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  “Great! Rhonda told me you’re an attorney.”

  “Yes, I’m a civil rights attorney,” she replied.

  “Oh.” The one word broadcast more colors than a kaleidoscope—surprise, admiration, and dismay.

  What now? Her pulse thundered. Half of her wanted to rush back into Barry’s office, but the other half didn’t want to let Rodney go. Because this was probably the first and last phone conversation they’d ever have.

  “We’re in the papers,” she blurted out. “Did you see?”

  “Yeah, I saw,” he said quietly. “It was…something.”

  “Thanks again for rescuing me,” she said. “I probably would have been trampled, or worse, if you hadn’t.”

  “Dee, I need to see you.”

  She gripped the phone, wondering if she’d heard right. “For what, exactly?”

  He sounded so serious, the attorney in her suspected the worst. Had what happened at the rally made her liable for anything? Maybe her blood had damaged his clothes, or maybe he wanted to make sure she didn’t have any bloodborne diseases.

  “For a date. Where do you live?”

  “Washington, D.C.”

  “Hey, we’re doing a concert in Baltimore, Maryland, next week. Our nights are pretty late, but maybe we can have breakfast or—”

  “Sounds fine,” she blurted out.

  Breakfast wasn’t a real date. Of course, she couldn’t be seen with him. It would affect her job. Her panties warmed up when she pictured him at her place, eating in her kitchen. An image of them in bed danced through her mind, reminding her she had no love life.

  “Who is that?” a rude male voice interjected. “Get off the phone. We’ve got to go.”

  “I’ll call you again to set it up,” Rodney said before the line went dead.

  She wiped her damp hand on her skirt. A date. She’d just agreed to a date with the most publicly Confederate man in the country. And probably blown her career to shreds.

  Remembering Barry, she rushed to his office. When she walked in, he was on the phone.

  He shot her an annoyed look. “We’re going to have to reschedule our meeting.”

  Just like that, she’d gone from heroine to the back burner. I’ll never make partner at this rate.

  She retreated to her office, wishing Rodney hadn’t called at such a bad time. Or at all. She didn’t dodge the bullet, so to speak, at the rally just to have her career and life go down in flames after all.

  Staring at her phone, she was tempted to return dial the number. Tell him she couldn’t see him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Yet.

  Chapter Four

  Washington, D.C.

  A few days later, a knock sounded on the door of Dee’s studio apartment. When she peered out of the peephole, she saw Rodney had indeed arrived for their date. A date she’d never bothered to cancel.

  Today, he wore a plaid shirt and no hat, and his hair was pulled into a ponytail. Good. There was no need to draw attention to his identity.

  “You came,” she said after letting him in and closing the door.

  “You didn’t expect me to stand you up because I’m famous, did you?” He kissed her on the cheek. “You look great.”

  After debating whether to wear a nightgown, bathrobe, or evening gown, she’d finally decided on tight black exercise pants and a purple tunic blouse. Luckily, she wasn’t cooking a gourmet dinner because his nearness and sunny-male scent short circuited her entire brain. It reminded her of clothes fresh from the clothesline.

  Her kitchen, with its sleek silver appliances, looked a lot different than the old, rustic one of her homeplace.

  “Have a seat,” she said, pointing to her simple kitchen table. “I hope you like buckwheat pancakes. It’s the only thing my mother taught me to make really well.” On a woodstove, no less.

  “Sounds good and Southern. Where did you grow up?”

  She poured the orange juice and coffee. “Wheeling, West Virginia. My parents are retired hippies and live off the grid.”

  “I really admire anyone who has the guts to live that way,” he said after dumping a liberal dose of cream and sugar into his coffee.

  “For real?” Dee poured some batter onto the grill. “I figured you’d love the rich lifestyle. A lot of people would kill to be where you are.”

  “It gets old.” The tired expression on his face made him look older than his years, too, until he smiled again. “You have a nobler calling than I do. I just entertain people, but you help them.”

  She flipped the pancakes over when they bubbled around the edges. “My parents raised me to make the world a better place.”

  “Was going to the rally part of your job?”

  “No. In fact, I’ve been warned not to do any more, which is fine with me. I can’t help anybody dead.”

  She served the first batch of pancakes to the table so he could get started, but he didn’t touch them. What a gentleman. She poured the batter for her own cakes onto the griddle.

  Why had she invited him here? Lust sprang to mind, which wasn’t very responsible of her. She had an important career and would have aging parents to take care of sooner than later. Was she entertaining a rebel under her roof because she felt a little rebellious herself? If so, she needed to get it out of her system, and quick, or her life might end up worse than the stabbing.

  After she served the rest of the pancakes, Rodney finally dug in, as generous with the butter and syrup as he’d been with the cream and sugar for his coffee. Dee couldn’t take her eyes off his hands. He didn’t have long, skinny fingers like a lot of businessmen she dealt with. Instead, they were thick and strong, but he used them with gentleness. Just as he had with her wounds.

  For a split second, she pictured him pouring the maple syrup on her breasts. Kissing it off just as gently…

  Forcing her gaze back to her own plate, she fixed up her cakes and took the first bite. Speaking of syrup, she’d always assumed his eyes were brown, but up close they looked more like molasses or…whiskey. Something she wanted to sink into, never to be found again.

  She was glad they hadn’t gone to a noisy restaurant. She needed to figure him out. See what he stood for. The sooner she got proof he was a bigot, the faster she could forget him, once and for all.

  “Tasty,” he said. “Your mother taught you well.”

  “Thanks.” She was tempted to keep her mouth shut or stick to light topics. Why ruin the harmony? Having breakfast with a handsome man felt more than good. She could really get used to it.

  “Who would have guessed?” she blurted out. “Two people on opposite sides of the statue debate having breakfast together.”

  He shot her a wary look while he chewed. “No two people agree exactly on everything. That’s what makes the world interesting.”

  Again, the gentleman. Nice, but her job had taught her to sniff out all the facts and examine each one. Then make the judgment. Putting him on trial probably wasn’t fair, but justice was more important. Hadn’t Dad always said that? Making people feel uncomfortable—or comfortable, if needed—was a special talent of his.

  She shot Rodney a pointed look. “You must feel strongly about the issue, or you wouldn’t have played there.”

  “The gig was my brother’s bright idea to get more fans.” He frowned. “I’m not surprised it backfired. Hell, I never would’ve done it if I’d known it would cause bloodshed.”

  Well, score a point for Rodney, but she was far from done with her questioning.

  “Is your brother in the band?”

  He nodded. “He’s the lead guitarist.”

  She forced herself to remember the band playing on the steps, before all hell had broken loose. The guy sort of resembled Rodney physically. Same build, short beard, and long hair, a little browner than gold, but something about him was so different. Harder.

  “So, explain the heritage versus hate thing to me because I don’t quite get it.”

  Rodney’s fork froze in midair. “Am I on trial here?”

  “Of course not.” She touched his hand before she could stop herself. Finding it a little sticky with syrup filled her panties with damp heat. “I want to understand both sides of the issue.”

  It would also give her ammunition when constructing her legal strategies, but she didn’t say so. For some reason, figuring out what kind of man Rodney Walker was mattered more to her than her job.

  He drank some coffee. “Okay, here goes. I grew up in the South, and I love my home and what it stands for. Hunting, fishing, and just enjoying nature. Having a little freedom from the government. Not needing it as much because we already treat each other with a code of honor. Then there’s family… Family is everything.”

  “The South also stands for slavery,” she pointed out.

  He set down his fork. “My ancestors were a bunch of what you’d probably call poor crackers. We never owned a single slave.”

  Why not stop while she was ahead? Even if she never saw him again, she could use some panty-melting kisses before he left.

  “But they probably would have if they could have afforded it,” she said, studying him over the rim of her coffee mug. “They, at least, probably believed others should be allowed to have them.”

  “We can speculate all day, but no one can speak for the dead.” He shrugged. “You—folks on your side act as if the South is 100 percent about slavery and nothing else. Is that fair?”

  “There’s a lot more to it than that. We’ve been treated like second-class citizens for so long, it’s just a really, really sore subject for us. Imagine being snubbed and eyed like a criminal every time you walk into a store. White people will never quite get it because they don’t know how it feels.” br />
  “I hear you.” He nudged his plate away. “So, have you convicted and sentenced me already?”

  She dragged a hand through her curls. “I’m sorry. The issue is just very important to me, and I need to know where you stand.”

  “Why? No one’s forcing you to listen to my music.” He held up his hands. “I can leave right now, if you want.”

  Way to drive the man right out the door. No wonder she didn’t have many dates. Dating someone on the same side would make things easier. This friendship, or whatever it was, had been doomed from the start.

  “No. Please,” she told him. “I want you to stay.”

  “Good.” He drained his coffee. “Just so you know, I’m glad they moved that statue.”

  Her juice glass wobbled like a top as she haphazardly set it on the table. “You are?”

  “Hard as we may try, we’ll never feel that racial nerve being hit quite the way you do. But when someone is uncomfortable, hurt, or—in the case of those kids going to the library—terrorized, I want to see the situation taken care of. No matter what it takes.” He stood. “And that, my dear, is a Southern value.”

  She stood, too, but her hands were shaking too badly to gather the plates. She’d clean up after he left. Left… He was about to leave.

  “Rodney, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” She gripped the back of her chair. “I guess I suck at being a hostess.”

  He squeezed her arm. “No, you don’t, but I have to go.”

  “So soon?”

  “Breakfast tasted great, but I need to tend to some tour business. Keep my brother from getting the band into more trouble.”

  “Thanks for sharing your views with me,” she said. “I guess this is it, then.”

  Without so much as a goodbye kiss for her cooking efforts. Was he being the Southern gentleman or did he want nothing more to do with her? Probably the latter. She’d grilled him pretty hard.

  “What’s it?” he asked.

  “We’ll never see each other again.”

  He framed her face with his gentle hands. “Oh, you will definitely see me again.”

  Her belly tightened. “I will?”

  “I want to take you on a real date. That is, if I passed your tests?”

  She grinned. “You passed, Southern man.”

  “Good.”

  Before he walked out her door, he brushed his lips across hers, light as a whisper. She could hardly believe the same mouth that could look so hard and fierce when he sang could turn so soft and gentle. After he left, she savored their taste of syrup and coffee.

  Everything she’d assumed about race was getting turned on its head, and if she saw him again, it would get worse. All the more reason to avoid him.

  No, all the more reason to see him. Understanding the issues in depth from both sides would help her make partner at the firm. Heck, it might even make her the best damn civil rights attorney in the country.

  “I’ll call you,” he said.

  And she knew he would because a Southern man always kept his word.

  * * *

  A couple of weeks later, Rodney peered into the refrigerator to make sure it had enough wine. The steaks and potatoes he’d ordered from the online grocery service were safely stacked in the corner. Linda had even baked a chocolate layer cake.

  She and Jack should be heading for their weekend getaway any minute. Rodney was so tired from nonstop touring, he was tempted to sleep through this break. But too much excitement jangled his nerves.

  Dee’s plane landed in an hour.

  She hadn’t even arrived yet, and he was already hard. He kept thinking about their breakfast. Her challenging questions coated in sweet, sticky syrup. Shooting arrows straight to his heart.

  They’d have the whole weekend, just the two of them. He planned to savor every minute, and every inch, of her. Then, hopefully, he’d be able to focus on his music again. She was like a rare delicacy you didn’t dare eat too often, because if you did, it could ruin you.

  The woman was an intelligent attorney and had almost given her life at the rally. She wasn’t one-night stand groupie material. Not even close. To use her as such would be disrespectful. But he’d invited her here for a lot more than sex. For what, he didn’t quite know.

  He glanced up at the sound of shuffling footsteps. When he saw Jack in his bathrobe, he frowned.

  “Why aren’t you dressed, man?”

  “We’re not going.” Jack blew his nose, long and hard. “I must be run down from touring because I caught some crappy bug.”

  You can’t be sick. Not this weekend!

  Rodney forced himself to look calm. “That’s too bad. Linda will be disappointed.”

  And he was just about devastated. What would he do with Dee? He sure couldn’t send her back home as soon as she got here.

  “I planned on entertaining a lady friend here this weekend,” he reminded him as he shut the refrigerator door. “I can’t cancel on her at the last minute.”

  Jack held up his hands. “No problem. I’m going to stay in my room, sleep, and watch a little TV. You won’t even know we’re here.”

  Oh, yes, he would when his brother got a look at his guest and the color of her skin. Could he possibly hide her for a whole weekend? With Linda’s help, maybe. Why was he dating outside his race when it could be so…problematic? Was the rebel in him rattling its chains, wanting a little freedom?

  As much as he couldn’t wait for the weekend to begin, he also wanted it to be over.

  * * *

  Dee stepped out of the car and tipped the rideshare driver. She’d never traveled this far south before. Was she standing on enemy turf? What stood before her was a cross between a really nice house and a mansion.

  All one level, it had a black roof and shutters with white siding. The wraparound porch with white pillars looked over a huge yard with fragrant magnolia trees. It was worlds apart from the old bare-bones house she’d grown up in and definitely southern.

  Was she really going to spend the weekend with Rodney Walker? She’d been so nervous on the plane ride, she couldn’t eat a thing. The food available to her from the first-class ticket he’d sent her had gone to waste.

  What would they do together? Would they end up in bed? After all, he’d barely kissed her last time. He owed her a real kiss. Anything more would be a bonus. She walked up the herringbone-patterned brick walkway and knocked on the door, wondering if a butler would answer it.

  Instead, the lead guitarist did. Dressed in a bathrobe and with messy hair and sporting a red nose, he looked a lot different than he had on stage. Where was Rodney?

  “Yeah? Can I help you?” he asked in clipped tones.

  A woman approached but stayed behind him. She must be his wife.

  “Wait.” He pointed at Dee before she could answer. “You’re the lady from the rally. You here to sue us or something?”

  “What?” Her sweet anticipation of seeing Rodney turned sour.

  The woman tapped him on the shoulder. “She must be Rodney’s date.”

  Dee nodded. “Isn’t he here? I’ve come a long way.”

  “Well, you can turn around and go back where you came from,” Jack said, fixing her with cold eyes. “We don’t need your kind around here.”

  “Jack, you’re not being very polite,” the woman muttered before facing Dee. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s not feeling well.”

  Despite the apology, anger and dread poured through Dee’s body like acid. The man was right. She had no business being here. Instead, she should be home catching up on the work she’d missed from her injury.

  A man pushed his way to the front. “You were supposed to stay in your room,” he told Jack. “Dee! You made it.”

  Rodney’s face lightened the heaviness sinking her, but not quite enough.

  “Well, come on in,” he told her as he extended his hands.

  She didn’t touch them. “Your house is beautiful, but I’m afraid I can’t stay.”

  Chapter Five

  Waycross, GA

  “Dee, wait!” Rodney shouldered past Jack and chased her down the brick walkway.

  Damn his big-mouthed brother!

  Dressed in a light-green tank top and darker short skirt, the woman looked more refreshing than a mint julep. He needed this date more than his next breath.