by Zuri Day
“That’s what you’ll have to come downstairs to find out.” Jansen tilted Eden’s chin and ran a rough thumb over her soft lips. His eyes darkened as he stared at them. Eden swallowed, tried to breathe, and removed his hand from her face. “Don’t take too long. Dinner’s ready.”
Later, Eden would ponder why she’d felt the need to change clothes before joining Jansen downstairs, but she had. Nothing fancy, just a long, print dress she often donned when she wanted to look casually chic. Its slinky, no-wrinkle fabric and comfortable cut made it one of her favorites. She’d never thought it sexy. But the way Jansen looked at her when she came down the stairs had her rethinking that opinion.
“Something smells good.” Eden started for the kitchen, but Jansen reached for her hand and directed her to the dining room instead. She turned the corner and stopped short. “Jansen, you didn’t have to do this.”
“I know. But I wanted to.”
The dining room table had been set with plates, silverware, wineglasses, and folded napkins. A dozen roses—or eleven, as one was resting in a mini vase upstairs—was the vibrant centerpiece, and a bottle of red wine stood next to it, uncorked and breathing. It had been years since anyone had treated Eden special. Her heart expanded, but she quickly tried to banish the flame. This was Jansen McKnight, her tormentor from high school, the lady-killer and basketball player who’d scattered broken hearts from the Valley to Orange County. And don’t forget the double-dog dare. Jansen is the ultimate competitor and always plays for keeps.
She pulled her hand from Jansen’s and walked to the other side of the table. The best defense is a good offense. Aware that his eyes were probably trained on one of her best assets, she swayed her hips seductively and lowered her voice to a soft, husky tone. “This is nice, Jansen.” She turned and cocked her head. “Is it part of your seduction?”
An unreadable look scampered across Jansen’s face, but before Eden could analyze it, she was met with his cocky smile. “I guess we’ll see.” He stepped forward and poured wine into the stemmed glasses.
“What? You’re having some of this sissy drink?”
“A nod to my sensitive side,” Jansen replied with a wink. He handed Eden her glass and lifted his in a toast. “To peace offerings.”
Eden raised her brows. “Peace? Hear, hear.”
Jansen’s eyes never left Eden’s as he took a tentative sip. He grimaced as it went down.
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s all right.”
“It’s an acquired taste that gets better over time.”
“Many things do. . . .” The look Jansen gave Eden before leaving the room suggested he wasn’t talking about the merlot.
Moments later, he returned with two piping-hot plates. A tantalizing aroma tickled Eden’s nostrils as soon as the food was set before her. “There’s no meat in these dishes?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“No beef or chicken stock, no bouillon cubes or lard?”
“The only meat on this table is the chicken on my plate. The sausage in the dressing is that fake stuff y’all dare call meat.”
“The soy sausage must have covered the smell of the chicken you cooked.”
“I picked up a rotisserie chicken at the market—figured I’d already made you sick enough for one day.”
“Wow, you did think of everything.”
“I’m admittedly a knucklehead sometimes, but I know how to come correct.”
Eden picked up her fork and tasted the soy-sausage dressing. It had a perfectly crispy crust while being moist and flavorful in the middle. She kept herself from moaning aloud, but just barely. Next, she tried the vegetable medley of carrots, pearl onions, snap peas, and corn, surprised to taste fresh herbs amid the creamy sauce. Lastly, she took a bite of fluffy mashed potatoes. Had Jansen really prepared this dinner, or was one of their grandmothers in the kitchen?
“Well?” Jansen asked, preferring fingers to silverware as he finished off a crispy chicken leg.
Eden finished chewing and took a sip of wine. “At the risk of having this thrown in my face for the rest of her life,” her smile belied the sarcasm in her words, “it’s delicious.”
“What happened between you and your ex-husband?”
Eden stopped in midchew. The abrupt change in subject caught her completely by surprise. She swallowed her food and wiped her mouth. “Where’d that come from?”
“From wanting to know. It’s true that we mix like oil and water most of the time, but you know I care about you.”
“My marriage isn’t something I often discuss.”
Whoever this fool was, he must have hurt her bad. Jansen’s muscles flexed involuntarily. Aside from being a classic alpha male, Jansen was proficient in the martial arts. His hands were classified as lethal weapons, and one would not want to cross him in the wrong way on the wrong day. In that moment, a wave of protectiveness rose up, and Jansen recognized the vulnerability behind Eden’s feisty facade. Don’t play with Eden’s emotions. She’s been through enough. As Michael’s words ran through his mind, Jansen figured that “enough” had come at the hands of her ex. He shifted in his chair to hide the discomfort that came from this unexplainable need to make sure no one hurt Eden again.
“I can understand you wanting to keep the door closed on bad memories,” Jansen said, feeling Eden might open up if he first talked about his own failed marriage. “I surely could go the rest of my life without seeing my ex-wife.”
Eden relaxed against the back of the dining room chair and picked up her glass of wine. “Well, I’d sure like to meet the woman who caught the cougar.”
Jansen smiled at Eden’s reference to the Crenshaw High mascot.
“How did you two meet?”
“In the service, initially. We were both part of the peacekeeping mission in Somalia, back in ’93. She was in the army, and when her platoon got reassigned, we lost contact. Later, we met again in Chicago.”
“How you’d end up in the Windy City?”
“A friend of mine recruited me to be a part of a special-units team on the south side. I didn’t have anything in particular calling me back to LA, so I joined him there. Maybe subconsciously I remembered that was where Yolanda was from.” Jansen shrugged. “We ended up running into each other at a party and were married six months later.”
“Wow. The attraction must have been intense.”
“Physically, yes. But I quickly learned that good sex isn’t enough to hold a marriage together.”
“Any kids?”
Jansen sighed. “No. I wanted to, but . . .”
“You still want to be a father?” Eden softly asked, intrigued by this side of Jansen she was seeing for the first time.
Jansen shrugged again. There was only so much of one’s sensitive side an alpha male could reveal in one night.
“Gregg was my college sweetheart,” Eden began into the silence. “Met him in my sophomore year. I thought he was my soul mate, the father of my children, and the one I’d swing with on the porch when we got old.” She looked at Jansen with a bittersweet smile. “We dated for five years before getting married. I thought I knew him. But he changed.”
“What happened?”
“That’s a long story, but the short version is that behind his well-crafted, gentlemanly image was a closet asshole.”
“He hit you?”
Eden’s nod was almost imperceptible.
“More than once?”
“Does it matter how many times I was assaulted?” she snapped before continuing in a calmer voice. “Actually, the verbal jabs hurt more and lasted longer than the physical ones. I was one of the most highly respected aides on Capitol Hill, yet my self-esteem was in shreds by the time my marriage ended.” Eden visibly swallowed and drained the rest of her wine.
Jansen rose and walked around to Eden’s side of the table. “I’m sorry you went through that, little garden,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders.
Eden tensed. “Th
at’s all right, Jansen.” She started to rise.
“Whoa, relax, it’s okay. You’re as tight as a drum. You’ve been tense all evening. And for the part I played in that, again, I apologize.”
“I’ve endured worse. I’ll be all right.”
Jansen’s firm fingers kneaded the knot at the nape of Eden’s neck and were surprisingly gentle as he massaged her temples. He ran his fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp as if he’d been born to do it. Eden didn’t try to stop the moan this time. Jansen’s manhood twitched at the sound, but he ignored it, kept his attention on the task at hand. “Trust me when I tell you, baby girl. You’re nobody’s weed. You’re the rarest of flowers, whose fragrance and beauty is beyond compare.”
Eden closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax under Jansen’s expert ministrations. This beautifully orchestrated evening may well have been designed as part of his seduction plan. But at this moment, with the warmth of the wine in her belly and Jansen’s hands on her skin, Eden simply didn’t care.
10
“I love the ocean. The vibration is simply amazing! Isn’t it?” Bright green eyes, sparkling and animated, turned in Eden’s direction.
“Yes, Ariel.” Eden laughed. “It’s amazing.”
Ariel Sun was the name that former Nebraska native Betsy Meeks had adopted as part of her transition from meat-eating farm girl to new-age vegan psychic nymph. She and Eden had met at the yoga studio where Eden had purchased a membership, and—after discovering they both loved art films, rice cream, and Egyptian singing star Amr Diab and had both spent time living in DC’s world of politics (Betsy’s uncle had worked in the House of Representatives)—a friendship was born. To others, Ariel may have been viewed as, well, an airhead, but to Eden she was a refreshing breeze. While the days since her last argument with Jansen had been relatively peaceful—a truce of sorts—his was still a commanding, domineering presence, his very physique that of unyielding brute force. And then there was the gun Jansen insisted on keeping close to him, even in the house. He’d told her it was a habit born out of his years in the military and time spent in law enforcement. “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people,” he’d told her when she’d asked if the offensive piece of metal could stay in his room and out of her sight. “People with guns kill more people than those without them,” Eden had retorted. And then she’d thought of some of the things she’d seen and heard in hallowed political chambers. Well, maybe not, she’d thought but not voiced.
Eden came out of her reverie and realized Ariel had asked her a question. “I’m sorry, Ariel . . . a lot on my mind.”
“No worries, my friend,” she replied, the singsong quality of her voice at once festive and calm. “Everything is always in divine order, even that which appears chaotic.”
“Yes, well, my life will be much calmer once I move into my place. One week to go. I can’t wait.” They found a bench and sat down. Eden watched a flock of seagulls glide effortlessly over the sparkling blue water. They formed a near-perfect V and flew with the freedom of not having a care in the world. Eden watched them until they seemed to fly into the sun. I want to feel as free as that.
“Why is your life not calm now?” Ariel asked. She effortlessly crossed her ultra-skinny legs into the lotus position and turned to face her.
“My temporary roommate isn’t woo-woo,” Eden answered, using her favorite word to describe people who lived holistically, or some semblance thereof.
“And that affects your peace because . . .”
“Because he’s a gun-toting, meat-eating, classic alpha male I’ve known since childhood—my brother’s best friend.”
“What a beautiful place to shine your light, Eden—to cast your positive thoughts in and around his energy field, viewing not the illusion of his rough personality, but the perfect essence of his highest self.”
Eden picked at a splinter of wood on the table and pondered Ariel’s words. Jansen’s “illusive” personality was so in-your-face it was hard to ignore. Yet she’d seen flashes of another being inside him, the one who’d thoughtfully prepared a vegetarian meal, rubbed away her tension with caring hands, and bought her a copy of House Party because he remembered her crush on Kid ’N Play. “If I’m too nice to him, he’ll take it the wrong way,” she finally said.
“We’re responsible for only our actions, not someone else’s reaction. Are you afraid of your love for him?”
Eden’s head jerked up. “Love?” she asked incredulously.
Ariel’s laugh was light and melodic, floating on the air like crystal chimes. “Don’t worry, Eden. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“It’s not like that at all, Ariel. Jansen is like a brother to me, so of course I love him. But not in the way you mean.”
“Well, then,” Ariel sang, an impish smile on her face, “you can shower him with lots and lots of brotherly love and not worry about a thing.”
Later that night, when Eden entered the house to find a shirtless, barefoot Jansen reclined on the couch like an African god awaiting palm fronds and grapes, she recalled Ariel’s statement and Cheshire–like grin. Eden tossed out a hurried “hello” and escaped up the stairs, knowing that as long as that six-foot-four-inch candy bar was anywhere near her, and that damnable dare was still on the table, there’d be plenty of worrying to do.
11
Jansen hadn’t intended to play the role of voyeur. He’d waited until eight-thirty, and when he still heard no sounds coming from Eden’s room, he’d knocked on the door. No answer. Again, a little louder. Still nothing. He’d almost pounded his fist against the wood, but something stopped him. A memory. And then more. With a wicked smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, Jansen had eased open the door and crept inside with the stealth of a panther, intent on scaring the living daylights out of Eden as he’d done countless times in their childhood. He’d almost laughed out loud as he’d eyed Eden’s fully covered body in a round heap near the center of the mattress. She still slept as he’d remembered, with the sheet pulled all the way over her head, even in summer, as it was now. It had felt like he was seven again, when he’d placed the plastic eyeball in the bottom of her oatmeal, or ten, when he’d played the prank that had almost made his grandmother pull a switch off the tree. With the observational development honed when one’s life depended on it, Jansen quickly scanned the room and took in the reason for Eden’s deep slumber—a near-empty wine bottle standing next to a partially eaten bowl of popcorn. An O magazine shared space on the nightstand, its cover partially hidden by an open DVD case. Boyz in the Hood. Jansen smiled. Oh, so you’re going down memory lane, too, huh? The menacing smile returned as he took one step toward his prey, and then another. Then something happened. Eden turned over.
The delectable picture she painted stopped him in his tracks. Her thick black hair lay splayed across the stark, white pillows, a hint of something soft and pink peeking out from the top of the sheet while a long, darkly tanned leg peeked out from the bottom. Long eyelashes formed a shadow on her upper cheeks, and when she moved her head and licked her lips, years of abject discipline through his years of martial arts were the only reason Jansen didn’t grow hard. He knew he needed to break the spell she seemed to be weaving around him, knew he should shout her name or clear his throat or in some way make his presence known, but Jansen couldn’t seem to stop staring at her. Usually when they encountered each other, it was among a swirl of activity or argument. Now, with Eden quietly uninhibited, he was able to study a face that for years he’d all but ignored, surprised and awed that he could have missed something so exquisite growing up in his own backyard. Jansen knew it was time to wake Eden before he did something he wanted to do even though it was totally irrational—run his tongue up the length of her creamy, dark caramel leg to the treasure that lay hidden beneath five hundred threads of Egyptian cotton.
“Eden!” Jansen barked as if he were preparing to issue a military order.
Eden frowned, moaned, and turned over.
“Go away,” Eden growled while pulling the sheet over her head.
“Not a chance,” Jansen replied as he headed to the window. Waves of sunshine poured into the room’s east-facing glass. “No one told you to play the wino role last night,” Jansen scolded as he yanked the sheet away from Eden’s face.
“Boy, I’m not playing.” Once again, Eden disappeared under cotton. “You have no business in here. Get out of my room!”
Jansen adopted his trademark wide-legged stance. He scowled down at the prone form that dared defy him. “Last week I let you off easy. We ran only one mile. You promised that this week you’d give me two.”
Silence.
“You’ve got three seconds to take that sheet off your face, or I’m picking you up and dumping you into a cold shower. One . . .”
Eden stifled a groan. She knew he would do it.
“Two . . .”
“Jansen, get out of my room. I’m not running anywhere.”
“Maybe not next week, but you’re running today. A promise is a promise.”
Eden released the groan this time but didn’t uncover her head. “Fine! I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Uh-uh. I remember your minutes. Like when me and Michael had to wait to walk you home because Tanesha Brown was gonna beat you up for talking about her mama. You told us you’d be out in ‘just a minute,’ and we almost missed practice waiting on your scared behind.” Without further warning, Jansen closed the distance between him and the bed, scooped up Eden, and headed to the shower.
“Jansen!” Eden screamed, fighting to release the left arm entwined in the sheet while her right arm flailed awkwardly against a hard-as-steel chest. “Put me down!”
Jansen allowed Eden’s feet to touch the floor but still held a firm arm around her waist as he reached over and turned on the water. He tried not to focus on the softness of the body squirming against his hard, lean frame, tried not to feel the silky hair brushing against his bare skin.
