Mr. Bentini's Lady: The Beginning (The Bentini Brothers Book 1) Read online

  MR. BENTINI’S LADY

  Interracial Romance

  *****

  Jaye McCloud

  Antonio & Tiressa

  The Beginning

  Copyright © 2014 by Jaye McCloud

  This is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are coincidental and fictitious. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication and/or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Furthermore, trademarks, service marks, product names, or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. The reproduction of this literary work in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, without the express written consent of the author, publisher, and copyright owner constitutes a copyright violation.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this literary work/publication may be reprinted/reproduced, used or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including recording, photocopying, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission from the author, publisher, and copyright owner of this literary work/publication.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my family and friends who encouraged me to step outside my box. Thanks to ‘Google’ and all the people who contribute to it in a positive way. Thanks to my nephew, James. A brilliant young man, destined to do great things.

  Most importantly, a special thank you to my mother-in-law, Shirley Jean Martin, for gifting a shy new bride with a gentle introduction into the world of romance novels.

  Profoundly changing my life forever.

  Prologue

  I enter the building and decide to take the stairs to the third floor instead of the elevator. As I get to the second level, a voice bounces off the walls and stops me dead in my tracks. “You must want Mr. Matthews to get hurt.” I gasp in shock as I look up to see Antonio walking down the stairs towards me.

  My first thought is, ‘Shit did he see me with Derrick…and if he did, how much did he actually see?!’

  My second thought is, ‘He’s so intimidating when he stabs me with those cold pewter eyes. Now is definitely not the time to talk about money!’

  Then bizarrely I think, ‘My Gawd! No man should be that damn fine!’ To see such powerful thighs encased in a pair of very long denim blue jeans. And his chest! His chest and arms are so muscular, he must never miss a workout. There is nothing NOT sexy about Antonio Bentini. He is definitely a triple threat.

  “Imagine my surprise… I get back in town, rush here to see my lady… And find her in the arms of another man.” Antonio’s voice is low and dangerous. I want to say something. I open my mouth to say something. My lips move, but no words come out.

  “You didn’t answer my question, Ti. Do you want Derrick Matthews to get hurt?”

  How in the world would he hurt him? He can‘t be saying that he’ll have a physical confrontation with Derrick? –Is he? “No…No, of course not.” I start stepping back. Antonio matches me step for step until he backs me up against the wall. “Whatever is going on between you and Derrick Matthews stops today. This minute. Do you understand what I’m saying, Tiressa?” He grates out in an infuriated voice. He seems more threatening because he doesn’t yell. The more upset he is, the lower his voice—as if it takes him a great deal of control not to lose control.

  Although we are not touching, I can feel the heat and energy radiating from his body into mine. I guess I didn’t answer fast enough because Antonio grabs me by the arms and gives me a little shake. I quickly stammer a reply. “Yes. I understand you. But there’s nothing going on between us!”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence, Tiressa.” Antonio snarls, squeezing my arms as he hauls me onto the tip of my toes and up against his solid torso.

  “I’m not. I don’t have feelings for him…not like that!”

  “Then what the hell is going on?” The hostility in his tone abates considerably, and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.

  “He wants to date me…” I begin to confess, but catching a glimpse of savagery in his expression, I hurry to finish, “…I told him that I’m seeing someone—”

  “You’re doing a hell of a lot more than seeing someone. Did you tell him that you and I are together?”

  Chapter 1

  “What do you mean, you just want to be friends?! I wine and dine you for months and you just decide out of the blue that you don’t want to be with me!”

  Oh stars! I never would have thought that Clarence would be this pissed off. I mean, I kinda suspected that he might be disappointed, maybe even a little upset—but nothing like this! Which is why I decided to have this conversation with him here at work, and not somewhere more private. I figured he wouldn’t make a scene. Boy was I wrong!

  I don’t know who else he’s been seeing, he and I only went out for the last three weeks. And his claim of wining and dining me–that shit didn’t happen! No man has ever wined and dined me. Clarence and I have always split everything down the middle. This male testosterone episode is a prime example of why I insist on doing it that way—because when you call it quits, jilted men want to tell you everything they think they did for you.

  “Clarence, please…lower your voice. We don’t need anyone in the room next door overhearing our conversation.”

  “I don’t care about those nosey bitches next door!”

  It doesn’t matter which next door he’s referring to since my coworkers—whichever door you choose—are pretty damn nosey. They wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to eavesdrop on us. Especially if they thought there was a chance in hell that they would hear something juicy to gossip about. Nevertheless…

  “I know you’re angry with me, and I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. That was never my intention. Clarence, we agreed that if one of us felt like it wasn’t working, then we would speak up. Well, I’m speaking up now.” I defend myself. This was another thing I insisted on once I knew that I liked him enough for a second date.

  Shooting me a furious look, he continues, with less heat. “How long have you felt this way?”

  Judging by his reaction, you’d think we’ve been dating for years. I try to explain without making him even more upset.

  “I’ve been iffy about us almost from the beginning; but I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t making a mistake by not giving it enough time.”

  “And you think enough time has passed? That we’ve been out together enough for you to know for sure, Tiressa? How do you know that you aren’t making a mistake now?” He seems reluctant to accept that I just don’t want to date him anymore and he’s definitely not making this easy for either of us.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to reason with him. “You and I being together just doesn’t feel right to me, Clarence. I’m not trying to make it something it’s not, or can ever be. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I’m sorry Clarence. I just don’t have romantic feelings for you.”

  Holding his hostile glare, I’m so glad that I chose to do this here at work. I shudder to think how it would have gone if we were at my place or in some other private location. He didn’t seem so aggressive before I started seeing him—when we were
just colleagues. Although I mostly see his professional side, these past two weeks have revealed another facet of his character.

  “Tell me this…What did I do to make you change your mind about dating me?”

  Damn. I really was hoping he wouldn’t ask me that question. I’m not a liar by nature, but I don’t like unnecessary confrontations. I’d rather not be standing here in the face of his anger, and I definitely don’t want him harboring a grudge against me. Which I think will absolutely happen if I tell him the truth. So, I say the universal words that men and women say when they want an easy out. “Clarence. It’s not you, it’s me. I wish… I have some issues that I need to work through…” I let my voice trail off, hoping that he’ll accept it and move on. But no, that would be too damn easy. He tries one last time. “You haven’t given me a chance, Tiressa. How in the hell do you expect a relationship to develop between us if you won’t even try.”

  I stand there totally unmoved, wearing my most resolute expression. The one that clearly says, I’m done with this conversation…you need to build a bridge and get over it. Our eyes clash and it doesn’t take long before he goes off.

  “This is the problem with bitches like you! Yall say yall want an educated, trustworthy black man, and when you have one you look for fake ass excuses to dump him! I got my shit together! I’m an intelligent, strong, good-looking brotha! I take you out and treat you right, and your ratchet ass don’t appreciate a damn thing! You know what, fuck it! I don’t want your nappy-headed ass anyway!”

  With those particularly harsh and mostly untrue words ringing in the air, Clarence storms out of my classroom.

  On trembling legs, I sit back down and pull my chair closer to my desk. Hells bells, what a way to start a morning! Apparently, not only does Clarence have anger management issues, he’s also in desperate need of some anger management therapy.

  Feeling a headache coming on, I yank the center desk drawer open and begin rummaging around inside in search of the small emergency bottle of over the counter painkillers. There are three things teachers are never without–paper, pencils, and a bottle of acetaminophen. Opening a bottle of spring water, I quickly gulp down two rapid-release tablets. After replacing the caps on the medicine and water bottle, I close my eyes for a moment wondering if any of the other teachers next door heard Clarence’s heated confrontation.

  Reopening the desk drawer, I poke around inside again, this time taking out a small square hand mirror. I need to check my face before heading out. As I’m checking to make sure that my thick straight black strands are in place, I can’t help thinking… Nope he didn’t knock my head off, it’s still there.

  Smiling at that bit of odd humor, I’m loving the brown heart-shaped face reflecting back at me. Although I wouldn’t win any Miss USA contests, I’m twenty-five, fine and black-girl pretty.

  I think it’s amazing how black people come in such an eclectic array of skin tones. There are black people who are albino—which is a white skin tone because there is no pigmentation …And there are black people who are very light skinned—which is like a pale color to most black people …then there’s light skinned—which is a shade somewhere between very light and light brown.

  Then we have …light-brown …to medium brown …to just brown …and there’s dark brown …then darker brown …to darkest brown… and all the way to the color ebony—which is best described as a rich black with heavy hues of darkest brown.

  Black people come in so many variations of so many blends of skin tones that it’s impossible to count them all. How awesome is that? I think that’s why people tend to use food when attempting to describe skin color…it’s just easier for people to visualize skin color by associating it with the color of food or wood or some other common thing.

  I love my brown skin. For me, I don’t consider myself light or dark…I’m just brown. A nice smooth vibrant brown. I don’t know what other people may call it, but I call it beautiful. I’m an average looking pretty black-girl, with average looking pretty black-girl features.

  My husband used to tell me that my eyes were the first thing he noticed—when he wasn’t watching my ass. He called them bedroom eyes. I never really quite understood what he meant, because I’m no seductress. We would snuggle up after making love, and he would tell me how my eyes caught him, and my smile kept him coming back. Maybe that was once true. Until another woman came along… she could have been Miss USA, she was so gorgeous. I can’t describe how devastated I was. We were high school sweethearts and I was madly in love with him. He asked for a divorce after less than two years of marriage. He didn’t give me a real deep explanation… simply said that he was in love with someone else.

  I can still recall, as if it were yesterday, how I felt when I got my first look at the other woman. My heart fell to the ground with a sick thud. She was one of the beautiful ones. You know, those people that are born beautiful babies, who develop into very beautiful teens, and then grow into absolutely amazingly gorgeous adults—at least in physical appearance. She was mixed, with naturally long flowing hair and just stunning. I knew instantly that there was no way that my average, pretty black-girl looks, could compete against that.

  I don’t know if it’s true or not, but from my experience, it seems that most men—no matter what race they are—would choose a beautiful woman over a pretty woman, probably 99.9% of the time. My husband was no different. My pride took a hell of a beating, and my self-esteem was damn-near lower than a snake’s belly.

  It’s taken me a long time to repair the damage. To know the value of my own black-girl beauty. And to want to risk my heart by trusting a man enough to open myself to intimacy. I thought dating Clarence was a safe way to ease back into the romance arena. But judging by what just happened in here this morning, I was so wrong.

  Glancing at the big round clock high up on the wall, I suddenly realize that I’m going to be late. If I don’t leave now, I run the risk of not getting my usual seat. Tossing the mirror back into the drawer. I grab my note pad, tic tacs, and a couple of ink pens, get up from my desk and hurry out into the hallway.

  As I turn to lock my student-decorated classroom door, Rachael Thomas, one of my colleagues and a good friend, rushes past me. “Good morning, Ti, will you please save me a seat?”

  “Good morning Rach. You know I will, right next to me. Where are you going?”

  “To the teachers’ lounge to check my mailbox and use the little girls’ room before the meeting starts”, Rachael replies with a funny grimace on her face. Laughing I respond, “Okay, I’ll see you in there.” I’m so glad to have Rachel as a good friend. We complement each other. She’s white, I’m black. She’s tall, I’m average height. She’s outgoing, I’m more reserved. When I’m having a hard time with something, whether it’s work or personal, she’s there for me; just as I’m there for her.

  Seeing that the flow of teachers heading to the cafeteria—where we have our staff meetings—is picking up, I quicken my own pace. There’s nothing quite like a herd of adults hustling down the hallway trying to get to their favorite seat. Smiling as I greet staff, friends, fellow teachers, and administrators, I hastily make my way to my favorite table on the far side of the cafeteria. This has been my table during faculty meetings for the past four years. I love this spot. I like being able to look out the windows when I zone out during the boring moments of a meeting. Also, from this distance, the administrators can’t see us clearly, and therefore, don’t know how off-task we really are.

  The cafeteria fills up quickly, with people talking in small groups, greeting each other, and taking their seats at their favorite table. My tablemates usually consist of my good friend and teacher assistant, Janette Leigh, and my good friends and fellow teachers, Carmen Menendez, and Rachael.

  I used to wonder how so many teachers seem to get along so well. That was before I became a teacher myself and finally learned how it works. Teacher friends are different from friends and good friends. A good friend is a friend that you
hang-out with outside of the job. You know a lot of personal stuff about each other and you consider yourselves very close. Friends are people that you genuinely care about, and although you may know some personal stuff about each other, you don’t hang-out outside of the job. And teacher friends are people that you are friendly with on the job. You don’t hang-out and you don’t know a whole lot of personal stuff about each other…and you like it just fine that way. You are teachers on the same campus, with a common goal… to successfully educate the students—while struggling to survive the school year as best you can.

  My assistant, Janette—another pretty black-girl—takes a seat across from me and immediately starts complaining about one of the kids in our class. He’s one of our most challenging students, and yesterday his ass was at his most challenging. I’ve always found it ridiculous that we can’t tell parents that their kid is bad as hell, and totally shutting shit down in the classroom. Because that would hurt their feelings and they would become defensive, and they themselves would shut down and refuse to listen. Such is the frustrating politics of being an educator…you always have to watch what you say and how you say it.

  Janette’s really on a roll, curse words and all. I haven’t had a chance to add my two cents yet. Rachael enters the cafeteria and weaves her way through the maze of closely arranged tables until she finally gets to our table. She takes the chair on my left and Carmen walks up, from the rear entrance, and takes the remaining seat on my right. Janette stops complaining long enough to offer them a greeting. Looking at Rachael, she throws out a casual, “Good morning.” Janette and Rachael are just teacher friends. Janette then turns her attention to Carmen and becomes more animated. “Hey bitch, how you doing?” Carmen enthusiastically retorts. “Hey bitch. Look at these fine ass curves.” Laughing loudly, she stands up and gives an exaggerated twirl, showing off her terrific body. Then continues with, “And that tells you everything you need to know,” before sitting back down with a cheeky grin.