Touch of Heaven (3 page)

But it was the man at the helm of Mayne Industries who garnered the most attention—and adoration—from the media. To Houstonians, Warrick Mayne was a success story, the proverbial hometown hero who had overcome impossible odds to seize the American Dream.

His personal biography was the stuff of Hollywood scripts and popular hip-hop songs. He was born and raised in the Third Ward, one of the poorest, most crime-infested communities in Houston. When he was eight years old, his crack-addicted father walked out on the family and was never seen or heard from again. Warrick, the second eldest of five siblings, was forced to grow up very quickly. Armed with food stamps and a stubborn will to survive, he did the grocery shopping while his older sister, Yasmin, took care of the cooking and cleaning. While their mother held down two minimum-wage jobs, Warrick and his sister looked after their younger siblings, helping them with homework and trying to keep them out of trouble.

Warrick was always aware of the danger and violence that awaited his family every time they stepped outside their apartment. When he was fourteen, he watched in horror as his favorite cousin was gunned down in a drive-by shooting. Three weeks later, he attended the funeral of another childhood friend who had been caught in the cross fire between rival gangs.

Grief-stricken and impotent with rage, Warrick became disillusioned with life. His grades tanked, he got into fights at school and began cutting class. One night as he was making his first drug run in a borrowed car, he got pulled over by the police. The cop turned out to be the estranged brother of Warrick's father. Warrick would later confide to others that the worst beating he'd ever received was not at the hands of his mother or neighborhood bullies. It came courtesy of his uncle. Randall Mayne could have taken his wayward nephew into custody and charged him with drug possession and driving without a license, not to mention speeding. Instead he gave Warrick the whipping of his life, promising the boy that if he ever caught him breaking the law again, he would personally see to it that Warrick did serious jail time. But Randall didn't stop there.

He helped Warrick and his family move out of the projects and into Section 8 housing in a safer neighborhood with better schools. Keeping his pledge to his uncle, Warrick brought up his grades and joined the high-school basketball team. He graduated with honors and attended Texas A&M University on a full academic scholarship. After college he landed a job at a top engineering firm in Philadelphia, where he designed pipelines to draw oil and gas out of new wells developed by his company.

After getting four years of experience under his belt, he struck out on his own and founded a startup consultancy, capitalizing on a time when the oil-and-gas industry was making a strong comeback. Although success had not come overnight, with fierce determination, hard work and careful planning, balanced by a willingness to take risks, Warrick had built a thriving, successful engineering company with a clientele list that included major corporations, government agencies and some of the largest global refineries.

And now he had returned home.

Apparently he wasn't satisfied with conquering the world.

He had to conquer his old nemesis as well.

With mounting apprehension Raina scrolled through the online links, searching for an article or blurb that detailed expansion plans for Mayne Industries, absurdly hoping that Warrick had only been playing a cruel joke on her that morning.

An article in today's
Houston Chronicle
about Warrick receiving a prestigious entrepreneurial leadership award from his alma mater was the most recent news item Raina could find. She went to his company's sleek, ultramodern Web site and spent a few minutes clicking around in search of a press release or architectural scale drawings of the proposed new office complex.

Once again, she came up empty.

Whatever Warrick had up his sleeve to coerce her into selling her property to him would remain a mystery. For now.

His parting words whispered through her mind, a not-so-subtle threat:
I didn't get where I am by playing nice or learning to take no for an answer. I play to win, Raina.

“So do I, Warrick,” Raina said with the quiet, steely determination that had enabled her to survive the wounds inflicted by the Mayne family twelve years ago. “So do I.”

“T
hank you for being so understanding about lunch earlier,” said Bradford Torrance, smiling ruefully at Raina across a table covered with white linen and softened by candlelight. “I hated having to cancel on you like that. I really thought I'd be able to get away for a couple of hours, but we had an unusually high number of walk-ins this morning, and with two of our pediatricians being on vacation this week—”

Raina waved off the rest of his apology with a soft laugh. “It's all right, Bradford. You really don't have to keep explaining what happened. I know how busy things can get at a doctor's office. You're forgetting that my sister is an obstetrician. We've been in the middle of dinner when all of a sudden she gets an urgent phone call and has to rush off to deliver a baby, leaving me with the bill
and
no ride home.”

Bradford smiled, his green eyes twinkling with warmth. “I can assure you that I would never stick you with the tab or leave you stranded.” He paused, mouth twitching. “At least not on the first date.”

Raina laughed, feeling relaxed and content for the first time that day. She'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of Warrick Mayne
earlier that she'd nearly forgotten about her lunch date with Bradford Torrance until he'd called to regretfully ask for a rain check. Other than to feel disappointed that she had worn a sexy new dress to work for nothing, Raina had welcomed the reprieve, telling herself she wouldn't be much company anyway, with fears of a hostile takeover weighing heavily on her mind. When Bradford had called back a few hours later to ask if she was available for dinner, she'd almost declined.

Now, looking across the candlelit table at him, Raina was glad she had accepted his invitation. She was having a really good time. The upscale downtown restaurant had a cozy, romantic atmosphere. And Bradford, with his pretty green eyes, warm smile, smooth coffee-and-cream complexion and short, curly hair, was shaping up to be the most promising blind date she'd ever had.

Apparently the feeling was mutual.

Bradford, staring at Raina in undisguised admiration, said, “Not that I could ever forget that your sister is a doctor, considering that we work at the same hospital and
she's
the one who introduced us to each other.” He smiled, absently running his finger around the rim of his wineglass. “I've been sitting here wondering how I can ever repay her for that. You're an amazing woman, Raina.”

She smiled demurely. “Why, thank you, Bradford,” she said, lifting her own glass to her lips and taking a sip of wine.

Raina had to admit she'd had serious reservations about meeting the doctor her older sister, Reese, had been raving about for months. Not only had past experience taught Raina to be leery of blind dates—especially those set up by her matchmaking sister—but Bradford Torrance had simply sounded too good to be true. He was a handsome, smart, caring man with a great sense of humor. He had a successful career, owned a house and had never been married. And Raina reasoned that as a pediatrician he dealt with children every day, which must mean he loved kids and would not be opposed to having one or two of his own someday.

He
definitely
had potential.

Not that she was in the market for a husband or anything, Raina hastily reminded herself. Running her own business consumed most of her time and energy. As owner and spa director, her plate remained full with marketing, sales, public relations and strategic planning functions, as well as handling payroll and managing her staff. She
didn't have room in her life for a serious relationship. Still, it was reassuring to know that her options were not as bleak as she'd always assumed they were.

Bradford Torrance was proof of that.

The waiter arrived with their meals, and as they began eating, Bradford said conversationally, “So tell me more about yourself, Raina.”

She chuckled as she cut into her veal tenderloin. “You mean my sister didn't already tell you my life story?” she teased.

Bradford laughed. “She may have left out one or two details. How long have you owned the day spa?”

“Almost two years. I purchased the property shortly after I moved back home from New York. I was fortunate. The owner and his wife were retiring and relocating to Florida, so they were eager to get the property off their hands. I made some minor renovations to the building, and within three months Touch of Heaven was open for business.”

“That's great,” Bradford said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Reese brags about you all the time. She said you've always had a head for business, which is why the spa is so successful. I think she keeps a stack of coupons in the pocket of her lab coat and hands them out to everyone she runs into at the hospital.”

Raina grinned. “That would explain why most of the pregnant women who come to the spa for our maternity massages are Reese's patients. God bless sisters.”

Bradford smiled at her over the rim of his wineglass.
He has a really nice smile
, Raina thought, not for the first time that evening.

Maybe, just maybe, it was time for her to start dating again.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she glanced up and saw Warrick Mayne standing near the front of the restaurant. She froze at the sight of him. He looked brutally handsome in a dark Armani designer suit—he probably owned hundreds of them—that accentuated his tall, powerful build.

A ripple of excitement spread through the room as several diners recognized him. More than a few female gazes swung in his direction and lingered to openly admire him.

Raina instinctively held her breath as Warrick's dark, penetrating eyes did a slow, lazy scan of the room before coming to rest on her. Her stomach bottomed out as their gazes locked. She promptly
lost track of her surroundings. The tinkle of glasses and silverware, the lively din of laughter and conversation, even the sound of Bradford's voice receded into the background. All Raina heard was her pulse pounding in her ears.

What the hell was
Warrick
doing here?

She was so unnerved by his unexpected appearance that she didn't immediately notice his companion, a tall, leggy woman wearing a low-cut black dress and stiletto heels. She was latched possessively onto Warrick's arm and looking around the room with that haughty, territorial gleam in her eyes Raina remembered so well. Deniece Labelle. Captain of the cheerleading squad, president of the yearbook club, homecoming queen, she had been the envy of every female at Jack Yates Senior High School. Not necessarily because she was gorgeous and popular and always wore the latest designer clothes. No, what girls envied the most about Deniece Labelle was that she was Warrick Mayne's girlfriend. And she never let anyone forget it, perceiving every female who crossed her path as a potential threat. Even Raina, who had never registered as a blip on Warrick's radar, had been subjected to Deniece's catty remarks and hostile stares if she made the mistake of showing up at her best friend's house while Deniece was there.

The woman had obviously wasted no time hooking up with Warrick again, undeterred by his widely publicized romances with glamorous models and actresses, short-lived affairs that had solidified his reputation as a playboy.

As Raina watched, Deniece snuggled closer to Warrick, staking her claim. He glanced down at her with a brief, indulgent smile before his gaze shifted back to Raina. They stared at each other, two adversaries locked in a silent battle of wills.

After another moment Warrick acknowledged her with a cool nod of his head. Raina cut her eyes at him and returned her attention to Bradford, who was watching her with a puzzled expression.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

Raina smiled, but for the first time that evening it felt forced. “Everything's fine,” she said brightly. “I just thought I saw someone I recognized. No big deal.”

Bradford looked unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Hoping to distract him, she nodded toward his plate. “How's your steak? It looks delicious.”

“It is. Here, have a bite.”

Raina accepted the proffered forkful and moaned softly in appreciation. “Mmm, that
is
good.”

Bradford nodded distractedly, gazing at her mouth. “Want some more?”

Raina laughed, shaking her head. “No, thank you. I'm fine.”

“Yes, you certainly are,” he murmured.

They exchanged teasing grins across the table.

Raina asked Bradford a question about work, then gave him her undivided attention, determined not to let Warrick Mayne ruin what had been a perfectly pleasant evening before his arrival.

 

“How long are you staying in town this time, Warrick?”

The question was posed as nonchalantly as possible, but Warrick knew better. Chuckling softly, he reached for his glass and took a sip of cabernet sauvignon before responding, “Angling for an exclusive, Niecy?”

Deniece Labelle huffed in protest. “That is
not
fair! Just because I happen to be a journalist and you happen to be one of the biggest celebrities ever to come out of Houston doesn't mean I have to want a story from you!”

Warrick raised a dubious brow at her. “No?”

“No.”

They stared at each other across the table.

After several moments Deniece's pouty red lips curved into a sheepish grin. “All right,” she conceded. “Maybe I
was
digging around for a little information. But can you really blame me? Like it or not, Warrick, you're a huge media draw, and as a member of the press, I'd be derelict in my duties if I didn't at least
try
to get a story out of you.”

“Well, now, we can't have that, can we?” Warrick drawled, grinning as he leaned back in his chair and lazily regarded his dinner companion. Deniece Labelle was as gorgeous as ever, with her creamy mocha skin and cover-girl looks. Her dark hair had been cropped into a short haircut that emphasized her long, sleek throat. More than once Warrick's gaze had been drawn to the enticing swell of her cleavage, spilling from the plunging neckline of her strapless black dress. The sultry looks she had been giving him over dinner
made it clear she wanted—no,
expected
—Warrick to be peeling off the sexy little number before the night was over. He was only too willing to oblige. For old times' sake, of course.

Interrupting his reverie, Deniece pointed a manicured finger at him, her light-brown eyes narrowed in warning. “Don't you dare make fun of me, Warrick Mayne. I'm still mad at you for not keeping in touch all these years! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have to rely on
Essence
and the Internet just to find out how my high school sweetheart is doing? Those jerks at the paper are always making jokes behind my back, saying I'm not even memorable enough to warrant a phone call from you whenever you're back in town.”

Warrick shook his head gently at her. “Since when does Deniece Labelle give a damn what people think of her? Who cares what those losers say? They're probably just jealous of you because you're an intelligent, beautiful, accomplished black woman, not to mention an award-winning journalist. How many of them can say that?”

Deniece gave him a grateful smile, and for a moment Warrick caught a glimpse of the vulnerable girl he'd met twenty years ago, the one who used to tease and torment others to mask her own insecurities.

“You're right, Warrick. I know I shouldn't let those idiots get to me. They wish they were
half
as talented as I am.”

Warrick grinned. “Damn straight.”

Deniece gazed at him, her smile softening. “I miss you, baby. You're the only man who ever really took the time to get to know me. The
real
me.” She hesitated. “I guess the main reason my coworkers' jokes bother me so much is that deep down inside, a part of me thinks they're right. I
wasn't
memorable enough to remain in your life after high school.”

“That's not true,” Warrick said, suppressing an inward groan. Why did women always have to get so touchy-feely? “What happened to us had nothing to do with you being memorable or not. We went our separate ways, Niecy. We grew up, grew apart. It happens all the time. You know that.”

Deniece shrugged one bare shoulder. “Knowing it and accepting it are two different things,” she said gloomily, toying with her salad.

Watching her, Warrick mused that only a woman could order a salad at a restaurant renowned for its prime steaks. He thought about
the fashion model he had dated briefly last year. Wherever he took her, no matter how fancy the restaurant, she'd always ordered a salad. He didn't get that. Maybe because he was a man, or because he had grown up dirt-poor and had learned early in life not to take anything—especially food—for granted. Whatever the reason, he'd always appreciated a woman with a healthy appetite. Unfortunately, most of the women he'd dated over the years had come up short in that area. They were either too nervous and self-conscious around him to eat, or they cared more about looking glamorous at the dinner table than enjoying a good meal.