by Afton Locke
She opened, giving him access to her even sweeter tongue. His penis strained, hard and now wet, against his undershorts. Hell, even his balls must be twice their normal size. Taking a big breath, he pulled away from her.
“We can’t do this. You’re white.”
She looked down at her upturned palms. “Then I really do look white?”
Leroy frowned. “Aren’t you?”
For the first time, her smile disappeared, making him shiver in his wet clothes. “The truth is, I don’t know what I am. I suppose that’s why I took this foolish drive.”
She must be biracial then, he realized, and not forbidden after all. The thought made him want to dance on the hood of the car. She still looked white, though. If he didn’t have the time to court a girl his own color, he sure didn’t have any for a complicated one like this.
“Kiss me again,” she demanded.
Without waiting for him to answer, she locked her hot, damp mouth on his again and tugged hard on his shoulders. Before he knew it, he was on top of her on the front seat. He wished her dress weren’t so thin when two round breasts pushed against his chest and long, slender legs shifted restlessly under his. Dizzy with the scent of rain and her, he froze.
At that moment, nothing mattered except finding out if her cunt was as sweet and yielding as her mouth. He didn’t care if the entire Klan showed up, knocked on the window and caught him thrusting between her legs on this slippery leather seat. It had been too damn long since he’d had a woman. He needed to stop this while he still could.
“Do you know what you’re asking for?” Lust had turned his voice into a husky croak.
She laughed and touched his face again. “I don’t know. What am I asking for?”
This girl was crazier than he’d first thought. What if someone less honorable than himself had stopped instead? She could’ve been raped.
“A whole lot of trouble.” He sat up. “Look, this is not the time or the place. Now let’s get you home.”
The sooner he could be rid of her—before she derailed him from his job, family and everything else that mattered—the better.
* * * * *
Following Rose’s directions, Leroy drove down a long driveway made of gravel and oyster shells to a wooden two-story house that cried out for a fresh coat of paint. Like the driveway, the yard was overgrown with tall grass. Some unkempt rosebushes flanked the house. Not what he’d expected from such a nicely dressed girl.
“We just moved here,” she explained. “The place needs fixing up.”
I’m pretty handy, he’d started to say before stopping himself. He had a good job that already kept him very busy. Why did this girl make him keep forgetting that? He was so late getting home today, Caleb probably thought he’d fallen into the Patuxent River.
The front door opened while they climbed the porch steps. A well-dressed man with a moustache and wavy hair—so flawless it appeared glued on—glared at him with accusation. Even though his body was short, his haughty expression made him seem much taller.
Must be the father.
“Where have you been? Where’s my automobile?” he demanded from Rose.
Then his cold brown eyes swung in Leroy’s direction. “Good afternoon.”
His polite but icy voice may as well have asked, “Who the hell are you and why are you with my daughter?”
“Your car is in a ditch, sir,” Leroy explained, “and mine isn’t big enough to haul it out.”
A woman old enough to be Rose’s mother peered out the door. Large coils of pinned hair covered her head in rows so orderly they looked painful. Her polite face was as blank as a sheet of paper, but she sure looked a lot friendlier than the father.
“Oh, dear. Please come in, all of you. The weather is terrible.” Inside, she embraced her daughter. “We were so worried.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Rose replied.
Leroy noticed the inside of the house needed some fixing up as well. The wallpaper was faded and the wood floors needed fresh varnish. It was a far cry from his mother’s cottage, though. Every piece of furniture looked antique, made of expensive wood like oak or maple. The parlor next to the dining room was so formal he wouldn’t be surprised to see the president of the nation sitting there.
His stomach grumbled when he smelled roasting chicken coming from the kitchen. It seemed more than one of his appetites had been aroused today.
“And you are?” the father demanded.
“Leroy Johnson,” he said, sticking out his hand.
“Charles Wainwright the third. This is my wife, Ella.”
The other man barely touched his hand. Leroy might have understood had he been white, but his skin was darker than Rose’s. The mother’s was darker than that and his own was the darkest of all. The four of them made quite a rainbow standing there. The urge to laugh hit him, but he managed to hold it in.
“Mr. Johnson, you’d better tell me what’re doing with my daughter,” the man said.
Rose grabbed the man’s arm. “It’s not what you think, Father. I needed some fresh air, so I took your car out.”
“You don’t know how to drive,” he pointed out, “and you didn’t ask permission.”
“I know. It started to rain and I ran into a ditch.” She looked at Leroy and a sweet smile curved her lips. “This man happened along and rescued me.”
Leroy held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t add anything about those hot kisses. He knew damn well Father wouldn’t be at all happy about those. At least those few minutes of pleasure in the car would give him something to daydream about at work.
The man’s expression changed from accusation to wary acceptance. “Then we’re indebted to you for bringing her safely home.”
Leroy touched his damp cap. “It was nothing. I’ll be going now.”
“Stay for dinner,” Ella insisted. “We’re having chicken casserole.”
He had no idea what a chicken casserole was. When his family could afford chicken, which wasn’t often, they just fried it. His mouth watered for some cornbread and black-eyed peas to go with it, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t find Mama’s cooking here.
Mr. Wainwright’s moustache twitched as if he didn’t relish the idea. “We insist.”
“Well, if you insist,” Leroy said, “it does smell awfully good.”
So did Rose. Was that why he’d just agreed to sit through an awkward dinner with her family? She needed to leave his life as quickly as she’d come into it, but he wasn’t quite ready for the day to end.
Chapter Two
Rose’s hands shook so much she could hardly help Mother carry the food from the kitchen to the large dining table without spilling it. She cringed at the sight of the stranger she’d kissed so wantonly in the car sitting near her father at the dining room table. If only she’d behaved like a lady today. What had gotten into her?
She’d been in such a jam and he’d looked so strong. Every part of him that touched her had been hard and raw. His skin felt so hot through his damp shirt, she’d half expected to see clouds of steam in the air. At the time, she hadn’t noticed his shirt was white or that he wore a tie. He must have attended church earlier today.
Even now, the spot between her legs smoldered while she pulled out one of the Chippendale dining chairs. Aside from washing it in the bathtub and tending to her monthly courses, she’d never devoted much thought to this part of her anatomy. Today it was the only thing she could think about—as if her body had transformed into someone else’s, starving for something she didn’t even understand.
All she knew was that whatever it was, Leroy Johnson had it.
He almost knocked over his own chair as he rushed to her side to help seat her. The smoldering turned to an ache of longing after he completed the task and returned to his place on the other side of the table.
“The blessing, Rose?”
Her father’s stern voice and loud throat clearing rescued her from indecent thoughts before they could sink any deeper. She
recited the blessing for the meal, adding a few private prayers of her own. I’m sorry I took Father’s car without asking. Thank you for not causing an accident. I’m sorry I acted like a harlot. And thank you for…him. Let me see him again, please.
She opened her eyes to find Leroy studying her face. The scrutiny made her cheeks burn, but she’d stolen glances at him too. His powerful build overwhelmed the antique chair and the overhead light created a soft patina on his dark skin. Just the memory of tracing her fingers down his strong cheekbones made her breath catch.
His gaze dropped to his place setting as he fingered the two forks. Rose realized he probably wasn’t used to eating with tablecloths and formal place settings. She caught his eye and held up her larger fork as unobtrusively as she could. Father would never approve of a suitor who didn’t know his way around the table.
Suitor? Since when had she considered this man a suitor? Father had never spelled out exactly what a suitable match required, but she already knew without asking that Leroy Johnson was not the type of man he had in mind.
When she spooned mashed potatoes from the serving bowl, they fell on the table instead of her plate. Leroy shot her an amused smile and a wink that almost caused her to upset her glass of tea as well.
Her father looked less than amused as he frowned at her.
“As you can see,” he told Leroy, “we don’t have company very often.”
“Do you live nearby?” Ella asked him.
Leroy set down his fork and gave Mother his full attention. His politeness filled Rose’s chest with warmth. This dinner didn’t look easy for him. Was he trying to impress her parents because he wanted to see her again as much as she wanted to see him?
“Yes, ma’am. I was on my way home from visiting my family in Oyster Island when I met Rose.”
What was his family like? Suddenly, Rose wanted to know everything about this man.
Leroy scooped the last bite of food into his mouth when the rest of them were scarcely halfway finished. Then he took a crust of bread, wiped his plate clean with it and ate that too.
“That was delicious, Mrs. Wainwright,” he declared.
When he sucked some gravy from the end of his index finger with strong, sculptured lips, Rose’s nipples ached almost hard enough to make her cry out.
Mother smiled and thanked Leroy for the compliment, but Father shuddered and dabbed his lips with a napkin. “You certainly have a healthy appetite.”
Watching Leroy’s earthy enjoyment of the meal refreshed Rose more than a river breeze on a summer day. Would he savor her body the same way? The uninvited thought scalded her cheeks.
“What is it that you do for a living, Leroy?” Father asked.
Rose’s heart soared and fell at the same time. Father must be asking these questions because he considered Leroy a possible suitor, but he probably wouldn’t like the answers.
“I work at the new branch of Rockfield Oyster House in Pearl Point.”
“You’re an oyster shucker?” Father’s tone made it sound as if he’d said axe murderer.
Leroy’s chin and chest rose with an intake of breath. “Used to be. I’m Caleb Rockfield’s right-hand man now.”
“Caleb Rockfield,” Father repeated. “I’ve heard the name. He was an important man on Oyster Island.”
“He’s married to my cousin Pearl,” Leroy added. “When the Klan moved onto Oyster Island, they moved down here.”
Father’s eyebrows rose, probably realizing, as Rose did, that it must be a mixed-race marriage. She clasped her hands together in her lap as she pondered the possibility for herself.
“Are you a manager, then?” Father asked Leroy next.
Leroy shrugged. “I coordinate the renovations.”
Father peered over the edge of his upraised glass of tea. “You’re a laborer, then, just as I surmised from observing your table manners.”
Leroy’s jaw flexed and he squeezed his napkin into a ball, but he didn’t say a word, thank goodness. Rose set down her fork. What little appetite she’d had tonight vanished. Now she wished Leroy hadn’t stayed for dinner after all. He’d gone out of his way to help her today, only to be picked apart by her father.
“Rose,” Mother said gently. “It’s time for dessert, don’t you think?”
Rose nodded, but stayed fixed to her seat, needing to hear the rest of this conversation.
“Nevertheless,” Father continued, “your position is likely the highest a man of your color can achieve.”
Leroy’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Beg pardon, Mr. Wainwright, but aren’t we all the same color here?”
Father cleared his throat and loosened his collar before answering. “Yes…and…no.”
Rose knew her father judged people by color. The darker they were, the lower they stood in his eyes. Then her cheeks scalded when everyone at the table looked at her. They were all the same color, more or less, except her. She was the whitest of them all.
“We’re Rose’s natural parents, if that’s what you’re asking,” Father added.
She stood, grabbing her plate of barely eaten food. “Yes, Mother, let’s serve dessert.”
In the kitchen, Rose let Mother slice the marble cake because her hands shook too badly to cut anything. All she could think about when she gazed at the chocolate intermingled with the gold was her skin sliding over Leroy’s.
“Oh Mother, Father is being awful to our guest.”
The older woman smiled with familiar resignation as she pulled a stack of clean plates from a small cabinet with glass doors. “Luckily, the meal is almost over.”
Rose knew she should keep her new, confusing thoughts to herself, but couldn’t contain the enthusiasm bubbling inside her.
“Isn’t Leroy handsome?” she blurted out.
Mother neatly sliced a piece of cake and guided it onto a small dessert plate. “Yes, he’s a fine-looking young man. Oh, Rose, you’re not—”
Rose clasped her hands behind her back. “Not what?”
The knife paused in midair. “Falling in love with him.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before, but I’m very fond of him. He—”
She raised her hand to her mouth to stop herself. From the moment she’d driven off in Father’s car today, she hadn’t had a bit of common sense. Her lips were sore to the touch, reminding her of Leroy’s passionate mouth pulling the essence out of her.
Mother set down the knife and raised her hand to her face. “He what? Oh, heavens. He didn’t try to take advantage of you, did he?”
If he had, Father would kill him and they both knew it. “No, I kissed him.”
Mother’s eyes grew wide and round. “You kissed him? Rose, you barely know him. I-I’m horrified.”
“So am I.”
Relief from sharing her secret lightened the weight in her chest, but prickles of fear soon took over. “Please don’t tell Father.”
Mother cut the rest of the cake, these pieces more jagged and crumbly than the first.
“I won’t say a word, but do control yourself. You’ve caused such a stir today. My nerves…”
When Father got upset, Mother got awful headache spells, forcing her to lie in bed with the curtains drawn for an entire day.
Rose put her arms around her, hoping she wouldn’t get one of those headaches because of what she’d done today. “I will.”
When the women entered the dining room, the men were sitting in tense silence. Rose averted her eyes from Leroy after handing out plates of cake. The sooner this evening ended the better. Once Leroy Johnson left her life, peace would once more return to her family. She would remember his kiss, privately, where it couldn’t hurt anyone.
The table remained quiet throughout dessert. Rose didn’t know which was worse—this tense silence or Father’s critical remarks.
Leroy pointed at the wall, breaking the silence. “That’s a fine painting.”
Rose turned to look at the painting of pink rosebushes, one of he
r early pieces. She’d painted it from her bedroom window when they’d lived in the Baltimore townhouse. It had several flaws, but Mother thought it brought cheer to the dining room.
“Thank you,” she murmured, still trying not to look at him too much. The more she looked, the more she wanted.
“Rose is an artist,” Father said, his voice rich with pride.
Leroy gave her a smile filled with wonder. The warmth of it reached across the table and engulfed her as though it were an embrace. She hoped they could hug goodbye without raising any eyebrows. One last touch. That’s all I need.
“There’s a city in the background,” Leroy commented.
“We lived in Baltimore,” Rose replied.
“I had a business there,” Father added, “but we moved here when I retired and live a very private life now.”
Rose was still trying to get used to it. It was so quiet here and dark at night without all the lights to illuminate the sky.
Father pushed his empty dessert plate aside and stood. “Dinner was wonderful, Ella.”
Leroy and the rest of them stood too. “Yes, it was. Thank you. Well, it’s late. I need to get going.”
“Thank you again for bringing Rose home,” Father said.
“What about your car? Do you want me to find someone to pull it out?”
Father held up a hand. “No, no. I’ll handle that matter myself. We’re still in your debt, however.”
Leroy set down his napkin. “The dinner is thanks enough.”
“Hardly.” Father waved his hand dismissively. “There must be some other way we can return the favor.”
“I can’t think of anything.” His wide shoulders lifted into a shrug. “I have everything a man could need…”
When Leroy looked at her, Rose’s knees turned to water. A slow smile spread across his face, flipping her belly as if it were a pancake.
“There is one thing, Mr. Wainwright.”
