Loving HART

by Theresa Hodge

  “I’m very serious about your daughter. I will never allow anyone hurt her, while she is in and out of my care. I will protect her with my life if it comes down to it. I love her just that much, ever since I was a teenager. I loved your daughter when she didn’t even remember I existed. Now that she knows I exist and is ready to accept my love, I’m never letting her go. Not for anyone.”

  “Oh, my,” Mrs. Martin touches her heart and tears appear in her eyes. Eyes that are so much like her daughter’s. “All I have to say on that is welcome to the family, son.” She gives me a warm smile, which is the replica of Whitney’s.

  “Thank you, mom, I accept,” I say, winning her over. I give her a charming smile. Deep down, I’m just hoping the meeting goes as well with my parents. Because the Strong’s can sometimes be unpredictable as I know all too well.

  Chapter 16

  WHITNEY

  I walk into W & S design a little later than I normally would since I overslept in Hart’s arms this morning. Both of us seem to be doing a lot of that over the past few days.

  “Good morning, Paula,” I say in a sing-song voice as I pass by the receptionist desk. “I stopped off at Starbucks and got us a Frappuccino and a pastry.” I sit her bag on the desk.

  “Good morning, Whitney, and thanks so much for the breakfast,” she returns with a friendly smile. “You must know that I skipped breakfast this morning and I’m in dire need of this pick me up.” She grins as if the contents of her cup are a piece of heaven.

  “Good, it’s right on time then.” I flash her a smile and continue to walk down the hallway into the office to see Sierra bent over the printer. “Good morning, my dear,” I call out to her and place her drink and pastry on her desk. “I brought us breakfast.”

  “Good morning and thanks,” she replies with a tremble in her voice as if she’s been crying. She continues looking down with her hair shielding her face.

  “What’s wrong, Sierra? And I don’t want to hear “nothing” this time.”

  She cuts off the printer and turns to face me. Her eyes are red rimmed and puffy from crying. I hurriedly put down my belongings and rush over to her side.

  “The weekend that I went home.” She sniffs as she tries to get her words out.

  “Go on,” I say, encouraging her. I can tell she’s battling with holding her tears in.

  “I…I,” she attempts again to get her words out but fails miserably. Her pain seems to be too much for her to take as beads of water start to fall from her eyes and down to her cheeks, one after another.

  I grasp her in an embrace and she clings to me as if she’s holding on for dear life. Heart wrenching sobs escape through her body and muffle themselves against my chest, as I try to comfort her. But from what, I don’t know. So, I just continue to allow her to cry out her tears and I hold her until her tears are spent.

  “Okay, let’s try this again,” I say, leading her over to a small couch in the corner of the office. I sit beside her and look into her eyes. I reach for a couple of Kleenexes from a nearby table to give her. She blows her nose noisily before she begins to speak.

  “I found a lump in my breast. I had a mammogram last week and I should get the results back sometime today. The diagnostic center will call me. If the results are good, I’ll get them over the phone, but if not I’ll have to go in for a biopsy. I’m so scared,” she says as tears begin to fall again.

  “Please, don’t panic,” I try to calm her. “You are young and your lump may be related to your menstrual cycle. At least that’s what the doctor told me when I was going through this with my mother. Of course, you’ll have to get your results to be sure. How about you do this…Calm down and try not to stress over it until the results of your mammogram are in.” I say this although I’m a mess inside thinking of the unthinkable. I can’t allow her to see me fall apart though. I must keep up a strong appearance and be a voice of stability for her sake.

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who found a lump in your breast.”

  “You’re right. But one thing I learned when my own mother went through her health scare two years ago is that stressing only does more damage in the end.”

  “I’m so sorry, Whit. In my worrying about myself, I forgot your mother went through the same thing.”

  “Don’t worry about it, honey. Believe me, I understand. I just don’t want you to make yourself sick worrying about it. I’m here for you and if I have to cancel my trip tomorrow to the Hampton’s with Hart that’s just what I’m going to do.”

  “I won’t let you,” Sierra bristles at my statement. “There’s no way I’m letting you get out of meeting your man’s parents. Don’t you dare think about it.”

  “It’s no biggie,” I reply, biting my bottom lip.

  “Look at you, you’re just as scared to meet Hart’s parents as I am about finding out my mammogram results. Don’t use me as an excuse to get out of meeting them. You either meet them now or later. My advice to you is to bite the bullet and get it over with.”

  “You’re right,” I reply.

  “I’m going to tell you what you just told me…don’t stress about it. Stress only bring on more problems.”

  “You’re right again,” I say with a laugh. “Go drink your Frappuccino, before it turns cold.”

  “Did you bring me my favorite raspberry pastry?” Sierra asks me as she is walking towards her desk.

  “You know it,” I said, standing and walking towards my own desk to get as much work out the way as possible, so I can have my weekend relatively free.

  “Oh, goody.” She smiles for the first time since I arrived. I watch her remove the pastry from the bag and take a big bite. She closes her eyes and makes a pleasurable moan. “This is better than sex, not that I’m getting any.” She laughs and I join in.

  My workday passes by faster than usual and lunch hour is upon us before we know it. The telephone rings and Sierra answers it. “Hello, yes, put him through please,” she says looking over at me and covers the mouthpiece of the phone. “It’s AUD diagnostics,” she whispers with a look of concern in her eyes.

  My stomach muscles spasm and tighten. I place my hands on my lap and whisper a silent prayer that she will hear good news. I also cross my fingers for good measure.

  “I see,” Sierra says.

  Her one-sided conversation makes me nervous. I have to force myself not to pick up the phone and listen to her conversation from my extension.

  “Thank you soooo much,” Sierra says and a big smile stretches across her lips. Her eyes light with happiness as she looks across the room at me. She shoots me a thumb up sign and I finally let out a sigh of relief. “Goodbye,” she says, ending the call.

  We both jump up from our seats and run into each other arms. “Thank you, God!” I shout out. “I told you everything would work out.”

  “Yes you did,” she replies. “And since you treated me to breakfast…I’m treating you to lunch. Get your purse and let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Taqueria del Sol,” she replies.

  “Yes…you don’t have to ask me twice,” I reply walking over to remove my purse from my bottom desk drawer.

  I can already taste their famous shrimp chowder on my tongue and, if it wasn’t a damn shame to be drunk at work, I would enjoy a margarita right along with it. We head out the office door pumped and ready to have an alcohol-free celebration of Sierra’s diagnostic test being negative.

  Chapter 17

  HART

  “Are you comfortable, baby?” I ask a tight-faced Whitney as she grips the helicopter seat with her French tipped nails.

  “Uh-huh,” she gives a quick jerky nod of her head. She tells me otherwise but I know she’s half frightened to death.

  “Try to relax, sweetheart. It won’t take no more than an hour and a half to reach the Hamptons. I’m an experienced pilot and have over fourteen thousand hours of experience.”

  “I’m fine,” she says this
while nibbling at her bottom lip.

  “Okay, I’ll have to take your word for it. You’ll need to wear these,” I say, helping her slide on a pair of headphones to help protect her ears from the loud helicopter. “You can speak to me through here,” I adjust the small microphone close to her lips. She nods her head as I adjust the other headphones over my ears and start up the D500 four-door, five-seat copter.

  The wop, wop sound from the turning blades of the helicopter is blaring. I give all of my attention to flying, since I need both my hands and feet.

  “That wasn’t too bad,” Whitney speaks up an hour and a half later as I maneuver the helicopter to hover towards a private landing on a slope. She cocks her head in my direction. I can feel her eyes studying me as I operate the controls.

  “I told you,” I reply as I take great care to place the tail rotor in a position where it will strike the ground. I glance her way, and she raises her chin to meet my eyes. My chest begins to rise and fall with rapid breaths. “You take my breath away,” I say, before returning my attention to landing.

  She places a hand on my thigh. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a man and more.”

  Naturally, a smile curves around my lips at her revelation. I can’t wait to get her alone, so that I can have my way with her once again. I take off my seatbelt and earphones. I then assist Whitney with her seatbelt as she takes off her earphones and lays them aside. Our eyes meet and she licks her plump lips. I inhale sharply as the sexual tension sizzles between us like slow burning embers before catching into flame. It appears that flying high has hurled both us into a passionate spiral.

  “The ride home will be so much better,” I tell her, breaking the spell. I open my door and hop down to the ground. I trot around and open her door, wrapping my hands around her waist to help her out.

  “My legs are wobbly.” She laughs and holds on to my forearms for balance. She purses her lips and I can’t resist their sweetness as they lure me to do what I’ve wanted to do the entire ride here.

  “Maybe this’ll make it better.” My head swoops down to assault her lips with my own. At the very first touch of my lips, her eyes close and mine soon follow suit. I bring my right hand up to caress her right cheek and urge her to open her mouth to receive the exploration of my tongue. Her mouth opens beneath mine to allow my tongue inside to partake in her sweetness as our kiss deepens.

  “Ahem,” someone clears their throat, trying to get our attention.

  I reluctantly pull away from my tempting lady to see who is intruding on our private moment. “Henry,” I say to the driver, who I had forgot was meeting us at the landing strip to take us to my family’s private vacation home.

  “Good to see you again Hart,” Henry greets me.

  “Good to see you too.” I step forward to shake his hand and clasp him firmly on his shoulder. “Whitney,” I say looking back at her and she immediately steps to my side. “Henry Davis, this is my girlfriend, Whitney Martin.”

  “Nice to meet you, young lady,” Henry eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks from me to Whitney in surprise. His teeth gleam white against his dark, mahogany skin tone.

  “It’s good to meet you too,” Mr. Davis.”

  “You can call me Henry…just like Hart does,” he replies.

  “Only if you will call me Whitney or Whit for short,” she says.

  “I’ve never been one for messing up a beautiful name by shortening it, so Whitney it is,” Henry replies with a chuckle. “The car awaits,” he adds as he helps me remove the bags from the helicopter’s storage area to the black Rolls-Royce Phantom EWB.

  “Hart, just to give you a heads up. Your parents are planning some sort of fancy party tomorrow night,” he says as he drives towards the big Victorian style home on the coastal beach. From the outside, I appreciate the noncontemporary style and elegance of the beachfront houses and remember the fun times I had coming here during the summer as a teenager.

  “Thank you for the warning, Henry.” I glance sideways at Whitney. She remains silent and is peering straight ahead at the big white house that looms up the winding long driveway.

  “We’re here,” I say to Whitney as if she doesn’t see the obvious when the car comes to a stop in front of my parents’ large home.

  “I see,” she replies.

  Henry walks around to open the door. Whitney slides out and I follow.

  I place a comforting hand at the small of her back. “I’ll take the heaviest bag, Henry,” I say as I pick up Whitney’s bag and lead her towards the front door. Henry is close behind us.

  “The air even smells different here and the ocean looks magnificent from here,” Whitney says.

  “Yes, I think so too. On top of that, the beach and this entire neighborhood is very private and quiet.”

  “Are you telling me that your family owns their own private beach?” she asks.

  “Yes. Hopefully we can make use of it before we leave,” I whisper seductively in her ear. In that moment, Rosie, the head housekeeper opens the front door.

  “Hart,” she says and opens her arms to me.

  “Hello Rosie,” I step away from Whitney to embrace Rosie. She has also been with my family for at least fourteen years.

  “Who do you have with you?” Rosie eyes Whitney with curiosity.

  “This is Whitney Martin. The love of my life,” I reply.

  “Oh, my, is this the same girl you use to tell me about during the summers you came here as a teenager?

  “She’s one and the same.” I look down at Whitney and she has a bewildered expression on her face.

  “Welcome, Miss Martin,” Rosie turns toward Whitney with a friendly smile planted on her lips. Her aquamarine eyes twinkle.

  “I can’t believe you talked about me like that,” Whitney steps in closer to me and whispers as a blush infuses beneath her cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Miss Rosie,” Whitney says in a louder voice.

  “It’s a real pleasure meeting you, Miss Martin,” Rosie’s eyes crease at the corner as she steps aside for us to enter.

  “Wow.” Whitney’s eyebrows arch and her mouth gapes opens wide the moment we step through the front door of the spacious foyer.

  “You like?”

  “I love what I’ve seen so far and I’m sure I’ll like the rest.”

  “Wait until you see the twenty-two hundred square foot covered porch. I want you to see both the sunrise and sunset out there. I don’t know which is more beautiful, although they both are spectacular,” I add.

  “Your parents’ are in the parlor,” Rosie says.

  “I’ll see them a little later. I want to show Whitney to our room. I’ll take it from here,” I tell both Rosie and Henry. “I’m sure you both have more important things to do than to be bothered with me.”

  “You are never a bother, Hart. You’ve always been low maintenance. You never wanted anyone to wait on you hand and foot,” says Rosie.

  “Indeed,” Henry says and hands over the bags to me. Whitney picks up the smaller one. “He always has been an independent boy. You have a keeper here,” Henry adds, before I walk Whitney up the stairs to my bedroom. I don’t care how it looks, I want Whitney there.

  “This is it,” I say to Whitney once we enter my bedroom that has dark-colored blue accent walls and beautiful painted murals on the wall. There’s hardwood flooring, with a large, scattered rug gracing the floor. There is a custom made bed directly in the center of the room with accent pillows and two side tables placed on each side of the bed.

  “I can’t believe that you have a jukebox,” she toys with a curly lock of her hair.

  “Yeah.” I sit our bags down and look over at the jukebox sitting in the corner of the room. “It belonged to my grandfather. I had it restored a while ago and felt its rightful place was here, where I had so many great times with him.”

  “This house belonged to him?” She looks up at me with curiosity.

  “Yes, it did. He and my grandmother had many happy years here.” I
scratch the side of my close-cropped beard as I reflect inwardly on my grandparents. “The bathroom is through there if you need to use it.”

  We head down to the parlor to meet my parents. Whitney looks nervous and I anxiously reach for her hand to capture in my own. Marylyn and Hartland Strong Sr.’s conversation ceases as their eyes beam on the two of us standing in the parlor doorway. Maybe, I shouldn't have led Whitney into this meeting with my parent's blindly. But this is the only recourse. I didn't want to give either my parents or Whitney any room for backing out of this meeting.

  "Hartland," my father’s voice booms out as he stands to his full height. My mother stands beside him and a lackluster smile forms on her lips. I cringe at the full use of my name. I have always gone by the name Hart, even for business purposes, and he knows this.

  "Father and mother, I want you to meet my girlfriend, Whitney Martin," I say, looping my arm around her waist to pull her closer to my side. I can feel a tremble go through her body so I give her a firm squeeze for encouragement.

  "But what is the meaning of this, Hartland?"

  Yikes, my mother never calls me Hartland.

  "What do you mean, mother?" I amble over to stand before my parents with Whitney by my side. I release her briefly to embrace my mother and place a kiss against her cheek. "Father." I lean over to give him a hearty one-armed embrace.

  "Did you just say this is your girlfriend, son?" Both are my parents are giving Whitney and me a hard stare.

  "It's so nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Strong. You two have a very lovely home."

  "Thank you dear," my mother replies and my father indicates we should have a seat.

  "Forgive us, Miss Martin, is it?" My father’s brow arches haughtily.

  "Yes sir," Whitney answers, while fiddling with the small locket around her neck. "But you may call me Whitney." A shy smile forms on her lips.

  "Very well...Whitney, it is. Forgive our surprise at seeing you with our son. He didn't inform us that..."

  "Well, dear, what Hartland is trying to say is that he didn't expect a woman of color to be dating our son. I don't mean any disrespect, mind you."