Her gasps, one overlapping the other, escalated as her tight flesh stretched to accommodate his sex. St. John froze. He was only in halfway. “Do you want me to stop?” He asked Hannah the question, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. Her feminine heat, the lingering scent of her perfume, and her tight vagina made him feel as if he were losing his mind.
Hannah shook her head because it was impossible for her to speak. She’d used the lubricant, and although it made it easier for St. John to penetrate her, there was still some resistance. Taking deep breaths, she forced herself to relax, and within seconds the pain eased, replaced by pleasure. “No,” she finally breathed when she’d regained her voice.
She surrendered to his touch as his hands traced a sensual path down her ribs and hips. He didn’t rush, taking his time arousing her until she writhed in an age-old rhythm she didn’t have to be taught. The passion and love she felt for St. John pounded the blood through her head and heart. He quickened his thrusts, Hannah following his lead. Heat surged through her like an electric current, and then it happened. Waves of ecstasy washed over her with the first orgasm; it was quickly followed by another and then another until she gasped for air when she felt her lungs exploding.
A deep, abiding feeling of peace entered her being as St. John collapsed heavily on her body. She welcomed his weight. Hannah closed her eyes, smiling. She was now able to acknowledge what she’d denied for years: She was and always had been in love with St. John. The feeling of euphoria was suddenly replaced with fear. They’d just made love without using protection, and Hannah couldn’t even begin to imagine herself pregnant at fifty-eight. She wanted him to get off her but loathed him pulling out, because she wanted to revel in their oneness as long as possible.
“St. John?”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“Even though I’m menopausal, there is still the possibility of my getting pregnant.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“It’s not going to happen because you say so?” she asked.
“It’s impossible because I’ve had a vasectomy. When Lorna said she didn’t want children, I underwent the procedure to make certain not to get her pregnant.”
Hannah did not want to believe St. John loved his wife so much he would give up all hope of fathering a child. If Lorna didn’t want children, then why hadn’t she undergone a tubal ligation?
“Now I know what you meant you said you don’t miss what you’ve never had.”
* * *
St. John pressed a kiss under Hannah’s ear. He hadn’t lied to her. Once Lorna revealed she didn’t want children, he decided if he had the procedure, then she would allow him to make love to her. But it didn’t happen, and he didn’t blame her but himself for the realization that nothing he could do or say would permit them to live together as a normal couple.
The first time he slept with another woman, he moved out of their bedroom and subsequently moved back after he heard her crying because she believed he’d abandoned her. They continued to share the same bed, he holding her in his arms every night until she fell asleep. He’d sinned, repented, and was now redeemed. The woman in whose scented embrace he lay had come to him when he hadn’t known whether he would ever have a normal relationship with a woman.
Burying his face in the area between Hannah’s neck and shoulder, he planted a kiss there. “You’re a wicked woman who should be rated X.”
She giggled. “Why?”
“You have me out here with my shorts down around my ankles making love to you where anyone flying low enough can see my naked ass.”
She ran a hand over his hair. “It’s too dark for anyone to see anything, and don’t forget that I’m also butt-naked.”
He nuzzled her ear with his nose. “I think we’d better go in now or we’ll end up sleeping out here.” Hannah issued a moan of protest when he pulled out of her warmth. He slipped off the lounger and pulled up his shorts. “I’ll go in after I put out the candles.”
Making love with her had been more than pleasurable. St. John never had to guess whether she’d faked her responses because he’d been with enough women to know when they were feigning passion. And the emotion he experienced penetrating her without the barrier of latex was indescribable.
Hannah slipped into her panties, and then her shorts. “Are you certain I can’t help you?”
Resting his hands at her waist, St. John kissed her forehead. “Yes.” He patted her backside. “I’ll be in later.”
“I’m going to shower and then go to bed.”
He watched the gentle sway of her hips as she walked along a flagstone path in the garden that led past the outdoor kitchen to a side door to the house. He never could have imagined when he exchanged cell phone numbers with Hannah that they would rekindle their friendship and become lovers.
St. John knew the more time he spent with Hannah, the more he wanted to spend with her. She’d hinted that her friends were arriving soon, which would allow him the space he needed to assess where his life with her was headed. His thoughts lingered on the woman whose spontaneity sparked uninhibitedness of which he hadn’t believed himself capable.
He smiled as he extinguished all the candles, and then flipped several switches on an electrical outlet inside the door to turn off the tiny lights threaded through tree branches, plunging the garden into total darkness.
Smokey greeted him, rubbing against his legs as he walked into the laundry room. Whenever he sat at his computer, the cat would jump up and curled into a ball on the corner of the workstation and go to sleep as sun poured in through the window. The one time Smokey sprang up on the bed, Hannah issued an ultimatum: her or the cat. He’d accused her of being overdramatic until she revealed her son’s wife’s propensity for allowing their menagerie to share their sons’ beds. However, he did get her to compromise. If Smokey soiled the bed, then he would be banished for life. Smokey hadn’t soiled the bed, but was content to curl up at the foot and sleep until dawn.
He scratched the cat behind his ears. “As soon I take a shower, you can come to bed.” Smokey meowed as if he understood what he was saying, following him up the staircase and into his bedroom, where he sprang up to the foot of the bed. Hannah stirred but didn’t wake up.
St. John stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a wicker hamper, and then stepped into the shower stall. Ten minutes later he turned off the lamp and slipped into bed. Resting his head on folded arms, he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about how quickly he’d become accustomed to having Hannah sleep beside him and how much he loved making love with her. What he refused to allow himself was to confuse sex with love. Sex was something he could get from other women, while sleeping with Hannah was different from other women.
Lowering his arms, he turned on his side and pressed his chest to Hannah’s back. They lay like spoons, his breathing deepening until he finally fell asleep.
* * *
Hannah came down off the porch as the gleaming white Denali pulled up in front of the house. It had taken her friends two days to drive from New York to New Orleans. They’d called to report they were spending Monday night in Louisville, Kentucky, before starting out for the second leg of their trip.
She’d spent the entire weekend with St. John, not returning home until earlier that morning. They’d resumed their dance lessons; she told him that her friends could entertain themselves for the couple of hours while they were at the studio. St. John compromised only if she agreed not to take Smokey back to DuPont House. It was her turn to give Smokey the stink-eye for being a defector. It had taken the cat exactly one week to transfer his loyalty from her to St. John.
They made love again—this time without any resistance or pain. Never had she experienced such an overwhelming feeling of complete satisfaction as she did from St. John’s raw sensuality. The multiple orgasms she experienced with him took her beyond herself. It had been ten years since she’d shared her body with a man, and Hannah was glad she’d w
aited for him. The soft-spoken, quiet, intelligent boy had matured into a soft-spoken, sexy man whom she could not get enough of. She’d denied being in love with him at eighteen, but if anyone were to ask her at fifty-eight how she felt about him, she would hard-pressed to deny being in love with him.
There were occasions when she’d wanted to blurt out she was in love with him, yet she couldn’t get up the courage to make the passionate confession. Hannah knew St. John liked her, enjoyed being with her, but he hadn’t given any indication he wanted to take their current relationship further. They had committed to seeing each other over the summer but nothing beyond that. St. John would return to the college, while her involvement in transforming her personal residence into a place of business would take up most of her waking hours. Her projected date for the grand opening was late January or early February—two weeks before the start of Mardi Gras.
She no longer agonized whether the licenses and permits would be approved, which had lessened most of her stress. Now she could relax and become the consummate hostess for her out-of-town guests. Unknowingly, they were to become the untested subjects for whether she had the wherewithal to own and operate an inn.
The doors to the SUV opened and Jasmine, Tonya, Nydia, and a young woman whom Hannah assumed was Tonya’s daughter got out. Arms outstretched, she hugged each woman. “I’m Hannah,” she said, introducing herself to Tonya’s daughter, who was a younger, slimmer version, sans the dimples, of her mother.
“I’m Samara. Thank you for inviting me to your beautiful home.”
Hannah smiled over Samara’s shoulder at Tonya. “You’re welcome to come any time you want.”
Tonya ran a hand over her forehead. “Watch what you say, because it may come to bite you on the behind. My daughter just might take you up on your invitation and descend on you with a hoard of friends who’ll eat you out of house and home.”
Hannah shook her head. “That will never happen, because we keep enough food on hand to feed several football teams. Speaking of food, I’ve prepared dinner, but I know you’re going to want to freshen up before we sit down to eat. Bring your bags in and I’ll show you to your rooms. Jasmine, please give me your key fob and I’ll drive your truck around to the garage.” Searching in her bag, Jasmine handed her the fob.
“The Big Easy agrees with you, Hannah,” Tonya said, smiling. “You’re like the girl from Ipanema: ‘tall and tan.’ ”
Hannah patted her hips over a pair of cropped jeans. “Bless you for not mentioning I’ve put on a few pounds.”
Jasmine waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s about time you got some booty. Why should you be any different from the rest of us?”
Nydia ran a hand through her curly hair. “I can’t believe the size of this place. It’s like freakin’ Gone with the Wind.”
“Word,” whispered Samara, as she took her bag out of the cargo area.
Once everyone had their bags, Hannah led the way up the porch. “You’re welcome to use the washer and dryer if you run out of clean clothes.”
Jasmine stopped in the entryway. “Holy shit!”
Hannah turned. “What’s the matter?”
“Are these chairs really antiques, or are they incredible reproductions?”
“They’re antiques.” She smiled. “I forgot you were an interior decorator in your former life.”
Jasmine returned Hannah’s smile. “If I don’t get another position as a human resources specialist, then I’m going back to decorating.”
“Don’t do anything until I talk to you. After dinner I’d like to talk to all of you about something.”
Tonya lifted her eyebrows. “Why are you being so mysterious?”
Hannah debated whether to wait or tell them her good news now. She decided to tell them. “I’m going to turn this house into an inn.”
“Don’t you mean a B and B?” Jasmine asked.
“It won’t actually be a bed-and-breakfast. I’ll explain everything over dinner. Now come so I can show you your bedrooms.”
Hannah stood outside a bedroom suite on the first floor. “Tonya, you are here, and Samara, you’re across the hall from your mother.” She stopped at the next suite. “Jasmine, you’re here and Nydia is across the hall. Each of you will have your own bathroom. In the event you’ve forgotten something, you’ll find a supply of toiletries in wicker baskets on a shelf under the table.” She glanced at her watch. It was ten minutes after five. “Will everyone be ready to eat at six?”
“Yes!” they all chorused.
Turning on her heel, Hannah left to drive the massive SUV around to the back of the house near the garages. Now she knew why Jasmine’s ex had fought so hard to keep the SUV. It was a dream to drive.
She returned to the house through the side door and made her way into the kitchen. She’d decided to prepare traditional Southern and New Orleans dishes as a celebratory welcome to the Big Easy. Preparing meals with St. John had resurrected her urge to go through several binders filled with recipes passed down through the generations. She’d rewritten Mrs. Bouie’s recipes for jambalaya, red beans and rice, and seafood gumbo on index cards in the tin box she kept in a desk drawer in the kitchen alcove.
She’d just finished setting the table when Tonya walked in. She’d changed into a cotton sundress that showed off her toned arms. In that instant Hannah envied the chef’s flawless henna-brown complexion, wondering if she’d ever had a pimple or blackhead. Her curly twists were long enough to graze her jawline.
Tonya smiled, twin dimples flashing in her cheeks. “It’s amazing what a shower can do to rejuvenate one’s mind and body.” She glanced around the kitchen. “I’m with Nydia. This house does remind me of Tara from Gone with the Wind. And I could do serious cooking in this kitchen. It’s about half the size of my apartment.”
Hannah grasped Tonya’s hand, leading her to sit on the stools at the cooking island. “Please sit down, because I have to talk to you before the others get here.”
Tonya blinked slowly, her dark brown eyes meeting Hannah’s. “What about?”
“You already know I’m going to turn this house into an inn. There are two guesthouses on the property. One will eventually become a café exclusively for inn guests and the other a small supper club open to the public. I want to know if you’d be amenable to becoming an investor.”
“What do I get out of it if I decide to invest?”
“After you recoup your initial investment, I’m willing to offer you twenty-five percent of all proceeds from the entire business, and that include fees from room rates. Hypothetically if we clear three hundred thousand at the end of a fiscal year, then you’d get seventy-five thousand.”
Tonya appeared deep in thought. “What about a salary?”
“You’ll be paid a nominal salary that will increase in increments of ten percent each year until you earn back your investment. After that we’ll negotiate a salary commensurate with your experience.”
“I don’t know, Hannah. It sounds nice, but I’m not ready to move from New York.”
Hannah wanted to ask her if there was something or someone preventing her from relocating. “I know you can make a lot more money as a chef in New York, but if you do decide to move here, you’ll live here, which offsets your having to sell a kidney to rent a halfway decent apartment in New York City.”
“Tell me about it,” Tonya whispered. “I don’t want to tell you what I’m paying to rent a two-bedroom in a renovated East Harlem walk-up.”
“Girl, please,” Hannah drawled. “You don’t have to tell me. Even before I moved to New York ten years ago the rents were prohibitive.”
Throwing back her head, Tonya laughed. “You sounded like a sister-girl when you said, ‘girl, please.’ ”
A slight frown appeared between Hannah’s eyes. “Maybe that’s because there are sister-girls in my family tree.”
Tonya sobered. “Really?”
She nodded. “Yes. The first DuPont woman who was the mistress of this house was
a Haitian mulatto.”
“No shit!”
Hannah smiled. “Yes shit! I’ll tell you later about the illustrious and colorful DuPonts.”
“Are you going to invite Nydia and Jasmine to come in with you?”
“I plan to broach the subject with them. If they agree, then Nydia can handle all finances and Jasmine will be responsible for hiring and background checks. Jasmine will also assist me with all things that pertain to personnel.” Hannah stood up. “Where are my manners? I’ve been running off at the mouth and you’re probably thirsty.”
“Do you need help with anything?” Tonya asked.
“No thanks. Is your daughter over twenty-one?”
“Yes. She turned twenty-one last month. Why?”
“I’m going to make one of New Orleans’s signature cocktails. I can only have a hurricane if I’m at home because it makes me very sleepy.”
Tonya stood up. “Something smells good. What are you cooking?”
“Red beans. We usually serve them over rice with fried chicken, grilled ham, or oysters en brochette. I prefer chau-rice, which is a Creole hot sausage grilled to order and placed atop the beans.”
“If I’m going to run your café and supper club, then I have to familiarize myself with Creole and Cajun cuisine.”
Hannah successfully bit back a grin. Tonya had voiced the possibility of running the inn’s eating establishments. “It’s all in the seasonings, Tonya.”
“What’s on tonight’s menu?”
Opening the refrigerator, Hannah removed several limes from the vegetable drawer. “I decided on a buffet: red beans and rice, tasso shrimp, chicken livers with bacon and pepper jelly, fried green tomatoes, and hot garlic filet mignon for those who want red meat.”
“It sounds as if you’ve gone through a lot of work.”
“Not really,” Hannah admitted. “I’ve prepped everything beforehand. The only task left is frying the tomatoes and grilling the shrimp, chicken livers, and steak.”
The Inheritance Page 24
