A Private Affair

by Donna Hill

  Nick stepped into the spotlight and welcomed the crowd. Told them to sit back and enjoy, and let them do their thing.

  The band ran through a montage of jazz and R&B classics, as well as two of Nick’s original compositions, for more than an hour.

  Quinn’s fingers floated across the black and whites, zeroing in on every note with precision.

  Nick was right. All that nervous energy was gone. All he could feel was the rhythm of the music. The spotlight blinded him to the audience. All he could see was what was in front of him and hear the sounds of clapping and shouts for more every time a number ended. And he wanted to play more. He wanted this feeling, this sense of power, to go on forever.

  But the biggest blast came when Nick introduced the band, and him as the newest member of the Nick Hunter family. The crowd roared their approval.

  “We’re outta here,” Nick announced. “So eat up and be merry.”

  The band filed off stage to another round of applause.

  Quinn hopped down and walked over to the table. Both Nikita and Maxine stood up as he approached.

  Maxine took his hand and reached up to kiss his cheek. “You did it, Q. I knew you could,” she whispered.

  “Thanks, Max.”

  “Hey, man, good to see you,” he said to Dre, shaking his hand.

  “Congratulations. Sounded real good.”

  Quinn focused all of his attention on Nikita and felt his insides shift when he saw the soft smile and sparkle in her eyes, remembering last night and envisioning later.

  “Hey, baby.” He moved closer to her, shutting out everything and everyone.

  “Hey, yourself,” she whispered. “You were fantastic, Quinn.”

  “Just doin’ my thing.” He grinned. “I’m finished for the night. You wanna hang out here for a while, or you ready to cut out?”

  She felt the heat rush through her body, anticipating the rest of their night together.

  “I’m ready when you are. I just need to see Nick for a minute.”

  “You do that and I’ll meet you back here. I think he’s in his office.”

  He watched her until she was swallowed up in the crowded dimness, then turned back to Maxine and Dre.

  “Ya’ll gonna hang for a while?”

  “Naw,” Dre said, giving Maxine a long, slow look. “We’re gonna head in.” He took her hand.

  Quinn glanced from one to the other, pushing down a twinge of unease.

  “Cool.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for comin’ down, ya know.”

  “No problem,” Maxine said, suddenly wanting to get away before Nikita returned. “Come on, Dre, let’s get going.”

  “Right with you, baby. Take it easy, Quinn.”

  “Yeah. Talk to ya, Max.”

  She just sort of smiled.

  Quinn pulled up an empty chair at the table and straddled it. He wanted to leave, too, and wished that whatever Nikita had to take care of would be quick. A waitress passed and he flagged her down, ordering a shot of Jack on the rocks. He had finished his drink by the time she returned.

  Her face was beaming. “Guess what?”

  “Clueless.”

  “Nick got me a phone interview with Anita! Can you believe it? I have to call her on Wednesday.” She clutched the piece of paper to her chest.

  “That’s awright.” His dimples flashed. “Nick really has some pull, huh?”

  “Definitely. And he acts like it’s no big deal.”

  “Humph. I know.” Just thinking about his trip to ASCAP had him knowing Nick was all that.

  “You ready?”

  “I sure am.” She looked up into his eyes. “Have been for a while.”

  Her words raced through him like a forest fire and he felt that old, low-down throb begin to pulse.

  Chapter 16

  About Last Night

  Quinn turned on the stereo and adjusted the dial to the jazz station. She’d like that. He kind of liked it, too, from time to time.

  He turned and she was sitting on the couch, looking all small and fragile. He wanted to take her right then and there, but he wanted everything to be right.

  “You want anything?” He crossed the room and sat beside her, draping his arm across her shoulders. His fingers played in her hair.

  “Yes. I do.”

  She could feel the little pulse beating in her throat. “You, Quinn. The you that you want to be with me.”

  He smiled that soft, little-boy smile, and her insides did a dance. His dimples hollowed his cheeks.

  “All that, huh?”

  “Yes. All that.”

  He looked at her for a moment and knew that he was going to lose himself to this woman. He’d never done that before, hadn’t wanted to. Maybe still didn’t. But just maybe…

  He lowered his head until his mouth touched hers. And he kissed her, gently at first until he felt her soften and yield to him, then with more pressure, his tongue deftly exploring her mouth.

  He pulled her closer, needing her closer, wanting her to ease the weightless sensation that was spinning through him.

  Nikita’s sigh filled him like needed oxygen, and when she eased away he suddenly felt adrift.

  Her fingers trailed across his face, savoring the before moments. Knowing that from this time forward, there was no turning back.

  “Will you take me upstairs…to your room?”

  The question was so simple, so direct, but he knew it meant much more.

  Quinn closed the door behind them and crossed the room, where Nikita met him halfway. Her eyes lowered as her trembling fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

  One by one.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair, looking down at her lowered head as she unfastened his belt and slid down the zipper of his pants.

  Quinn’s hands clasped hers, holding them in place. He tilted her head up so that he could see her eyes, maybe into her heart. What he saw was a genuine giving, an openness, a willingness to share a precious part of herself with him.

  A warm surge of protectiveness, a need to make her happy, whatever it took, flowed through him.

  He reached around and unzipped her dress, easing the smooth black fabric from her body. Taking her hand, he walked her to his bed, opened the nightstand and took out a condom.

  “Let me.” Her soft, slender fingers caressed and teased, feeling the strength of his sex pulse against her fingertips.

  He sucked in air through his teeth as she slid the condom along his length, and she felt him tremble, and her own fluids released.

  “Touch me. Everywhere, Quinn. I want you to know me.”

  And he did.

  His touch felt like fire, searing her skin, and still she trembled, needing to be wrapped in the heat of his embrace. Wanting more. Wanting to be absolved of the constraints that her life had been. This loving was going to change her. She knew it. Her beliefs, her vision of herself. Within Quinn rested the soul secrets that she’d always desired to know, that had been denied to her.

  No more.

  She opened herself to him, letting him take all that she had to give, discovering a wantonness about herself that she hadn’t known existed.

  Enveloped in her heat, it didn’t matter to him about the afterward. This was their moment, never to be duplicated, only to get better. It was a moment that he’d waited until now to know.

  They were everywhere together, uncovering the mysteries of their union, whispered words, soul-deep sighs, body to body, wet and wild.

  He felt the steady building rise, the tightening of her body as it began to drain him. She arched her hips as the intensity of her climax gripped her, tore through her, and set his off.

  For those sacred, fleeting seconds, the two worlds from which they’d come united.

  Quinn spooned Nikita against his body. “You okay?”

  “Mmm. I’m fine.” She turned over to face him. Her finger wiped away a trail of perspiration from his brow. “What about you, Quinten Parker—ar
e you okay?”

  He grinned and his eyes crinkled. “Yeah. No doubt. You could spoil a man, ya know. For a way uptown girl, you got a lot with you,” he teased.

  She raised up on her elbow.

  He could swear her eyes were twinkling, like in that romance book he’d read.

  “Is that right?”

  He kissed her swollen lips. “Yeah, that’s right, Little Bit. You intendin’ to spoil me, or what?”

  “That’s the plan.” She grinned.

  “I think we should work on it a little more. What do you think?”

  She pressed her body closer, feeling his rise. “The plan has to start somewhere,” she whispered.

  The sun was high in the sky, beaming in through the partially opened blinds.

  Nikita let out a little moan, her body slightly aching and gloriously sore. She grinned and snuggled closer to the warm, hard body beside her, feeling the stickiness between her thighs.

  She felt like an entirely different person, or at least a revamped version of herself. Something magical happened between them last night. She knew he felt it, too, by the searching look in his eyes, the way his voice shook when he’d whispered her name. The way he gave himself to her. There was no way that she’d ever believe he could be that way with anyone else. He’d made love with her—they didn’t just have sex. She’d had that, and knew the difference.

  She listened to his even breathing and knew that this was only the first of many morning-afters.

  Quinn felt her move against him. She was probably awake, maybe wanted to talk. Yeah, it felt good waking up knowing that Nikita was there beside him. It was like getting the Oscar after a great performance. Could it be every day? Did he really want every day? Or even sometimes?

  Part of him did. That part that needed to be really cared about—looked after. But there was that other part of him, the streetwise, wary part of him that stood on the outside and peeped into his life. That part of him that was too damaged from the past and his life to risk anymore.

  Nikita’s question about “who he really was” haunted him now. He’d tossed it off at the time, saying he was both whenever the mood hit him, and he just never mixed the two. If he let Nikita fully into his life, his two worlds would mix, become blurred, and maybe he’d have to make some sort of choice about who he really was—who he really wanted to be. Every instinct told him that at some point Nikita would demand a reckoning, a total accounting. She wouldn’t take halfway for an answer.

  She moved against him again, running her baby-soft fingers along his spine, and he felt his nature start to rise. He turned over, settling himself atop her, pinning her down with his weight, and gave her what she wanted, realizing in that instant that he always would.

  Maxine moved around the kitchen putting together a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs with cheese, grits, pancakes and Canadian bacon.

  She opened one of the overhead cabinets hoping to find some coffee, even though she knew she hadn’t bought any.

  The bacon sizzled in the pan.

  Her eyes were bleary and her body could sure use a few more hours sleep. She and Dre had finally finished celebrating at about 5:00 a.m. He definitely had stamina. She had no complaints in that department. And although she was thoroughly satisfied, physically, there was still this empty feeling that she couldn’t quite shake which had propelled her out of bed at the unholy hour of nine when she really wanted to sleep.

  She should be dancing around her kitchen. She had been to sexual heaven and back more times than she could count, last night and into the morning. But she couldn’t. Actually, she didn’t want to.

  “Hey, baby.” Dre eased up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He kissed the back of her neck.

  “You’re gonna make me mess up what I’m doing.” She wiggled away, out of reach, and continued beating the eggs in a blue-and-white bowl with a little chip along the rim.

  She needed some space.

  “Couldn’t nothing mess up what you do, baby.”

  “There’s some clean towels and stuff in the hall closet by the bathroom, if you wanna take a shower before breakfast,” she said, steering clear of his comment.

  “Something wrong, Maxine? You’re actin’ real strange.” He moved closer, cupped her chin and turned her to face him. “Especially after last night. What gives?”

  She gave him a “say cheese” smile, with no teeth. “Just tired, I guess. I’m really not a morning person.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  She pecked him on the lips and returned her attention to beating those eggs. “Go on and take your shower. Everything will be ready in about ten minutes.”

  Dre looked at her for a moment, not sure what to make of the vibes he was getting. “You still want me to take you computer shopping today?”

  “Yeah. I figured we could be on our way around one.”

  He nodded, took a breath and walked out of the kitchen.

  Maxine exhaled a shaky breath and sniffed back the tears that were burning her eyes.

  By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, Quinn and Nikita had moved into an easy routine. If he cooked, she cleaned up. When he showered, she promised not to use the dishwasher.

  They’d gone food shopping, stocking his cabinets and refrigerator with every kind of everything. Nikita insisted on splitting the bill, even though Quinn had a problem with that.

  They took turns listening to their favorite music, and Nikita silently admitted that there was a little somethin’ somethin’ to rap and the countless “urban contemporary” singers that Quinn had her listen to, even though her “thing” was jazz.

  She didn’t even flinch when his phone rang and he lowered his voice to a throb or took the call in another room. Whoever was on the other end was out there. She was here.

  She’d sat on the stoop with Mrs. Finch while Quinn made a “quick run uptown,” and was educated on the history of the block, the gentrification of the neighborhood and all the juicy gossip about the neighbors.

  By the time Sunday evening came around and she began making preparations to leave, she realized just how much she didn’t want to go. She never wanted to go back home, not just to her parents’ home, but back to the way her life had been.

  Quinn stood in the doorway of his bedroom watching Nikita pack away her clothes and suddenly felt that emptiness returning, like a hole had opened up inside of him. The light that had been there since her arrival seemed to dim.

  It felt good having her there, to laugh with him, talk with him, just be with him. He’d never let a woman spend the weekend before. It had always been the other way around. But it felt good, too damned good, knowing that when he went out she would be there when he got back. He was scared of losing the feeling, and just as afraid to hold on to it.

  “When am I gonna see you again?”

  Nikita turned, startled. When she looked at him, her heart beat a little faster and she felt the flutter in her stomach. “When do you want to?”

  He stepped into the room, pushing his hands into the slit pockets of his favorite gray sweatpants. Thoughts tumbled through his head. His feelings pushed them aside.

  “Later tonight. Tomorrow mornin’ when I get up. When I get in off the street at night.” He looked down at the floor, then across at her. “Can you handle that?”

  Nikita put down the blouse she was folding.

  “What are you asking me, Quinn?”

  He hesitated. “I ain’t sure, Niki. I just know that I want to see you, ya know, be with you.”

  “It’s up to you, Quinn. I want to be with you, too.”

  He nodded and pursed his lips. “Why don’t you leave those things here?” The corner of his mouth inched up. “Since you’re gonna be spendin’ time.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He wasn’t too sure how things would be with her in his life, but he knew how things would be without her.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Changes. Yeah, they were happenin’.


  Chapter 17

  Makin’ Moves

  Nikita and Parris, worn out from hours of window and real shopping, walked down Fifth Avenue, sidestepping the steady flow of human traffic on the famous New York avenue, juggling their packages and keeping their balance.

  They bypassed St. Patrick’s Cathedral and headed for Rockefeller Center to the outdoor café, catching the last vestiges of the warm fall afternoon.

  “You haven’t said a word about your mother or your father,” Nikita said, shifting her packages. “How are they?”

  Parris adjusted her brown Italian-leather duffel bag on her left shoulder. “They’re both fine.” Parris exhaled. “I think Emma is happy. Michael has finally forgiven her for lying to him for twenty-odd years. I think they’ve made peace with each other.”

  “What about you, Parris? Have you made peace with them?”

  “As much as I can, I suppose.”

  The waitress showed them to a table. They settled themselves in their seats.

  “It takes a lot of getting over to discover that your near-white mother told your Italian father that you’d died at birth, because you couldn’t pass for a white baby.”

  “Your mother was young and made some wrong choices, Parris. But she paid for those choices—dearly—and you know that.”

  “I know,” she said. “And I know that sometimes circumstances force people into making decisions that they regret. And what about you? Have you made a decision that you’ll regret?”

  “What, by moving in with Quinn?”

  “Yes.” She looked at her hard. Nikita was the first to look away.

  Nikita took a long breath, played with her water glass, then took a sip. She looked across at Parris’s patient stare.

  “I’ve thought about it. Long and hard. The more I’m with him, the more I want to be with him. He gives me something I need, and I think I do the same for him. I spend all of my time over there, anyway.”