He pointed to the remaining shortcakes. “Can you save them until later?” She nodded. “If that’s the case, then wrap them up. We can have shortcakes instead of beignets for breakfast.”
“Speaking of beignets, it’s been a while since I’ve gone to Café du Monde for beignets and café au lait.”
Reaching for a towel, St. John carefully dried the silver. “How about pralines?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Damn, woman, you need to detox from bagels and lox, Nathan’s hot dogs, and those big salty pretzels you buy from the New York street carts.”
“Is that what you ate when you were in New York?”
St. John winked at her. “You’ve got that right. When in Rome, do as the Romans, and it’s the same when in New York. I’d heard so much about Nathan’s hot dogs that I took a long-ass subway ride from Manhattan to Coney Island to sample one.”
“Was it worth the ride?”
He made moaning sounds while closing his eyes. “Oh, my goodness. I thought I’d died and gone to hot dog heaven. I ate three, and then ordered another three to take back with me. Folks on the subway either glared or smiled at me when the smell of the grilled dogs wafted through the greasy bag.”
Hannah laughed until her eyes filled with tears. As they put away leftovers and finished cleaning up the kitchen, she told St. John about the number of cities she’d made home. She packed a bag for herself and then gathered everything she needed for Smokey as St. John scooped up the kitten and placed him in his carrier.
The blackout had thwarted their previous plans for her to stay over in Marigny, but tonight it would become a reality. Hannah knew that once she returned to DuPont House she wouldn’t be the same as when she’d left.
Chapter 17
St. John helped Hannah reprogram the automatic devices for Smokey as the kitten lounged on his bed in the laundry room. She’d also brought along his cat tree scratching post with a dangling pompom to keep him occupied.
“I think you should close the door to keep him from wandering into the kitchen. Smokey has the run of the house, but the kitchen is off limits.”
“I don’t want to keep him confined in a new space, because I want him to feel comfortable being here.” St. John reached for Hannah’s hand. “Smokey’s in bed, and it’s time we also go to bed.”
He led her out the laundry room, picking up her bag with his free hand, and up the staircase to his bedroom. St. John was more than aware that whatever they’d had was going to change the instant they got into in bed together. He liked Hannah more than he wanted to, yet he was realistic enough to know he could change his head but not his heart. Back in the day he knew she was special, but at that time he refused to acknowledge just how special she’d become.
He thought about her statement with reference to her mother: “How she would’ve reacted if I’d come home and told her I was in love with you and we were planning to marry.” He’d been slightly taken aback by her words, wondering if she’d fantasized about him when he hadn’t consciously fantasized about her. It was the height of hypocrisy that although race-mixing was a part of the city’s history, it wasn’t until 1960 that New Orleans schools were forcibly desegregated by federal marshals.
It had taken forty years for their friendship to develop into a more mature relationship in which they could relate to each other on a level playing field. Both of them had had marriages spanning decades, so they weren’t looking for a commitment or a happily ever after.
St. John set her bag on the low wooden bench in an alcove outside the en suite bath. “You can use this bathroom and I’ll use the one across the hall.” Turning on his heel, he left her staring at his departing back.
He took his time brushing his teeth and showering so Hannah could ready herself for bed. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he entered the bedroom. Hannah lay on her side, the lightweight blanket pulled up around her shoulders. It was apparent the temperature in the room was too cool for her. She’d turned off the lamp on her side of the bed and dimmed his. Dropping the towel on the carpet, he slipped into bed next to her. There was enough illumination to see her smile.
“What took you so long?”
Her husky voice swept over him like the mist coming off the water. “I wanted to give you time to get into bed.”
“I almost fell asleep,” she said around a yawn.
Draping his arm over her waist, St. John pulled her close. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”
Hannah placed her hand against his face, her fingernails trailing over the emerging stubble. “I didn’t wait all these years to get into bed with a man to fall asleep on him.”
He laughed softly. “If that’s the case, then you’re going to have get rid of the nightgown.”
She pressed her mouth to his; he inhaled her mint-scented breath. “Take it off me.”
His eyebrows lifted. It was apparent Hannah liked a little teasing as a prelude to foreplay. And as much as St. John wanted to be inside her, he didn’t want to rush their coming together. She’d admitted to having only one sex partner, and although he knew there was no way he could compete with a dead man, he wanted Hannah to begin this chapter of her life with new and lasting memories.
Sitting up, he opened the drawer in the bedside table and removed a condom, placing it on his pillow. Slowly, as if choreographed beforehand, St. John pushed the blanket off Hannah’s body and in one fluid motion grasped the hem of the pale-blue cotton nightgown, relieving her of the offending garment. He could never understand why women went to bed wearing clothes when he’d always found them restricting. He didn’t even own a pair of pajamas.
His breath caught in his chest when he finally gazed on the lush body that clothes had artfully concealed. There was just enough fullness in her breasts and hips to keep her from being labeled skinny. He cupped one breast and lowered his head, taking the nipple into his mouth and suckling her until she rose slightly off the mattress. His hand inched its way down her belly to search between her legs and instinctively her body arched toward him. Her breathing changed, coming faster, and he removed his hand and explored the curve of her back and hips.
* * *
Hannah felt as if she was having an out-of-body experience. St. John’s mouth knew exactly where her erogenous zones were as he trailed kisses along the column of her neck, under her armpits, and over her breasts. She wanted to scream at him to take her and end the erotic torment threatening to shatter her into so many pieces she would never be whole again. She wanted to touch him everywhere, to explore his body as he was exploring hers.
She gasped and then bit on her lip to keep from moaning her pleasure when she felt his erection brush her upper thigh. Everything about the man who was to become her lover seeped into her: his smell, the texture of his skin, and his lean, hard body that belied his age. He sat back on his heels, reaching for the condom on the pillow next to hers. Hannah couldn’t pull her eyes away from the semi-erect penis hanging heavily between muscled thighs. St. John opened the packet and slipped the latex sheath over his now fully erect penis. He opened her legs to allow him to lie between them as he supported his greater weight on his forearms.
His light-brown eyes appeared almost catlike in the diffused lamplight. She curved her arms around his neck, bringing his head down. His tongue traced the outline of her mouth as her lips parted, their tongues meeting in a sensual duel for domination. Hannah kissed him with a hunger of someone deprived of food for long periods of time. And she was more than hungry; she was starving from a long-denied desire for sexual fulfillment.
She gloried in the sensation of his marauding mouth searing a path down her neck, shoulders, breasts, belly, and lower to the down covering her pubis. Hannah screamed when his teeth gently nipped her clitoris, holding it captive as she bucked wildly, her fingernails biting into his biceps.
Hannah knew she was losing control and didn’t want to come without St. John inside her. “Please,” she pleaded shamelessly; her body was on fire. There was heat,
followed by wracking chills, and then more heat. St. John answered her plea; holding his hard length in one hand, he positioned his erection at the entrance to her sex. She moaned in pain as he attempted to penetrate her.
“Relax, baby,” he crooned in her ear.
She wanted to tell him she was more than relaxed. Raising her legs until the soles of her feet were flat on the mattress, she opened her legs wider, but each time St. John tried to push into her he met resistance. The tears filling her eyes overflowed down her face and into the hair fanning out on the pillow beneath her head.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered over and over.
St. John reversed their positions, his arms going around her waist. “Don’t cry, baby. It’s been a long time and you’re probably very tense.”
“I’m not tense,” Hannah countered. “I’ve dried up.”
Rubbing her back in a comforting gesture, he pressed a kiss on her hair. “Stop it, Hannah.”
She sniffled. “I’m menopausal and one of the side effects is vaginal dryness. If we’re going to have a satisfying sex life, then I’m going to have to see my GYN to give me something to—”
“Enough,” St. John chided, this time in a stern voice. “Do you think I’m with you because of sex?”
“I don’t know.”
He laughed softly. “For a supposedly bright woman, you’re a little slow when it comes to interpersonal relationships. I’m not eighteen anymore, where having sex with a woman was a priority. I’m lucky that at fifty-eight I’m still able to get it up without taking a pill for ED. I’m with you not only because I like you, but I also enjoy your company. It’s been a long time since I’ve courted a woman, and I’m blessed because you’re that woman.”
Raising her head, she stared directly at him. Moisture had spiked her lashes. “You’re courting me?”
“Dating, wooing, courting. It’s all the same to me.”
Hannah smiled as a dreamy look crossed her delicate features. “I’m the one who’s blessed, because I get to go out with the best-dressed, best-looking, and one of the brightest boys in our graduating class.”
“And I get to escort Jackson Memorial class of ’77’s Ice Princess around town.”
She sobered. “Do you believe in destiny, St. John?”
He hesitated, replaying her question. “Not really. There are some things that are destined to be, but then another set of circumstances can come into play to change the course of history.”
“Give me an example.”
“During the Battle of Gettysburg campaign, General George Meade’s victory was marred by his ineffective pursuit of the Confederate Army during the retreat from Gettysburg. If he’d pursued and defeated Lee’s Army of the Potomac, the war would’ve probably ended in 1863 instead of 1865. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes and no. I asked because I believe we were destined to be together. It may have taken forty years, but here we are.”
St. John ruffled her hair. “You’re right.”
He never would have thought all those years ago when he and Hannah shared classes, studied together, and hung out at the dive where high school kids crowded into after home games, they would end up in bed together.
Hannah sighed. “I’ve told you things I’ve never mentioned to anyone outside my family because I trust you not to repeat it.”
“Are you referring to your mother’s birth?”
“Yes. And you’re the only one who knows why I left McGehee.”
St. John shifted their bodies until they lay face-to-face. “I promise never to repeat it to a living soul,” he said, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.
“I know you planned for us to spend tomorrow together, but if I can get an appointment with my gynecologist, I’ll need you to drop me off home so I can pick up my car.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll drive you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.” Reaching down, he removed the condom and dropped it on the towel, and then flicked off the lamp. “Now let’s try and get some sleep before we both wake up with bags under our eyes.”
“You’re right. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve had to put either cucumber slices or tea bag on my eyes to bring down the puffiness.”
St. John dropped an arm over her waist. “That’s because you don’t get enough sleep. Hang out with me and you’ll get your requisite eight hours.”
“I can’t remember the last time I slept that long.”
“That’s because you probably think too much. Good night, beautiful.”
“You’re quite the silver-tongued devil. If you’re not careful you’re going to give me a swelled head.”
St. John’s right hand cupped her bare buttock. “I’m the only one in this relationship that’s allowed to get a swelled head.”
Hannah giggled like a little girl as she snuggled closer. “You’re a nasty old man.”
“And you like this nasty old man, don’t you, old lady?”
“Hell, yeah! Good night, darling.”
He smiled. “Good night, sweetheart.”
* * *
Hannah shrugged out of the dressing gown, dropping it into the bin for used gowns. It had taken five days before she could get an appointment with her local GYN, and only after the receptionist called to say a patient had cancelled.
The past five days had been enlightening for her and Smokey. The kitten had adjusted to his new surroundings as if it were his home. Most times he could be found curled up on St. John’s desk, bonding with the man who’d accused the kitten of giving him the stink-eye. Initial curiosity segued into a close bond between man and feline.
The bond between her and the man under whose roof she’d spent the past five nights was also cemented, giving her a glimpse into what their lives would have been like if they had married. As promised, he made certain she got enough sleep.
They went to bed after watching the late night news and didn’t get out of bed until seven the following morning, St. John reminding her she didn’t have to get up at five to meet Leticia to jog or walk when she didn’t have to leave the house to work out.
They took turns preparing meals, and he spoke French to her more than ninety percent of the time. She was still slow in responding, with the excuse she was a work in progress. St. John’s library contained a cornucopia of reading material, including best-selling novels, nonfiction books on history and political science, biographies, literary, travel, news magazines, and the classics in the English and French languages.
She spent most of her time in the sunroom reading, watching cooking shows, and listening to music whenever St. John retreated to his office for several hours to work on his research project. The sunroom had also become their ballroom where he taught her the foxtrot, jive, and samba. She became the dance instructor as she guided him through the steps for the waltz.
Inasmuch as Hannah didn’t want to compare her relationship with St. John with what she’d shared with Robert, she failed miserably. As a career military officer, her husband had moved from base to base, and as a result he was physically absent. It was something she’d prepared for. However, whenever he returned he was emotionally distant with her, while lavishing all his attention on their son. In the end she’d come to accept the personality trait, which made Commander Robert Lowell a highly regarded and decorated naval officer.
Even when they weren’t in the same room, she felt a tangible connection with St. John. And whether sharing a meal, the bed, or dancing together, they were in sync physically and emotionally.
St. John had hinted of her naïveté with men and Hannah had to agree with him. She’d come of age during the sexual revolution; however, it had passed her by. What hadn’t passed her by was her achieving her dream of becoming an attorney. When she entered law school as a first-year student, the national average enrollment for women was thirty-nine percent as compared to sixty percent for men.
Once she graduated, she found the task of findin
g a position more difficult than passing the bar. She finally secured a position with a small San Diego firm handling personal injury cases. It was only after passing the New York State Bar, circulating her résumé, and after three interviews, that she was hired by a prominent law firm to work in their contracts department. And that was where she found her niche.
Hannah was given the responsibility of reading contracts and identifying inconsistencies on the first pass. The second and third pass turned up more inconsistencies that were hidden in subsequent clauses most attorneys would overlook or were unable to discern. She’d become an expert cryptographer with an uncanny ability to decode legalese cipher. All in all, she was content how her life had unfolded as wife, mother, and attorney.
She finished putting on her street clothes and walked into the doctor’s office.
The elderly doctor’s head popped up. “Please sit down, Mrs. Lowell.”
“Thank you, Dr. Aaronson.” All he needed was a beard and he could easily pass for Santa Claus.
He folded heavily veined hands together. “I’ve examined you and everything looks good. You’re not due for another pap and mammogram until the end of the year, so what’s bothering you?”
Hannah chewed her inner lip. “I . . . I’m experiencing pain during intercourse.”
“Most women by the age of fifty experience some menopausal vaginal dryness. I’m going to give you a couple of samples of a hormone-free cream that will protect your delicate tissue from friction and inflammation. I recommend this one because it doesn’t contain alcohol or dyes and is free of fragrances, parabens, and glycerin.”
“Do I have to concern myself with it seeping out?”
“No, Mrs. Lowell. It’s not runny or sticky. I’m going to caution you to relax before engaging in sex, because emotional factors such as stress and anxiety can inhibit sufficient blood flow to the area.” He picked up the phone and spoke quietly into the mouthpiece. “The nurse at the front desk will give you the samples.”
Rising to her feet, Hannah shook hands with the doctor. “Thank you. I’ll see you in December.”
The Inheritance Page 22
