From BIG GIRLS DON’T CRY with Donna Hill, Brenda Jackson and Francis Ray

Heat

Two years ago somebody would have risked a sore jaw if they told Shepard Fraser he’d be painting pictures to decorate some backwater beauty salon chain in Kansas City. But in two years, things can change.

Shepard’s eyebrows rose as he watched pink smocked magicians work their alchemy over women stretched out in pink leather chairs. R&B music thumped a loud bass beat, while the shades of raspberry and pink covered every surface, and caustic scents mixed with incense and perfume assaulted all his senses.

Cherice Givens had to be kidding. What was he supposed to do with a place like this? And where the hell was she?

A man in a bright pink smock approached him. “I assume you’re Shepard Fraser?” he asked. Shep nodded. “Ms. Givens is waiting for you. Follow me.”

The man led him into a small darkened room lit with scented candles. A woman was sitting on a chair in a white bathrobe, her head wrapped in a thick white towel. Another man was at her feet polishing her toenails.

“Shepard Fraser is here.”

“Later,” she told the man who polishing her toenails. Then she stood and looked up at Shepard. For a second, he forgot to breathe. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

She had golden cat’s eyes that set off light honey skin and full heart-shaped cherry lips. There was a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth that furthered the exotic, sexy effect. The robe was closed with only a belt, tantalizingly revealing her lush body with a wonderland of curves. Shep checked out the hills and valleys that begged for exploration, their endless softness, in surreptitious male fashion.

This lady was one-hundred percent luscious, heavy-duty woman. The assignment was starting to look a touch more interesting.

“Shepard Fraser, it’s wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, holding out a small-boned plump hand with exquisitely manicured nails. He set aside his cane and she grasped his hand in a surprisingly strong grip.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said.

“You’re quite in demand. I appreciate you flying out here,” she said.

Since she was paying quite well for the privilege, Shep simply nodded. He’d never guess that this kittenish bombshell with her dark velvet voice was a shrewd and successful business woman who’d grown a basement beauty salon into a multimillion dollar profitable operation.

“I think you’re the right artist to give our salons a new flavor,” she said.

Shep decided to get right to the point. “You’re going to have to lose the pink,” he said. “Is that workable for you?” He needed to know–because if it wasn’t, he might as well bounce now. There was no way his style would fit with the harem-boudoir-whorehouse look, if that’s what she was going to insist on having.

“It’s time for a new look,” she said. “I want you to consult with a local designer I’ve contracted. She’s quite good. I set up an appointment for tomorrow morning.”

Shep exhaled in relief and then stiffened as he noticed her golden gaze running up and down the length of his body. He was intimately familiar with that look of assessment, but he wasn’t used to it being used so directly on him by a woman. It both disconcerted and aroused him.

“I figured you were tired tonight, so why don’t you rest at the hotel,” she said in her husky voice. “We’ll meet for dinner later. I’ll pick you up in my car. Eight?”

She smiled at him briefly, then turned and exited, taking his assent for granted. The two men followed in her wake like lapdogs. Cherice Givens was a take-charge sort of woman. Shepard was unused to the type, but if that was her thing, he’d go along for a while. She’d come around to his way of thinking eventually.

Cherice studied the outfits in her closet. What should she wear for dinner with an artistic type? Was black too clich�? She wanted to impress Shepard Fraser. She took out a red suit and hung it back up. Too much. Slacks? No. Not sexy enough.

She’d been dying to meet Shepard Fraser for ages and lord a’ mercy, the man looked every inch of his hype. He was off the hook fine. Tall, with long, lean muscles and high cheekbones, sexy, kissable lips and deep chocolate eyes fringed with lashes that belonged on a woman. His marked limp and cane gave him an air of vulnerability, making him more appealing. He was the type of man you wanted to take home and keep, preferably in bed.

He’d recently exploded on the art scene with passionate, impressionistic looking art work featuring black culture. Instead of gritty urban settings, his art reflected his people in beautiful, natural settings. His landscapes were as varied and expressive as the people in them. His art was incredible, as was his presence, sensitive, earthy and sexy.

There was nothing better then a fine man. Money had its attraction and power was intoxicating, but Cherice had always been drawn to fine, pretty types oozing sexual magnetism. Shepard Fraser was like candy and she was a greedy, greedy girl. She had to have him.

Her doorbell rang and Cherice sprinted to answer it, hoping to find one of her girlfriends. She pulled open the door and grinned at Rosaline and Brandy.

“What happened with Shepard Fraser?” Rosaline asked immediately.

“Do you have anything to eat?” interrupted Brandy. “I’m about ready to starve.”

“Come on in and help me choose something to wear for my night out on the town. Brandy, you can pick up the phone and order food. Shep and I are going out to eat.”

“So he was as good as you thought he’d be,” Rosaline said.

“Honey, he’s better then I hoped. The man is melt-in-your-mouth luscious.”

“How about I order barbecue?” Brandy asked.

“That sounds fine,” Rosaline said.

“I asked Shep out to dinner,” Cherice said. “I think I’ll take him to Jazz in Blue, but what to wear?”

Rosaline�s brow creased. “Cherice, maybe you should take it easy with this guy. You know you tend to . . . take the upper hand.”

“That’s because they let her. Wimps. Admit it, Cherice, you�re a dominatrix at heart,” Brandy said, stretching out on the sofa.

Cherice’s perfectly plucked brow shot up. “Please. What I get from my men, weaklings can’t offer.”

“That is correct, Brandy,” Rosaline said, nodding.

“Just because a man can rock it, doesn’t mean he isn’t a wuss. I’ve seen you snap your fingers and your men flinch.”

Cherice’s eyes were wide and innocent. “Isn’t that the what they’re supposed to do?”

Brandy and Rosaline both laughed. “You need to quit,” Brandy said.

“Cherice, you might as well admit it. You have issues with men,” Rosaline said.

“I must agree,” said Brandy. “You got a giant heart, but for some reason, with men you always have to be in control. I’ve been your girl since childhood and I’ve never seen you trip over any man. No crush, no longings, no angst. You just decide who you want to get, go get him and that’s it. It’s not natural, girl.”

“What’s wrong with it? Think about it. Y’all are complaining because I don’t need a man, and I use them as I see fit. I like fine men, and I like variety and I’ve never lacked for either. If I were a man, you’d be slapping me on the back and congratulating me.”

“The point is that you’re not a man.”

Cherice turned back to her closet. “That fact has never ever been a matter of dispute.”

“One day you’re going to come up across a man who isn’t going to give it up and give in to you. You are going to slam up into a jones so big and hard you won’t know what to do with it,” Rosaline said.

Cherice picked out a simple chocolate silk wrap dress that set off her skin and startling dyed blonde hair. “Surely you jest. There’s not been a man invented that is bigger and harder than what I can handle.”

Rosaline smiled at her. “When you finally fall in love, girl, it’s going to be like an earthquake. You’re not going to know what hit you.”

“Baby, I don’t have time or space for earthquakes. I have way too much to do.” Cherice considered an ivory lace dress. “Anyway, I know you’re tied up at the hospital, Rosaline, but Brandy, how about you and Jackson coming with me for a relaxing weekend in California? There’s a party at the record company and then we can swing on up and see Topaz, Jon and the baby. Arrival Records is going to let me fly with the company plane. Shelly owes me a favor for hooking her weave up real good. She headed on to New York on a 747.”

“It sounds good, but I have to check with Jackson about his schedule.”

“Shep doesn’t know it yet, but he’s flying back with us too,” Cherice murmured.

“What if he wants to go home?” Rosaline asked.

Cherice shrugged. ” New Mexico’s on the way. We can drop him off.”

“Maybe we can get an invite to his place. I hear it’s fabulous. He raises sheep, doesn’t he? Or is it goats?”

“Sheep!” Cherice said. “I can do without the livestock. What’s in New Mexico anyway?”

“Desert, some interesting plants, reported aliens, and caves,” Rosaline answered.

“Some native Americans, I believe,” Brandy added.

“You are not talking me into asking Shep about a detour. Sheep, aliens, plants, and a few of the native peoples the white folk didn’t slaughter–sounds exciting, but it doesn’t quite measure up to the shindig that Arrival records is going to be throwing in LA.”

The driver pulled in front of Shep’s hotel. Cherice bit her lip and took a deep breath. She returned the bottle of Perrier to the limo refrigerator and refreshed her lipstick. It wouldn�t do to be nervous. There he was. She slid over on the leather seat.

Shep got in the car smoothly for a man with a cane. He smelled good, not like cologne or aftershave, but like clean soap. Fresh. He reminded her of crisp white sheets.