by Zuri Day
Jansen eyed her as she walked in. He sat stone-faced, arms crossed, his black T-shirt and jeans adding to his dark countenance. Eden opted for the chair instead of the couch where he sat. She sat down, looked at him, looked at the floral arrangement on her side table. For a while, neither spoke.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jansen finally asked.
“I . . . need to share some things with you. How I’m feeling.”
“About what?”
“Jansen, please don’t get defensive. As simple as sharing one’s thoughts may seem, this isn’t easy for me. But if we’re going to be together, I’ve got to do it.”
“If? What’s this about, Eden?” Jansen’s eyes narrowed. “Does it have anything to do with this Alex dude you mentioned earlier?”
“Why would you think that? What I’m sharing involves only the people in this room.”
“Oh, really? Well, excuse me if I draw a line between your hanging out with this boss you just met and our suddenly having problems.” Jansen’s body was taut, his look intense.
The discomfort that Eden had felt in the bathroom returned. I can’t do this. “Jansen, I . . .” A whistling tea kettle interrupted her. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Jansen shook his head. “No, I’m cool.” His demeanor suggested he was anything but.
Eden went into the kitchen and used her nightly ritual to try to relax. She placed the loose-leaf tea into the infuser, sat the mesh holder into the ceramic teapot that was a gift from her mother, and poured in the water. After slicing a lemon and pouring a liberal amount of honey into a mug, she placed it and the teapot on a tray and walked back into the living room.
You could cut the tension with a knife. Eden ignored it, continued her deep breathing and her ritual. She placed two lemon slices in the mug. As she swirled the infuser, a citrusy lavender aroma reached her nostrils. She inhaled deeply, poured the tea into her mug, and took a tentative sip. Jansen watched her every moment. Silent. Waiting.
Eden took another sip before placing the mug on the table beside her. “Remember how you and Michael used to protect me from the bullies? How I’d ask the teacher if I could leave class early, rather than risk meeting someone who’d threatened to fight me after school? I never liked confrontation, Jansen, ran from it as much as I could.” She looked at him as she took another sip of tea. His face was still stony, but he’d uncrossed his arms.
“While married, I did the same thing, though not at first. When we first got married, Gregg and I discussed things, gave our points of view, and came to a mutual agreement—even if that was an agreement to disagree. But like I told you before, Gregg changed. Or maybe he became more of who he really was, who knows? But the bottom line is, he stopped caring about how I felt or what I had to say. Voicing my opinion became the sure precursor for an argument, or worse. One of the things I’ve learned on this spiritual journey back to myself is that I have to live in my truth, no matter what. I have to share my feelings with those who matter to me.” Eden stopped, met Jansen’s gaze.
Jansen broke the stare, stood, and walked to the window. He stood there only seconds, but to Eden, it felt as if an hour went by. When he turned around, both his demeanor and voice were subdued. “So who am I reminding you of right now? Your monster husband, or the school bully?”
“What you’re reminding me of is how important it is to communicate calmly, rationally, the way we’re doing right now. You’re nothing like my ex-husband, Jansen, and you’ve either bullied or pestered me half my life, so that’s nothing new.” Eden offered a soft smile. Jansen caught it and shared one of his own.
“You’re possessive by nature, and a part of me likes that. It makes me feel needed, protected even. But I can also see where it could cause problems. I haven’t been on the job a week, and already you’re questioning me about my boss. Your accusatory tone both earlier and moments ago doesn’t make me feel good. If every interaction I have with another male is questioned, trust is not at the foundation of our love.”
“So you love me.”
Pause. One second, two. “Yes, Jansen. I do.”
“Come here.” He reached for Eden’s hand, and this time she took it. He led them back over to the couch. He sat down, and she sat down close to him, facing him. Jansen continued to hold her hand as he looked at her. Then he looked away.
“What is it, baby? What are you thinking?”
Pause. Three seconds, four. “I’m not one for much talking. With me, action speaks louder than words.”
“Brooding, deliberate, not one for showing your emotions. . . .”
Jansen raised a brow in Eden’s direction.
“Traits of a Scorpio.”
“Baby, you’d have to read more than a zodiac sign to figure me out.”
“No doubt. But you do have many of its characteristics, especially the good ones.”
Jansen’s skepticism remained, but now interest accompanied it. “What are those?”
“Loyal, intelligent, passionate to the extreme!”
Jansen performed a sideways once-over and drawled, “I take it that’s not a problem.”
Eden punched him playfully. “You take correctly.” A moment of companionable silence passed between them. Eden breathed slow, her heartbeat steady. She felt her hand in Jansen’s and imagined many evenings like this.
“You’re right about me being loyal,” Jansen finally said. “Which is probably why I’m possessive, if that’s what you want to call it. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, too, because when I’m with a woman, she belongs to me—nobody else. And I’m hers.” Jansen looked fully at Eden. “That’s just how it is.”
Many comments warred for dominance in Eden’s mind: the fact that women were people, not possessions. That she was almost twenty years past legally grown, and her father’s name wasn’t Jansen. That loyalty had obviously gone on vacation when he’d cheated on his ex-wife. But she chose to choose her battles in order to win the war. She loved Jansen and wanted to be with him. She believed in her heart that possessive, demanding proclivities aside . . . he was a good man. Staying focused on the goal of this conversation, mutual understanding, she asked, “What about trust?”
“What about it?”
“Do you trust me, Jansen?”
Pause. Five seconds, ten, twenty . . .
“Well, do you?”
“Men aren’t so different from women, you know. We don’t want to get hurt either.”
“I remember a conversation where you told me you’d always keep it one hundred with me. . . .”
“I believe the exact phrase is one hun-ned.”
“However it’s said, it meant you’ll be truthful with me. And I’ll do the same. I’ve never been one to date around or play the field, Jansen. I’m not interested in starting now.”
“Good.” Jansen reached for her. “Now can we stop talking and let our bodies conversate?”
Eden didn’t resist when he placed his arm around her, tilted her chin, and engaged them in a deep, languid kiss. When he moved aside her terry-cloth robe and gently tweaked her nipple, she welcomed the move. Jansen was like a drug her body needed on a regular basis. She’d always enjoyed intercourse, but with Jansen, she couldn’t get enough. So when he undid the belt and placed his hand between her legs, she opened to welcome him. She skimmed the band on his shorts, reached her hand inside, and found hard, throbbing flesh. Mine, she thought with mild surprise. And then she thought of something else—the other topic she’d planned to discuss with him. But when he eased off the couch and down on his knees, pulling her forward while spreading her wide and then dipping his head to her nether lips, Eden’s mind zeroed in on one thing: pleasure. There would be time later for further discussion. Right now Jansen’s tongue was talking to her, and she was thoroughly enjoying the conversation.
38
The rest of the week passed smoothly. Eden planned to personally try all the preventative and healing methods offered at the center so that in addition to her administrative accli
mation, she’d experience Reiki, hypnotherapy, and the best massage she’d ever had. After a month off, Eden felt good being back at work and easily settled into her workday routine. She also remembered how much she looked forward to Fridays, no matter where she was employed. Even though her Capitol Hill job regularly called for working on weekends, Saturday and Sunday were still her favorite days of the week.
Alex tapped on Eden’s open door. “Big plans for the weekend?” he asked before stepping inside.
“Spending time with family, friends. You?”
Alex shrugged. “The usual, I guess. Shoot a couple rounds, get some sun.” All week Alex had pondered how best to ask the question that most interested him. Finally he could take it no longer and decided to ask outright. “Are you married, Eden?”
All week, Eden had anticipated the question and didn’t hesitate in her answer. He’d acted professionally, but Eden wanted Alex and everyone else to make no mistake about her status. “I’m in a committed relationship.”
Alex nodded. “Lucky guy. What does he do?”
This time, there was a slight pause. “He’s a police officer.”
Alex didn’t try to hide his surprise. He walked over to Eden’s desk and sat down in one of the two chairs that faced her. “A cop? As in crime-chasing, gun-toting officer of the law?”
Eden nodded.
“Forgive my saying so, but that is probably the last profession I’d guess for your partner.”
“I understand.” Eden further established her boundary by adding, “Jansen is a special man. I’m the lucky one.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” Alex smoothly replied. She’d said committed relationship, not marriage. In Alex’s mind, that simply meant she was with the best one until the better one came along. On one hand, Alex knew he was playing with fire, that he’d be better off focusing on someone other than a “committed coworker.” On the other hand, there was very little that this only son from a well-to-do Greek family desired and didn’t get. He’d wanted to become a doctor. It had happened. He’d wanted to practice in the States. It had happened. And now he wanted Eden Anderson. As far as Alex was concerned, it was only a matter of time.
Rivulets of hot, sudsy water poured over Eden’s shoulders and down her back. Knowing the consequences but being unable to resist, she’d stuck her head under the nozzle and allowed the pulsating stream to massage her scalp and neck. She thought the master bath one of the best rooms in Jansen’s house. Comparatively, Jansen undoubtedly had the better, more comfortable home. Eden thought if only he’d get rid of his mini arsenal, it would be a perfect abode. His gun collection was the reason she’d missed luxuriating in this steel and marble paradise. She’d been here only once since the weapons discovery, had used whatever excuse necessary to get him to come to her place. She knew she’d have to have the conversation one day. But not now. Not now when things were magical, when her declaration of love had brought out an even more attentive, more passionate officer who was a gentleman.
“Come on, woman!” Jansen commanded from just outside the shower stall. “We need to leave in less than an hour.”
“Almost done.” Eden rinsed the conditioner from her hair, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped the nearest towel around her wet hair. Before she could take two steps to retrieve one for her body, she was in Jansen’s arms. “Jansen, we’ve got to hurry, remember?”
“Baby, when I see you like this, all clean and wet, I forget about everything else.”
Eden shook her head as she wiggled free from his embrace. She hadn’t known many men, and of the ones she had, she’d never met anyone who compared to Jansen McKnight. He’d come over to her place every night that week, and still he’d ravished her as soon as she’d stepped in the door. Something about being in his arms stoked her flames of desire to heights heretofore unknown. There’d been no resistance as he’d undressed her in the living room before placing her on the dining room table and treating her as his meal. They’d ended up in the kitchen, where things had happened with a counter, a footstool, and a jar of chocolate syrup that then led to the shower, hair washing and, if she’d had time, a nap.
Ninety minutes later, Jansen and Eden strolled into the Greek, an intimate outdoor amphitheater nestled in the tree-covered hills of Griffith Park. For them, the night was perfect, dressed as they were in lightweight sweaters, jackets, and jeans. Jansen enfolded Eden’s hand in his as they navigated the almost six thousand patrons waiting to groove to the sounds of Maxwell, Anthony Hamilton, Jill Scott, and Erykah Badu.
“Baby, do you want us to get our seats and then come back for the food basket?” They’d ordered “The Superstar,” which consisted of breads, cheeses, a Greek salad, for Jansen a peppercorn top sirloin steak, and for Eden a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. “Those sandals look sexy as hell, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable”
“Oooo, you are so sweet to ask, but no, these shoes are comfortable, I don’t mind standing.”
Jansen shook his head. “Women.”
Eden laughed. “Men.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He put an arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed her for real.
“Jansen!” A voice from much too close to either Jansen or Eden came between their lips.
Jansen pulled back and looked around, the scowl evident even in subdued lighting.
An attractive woman dressed in a skintight animal-print mini, heels two inches higher than Eden’s and a weave long enough to have helped an Indian woman pay off her house, stepped up to Jansen. Grabbing his arm, she exclaimed, “I thought that was you!” She wedged herself in front of Eden and proceeded to engage Jansen in an intimate hug.
Or tried to. Jansen immediately stepped back, pulled her arms from around his neck, and reached for Eden. He anchored her to his side, his expression as stern as it was civil. “Tami,” he said with a restraint that Eden couldn’t help but admire. “This is my heart, Eden Anderson.”
Jansen’s “heart” soared with a lot of admiration and a little pride. If this was what it felt like to be possessed, Eden was ready to rethink her position. She couldn’t help but compare him to Gregg, her ex-husband. In the same situation, Gregg would have acted as if Eden weren’t there, would have flirted shamelessly with the other woman and may even not have been above walking off to have Eden fend for herself. When I’m with a woman, she belongs to me . . . and I’m hers. That’s just how it is. It felt good not to have to guess where one stood with her man. Eden leaned into Jansen’s protective, supportive embrace and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you. Tami, correct?”
Tami looked at Eden as if she wore doo-doo on her face instead of a smile. Woman-to-woman telepathy told Eden everything she needed to know, including the fact that this woman should have gotten an Oscar for the grin she tried to maintain through her limp-as-a-noodle handshake. “Nice to meet you, Esther.”
“Eden,” Jansen corrected. “As in, the beautiful garden.”
“Oh, how quaint,” Tami responded. She turned to Jansen, and her smile became authentic. She tossed her lengthy mane, licked what Eden had to admit were perfect lips set in flawless skin, and in a voice as sexy as Marilyn Monroe and Pam Grier combined asked for a private moment of Jansen’s time.
“I don’t think so,” he responded without hesitation. “Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of her. There are no secrets between us.”
“Fine,” Tami spat, her cool facade slipping just a notch. “I see that your attention is temporarily diverted, but I just wanted you to know that all your things are still at my house waiting . . . and so am I.”
Jansen pulled Eden even closer to him. Another step, and she would have been standing on his feet instead of beside them! He turned to face her. “Eden, I dated Tami before you arrived. Unlike the committed relationship that we share, Tami and I had a nonexclusive relationship for about three months, during which time I visited her at her house because I rarely let women come to mine. I may have l
eft some clothes there, probably some DVDs, toiletries, or whatever.” He looked from Eden to Tami and continued. “There is nothing I left at your house that I want, Tami. Nothing.”
Tami’s skin reddened under the assault, but she regained her cool. “Hmph. Baby, I was there. I know what we have, and I know there is no other woman on this planet who can make you feel the way I do.”
“You’re right,” Jansen countered. Eden’s heart sank. To think that someone else had enjoyed the pleasures to which she was now addicted brought almost tangible pain. Jansen continued. “But there’s someone who makes me feel like I’ve never felt before, feel things in ways I never thought I could. And you’re looking at her.” Eden’s heart soared.
They retrieved their basket, found their seats, uncorked the wine, and toasted the evening. Neither mentioned Tami. It was as if the nasty exchange had never occurred. Jill sang about love in E-flat, Erykah viewed life from a window seat, and Maxwell cried a fistful of tears. And something happened with Jansen and Eden. Their love deepened, expanded, took off on pretty wings. They enjoyed the concert immensely, but the music their bodies later played was what they loved the most.
39
“Look, Mike. I’m not trying to say Kobe ain’t a bad baller, I’m just saying LeBron is more of the total package, an all-around player!” Jansen argued passionately, hand gestures further emphasizing his point.
“Kobe is full of game,” Michael countered. “He’s going to go down as one of the greatest players of all time!”
“And LeBron isn’t? If you believe that, I’ve got some oceanfront land in Mississippi to sell you.”
Eden and Bridgett looked at each other, their unspoken message one of “this argument will never end unless we end it.” Eden knew her brother, and she knew Jansen was just as stubborn as Michael. Bridgett probably knew Michael even better than Eden. They let the men ramble for another moment or so, discussing how this Cheesecake Factory in Marina del Rey was their favorite and how the insanely divine weather and ocean views made southern California worth its earthquakes, traffic, and high-priced real estate.