Rhythms of Love: You Sang to Me / Beats of My Heart. Beverly Jenkins

      “Gram!” Reggie croaked through the tea she’d just swallowed.

      Jamal smiled. “It’s okay. No special girlfriend either. Ladies don’t like being second.”

      “To what?”

      “My music. Can’t seem to find one who understands why I’m in the studio 24/7. But maybe one day.” His next words were directed at Reggie. “A beautiful woman can move you just like a beautiful song.”

      Heat spread over Reggie like warm syrup over waffles, leaving her nipples hard and an answering riff between her thighs.

      As if he hadn’t just set her on fire, he smoothly returned to Crystal, “And I’m not offended by your questions. I’m asking Regina to make a big decision. I figured this was going to be more than just a cup of coffee.”

      Cute and smart, Reggie echoed inwardly again. Her grandmother had the decency to look embarrassed.

      “My apologies for being so nosy. But you’re right, I want to know all about you.”

      “I respect that. Have to let you know that I like your abstracts. They’re very good.”

      “I had some health problems a few years back and the painting was therapy. You like them?”

      “I do. Very much.”

      “Then next time I set up my easel, I’ll do one for you.”

      Reggie smiled over her cup. Her grandmother hadn’t painted in years. In fact, Reggie was certain Crystal didn’t even know where the easel was. Guess the current is getting to Gram, too.

      “How much longer will you be in the city?” she asked next.

      “Not sure.”

      He moved his attention to Reggie again and what she read there made her feel as if he’d already kissed her; had already brushed his lips over the side of her neck and down her breasts. It was as if they’d been lovers in times past and her body was preening for his remembered touch.

      Crystal’s even-toned voice broke the pulsating contact. “So tell me where you grew up. What do your parents do?”

      Reggie wanted to deflect the questioning before he was forced to explain his past, but he answered smoothly, “As I told Regina earlier, I grew up in foster care. No one adopted me, so I aged out of the system at eighteen.”

      The impact of his words was evident on her grandmother’s face. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive my prying.”

      “It’s okay. Being a foster kid taught me to be independent. I probably wouldn’t be who I am today without that experience.”

      “Jamal, I’m very glad we met.”

      “Same here,” he responded genuinely. “Thanks for having me in your home, and for the coffee.”

      “You’re welcome. There’s apple pie in the fridge if you want some.”

      His eyes lit up with such delight both women laughed.

      She said to Reggie, “I’m going to leave you two alone.”

      “Ms. Vaughn, you’re welcome to stay,” he assured her. “I’ve nothing to hide.”

      “Nope. Heard all I need to. Reggie’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”

      Reggie gave her a nod of thanks. Truthfully, she would prefer her grandmother stay in order to not be alone with him, but she knew that was out. “I’ll see you later.”

      Crystal got to her feet, and Jamal stood, too. His show of chivalry won him more points. “And a gentleman, too? I think I’m in heaven.”

      She made her exit while an amused Reggie watched her go.

      After the departure, silence settled over the kitchen. Reggie glanced his way and found his eyes waiting. Beginning to drown in what she saw there, she cleared her throat and looked elsewhere.

      Jamal couldn’t believe the strength of his attraction. In order to drag his mind away from wondering if her mouth would taste as sweet as it appeared, he asked, “How about I help you wash up these cups?”

      “That isn’t necessary. I can handle it.”

      “You’ve been putting up with my stalking for the past couple of days, it’s the least I can do.”

      To Reggie the air in the room had become as humid and sultry as a summer day in July. All she could do was acquiesce. “Okay.”

      After putting on an apron, it took her only a moment to make the dishwater.

      He walked over to where she stood at the sink and suggested, “You wash and I’ll dry.”

      “Are you always so helpful?”

      “Not usually, but if it’ll get me a hearing with you, I’ll dry dishes outside in the snow.”

      His dark gaze was working her overtime, and all kinds of things she’d rather not think about were pulsing inside. “Dish towels are in the drawer over there.”

      In addition to the cups, the dishes holding the food her grandmother had taken to the potluck also needed to be washed, dried and put away. As they worked, conversation was minimal, but that was okay with Jamal. As he removed the wet dishes from the dish drain and dried them, he was content to watch her—the way she moved, the way she kept shooting little glances over her shoulder at him. He kept reminding himself it was her voice he was after, not the lure of her, or the challenge she presented, or the way she might look nude in his bed and wearing nothing but those pearls now lying in the middle of the table, but it was hard to remember.

      With her hands in the soapy water, Reggie washed and then rinsed the big rose-patterned bowl used at the potluck to hold her grandmother’s signature jambalaya. She placed it in the dish drain just as he reached to take it out. Their fingers bumped and the sparks flew, startling them both.

      “Sorry,” they apologized in unison.

      A shy smile crossed her face.

      “Like your smile,” he confessed.

      “Yours isn’t bad either.”

      Silence rose while they both rode the opening notes of a prelude only they could hear.

      He asked, “When are you going to let me talk to you?”

      Reggie got the impression that he was asking about way more than a recording session. She kept her voice nonchalant. “How about now? We’re done here.” She dried her hands and gestured him back to his seat at the table. “Do you want that pie? More coffee?”

      “Yes to both. I’ll get myself another cup and you get the pie.”

      He poured himself some of the still-hot coffee. She cut two slices of the apple pie and placed them gently onto paper plates.

      “I’m having just a little piece,” she explained. “I don’t want to be up all night.”

      Jamal had been having such a good time, he’d all but forgotten about her having to work in the morning. In his world, if it took all night to consummate a deal, so be it, but this was her world, and there were parameters. He felt the need to apologize. “I’m sorry, and here I am keeping you up, too. Forget the pie, let’s have a quick conversation, and we can work out the details by phone or something later.”

      “I’m good. Have your pie and coffee. As long as I’m in bed by eleven, I’ll be okay.” She passed him a plate and a fork.

      “What time do you usually get up?”

      “Around four-thirty, and on the road no later than five-fifteen.”

      “That’s early.”

      “That’s life in hotel housekeeping.”

      “How