by Donna Hill
Jackson’s mouth lifted in a slow smile. His eyes moved leisurely over her face before reaching across the table to take her hand. He ran his thumb over the smooth surface of her knuckles sending tremors scurrying up her arm.
The waitress returned with their drinks, but the connection between them wasn’t broken. They barely noticed her and absentmindedly ordered the house special.
“Where did you grow up?” Jackson asked.
“On Montiere,” she said, her Creole accent creeping in. “The big white house on the corner.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “I used to ride by there on my bike as a kid. Always wondered who lived in that big old house.”
“That was us. The Beaumonts. House was handed down from one generation to the next.”
“Who lives there now?”
“My mother, and her sisters and my grandmother. All women all the time,” she said with a light laugh.
He rested his arms on the table. “Tell me about your family.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
“Why don’t you go first?” she challenged.
He reached for his glass and took a short swallow. “Okay. Let’s see. I have a twin sister. Her name is Michelle and I have an older brother, Franklin. We lost our parents about eight years ago…one after the other.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You met my niece, Shay. Basically, we’re your average family. My parents worked hard. My dad worked for the railroad. My mother was a teacher.”
“You took after her.”
“Yeah, I think I did.”
“Did you always like art?”
“For as long as I can remember. I thought I would be an artist, but I’m really not that good. Michelle was the one who convinced me to get my degree and teach.”
“Why did you leave New Orleans?”
He glanced away for a minute. So far the conversation had been pretty normal, the kind most couples have on first dates. If he told her the real reason why he’d broken up with his fiancé, left all his friends and family behind because of a feeling he had and dreams he’d dreamed, she just might get up and walk out.
“Let’s just say that I didn’t think I could find what I was searching for back home.” He roamed her face with his eyes.
“What are you looking for?” she asked, holding her breath in anticipation. “My future.”
The moment gently held them.
“Do you think you’ll find your future here?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
“It’s beginning to look that way. What about you? Why did you leave the Big Easy?”
She chuckled a little. “To get away from the burden of family expectations.”
“Hmm. Family is usually the hardest on you.” He slowly turned his glass on the table. “What did they want you to do that you were dead set against?”
Fulfill their lives, fix the past, be responsible for things that she wasn’t a part of. But saying that would make her sound selfish. She wasn’t. She loved her family. But what they wanted from her, what they expected from her frightened her.
“Oh, the usual,” she said, blowing it off. “Settle down, marry and have a bunch of kids.”
“I would think you could manage that with your eyes closed and your hands tied behind you.”
She shrugged slightly. “I wanted my own life, to live my own dreams. Not someone else’s,” she added, the passion of her conviction strengthening her voice. “Have you?”
“I’m still working on it,” she conceded. “But I believe I’m moving in the right direction.”
The waitress returned with their dinner and they spent the next half hour savoring the delicious food in between sharing some of their favorite recipes.
“No one can make peach cobbler like my Nana Zora.”
Jackson wagged his fork at her. “Hands down I make the best chili this side of the Mississippi bar none.”
“Really?” She cocked her head to the side. “I’d take bets on that one, mister.”
“Say what. You?”
“Yes. You better believe it.”
“Sounds like a showdown to me.”
“Whenever you get up the nerve.”
“Ohhh.” He slapped his palm against his chest, and chuckled hard. “It’s like that?”
“All week including Sundays,” she tossed back loving the banter.
He leaned forward. “I’m ready when you are. You name the time and place and I’m there.”
She curved her mouth to the side and narrowed her gaze. “Hmm. Two weeks from Sunday. My place. Noon.”
“Don’t be late.”
Zoe cracked up.
The waitress came and cleared away the plates and offered a dessert menu.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Zoe said and handed the menu back.
“Nothing for me, either. You can bring the bill, thanks.” He leaned back in his seat totally relaxed, totally captivated by Zoe and he didn’t want the night to end. “It’s still early. You want to do something? Maybe go listen to some jazz? Take a walk, see a movie?”
“Hmm. It is early. I wouldn’t mind taking a walk.”
“A walk it is.”
The waitress returned with the bill and Jackson handed over his credit card.
“I’m going to the restroom,” Zoe said, getting up from her seat.
Jackson jumped up and pulled out her chair. As he reached around her she turned and found herself in his arms, the swell of her breasts pressed against the wall of his chest.
Zoe’s breath caught and she fell into the depths of his eyes, which seemed to engulf her. She inhaled the totally male scent of him that went straight to her head, jumbling her thoughts and for a moment she’d forgotten why she’d gotten up or where she was going.
“I’ll wait for you up front,” he said, his voice thick and low.
She wet her lips with a slow dance of her tongue. “Be right back,” she managed. She stepped around him and her thigh brushed against the rise of his erection. A tremor shot through her and piqued the tiny bud between her thighs. She heard the almost imperceptible groan rumble deep in his throat as he sucked in air through his teeth. Or maybe it was her moan that she heard and silently prayed that she wouldn’t do something silly—like trip over her feet before she could get behind closed doors and pull herself together.
Once inside the ladies room she dared to breathe. Her heart pounded and she felt flushed. “God.” Her eyelids fluttered as she relived the feel of him against her. Just for an instant and her entire mind was in a knot. She stared at herself in the mirror, certain that she was going to see a new face, a new person. But she didn’t. Yet it was her and not her at the same time. She looked the same on the outside but inside she felt different, as if a switch had been turned on and her body was charged with electricity.
Her hand shook as she took her lipstick out of her purse and reapplied the soft coral color. “I hope you’re right, Nana,” she said to her reflection. “Because I think I might be willing to open my heart this time.” She dropped her lipstick into her purse and headed back out.
Chapter 13
The heavens were a dusty dark blue, cloudless, with pinpoints of light as the stars illuminated the canvas of night. Jazz, hip-hop and R&B could be heard as doors to cafes and nightclubs opened and closed to a rhythm that was unique to a Saturday night in Atlanta.
They walked in companionable silence, taking in the sights and sounds with no particular destination in mind, when Zoe spotted a Pinkberry.
“Oh, we’ve got to stop.”
“Stop where?”
“At Pinkberry. They have absolutely, hands down, the best frozen yogurt on the planet.”
Jackson laughed. “All that, huh. Guess I should try some.”
“You have to,” she said as if not doing so was the most outlandish thing she’d heard. Without thinking, she grabbed his hand and pulled him behind her through the glass door.
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br /> “Mango is my favorite,” she said as she pretended to whisper. “But any of them are good.”
They inched along the line.
Jackson watched in amusement as her face lit up as she talked about something as simple as frozen yogurt, and relished the fact that she still held his hand.
Her soft fingers felt good in his. He wanted to hold her tighter, but didn’t want to break the spell. To him it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
She turned to gaze up and him, the most delightful smile on her face.
“Do you know what you want?”
That was a loaded question, he thought. “Um, I’ll have what you’re having.”
Zoe stepped up to the counter and ordered two medium mango yogurts to go.
Reluctantly, Jackson released her hand, took out his wallet and paid for their desserts.
“We can sit over there,” Jackson said, lifting his chin toward a bank of tables and benches in the pedestrian plaza.
“Sure.”
They stepped off the curb and onto the island that was cut off from traffic for one block and adorned with benches, tables and chairs in between potted trees and shrubbery.
Jackson spotted a curved bench with a round table and they walked over. Zoe scooted onto the bench and Jackson slid over beside her.
“I can never get over how crowded it is at night,” Jackson said, before taking his first taste of the yogurt. “Hmm.”
“Told ya.” Zoe beamed. She put a spoonful in her mouth and closed her eyes as the pleasure trickled through her. “My one guilty pleasure.”
“Just one?”
She looked across at him from under her long lashes. “So far.”
“How about if I said something crazy like, let me be another one of your guilty pleasures?”
Her cheeks heated. She slowly licked the confection from her spoon. “And what if I said I think I’d like that very much.” She held her breath.
Jackson draped his arm behind her. His fingers played with one of her curls that had come loose. His eyes moved slowly across her face, down the curve of her slender neck to the rise of her breasts before returning to her lips.
Zoe’s lips parted in anticipation as he drew nearer until his image blurred and the tenderness of his mouth blended with hers. His fingers threaded along the back of her neck easing her closer and they shared the sticky mango sweetness as their mouths met and mingled, tasting and testing.
The urge to possess her completely rose inside him with such force that he had to tear himself away. But then her tongue teased the contours of his lips and any hope of freeing himself was gone. He could feel the blood pounding in his head, and the sound of tribal drums filling the night air. He was running. He could feel them coming behind him. The sound of the hounds barking in the night. He knew that if he could make it to the river they would lose his scent and he would have a chance. He had to survive.
Zoe’s soft sighs interrupted the images that had enveloped him dragging him back to some unknown place. The drumming grew faint, the scent of the river faded and the hounds stopped their terrifying howling.
Shaken, Jackson eased back. The expression in Zoe’s eyes let him know that she had been there, too.
“Zoe.” He whispered her name like a prayer. “I don’t know what just happened.” He ran his finger along the soft curve of her jaw. She shuddered at his touch.
“Neither do I,” she said, as her breathing kicked up a notch. “I… I wasn’t here. I mean I was here physically, but…”
“I know,” he said urgently. “That’s the same way I felt. Like an out-of-body experience.”
She wanted to tell him what was happening to her, the dreams and the burden that weighed on her mind. She needed to share it with him and only him. But she was afraid. Just be yourself, she heard herself saying to Linda, and recalled the image of Linda and Mike earlier. That moment had been a turning point for them. And here she was at that same crossroads. She shifted her gaze away. “Wow, the yogurt is melting.”
“We can get some more if you want.”
“No. I’m fine. I am getting a little tired though.”
Jackson stood. “I better get you home then.”
They walked back toward the garage and this time it was Jackson who reached for Zoe’s hand. They strolled together slowly, talking and laughing softly about the music that they liked growing up, the troubles that the Gulf Coast had experienced after Katrina and their passion for African art.
“I’ve been collecting pieces for years,” Zoe said as Jackson slowed the car when he pulled onto her street.
“Really?”
“From all parts of Africa, particularly Mali. It’s where my ancestors are from.”
“You traced your ancestry?”
“Since I was a little girl, my family has always talked about where our family came from. According to Nana Zora and the stories that she was told by her mother and grandmother, great-great-grandmother Zinzi was a conjure woman and head of her village. She was married to Etu, the son of the chief of the adjoining village…” She told him about their capture and how they were separated when they were brought to Louisiana and sold at auction. She left out the part about the legacy and the heartache that has haunted her family for generations. Perhaps the time would come later.
“The house and the land that we lived on was the house of the former slave owner, Ezekiel Beaumont.”
“Amazing,” he said.
“My house is the one on the right.”
Jackson eased to a stop in front of her house and cut off the engine. He turned to her. “Home safe and sound.”
She lowered her head then looked directly at him. “I’m suddenly not so tired anymore.” She hesitated a moment. “And I’m not ready for the night to end.”
“Neither am I.” He ran a finger across her brow.
“Would you like to come in for a little while? I think I have some wine and plenty of music.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She drew in a breath, turned and unlocked her door.
“These pieces are incredible,” he said admiring the small sculptures on the shelves and tabletops and the artwork on the white walls. “This is better than some galleries I’ve seen.”
“Thank you.” She handed him his glass of wine.
He raised his glass to hers. “To a wonderful evening and more to come.”
Zoe touched her glass to his and took a tiny sip. “So what would you like to listen to?”
“Why don’t you choose? I’m easy.”
“Okay.” She set down her glass and crossed the hardwood floors to a built-in wall cabinet. She opened the double doors in the center of the cabinet to reveal a fifty-two-inch television and a stereo system that could easily find its way into a recording studio. Inside were racks of CDs and albums. She slowly spun the rack and picked out six CDs and put them in the player. Moments later the sultry, plaintive voice of Billie Holiday filled the room with her signature song, “God Bless the Child.”
“Aww, Billie,” Jackson said. He put his glass down on an end table and turned toward Zoe. He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
Zoe’s heart thundered in her chest and her legs felt weak as she placed her hand in his. Slowly he gathered her close until nothing but the fabric of their clothing separated them.
They swayed together in perfect harmony as if they’d always danced together. As Billie soothed them, Zoe felt her body relax and melt against Jackson. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the moment.
As the song came to its pitch-perfect end, Jackson lifted Zoe’s chin with the tip of his finger. They stood motionless, caught in each other’s gaze. Whatever hesitation she may have felt dissipated. She wanted him and she wanted him to want her just as much.
And he did.
The kiss was slow as he brushed his lips across hers. He teased her bottom lip with his teeth then his tongue, and delighted in feeling her body shiver against his. He cupped the back of
her head in his large palm and drew her closer to him. Her lips parted ever so slightly and he teased them apart farther with his tongue until she let him in.
Her soft moan drifted into his soul and he felt like the sun had found a place inside him. She curled against him, igniting a full-blown erection that shook him to his core. His hands stroked her back, her arms, caressed her hips. He wanted to explore all of her if she’d let him.
Zoe eased down one strap of her dress and then the other. Jackson picked up the invitation and lowered the top of her dress to her waist to expose her full breasts.
His lips dropped from her mouth and skimmed her long neck, suckling the tender space near her collarbone. She whimpered and desire fueled his exploration. Her skin felt like silk and smelled like forever. If he lived to be one hundred he would never get enough of her scent. He planted hot kisses along the rise of her breasts.
She arched her back in offering, and he took the succulent fruit into his mouth, tasting and teasing the sweet brown nipples until she trembled, gripping his arms to keep from crumbling at his feet.
He was so hard that he hurt and he took her hand and placed it on his need, making her understand what she was doing to him and how much he wanted her.
Zoe’s touch was like a branding iron, hot and steamy and a strangled groan rose from the bottom of his feet when she began a slow and deliberate massage, gripping and releasing him in a maddening rhythm.
The music swelled in the background as Billie released that last heart-wrenching note then segued to “Body and Soul.”
Zoe took a small step back. She was on fire and she needed Jackson to douse the flames that threatened to consume her. “Come with me,” she said in a husky voice. She took his hand and led him down the hallway to her bedroom. She opened the door and looked at him over her shoulder. Once she crossed the threshold there was no turning back. Yet she felt in her heart that making love to Jackson was so right.
She stepped inside and Jackson followed. She walked to her bed and sat down on the edge. Jackson slowly approached. He took her hands and pulled her to her feet.
