Carter read her mind, mumbling between kisses to her earlobes. “What now, sweetheart?” he drawled, his voice low and as seductive as his kisses. “You gonna run from me again?”
“No,” she exhaled, cupping his backside and giving it a good squeeze.
“Tell me what you want.”
Everything! was the answer that clanged in her head, but what she said was, “Two weeks.”
Carter raised his head from her bosom. “Come again?”
She grinned, a little, at his choice of words. “I want two weeks.”
His eyes searched hers, gauging whether she was joking. “You want to spend two weeks with me?”
“Yes. That’s all it usually takes.”
“For what?”
For your true color to appear, and it’ll probably be green, she thought. “Two weeks,” she repeated. “Take it or leave it.”
He spent another long moment holding her flesh in his hands and studying her troubled gaze. “Starting when?” he finally asked, his hand inching toward the hot juncture of her thighs.
Khela moaned, the sound both throaty and silky, as his fingers found their moist mark. “Starting there…” she gasped, her legs falling wide.
Chapter 8
“It was love at first write.”
—from Teacher’s Pet by Khela Halliday
“I’m black, you know.”
Khela laughed so hard she would have fallen off Carter if he hadn’t tightened his grip on her waist. He flexed his abdominal muscles as he shifted a bit on the bed, his new position wedging him deeper. Khela’s thighs and belly quivered in response to yet another wave of pleasure cresting within her. Carter helped her reach its zenith by palming the weight of her breasts, kneading them and pinching their hard buds at exactly the right moment to force Khela to lock around him, wringing still more from him.
Their first coupling had occurred volcanically atop the dining table. Frenzied with hunger, they hadn’t bothered to fully undress, satisfied with mere shifts in panties, the unzipping of jeans. Their initial appetites appeased, they took their time the second time, with Carter fully savoring every inch of Khela as he peeled her dress and panties from her body. The third time, in Khela’s sizeable whirlpool bath, became a silly interlude that began with wine and leftover candy sushi and ended with Carter demonstrating all he could accomplish in the three minutes he could hold his breath underwater.
This, the fourth time, was simply showing off.
“Funny,” Khela gasped, covering him with her body to await the return of a normal heartbeat, “you don’t look black.”
“I got my honorary blackness in high school.” Carter lightly stroked her back with the pads of his fingertips, raising goosebumps along their path. “Detrick gave it to me.”
“Well, that was awfully generous of him,” Khela laughed. “Was it a birthday present? Christmas?”
“Nah, nothin’ like that,” Carter exhaled, Khela sinking and rising along with his torso. “Detrick and I came from the same place, which was no place compared to our classmates. We were two ’Bama country boys among Boston Brahmin babies and the imported sons of foreign oil magnates.”
“Did you come from the same school in Alabama?”
“Nah. I went to Speake High. Detrick’s outta Hubbard.”
“Would you two have been friends if you’d stayed in school down South?”
Carter shook his head, but then realized she couldn’t see him, not with her ear pressed to his heartbeat. “Probably not. Detrick is the best thing I got outta my two years at Dearborn. We hated each other when we first met, though.”
“Why?”
“I thought he was a cocky sumbitch who cared more about his personal stats than he did about the team.”
“Was that all?”
“What else would there be?”
“He’s black.”
Carter rolled onto his side and faced Khela. “You think I have a problem with black people?”
She grinned. “Not at the moment.”
“I’m serious, Khela. Do you think I would’ve disliked Detrick because he was black?”
She sat up, as did he. “No, I…” She rubbed her temple with two fingers. “I don’t think you’re a racist, but you were young then, and from the South, so—”
“I must’ve been a bass-ackwards, prejudiced cracker,” he finished for her.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. I’ve never thought that about you. You said that you hated Detrick when you first met him, so I just jumped to—”
“The wrong conclusion.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair. People make assumptions about me all the time, and I hate it. I shouldn’t have done that to you. Tell me how you and Detrick became friends. Go on with your story.”
Khela rearranged the pillows at her headboard and guided Carter to rest against them. With the top sheet covering her torso, she sat facing him. “What position did Detrick play on the Dearborn football team?”
“Left out, for the most part,” Carter chuckled. “That was the problem. He was the best receiver on the team, but the coaches only played him if we were down. There were a lot of good players on the team whose parents were boosters. The coaches were more inclined to play fellas whose mommies and daddies paid for team buses, uniforms and vacations.”
“Vacations? Are you kidding?”
“Nope. One of the boosters sent us to Sanibel Island for spring break our junior year. They thought it would help the team bond.”
“Did it?”
“Nope. The rich kids hung with the rich kids, the climbers hung with the climbers and tried to hang with the rich kids, and Detrick and I sort of kept to ourselves—until the brawl.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“Quincy Latin was our biggest rival, and their football and baseball teams were in Daytona the same week we were,” Carter said. “Get a bunch of drunk, over-privileged, under-aged jocks from rival schools together, and you got yourself a recipe for hell.”
“Was there a girl involved?”
She had guessed right, surprising Carter. “How’d you know?”
“There’s always a girl involved.”
“Detrick was talking to some local girl, a little green-eyed blonde who worked in the surf shop on the beach. A couple of the Quincy guys didn’t like it, so…”
“Who threw the first punch?”
“Quincy. I jumped in when four of them went after Detrick.”
“You were the only one who came to his defense?”
Carter nodded.
“And you didn’t even like him?”
“It wasn’t a matter of like or dislike. He was my teammate and he was outnumbered. It wasn’t fair.”
“Who won the fight?”
“Quincy tore us up. That’s how I ended up with this lovely detour in the middle of my nose.” He tapped the barely noticeable bump on his nose. “There were six of them and only two of us.”
Khela put her hand over his, giving it a squeeze. “Your nose was broken?”
“Got one of my teeth knocked out, too,” he said. He curled his lip and tapped one of his upper canine teeth. “This is an implant.”
“I hope you gave the other guy as good as you got.”
He chuckled. “I never would have pegged you for the bloodthirsty type. But yeah, I got some good ones in. So did Detrick.”
“Was he hurt badly?”
“Detrick can take a punch better than any man I’ve ever known,” Carter said. “They couldn’t hurt him. Not on the outside, anyway. It’s what they said that got to him. He’d been called names like that before, but not by prep school kids who were supposed to be educated.”
“Ignorance is everywhere,” Khela sighed. “You know that.”
“Detrick and I have been friends ever since,” Carter smiled. “We became blood brothers the hard way.”
“Being blood brothers doesn’t make you black.”
“It was a gift,” Carter insisted. “Thos
e Quincy frauds thought they’d dish out seconds the next night. Detrick and I were ready for them. You ain’t gonna whup two ’Bama country boys twice in a row. Me and Detrick and two rolls of quarters did the trick.”
“You threw quarters at them?”
Carter gave her the sort of grin one would bestow upon a charming idiot. “We put the quarters in our fists. Instant hammer hand. We didn’t have any more trouble from Quincy.”
“Did any of your other teammates help you guys out?”
Carter shook his head. “They weren’t going to risk their pretty faces for Detrick. Or me, for that matter. I wasn’t the only guy on the team who thought Detrick needed to come down a peg or two. See, Detrick was the best guy on the team and he knew it. Called himself Detrick ‘The Trick’ Francis. He was fast, he had power and he had an ego bigger than the Patriots’ defensive line. He wasn’t as bad after the Florida trip, though.”
“You still haven’t explained how you came to be black,” Khela reminded him.
“Right. It was after our first game, senior year. We played Quincy Latin—”
Khela whistled through her teeth. “I’ll bet that was some match up.”
“It was. We beat them, 56-10. Detrick rushed for three touchdowns. He met some girls after the game, and they invited him to a party in Jamaica Plain. He invited me along to be his wingman. When a Snoop Dogg song came on and I started dancing, Detrick said I fought, played ball and danced like a brother. He poured a beer over my head and said it was my baptism into official blackness. We’ve been best friends, brothers, ever since.”
After a long moment of silence, Khela looked at him and said, “That’s the goofiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Carter laughed and pulled her into his embrace. “I’m black and I’m proud, and right now, I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
“Why’s that?” Khela murmured against the warmth of his chest.
“Because I’ve got you in my arms,” he said. “I feel like I’ve waited a lifetime for this.”
Khela lightly took his chin and turned his face toward hers. “That’s very sweet.”
“I’ll bet you had all the boys chasin’ after you in high school.”
She barked a laugh of astonishment. “I was the invisible girl in high school. I was good in math and science, I was the editor for the school literary magazine and I didn’t have any friends. I hit the geek trifecta by the time I was a sophomore. I used to spend my summers reading and the school year writing weird short stories when I was supposed to be taking notes in class.”
“So you’ve always been a writer?”
She nodded. “I was a little bit of a handful when I first went to live with Grandma Belle and Grandpa Neal.”
“You spent a few years in the child welfare system before you were adopted, right?” Carter stroked her arm. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. It’s none of—”
“It’s okay,” she said, clasping his hand. “I never talk about it. That was my problem when I was really little. I couldn’t articulate how I was feeling, so I acted out. I’d fight anybody, break things, cry, yell at everyone, and then not speak for days. I was a little mess when I got adopted. One day, after I’d torn my pretty pink room to shreds—again—Grandma Belle gave me a blank notebook and a box of crayons. She told me to draw pictures of what I was feeling the next time I wanted to have a fit. It helped. I eventually started putting my thoughts and feelings into words. I started writing stories, and I’ve been writing ever since.”
“What became of your parents?”
She looked him in the eye and said, “My mother died of an overdose and my father is incarcerated. They were both out of my life by the time I was two.” Khela didn’t blink, determined not to miss any part of his reaction.
“What did he do?” Carter asked softly.
“He was involved in an armed robbery where the victim was killed. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he was there, so he was charged with first-degree murder.”
“How long did he get?”
Khela swallowed hard. “Life.”
“You got a rough draw. You should be proud of how you far you’ve come.”
“I’m just another black girl with a drug-addict mother and a daddy in jail,” Khela said bleakly. “I could win a Nobel Prize and I’d still be the daughter of a druggie and a jailbird.”
“What did your Grandma Belle and your Grandpa Neal do for a living?” Carter asked.
“Grandma Belle was a nurse and Grandpa Neal was the custodian at the high school my father attended, until they retired. They went to the same church as my father’s parents,” Khela said. “Grandpa Neal had always liked my father. My father was in detention a lot, and he very often had to help Grandpa Neal with some of the school maintenance. When my mother died and my father was sent up, none of my real grandparents or aunts or uncles wanted me. I guess they thought I’d turn out like my parents. When Belle and Neal found out that no one else wanted me, they went out and found me. And the rest…is my history.”
“Sounds to me like you had amazing parents,” Carter said. “You got the short straw at the start, but you finished up very well. Belle and Neal get the credit for that, not the pair who made you.”
“I know.” Her lower lip quivered, but she kept her tears at bay. “I was so lucky.”
Carter lay a warm, heavy hand on her thigh and asked, “Do you ever see your daddy?”
Khela squirmed a little, but Carter’s comforting hand settled her. “From what I’ve been told, he left while my mother was still pregnant with me. He never wanted me, and he never wanted to see me when Grandma Belle and Grandpa Neal would take me to the prison in Jefferson City. I refused to go anymore when I was ten. I went on my own when I was twenty-two, right before my second book was released. I’d done an interview with a women’s magazine, and when the reporter asked me about my parents, I told her that they were both dead. I felt so guilty. Grandma Belle and Grandpa Neal had passed, so I wasn’t lying entirely, but I knew the reporter wasn’t asking about them.”
“It was nobody’s business but yours,” Carter said.
“It was unfinished business. That’s why I went to see him. It was so hard,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “He knew who I was immediately. His first words to me were, ‘You look just like your mama.’ ”
“Your mother must have been very beautiful,” Carter remarked tenderly.
“I don’t know if she was or not,” Khela said. “I don’t remember anything about her.”
“What else happened with your daddy?”
She gave him a forlorn shrug. “Nothing. He asked me if I came there because I needed money, and I said no. I told him that I just wanted to see him. He said, ‘You seen me. Now what?’ There were so many things I wanted to ask him, so many things I wanted to know. He was all I had left, and after meeting him, I realized I had nothing. I immersed myself in my writing. I’m never lonely when I’m working on a book.”
“You got something now, baby,” Carter assured her. “You got Daphne, you got me and you got thousands of readers who look forward to reading your books.”
When she continued to stare at him, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears, Carter gently stroked the back of her hand and asked, “What’s on your mind?”
“You really are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Inside and out.”
In a move both quick and inelegant, Carter rolled her onto her back, pressing his weight upon her as he parted her legs with his knee. He pressed hard kisses to her neck and clenched his fists in her hair. His abdominal muscles bunched as he positioned himself for their union, and still he avoided eye contact with her. Her trust in him meant so much that he felt he couldn’t look at or speak to her without shedding his own tears. In a language they both understood, one without words, without inhibition and without hesitation, Carter thanked her for her trust, and Khela thanked him for his acceptance.
* * *
“I didn’t thin
k you would do it,” Daphne said, smiling appreciatively. “I’m glad you did, because God knows you needed it, but I didn’t think you would actually do it.”
Khela rested her forearms on the table, splaying her fingers toward Daphne. “Look,” she said defensively, loud enough to capture the attention of the young couple nursing macchiatos at the neighboring table, “it happened before I realized it was going to happen. I like him, okay?”
“Okay,” Daphne grinned.
“He’s very sweet,” Khela continued, still sounding defensive.
Daphne hung one elbow over the back of her chair. “Oh, really?” she leered.
“I don’t mean sweet that way.” Khela blushed, her complexion darkening to match her berry-colored tank top. “Well, he is sweet that way, too. He must have eaten a lot of pineapple or something, because—”
“Details,” Daphne said, holding up a hand. “Too many details.”
“I thought you liked the details,” Khela said, taking a sip of her iced mocha coffee.
“Not this time. You and Carter are my friends. I don’t need to know the intricacies. Progress reports will do just fine.”
“Progress reports?”
“Just keep me posted on how things develop.” Daphne chuckled lightly. “Let me know when to pick out a maid-of-honor gown.”
“Never,” Khela said. “I’m giving him two weeks. We’ll have some laughs, some moans and sighs, and then part as friends. You know how it works.”
Daphne’s smile vanished and her eyebrows drew a bit closer together.
“What?” Khela asked nervously. “You don’t approve? It was your idea.”
“I know.” Daphne uttered a sharp sigh. “And I was wrong.”
“This should be good.” Khela loosely crossed her arms on the tabletop and waited for Daphne to explain.
“I’ve seen the two of you together, and it’s worth more than two weeks,” Daphne said in a rush. “Yeah, I’m the big fat flirt who teases him and toys with him, but Khela, you’re the one he looks for. When he sees you, his whole face changes, his whole body changes. Remember the time I got him to come to your place by stopping up your toilet with Q-tips and cotton balls?”
“How could I forget? Carter had to unstop the clog from the outlet pipe in the basement. No one in the building could use any of their toilets until he turned the main water valve back on.”
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