You Belong To Me (11 page)

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Authors: Patricia Sargeant

BOOK: You Belong To Me
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Malcolm's eyes scorched her. “Pity.”
“Stop it, Malcolm.” Nicole ignored the nerve endings leaping to life all over her body. She suspected he was trying to distract her. The tactic might have worked four years ago, but it wasn't going to work tonight. “Turn off the engine and come upstairs.”
Apparently, her voice still wasn't firm enough. Malcolm hesitated, erasing all expression from his face and pulling a curtain to shield his eyes.
“Whatever you want.” He pulled the key from the ignition.
Preparing for battle, Nicole led the way to her apartment.
“What's wrong?” she repeated. She took off her coat and held out her hand for Malcolm's. She hung them in the hall closet as she waited for him to begin.
“Why didn't you want me to go to the police station with you Tuesday?” he asked as she returned to the living room. His voice sounded tight, as though he'd forced the words out.
Nicole stared at him, surprised by the question and the fact he'd asked it. “That happened three days ago. And we've been through this. I can file a police report by myself. I told you they took down my information and kept the original letter, as I suspected they would.”
“There's more to it than that.”
Nicole frowned. “More to it than what?”
Malcolm shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “There's more to your reason for insisting on going to the police station by yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” Nicole strode to the love seat beside the front door, putting some space between them. “You didn't miss anything. I told you everything that happened. I have no idea who could have sent that letter or what the letter is referring to, so there's nothing more the police can do right now.”
Malcolm followed her. “I'm not talking about what I might have missed by not being at the police station. I'm talking about the point you were trying to make to me and to yourself by leaving me behind.”
“And what would that point be?” Nicole felt trapped. Malcolm was too close. She could feel the strength of his determination pushing past her defenses, barriers that kept the truth hidden even from herself.
“You went to the station alone to prove you don't need me,” he stated.
“That's—”
“By going alone, you threw my offer of friendship back in my face.”
“I—”
“The same way you threw it back in my face when I offered to sleep on your couch Tuesday night.”
“All right,” Nicole snapped, pushing past him. She marched to the other side of the room before spinning to face him. “I was trying to prove I don't need you. That I can manage on my own just as well as you can.”
Malcolm closed the gap between them. “But I'm here, and I want to help you.”
Nicole held her ground. “I'm fine on my own.”
“Really?” He grabbed her. The curtains lifted from his eyes, allowing her to see the impatience and frustration swirling in their chocolate depths before he fused his hungry lips to hers.
Nicole shoved against his chest. Malcolm banded his arms around her and crushed her closer against him. When her lips stayed firm against his tongue, he switched from using ineffective pressure to irresistible persuasion. As he nuzzled her ear, she feared their years together as lovers gave him unfair insider information. Her body reacted from memory, despite her resolve. He nipped at her neck, and she pressed against him. He caressed her with his body, and her body trembled back. He stroked the seam of her lips with his tongue. Lightly. Once. Twice. She moaned in surrender. His tongue stroked her mouth, and she melted down his body.
He followed her onto the floor, she in her formal dress, he in his suit. The hunger was more intense on this reawakening. It became an emptiness begging to be filled. He lay above her, tempting and teasing with kisses and caresses, preludes to a joining while their lower bodies strained toward each other. She reached around him to bring him closer still. He responded with a kiss so deep, it pulled her desires to the surface.
And then he was gone, rolling off her and pushing himself unsteadily to his feet.
“Mal?” she asked, dazed.
“There's obviously something still between us,” he said in a graveled voice. “Let me know when you're ready to stop lying to yourself and accept it. And me.”
He left without his coat.
 
Nicole settled in to watch the Sunday morning pregame show before her beloved New York Knicks basketball team faced off against the Miami Heat. She didn't feel her customary excitement before the game, though. Her mood was dampened by resentment over the fact she hadn't heard from Malcolm in two days, not since the evening of the cocktail party. She didn't expect to hear from him today, either.
Thinking about Friday night's kiss and subsequent unfulfillment lowered her mood even more. After a fitful night, she'd been tempted to call him Saturday to blister his ears. But she'd decided against doing that.
Why had Malcolm kissed her so passionately, then walked away? From her reaction, he must have known he could have stayed if he'd wanted to. And she could tell that from his response to their heated kiss he had wanted to stay.
What had he meant when he'd told her to let him know when she was ready to accept what was still between them? If he'd wanted sex, they would have had sex. What more did he think was between them?
The phone rang, breaking her train of thought. Nicole debated answering it. If it was Malcolm, she didn't know what to say to him. With a shrug, she picked up the receiver. If it was Malcolm, she'd wing it.
“Hello.”
“Ms. Collins? It's Rita Collozo from Celestial Productions. Ms. Collins, there's been an accident.”
C
HAPTER
S
IX
Nicole was too late. By the time she arrived at the hospital, Malcolm was holding Tyrone's fiancée. Joyce was crying hysterically, her face buried in his chest.
Nicole's heart stuttered. She noticed Rita crying quietly on a sofa across from Malcolm and Joyce. Nicole approached her, laying a tentative hand on her shoulder.
“Rita?”
The small, heart-shaped face tipped up. Her soft, brown eyes were red and swollen from tears.
“What happened?” Nicole asked. “You said there'd been an accident.”
“Ty didn't make it.” Tears deepened her lilting accent. “He lost control of his car. He was on his way home from his morning run along the beach, and he just lost control of his car.” Rita choked on a sob.
Nicole dropped onto the sofa before her knees gave out. Dazed, she wrapped her arm around Rita's shoulder, automatically pulling her closer as misery shook the woman's small body. She was glad the four of them were alone in the small, sterile waiting room.
“The doctor said he died instantly.” Rita's voice trembled as she tried to gather control.
“Were you able to contact his family?”
Rita nodded. “I got their answering machine. I left a message for them to call Mal.” Rita heaved a teary sigh. “He was such a good man. He and Mal are the best bosses I've ever had.”
Snapshot images of Tyrone clipped through Nicole's mind. The way he'd brushed aside her embarrassment over their first meeting, his boyish byplay with Malcolm, his ties that paid homage to the sci-fi genre. How could someone so alive, with so much to look forward to, die so suddenly?
“Rita,” Nicole said. “You don't have to hold back. It's okay to let go and cry. Ty was a wonderful man. He deserves your tears.”
“I know. I know.” Rita sniffed. “But I have to try to be strong for Mal and Joyce.”
“They have each other right now. Take a moment for yourself. If they need anything, I can help them.”
Rita sat stiffly a moment more, then relaxed and allowed the tears to fall. Nicole stroked her arm and offered what she could in the way of comfort.
She looked over to where Malcolm sat with Joyce in his arms.
I've been happier with her than I've ever been in my life,
Tyrone had said. She was so happy they'd shared a love that strong.
Nicole watched Malcolm as he allowed Joyce to weep her heart out onto his sweater. His eyes were red and blinked frequently as though he fought to keep his own tears from falling. People always leaned on Malcolm. Yet, when he was hurting, he'd never allowed himself the comfort of resting in someone else's care. Malcolm knew how to give, but he didn't know how to receive. That had been a problem between them, because she was also a nurturer. The one time in their relationship they had needed to support each other, he had pulled away from her. Now, it broke her heart to watch him once again struggle to be strong at a time that made people weak.
Nicole saw him help Joyce up and, with an arm supporting her, lead her from the room. They paused in front of Nicole and Rita. She looked past his composed expression to the grief in his eyes. Nicole wanted to stand, to touch them both in a gesture of sympathy, but she didn't want to let go of Rita.
“Mal, Joyce, I'm so sorry,” she said.
“Thank you for coming.” Malcolm inclined his head, then led Joyce from the room.
Nicole watched them leave before returning her attention to Rita. “Let me take you home. Is there anyone who can stay with you now?”
With a shuddering breath, Rita lifted her face from her hands and looked toward the now-empty sofa. “Where are Mal and Joyce?”
Nicole continued to rub the other woman's arm. “They've left.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “I didn't notice.” She pulled another tissue from her purse.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Nicole repeated, understanding that in Rita's distraught condition, she would have trouble focusing on what people were saying to her.
“No, thank you. I have my car.”
“Rita, you're in no condition to drive. Your car will be safe in the hospital parking lot overnight. We can get it in the morning.”
Rita took time to absorb Nicole's suggestion. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
Nicole helped Rita stand. “You shouldn't be alone now. Is there anyone at your house, or do you want to come home with me?”
Rita looked up at her. “Could you take me to my sister's house?”
“Of course, I will.” Nicole waited while Rita gathered her purse and coat. She matched the other woman's steps as they left the waiting room. Rita's usual pace was an aerobic workout. Now her steps dragged with sorrow. Nicole held the exit door open for her.
“I can't imagine what Mal will do now.” Rita brushed away a tear. “With Ty gone, what will happen to the company?”
 
Malcolm walked into Joyce's house and followed her to the living room. He hadn't seen her in the week since Tyrone's funeral, and he regretted that. But he thought they'd both needed some time alone to grieve.
As Malcolm entered the living room, he was surprised by its darkness. One of the things Tyrone and Joyce had liked about the room was the amount of natural light it offered. Today, Joyce had the curtains drawn. Only one corner light was left to battle the gloom.
“How are you?”
Malcolm thought it a stupid question even as he asked it. The room's condition alone indicated she was grieving hard. Not only was it dark and stuffy, but it was also in an unusual state of disorder. Blankets and pillows were tucked into a corner of the sofa as though she'd taken to sleeping on it.
“Some moments are better than others,” Joyce replied. “How are you?”
“The same.”
Joyce sank into a straight-backed armchair across from the sofa she had offered to Malcolm. She gazed around the room as though searching for memories.
“I hadn't been sure I wanted to move in with him,” she remembered. “It was such a big commitment for me. But he kept after me and after me. It took him more than eight months to convince me to move into this house with him. Then, when we'd unpacked my last box, he took me to dinner and asked me to marry him. Talk about commitment.” She ended with a watery laugh.
Malcolm's lips curved. That was Tyrone all over. Press every advantage, take advantage of every opportunity. He'd loved strategizing, which was why he'd loved the business aspect of Celestial Productions.
“I'm sorry.” Another inadequate statement, Malcolm thought.
“I don't regret that we didn't have a wedding ceremony,” she said, playing with the engagement ring she still wore. “I felt married to him. He made me feel like a very important part of his life. But I do regret that we won't have any children now. Although sometimes he was like a really big kid himself, with his toys and silly jokes.”
Joyce gave another watery laugh. It tugged at Malcolm's heart.
“He was a kid at heart.” Malcolm chuckled. “One minute he was the consummate businessman, working deals and making the impossible possible. The next minute he was singing theme songs from cartoons or quoting movie lines.”
In the silence that followed his words, Malcolm took stock of Joyce's appearance. She was wearing one of Tyrone's sweaters. Even in the dim light, strain showed clearly on her unpainted face. Her hair was disheveled, and her eyes were tired and tear-swollen above dark circles.
“I also regret that he won't see the
InterDimensions
movie.” Joyce pulled a well-used tissue from her sweatpants pocket to dry her eyes. “This project was his personal dream and his professional goal.”
“I regret that, too,” Malcolm admitted. “He and I felt the same way about this project.”
“That's why I asked you to come over. I want to make sure that nothing prevents this movie from being made.”
“Don't worry,” Malcolm assured her. “Nothing will get in the way of this project.”
“I know the completion guarantors are getting nervous with Ty gone. They just don't understand that you're just as capable of handling the business side as Ty is—was.”
Malcolm tensed. “How did you know about the guarantors?”
“I called Rita.”
Malcolm shook his head with a sigh. “I really wish she hadn't told you.”
“I want to be kept informed.”
“Well, don't worry. The guarantors will come around.”
“Mal, you've got a lot on your plate doing your work and Ty's. If there's anything I can do to take some of the load off of you, just let me know. This project is very important to me, too.”
Malcolm told himself an offer of help was not a criticism of his business abilities. It didn't mean Joyce thought he couldn't make the movie project a success on his own. He stood and paced to the bookcase where Tyrone's sci-fi movie action figures played hide-and-seek with Joyce's self-help books.
“Thanks, Joyce.” He turned back to her, trying to think of something comforting to say. “Do you want me to get you another tissue?” He gestured toward the tattered one in her hand.
“No. I'll be right back.” She rose from the armchair and shuffled down the hall. She returned with a nearly empty box of tissues. She rested the box at her feet and clung to the tattered one still in her hand.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Malcolm asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
Joyce shook her head, staring into the distance. “It shouldn't have happened like this.” Her breath quivered on a sob. “It shouldn't have happened at all, but it definitely shouldn't have happened like this. We had so much left to do. Is that the way it goes? Do people leave you when you still have so much left to do?”
 
Malcolm crumpled the phone message in one fist and hurled it across the office. Another message from a contractor canceling an appointment had been waiting for him when he'd returned from visiting Joyce.
Damn it.
He restrained the urge to pound his desk and instead shoved out of his chair to pace his office.
He had to keep his wits about him. He couldn't let Rita see how frustrated he was becoming. He couldn't let anyone see how the industry's lack of faith in his business ability affected him. Malcolm massaged the back of his neck. What would Tyrone do in this situation? he asked himself again. The answer was never easy, because he and Tyrone had handled the hard parts together. Now, at this very moment, he felt so alone. He hadn't felt this alone since he'd seen Nicole's signature on the divorce decree.
His intercom buzzed. Pulling himself together, he returned to his desk.
“Yes, Rita?”
“There's a Mr. Nathan Rutherford here to see you, Mr. Bryant. He knows he's not on your calendar,” she said with wonderful censorship. “But he wonders if you might be able to spare some time for him. He wants to discuss a possible interview with you for a feature he's working on for
Silver Screen Preview.
”
When it rains, it pours,
Malcolm thought.
Nathan Rutherford never gave Celestial Productions favorable press. It wasn't a secret: he and Omar Carter were friends, and Nathan wasn't opposed to using the power of his pen to hurt Omar's rivals. Unfortunately for Malcolm, it would do more damage to Celestial Productions if he refused an interview with the industry's leading publication.
“Sure, Rita. Could you escort him back, please?”
“Of course, Mr. Bryant.” Rita disconnected.
Malcolm's brow quirked at Rita's formality. She must be in full overprotective mode. He put down the phone and turned back to his computer. His gaze was on the memo he was composing, but his mind searched for angles Nathan might take for his article. The possible headline, C
ELESTIAL
P
RODUCTIONS FLOUNDERING UNDER BRYANT'S CONTROL
, flashed before his eyes.
The knock on his door signaled he'd run out of time.
Rita pushed open the door. “Excuse me, Mr. Bryant. I know you're very busy. Mr. Rutherford is here.”
“Thank you, Rita.” Malcolm approached them. He shook Nathan's hand. “It's good to see you, Nathan. Have a seat.”
Malcolm walked back to his desk, leaving his office door open after Rita left. He didn't want Nathan to get too comfortable. He sat down and waited for the reporter to start the unscheduled meeting.
“I was sorry to hear about Tyrone,” Nathan began. “That's quite a blow for your company.”
Malcolm stiffened. “Ty was a very good friend.”
“Yes. Well, I hear he was the brains behind the company.”

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