by Zuri Day
“She was shaking like a leaf when I reached her,” Jansen finished. “Just a few minutes longer and . . .”
Eden put a hand on Jansen’s forearm. “You arrived just in time,” she said softly. “And thank God you did.” They were silent a moment. Jansen toyed with the few remaining bites of his homemade ravioli with a lobster ragout, while half of Eden’s cannelloni remained untouched. “Is that what had you in such a mood when I came home?”
Jansen nodded. “That and the fact that one of the boys I coach didn’t show up.”
“Coach?”
“Yeah, I’m doing a little basketball coaching for a city league, substituting for a friend whose mother-in-law is seriously ill.”
“That’s a nice way to give back to the community.”
“It’s not just that. But for the grace of God, and my uncle, I could have been one of these kids.” He told Eden about his former neighbor Nicki’s son, Cameron, and how mentoring the boy had been a positive experience for both of them. “The league is one of the few safe hangouts these kids have, and the coaches are sometimes the only positive role models. One of the boys—”
Jansen was interrupted by the waiter who came with dessert options. Eden was glad for the interruption. Her intense study of the dessert menu was actually a chance to tamp down the emotions that Jansen’s heartfelt observations elicited. This tender, sensitive side was the one she most loved but rarely saw. However, she was starting to put two and two together. She felt that his sometimes brash exterior was simply the armor that protected a very big heart.
“You were saying?” Eden prompted after the two decided to split a dish of tiramisu.
“Never mind that. I want to talk about us.”
“There’s no us, Jansen.”
“Not yet.”
His voice was effortlessly sexy, and the fierce attraction that always lingered just under Eden’s skin rose to the surface. But she hid it behind teasing. “Is this the part of the evening where seduction begins?”
“You’ve got a lot to learn, baby girl.” Jansen reached out for Eden’s hand that toyed with her water glass. He rubbed her pulse point with his thumb, noticed the fast pitter-patter. “I’ve been seducing you all evening.”
“Oh, really?” Eden used the pretense of picking up her water glass to disengage herself from Jansen’s touch.
“I don’t want to play games anymore, Eden. Do you want to be together or what?”
“What do you mean by ‘be together,’ exactly?”
Jansen’s long stare made Eden nervous. His face was an unreadable mask. A fine, perfectly sculptured, nana-wetting mask. “You know exactly what I mean, Eden,” he finally said.
Had the air gone out in the restaurant? Eden suddenly felt hot in all the wrong places. The years slipped away, and once again she felt like the thirteen-year-old bookworm with a crush on the star jock. “No, I don’t,” she shyly whispered.
At that moment, the waiter delivered a mouthwatering, layered concoction of spongy cake and mascarpone smelling like coffee and looking like heaven.
“Make that to-go,” Jansen told the waiter, his eyes still fixed on Eden’s face. “And bring me the check.”
“Why?” Eden asked.
“You said you didn’t know what being together meant. I figure I can show you better than I can tell you.”
18
“Where are we going?”
Jansen glanced over at Eden. He continued down Pacific Coast Highway without answering her question. He’d hardly said two words since the valet attendant had brought their car around.
“Jansen?”
“Will you just relax, Eden? I’ma take care of you, all right?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she mumbled under her breath.
But not far enough under. Jansen pulled the car to the side of the road, put the gear in park, and turned to face her. “Do you want us to call it a night?”
Yes! No! I don’t know. . . . Eden looked at Jansen, saw the smoldering desire just beneath the determined glare. Okay, no. Definitely, no. “I’m scared,” she whispered. Even before her true feelings were out, she wanted to snatch back the words.
“Of what, me?”
“No. Of this. . . .”
“Little garden, don’t you know that I’ve got you? I would never do anything to hurt you. I know this nice little stretch on the beach. Quiet. Isolated. I thought it would be a great place to talk and enjoy this beautiful evening. Talking is all we’ll do . . . if that’s what you want.”
A short time later, Jansen turned off onto a side street and pulled into a private parking area.
“Can we park here?” Eden asked, noting the private-property /tow-away signs. Then she realized what she was doing—not letting Jansen handle things. In this moment, she realized just how independent and self-contained she was. Not that these weren’t good traits, but with a man like Jansen, she could release the reins a bit. It would take some effort on her part. The last time she’d let someone else take control, it had ended badly.
“Those shoes are hella sexy, baby, but not much use in the sand, I’m afraid.” He’d already taken off his loafers and was removing his socks.
“I don’t know about going barefoot, Jansen. I can’t see what’s out there.”
“Girl, I remember a time when you didn’t mind dirt on your soles. Besides, this area is very clean, which is why I like it. It’s a private stretch of beach. I know the owner.” Jansen reached back for the dessert from the restaurant, exited the car, and walked around to Eden’s side of the car. He reached for her hand as they strolled toward the water. His large hand engulfed her smaller one.
Indeed, Eden felt safe and protected. She realized she could get used to this feeling and, for the first time, forced herself to not run away from the idea. The two remained silent as they continued walking near the shoreline. The brilliant reflection of the night’s full moon was magical, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was the perfect lovers’ sound-track. Jansen released Eden’s hand, put his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her to him. Eden’s arm found Jansen’s waist. They continued walking, listening to the night’s promise.
Jansen turned away from the water at the same time Eden noticed a small stone bench perched several feet from the sand. She imagined that in the daytime it provided one the ability to stare for hours at what she knew was a stunning view, and at night provided the perfect place for lovers to connect. Eden wondered how long Jansen had known about this spot and how many other women he’d brought up here.
His next comment was as if he’d read her mind. “I was just turned on to this place,” he said, sitting down and guiding her to sit right next to him. “A couple weeks ago. The owner approached me in a mall, said I looked liked the bodyguard he needed. I told him I wasn’t interested, that I had my hands full with police work, but he gave me his card and asked me to meet him here anyway. It was a pretty generous offer, one I might jump on one of these days. In the meantime, he told me to feel free to come here whenever. The first person I thought about bringing here was you.” Jansen turned and placed a light, tender kiss on Eden’s mouth. He then opened up the box of tiramisu, picked up a forkful, and placed it near Eden’s mouth. She took the bite and immediately closed her eyes to enjoy the flavors. They came together like a perfect symphony, the coffee bursting against her taste buds while the creaminess of the brandy-infused mascarpone melted on her tongue.
Jansen waited until Eden opened her eyes and then offered another bite. “Is it good?”
Eden nodded. “It’s amazing. Taste it.”
“Okay.” Before she could react, Jansen’s soft, cushiony lips had covered hers, and her mouth, opened in surprise, welcomed his tongue. Immediately, the squiggly feelings he often elicited came on full force. Her kitty throbbed with desire. Eden had never been so turned on in her life . . . especially from a simple kiss.
Except, this one was not so simple. Jansen turned her to face him more fully and
deepened his exploration. His tongue dueled with hers even as he lifted his head just enough to lick her lips and kiss the sides of her mouth before delving back inside. The tiramisu forgotten, Eden became Jansen’s sweet treat. He came away from her mouth, only to lick a trail to her ear and nibble her earlobe. His free hand scanned the top of her dress before his fingers reached inside and released a full, heavy breast from its confines. He rubbed his thumb over her already hardened nipple, hardening it more. His touch was feathery, bolstered by the feel of the soft ocean breeze against her skin. Eden shuddered under the assault, feeling herself grow wet. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. She’d fought the inevitable as long as she could but was now ready to have what she’d wanted for more years than she dared admit. She was ready to ignore her fears, lose the dare, do whatever it took to feel this man inside her. It had been four years since she’d made love—four long, lonely years. And now that her body had been fully awakened, she didn’t want to wait a moment longer.
“Jansen, please,” Eden panted when Jansen finally pulled away from her mouth.
“Mmmm, you taste so good,” he whispered, lifting her off the bench and onto his lap. “You feel so good.”
“It’s been a long time for me,” Eden continued as her breathing returned to normal.
“How long?”
“Since my divorce.”
Jansen was surprised but didn’t let it show. Yet it made the moment even more special, that after what she’d endured from her jerk of a husband, she would dare take a chance and share herself with him. He looked into her eyes, brushed errant strands of hair away from her face, and reached for the fork. While finishing the dessert, Eden opened up a bit more about her tumultuous marriage. Jansen listened, and his desire to protect Eden from ever being hurt again increased.
“Let’s go back to the house. This isn’t the right setting for what I have in mind.” Jansen reached for Eden’s hand, and they walked to the car.
“Jansen,” Eden said, once he’d helped her into the car and then slid into the driver’s side. “I have to ask. Are you seeing anybody else right now?”
“No. And I won’t be as long as you and I are kicking it.”
“Is that what we’ll be doing—just kicking it?”
“What do you want me to call it? Going steady?” When Jansen’s offbeat comment failed to lighten Eden’s suddenly somber mood, he continued. “Look, baby. I’m feeling you in a very real way. I want us to explore what’s happening. But remember, you’re not the only one with relationship scars. I have them, too. Which is why I will always keep it one hundred with you, Eden—no empty lies, no false promises. For now, that’s all I can offer. Is that enough?” When his question met with silence, Jansen continued. “Like I said earlier, we’ll go at your pace. But from here on out, just know that every time I look at your lips, or that body, I’m going to be thinking about how many ways I can make love to it, and for how long.”
Conversation ceased after that. Jansen turned on the stereo and let Maxwell help glide them home on pretty wings. He’d said all he could say. It would be on Eden to make the next move. That move came a block later when she placed a light hand upon his thigh. Jansen’s dick twitched its excitement and began to harden. He pressed on the gas.
“So, what’s the first one?” Eden asked softly.
Jansen placed his hand over the one that rested on his thigh. “The first what?” he asked, barely able to think of anything but Eden, naked and wet beneath him.
“The first way you’ll do it . . . make love.”
Jansen smiled. He lifted Eden’s hand to his lips and first kissed, then licked her palm. “The first way,” he began softly, “will be to spread your legs wide so I can take my time and acquaint myself with your lovely petal. Then we’re going to flow into whatever position allows me to bury myself the deepest into that flower.”
Eden shuddered and shifted positions to try to calm the fire that raged between her legs. Jansen must have been burning, too, she thought, because he exited the freeway at La Brea and sped through the neighborhood into Baldwin Hills like a man on a mission. He whipped into the driveway, turned off the car, and drew her into a mind-altering kiss. “Mmmm, let’s go inside. Let me get inside your paradise.” He unbuckled her seatbelt and was reaching for the door when he looked up at the house. He frowned. “Did you leave your light on?”
“I don’t remember,” Eden responded, not knowing or caring whether every light in metropolitan Los Angeles was on at this moment. It was taking all her restraint not to rip his clothes off in this driveway. She would screw this brothah’s brains out in broad-open daylight!
Jansen shook away the uneasy feeling and reached for the door again. Just then the porch light came on and the front door opened. Both he and Eden looked up, shocked at what they saw. Her verbal reaction was a question; his, a resigned statement.
“Michael?”
“Michael.”
Eden’s brother, Big Mike, had come home.
19
Michael Anderson came bounding off the steps and down the walkway. A huge smile was spread across his face as he reached the passenger side of Jansen’s SUV. “Little sis!”
Eden had recovered from the initial shock of Michael being home (the same shock that had instantly cooled her ardor) and warmly returned his smile. Even with his reprehensible timing, she was still glad to see the older brother she adored. She stepped out of the opened door and onto the sidewalk into Michael’s big bear hug. “Mikey!”
Michael lifted Eden off the ground and twirled her around. “Hey, weed,” he said, putting her back down. It was only then that he noticed how dressed up she was. He looked over at Jansen, who remained standing on the other side of the car. What Michael didn’t know was that something else was standing at attention, and Jansen couldn’t move until this something was at ease. Michael’s look was speculative and slightly confused as he gave a hand to his best friend. “J-Dog.”
“Big Mike,” Jansen responded rather woodenly. This was his best friend in all the world, but right now Michael Anderson was the last person Jansen wanted to see. He finally came around the car and grasped Michael’s hand as they did the standard brother-to-brother bump-shoulder hug. Jansen crossed his arms, his stance intimidating, even though, at five feet eleven, Michael was a bulky two-fifty. “This is a surprise.”
Michael slowly looked from Jansen to his sister. “I see,” he said slowly, eyeing Eden from her French-manicured toenails to her bone-straight hair. When he looked back at Jansen, he wasn’t smiling. “What’s going on, man?”
Eden could feel the tension and didn’t want anything to get out of hand. She knew these two men were closer than brothers, and they acted like it. She’d also witnessed plenty of arguments between them—a couple that had turned physical. She did not want now to be one of those times. “What’s going on, big brother,” Eden said lightly, linking her arm in his and turning him toward the door, “are two friends calling a truce after getting on each other’s nerves all week. We just came back from dinner.”
“Damn, where’d y’all eat? The White House?”
Eden laughed, but she was the only one. Michael again looked at Jansen, who did not return his stare. The three entered the house and walked into the living room. Michael and Eden sat on the couch, while Jansen occupied the oversize chair on the other side of the room. “Is that right, Jansen?” Michael asked him after they’d sat. “Y’all just having a little casual dinner that doesn’t look so casual?”
Jansen gave Eden another of his trademark unreadable expressions before looking at Michael. “If she says that’s what it was . . . that’s what it was.”
Eden wanted to walk over and slap Jansen upside the head. Geez, men and their egos! Why couldn’t he just follow the script? “What’s going on?” Eden sang jokingly. She playfully punched her brother. “Can we stop with the interrogation, Michael? You’re acting like I’m twelve years old!” She scooted over and t
wirled one of his locs in her hand. “Wow, your hair has grown a lot in the past six months! I bet they loved you over in London.”
Michael saw how much Eden wanted to change the subject and went along with it. There would be time enough to make sure Jansen hadn’t crossed the line with his baby sis. “I did all right,” he answered with a crooked smile. He looked over at Jansen. “How were things over here, dog? Any information on who might be robbing folks in the neighborhood?”
The atmosphere calmed, and the three slipped back into their familiar friendly flow as Jansen recounted the event with the elderly neighbor who lived on the block behind Michael.
“You talking about Sassy? Miss Mayleen Smith?”
Jansen smiled. “She told me everybody called her that. I thought she was teasing.”
“Naw, that’s what we all call her. Damn, man, I’m glad you jogged down her block. She’s the nicest woman you’d ever want to meet—never meets a stranger and would give you the shirt off her back.”
“Yeah, being nice almost got her raped, or worse.”
“I think I know the punk you’re talking about,” Michael said after a pause. “Short, bulky, dark-skinned dude, bald?”
“Not too bulky, and he was wearing a hooded shirt, but it could be who you’re thinking about.”
“I think they call him Pookie or Sookie or something. Him and some of his boys hang out by the 7- Eleven down the street.”
“His name is Terrell, Terrell Ford. He’s the grandson of one of Sassy’s best friends.” Jansen almost broke protocol and shared what he’d learned when he’d called the name in to the station—that Terrell had spent time in jail for attempted robbery and had been arrested on suspicion of sexual assault. The charges had been dropped after the woman refused to testify. “He probably won’t come back around for a while, and I told Miss Smith I’d check back in on her, but now that you’re home, try to keep an eye out also, if you can.”
“For sure, man.” All three were quiet a moment, absorbed with thoughts of surviving in an imperfect world. Michael got up and walked into the kitchen. “You want a beer?” he yelled.
