Hitts & Mrs.

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  Fifteen minutes later, Melanie stepped out of the elevator, looking every bit as cool, regal, and confident as the mystical girl from Ipanema. Dressed in a chic linen shirt and slacks and low-heeled sandals, to John’s eyes she was the personification of everything she’d described this afternoon—a classy and elegant woman wrapped in understated sophistication, but alive with color and sensuality. Judging by the admiring looks of the males populating the hotel lobby, he wasn’t alone in his thinking.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, speaking for them all. Instinctively John took Melanie’s arm and, with pride for a prize he did not rightfully possess, escorted her though the lobby, secretly reveling in the stares of admiration, curiosity, and envy their appearance as a couple generated.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as the car sped away.

  “On a cruise to nowhere. I thought we’d do a little stargazing,” he answered, locking eyes with her. Eight minutes later the sedan pulled up at the Miami Beach Marina. They exited the car and the driver handed John a small package from the front seat. Melanie could hear the gentle lapping of water against wood as they walked the length of the dock toward the last slip. Docked there was a luxurious 115-foot private yacht, with the name SunFire emblazoned on its stern.

  “Yours?” Melanie asked in wide-eyed amazement as they climbed aboard.

  “A friend’s.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I understand that short of the soon-to-be-built Casa de Arte, this is the best venue around for bathing in starlight. And as someone once told me, there isn’t a more romantic place to have dinner than under the stars,” John said with a wink.

  The idea of spending a romantic night under the stars sent a swift, apprehensive chill through her body. Quickly Melanie tried to analyze her emotions. Immediately she ascertained that the shiver was not caused by fear, but more by the delicious agitation that came with entering unknown and forbidden territory. Additionally, a large cause of her anxiety was firmly rooted in the fact that ever since she was a child, Melanie got violently seasick at the mere thought of stepping onto a boat.

  “Where’s the restroom?” Mel asked, hoping like hell that such a remarkable marine vessel would have a well-stocked medicine cabinet. John directed her downstairs before slipping up to the pilothouse to talk with the captain.

  Melanie strolled past the four other cabins and entered what looked to be the master stateroom. She stepped into what could be mistaken for the finest suite in any plush five-star hotel. The design schematic was impeccable, combining the utility of built-in teak cabinetry with a tasteful tone-on-tone cream color palette. Mel quickly entered the full bath, amazed that even on the high seas one did not have to give up the luxury of a hot shower or deep whirlpool bath. She opened the medicine cabinet, which was fully stocked with various personal sundries. She rummaged around and quickly struck gold—a package of motion-sickness pills. She studied the box, dismayed to find that these were not the nondrowsy formula.

  She quickly swallowed two tablets when she heard the motor revving. Deciding that it was better to be sleepy than nauseous, she hurried back up on deck. John joined her at the bow as the yacht gracefully exited the slip and headed out into the Atlantic Ocean. She took a refreshing breath as she witnessed the beauty of Miami at night. The sun had set over an hour ago in a glory of red, pink, and orange streaks. In its place was left a dark slate packed with bright stars to compete with the artificial twinkle of the city lights. A crescent moon dangled in the sky, its silvery light rippling across the ocean waves. It was an awe-inspiring setting—one that fueled the imagination with fairy-tale fantasies. Mel unconsciously wrapped her arms around her body as if donning a layer of protective armor.

  “I think, in the sight of something so magnificent,” John said as he turned to face the lovely woman beside him, “any and all misdemeanors should be forgiven, don’t you?” As he went on to explain the impetus behind his mood and actions from the Vogue Belize to the Luz de la Estrella, Mel’s earlier anger quickly turned into sincere concern. She listened as he admitted his feelings of professional insecurity and jealousy, of admiration for her talent and remorse for his actions, and with each divulgence Melanie’s heart grew more full.

  “You know, all of this—the yacht, dinner—is really unnecessary,” Mel told him. “All I really wanted to hear was that you were sorry. You’d be amazed how effective those simple little words, when delivered with sincerity, can be.”

  John paused as he looked deep into her eyes. “I am sorry. Will you please accept my apology?” he asked contritely, using words he hadn’t uttered in years. After sharing his innermost emotions with Melanie, John was spent and at the same time exuberant. It felt so liberating to release the burden of his pent-up feelings. What about this woman brought out a tender, vulnerable side to him that even his wife couldn’t?

  “Yes, on one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “Don’t shut me out like that again. We’re partners on this project. If something is bothering you, talk to me. I will understand, but don’t leave me to play guessing games.”

  “I’ll never do that to you again, I promise,” John said tenderly.

  “Don’t do it to anyone you love.” The words slipped out of her mouth before Melanie could silence them. She hadn’t meant to infer that John loved her, but that was exactly what her comment sounded like, and, to be bluntly honest, what his actions felt like. “I, uh…mean…you know, your wife, friends, whoever, it’s not fair to shut out anyone who cares about you.”

  “Mr. Carlson. Ms. Hitts. Your dinner is ready,” the chef announced, allowing Melanie to gracefully exit the uncomfortable verbal hole she’d fallen into.

  “Thank you.” John led Melanie back to the SunFire’s aft, where tucked away in the corner stood an impressively set table for two, replete with soft flickering candlelight, safely encased in a glass hurricane lamp.

  “How many people are onboard with us?” Mel inquired, realizing that they had dropped anchor at some point during their conversation.

  “Just two—the captain and chef. I didn’t think we’d need a full staff.”

  “No, two is just enough.” Melanie had to stop herself from letting out a huge “whew” as she accepted a glass of red wine. Since stepping aboard, she could feel her morning game of good news/bad news turning all bad. But with crew members along as unofficial chaperones on this romantic ride, Melanie felt much more confident that she could keep her lustful desires in check.

  “I hope you’re hungry. I asked the chef to prepare a very special meal—roasted crow.” John laughed.

  Melanie met John’s laughter with her own, which to his ears sounded like a refreshing gentle breeze blowing through perfectly tuned wind chimes. The chef appeared again, this time with a tray teeming with a variety of culinary bliss. After refilling her wineglass, John politely dismissed him, unwilling to share his guest one moment longer than necessary.

  “A toast,” he proposed, raising his wine. “To gratefully accepting things we do not understand.” The two touched glasses and Melanie, looking for relief from her nervous state, gratefully sipped from her goblet.

  Mel took a savory bite of her brandy-and-herb-soaked quail and quipped, “Crow tastes remarkably like chicken.” Easy laughter erupted between them, wiping out the stain of their earlier conflict. Conversation during dinner flowed smoothly and easily. They talked of John’s love of the game of golf, his trip last year to Scotland, and his unwavering loyalty to the New York Yankees. Mel filled him in on her secret desire to loosen up the stodgy interior of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue with a funky mix of aristocratic pomp and trendy cultural pop. It was only after dessert that the how-do-we-continue-to-avoid-the-unavoidable silence descended.

  “Come with me. Let’s take a little walk,” John suggested, breaking the heavy hush and reaching for her hand. They strolled along the rail, quietly taking in the splendor of this magnificent Miami night. John led her to the mid-deck lounge and
they both sat down on the black-and-white-striped sofa carved into the front of the aft cabin house.

  “I have something for you,” John declared, breaking the quiet and handing her the small package she’d seen the driver hand him.

  “The flowers, dinner, that’s apology enough.”

  “This is not part of my apology. It’s an early Christmas present.”

  “John, this isn’t necessary,” she said, gently fingering the purple silk wrapping.

  “Which is the only time one receives real pleasure in giving. Now open it.”

  With curiosity and pleasure compelling her to rip off the material like a kid on Christmas morning, Melanie maintained dignified control by deliberately separating the box from its casing. Slowly she lifted the box top and pulled back the gold tissue paper to reveal the same antique handbag she’d admired last month.

  “My purse!” Mel shrieked in excitement. “But when? Why?”

  “I bought it that same day. I saw how much you wanted it and it didn’t seem fair that two such beautiful things should be separated.” John hoped she wouldn’t be put off by his flattery, but tonight his thoughts and words seemed to bypass the censor in his brain and flow directly from a place deep within.

  “Thank you, but…” she began in a soft voice, unsure if she should accept such an expensive gift.

  “Open it. There’s something else inside.”

  Melanie tucked her bottom lip under her two front teeth as she opened the beaded bag and pulled out a velvet jewelry pouch. “John, I can’t accept this. It’s all too much.”

  “Before you say no, open it up and take a look. If you still think it’s too much, you can return it with no hard feelings. Okay?”

  Mel smiled before gently loosening the drawstring and pouring the contents into her lap. Her grin erupted into laughter as a colorful array of dimestore jacks and a small, multicolored rubber ball bounced out. John smiled at her delight, realizing this simple gift was so much more pleasing than the ruby pin he’d briefly considered.

  “This is obviously a challenge. Clear the decks, Mr. Carlson, I’m about to take you to school.”

  With sheer childish pleasure, John and Melanie threw cushions onto the deck, got down on their knees, and played a rousing game. He gave her first roll and despite the slight pitching of the boat and playful taunts, Melanie went all the way from onesies through tens without John even getting a turn.

  “Come on, best two out of three. I’ll let you go first this time,” she dared him, her competitive streak blazing.

  “I think it’s best that I concede. I mean, you are the jacks champion of Page Elementary School,” he said, helping her off the floor and back onto the couch.

  “You remember that?”

  “I remember everything you tell me,” John said with a much more serious tone. “Like how you’ve always felt out of place in the world of other people’s expectations, and how you love vintage jewelry because every piece has a history, and how if something makes your heart sing you go after it.”

  “Wow, you do listen.”

  John smiled tenderly as he reached out and cupped Melanie’s left cheek in his hand. “Yes, I do. And I must tell you, Miss Jacks Champion of Page Elementary School, my heart has been making all kinds of beautiful music since I’ve met you,” he said as he gently traced the outline of her face with his fingers. John’s compliment came with a string of hesitation attached. He had promised Melanie to go slow and not make a mess of things, but each time he looked in those gorgeous expressive eyes or he spoke her name or heard her infectious laugh, he wanted to tell her that he was falling in love.

  “You are so exquisite. I love the way your hair dances around that lovely face of yours and how your lips always provide the perfect punctuation for whatever your mood.” John wanted to tell Melanie how he’d never realized the incredible beauty of black women until now, when he was up close and personal with one of the finest. How he was intrigued by her flawless brown skin—like lush, milk-chocolate-colored velvet—and how much he wanted to treat his hand to the pleasure of it’s touch and his eyes to the intriguing sight of his white skin mingled with hers. John wanted to tell Mel these things, but was fearful that they would sound disrespectful or, even worse, racist, so he simply spoke another truth. “It’s your eyes I love the most.”

  Melanie gaped at John in pleasant disbelief. Her full, kissable lips, tight behind, and shapely legs had often been cited as the prime points of interest on the Melanie Hitts hot spots tour, but no man had ever mentioned her basic brown eyes.

  “I love the way they make me feel when you look at me—like I’m someone special and worthwhile,” John explained as Melanie felt her last vestige of reserve melt away.

  Immediately her head began screaming out a litany of warnings: INAPPROPRIATE! MARRIED! COMPLICATED! while her heart responded with ideas of its own: DESIRABLE! INEVITABLE! DESTINY!

  With her head and heart tied up in battle, Melanie had no response other than to return John’s smile. As their eyes met, her mind and willpower surrendered and Mel’s desire marched ahead with her heart, prompting her to simply live out this moment and let it take her wherever she was meant to go.

  “You are special and I feel connected to you in more ways than I am probably willing to admit,” Melanie told him. “At first I thought it was because of our mutual interest in design and architecture, but then I found myself discussing things with you that I’ve never talked to anyone about. I feel safe with you and…” She paused.

  “And…go on. Don’t be afraid to tell me anything.”

  “And I’m very attracted to you,” she admitted, the dual effect of wine and medication making her feel slightly drunk and uninhibited. Attracted, enamored, captivated, bewitched. The list of her feelings for John Carlson was growing longer and more confusing by the day.

  “And I to you in so many more ways than the obvious.”

  Melanie whispered his name softly, caressing John with the sound. Her voice ran over him like feathers on naked skin, making him ache to finally touch the woman he’d spent hours dreaming about.

  His resistance depleted, John took Mel into his arms and kissed her, formally at first, but more naturally as she accepted his gesture. His kiss was warm and loving as his tongue gently explored the sweet recesses of her mouth. He lightly ran his hands up and down Mel’s arms, neck, and shoulders, marveling at the smooth, velvety touch of her skin, while Melanie threaded her hands languidly through his hair, experiencing the erotic tingle of each silky strand as it passed through her fingers. The intensity of their feelings pushed them back onto the couch until they were both lying under the stars, and for minutes that seemed like hours, they each got lost in the soft sensuality of the moment—everything and everyone else forgotten.

  John grazed her face with his lips, reverently paying homage to each exquisite feature. The two snuggled closer, arms wrapped around each other like a warm and cozy security blanket. Nestled in their seafaring cradle, they lay there in tranquil stillness, gently rocking in the sway of the ocean waves, serenaded by the calming lullaby of the sea.

  “I don’t know what’s happening here,” he whispered. “I have never felt like this before,” he said, inhaling Melanie’s fragrant scent.

  “I love you,” he said, his voice barely audible, before kissing the top of her head. The words floated out of his mouth, sounding as true and natural as they felt. Hearing no response, he looked down to find that Melanie, succumbing to the gentle rocking of the yacht, had drifted off. John smiled down upon his beautiful Jax, the nickname he’d bestowed on her, and felt a wide, wondrous smile break out on his face. It really didn’t matter if she’d heard his admission, John knew his heart would sing those words to her many times again.

  There would be no lovemaking tonight, but that really didn’t disappoint him. The physical attraction between them was strong and palatable but, on the other hand, really not of premiere importance. Would he like to make love to this extraordinary cr
eature? Without a doubt—his current erection stood as firm testimony. But no orgasm could compete with the sheer emotional pleasure he had just received from their kiss—one that lingered deliciously and dangerously to remind him that his life would never be the same from this moment forward.

  Enjoying the sensation of this woman he adored sleeping in his arms, John took a moment to ponder this emotional quandary. For the first time this evening, he allowed thoughts of Sharon to surface. Despite all of the inherently good things about her and their life together, something was missing. What that something was, John wasn’t sure, but as soon as his lips had touched hers, it also became brilliantly clear that Melanie touched a part of him that had lain dormant for a lifetime.

  With the skill of an archaeologist, she had gently unearthed in him new emotions that he now constantly craved. Jax had brushed away the suffocating silt of his ennui and made him feel lighthearted and young and productive again. In the moments they spent together she allowed him to relive the splendor of simply being John Carlson sans all of the titles and burdensome responsibilities they brought with them.

  You’ve made me love you, Jax, he acknowledged to himself. But just as sweet, you’ve made me love the man I am when I’m with you.

  “Good morning,” John’s cheerful voice greeted her.

  “Good morning,” Melanie whispered into the phone. She lay back onto her pillows, grateful for last night’s snowfall. She loved the hushed stillness of snow days, which she believed to be God-given gifts, perfect for serious cocooning.

  “I can’t talk long. I simply wanted to hear your voice and tell you again how much I enjoyed our time together in Miami,” John said.

  “Miami was very special for me too.”

  “I’m glad to hear you feel that way. I wasn’t sure. I mean, here I thought we were having this fairy-tale evening, but instead of my kiss waking you up, it put you to sleep. So what does that say for my powers as a legitimate Prince Charming?” John teased.