Page 19 of Roark
Her messages had finally gotten through to Roark Donovan, and he’d agreed to a meeting. She’d come to this majestic-looking place and had sat across from a handsome man who hadn’t wanted to hear a word she’d had to say. Then there was the fire, flames alive and hungry, licking along the stones of the cottage, ready to claim all she had left in the world. Tamika gasped, her knees giving out, and she dropped down onto the bed. Lifting her hands, she ran shaking fingers through her hair and then dropped her hands to her lap.
Her mother’s feeble body with an oxygen mask that seemed as big as her face, lying on that stretcher, had her chest heaving, warm tears filling her eyes.
Then there was another flash of memory, and she could see the light-gray headstone at the cemetery in Arlington. “Daddy,” she whispered the words as her voice cracked. “I almost lost her too.”
Her head dropped, and she took deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. It wasn’t working. A sob bubbled deep in her throat as she lay back on the bed and rolled onto her side. With her eyes closed tight, she dared any tears to fall, even as her body shook with more memories. She’d buried her father. Standing next to her mother, she’d moved her lips along with the pastor, reciting the scripture he was reading during the internment. With family and friends standing beside them, she’d held her mother’s hand, promising to get to the bottom of what happened. Thirteen months later, and she still didn’t know who’d killed him.
Or, now, who’d just tried to kill her mother.
Tamika rolled onto her back and took another deep breath, releasing it slowly. Opening her eyes, she stared up at the cathedral ceiling. With a start, she remembered she wasn’t in the cottage but was at the luxury B&B formerly owned by Maxine Donovan. Easing herself up to a sitting position, her mind cleared a little more, and this time she sighed.
Seconds later, she eased off the bed and grabbed all three of the nightgowns before heading into the bathroom. “Damn,” she said the moment she flicked on a light.
This place was like a movie star’s home or those design photos on Pinterest. The bathroom was bigger than the bedroom, bathroom and kitchen of her apartment in Arlington. She took tentative steps over the glossy black marble floor. Double doors were to her right, and she assumed it was the linen closet.
She opened one of the doors, and bingo! After grabbing a towel, she moved further into the space. A double-sink marble vanity with dark gray cabinets beneath was on her left. Glass doors that opened to a shower big enough for six people was on the right. The wall of the shower—a stunning gray-and-white marble—matched the countertop of the vanity. The dainty crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the room matched the wall sconces between the mirrors above the vanity and another set over the freestanding tub.
“Who are these people, the black Rockefellers?” Shaking her head, she dropped the nightgowns and towel on the vanity top and went to open the shower doors. It took a moment to figure out the fancy handles, but once she did, she watched the waterfall-like spray shoot from the big square nozzle on the ceiling. Another few seconds were spent opening every drawer in search of a shower cap. There had to be one in here, because not everybody washed their hair each time they hopped into the shower, especially not Black women.
A fist pump came when she found the cap and then fitted it over her head before she removed her clothes. They smelled like smoke. Everything from her blouse to her trouser socks. The water was heavenly, just hot enough to leave a sting along her skin when it hit. She held her head back and for the next twenty minutes just let herself enjoy the glorious solitude.
The royal-blue nightgown felt like heaven sliding over her skin. It fit. She turned in the mirror, staring at the cute crisscross straps in the back and noted the way the material hugged her F-cup breasts was even better than in her best eighty-dollar bra. “How did he know my size?”
The question was muttered while running her hands down her sides, over her full hips and thick thighs. Another turn and look over her shoulder had her shaking her head. The gown came to her ankles with slits up to her knee on each side. It was sexy and comfortable and not at all something she guessed would be just lying around in this fancy B&B. But clearly, she’d been wrong. It had taken them about twenty minutes to get here from the hospital—no way that concierge ran out to a mall and came back with these perfectly fitting garments in that short amount of time.
Anyway, it was late and she was bone-tired, so trying to figure out where these clothes came from wasn’t high on her list of priorities. Instead, she returned to the bedroom and pulled back the comforter and sheets. She found her purse and retrieved her phone and charger, plugging them both in and setting them on the nightstand after checking for messages. There were none, and she was glad. Her mind couldn’t deal with one more thing tonight.
She let out a soft sigh once her head hit the pillow and closed her eyes. Roark’s face appeared, the warmth of his potent brown eyes lulling her to sleep.
A piercing scream yanked Roark out of his sleep. He bolted up in the bed, immediately kicking the sheets aside so he could get up. By the time he grabbed his sweatpants off the chair across from the bed, there was another scream, and he took off running. He yanked the door to his room open and headed down the hall. At the last door, he opened it and caught her just as she was about to step out.
She began talking the moment his hands gripped her shoulders. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Just a bad dream.” Her hands went immediately to his biceps and two seconds later she started to pull away, but he held on.
“You screamed.” A sound he didn’t ever think he’d get out of his head.
“I was scared.” She was blinking fast, like she couldn’t believe he was there, or maybe she didn’t think she was really awake. “That’s what nightmares do. They…um, scare you.”
“Where were you going?” he asked, because she was still afraid, even though he knew if he pointed that out, she’d deny it.
She shook her head. “Water. I always need…want water after the dream.”
“There’s a mini-fridge in your room.” Her skin was cool beneath his touch, and soft.
“I didn’t see it. But I’m fine, really. I’ll just go downstairs, get something to drink from that big-ass kitchen and then go back to bed.” She eased out of his grip, and because he’d been raised right, Roark let her go. But she only took a couple of steps before her legs wobbled, and then his hands were on her again. This time he wrapped his arms around her, holding her from the back.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
She nodded and lifted a hand to touch her forehead. “Just a little disoriented. A lot has happened today, and I was thrown off when I woke up and realized where I was.”
“Let’s go to my room. You can sit down, and I’ll fix you something to drink.”
“No, I’ll be okay. This has happened before.”
He didn’t like the sound of that but didn’t bother pressing her with more questions. Instead he just guided them back down the hall toward his room. It occurred to him at the last minute to leave the door open because he’d rather not give her the wrong impression. “Here, have a seat.” He stood next to her while she eased down onto the couch, and then he leaned over to switch on the lamp on the end table.
“Just water,” she said in a tone as if she thought she had to reiterate that.
Roark tried not to be offended. She didn’t know him except for whatever the internet had told her, and the first night she met him she ended up in this private residence with him. She had every right to make sure she was being perfectly clear about what she did and didn’t want.
