He was being so cryptic, and I knew what that meant—whatever he had to handle wasn’t something that would meet my approval. Or maybe he had some kind of deal going on and he thought that I might try to take it from him.
Now I was feeling annoyed, but with myself, not Trey. He’d been here four days and maybe if I’d had this talk with him already, he wouldn’t be about to get caught up in something. I just couldn’t seem to find the right time, and now time may have run out.
“Well, go do what you have to do.” And only because I really cared about my boy, I asked, “Just one question . . . is this play you’re about to run . . . is it legit?”
With a smirk, he said, “More legit than you will ever know.”
My head started to do that pounding thing, but I pulled my anxiety back. I wasn’t Trey’s daddy. “Then go handle yours and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Maybe.”
I leaned back.
“Just kidding.” He laughed. “Man, this wedding has you all kinds of serious.”
That was true; I was more serious now than I had ever been. But that wasn’t my issue. It was my gut that had me on edge. My gut that told me that something tight was about to go down with Trey. Maybe he needed me.
He gave me dap, then turned around and strolled away, without saying a word to me and without giving a nod to my boys.
But once he disappeared through the door, I grabbed my glass from the bartender. Whatever Trey was going to do, I couldn’t tell him not to go, I couldn’t tell him to stop. That was the thing about grown folks, you had to let them handle their business. I just hoped that Trey’s business wasn’t something that would bring him down.
By the time I sat back down with my boys, my thoughts of Trey were on ice. Tonight it was about the celebration of my future life with my future wife and I wasn’t going to let anything from the past get in the way of that.
16
Tiffanie
I didn’t have the energy to stay at the party too much longer. It was a fusion of exhaustion and excitement that made me eager to get to the bridal suite.
My grandparents had left right after Damon and the guys, so it was really just us girls dancing and talking about the good old days when we were nineteen, twenty, and twenty-one.
But pretty soon, I’d had enough and after saying all of my good-byes, Sonia walked me to the front desk to retrieve the room key. Even though I’d been trying to talk her into staying with me, I couldn’t convince her.
“Isn’t this the major responsibility of the maid of honor?” I asked making one last effort. “To stay with the bride?”
“A maid, but not the matron. Matrons go home to their husbands every night.” She kissed my cheek. “Trust me, you’ll be glad you had this last night of solitude.”
With that, she handed me off to one of the hotel staff, who escorted me to my room.
“There are several restaurants on the premises,” said the man—Mr. Blunt, I read from his brass nameplate—“and our room service is twenty-four hours as well.”
“Okay,” I said, though I wasn’t going to eat another thing, not if I wanted to fit into my Vera Wang tomorrow.
As we moved toward the elevator banks, Mr. Blunt said, “Our gift shop is also open twenty-four hours.” He pointed to the store to our right.
“Really?” I said, eyeing the space that looked more like a small mall than a hotel gift shop.
“Yes, our goal is to supply our guests with the ultimate in convenience.”
Inside the elevator, Mr. Blunt continued chatting, filling me in on the never-ending list of amenities.
All night long, I had been marveling at the beauty of the Willard, but when Mr. Blunt unlocked the door to my suite and then stepped aside so that I could walk in first, all I could say was, “Wow!”
The room was pure white—everything. From the carpet, to the furniture—it looked like a chamber in heaven.
“Here,” Mr. Blunt said, after we walked through the marble-floored foyer, “is the first powder room.”
“First?”
He nodded. “There’s another one off the dining room.”
Dining room? This time I didn’t say it aloud. But dang! A dining room in a hotel room? Yes, this was the Willard, but still.
It wasn’t until I was closing the door behind the concierge that I took notice of the card atop the dozens of roses set in the middle of the coffee table.
Smiling, I read the first words, and tears sprang to my eyes.
I will always love you and I look forward to a lifetime of days showing you how much.
I clutched the note card to my heart, loving his words, loving these flowers. Roses were so traditional, but they meant so much to me. Because whenever Damon and I had done anything romantic, he surrounded us with red roses.
With a sigh and a shake of my head, I wondered how I could ever have had thoughts of another man.
Inside the bathroom, more gifts from Damon were waiting. On the side of the Jacuzzi was a basket filled with scented bath beads and imported oils—in my favorite scent, jasmine—and beside it an array of chocolate-dipped fruit. I turned on the faucet full blast, stripped right there, and made full use of my gifts, relaxing in the tub and enjoying a couple of strawberries.
An hour later, I had dried off, and with nothing to do (and nothing on), I strutted around the suite, reveling in the opulence of the place, while I enjoyed one of the chocolate-dipped bananas from Damon’s basket.
Back inside the bedroom, I pulled my wedding dress from the closet. Carefully unzipping the garment bag, I slipped out the satin halter gown that made me feel like a princess every time I tried it on. When I held it in front of me, all I could do was sigh and smile. The full tulle skirt was a bow to all the wedding dresses I’d dreamed about as a little girl. The fitted bodice was the grown-folks part of the design, and the plunging V neckline . . . well, that was all for Damon, who loved my boobs as much as he loved my butt. I’d been going for a royal yet sexy look, and I think I got it right.
Gathering the dress, I returned it to the hanger but left it outside of the garment bag, letting it hang from the closet door frame. I stepped back and imagined myself and Damon tomorrow, taking this pledge in front of God that would forever change our lives.
And then there would be our honeymoon, the time together that I anticipated the most. Pulling open my suitcase, I unwrapped the lingerie that I’d purchased for my wedding night. As I held up the baby-girl-pink La Perla sheer camisole and matching thong, I wondered if it was bad luck to put it on.
Shrugging that thought away, I slid the camisole over my head, slipped into the thong, and then grabbed my pink stilettos from my suitcase. When I pranced back and forth in front of the mirror, I couldn’t believe how I looked. I’d never been into this kind of thing; I’d only purchased this lingerie because Sonia told me I should.
But now, looking at my image, this was what had been missing from our relationship. If I’d been wearing outfits like this, maybe Damon would have been hitting me the way I dreamed that Trey would.
Trey.
Why in the world was I thinking about that man?
I rushed into the bedroom, grabbed my cell from my purse, then ran back into the bathroom. Squaring my shoulders, lifting my chest, and tossing my head back, I snapped that picture, then sat on the edge of the tub.
Opening my Messenger, I typed:
Tomorrow
and sent that along with the photo to Damon.
Even though he was with his boys, I still did a countdown the way I’d been doing this week whenever I sent the other texts: Five, four, three, two . . . and before I got to one, Damon hit me back with Oh, yeah!
I laughed.
As carefully as I could, I slipped out of the lingerie, returned it to my suitcase, and then, still naked, I climbed into the bed that was f
it for two kings. Even before my head had melded into the pillow, I felt exhaustion overtake me. Of course I should be tired after the week I’d had: my wedding, my spa, my Trey.
Trey.
My Trey.
What the hell was I thinking?
It was like all Trey, all the time. I just kept thinking and thinking. Imagining and imagining. Wanting to feel that feeling that he’d given to me again.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but whether my eyes were open or closed, Trey was in my mind.
“I’m just tired,” I whispered, knowing temptation came when one was drained of energy and didn’t have the strength to fight back. At least that’s what my grandfather told me.
Rolling onto my other side, I stared at my wedding dress, and that helped to shift my thoughts. I imagined Damon when he first saw me, then our exchanging vows, and the celebration at our reception.
Then the best part—tomorrow night, when Damon would take my dress off. I relaxed even more as my eyelids became heavy with sleep. But as soon as I closed my eyes, all that waited for me in the darkness was Trey.
Sitting up, I glanced at the clock and it had just ticked beyond eleven. I prayed that time would rush to midnight, because if there was ever a time when I needed to speak to Damon, it was now. But until then, I had to find something that would relax and exhaust me, something that would keep my mind occupied.
The all-night gift shop.
Jumping into a pair of yoga pants, a sports bra, and a tank top, I headed down to the lobby. Now, I’d stayed in lots of upscale hotels, but I’d never seen a shop this large. I took my time and browsed through, hanging out a little longer in the handbag section.
Just as I was turning to the jewelry section, a tiny red-and-white beaded clutch made me pause. Slipping the bag from the shelf, right away I knew I’d found a treasure.
It had only been about thirty minutes, but that little browsing and shopping had done me good; I’d be able to fall asleep with the right thoughts on my mind.
At the elevators, one of the doors opened right away. Just as I stepped inside and pushed the button to the penthouse, someone yelled out, “Hold it!”
It was instinct that made me press the button to keep the doors open.
It was dread that made me sorry when Trey stepped in with me.
17
Tiffanie
By the time my brain caught up to what I’d done, it was too late. The elevator’s doors had closed and now I held my breath, and didn’t say a word.
“Well, hello, to you too,” Trey said, stepping behind me.
“Hi,” I finally managed to say, though I kept my eyes on the steel doors. What was he doing here? And then I remembered, this was where he was staying too.
“Hi? Is that all you have for me?”
I nodded and wondered why this elevator was crawling. It hadn’t moved this slowly when I came down.
“Damn, baby. It’s almost midnight. Does Damon know you’re up and hanging out?”
Still, I said nothing. Just pressed my legs together. Just looked at the numbers above my head—second floor . . . third floor . . .
Trey laughed. “You might be mute, but you’re still looking good.”
The days I’d spent this week doing everything I could to stay away from Trey hadn’t helped at all. Now, as I stood in his presence, I realized that his absence had only made me yearn for him more. I’d hidden it beneath texts to Damon, beneath focusing on our wedding, beneath working long hours at the spa. I’d done the best I could to shift my thoughts and pretend that Trey didn’t exist. But I couldn’t pretend now. There was no way that I could pretend he wasn’t standing here because of all the things his presence was doing to me.
I was remembering and wanting to feel it . . . again.
Fourth floor . . . fifth floor . . . sixth floor . . .
That was when I noticed that Trey hadn’t hit a number. I wanted to press the seventh floor, then push him out when the door opened and hope that the earth would swallow him whole.
But I didn’t ask him what floor he was on because I didn’t trust myself. There was no telling what words might come out of me.
Eighth floor . . . ninth floor . . . tenth floor . . .
Trey stood behind me, so close I could feel his heat. I closed my eyes and prayed. And counted the floors, this time without looking up.
Eleventh floor. Please God. Twelfth floor. Please God.
He had moved even closer because now I could feel him and smell him. His fragrance was so familiar; it was the one that he’d left behind in my car. The one I was sure was part animal, part man, all him.
And then.
He touched my shoulder and I moaned. If I were being completely honest, I’d admit that I moaned a couple of milliseconds before his hand made contact. As if my body had anticipated his skin on my skin. With his fingers he pressed, then squeezed. It was only a press, only a squeeze. But it was so sensual. Because of the time and space. Approaching the midnight hour, in an elevator.
Alone.
He pressed and squeezed—a one-hand massage on one shoulder. But it was the sexiest massage I’d ever had, and his caress caused all kinds of sensations within me. I was heading back to that place where he’d led me before.
I wanted to tell him to stop. I really did. I wanted to pull myself away from him in righteous indignation. But I couldn’t do that because I had to be sane to take those actions and I couldn’t find my sanity. I was tumbling, tumbling, tumbling.
My knees could no longer hold me. My brain could no longer control me.
Then.
His lips sought and found one of my weaknesses—the soft space at my lower ear. He blew his hot breath against skin that was already aflame. “You okay, baby?” His voice was strong and sure. Like he was confident and comfortable with what was happening. That was my first thought. And my second—I needed to tell him that I wasn’t his baby.
But I didn’t answer him because I wasn’t okay and he knew it. I was burning, I was panting.
Why couldn’t I just turn around and face him?
No! Because if I did that, if I stole even a single glance, something terrible—even more terrible than what was happening now—was going to happen. So what was I going to do? Just let him continue to ignite these fires within me?
I mustered up fortitude and turned. And there were his eyes, waiting for me. Dark. Seductive. They told me all the things I wanted to hear, and this time, his eyes told me that they weren’t going to let me go.
“No,” I said aloud.
“No, what?” he asked, holding me hostage with his stare. “I didn’t say anything for you to say no to.”
“But . . .”
“No buts, baby.”
There were so many things I should have said, so many things I should have done. But all I could think about was how much I wanted to touch him. Just a single touch. If I could have just a little feel, it would be enough, and then this infatuation or whatever I had with this man would be over and it would all stop here.
That’s what I told myself—in those seconds between lust and lunacy. Lust won . . . or was it lunacy? Because I did something that I never thought I’d do, something I’d never done before. I reached for a man who wasn’t mine; I reached for that part and grabbed him as if he were Damon.
His gift was waiting for me and I gasped. I’d been right all along.
This. Was. Not. My. Imagination.
This man wanted me as much as I wanted him.
It had been a mistake to touch him, though. Because that touch had not been enough. Now my hands were drawn to his chest, and when I pressed my palm against him, he moaned. Or maybe that sound had come from me.
Then he made his move, though he didn’t touch me. He pressed something on the elevator’s panel behind me. The elevator jerked, then stopped. He’d pr
essed the Emergency Stop button, I supposed, but I didn’t have time to figure that out because right after that, his lips were on mine. And my lips, then my tongue welcomed him.
Our tongues waltzed, a slow dance, and I sighed, savoring each second. His lips were exactly what I’d dreamed. Thick and juicy. Sweet and wet.
The elevator filled with sounds of our pleasure and his excitement made me want more of him. So, I moved my lips to his neck, a treat worth tasting, and he thanked me by slipping his hand inside my pants.
“Oh!” I cried out.
I pressed myself against him, realizing now that I might never be satisfied, not until I had every bit of this man. I pulled away for just a moment, just so that I could pant, “Please.”
He smiled, but it was audible. His smile was really a snicker, a victorious sneer as if he’d just won a prize.
“Please,” I panted again.
This time he laughed.
Shame filled me, it really did. But I couldn’t walk away. It was as if I couldn’t control my feet or my hands or my thoughts or my words. For the third time, I just begged, “Please!”
I half expected, half hoped that he would deny me. That he would speak sense and tell me that I was Damon’s woman and he was Damon’s boy.
Instead he taunted me. “Tell me what you want, Tiff.”
“Please,” I cried because there was no way I was going to say it. Didn’t I have to keep just a bit of my dignity?
But he shook his head. “Tell me. Say it.”
Wasn’t it enough that I was in his arms? Why did he want me to speak my desire aloud?
He said, “Say it . . . or . . .”
Or what? Was he going to deny me? He couldn’t.
With his eyes still on mine, he reached over my shoulder and pushed in the Emergency Stop button, setting the elevator back in motion. My heart pounded with anticipation.
Seconds later, the elevator stopped again on the seventeenth floor and I stumbled out, leaving behind the fragrance of our desire that filled the space. Trey didn’t follow me, though; he stayed in place. “Say it,” he demanded from inside the elevator.
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