The Blackstone Promise

by Rochelle Alers

  Inching closer to Kumi’s hard body, Veronica smiled. “Good morning.” She noticed the abundance of sunlight pouring into the bedroom through the lace sheers. It was apparent she’d overslept. “What time is it?” Her voice was heavy with sleep.

  Kumi turned, peering at the clock on his side of the bed. “Eight-ten.”

  “It’s not that late,” she moaned.

  “What time are you scheduled to get your hair done?”

  “Eleven.”

  She and Kumi had been in Georgia for three days and they were invited to attend a fund-raising dinner dance to benefit AIDS victims in the Atlanta area. It was one of many organizations she’d joined after she’d married Bramwell.

  Kumi pulled Veronica closer and settled her over his chest. Attending the formal affair would give him a glimpse of what his life would be like if he married Veronica and relocated to Georgia. She’d been forthcoming when she revealed what her marriage to Dr. Bramwell Hamlin had been like.

  Even though Kumi hadn’t lived in the States for a decade, he had been familiar with her late husband’s name. And after spending time with Veronica in her hometown he’d come to understand who she was.

  They’d shared dinner with her parents and with her sister’s family, and the contents of their respective homes were comparable to the furnishings in Veronica’s. It didn’t take him long to conclude that the Wardlaws and Johnsons were a product of old-black Southern aristocracy, much like his own family lineage, concluding their backgrounds were more similar than dissimilar.

  His right hand moved up and down her spine, lingering over her hips. A slight smile curved his mouth. She was putting on weight. He’d noticed the night before when she’d undressed in front of him that her breasts were fuller, the nipples darker and more prominent.

  The muscles in his stomach contracted when he recalled the vision of her lush body in the warm golden glow of a table lamp. The flesh between his thighs stirred as it hardened with his erotic musings. He wanted her, and since they’d begun sleeping together there was never a time when he did not want her.

  Veronica felt Kumi’s arousal and as his passion swelled, so did hers.

  Writhing sensuously atop him, she pressed a kiss under his ear. “Don’t start what you can’t finish,” she murmured.

  The words had just left her lips when she found herself on her back, staring up at Kumi. His large eyes captured her gaze, holding her prisoner. He smiled as he lowered his body and brushed a kiss over her parted lips. She closed her eyes, letting her senses take over as he kissed her chin, throat before moving slowly down her chest.

  He eased down her body, leaving light whispery kisses over her belly. Her respiration quickened, fingers curling into tight fists as she struggled not to touch him. His moist breath swept over her thighs and she swallowed back a moan. This was a different kind of lovemaking—one in which the only part of his body that touched her was his mouth.

  He kissed her inner thighs, she rising slightly off the mattress. This time she did moan audibly. Turning her over, he explored the backs of her knees, leaving her shaking uncontrollably. He was torturing her, and at that moment if Kumi had asked her for anything she would’ve given it to him.

  It all ended when he moved up and staked his claim on her breasts, she keening like someone in excruciating pain. She felt the sensations in her womb.

  “Kumi?”

  “Yes, baby?” A turgid nipple was caught between his teeth.

  “Please.”

  He released her breast and stared at her. “What is it?”

  She opened her eyes. They were shimmering with moisture. “Don’t torture me.”

  Holding her close, he glared at her. “Why shouldn’t I? You torture me, Veronica. You’ve tortured me every day since I first saw you.”

  Closing her eyes against his intense stare, she shook her head. “What do you want?”

  Burying his face between her scented neck and shoulder, he said, “You know what I want.”

  She knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted a wife and a child. He wanted her.

  And she wanted to be his wife and the mother of his children.

  “Yes, Kumi,” she whispered.

  “Yes, what, Ronnie?”

  She took a deep breath, held it and then let it out slowly. “I will marry you.”

  First he kissed the tip of her nose, then her eyes and finally he kissed her soft mouth. “I love you so much,” he whispered as his hands moved slowly over her body. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” His voice was thick with emotion.

  Lifting his hips, he eased his thick long length into her awaiting body, both sighing as her flesh closed possessively around his. Knowing they’d committed to sharing their lives and futures made their coming together all the more sweet.

  A deep feeling of peace entered Veronica. Her whole being was flooded with a desire that filled her heart with a love she’d never known. Passion radiated from the soft core of her body, igniting a fire in Kumi’s loins. He moved sensuously against her, his hips keeping perfect rhythm with hers.

  They were no longer man and woman, but soon-to-be husband and wife—one.

  Her body vibrated liquid fire and she wanted to yield to the burning passion that seemed to incinerate her with the hottest fire. Kumi quickened his movements, taking her with him as they were swept up in the hysteria of ecstasy holding them captive.

  Great gusts of desire shook her from head to toe, and her lips quivered with silent words of unspoken passion.

  Tears streaked her cheeks and she moaned over and over when she surrendered to the hot tides of love carrying her out to a weightless sea where she welcomed drowning in the delight of a never-ending love.

  Kumi’s passions overlapped Veronica’s and seconds later he groaned out his own awesome climax. It was the second time in his life that he’d made love to a woman without using protection. Both times it had been with Veronica Johnson. But that was inconsequential because he would willingly repeat the act over and over until her belly swelled with his child.

  Veronica entered the brightly lit ballroom, her hand resting lightly on the sleeve of Kumi’s white dinner jacket. A brilliant diamond butterfly pin on the strap of her one-shoulder black crepe de chine dress glittered under the prisms of light from two massive chandeliers. The pin was a preengagement gift from Kumi. He sheepishly admitted he had selected the delicate piece of jewelry while waiting for the slacks to a rented tuxedo to be altered.

  She’d wanted to admonish him for spending his money, but quickly changed her mind. She hadn’t wanted to appear ungrateful nor bruise his pride. She’d thanked him instead, kissing him passionately. They’d stopped just in time or they never would’ve made it to the fund-raiser on time.

  She took a surreptitious glance at his distinctive profile, her breath catching in her chest. His good looks were complemented by a self-confident presence that elicited an inquisitive glance or smile from several formally dressed women standing around in the ballroom talking quietly or sipping from champagne flutes.

  While Veronica had spent four hours at a full-service salon wherein she’d had the roots of her hair touched up with a relaxer, her face hydrated by a European facial, followed by a manicure and pedicure, Kumi had visited the adjacent barbershop to have his curly hair cut and the stubble of an emerging beard removed from his face with a professional shave. He then went to select formal wear for the fund-raiser before he returned to pick her up from the salon.

  When he’d walked in, all conversation had come to a complete halt, and gazes were fixed on his smooth face and tall, muscular body. Veronica had risen from her sitting position in the reception area, curved her arm through his amid whispered choruses of “Damn!” and “Oh, no, she didn’t!”

  She hadn’t expected the rush of pride
filling her as she clung to his arm, and it was not for the first time she’d found it difficult to believe that she had fallen in love with Kumi—that she had pledged her future to his.

  Kumi’s right hand covered the small one resting on his sleeve, his admiring gaze lingering on Veronica’s swept-up hairdo. Wearing her hair off her neck gave him an unobstructed view of her long, slender, silken neck. She hadn’t worn any jewelry except for a pair of brilliant diamond studs and his gift.

  Filled with masculine pride, he noticed men turning and staring at the woman on his arm. The soft fabric of her dress draped her body as if it had been made expressly for her. The garment bared a shoulder and the expanse of her back. The single strap crossed her velvety back, ending at her narrow waist; a generous display of long shapely legs were exposed by a back slit each time she took a step. Dropping her hand, he splayed the fingers of his left one across her bare back. The possessive gesture was not lost on those who were shocked to see Veronica Johnson-Hamlin in attendance with a man. Since her husband’s death she had continued to attend the annual fund-raiser, but had elected to come unescorted.

  Lowering his head, Kumi asked, “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

  Waiters, balancing trays on their fingertips, weaved their way through the burgeoning crowd, offering a plethora of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of sparkling champagne. The annual fund-raiser was a sellout.

  “I’d like a seltzer, thank you.”

  Leaning closer, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Wait here for me. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Nodding, she positioned herself with her back against a massive column, watching Kumi as he made his way toward one of the bars set up at either end of the expansive ballroom of a former antebellum plantation house.

  She exchanged polite smiles and greetings with people she’d known for years and others she’d met once she married Bram. Her late husband had been medical adviser for the foundation for several years after documented cases of the disease increased with rising fears and ignorance of the epidemic affecting the African-American population.

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Veronica,” drawled a familiar male voice. “I was told you had gone to the mountains for the summer.”

  Turning to her right, Veronica looked at the man who had prompted her to leave Atlanta. Regarding her with impassive coldness was Clinton Hamlin, Bramwell Hamlin’s eldest son.

  Older than Veronica by only three years, she’d been initially attracted to his lean face with its perfectly balanced features. His smooth mocha-colored face was tanned from the hot summer sun, which brought out the shimmering lights in his dark gray eyes. Tall, slender and impeccably attired, Clinton was a masculine version of his once-beautiful mother before she embarked on a slow descent into a world of substance abuse.

  She affected a polite smile. “You should know that this event is very important to me—to all of our people.”

  Vertical lines appeared between his eyes. “What I do know is that you’re a slut.” He spat out the last word. “You seduced my father, got him to marry you and now you come here and flaunt your pimp in front of everyone. Thank God my mother isn’t here to witness this.”

  Veronica recoiled as if Clinton had slapped her. She wanted to scream at him that his mother couldn’t witness anything because she probably was too drunk to even get out of bed.

  Of Bram’s three children, Clinton had been the only one to befriend her once his father announced his decision to marry a much-younger woman. But his conciliatory attitude changed abruptly with the disclosure of his father’s last will and testament. He’d had to share three million dollars with his brother and sister—the amount a pittance compared to what Veronica had received, and he was convinced she’d talked his father into leaving half his estate to whom he referred to as “hood rats.”

  Only pride kept her from arguing with Clinton. “Thank you for the compliment,” she drawled facetiously. She glanced over his shoulder to see Kumi coming toward them. “Now I suggest you leave before my pimp gets here. He has a rather nasty temper.”

  Clinton turned in the direction of her gaze. The man who’d come with his stepmother was formidable-looking, even in formal attire. “We’ll talk again,” he warned softly.

  “No, Clinton, we won’t talk again,” she countered. “The last thing I’m going to say to you is get some help for your problem.”

  Leaning closer, he said between clenched teeth, “I don’t have a problem.”

  “Right now the only Hamlin who doesn’t have a problem is your sister.”

  Rage darkened his face under his deep tan. “You’ll pay for that remark.” Turning on his heels, he stalked away, his fingers curling into tight fists.

  She was still staring at Clinton’s stiff back when Kumi handed her a glass filled with her beverage. She missed her lover’s narrowed gaze as he studied her impassive expression.

  Kumi didn’t know why, but he felt a sudden uneasiness that hadn’t been there when he first walked into the ballroom with Veronica. There was something about her expression, the stiffness in her body that boded trouble. Had the man who’d walked away with his approach said something to upset her? Was he one of the ones whom she’d spoken about who had sought to defame her character?

  Shifting his own glass of sparkling water to his left hand, he curved his right arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side. He would not leave her alone again for the rest of the night. If anyone had anything disparaging to say to Veronica Johnson, then they would have to deal with him.

  Veronica scrawled her signature across several documents that gave her lawyer power of attorney to negotiate and finalize the sale of her properties. It had taken almost a week to list her Atlanta and North Carolina holdings with a Realtor before she set up an appointment with an appraiser to catalog the contents of her Buckhead home. All that remained was the transfer of the titles of her cars to her sister and brother-in-law.

  The night before Kumi left Atlanta to return to Asheville, they’d lain in bed, holding hands, planning their future. Her disclosure that she would live with him in France had rendered him mute. Once he’d recovered from her startling revelation, he told her he would make certain she would never regret her decision to leave her home and family.

  Replacing the top on the pen, she dropped it into her purse, a knowing smile softening her mouth. In two days she was scheduled to return to her mountaintop retreat and the man she loved.

  She and Kumi had planned to marry in North Carolina on September 18—a day before they were scheduled to leave for France, a day before she would board a flight with her husband to begin a new life in another country and eleven days before she would celebrate her forty-third birthday.

  Kumi had called his sister with the news of their upcoming nuptials, and Deborah had offered Maxwell’s for the reception and lodging for family members and out-of-town guests. Veronica was adamant that she wanted a small gathering, with only immediate family members in attendance.

  Leaving the documents with the lawyer’s administrative assistant, Veronica walked out of his office, making her way to the parking lot to pick up her car. She’d just opened the door and slipped behind the wheel when it swept over her. A wave of nausea threatened to make her lose her breakfast. A light film of perspiration covered her face as she struggled not to regurgitate. Turning the key in the ignition, Veronica switched the fan to the highest speed, and waited for the cold air to cool down her face and body. What had made her sick? Was it something she’d eaten?

  She sat in the car for ten minutes before she felt herself back in control. Reaching for her cell phone, she dialed Candace’s number, canceling their luncheon date. Half an hour later she lay in her own bed, swallowing back the waves of nausea that attacked when she least expected.

  It was late afternoon before she finally ca
lled her doctor’s office, explaining her symptoms to the nurse, who told her that the doctor had had a cancellation and could see her at five-thirty.

  Veronica sat in the darkened kitchen not bothering to turn on a light, staring across the large space with unseeing eyes. A single tear rolled down a silken cheek, followed by another until they flowed unchecked.

  She was pregnant!

  She’d argued with the doctor that she’d had her period in July—although scant—but that she couldn’t be pregnant. The young internist reassured her that the test was ninety-five percent accurate before he cautioned her because she was high-risk, she should see her gynecologist as soon as possible if she planned to carry her baby to term.

  The shock that she was going to be a mother eased, replaced by a quiet, healing sense of joy. Kumi would get his wish: a wife and a child.

  Kumi waited at the Asheville Airport for Veronica’s flight to touch down. A bright smile lit up his face when he spied her. Waving to her, he gently pushed his way through the crowd. Curving an arm around her waist, he swept her off her feet and kissed her.

  Veronica tightened her hold around his strong neck, melting into him. “Please, don’t squeeze me too tight,” she murmured against his searching parted lips.

  Easing his hold on her body, he noted the liquid gold glints in her clear brown eyes. “Did you hurt yourself?” He knew he hadn’t held her that tightly.

  She shook her head, saying, “I’ll tell you once we get back to the house.”

  He gave her a questioning look. “Are you okay?”

  A smile fired her sun-lit eyes. “I’m wonderful.” And she was. After she’d gotten over the initial shock that a tiny life was growing under her heart, she found it difficult to conceal her joy from her sister and parents. However, she’d decided to tell Kumi first before announcing her condition to others.

  Kumi swung Veronica effortlessly up into his arms, spinning her around in the middle of her living room. He’d missed her—more than he thought he ever would.