Within the Shadows

by Brandon Massey

  “Yes, yes, Andrew, baby, yes, yes, give it all to me, all of it, baby, pour into me.”

  He kept pumping into her, like a piston.

  “All of it . . . all of you,” she said.

  He emptied himself at last. He dropped against the floor. Panting. Sweat slicked his body.

  She finally released his wrists and slid onto the carpet beside him.

  Their labored breathing was the only sound in the room.

  He heard traffic in the distance, other people driving to homes and bedrooms.

  Although they lay on the floor, with no cushions, he didn’t want to move. He was as comfortable as if he were reclining on a plump mattress with silk sheets.

  She rested her hand on his chest. He twisted his fingers through her hair.

  “Never felt anything thing like that before,” he said. “Ever.”

  She was quiet, contemplative.

  “I saw something, Andrew,” she said.

  “What’d you see?”

  “We had a moment of truth.”

  “Come again?”

  “You’ve got them.”

  “Got what?”

  She touched his chin, turned his face toward hers. He had been expecting a humorous comment, but her expression was serious.

  “Soul mate eyes,” she said.

  He didn’t know what to say. He answered her with a kiss. And the kiss started things all over again.

  They moved throughout the suite, from the entry hall floor to a sofa, from the sofa to the dining room, from the dining room to, finally, the bedroom.

  Mika was by far the best lover he’d ever had: assertive yet compliant, gentle yet firm. Intuitively, she knew what he liked, and he had a sixth sense for what turned her on, too. Together, their energy was boundless.

  To think he’d considered declining her invitation to come to her room. He would’ve missed out on the most amazing night of his life.

  They lay together in a tangle of perspiration-dampened sheets. The air conditioner churned out waves of refreshing, cool air. A jasmine-scented candle burned on a nightstand, making the bedroom flicker in light and shadow, like a place in a dream.

  She curled her leg against his. “You never responded to my discovery, Andrew.”

  “About what?”

  “Don’t play the fool. It doesn’t suit you. You know what I mean.”

  “If you think I have soul mate eyes, I just don’t know how to answer that. I mean, it’s flattering.”

  “Merely flattering?”

  He sounded lame. But what did she expect him to say? That he believed she was his soul mate, too? He’d met her less than twenty-four hours ago.

  “I don’t have the same philosophy you do about soul mates,” he said.

  “Meaning?”

  “For me, it takes more than looking into a woman’s eyes at a moment of truth or whatever to know whether she’s my soul mate. I need to spend time with her, get to know her as a friend and a lover.”

  “How much time?”

  “As long as it takes. Can’t put a deadline on it.”

  “Have you ever experienced anything like what you experienced with me this evening?”

  He chuckled. “Hell, no.”

  “So doesn’t that count for something?”

  “It counts for a lot. But a relationship is based on more than great sex.”

  She sighed. “You’re right. But you’re wrong.”

  “How am I wrong?”

  “Certainly, a relationship is more than fantastic sex. But it doesn’t take long for a man to figure out whether a woman is the one.”

  “I never said you weren’t the one. But I need more time to get to know you. We’ve known each other for only a day, Mika.”

  “Stop thinking so analytically. Listen to your heart. The heart has its own time frame.”

  “Right.” He dragged his hand down his face.

  She raised her elbow, propped her head on her hand. “I’ve upset you.”

  “Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

  “Agreed.” She laid her head on the pillow. “Tell me. Have you ever been in love?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “Couple of years ago.”

  “Why did it end?”

  “Her job sent her to London, and she wasn’t going to be coming back anytime soon, and I didn’t want to move overseas. So we called it quits.”

  “How did you feel?”

  “Terrible. Like my life was over.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” She shivered. “I don’t know anything more painful than suffering a broken heart.”

  He took one of her hands in his. “What about you?”

  “It’s been many years since I was in love. My fiancé was murdered.”

  He raised his head. “Are you serious?”

  Her eyes sad, she nodded.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said. “Who did it? Were they arrested?”

  “No one was ever brought to justice. I know who was responsible for it, though he never admitted it. My father.”

  “Your own father?”

  “As I said at dinner, my father was wealthy, a respected physician. He paid someone to kill the man whom I loved.”

  “Why the hell would he do something like that?”

  “I was an only child, Andrew. I was going to inherit my father’s estate. If I married, of course, my husband would have substantial influence in the matters of the estate, as well. My father didn’t approve of the man I loved.”

  “Why?”

  “My father was a horrible bigot. He was a white man, the worst kind of Southern cracker, as some people call them. My fiancé was black. For a time, we hid our relationship from my father. You can imagine his reaction when he finally discovered that we planned to marry.

  “He didn’t want a black man marrying into his money,” Andrew said.

  “He was a cruel man. I know it sounds awful to say this, but I’m glad that he’s dead. I’ll never forgive him.”

  She trembled. He pulled her into his arms and held her.

  She wept softly against his chest.

  “All I want,” she said, “is to feel love like that again. Needing love . . . hoping for it . . . it’s kept me alive.”

  “Shhh. Everything’s going to be all right.” She was so beautiful that it was easy to assume she’d lived a charmed life of luxuries and endless blessings. But everyone had scars, some of which never faded.

  He found himself wanting to be the one who she could love again. Wanting her to be the one for him, too. Although it had been two years since he had been in love, it felt as if it had been so long ago that it might have been in another life.

  But he’d known her for only one day. He couldn’t throw open the floodgates of his heart, not yet, even if he’d wanted to do so. Rushing into a relationship never had been his style. He liked to gradually move deeper inside, gaining confidence with every slow step, letting the emotional barriers fall as he progressed. The journey took time. And sometimes he decided that it wasn’t worth the effort and withdrew.

  He would have to be careful with her. She’d lost her fiancé, probably had never recovered from the trauma, and talked as if she craved love the same way other people craved food. She’d passionately shared her body with him. To top it off, she’d announced that he had “soul mate eyes.”

  The humming air conditioner couldn’t produce cool air fast enough to dry the fresh sweat that beaded his forehead.

  What if he wasn’t able to reciprocate her feelings? He didn’t want to hurt her, was loathe to lead her on.

  But you slept with her. You’ve done a pretty fine job of leading her on, Andrew. I warned you to take it slow. It’s too late to have second thoughts.

  She turned onto her side. She pulled his arm across her body, placed his hand on her breasts.

  “Hold me,” she said.

  He scooted up to her, so that they lay together like sp
oons. She purred, like a contented cat.

  Maybe she was his soul mate. Maybe he only needed to wake up to a truth that she had already glimpsed, catch her vision. In matters of the heart, women usually were more intuitive than men.

  Maybe he would look at her one day and realize that she had soul mate eyes, too.

  The next morning, Andrew awoke to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  He sat up, rubbed his eyes. Grayish daylight filtered through the bay windows.

  It took him a moment to recognize his surroundings. He was in Mika’s suite at the Ritz-Carlton.

  He was alone in the bedroom. He heard sizzling sounds; the scent of bacon wafted to his nose, making his stomach growl.

  He checked the time. The clock on the nightstand read 8:12.

  On any other Wednesday, he’d be finishing his workout by now and getting ready for breakfast. His schedule was shot for the day.

  But it didn’t bother him, since it was for a good reason. The memory of last night sent a warm tingle through his body.

  He pulled away the sheets. He’d slept in the nude.

  A set of blue men’s silk pajamas lay on a chair beside the bed, with matching house slippers.

  “Hmm, how thoughtful.” He dressed in the pajamas and wandered into the bathroom.

  A supply of toiletries sat on the left side of the dual-sink vanity: toothbrush, Scope cool mint mouthwash, Aquafresh toothpaste, Right Guard antiperspirant. The packages were brand new, unopened.

  Interesting. He used the same brands at home.

  Female toiletries that clearly had been used by Mika lay on the other side of the vanity.

  It was coincidence that she’d bought the stuff he used all the time. Had to be.

  He brushed his teeth and washed up.

  He found Mika in the kitchenette, cooking. She wore a blue nightgown that ended above her knees; it was the same color as his bedclothes. Her long hair dangled in a ponytail.

  “Good morning,” he said. He kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for the pjs and the toothbrush and stuff.”

  “Morning, baby.” She smiled brightly. “The nightclothes look good on you.”

  “When did you buy them?”

  “Oh, I went shopping yesterday afternoon.” She winked. “In case a certain gentleman decided to spend the night. A lady has to be prepared, correct?”

  Nodding, he went to the coffee machine on the counter. He poured some coffee in a mug. “Coffee smells good.” He took a sip. “Tastes good, too.”

  “Does it taste familiar? It should.”

  “Hmm. Actually, it does.”

  “It’s Jamaican Blue Mountain.”

  “Really? That’s my favorite.”

  “I know.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You say so on your Web site, on your biography page. Ten of Mark Justice’s favorite things. I printed the list.”

  “You did some research.”

  “Yep.” She transferred several strips of bacon to a platter, and began to whip a bowl of eggs with an eggbeater. “You can have a seat in the dining room, darling. The newspaper is there. Breakfast will be ready shortly.”

  The mahogany table was set for two. The day’s edition of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution lay in the center, neatly folded.

  But the sections had been rearranged: the Sports section was first, followed by Business, Living, Metro, and lastly, the front news page.

  His eyebrows knitted together.

  He read the paper in this exact order, each weekday morning.

  Well, so what? She must’ve skimmed the paper earlier, shuffled the sections around. There was no way she could possibly know the order in which he read the daily paper; that kind of personal information definitely was not posted on his Web site.

  As he read a story about the Hawks gearing up for the coming season, she came to the table carrying platters of food.

  He started to rise. “Need help with anything?”

  “No, no. Don’t you move. I’ve got everything covered.”

  She served him a generous helping of eggs, bacon, and smothered potatoes. Two slices of toast with butter and grape jelly. A tall glass of orange juice.

  “This looks delicious,” he said. “You’ve got all the breakfast foods I love.”

  “Thank you. I love to cook. You should see what I can do at dinner.”

  “You can burn, huh?”

  “I don’t want to boast, but yes, I can burn.” She smiled, sipped her orange juice. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight, at your house? I’ll cook whatever you like.”

  He stroked his chin. “I think I’ll be free this evening. But . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “But what?”

  He chose his words carefully. He wasn’t good at conversations like this.

  “Mika, I like you a lot. I really enjoyed last night, I’m enjoying this morning, too. But I don’t want us to rush things.”

  She stared at him, jaw clenched.

  “So what are you saying?” she asked. “That you don’t want to see me again?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what do you mean, Andrew?”

  “I want us to take this slow. Take our time getting to know each other, that’s all. But I definitely want to see you again.”

  The tension vanished from her face. She smiled.

  “Oh, darling,” she said. “More of that cautious man-speak.” She rose from her chair and sauntered around the table. She sat on his lap, her face inches from his. She crossed her arms behind his head and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  The closeness of her body was like an aphrodisiac. His erection throbbed into life.

  She ground her pelvis against him, gently and insistently, as if to remind him of last night. Drawing shallow breaths, he grew brick-hard.

  “That big rational brain of yours says one thing, Andrew. It says, ‘Let’s slow down, I’m not sure we’re doing the right thing here.’ But your body is speaking a different language. Do you know what it’s saying?”

  Her nightgown had a plunging neckline; he lost the battle to keep his gaze off the tempting swell of her cleavage. “What’s it saying?”

  “Your body says, ‘I want to be with Mika tonight. I want to be with her all the time. Being with her is like heaven on Earth.’ ”

  “You’re bad. Using your body like this. Like a weapon.”

  “I’ve no qualms about using my charms.” She moved closer and whispered in his ear: “You know you want this pussy again. I’ll fuck you even better tonight, baby. Make you want to call your mama.”

  She raked her nails down the back of his scalp—vividly recalling for him how her fingers had skidded down his naked back last night.

  He broke into a grin. This woman was something else.

  “Looks like I’ll be seeing you this evening, then,” he said.

  “That’s my baby.” She kissed him, and climbed off his lap. “I’ll be back.”

  She strutted away. He admired the sensuous roll of her hips.

  He took a sip of orange juice, to try to calm his body down. But it didn’t help. The truth was, she had him whipped. Nose wide open. The amazing sex, the loving attention, the promise of more to come—he couldn’t resist. Besides, spending two consecutive nights together wasn’t a big deal. Was it?

  You know the real answer, Andrew.

  They were moving too fast. He knew it. Mika was in deep, convinced that he was her soul mate, and she was determined to reel him in. The wise thing to do was to slow down, not see her tonight, and wait a few days before going on another date.

  But he couldn’t wait. He wanted her too much.

  He felt like a junkie unable to refuse a hit.

  She came back to the table. She carried a small cardboard box.

  “What’s that?” he said.

  “A gift for you.” The box had been opened. She dug inside, took out a red Motorola two-way pager.

  “This is for me?” he asked.
>
  “So we can stay in touch throughout the day.” She took another identical pager out of the box. “This one is mine.”

  “But I keep my cell phone with me all the time. You can reach me on that.”

  “Everyone has your cell number, baby. These pagers will be our private connection to each other, our secret bond.” Excitement filled her voice. “Go ahead, turn it on.”

  He pressed the power button. Pressing buttons on her own pager, she went to the other side of the table.

  His pager vibrated. A message appeared on the display.

  YOU’VE GOT SOUL MATE EYES.

  He looked up, smiled thinly at her. She was grinning.

  What had he gotten himself into?

  Part Two

  LOVE CRAZY

  Women accused him of running from love and commitment. He never

  could make them understand that he wasn’t running from them. He

  was running from the fear of losing himself in them. His freedom was

  all he had. Take that away, you might as well take his life.

  —Mark Justice, One Night

  Chapter 11

  Of all the things in the world that Raymond disliked, going to the doctor was near the top of the list.

  Doctors reminded him of illness, of his advancing age, of the looming specter of Death. Instead of dressing in white lab coats and stethoscopes, physicians, in his opinion, would have been more honestly represented wearing black robes and gripping devilishly sharp scythes.

  But his wife had scheduled this Wednesday morning appointment for him, and he had promised her that he would go. He hoped that some good would come of it. He hadn’t enjoyed a sound night of sleep in weeks. If nothing else, he could get a prescription of sleeping pills that might allow him to slumber without nightmares.

  His longtime physician, Dr. Michael Unaeze, worked out of an office in Stone Mountain, on Columbia Drive. Dr. Unaeze was a compact, bespectacled man who spoke in a measured voice that carried a hint of his Nigerian roots.

  “So your wife says you haven’t been sleeping well,” the doctor said, hands on his hips. “She’s worried about you.”