Passion Rekindled Page 2

  “I accept it’s over, and I paid dearly for the privilege of getting you out of my life.”

  “Yes, you did, yet you’re still not happy.” He came slowly toward her, eyes narrowed. “Why is that?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “That maybe all this animosity stems not from anger but from a different place. That maybe you’re not as indifferent as you like to pretend.”

  Sylvie cackled at him, her derisive, high-pitched laughter filling the office. “Oh, Oscar, don’t flatter yourself. Run along to one of your little tarts and fill her head with your foolishness. I’m a grown woman and way too intelligent to fall for your silly reverse psychology games.”

  She turned her back, the movement dismissive. But the next thing she knew, she was being twirled around by Oscar’s large hands on her waistline.

  Then he kissed her, his mouth landing over hers in a strong kiss.

  Shocked, Sylvie stiffened. His hand came up and covered the back of her neck below the thick bun, his clasp warm and firm. The other arm brought her into very close, intimate contact with his hard body, trapping her arms between them.

  Shock gave way to pleasure—an overpowering sensation that coursed through her arteries until Sylvie had no choice but to open her mouth beneath Oscar’s. His thumb caressed her cheek, as her hand climbed to his face and moved over the surprisingly soft whiskers on his jaw.

  His hand swept up and down the sloped curve of her spine, finally easing down to her bottom. Oscar groaned and squeezed, and she felt the hard ridge of his arousal expand against her abdomen.

  Sylvie inhaled sharply as heat pooled between her thighs. But she couldn’t stop kissing him. Her other hand clutched his collar and she kissed him with urgency, heart tearing through her chest at an alarming rate.

  When his tongue sought entrance into her mouth, she allowed it, and the kiss became more demanding. Devouring. Oscar didn’t just take command of her mouth. He took command of all of her.

  Another groan emerged between them, coming from deep in his chest. A masculine rumble of hunger and a demand for more.

  As Sylvie eased her fingers up his nape into his hair, her sharp ears picked up the quiet but definite click of the door as it opened.

  Chapter 3

  Sylvie pulled back and Oscar immediately released her.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Johnson!” Roselle exclaimed, eyes stretched wide. She held a container of food in her hands.

  Sylvie pressed a hand to her chest. “You do not barge into my office! You should always knock.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I brought—”

  “Get out.”

  Roselle dashed from the room and the door snicked closed.

  Oscar swiped a hand across his mouth. “You didn’t have to talk to her like that.” His voice sounded hoarse.

  “You don’t tell me what to do in my office,” Sylvie hissed, breathing heavily. Disappointed in her own behavior, she needed to expend her wrath. “And how dare you touch me. You don’t—”

  “You liked it.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “I want you out. Now.” She moved further away from him and fisted her right hand in helpless frustration.

  Oscar’s eyes narrowed. “You liked it,” he said, his voice a mixture of wonder and shock.

  “You took me by surprise.”

  “I liked it, too,” he said in a low voice.

  Sylvie stilled. Her body buzzed from his touch. Her nipples tingled, and her inner thighs heated from wanting more of him. “Get. Out.”

  He didn’t move. His eyes ran over her the way they used to. Knowingly. An utterly indecent perusal that signaled exactly what he wanted. What he expected. That type of observation always made her body go up in flames and preceded them making love. Even now, the fiery pulse of blood in her veins made her cheeks flush.

  She couldn’t move any part of her limbs and barely managed to move her lips to utter the words that would free her from the invisible snare. “Get. Out.”

  Oscar rubbed a hand over his mouth again and dragged his tongue across his lower lip. He cast one more improper glance in her direction and turned to leave. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said, as he marched to the door.

  The words sounded like a threat when there was no reason for them to see each other again. A threat her body welcomed, blanketing her skin in tingles.

  “No, you will not!”

  Oscar continued quietly toward the door, his movements slow and precise. At the last moment, he turned, and Sylvie remained in place, holding her breath.

  He didn’t speak, but kept a narrowed gaze on her for long seconds before he finally exited. When the door closed, the rigidity in her muscles relaxed enough for her to walk stiffly to the desk and collapse into the chair.

  With a trembling finger, she pressed a button on the phone and called her assistant. “Inez.” She wondered if her assistant could hear the hoarseness in her voice.

  “Yes, Miss Johnson.”

  Sylvie rubbed the back of her neck. Where Oscar had touched. She still felt his touch. The warmth, the calloused fingers, the firmness of his chest as he crushed her to him.

  “Call my masseur. Tell him to drop everything and come right away for an hour-long session.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right away. Did you…did you want your lunch?”

  “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” She couldn’t eat a thing now, and more importantly, she didn’t want to see or speak to anyone.

  Sylvie pressed tentative fingers to her mouth.

  How dare he?

  She blinked back tears, as a barrage of memories came flooding back. She didn’t even know where they came from. The memories simply flooded her, and she snatched two tissues from the box on her desk and dabbed at her eyes.

  Memories of amorous kisses. Gentle lovemaking. Years and years of memories that she’d fought and fought and effectively banished from her brain.

  How dare he remind her of their past? Of the passion that used to exist between them.

  This couldn’t be happening. Fifteen years should have been enough. Surely it was sufficient time to forget a man who’d abandoned her. To stop loving him completely.

  “Not again,” she whispered to the empty room, as wrenching pain twisted through her chest. Sylvie dabbed at her eyes. “Not again. Please.” She had to be strong.

  She was strong.

  She’d lost her brother, her best friend and confidant, in a violent murder-suicide. Years later, Oscar left, tearing her world in two. Alive, but unattainable. Unreachable. Untouchable.

  Only a couple of years later, her older brother, whom she admired more than anyone else in the world—her encourager, advisor and mentor—was snatched from life by the negligence of a drunk driver. All the men in her life…gone.

  Was it any wonder she’d learned to depend on herself?

  Sylvie closed her eyes and quietly counted backward. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven…”

  She continued until she arrived at the number one and then opened her eyes. They were dry, and the tightness in her chest gone.

  She straightened her spine and picked up her Mont Blanc pen.

  And went back to work.

  At least she didn’t slap him.

  Oscar’s long strides took him across the lobby floor and out into the sunshine. He scanned the busy street filled with cars and people hustling by and decided on a brisk walk to settle his jumpy nerves.

  Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he frowned. What had possessed him to kiss Sylvie?

  The impulsive move had taken him by surprise as much as it had her, but he’d wanted to kiss her ever since he’d seen her in Miami in her designer dress, breasts sitting high on display and her thick hair piled atop her head, her entire appearance one of majestic refinement.

  What surprised him even more than the kiss was the fact that Sylvie didn’t push him away. Not at first. She’d kissed him back, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the mouth-to-mouth contact. />
  He certainly had.

  Oscar smiled to himself. His tongue still hummed with the taste of her, and every inch that he’d touched remained ingrained in his recollection of the charged moment. The soft skin of her neck, the curve of her spine, and the alluring scent of her perfume remained in his nostrils.

  His footsteps slowed at an intersection. As he waited for the light to change, his phone rang.

  “Hi, Dad.” The cheerful voice of his daughter Simone came through the line.

  “Hi there, sweetheart, how are you?” Oscar crossed the street with the other pedestrians.

  “Fine. Did you get a chance to talk to Mother?”

  “I did.” Oscar dipped down another busy street toward an Italian restaurant where he could get a bite to eat. Standing with his back to the building, he said, “It didn’t go very well.”

  “Oh.” That one little word was filled with disappointment.

  “I don’t think your mother is going to budge on the situation with Cameron.”

  Simone sighed heavily. “I want them to get along. I want her to see what a wonderful man he is and how much he makes me happy.”

  “You can’t worry about your mother right now. You need to be concerned about nurturing your relationship with this young man.”

  “I wish I could do both,” Simone murmured.

  Oscar watched the people going by on the main street. “Maybe there is something that can be done.” With respect to his children, he was just as determined as Sylvie to ensure their happiness. Simone was a grown woman, but he still saw her as his little girl and wanted to fix this problem for her.

  “What are you thinking?” Simone asked, sounding hopeful. “Mother can be so difficult.”

  “Leave your mother to me. You’re going to come by later when I join Ella and the girls for dinner?”

  Oscar was staying at a hotel while in Atlanta, and Ella had invited him for dinner at her home tonight. His sons were in New York at the moment, but he hoped they’d be back before he returned to Miami.

  “I’ll be there,” Simone said.

  “Good. I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

  Oscar hung up and the phone immediately rang. He cringed when he saw the number and waited a few seconds before reluctantly answering.

  “I heard you were in town,” she purred.

  He pushed down a sigh, running a hand over his head. “Caitlin, listen…”

  “I don’t want anything. I thought we could meet up for drinks or have dinner and, you know…talk.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss. We had fun, but as I explained to you in Miami, it’s over.”

  “Oscar, are you saying we can’t be friends?” she chided.

  He rubbed a hand across his jaw.

  “Don’t tell me friendship is too much to ask,” she added.

  “No, it’s not too much to ask,” he said wearily.

  “Good! Are you free tonight?”

  “Not tonight. How about tomorrow?” he suggested.

  She tutted her disappointment. “Fine, but you’ll have to make it up to me.”

  He smiled slightly. “Caitlin…”

  “I’m kidding, but it would be nice to get a little gift from you to ease the pain, considering how you dumped me like yesterday’s old news.”

  “That’s not what happened. I explained to you why we should end our relationship.”

  “You explained, but the explanation didn’t make sense. We don’t need to have everything in common to be compatible. Age is nothing but a number. But anyway, I’m glad you’ve decided to see me, and I promise to be good. As long as you bring me a little trinket.”

  He sighed. “All right, Caitlin.”

  “Thank you! I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  Oscar hung up and tapped the phone against his palm. This was probably a bad idea, but he needed to make it clear to her that he was no longer interested, and perhaps doing so in person would be the best way to get the point across. Besides, he did feel guilty about the abrupt way he’d ended their relationship after seeing Sylvie in Miami.

  He didn’t understand how these types of relationships worked, but perhaps a nice parting gift was in order. Thanks to the settlement from Sylvie, he had quite a bit of money at his disposal, but lived well below his means and hardly spent any of it.

  His thoughts turned once again to Sylvie, recalling the day she agreed to marry him—the elation he felt that this magnificent creature, a woman so lovely and from a family whose legacy could be traced to the slave ships that carried her ancestors to the shores of the Caribbean, had agreed to become his wife. He’d been so overwhelmed, like a man who’d won the jackpot.

  Walking to the restaurant, Oscar pinpointed two goals he must achieve before he left Atlanta.

  The first was to get Sylvie’s blessing for Simone and Cameron.

  The second was to determine if Sylvie really hated him or not.

  Chapter 4

  This was Oscar’s first visit to Sylvie’s penthouse. During their marriage, they’d lived in a mansion north of the city. With all of their children grown and in their own homes, it made sense Sylvie had downsized to a more manageable property closer to her office.

  His daughter had spoken to Sylvie’s housekeeper, who in turn spoke to security at the front desk, which allowed him to charm his way past the lobby to the top-level condominium. When Oscar exited the elevator into the vestibule of Sylvie’s penthouse, her housekeeper, Trevor, appeared in his uniform, a gray top and gray pants to match the gray hair on his head.

  A smile expanded across his leather-colored face. Only a very special kind of person could put up with Sylvie’s exacting nature, and Trevor was one of the best. In truth, he managed Sylvie, though she’d never admit it.

  “Mr. Brooks, it’s good to see you,” he said, clasping both of Oscar’s hands in his.

  “Likewise.” Oscar gave the other man’s hands a solid shake. “It’s been a long time.”

  Trevor nodded. “Too long. I believe the last time was at Ella’s wedding.”

  “It was.”

  “Would you like me to announce you now?” Trevor asked.

  “I would. She doesn’t know I’m here?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “This should be interesting.”

  Another smile crossed Trevor’s lips, but he was too polite to laugh outright. “I’ll take you into the sitting room.”

  Trevor escorted Oscar across the sparkling mahogany floors to a room filled with white carpet, so thick he felt the softness under his feet, even through his shoes. The room was decorated in a neutral palate of alabaster and dove gray, with two loveseats and a chaise lounge in front of a fireplace. With Sylvie’s great eye for design, the room appeared comfortable but chic.

  A decades-old photo of her and her brothers sat in a silver frame on a side table. She stood between the two of them, all three dressed in formal evening attire. Cyrus, her austere older brother, smiled into the camera—one of the few times Oscar actually recalled seeing such outright amusement on his face. He’d always been very protective of his sister and the family name. Sylvie held on to his arm, her face cloaked with joy as she rested her head against the arm of her younger sibling, her brother Anthony. Anthony, the violinist, whose kind eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. The untimely, violent death of he and his wife had decimated the Johnson family.

  Photographs of Oscar’s two granddaughters sat in silver frames on another table, but his eyes shifted and settled on the family portrait on one wall. Sylvie, Stephan and Reese, Simone and Ella, and Ella’s daughters graced the professional photo, all of them dressed in white. It appeared to be a complete family. Without him.

  Pain screwed into Oscar’s chest, right at the spot where his heart beat under his ribs.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Sylvie’s imperial-toned question jolted him from his personal funk, and Oscar turned to see her looking very relaxed in a black long-sleeved tunic and ivory slack
s.

  “Hello, Sylvie.”

  Her mouth tightened and her very expressive eyes flashed at him. They were an unusually light shade of brown and a hue she shared with her two brothers, a notable contrast against the dark walnut color of her skin.

  “How did you get up here? I need to speak to security about allowing people up without my permission.”

  “Trevor arranged for me to come up.”

  “Then I need to speak to Trevor. He should know better.” She straightened her shoulders. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here? You’re not going to kiss me again, are you?”

  Oscar didn’t answer right away, noting the tension in her body. As usual, she was immediately confrontational, but he’d promised himself he would not get drawn into another battle with her. That was exactly what she wanted. Purposely combative, she constantly picked fights with him. He would remain calm—even if he developed an ulcer doing so.

  He walked toward her and her body stiffened even more, guarded eyes watching him closely. “I’m not going to kiss you again. Unless you want me to?”

  Her face cemented into a stony mask, but her pupils dilated at the softly asked question.

  “I. Do. Not.”

  Oscar’s eyes dropped to the pulse in her throat, which beat at a surprisingly fast rate. “Then we can talk without interruption, specifically about Simone. We never finished that conversation.”

  “Because you kissed me. You had no right to do that.”

  He remained calm but observant. She appeared agitated, at a loss to know what to do with her hands. She clasped and unclasped them, and then clasped them again. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Sylvie was nervous.

  “You’re correct. I didn’t.”

  She compressed her lips as she regarded Oscar. “What are you up to?”

  “I need a little bit of your time. To talk about Simone and Cameron. That’s not too much to ask, is it?” He smiled in a disarming way. If he simply played nice, he’d wear her down. He hoped.

  “No, I suppose not,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing. “What exactly did you want to discuss about them?”