The Way You Make Me Feel

by Francine Craft

  “Not really. Tell me.”

  “It means ‘to highly regard.’ Simple, but so profound. Some people say they love you, but they prove they don’t regard you very highly. Think about it.”

  “I am thinking. And it’s something I’d never thought of before.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  “What about Honi?” she moaned. “Damien, can it work with you still in love with her?”

  He was silent a long while before he said, “Maybe I’m lying to myself, but I don’t think so. I’ve put Honi out of my life and moved on to—and with—you. We can make this work. I know it. Please, baby.”

  There. His question entered her heart, filled it. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” She asked herself if she were mad and knew she had never been more sane.

  He got up and pulled her to her feet. “You’ll never be sorry.” His mouth found hers and ravaged it with tender heat for the longest time, and his muscular body pressed against hers with hunger that could not be denied. She felt the bulge of his shaft almost piercing her and thrill after thrill shot through her. She gave a small cry as she pressed in even closer, desire sweeping like wildfire along her veins. They could make it on the kitchen floor or a table. Who needed beds?

  He pulled away and looked at her. “Do you know what you’re getting into? I’m no prize. You know the life I was leading before you brought me back to reality. Running after women, boozing, neglecting a business I fought to build, never taking care of myself. But I changed, Stevie. I haven’t had a woman since you set my feet on a straight path again. Maybe I’ve been saving myself for you all this time.”

  They put the dishes in the dishwasher, turned it on. His face looked very dear to her as he told her, “Let’s sit up all night, watch the sun come up. I want to dance with you.”

  They went into the living room and he put on a Barry White album, with a Sade album on the CD beside it.

  As his body curved around hers, she murmured, “We’re torturing ourselves.”

  “I know, but it’s sweet torture.”

  She had not known she would say it, but he had said he wanted her to get well before he took her. “Damien, I’m going to move back home.”

  In mild shock he held her a bit away from him and his voice caught. “Why?”

  “Because I feel I’ll get my memory back faster there.”

  “Lord, you’re going at the speed of light here. Dr. Winslow is very pleased. And I’m ecstatic.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m really moving along, but I’m getting nowhere with remembering what happened that Sunday night. I now remember the day, but not the night.” She shivered a bit in his arms and he held her tighter as Barry’s silken moans stirred their blood. “I think I’ll remember that night once I move back.”

  “I’m going back with you.”

  “You can’t do that. You have Nubian Gold to take care of. I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”

  “A man is supposed to take care of his wife. Don’t argue. I’ll just do it.”

  “Why didn’t I meet you long ago?”

  “Oh, we met, we were just tangled up with others who broke our hearts.” His mood changed then as Barry’s voice led them into heat and passion. “You’re familiar with the old country song, ‘I Want to Kiss You All Over’?”

  Her voice was husky as she answered. “I’m familiar.”

  “You’re driving me crazy. I’ll take you home and you can get well, then get pregnant. But we don’t need to wait to get married. We’ve got a baby clamoring to get born and we’ve got passion personified waiting in the wings. I’m going to take you so high you fly. Stevie, we’re going to have a wonderful life.”

  She echoed his sentiments, but a part of her held back. He seemed happy enough, and, yes, she was happy; but deep inside she hungered for him to say he loved her and she shook herself. He was nothing if not honest. Did she want him to lie? At least he wasn’t going to love somebody else. But a little part of her said she wouldn’t have objected if he lied.

  As Barry’s mellifluous, love-drenched voice segued into another song, Damien kissed the corner of her mouth and his tongue made circular motions. “Why do I let you do this to me?” she asked him.

  “Because…” he began and didn’t finish. It was on the tip of his tongue to say “Because you love me,” but he didn’t say it. They both avoided speaking of love. The word carried too many memories of pain. She made herself satisfied with his declaration of deep respect which she valued highly and he knew she would hold back because she was afraid of being hurt again. Two wounded doves, he thought, but they helped each other through the night and what a splendid night it was turning out to be.

  “Do you read the Bible?” he asked her.

  “Almost every day. It gives me strength and the language is so beautiful.”

  “The ‘Song of Solomon’?”

  “My favorite.”

  “Will you read to me and I’ll read to you? We could each take a chapter.”

  They sat in his den and he went to his library and brought back a Bible, handed it to her. She studied it before opening. Rich black smooth leather, hand-bound, with gold lettering on the cover. Inside were the thin, familiar pages of the King James version. Finding the “Song of Solomon,” she studied it for a few minutes, then began to read:

  “‘The song of songs, which is Solomon’s.

  Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.

  Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee.’”

  They sat on a loveseat. Bending, he removed her shoes, put them aside and drew her feet into his lap and rubbed them.

  “You act like an old married man,” she said.

  “And I will be just that soon.”

  He smiled sleepily as she began to read again, her voice warm and tender. She read slowly as she thought about each word. Solomon and Sheba. A love for the ages. A love. She and Damien had so much, but they couldn’t call it love.

  She finished reading and handed the book to him and he looked at it, saying. “No, you need to read this chapter because it could have been written especially for you. After that, let’s pick and choose which verses, which chapters fit each one of us.”

  “Okay.” She proceeded to read verses that had thrilled her since she was a teenager.

  “‘As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.

  As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.

  I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.’”

  She was coming to the part that thrilled her most and she stopped, looked at him.

  “I think I know what’s coming next,” he said. “This is the world’s first real romance story. Well, not the first, but the best. Go on, love.”

  She flinched a bit. He had this way of calling her love. She wished he wouldn’t do it, it was so overused in their industry, yet it thrilled her to her core when he did.

  “‘He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.

  Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick with love…’”

  She looked at him and her eyes were misty. He massaged her feet and listened as she read the rest of the chapter, then he took the Bible from her and began to read. Music poured from the CD player. Borodin’s “Nocturne.” As he read, she thought about the music. Exquisite.

  It took a while and Wagner’s “Liebestod” from Tristan and Isolde was on when he finished. Sighing, he put the book on the cocktail table and turned to her saying abruptly, “I care about you and you care about me. We’re well bonded. You’ve got a body made for bearing kids and I want to be the man who puts them in you.”

  She drew a sharp breath of longing. “We’re going to have to cool it. I don’t want to be burned to a cinder when you take me.”

  He smiled roguishly. “I’ll beha
ve if you stop drawing me. And no, you can’t stop. It’s what we are, you and I. Let’s go out on the sleeping porch and watch the sun come up.”

  “Good idea. I’m still not sleepy.”

  “Neither am I. My blood is singing. And speaking of singing, did you finish ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’?”

  “Almost, but I’m refining it. Who’s best to produce it?”

  “Wally Tapp’s the only one I’ll consider. I spoke to him about releasing that as a single and producing an album for you. I’d suggest you take that title.”

  “I agree with you on both counts, but will Wally have time? He’s so busy.”

  “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.” He bent then and kissed her thigh through the fabric of her pantyhose. “Did I tell you you look good enough to eat?”

  “No, but you’ve said so many kind things. You’re a kind man. And a one-of-a-kind man.”

  “Some people would tell you I’m a player.”

  “Are you?”

  “I was.”

  “For a few months.”

  “No, for longer than that. Before I linked up with Honi I played the field. I wanted to know what life was all about. I’ve always admired the South Seas way of life. They sleep around until they get married, then their playing days are over. I liked that. But AIDS and STDs came along and I grew cautious as hell. I value my life and my health more than my libido, so I cut it short. But I was on that carousel.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “At first. Maybe I’m monogamous by nature, but I look forward to having it all with you. I want us to have everything we can have in the way of sexuality and sensuality, in the way of life itself. I find I like this better, but it was good while it lasted. I was young, hot-blooded.”

  “You’re still hot-blooded.”

  He laughed lazily. “Now, I wonder why you’d say that. Haven’t I been completely decorous with you?”

  “Tell me some more fairy tales,” she scoffed. “You could write a book.”

  “Solomon’s Song?”

  “That and more. Ovid’s Metamorphoses.”

  “Whoa!”

  The sleeping porch had deep queen-sized sofas. There were many hanging plants and the room sprang into bold relief when he put the light on. They sat on one sofa with her in his arms.

  “Did you really ask me to marry you or did I dream it? I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not asking, I’m demanding that you marry me. Put me out of my misery.”

  “And I said yes?”

  “I won’t let you take it back. You called me your caveman when we first got here tonight and I’ll drag you to the altar by your hair if you change your mind.”

  “Ouch. You can be rough.”

  “Only when things don’t go my way.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “How many crumb crushers should we have?”

  “Don’t you kind of have the cart before the horse?”

  “You play it your way, I’ll play it mine.”

  Music was piped from the living room to all the smaller rooms and they listened again to more classical music.

  “I want to take you to Diamond Point to be married. Ever been there?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I have a friend, Francesca Worth, who goes there with her husband, Jon, every year or so. The powers that be wanted him to head their police force. He’s a captain in the Minden, Maryland, police department. You probably know him.”

  “I stopped with my mouth open when you began. It’s a tiny world. Sure I know Jon and Francesca. Good old Minden. I wouldn’t mind raising our kids there.”

  “Let’s get married first.”

  “Today if you want.”

  “Oh, you impatient man. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want you to start roaming again and get away.”

  “My roaming days were over when you took me in. I wanted to call you when you came back, but I was afraid to get involved. You stayed out of sight closing the deal on your house, settling in, and working on your music. Then you stumbled in here that night and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Thank God for history. I asked about you and folks said you were fine. I stayed very, very close to home and Jake was crowding me. I tried to keep out of his way…” She broke off then, sounding wistful. “Damien, I’d give anything to have Bretta back, to have her happy and with me. She was very fond of you.”

  “And I was fond of her. We’ll get the bastard who did this.” He took her in his arms and held her, stroking her back. “Let’s look at the dawn.”

  Stevie thought the sunrise that morning would be spectacular even if it wasn’t much of a sunrise. Damien opened the vertical blinds to the early morning light. May, and birds twittering in the early morning dew. Moss-hung huge oak trees stood a little in the distance and the coral rays of dawn fanned across the horizon. They stood in front of the bay windows.

  “You won’t feel up to moving today,” he told her.

  “Yes, I will. I’m anxious. I just know this is going to work. You’ve made my day and my life by asking me to marry you.”

  “You’ve done the same for me by saying yes.”

  She reached up and stroked the stubble on his chin and he rubbed his face gently against hers.

  “You scratch,” she said, laughing.

  “And you feel like silk and satin. You turn me on.”

  “I want to turn you on even higher.”

  “I can be dangerous.”

  “Go ahead. I can take you.”

  Damien stiffened as his glance focused on a long white envelope on the vast expanse of lawn just inside the wrought-iron fence. He shook his head. “Looks like someone’s throwing trash over the fence the way they do once in a while.” He looked more narrowly. “But that doesn’t look like trash.” He walked over and picked up binoculars from the top of a bookcase, adjusted the lenses and looked onto the lawn again.

  “I’m going out,” he announced.

  She watched him as he crossed the lawn and picked up the envelope, opened it and, frowning, came back into the house. She met him at the door, asking “What is it?”

  “Just trash, honey.” He didn’t want to show it to her, but he had to because Detective Rollins was going to have to see this.

  She took the envelope and removed the single sheet of white paper with huge computer-driven red lettering. “A Dead Woman Is A Silent Woman!”

  Chapter 10

  “This looks like Jake’s handiwork to me.” Stevie felt raw anger fill her as Damien took her in his arms and held her. He could feel her heart beating hard and he swore silently.

  “Detective Rollins will need to see this. We’ll call and get right over there as soon as he gets in. Stevie, I think it’s best we wait for another day to move you home.”

  She shook her head. “I simply feel it’s best to go today. Something is pushing me, Damien, and I trust it. I’m not afraid of Jake. I won’t be afraid of Jake.”

  He stroked her back. “It doesn’t have to be Jake. There’s always Muncy. Although, after last night, Jake’s a good bet.”

  For a moment, Stevie clenched her teeth. “I’ve got to remember because I want more than ever to testify against Jake.”

  “And I wish it didn’t have to happen. You get ready and I’ll make you some oatmeal. We’ll get an early start.”

  “No, pizza. Whenever I’m on edge, I crave spicy food.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  By nine they sat across from Detective Rollins in his small office. He had the sheet of paper and the envelope spread out before him.

  “Common, cheap paper. It’s done on a computer so there’s no tracing it. It could be either McGowan’s or Muncy’s work.”

  “Is this the beginning of a siege of harassment, do you think?” Damien asked.

  “Could be. How’re you taking this, Stevie?”

  “I’m holding up. It could be worse. Nobody’s taking pot-shots at me—yet.”


  Detective Rollins drummed a fist into his open palm. “We’re already keeping an eye on both your houses. You know what our budget crunch is like. Now, with the terrorist thing, we’re further behind than ever. You’ve got fans on this force, lady, and they’re with you. You were really rolling last night.”

  “Thank you.” After all this time, Stevie always felt a glow of pride when someone liked her singing and her songs.

  “Will this give you second thoughts about performing? Of course, it’s just getting started, but it’s been my experience that this kind of thing escalates.”

  “I don’t look forward to that.”

  “We’re checking Muncy twenty ways to Sunday because he’s the prime suspect in Ms. Evans’s murder. We’re on his tail like white on rice. The prosecutor has asked us to keep an eye on McGowan because there are witnesses he’s sure to try to intimidate, given his nature. And you’d be on the top of his list.”

  “Yes.”

  “You will let me know about any little thing that happens? Phone calls. More missives like this. Is this all you’ve gotten?”

  “Yes. I’m still sane.”

  Detective Rollins’s eyes on her were kind, sympathetic. “You’ve had too much on your shoulders and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

  “Thank you. The people I have helping me, like Damien and you, make it easier.”

  Detective Rollins’s phone rang and his eyes narrowed as he listened to the caller. When he hung up, he told them, “There’s a family altercation a couple of miles away. A man shot his wife and his father-in-law. I’ve got to ride with the team. Come by anytime, and I’ll be over to see you.”

  On the way back to his house, Damien struck the side of his head with his hand. “I forgot to tell you. The prosecutor called while you were in the shower. He wants to see you this morning anytime. Do you want to go in now or wait until you’re more together?”