anyone except to protect our lives or the lives of others,” he said, quoting one of the credos martial artists lived by.

  “Exactly,” Desiree said. She gently touched his cheek. “Now go back to your seat. People are staring.”

  He hugged her tighter. “I don’t care if they stare.” But he let go of her and returned to his seat nonetheless.

  They sat for a moment simply smiling at each other. Then they picked up their forks and continued eating the delicious meals in front of them.

  Desiree broke the silence five minutes later with “You dodged a bullet when she broke up with you.”

  “I know,” Decker said, and laughed softly. “Thanks for sharing your story with me. It makes me even more grateful that she chose Hollywood over me.”

  * * *

  After dinner they went to a bar on Glenwood Avenue that had live blues and jazz on weekends. The crowd was multicultural, and the décor like a Chicago speakeasy in the twenties or thirties. A blues band commanded the red-velvet-draped stage tonight. When Decker and Desiree entered, the male singer was doing a good rendition of Otis Redding’s “Try a Little Tenderness.”

  Decker pulled out Desiree’s chair for her, and they sat down to enjoy the performance. The lighting was dim, and candles in squat red glass jars rested in the center of the tables. A waitress made a beeline for them as soon as they sat down. “Would you like something to drink?” Decker asked, deferring to Desiree. Desiree was looking around the room, enjoying the laid-back atmosphere. “What kind of nonalcoholic drinks do you have?”

  The waitress, a young African-American woman with a short Afro, smiled and said, “The bartender can make you a virgin daiquiri, or just about any other drink. We also have bottled water, regular and sparkling, juices and soft drinks.”

  “Just bring me a sparkling water with a twist of lime, please,” Desiree said.

  The waitress turned to look at Decker, her smile growing wider. “And what can I bring you, sir?”

  “I’ll take water, too,” he said.

  In the waitress’s absence, he said, “I’m driving, and the wine with dinner was enough for one night.”

  The singer had begun Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground.” Couples danced to the upbeat tune. Decker stood and reached for Desiree’s hand. She didn’t hesitate, and soon they were one of many couples moving around the dance floor with a syncopated beat.

  Decker liked the way Desiree moved. Obviously, she loved to dance. It was evident in the sway of her hips, the natural rhythm she displayed and the look of joy in her eyes that held his gaze so compellingly. They did a sort of hip-hop version of a swing dance, moving effortlessly together as though this were not the first time they’d done this. Her fit yet voluptuous body, with curves in all the right places, was hard to tear his eyes from, but he kept his gaze on hers. It was more intimate. He hoped he was reading her right, because those dark brown–rimmed golden eyes were telling him she was digging him. Not only enjoying being with him, but interested in the prospect of seeing more of him. He hoped so because he’d definitely loved being with her tonight.

  He still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that his ex had bullied her in high school. What were the odds that he’d wind up meeting, and dating, the woman his ex had tormented so many years ago? It almost felt like fate to him, and he generally didn’t believe in fate or coincidences, and def
initely not fairy tales. In his experience, life held no magic, just your daily grind. Desiree almost made him believe.

  The band slowed it down with “A Sunday Kind of Love” by Etta James. Decker pulled Desiree into his arms. Now, this was what he’d been waiting for. Their cheeks touched briefly, and then her head was on his shoulder and she relaxed in his embrace. He breathed her in and relaxed himself. She smelled like fresh flowers. The warmth of her body permeated his clothing, penetrating his skin, making him instantly on guard for a hard-on. The last thing he needed was for Desiree to pull back from him after feeling his erection on her thigh. Not good. Not on the first date. The things a man had to worry about!

  She suddenly raised her head and looked into his eyes, smiling. “Your mother taught you well,” she said, her tone husky.

  He tightened the embrace a smidgen. “Mama never prepared me for a woman like you.”

  She looked intrigued. Her eyes held an amused glint in them. “And what kind of woman am I?”

  “Don’t be coy, Desi. You know you’re sexy as hell.”

  “I know I have an unsettling effect on some men, but it’s been a long time since I used my sexual mojo on anyone. I’m a bit rusty.”

  She hadn’t denied she was sexy. That made him respect her more. He liked that she accepted who she was and didn’t try to pretend to be something she wasn’t.

  “You have my permission to practice on me,” he said with a confident smile.

  That was when she tiptoed and kissed him on the mouth. He had to admit, the move took him by surprise, but only for a second or two. Then it was on. For the longest time, he’d been wondering what it would feel like to kiss her. Now he knew. It was bliss itself. Her lips were full, juicy and sweeter than anything he’d ever experienced before. Her breath mingled with his and created an airborne aphrodisiac. Honestly, she tasted like heaven, a feast for a love-starved man who’d just been invited to an all-you-can-eat buffet. He had to force himself to hold back, because damn, the woman had made him wait forever for this kiss. Just as he got control of his enthusiasm, she slipped her tongue in his mouth, and the sensual nature of the act caused him to slip further under her spell. They were still kissing when the song ended. Some part of his feverish brain imparted that bit of information to him. But it wasn’t until the couples around them started whooping and hollering encouragement to them that they came to their senses and parted.