Playing With Fire

Book 0: Sultry Southern Nights

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

Genres: African American; African American Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Romeo Marshall is over six feet of cool, smooth, hot, southern seductiveness--just like the music at his popular Raleigh club, The Playground Jazz and Blues Bar. With his beloved mother gone and no father he's ever known, the business is Romeo's everything. It's a place where anything can happen--and the evening one gorgeous young woman and one intriguing old musician walk into the bar--and into Romeo's life--it does. There's something about high-powered, down-to-the earth Taryn Williams that captures Romeo's attention like no other woman has. Yet unanswered questions from his past seem to hold him back from real commitment. For Romeo to move forward in love, he'll have to learn some devastating truths--and James "Piano Man" Burdett is there to teach him. And with Taryn's help, Romeo just may accept that like music, life sometimes needs to be improvised. . .

Release date: March 1, 2015

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 321

Sample

The line into the Playground Jazz and Blues Club extended past the bolted doors and barred windows of Lem Young’s Chinese Cleaners and Harper’s Florist, which neighbored the old brick building. Except for the patient souls waiting to get inside, the street was bare. A crisp breeze blew teasingly under tight-fitting skirts, while firm bodies, suited to the nines, paced anxiously, examining the evening’s offerings.

Once inside, having paid the ten-dollar cover charge, the privileged few permitted admittance walked a dimly lit corridor, past a mirrored wall reflecting a kaleidoscope of characters. Romeo Marshall, the club’s owner, stood in the entranceway, greeting each of them personally, many by name, as he pointed them to the few remaining tables and the stools at the bar.

Within the inner sanctum of the club, a pale blue light cast an eerie glow over laughing, crying, flirting faces. On the dance floor, couples clutched each other tightly. Shuffling in small circles, their bodies melted one into the other. The heavy aroma of strong perfumes and stale tobacco filled the air, and vision was dulled by swirls of thick smoke that clouded the room. It was Saturday night and the room was filling to capacity as scented, powdered bodies swayed eagerly inside. The audience pushed toward the stage, rollicking to the music, bodies bumping shoulders to shoulders, hips to hips, barely enough room remaining for a swallow of air to pass between them all.

Heads bobbed in time to the music. Bodies swayed to the beat. The music was hot, the room was hot, and the heat was rising with each new body that entered the room. The sounds were low and husky, the guttural strains pressing at skin moist with perspiration. The vibration of the music could be felt deep down inside, creeping from the pit of liquor-filled stomachs, up into haze-filled minds, spreading its infectious spirit copiously throughout relaxed muscles, down into tingling limbs.

Along the rear wall, bodies were pressed tightly against the salmon-colored stucco. At many an occupied seat, creeping hands could be caught pressing along trembling thighs, groping anxiously at knees pressed tightly together. You could smell the passion, a heavy, musky aroma of wanton lust, its dampness glistening like stardust against sun-blessed skin drenched in salted sweat.

Romeo guided his staff with lingering looks, slight nods, and every so often a slight gesture of his hand. His body spoke for him, his eyes mouthing his words. He stood imposingly, his six feet, six and one-half-inch stature long and lean. Taut muscle massed his solid frame, his smooth, sable complexion complementing the vibrancy of his blue black eyes. He had a penetrating stare, piercing through the chaos of the crowded room. His eyes missed nothing, catlike in his observations, and observe he did. The Crayola cast that paraded about from night to night fascinated him.

The Playground was his personal concourse, nurturing the childlike qualities hidden within his soul. Moving passively from table to table, he’d instigate the games and establish the rules. His massive hands would tease, the long chocolate fingers stroking a bare back or resting lightly atop a crossed knee. Laughter danced on his thick lips, curling past snow white teeth lined perfectly in a row. His laugh was deep and rich, echoing in the hollows of his dimpled cheeks.

Born Lawrence Alexander Marshall, he’d been called Romeo since he’d been four years old. His mother’s best friend had blessed him with the nickname, proclaiming the moniker his as he’d batted his long, ebony eyelashes at the old women in the Laundromat for a small piece of candy or an extra sugar cookie.

“He’s going to be a Romeo,” she’d remarked, pinching his dimpled cheeks and planting kisses on his curly head. “Going to romance all them pretty girls, he will.”

For him, it had always been a game. A game he could play better than most, and now he only played whenever it suited him. Music had always fascinated him, but he had no particular talents in that direction and his mother had insisted he focus his attentions elsewhere. He had excelled athletically, baseball and track being his fortes. An athletic scholarship, betrayed by a knee injury his sophomore year, had opened the doors for a degree in engineering. After graduation and two years of starched white collars and navy blue suits, he’d realized the corporate boardroom was definitely not his calling.

Taking a yearlong hiatus, he’d traveled across the United States, settling for brief periods in the bars of New Orleans, New York, St. Louis, and Chicago. He’d spent his nights studying people who wandered as aimlessly as he did, searching for something that belonged only to him. Then one day, shortly after returning home to North Carolina, he’d found the Playground. It had been a deserted shell, inhabited by a dark infestation tainted with dirt and grime. Together with his fraternity brother Malcolm Cobb, they’d nursed it to health with the help of their savings, a small bank loan, much backbreaking labor, and their own salted sweat. Everything else had fallen into step with the music.

No night at the Playground was ever the same. The mood of the evening moved with the flow of the crowd, influenced by the voracity of the music. The tones would be sweet and rich one night, wicked and sultry the next. Romeo liked it that way. He’d spend his days ordering booze, balancing ledgers, paying bills, and counting cash. The daily routine was the same, never changing, but his nights were always varied. He’d successfully recreated a gin joint comparable to any of the hottest clubs that had rocked well before his time. Relishing the satisfaction of his accomplishments, he welcomed the onset of evening and all of its uncertainty.

The Playground was now the place to be and Romeo and Malcolm the men to know. The success of the Playground had propelled both right into the spotlight. Although Romeo was still driven by the desire to do and be more, he could bask silently in the warmth of already having attained a level of contentment and accomplishment others would never know. He found great satisfaction in that fact.

Warm air suddenly blew eerily against Romeo’s neck as long arms snaked seductively around his chest. Soft lips, painted a vibrant red, brushed gently along his neck, teeth nipping lightly at his flesh. As pink polished nails were clasped firmly across his midriff, a familiar voice whispered hot against his ear.

“You still feel too good, lover.”

Romeo laughed, turning to encircle his sturdy arms around a lithe body draped in a fluid, black silk pantsuit. Brushing his lips against the woman’s, Romeo savored the taste of wintergreen and mint. Allowing his hands to glide down her lean back, he rested his palms lightly at the rise of her buttocks.

“Not as good as you do, Roberta. How are you, darling?”

“Better. Now.”

Romeo laughed again. “So where have you been hiding yourself, lady?” he asked, the scent of her perfume suddenly too familiar.

Roberta shrugged, pressing herself closer to Romeo. “I wasn’t hiding, honey. I just found a man who would marry me. I got tired of waiting for your good-looking behind.”

Romeo squeezed her gently. “So, you’re happy?”

“Would have been happier if you’d married me, but I’m not complaining.” Roberta goosed him gently, resting her hand warmly on his backside.

“Woman, you know I am not a marrying man,” Romeo exclaimed. “I would have never made you happy.”

The woman chuckled. “True, but you sure knew how to make me feel good,” she said, kissing him again.

Romeo laughed with her, shaking his head from side to side. “So, where’s this new husband of yours?” he asked.

“Home with the baby. It’s ladies’ night tonight.”

“A baby too!” Romeo exclaimed. “Damn, girl, you work fast!”

Roberta laughed again, a warm rise of noise that filled what little space there was between them. “So how about you? Who’s got your heart?”

Romeo grinned. “You know that’s a game I don’t play, girl. I’m too busy trying to keep myself afloat to be in a serious relationship.”

Roberta nodded. “But business is good, right? I mean, the place is bumping! And everyone’s talking about it.”

Romeo gestured toward the crowd, releasing his hold on the woman. “I can’t complain. This place definitely keeps me on my toes.”

“I’m really happy for you, Romeo. You really deserve all your success,” Roberta said with a nod, her shoulder-length bob swaying from side to side.

He smiled, the lift to his mouth warm and seductive. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

Roberta smiled back. “Well, I need to get back to my friends. I know they’re peeing in their pants with envy,” she said, pointing to a table of women staring intently in their direction.

Romeo nodded, pulling her back tightly against him. “Mmmm,” he hummed. “Too bad you have a husband now.”

“Liar,” Roberta said with a slight giggle as she punched him playfully in the chest. “Stop by the table and say hello,” she said. “I’d love to introduce you to my girls.”

“I’ll do that. And you take care of yourself,” Romeo said, placing his lips lightly atop hers, savoring the quivering lips one last time. He moved to kiss her gently against the cheek, whispering in her ear. “Got to give your girls something to talk about,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Damn,” Roberta said, shaking in her six-inch heels. Squeezing his hands between her own, she paused briefly as a chill swept down her spine. “We could have been so good together, Romeo. Too bad you messed up.”

Romeo smiled broadly as he watched Roberta walk away, the familiar scent of her perfume fading with her departure, then lifted his hand to wave at the other women who still sat staring at him.

“You need to stop!” Odetta Brown, the head waitress, said with a deep laugh as she brushed past him.

“What?” Romeo asked. “I’m not doing a thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Odetta said, shaking her head. “Just keep it up and see if you don’t get yourself in trouble.”

Romeo laughed with her. “I just can’t help myself, Odetta. Some of my clients require a bit more attention from me than others.”

As Roberta sat back down her best friends began talking over themselves, each one eager to comment on what they’d just witnessed.

“I cannot believe you kissed that man!” Taryn Williams exclaimed, her tone scolding. “Did you forget you had a husband?” She narrowed her gaze on her associate.

Roberta giggled. “What I remembered was that my husband’s not here right now and how that man could make me feel back in the day,” she replied. She took a big gulp of her vodka tonic, fanning herself rapidly as she swallowed. A wide grin spread across her face.

Taryn shook her head. She tossed Romeo Marshall a quick look, the man knee deep in conversation with another woman at another table. She rolled her eyes skyward. Everything about his demeanor told her he was no good for any woman looking for a relationship worth more than an ounce of salt.

“Please, tell me you did not date that man for long,” she said, giving the other woman a questioning look.

Their friend Marsha chimed in. “They didn’t date. All they did was—” she started.

Roberta interrupted. “What we did was enjoy a mutually satisfying adult relationship. Don’t hate,” she said.

Marsha laughed. “Like I started to say. What they did never took them out of bed. I doubt she even got a meal out of the deal.”

“Oh, I ate,” Roberta said with a laugh. “I ate very well, thank you very much! And he did too. In fact—”

Taryn held up her hand, stalling the crude comment she knew was coming from her friend’s mouth. “Please, spare us the nasty details.”

Laughter rang around the table.

“Actually,” Roberta said after downing the last of the beverage in her glass, “Romeo is a really great guy and one day he’s going to make the right woman an incredible husband. I just wasn’t the right woman and we both knew it. But we knew how to have really great sex!”

Marsha shook her head. “I sure wouldn’t mind riding him,” she said with a woeful sigh. “Just one time.”

Roberta laughed, her head waving from side to side. “He’s not your type,” she said matter-of-factly. “I was thinking he’d actually be a great catch for you, Taryn.” She tossed her friend a raised eyebrow.

“Girl, please! That man’s a dog. Pure hound,” Taryn answered as she rolled her eyes skyward. She tossed Romeo another quick look. “No, he’s too much of a player for me,” Taryn added.

Roberta shrugged. “Girl, he is not that bad! I wouldn’t count him out if I were you. He’s one of the good guys and there aren’t too many of them left. Trust me when I tell you!”

Taryn’s gaze moved back across the room, eyeing Romeo curiously. As if he sensed her staring, his gaze suddenly turned in her direction, meeting the look she was giving him. Their eyes locked and held and then he smiled, a sly, seductive bend to his mouth that illuminated his dark face. She felt her breath catch in her chest as she tore her gaze from his, suddenly dropping her eyes to the table and the empty wineglass she twisted nervously in her hands. She took a deep breath and then a second.

Roberta bumped her shoulder. “If I were you I definitely wouldn’t count that man out just yet.”

He had made a sizeable profit off other people’s addictions. As Romeo Marshall twirled a bottle of vodka in the palms of his hands, the thought tripped a heavy path across his mind. Upon hearing the ornately carved wooden door open and then close, he looked up from the glass he was filling. A damp breeze preceded the emaciated black man who’d found his way inside out of the evening rain. The old man’s hollow eyes scanned the perimeter of the room. Exhaustion wove an intricate pattern of crimson lace against the white of his cornea. The gaunt figure, nourished by too meager a diet and too much alcohol, stared openly at Romeo, then nodded his gray head hello. Brushing the raw drops of moisture from his shoulders, he eased the heaviness in his limbs toward a small table in the back and sat down.

Romeo placed the vodka-filled glass on the counter just as his head waitress swept by to pick up her order. “See what the old guy wants,” he said, nodding his head toward the man at the rear table.

“Uh-huh,” Odetta replied. Chewing heavily on a stale piece of bubble gum, she rolled her eyes as if annoyed when Romeo winked at her, flashing her a full smile.

Romeo propped his elbows on top of the long cherry bar, the solid wood supporting the weight of his well-built frame. He watched with amusement as Odetta crossed the room, the strut of her wide hips swaying to the beat of the music. The woman shuffled her way to the man’s side, spoke to him briefly, and then pulled a seat up to the table to sit down beside the stranger. Watching their interaction closely, Romeo found himself focusing his full attention on the old man. He looked familiar, Romeo thought to himself, the man’s aged features reminding him of an acquaintance he might know, but couldn’t quite place. Then, as Odetta threw back her head, laughing briskly, he didn’t think he looked familiar at all. Romeo felt his body relax. He found the sensation awkward since he wasn’t quite sure why he’d become tense in the first place.

Romeo glanced down to the small black clock perched on the counter below the bar top. The digital numbers glowed in the dim light. It was half past eight. He sighed, knowing that business would soon pick up in spite of the rain. Folks would never let a few raindrops keep them away from a good time, and Romeo worked hard to ensure his patrons always had a good time. As he busied himself in preparation, Odetta’s sudden return pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Looks like you made a new friend,” Romeo said teasingly.

Odetta laughed, the warmth of it helping to brighten the room. “He’s actually kind of sweet. I like him.”

“You like all old black men,” Romeo said. He leaned his body against the bar, staring down at her.

“That’s not true,” she said, her smile widening. “I like old men, period. I don’t discriminate.” She chuckled warmly. “Anyways, the man said he doesn’t want anything but a glass of ice water,” she said, still chomping heavily on the gum in her mouth. There was a mild glimmer in her eyes, as if the duo had shared a secret no one else had been privy to.

Romeo raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“Told him this won’t no homeless shelter,” she said, heaving her thick body onto a bar stool in front of him. She paused, taking a deep inhale before finishing her comments. “Then he said good ’cause he preferred sleeping on the park bench. He’s just an old fool,” she said, a loud huff of air blowing out her last words. “He’s sweet though, and too fresh,” she concluded, chuckling under her breath ever so softly. “That’s one fresh old man. He actually had me blushing and you know that takes some doing!”

Romeo looked toward the man, who was himself staring in Romeo’s direction. They studied each other momentarily, then the elderly man’s dark, sunken eyes dropped down toward the table, looking as if he’d been caught doing something he had no business doing. Reaching to the counter behind him for a clean glass, Romeo filled it with chipped ice and cold water, and handed it to Odetta. “Here, take this to him. Tell him this one’s on the house.”

“You need to throw the old fool out with his fresh self,” Odetta muttered as she took the glass from his hand, pulling herself up off her seat. “Shoot. If the water’s free I guess I can’t be expecting no tip.”

Romeo laughed. “Be nice, Ms. Brown. You know good and well that I’ll take care of you.”

“Hmph,” Odetta grunted, turning to deliver the cold drink to the stranger.

Romeo watched as the old guy nodded in his direction, then lifted the glass in a gesture of appreciation before pulling it toward his lips.

Romeo shook his head, eyeing the stranger, who was still stealing glances in his direction. After drinking his fill of the icy fluid, the old man rose from where he sat and moved slowly toward the bar, the two men still locked eye to eye.

The small club was comfortable, the senior citizen thought to himself, his stare moving from the young man behind the bar and skating around the expanse of tables and the drunks who filled the seats. Music hummed from the speakers and his head bobbed slowly as he inhaled each slow note. They were playing an eclectic mix of blues, fitting for the cold rain that fell outside. At that moment Etta James was singing a duet with Sugar Pie DeSanto. Keb’ Mo’ had played before her, and before him one of the youngsters too new to the game to really know what it was to feel the blues ripping through his soul. The music felt good though, filling his insides with a wanting that was both bitter and sweet in the same breath.

As he finally reached Romeo’s side, he extended his massive hand in the younger man’s direction. “Thank you,” he said softly, his thick voice barely a loud whisper. “Thank you much.”

Romeo nodded, his own large paw lost within the worn flesh. “No problem.”

“I don’t take no charity, so do you think I can work off what I owe you?” he asked, staring questioningly at Romeo.

Romeo chuckled. “It was only a glass of water. Don’t worry about it.”

The man shook his head. “No. I owe you and I’m willing to work.”

Romeo hesitated, briefly turning his attention toward a couple who sat across the way. A tall woman with large brown eyes, a cocoa-colored complexion, and a short, Halle Berry haircut had wrapped her arm lazily about her companion’s shoulder just as he was gesturing toward Odetta for a refill.

“What can you do?” Romeo asked, turning back to the conversation.

“I can play that piano over there,” the old man responded, pointing toward the large black instrument perched on the stage.

Romeo’s eyes followed the line of the man’s crinkled finger, his gaze resting upon the instrument and its highly polished wood. He nodded, then lifted his hand toward the dais. “Be my guest, and we’ll call it even.”

Strolling the length of the bar, the newcomer dropped his seedy, wool jacket onto a bar stool, then sat his aged body comfortably on the piano bench and began to play, replacing the recorded music that Romeo had turned off. Blues suddenly spilled forth from the man’s long fingers like a flood of tears, the mournful strains indicative of a heavy heart.

It was a symphony of one that filled the space with an intoxicating, consuming blend of musical notes. Notes that were teasing and tormenting, unfolding a story that probably should have been left untold. The music girdled them, the undulation of the piano dancing in time to the rain beating against the window outside. In no time at all, the piano player had captured everyone’s heart and was pulling at their spirits like St. Gabriel and Satan going head to head for possession of their souls.

Romeo fixed a third round of drinks for the tall woman and her friend. When he was certain that no glass was empty and the clientele was content, he moved from behind the bar. Crossing the room, he took a seat at the same table the elderly man had occupied just minutes before. Like everyone else in the room, his eyes were fixed on the piano player.

Romeo studied the man intently. Tar-black flesh clung hungrily to thick bones. His dark complexion complemented the snowcapped crown of thinning curls on top of his head. A full forehead, narrow nose, and thick lips blended into the heavy age lines etched in his flesh. There was an uneasy sadness in his eyes and Romeo sensed that whatever had locked such emptiness away in his heart would one day cradle the old man in his grave.

Glancing about the room, Romeo took note of the tapping feet and swaying shoulders of the men and women who sat listening. They were as enthralled as he was, the music carrying them toward forgotten times and distant places. They were each lost in another realm, intoxicated, as if the music combined with the drink had taken full control of their sensibilities. The old man had been right about his being able to play that piano.

The door opened again, ushering in Romeo’s best friend and business partner. Malcolm Cobb waved in Rom. . .