The Sapphire Pendant

by Dara Girard

  “He can handle himself.”

  Syrah yanked her arm free. “I want to watch.” She disappeared into the crowd.

  Jessie sighed defeated. She knew it was fruitless to go after her. She wouldn’t be able to find her. Word of the fight spread quickly. Soon people congregated at the ice cream shop like a mob of crazed groupies who had spotted their favorite rock star. Jessie could hear the whirl of a police car in the distance. She turned a corner and walked aimlessly down the street, trying to put order to her jumbled thoughts. A red Volvo pulled up next to her.

  “Hey, pretty thing. I’m willing to pay for it.”

  She recognized the man from the parlor. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He jumped out of the car and grabbed her arm. “Look, I’m willing to offer you a good price.”

  “I’m not interested. Let go of me!”

  “Who are you holding out for?” he asked in an urgent whisper. “You’re not going to get better than me.”

  Jessie hit him in the face with her bag of cosmetics and ran. She jumped into an idle cab and headed for her house.

  “He said what?” Teresa asked, her voice as calm as a raging undercurrent. “I don’t believe it.” They sat in the kitchen while Michelle set up tea.

  “Believe it,” Jessie said. “One man insults me and another propositions me.”

  “That rat. You look fabulous. Kenneth is a—”

  “Calm down, Teresa,” Michelle ordered, handing her a cup. “Perhaps that’s not the whole story.”

  “It is the whole story,” Jessie said, putting sugar in her cup. “My fairy godfather turned into a rat.”

  “He apologized, didn’t he? That just doesn’t sound like Kenneth. He—”

  “That’s not the point,” Teresa interrupted. “The point is he insulted her—”

  “You’re both wrong,” Jessie said. Her temper covered her hurt. “The real problem is I know how he really feels.” She stormed out of the room and slammed the front door.

  Michelle met her on the porch. Jessie rested her arms on the railing. Michelle stood next to her and gazed out at the street. The night was heavy with a warm quiet. She leaned against the railing and folded her arms. “Of course you know what happened.”

  “What?”

  “You made him jealous.”

  Jessie looked at her shocked. “Don’t be ridiculous. Kenneth doesn’t get jealous.”

  Michelle rested a hand on her chest. “I’m being ridiculous? You’re the one having men fight over you.”

  “They weren’t fighting over me, it was testosterone running wild.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  No, but she couldn’t dare hope otherwise and risk being wrong again.

  * * *

  The stars hung low over the sleeping house when Jessie returned. She sat staring at it for a while, watching where the moonlight cast shadows and light. She finally got out of the taxi and walked up the front steps, a mixture of conflicting emotions colliding with each other. She didn’t know what she would say to him—if he wasn’t hooked up to life support.

  She opened the door glad that they were all asleep so that she could be alone with her thoughts. Dion came up to her yapping happily. She tried to hush him by lifting him up and covering his mouth, but he just licked her palm. She closed the door, turned on the light and saw Syrah sleeping on the couch. She put Dion down and gently shook the girl awake. “What are you doing?”

  Syrah rubbed her eyes and stretched.“I was afraid that you weren’t coming back.”

  “Well, here I am.”

  Her eyes danced with relief. “You missed the best fight in the world!”

  Jessie wasn’t interested in the details, another time perhaps, but not tonight—maybe never. “I assume your uncle won. You can tell me about it tomorrow.”

  They walked upstairs together. Jessie tucked Syrah in bed then went to her room.

  She took off her blouse and found her way to the lamp on her side table. She turned on the lights and covered a scream. Kenneth watched her from the couch.

  “What are you doing in here?” she demanded, struggling back into her blouse.

  “You know why I’m here.”

  At least he looked all right. She tossed her keys on the side table. “You already apologized. Now get out.”

  “Ah, that lovely temper. I was beginning to miss it.”

  She rested her hands on her hips. “How was your little dance with your boyfriends? I see you managed to escape unscathed.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “I had hoped you would have managed a black eye or something.”

  “Sorry. Maybe next time.”

  She sat on the bed and pulled off her shoes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I already answered that question.”

  She threw her shoes in the direction of the closet. “Your apology was enough for me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you let me explain. Will you?”

  “Yes.”

  Kenneth paused unsure he’d heard correctly.

  “That’s the magic word today, right? So speak.”

  He moved his hands in an awkward manner as if they were stiff machines he was learning how to control. He kept them close to his body, shielding them in the shadow of his lap. Jessie figured that the matter was more important to him than she’d thought.

  “I want you.”

  She blinked. “That’s your explanation?”

  “How can I care about clothes when I want to see you naked?”

  She picked up a pillow and threw it at him. She missed seeing him wince. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “I’m making fun of you? You’re the one playing the game by pretending you don’t know how attracted I am to you. By trying to make me jealous by flirting with another man. You won, okay? Aren’t you proud of yourself? You’ve gotten your trophy. I’m taking you to the Hampton Charity Ball so that you can show me off to all your friends and have your night of celebration. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  “No, I—”

  “The game’s up Jas, for both of us. Let’s recognize this for what it is: a simple exchange. A night for a night. I take you to the ball. You give me a night in bed. Game over.”

  She stared at him. He knew. Not about the bet, but that he was being used. She had always wondered why he kept himself guarded, but now it was clear. He had been used all his life, tonight she would change that.

  She sat next to him. “You’re right. Game over.” She kissed him.

  He pulled her into his arms and deepened the kiss, succumbing to a hunger burning deep inside him. Jessie didn’t attempt to protest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and met his desire with a passion all her own. “Belle laide,” he whispered. His hand slid down to cup one of her breast and Jessie trembled at his touch.

  “Oh god, you taste and feel so good,” he groaned.

  Jessie pressed against his groin. “Funny, so do you.”

  He continued to drink in the sweetness of her lips, letting his hands roam free and explore the hollow of her back and grasp her bottom.

  She touched his chest. When he flinched, she drew back. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just a little sore that’s all. No, don’t!”

  Jessie ripped open his shirt and jumped up horrified. His chest and stomach were swollen and colored with bruises and had a stretch of torn, raw flesh.

  She thought she would be ill. “Oh, my God.”

  Kenneth quickly covered the bruises with his shirt. “Don’t worry about those; they look worse than they feel.” He tried to button his shirt, giving Jessie the opportunity to see his hands clearly.

  She swore, grabbing his left hand. The knuckles were cracked, covered with dried blood and swollen. It explained why he had moved so awkwardly and kept his hands out of view.

  She knelt down in front of him examining the other hand. “You must be in a lot of pain.”

  He pulled her close an
d kissed her. “This is worth it.”

  She pulled back. “No, we have to get these taken care of.”

  Jessie went to her drawer and fetched her first aid kit. Her hands trembled from anger and worry. She had never seen bruises look so bad. His calm composure was maddening, but if he wasn’t going to make a big deal of it then neither would she.

  “That’s handy,” he said, nodding to the case.

  She laid out the items on the couch. “I’m an athlete remember? I’m always prepared for injuries.” She put some antiseptic on a cotton ball. “Now this will sting a little.” She winced for him when the solution made contact with his raw wounds, but he didn’t respond. She wouldn’t have thought it bothered him either if his jaw wasn’t clenched. When she finished, she wrapped his hands in gauze then opened his shirt. Tears of rage filled her eyes. He must be in so much pain, pretending it didn’t hurt. He was always pretending.

  She leaped to her feet and walked to the other side of the room, trying to count to ten, clenching her fists in an attempt to keep her temper in check.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She spun around and two streams of tears fell down her cheeks. “No, I’m not all right you dope! You could have been killed. Have you gone to a doctor? You might have internal bleeding.”

  He stood up, stiffly. “I’m fine. Trust me.”

  She opened his shirt and pointed to his bruises. “You call this fine? I’ve seen fewer bruises on a rotten apple.” She gently stripped off his shirt to review the bruises on his back. “You’re an idiot.”

  “You really need to work on your bedside manner.”

  “If you weren’t injured, I’d hit you right now.”

  “Why are you angry at me? ”

  “Because I care about you. Why didn’t you just let my hand go instead of letting those guys do this to you? Why didn’t you let me help you? You know I’m strong enough.”

  His voice, though quiet, held an ominous quality. “Because if one of those guys had hit you, even by accident, I would have killed him.”

  A chill raced through her. She took a deep breath. “You should have let my hand go.”

  “I couldn’t.” His eyes burned into hers. “I wasn’t going to let you go this time, Jas.”

  She looked away. “You need to see a doctor.”

  “They’re just bruises.”

  “And they look awful.”

  He stiffened. “Then don’t look.”

  She studied his bruises and noticed some faded marks and scratches. “What are these?”

  He glanced down. “Nothing. I bruise easily.”

  She turned away. “Damn it.”

  He sat ramrod straight while she tied gauze around his middle. She finally pulled away, and placed her hand against his cheek and forehead. “You’re warm.” He also looked exhausted; his eyes were beginning to droop. She sighed resigned, a heaviness settled in her chest. “Looks like we won’t be able to go to the Hampton Charity Ball.”

  His eyes flew opened. “But you have to go.”

  She stared at him curious. “Why?”

  He searched for words, trying to cover his blunder. “Because...because you’ve never been.”

  She began putting her first aid items away. “So what? You need to rest, that’s the only way you’ll heal.”

  “But my face is fine.”

  She looked up shocked. “What?”

  “I look all right. No one will notice.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t care.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “I said you’re not going.”

  “But what about our bargain?” He hated how desperate his voice sounded.

  “Kenneth, I’m willing to sleep with you whether you take me to the ball or not. I want you. Or has that escaped your notice?”

  He didn’t understand. Why would she want a night with him, if she couldn’t use him as a trophy? Where was the exchange? He’d finally figured out the game and she’d changed the rules.

  “The ball—”

  She covered his mouth, her voice hard. “Hang the ball. The only thing I care about right now is you.” She gathered her things.

  He didn’t know what to say. Jasmine Clifton, the woman who would do anything to win, would lose a bet, was willing to miss one of the most talked about events of the year, because of him. Him. He couldn’t understand it. It didn’t make sense. He was physically capable of going. His face hadn’t been injured. Wasn’t that all she needed? Wasn’t that the only part of Kenneth Preston that mattered?

  He looked down at her bent head as she organized her kit in amazement. She really did care about him. She had been willing to fight with him, had tended to his wounds, and would rather lose a bet than see him ill. She truly was his friend.

  He clenched his fist. No, it was dangerous to believe that. She had betrayed him—used him—as so many others had. He needed to hold onto his anger, the only shield against his weakness for her. Yet his mind and body were so tired and eager to surrender to her tenderness. He could feel it slipping underneath his armor, stripping the anger that had kept him safe.

  He felt her touch his fist and met her eyes. He couldn’t describe the expression there—worry, compassion, something vastly more intimate—but it reached to something inside him forcing either his wariness or sanity to slip away. She did care. He believed that now.

  Suddenly, his body didn’t feel the pain anymore, didn’t feel disappointment. His life was no longer a burden. With her he could accomplish anything. He took a deep breath, a healing, soothing warmth sweeping through him. And it was because of her. His decision was made. He was going to take her to the ball and make sure she had a night she would not forget. There’d be other nights as well, many others. He hoped to convince her to stay in his life. He wasn’t sure how, but eventually he would. He rested his head back. His body was battered, but he felt as if he could soar.

  “Jasmine, I’ve never felt this way before.”

  She patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. In a couple of days you’ll feel better.”

  He smiled. “No, I mean....” How could he explain how he felt? What her simple act meant to him? How grateful he was that she was there for him when many others never had been? “Thanks.” It was an inadequate word, but all he could think of.

  She smiled embarrassed by the admiration that shone in his eyes. “I can return the dress, right?”

  “There’s no reason to return the dress. I’m taking you to the ball.”

  Her smile fell. “No, you’re not.”

  “If you won’t go with me, I’ll take someone else,” he said, hoping to spark her jealousy.

  She didn’t fall for the bait. “Fine. Go ahead.”

  He stared at her stunned. “What?”

  “I am not taking a sick man to a stupid ball. I’ll be worried about you all evening.”

  He held her face and gently rubbed his thumb against her cheek. “I’ve suffered worse.”

  “When?”

  When his father had beaten him in a drunken rage and bruised his ribs. Or when his father had whipped him so badly that he had to wear his coat all day at school so no one would see the blood through his shirt. “Other times,” he said vaguely.

  “Then I’m sure the infant would love to go with you.” She lifted a brow. “Fortunately, she has a bedtime so you won’t have to stay out long.” She began to bite her nails. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” he asked softly.

  “Never mind. We could rent videos.”

  He frowned. “What for?”

  “The night of the ball.”

  “We’re going.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  He grabbed her hand, his voice urgent. “Please let me do this for you. Let me take you.”

  She shook her head.

  He squeezed her hand. “It will make me feel better.”

  She hesitated then sighed resigned. “Okay.” She put her kit
away. “The night of the ball you have to use the two magic words that will make a woman yours.”

  “Which are?”

  “You’re right.” She grabbed his arm. “Let me take you to bed.”

  He perked up. “I like the sound of that.”

  She led him to his room, pulled down the bedclothes, and then gently pushed him on the bed. He reached for her, but she ducked out of his grasp and began taking off his shoes.

  “You don’t need to do this,” he protested. He wasn’t used to such attention and it made him uncomfortable.

  “Lie down.”

  “Look—”

  “Lie down. You wouldn’t want me to lose my temper would you?”

  He laid back and Jessie pulled the blankets up to his chin. He grinned. “Are you going to watch over me and make sure that I don’t die in my sleep?”

  Her lips thinned. “That’s not funny.”

  His hand escaped from the blankets, slid down her arm and tightened around her wrist. “Today wasn’t your fault. I was in a bad mood anyway.”

  She turned away still feeling guilty. She spotted his chess game. “How long have you been playing?”

  “Couple months.”

  She examined the board for a moment then moved a piece. “Checkmate.”

  He sat up too quickly and bit back a groan. “I didn’t even see that.”

  She sat on the bed. “Try to go to sleep.”

  “Are you going to sing me a song?”

  “I can’t sing.”

  “I thought all black women could sing.”

  She rewarded him with a smile. “If you think you’re in pain now, just listen to me try to carry a tune.”

  “Tell me a story then.”

  “I don’t know any.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll tell you one. There once was this guy who hadn’t had sex in—”

  She covered his mouth. “Go to bed.”

  “I’m not tired.” He wasn’t sure he would sleep tonight or even the night after that. “I want to stay up with my friend.”

  Jessie shook her head. He sounded like a little boy and did a good imitation of looking like one with the covers all the way up to his chin, his brown eyes bright.