Chapter 9
mad
. . .
Oh, no. I wasn’t trying to dig a hole that my self-manicured fingernails couldn’t help me climb out of.
My reckless, quick U-turn at the sight of Omari Riche standing at an auction table made my stilettos threaten to snap.
I was so not tempting my ex-husband to amend his contract. Besides, Omari hadn’t seen me.
“Madison?”
I flicked a glance over my shoulder as Omari turned away from the spotlit art and smiled. “Ye-yep?” It came out like a stutter of confusion and shamelessness as I gaped at the ultra-white smile he flashed. “Oh, it-it’s really you.”
“But you turned around.” He cocked his head. Those waves were smoother than the ocean in San Jose when Washington tricked me into getting in the water after I’d just gotten my hair pressed. They did nothing for me.
For starters, I wasn’t ready to bump my head and catch a concussion by diving headfirst into the dating pool.
Plus, I had that contract. Second? Washington was intelligent.
He was also equal parts quiet and lethal, which meant he’d kill us all and get away with it.
Didn’t need a third because Mr. Snitch and I would be in the same deep grave if I messed with our dating contract.
I’d seen No Flirting as a clause. It might’ve been the sole portion of the contract not drowning in fluffy parts.
“Oh, boy, nobody’s running away from you.” My laugh floated away as I glanced at Washington staring down Gaston DuVall. Hmm. Maybe he was busy threatening that man after I broke my silence about the pretentious judge’s rudeness? “What do we have here?”
Omari turned his attention to the sculpture again.
Before I could outrun the part of my life that required a 401k plan and my ex’s rules, Omari spoke. “You ever bid on your own work, Madison? Seems unfair, though.”
“Not even.” I laughed. “I can barely win over my credit card company. Every time a rep calls, I try something new. No speak-ah-da English. No comprende Spanish either. Sometimes the sultry tone works.”
He chuckled. “Where’s your artwork? I haven’t seen it in person. And your website is under maintenance.”
“Sorry. I don’t have a piece on display tonight.” You’d suppose your good friends, a.k.a., my parents, would’ve purchased at least one of my creations.
“Damn, Madison Spencer, your humility is beautiful. When I look into your eyes.” He locked me beneath a smoldering gaze.
“I see the kind of compassion and affection that makes me assume you wouldn’t hype yourself up; instead, you’d give back to the community.
Support this auction. So, who do I have to corner about your lack of product availability? ”
I rolled my eyes, smiling. “I forgot you did more than collect antiques. You want to get me public notoriety.”
“International notoriety, Miss Spencer.”
Ugh, stop calling me that. Changing my name back had been a spite move.
“You’re still dodging my calls,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere. Discuss getting you out into the world?”
“Tonight?”
“This very second.” He laughed low, and for a moment, the room dimmed around us. He was intentional. An energy that suggested he read Baldwin but also knew his way around a good cocktail. He smoothed a hand over his head and joked, “You got those flowers?”
Before I could say anything clever, a familiar drawl slid in from behind me.
“What flowers?”
We both turned around. Washington handed me a drink and swallowed his own, jaw a little too tight.
Omari blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I’m Judge Washington Babineaux.” Dang. The arrogance was enough to flatten the waves on Omari’s head.
The art dealer extended a hand. “Omari Riche. Babineaux, you said? You’re the ex-husband.”
“Yes, sir. Still around. Always will be. People remarry their first love, y’know?” Washington glanced at Omari’s lonely, outstretched hand, then downed the rest of his drink.
Omari’s hand dropped in a smooth, slow movement, still keeping that effortless charm in his posture. He didn’t flinch, didn’t lose composure, but the heat in the room shifted.
The tension cracked enough for me to smile, one of those awkward ones that wobbled on my face. “Yes, Wash and I lead a complicated life. I’m not sure about the remarrying part, but we’re dating.”
“Nothing complicated about it.” Washington’s hand snaked around my waist and gave me a possessive yank to his side. His smile was sharper than armor. “We can’t get enough of each other.”
I tried not to melt. Tried not to let my eyes flick to Omari, who still had that smooth grin as if he weren’t trying. Clearly he was.
Without acknowledging Omari’s presence, Washington’s gaze crawled over my flesh in the way it had when we’d gone through those periods.
Not cold wars where neither of us wanted to fold, and we ended up tearing each other down.
Not like that. No, in that delicious way when we couldn’t touch until the tension nearly took our lives.
Then I didn’t feel his eyes on me like a caress.
Washington let go of me and stepped close to Omari.
“You look at my woman the wrong way, and I will …” His voice dropped, too low to hear.
Yet it was something dangerous and somehow sexy enough to make me wish his possessive ass still embraced me for effect.
Omari chuckled, tilting his head, a connoisseur of the challenge. “I wouldn’t dare disrespect Miss … Spencer. I know when to step back.” Even though he didn’t say the words, his brown eyes radiated, For now.
When he walked away, I pinched Washington’s bicep. It was like trying to manipulate steel. “You are ridiculous.”
“I had a similar talk with Judge Gaston DuVall. You’ll tell me if either of them glances at you sideways,” he added, voice rough with obsession.
“Sideways how? I need a definition. I doubt Omari and your mentor would look at me the same w-way …” My voice became acrid.
All air. He pinned me down with an expression that said games were off the table tonight.
I choked out a laugh, low-key afraid. “You are ridiculous.” I turned into a broken record.
He leaned in close, and I swear the heat from his chest almost melted the marble floor. “Ridiculous is my specialty, Maddy. And protective. Don’t forget that.”
And there I stood, smiling, blushing, and stopping myself from allowing the desire pooling in my mouth to drool onto my chin. Momma was loving this attention.
The charity event’s excitement still buzzed inside me as we reached my sister’s row house. The city lights reflected off the iron railings. I burrowed inside Washington’s red velvet tuxedo jacket while he opened the car door.
Every step up the porch echoed. That good tension had wrapped around me tonight.
I slipped out of Washington’s jacket at the top step.
Before I could take my key out of my clutch, he spun me around, pressed me against the door, and planted his palms on either side of my head.
I didn’t know whether to thank God for the frosty night because all this fire pressed me against an ice block.
With this type of heat in front of me, so close, what was so wrong with getting burned?
“Which do you prefer?” He leaned down, lips hovering near my ear. “Having two grown men after you. Or being stalked.”
I inhaled slowly, trying to hide the shivers that cascaded over my body. “You mean I can’t get stalked by the homicidal Creole and the smooth stranger who talks vases like poetry? Why can’t a girl have—”
In an instant, he jerked my hips until my thighs were around him. I sagged against the doorframe. Tried not to die, slow and utterly desired by this man.
“You can’t have both, Mrs. Babineaux.” With my body half situated over his waist, he ran a hand over my hair.
I turned my head away. “I’m Miss Spencer again.”
“I’ma amend our contract.” His mouth lingered on my pulse, a tantalizing sensation that made shivers dance down my spine.
“You c-can’t,” I moaned.
“Actually, I can. Clause fifty-nine, boo, read the fine print: Amendments. When you’re with me, you’re Mrs. Babineaux.”
“Sorry, my mom taught me lying is a sin.” I smiled, tightening my thighs around his waist. Yep. The door was getting some action. Any moment. If I didn’t wise up and shimmy down from this massive tree!
“Why not?”
“Because … this is fake. You have me trapped against a door like I’m crime scene evidence.”
“You got more? You wanna be an attorney now?” He laughed, low and throaty.
“Not even. But I’ve dissed the name already, Baby No.”
He leaned in closer, letting his breath ghost my lips, and I sucked in the condensation from his mouth. “Bébé, ain’t nothing about this fake. I went exactly this far,” he said, grinding into me. All of him. “Because I can. You will always be my wife, Madison.”
His chest crushed my breasts, and my shoulder blades bruised against the door. I didn’t mind. His words echoed in the tense silence, bringing us closer to a kiss that we’d danced around all night. Heat consumed me as he pulled up the slit of my dress, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip.
His lips brushed closer to mine. Thick, dangerous, and intoxicating when our mouths touched.
CLICK!
The front door opened, swinging wide. I lurched into Washington’s arms, straddling him now.
“Maddy?” Lynetta snarled. “What are you doing?”
“This is … uh … a blackmail date recap?” I murmured, my lips close enough to Washington’s thick mouth to lose all control.
“You told her,” Washington growled in my ear.
I glared at him. Obvi! I snitched. Add that to all the self-ratting out I’d done throughout my life. It was that or my sister reinvented ways to torture me. Waterboarding. Check. Execution. Check. Check.
“Get inside, Madison!”
“She’s a grown-ass woman, Lynetta, chill,” Washington said, not even trying to help me disentangle myself from him.
“Ah, Judge Babineaux, the hoodlum. Do you talk like that around those foster kids? Is that how you judge?”
“Hey,” I snapped, twisting the skin at the back of his hands, so he had to release my hips. I jumped down with a groan and turned toward her. “Too far, sis. I let you lose your mind for an entire year during the divorce. It stops now.” I glanced back at Washington.
He stood on the welcome mat, tugging his beard to keep from saying something that I was sure he’d never regret. I offered him a smile. “See you in a couple of weeks.”
“What? Negatory. Maddy, we have to prepare.”
I closed the door, leaving him outside. After fanning myself, I leaned against the door and slapped the back of my head against it. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Madison! I see you’ve forgotten how he returned to work right after they hooked Elijah up to life support. After one week. Five business days! Probably wanted to pull the plug then.”
That wasn’t right. Not in the slightest. His momma had been by my side the entire time, praying our child woke up. First thing after work, Washington arrived.
My throat tightened, and by the time I’d mustered the strength to defend him, she’d walked away. Was it because I still harbored animosity over Elijah’s death?
Another thump.
Shame joined the rage in my chest, ripping my heart in two like a blade.
Wrath burned at the corners of my vision.
But underneath sat vulnerability so raw, so terrifying, it rippled, cold and achy.
Because for hours tonight I’d forgotten about my son.
A part of me loved living in the pain of it all.
That pain said, I see you. I will never forget you, Eli. That pain made me a good mother. A loyal mother.
But tonight?
I’d forgotten Elijah. Why couldn’t I be miserable in peace?