“Oh, you must be from the book place. Come on in. I’m Iris, his admin. He’s on the phone.”
Iris led her into a space Jas could describe only as elegant. The framed artwork gracing the earth-toned walls, the stone fireplace, and the understated but expensive gray sectional and matching chairs were gorgeous, but the panoramic view of the river through the sparkling-clean wall-wide windows was stunning. Also stunning was the large painting of a gray wolf hanging above the fireplace.
“Please have a seat. Can I get you something? Coffee, tea? Water? He should be done in a few minutes.”
“No. I’m okay, but thank you for asking.” Jas sat on the sofa and glanced around the large room. Lamps with sculpted metal bases sat atop gleaming dark-wood tables. Two large leafy-green plants in multitoned ceramic pots flanked the window wall. “This is a beautiful space.”
“I agree. Torr prides himself on his taste. He picked out everything himself. The man is seriously skilled.”
“I can see that.”
Then a man’s voice interrupted. “Iris, I’m expecting . . .”
The familiar tone widened Jasmine’s eyes, and she snapped her head around and stared into the bearded face of the mystery man from last night. He paused, eyed her with equal surprise, and then gave her a smile that melted her into a puddle on his fancy, high-end sofa.
He walked farther into the room. “So, we meet again.”
Jasmine’s heart pounded, her blood rushing. She’d never swooned before but swore she was on the verge of doing so.
“I take it you got home safely?” he inquired in that rich, velvety voice.
Still stunned, she nodded, incapable of speaking or taking her eyes off him.
Iris said, “I didn’t know you two already knew each other.”
“We don’t,” he replied, appearing equally incapable of severing the contact. Which only made Jas’s heart race even more.
“Ms. Ware and I met in passing at a restaurant last night.”
Iris smiled. “Then I’ll let you two take care of your business. I’ll be in my office. Nice meeting you, Ms. Ware.”
“Same here.”
Jasmine and her mystery man were so focused on each other she didn’t know if either of them actually noted the admin’s exit. He was wearing dark pants and a cinnamon-colored fitted tee that showed off his toned ebony forearms and the edge of a tat hidden beneath the short sleeve. The chain circling his throat mimicked the one from last night, as did the small sparkling hoop in his earlobe. He’d been gorgeous in the shadows, and in the full light of day . . . Lord have mercy. The cut of his lean face, the beard circling his lips . . .
“This is quite the coincidence,” he pointed out, amusement lacing the distinctive voice. That same amusement sparkled quietly in his dark gaze.
“I agree,” Jas managed to say.
“I’m Torr Noble.”
“Jasmine Ware. Tore—as in T-o-r-e?” she asked, spelling out the word.
“No. T-o-r-r,” he spelled back. “My parents—well, my dad—named me and my brothers after scientific terms. He’s a physicist.”
“Is your mom a scientist too?”
“No. She’s a retired diplomat.”
“Ah.” Jas had noted the spelling of his brother Kelvin’s name during their business transactions but hadn’t tied it to anything specific—certainly not science. Now she did. “I know that kelvin is a temperature measurement. But no idea what torr refers to.”
“A measure of pressure.”
The response held such a sensual tone, her pressure climbed like a cartoon thermometer on a hot day. Jesus!
He continued, “I’m impressed you know what a kelvin is, most people don’t.”
“I’m a reference librarian. Kelvin is a fairly well-known scientific term. Torr, not so much. I’ll have to add it to my mental files.”
“Please do.”
Jas’s heart tripped over itself. There was a simmering beneath the interest she saw in his dark eyes that he seemed to be veiling, as if he didn’t want her to get a full look. It made her wonder if this low-heat flirting was something he ran on women all the time. Admittedly, she knew next to nothing about him. Based on their short interaction last night, he hadn’t come off as a man who’d want her to order oysters ten minutes after being introduced, but she could be wrong. She decided it was best to stick to business for now. After all, that was the reason for their meeting.
She fished her tablet out of her tote and opened the case. “Your brother said you were interested in acquiring some books? What type?”
He showed no reaction to her steering the conversation to business. He simply walked to one of the chairs and casually took a seat on the arm. He leaned forward and seemed to think for a moment. “A variety. First editions, though. Michigan authors. Jim Harrison, Elmore Leonard, Donald Goines, Terry McMillan, Loren Estleman.”
She tapped in the names. “Would you like them signed?”
“Yes. For sure.”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult. Any other topics or subjects?”
“Black detective writers. Chester Himes. Walter Mosley. Rudolph Fisher.”
Impressed by the last name, she looked up. “Not many people know about Rudolph Fisher.”
“The Conjure-Man Dies by him is supposed to be the first Black detective novel.”
“Yes. It’s the first one not published in serial form. It’s been reprinted quite a few times, though. If I can’t find an original, will a more recent edition work?”
“If the reprint’s a first edition, I suppose, but I’m really after the real McCoy.”
“Understood. You’ve only mentioned male mystery authors. Are you interested in detectives who aren’t men?”
“Hadn’t thought about that. I read mostly men, but I’ve read Attica Locke, so okay. Let’s diversify.”
That pleased her. “Do you know how many titles you want overall?”
“I had baby brother put in some shelving recently, and I’d hoped to fill them. Would you like to see the space? Maybe give me your take on it, if it’s possible?”
“Sure.”
“This way.”
He led her from the living room and down a long earth-toned hallway that featured more beautiful art. She recognized a few of the artists, like Jacob Lawrence and Kadir Nelson, from their distinct styles.
“The kitchen and offices are on the other end of the house,” he told her. “This side holds my living quarters.”
“Do you repo cars full-time?”
He turned back and showed her his smile. “No. Last night was a favor for a friend. I own a security operation. My crew does a bit of this and that.”
Jas was intrigued. She didn’t want to be nosy and press him for more detail, but his beautifully furnished home indicated he lived well.
“Here we are,” he said.
The room was as tastefully furnished as the other parts of the house she’d seen. It was more masculine, however, with high-end dark-chocolate leather chairs. Floor-to-ceiling drapes the color of the cinnamon tee he was wearing framed another gorgeous view of the Detroit River. Bookcases lined three of the four walls. “Are you going to put your collection on the shelves?”