The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque)

by Byrd, Adrianne

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” she asked, frowning. “Aren’t you happy for me?”

  He didn’t want to answer that. “Of course I am.”

  Her brows rose as if she detected his lie.

  “I’m just shocked,” he amended. “I didn’t even know that you were seeing someone seriously. You never mentioned it.”

  Her smile trembled a bit while she shrugged. “Well, I guess it happened kind of fast.”

  He studied her for a moment before he cast a glance over her shoulder to see Jonas watching them from a distance. “Just how long have you been seeing this guy?”

  She shrugged again. “Not long…maybe four months.”

  “Four months?” he echoed. “You hardly know him.”

  “That’s not true,” she said defensively.

  “What’s his mother’s maiden name?”

  She blinked. “I don’t know. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “What’s my mother’s maiden name?”

  “Baker.”

  He smiled and crossed his arms. “How does he like his coffee?”

  “He, uh…”

  “How do I like my coffee?”

  Ophelia hesitated.

  “Well?”

  “Milk, no cream, no sugar.”

  “I think I made my point.”

  “But I love him,” she admitted, settling her hands on her hips.

  Her words wiped the smug smile from Solomon’s lips and plunged the blade of jealousy deeper into his heart. “Then I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

  Ophelia’s face lit up as she leaned up on her toes and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “Thanks, Solomon. You have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that.”

  “Ophelia?” Jonas’s voice floated over to them.

  “You better go,” Solomon said. “I think your fiancé is getting nervous.”

  “A little jealousy won’t hurt him.” She winked, kissed Solomon, and turned away.

  Solomon watched as she returned to her fiancé’s side. For a brief moment, his gaze met Jonas’s, and he felt as if the man could read his mind. Exhaling a long breath, Solomon turned away and went in search of the open bar. “I need a drink.”

  Chapter 2

  Jonas looped his arm possessively around Ophelia’s small waist. “I’d say that your friend doesn’t seem too happy with our news.”

  “Who—Solomon?” Ophelia frowned as she accepted another piece of the teardrop coconut cake. “He’s just surprised. Probably starting to feel left out since I’m following in Marcel’s footsteps.”

  “Nah.” Jonas’s gaze cut away from Solomon’s lone form at the bar to settle on her. “That’s not it.”

  “Sure it is.” She sank her fork into the dessert, and then moaned in ecstasy as she took her first bite. “This cake is the bomb,” she muttered, and quickly shoved another forkful into her mouth.

  Jonas laughed and shook his head. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

  “You don’t understand, baby. Here, try some.” She prepared a bite for him and lifted it for him to sample.

  He opened his mouth obligingly and then mimicked her exaggerated, orgasmic moans, complete with dramatic eye rolls.

  “Oh, quit it.” Ophelia smacked his arm. “You’re not funny.”

  Chuckling, he pulled her close. “What? I love it when you make those sounds,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m looking forward to hearing them for the rest of our lives.”

  She giggled and glanced around to see whether they were being watched. Her body stiffened when her gaze caught Solomon’s from across the pavilion.

  He lifted his glass in a silent salute and then turned away.

  “You still want to tell me that there’s nothing between you two?” Jonas’s voice sharpened with sarcasm.

  Ophelia ignored the sudden queasy tightness in her stomach and shrugged indifferently. “It’s not what you think.” She pulled out of his arms.

  “And what exactly am I thinking?”

  Ophelia drew an impatient breath, but somehow managed to hold on to her smile. “Can we just drop the subject? Once you get to know Solomon, you two are going to be as thick as thieves.”

  Jonas’s expression radiated doubt.

  “C’mon.” She set aside her half-eaten cake and reached for his hands. “Dance with me.”

  “Who me?” he asked, as she led him back across the pavilion and over to the dance floor. “I can’t dance, remember?”

  “Sure you can,” she insisted and navigated them to the center of the floor.

  “Ophelia, I don’t know about this.”

  She faced him with another wide smile and showed him how to properly position his hands. “Now just follow my lead,” she coached.

  “I have a feeling that’s not going to be the last time I hear those words,” he joked, and then concentrated perhaps a little too much on his dance movements.

  “Relax.” She slinked and wiggled against him. “Just feel the music. Let your body go.”

  Jonas followed her instruction, but still managed to look as stiff as a board, so much so that Ophelia had a hard time suppressing her amusement.

  “Okay. All right. Enough.” A lazy grin hugged his lips as he grabbed her wrist and led her off the dance floor. “I’d like to reserve making an ass out of myself to private parties only. If you don’t mind.”

  Ophelia’s head rocked back with a hearty bark of laughter. “But you were so cute,” she whined playfully.

  Jonas slowed down when they reached the lawn, which was still jammed tight with people. He gave a cursory glance around and drew her back into his arms. “So, are you ready to blow this taco stand so we can do a little celebrating ourselves?”

  “Oh?” She lifted her head in keen interest. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  Glancing up at the clear blue sky, Jonas mulled the question over. “I’m thinking about a candlelight dinner for two.”

  “Italian?” she suggested her favorite.

  “Of course. We can put on some music—”

  “But there’s no dancing.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I might be able to manage a little cheek-to-cheek action. But then afterward—”

  “Ah, ah, ah, lover boy.” She waved her finger at him. “There will be none of that.” At Jonas’s confused look, she added, “We’re engaged.”

  “I’m following you so far.”

  Ophelia’s body warmed deliciously as she playfully walked her fingers up the center of his chest. “Well, I was thinking, since we’re going to have such a short engagement that maybe it’s best that we…abstain until our wedding night.”

  Jonas’s body stiffened, and his eyes widened in stunned disbelief. “Come again?”

  Ophelia couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Don’t you want our wedding night to be special?”

  “It’s already going to be special.” He hugged her tighter. “It will be the first time we’ll make love as man and wife.”

  “You know what I mean.” She lowered her voice. “I mean in the traditional sense. No sex before marriage.”

  “If that’s the case, we’re already S.O.L.,” he said, leaning toward her and stealing a kiss. “I’m already familiar with every inch of you.”

  “Good,” she cooed. “Then you won’t have any problems hanging on to those memories until our wedding night.”

  Their eyes met.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Jonas’s voice ended on a note of horror.

  “Dead serious. Our waiting is supposed to heighten the anticipation. I’m up for the challenge.” With a teasing smile and a flirtatious wink, Ophelia slowly eased out of his arms and sashayed away from him. It was a game she loved to play with him. In her head, she timed how long it would take for him to follow her. This time, she counted to three—a new record.

  “Okay,” Jonas said. “Let’s say that I do agree to this crazy idea.”

  She faced him with a syrupy
smile.

  “And I’m not saying that I am,” he clarified. “But if I did, what exactly can we do until our wedding night?”

  Once again, Ophelia slid her arms up his chest and locked them around his neck. “We can still kiss and cuddle.”

  “What am I—in kindergarten?”

  “Kindergarten?” She laughed. “I didn’t receive my first kiss until I was in junior high—and that didn’t really count.”

  Jonas frowned. “Why?”

  Ophelia shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Because it was just Solomon.”

  * * *

  “I wish those two would just go get a room,” Solomon said in disgust. He tossed back his fourth shot and then growled through the burn. “Hit me again,” he commanded the bartender.

  “Are you all right, sir?” The lanky man reached for Solomon’s poison of choice and splashed out another shot.

  “Peachy,” Solomon answered, and then downed the drink in the same breath.

  “There’s my favorite nephew,” Willy’s voice thundered a half a second before his heavy hand swatted across Solomon’s back. “I wondered where you took off to.”

  “Well, you found me.”

  “Boy, I tell you that Marcel really knows how to throw a shindig. Of course, if it were my party, I would have thrown in a few strippers.”

  “It’s a wedding, Uncle Willy.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  Solomon shook his head and then barked at the bartender again, “Hit me.”

  “Whatcha doin’?” Willy asked.

  “Getting drunk.”

  “Sounds like fun. Mind if I play?”

  “It’s a free country.”

  “Not to mention an open bar.” Willy laughed and settled his large frame on a stool next to Solomon before he signaled the bartender. I’ll have what he’s having.” When he received his drink, he held it up. “Should we at least toast to something?”

  “Sure, why not?” He lifted his glass. “How about to…no more women?”

  Willy pulled his glass away. “Good Lord, I can’t toast to that. I adore women. Of course, I can’t say that they’re always overly fond of me… But I always seem to find another fish in the ocean, if you catch my drift.”

  Solomon grunted and rolled his eyes. “Well, you can have them.” He set his drink back down on the bar, uncertain whether he would be able to handle another shot without tipping off his stool.

  Willy’s boisterous laugh rang out and drew attention from people across the pavilion. “What’s with this crazy talk?” He swung his meaty arm around Solomon’s shoulders. “There’s more than enough fish for the two of us, especially now that Casanova Brown has hung up his shoes. Hell, I’m practically salivating at the possibilities. You saw the little saucy number I came here with, didn’t you?”

  “Nora Gibson?” Solomon laughed. “Let me give you some advice, old man. Run. Run like hell and don’t look back.”

  “Ah, hell, Solomon. There’s nothing wrong with a lady who has a little spice…or a dangerous edge. It keeps things interesting. You remember Glenda?”

  Solomon rolled his eyes. “How could I ever forget? She put you in the hospital for what, six weeks?”

  Willy nodded. “Uh-huh. Good woman—salt of the earth.”

  “She’s doing five to ten for stabbing you.”

  “Hey, I was to blame for some of that. I should’ve never gotten caught nailing her sister in Glenda’s bed. Of course, who knows, Glenda and I might get back together when she gets out. The things that woman can do with her mouth… .”

  Solomon frowned. “Didn’t you marry Glenda’s sister?”

  Willy sighed dreamily. “Yeah. It was the best sixty-two hours of my life. But then there was a third sister—”

  “Stop. Please stop,” Solomon begged, and then tossed back his last shot. “None of this is convincing me not to give up women.”

  “What’s the alternative?” Willy lowered his voice to a normal level. “You’re not trying to tell me you’re a little…funny, are you?” He quickly held up his arms. “Not that I’m saying there is anything wrong with that. It’s just that I would have never thought—”

  “Relax. I’m not gay.”

  Willy’s shoulders slumped with obvious relief. “Well, then. What are we talking about? You can’t just give up sex—you’ll explode. Trust me, I know. One time…”

  Solomon slumped his head against the palm of his hand and tuned out another one of his uncle’s wild sexcapades. Right now, Solomon just wanted the alcohol to kick in and numb the sharp pain of his broken heart. The problem was, he had no one to blame but himself.

  He couldn’t count the number of times Marcel had urged him to come clean with Ophelia—nor could he remember how many times he’d practiced doing just that in front of the bathroom mirror. But in Solomon’s heart, he knew such a confession could ruin their friendship. And he never wanted that.

  He also didn’t want to watch her marry someone else.

  “—So I guess my point, nephew, is that the best way to get over a woman is to find another woman.” Willy pounded Solomon’s back. “It’s a hell of a better solution than giving them up.”

  Solomon nodded and glanced across the lawn again to see Ophelia and her fiancé climb into a limo. “You know, Uncle Willy, I just might take your advice this time around.”

  Chapter 3

  “Alone at last,” Jonas whispered from behind Ophelia as they stood in one of his spacious bachelor pads in the heart of downtown Atlanta.

  Ophelia stood still while her fiancé took his time lowering the zipper on the back of her blush-colored dress. She smiled at the sound of his soft intake of breath, and then trembled at the feel of his lips pressed against her shoulder blade. This was undoubtedly a test of his restraint, and Ophelia loved every minute of it.

  It was true that in her younger years she was a tomboy, but by the time she finished college, Ophelia had mastered the art of seduction. Men were reduced to mere idiots in front of a pretty face and a curvy body.

  However, her charms rarely worked on one man: Solomon Bassett. Who knows, maybe that was why she had such a crush on him for as long as she did. He was a challenge—and what woman didn’t like a challenge?

  Jonas kissed her other shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it until our wedding night,” he whispered. “It’s only been a couple of hours, and I already feel like I’m going crazy.”

  Ophelia pushed all thoughts of Solomon to the back of her mind. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?” She faced him and winked. “I’m jumping in the shower.”

  Jonas groaned and pulled her closer before she could step away. “Are you sure that I can’t talk you out of this nonsense? I mean, it is the twenty-first century.”

  Ophelia smiled and shook her head. “C’mon, baby. You’re not even trying. If we do settle on a winter wedding, we’re only talking about a few months.”

  “If?” He laughed. “Seven months it is. Any longer than that, and we’ll just have to live the rest of our lives in sin and not get married.”

  “Then it’s settled. January it is.”

  Jonas’s adorable dimples flashed while his head lowered for a kiss. “You know I’ve always been partial to November.”

  “Five months? That’s hardly enough time to—”

  Jonas pressed his finger against her lips. “It’s plenty of time. We’ll hire the best damn wedding planner money can buy.”

  “Don’t forget my mother…aunts…and cousins.”

  “See? We have plenty of help.” His confident smile widened. “We’ll have the most beautiful wedding the state of South Carolina has ever seen.”

  “South Carolina? We’re getting married there?”

  “Of course we are.” He frowned and laughed at the same time. “My family is there.”

  Ophelia stepped back. “I know, but my family lives here in Atlanta.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll buy them airline tickets.”

 
“We can’t just buy everyone airline tickets,” she protested.

  “Why not? I can afford it.” He chuckled and pulled her back into his arms. “Or did you forget you were marrying a very wealthy man?”