Holiday Temptation

by Donna Hill

  “Get off of me, Jason,” she said through clenched teeth.

  He tugged her closer so that her body was flush against his arm; she prayed that he didn’t feel the runaway train of tremors that ran through her.

  His narrow eyes snaked over her. He smiled. His dimples flashed. “You look good. Like I remember.”

  “Jason . . .”

  “I just wanna talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  He gripped her harder and she winced.

  “Hey, Traci, there you are.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and nearly burst into tears of relief.

  Noah stepped up to them, but his gaze remained fixed on Jason until he slowly eased his grip on Traci’s arm and finally let go.

  Traci took a step back. Noah slid a protective arm around her waist and planted a light kiss on her cheek. “Thought we were going to meet at the pier.”

  She swallowed and blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I . . . was on my way. Running late.”

  Noah turned a hard gaze onto Jason. He stuck out his hand. “Noah Jefferson.” He stood a good head above Jason.

  “Jason Logan.”

  “So, Jason, you in the habit of grabbing women in the street?”

  Jason’s sandy-toned skin darkened. His jaw rocked. He held up his hands in mock resignation. “No harm, my man. Just saying hello to my ex.”

  “Hmm. You have a funny way of saying hello. So how ‘bout if you evah see Traci again, you bypass the pleasantries and just keep walking.” He gave him a hard pat on the arm. “Nice to meet you, Jason. Come on, baby.”

  He ushered Traci away before Jason had a chance to respond.

  “You awiight?” he asked the moment they were out of earshot, his years on the street rushing to the surface.

  Traci was shaking from the top of her head to her feet. All she could do was nod her head. If she said a word, she would burst into tears.

  Noah held her a little closer. “It’s okay,” he said in a rough whisper. “I’m gonna take you home and you can tell me who that mofo was. Cool?”

  Traci looked up at him and the warmth in his eyes belied the hard edge of his voice. Cara’s words echoed in her head: “Give him a chance.”

  “Okay.”

  Noah hailed a cab. “Forty South Second,” he told the driver.

  Once inside the cab Noah gave her plenty of space. He didn’t question her, try to hold hands, or make idle conversation. Instead his solid presence was more calming than anything he could say.

  By the time they pulled up in front of her building, she almost felt like herself. Noah paid the seven-dollar fare and they got out. Traci walked toward the gate.

  “Hey, I’m not going to come up. I only wanted to make sure that you got home safely. We can always talk some other time . . . if you want to.”

  “Thank you,” she managed. “But I was . . . hoping, I mean, you came all this way. Come on.” Her smile wobbled, then settled.

  He gave a slight shrug. “Cool.” He followed her upstairs. “Didn’t tell me it was a third-floor walk-up,” he jokingly huffed when they stopped in front of her apartment.

  Traci laughed. “I’m used to it.” She unlocked the door.

  Chapter Five

  “Nice,” Noah commented when he stepped in and looked around. “It’s you.” He took off his coat.

  “I’ll take that,” she said, reaching for his coat. “What do you mean it looks like me?” She opened the hall closet, grabbed a wooden hanger, and hung up his coat and then hers.

  “Orderly, and together with a flair.” He turned to her and smiled.

  “I guess that’s a compliment. Want something to drink?”

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “Hmm, iced green tea, tap water, and some wine.”

  “Wine.”

  Traci smiled. “Be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Noah strolled over to her two bookcases. He believed that you could tell a lot about a person by what they read. Traci’s bookcase was an interesting blend of noir mysteries, literary classics, books on the arts, biographies on playwrights, but what surprised him was the row of books on political ideologies and world affairs. She had books on Angela Davis, Che Guevara, Garvey, Roosevelt, Obama, and Clinton, as well as biographies on Saddam Hussein, Napoleon, Churchill, and Caesar. What he could tell from Traci’s choices was that she was invested not only in her passion for plays, but invested in the intricacies of world affairs and the people that impacted societies.

  “Here you go.”

  Noah turned. Traci was behind him with his glass of wine in her hand.

  “Thanks. You read all of these?”

  “Yep.” She took a sip of her wine and sat down. “One of my fetishes is book buying. There isn’t a bookstore that I don’t love.”

  “I feel the same way about vinyl.”

  “Albums?”

  He nodded and sipped his wine. “Avid jazz and blues collector. Unfortunately, record shops like bookstores are harder and harder to find.”

  “Hmm, very true.” She sat on the couch.

  Noah followed suit and sat opposite her on the armchair. He leaned back against the cushion and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. He glanced across at Traci. “You don’t have to talk about what happened . . . but what’s the deal with that guy?”

  Traci lowered her head. There was no point in trying to avoid the conversation. She pretty much knew it would come. It was why she’d invited him upstairs. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to test the waters and see if he would sink or swim, once he knew.

  She drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. “He’s my ex-husband for starters.”

  Noah’s brows rose for an instant, but he didn’t comment.

  “We were married for the longest three years of my life.” She lifted her chin and looked off into the past. “In the beginning Jason was the perfect man. He filled in all the empty spaces—the man that was never in my life. I suppose I was looking for a father figure, a man to take charge and take care of me. Jason was all of those things.”

  “But then something went wrong.”

  She nodded, looking off into the distance. “It was subtle at first. It started with small things, outbursts over nonsense—a missing sock or no cold water in the fridge, the way I cleaned the kitchen or the outfit I wore. When I worked on my play, he would always find something to argue about, until I just stopped. Then it was a push here, a grab there.” She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth, reached for her glass of wine, which she’d set on the coffee table and tossed it all back in a long gulp. “I didn’t tell anyone, not even Cara—at first. I was ashamed. Some part of me believed that it was my fault, that there was something about me that made him behave that way. It was the reason why my father—whoever he was—didn’t want me.” She snorted a laugh. “That’s what I thought. So I stayed too long.”

  Noah listened, fuming silently inside. What he wanted to do was find the bastard who hurt her and beat the hell out of him. He knew all too well the effects of not being wanted, of living in uncertainty based on the intentions of everyone around you. He was the poster boy.

  “How did you get out?”

  “Dislocated shoulder.”

  Noah’s nostrils flared. His entire body tightened. “What?”

  She slowly shook her head. “Cara was my emergency contact. A nurse at the hospital decided to call her when Jason brought me in. He told everyone that I’d fallen.” Her eyes suddenly filled with water. She sniffed and blinked rapidly. “Cara showed up with her husband, Phillip. To this day I don’t know what Phillip said to Jason, but I went home with them that night and I never went back to Jason.” She pushed out a breath. “That was four years ago.”

  Heavy silence hung between them. Traci’s heart thundered while she waited for his reaction.

  “He didn’t break you.” He looked right into her eyes. “He tried, but he couldn’t. He tried because he’s weak and
he saw a strength and purpose in you that he couldn’t see in himself. Cara is a good friend.” He offered a soft smile that elicited one from Traci as well. “I hope to meet her one day.”

  Traci’s throat was so tight she couldn’t speak. Instead she pushed up from her seat and went into the kitchen to get the bottle of wine so that he wouldn’t see the tears of relief spilling over her lashes.

  When she returned, Noah was standing at the window, looking at the evening unfold.

  “Thank you for saying what you said,” she said softly.

  Noah turned. His hands were in his pockets. His eyes slowly moved over her. He crossed the room to stand in front of her. “No need for thanks. It’s all true and it only makes me think even more of you, not less.”

  “More wine?” The halo of a smile framed her mouth.

  “Sure.”

  * * *

  They spent the rest of the evening really getting to know each other, where and how they grew up: Traci, raised by her single mother; Noah by a long list of foster parents until he settled with the Harpers. Traci was born and raised in New York, while Noah had Southern roots in New Orleans, the city he would always consider home. His roots in the South inspired his love of blues and jazz. They both loved all areas of the arts: books, movies, plays, and music. Noah was better traveled than Traci, having been to South America, Paris, Nigeria, the Caribbean, and Mexico, compared to Traci’s trips to the Poconos and her one visit to the Bahamas. Noah clearly stated that Disney World did not count as world travel.

  As the evening wore on, they found themselves in Traci’s small but efficient kitchen preparing tacos for dinner.

  “I think I have some shredded cheese in the drawer at the bottom of the fridge.”

  “Yep. Cheddar. How ‘bout some tomatoes?”

  “Absolutely.” She poured a can of black beans into a small pot, seasoned them, then put the flame on low to let them simmer. “I have a half a chicken or we could do a quick pepper steak. I need to defrost the meat.”

  “Cool by me.”

  * * *

  In no time they were eating at the kitchen table, laughing and talking as if they’d always known each other.

  “So tell me more about this play of yours. What is it about?”

  She breathed heavily. “Well . . . it’s about a woman who experiences a series of setbacks and her search for personal fulfillment. What I continue to have trouble with is the arc of the character. I can’t seem to get her where she needs to go.”

  He studied her for a moment, contemplating what she’d said. “Maybe it’s because you are still searching,” he said sagely.

  “What makes you think it has to do with me?” she asked, curious about his assessment.

  He rested his forearms on the table. “We all infuse parts of ourselves into our art. Think about musicians, songwriters, painters, actors. They all draw on their experiences to make their art come alive in three dimension. I know that I do when I play.”

  “Play?”

  He nodded and smiled. “Alto sax.”

  “Get out. Really?”

  “Yep. Maybe you can come and listen to me play sometime.”

  “I will definitely make it a point to check you out. When will you play again?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know. Maybe you can bring your friend Cara. Or . . . we could make it a date. You and me.” He looked hopefully into her eyes while his thumb gently caressed her knuckles.

  Traci’s stomach did that dance thing. She licked her bottom lip. “I’d like that.”

  “Me too.” He blew out a breath. “Let me help you clean up. It’s getting late.” He got up from his seat and started taking the empty plates to the sink.

  She wanted to drag the moments out, didn’t want him to leave as they worked side by side in easy harmony like a choreographed dance, movements in sync with barely a missed step. A touch here, a smile there, a brush of hips or fingertips stirred the embers that warmed just beneath the surface and all it would take for full-blown flames was for Noah to turn to her, let his hand glide down her arm, gently ease her toward him, and let the sensation of mouths connecting find the release that they both struggled to avoid.

  Traci heard her own tiny gasp when he did exactly what she imagined and the world around them disappeared as his face, those eyes, that mouth, came closer to hers.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” he said on a ragged breath.

  Traci held her own. Her heart thundered. His mouth, warm and moist, brushed her lips, testing, teasing, waiting, and she gave in, let her body meld against him as his arm slid around her waist, pulled her closer, and his mouth covered hers fully.

  Electric energy surged through her veins and she felt her knees wobble. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her nipples drew taut.

  Noah’s long fingers combed through the back of her hair and drew her deeper into the kiss while his tongue probed for entry.

  Her lips parted and she tasted him, the sweet spice of his own essence blended with the seasonings of their meal. She inhaled him. Delicious.

  Noah slowly eased back. His dark eyes had grown ink black. She wanted to count the long, thick lashes. The corner of his mouth curved upward. “I should go,” he said in a voice so deep it stirred her pelvis.

  But even as he said the words, she felt his arousal rise against her. She wanted him, but she wasn’t ready to make that leap. Not just yet.

  She took a half step back, lowered her head, then looked directly into his eyes. “Thank you for everything today.”

  He placed a kiss on her forehead. “Anytime.” He backed away, then turned to walk into the living room.

  Traci tugged in a shaky breath and gripped the edge of the sink for momentary support before following him. He was putting on his coat. She met him at the door.

  “Next time, my place.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, and was filled with the giddiness of “next time.”

  “Are you busy next Friday?”

  She thought for a moment. Other than her Pilates class and some writing, she knew there was nothing of importance on her calendar. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Good. Hold the date. There’s an art exhibit opening in SoHo that I’d like to see and I think you might enjoy it. Maybe it’ll give you some inspiration for your play.”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  “Great.” He hesitated a moment. “Get some rest.” He turned to leave, stopped, and turned back. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Put your number in.”

  Her hand shook ever so slightly. She tapped in the number, clicked SAVE, and handed it back.

  “I’ll call you.” He dropped the cell into his pocket, then clutched both her arms and dragged her into one last kiss, which literally took her breath away. When he released her, they were both starry-eyed. “Good night.”

  All Traci could do was stare at the door as it closed behind him. She stood there in a mini-trance before shaking her head to clear it.

  “Damn,” she whispered. It was going to be a long, lonely night.

  Chapter Six

  Her workdays at school breezed by and she was fully beginning to believe that she had some real talent in her class. The final project for the end of the fall semester was to stage a short one-act play that the students would write and produce. They were really getting into the writing, which inspired her writing as well.

  But it was the evenings that she had finally begun to look forward to again. Each evening Noah would call and “check on her,” as he put it. He wanted to know about her day, her students, and how she was progressing with her play. Once, he brought up Jason.

  “I know this may be hard to talk about, and you probably want to put it all behind you, but . . . if that dude gives you any trouble, any . . . you let me know. Understood? Don’t hesitate. Don’t second-guess. I mean that. Promise me.”

  She’d wavered for a moment. Knights in shining armor were only in fairy tales. Her l
ife was far from that, but here he was anyway. “I promise,” she’d murmured, even though she wasn’t sure that she meant it.

  “Cool, now about Friday . . .”

  * * *

  “Girl, I leave you unattended for a hot five minutes and you got a new man,” Cara teased as they left the YWCA following their Pilates class. “See, it’s a good thing we didn’t go to the movies together.” She grinned. “There is a method to my madness.”

  “Yeah, right, like you had something to do with it.”

  “Well,” she dragged the word out. “Not directly, but you know what I’m saying.” She buttoned her coat. “So tell me more.” She hooked her arm through Traci’s.

  “Hmmm,” she sighed. “He loves everything that I do. He’s a sax player on the side and has dreams of opening a café-type club. He’s sexy as hell and kisses like . . .” She actually moaned and Cara laughed and nudged her in the ribs. “And . . . he stopped Jason in his tracks.”

  “Whoa!” Cara stopped walking. “There is no way you’re going to gloss over that. What the hell happened? And why didn’t you call me?”

  Traci revisited that Sunday afternoon in clear but halting detail. If she knew nothing else about Cara, it was that she always sensed when Traci was evading or lying, so there was no point in doing either.

  Cara murmured something unrepeatable under her breath. “That bastard. What is he doing around here anyway?”

  “I don’t know. I thought he was in Florida.”

  “So now he knows you’re here. He hasn’t tried anything since, has he?”

  “No!”

  “You would tell me if he did?”

  “Yes. I would.”

  “Well, thank goodness Noah was there. Who knows what that asshole would have tried?” She hugged Traci close.

  “We were out in public. There wasn’t much he would have done.”

  “Regardless. You never know.” She shook off the icky feeling of thinking about Jason Logan. “Anyway, when am I going to meet Mr. Wonderful?”

  “He did say he’d like to meet you, too.”

  “So, how ‘bout we take a stroll over to his spot so I can give my stamp of approval before your hot date tonight.”