Sweet Southern Nights

by Rochelle Alers

  “I like what I see,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Do you trust what you see?” Levi countered.

  She stared out the side window at the passing landscape, replaying Levi’s query in her head. He’d asked about trust when it had become an everyday struggle for her to learn to trust again. Angela trusted her parents, her brothers, Traci, her aunt and close relatives, but everyone else was suspect.

  She’d wanted to trust Levi because they’d slept together. If he’d asked her if she’d trusted the men she’d dated the answer would’ve been an easy one. No.

  “I’m trying, Levi.”

  Angela hadn’t lied to Levi. It was easier for her to offer him her body than her heart. And she’d learned the hard way that trust in a relationship was more important than love. People fell in and out of love every second of the day. But trust had to be earned.

  Lowering his arm, he rubbed her knee. “Okay, baby. I know it must be hard for you to trust any man after what you’ve gone through, but not all of us are SOBs.”

  “I know that. Just one man in particular.”

  “You’re giving him too much energy, Angela. He’s your past.”

  “You’re right, Levi.” She mimed zipping her mouth. “His name will never pass my lips again.”

  “Good for you. Have you decided which horse you’re going to bet on?”

  “Yes. What about you, Levi?”

  He turned off onto the road leading to his townhouse. “I’m going with Sweet Southern Knight.”

  His choice shocked Angela. “The odds on him are thirty-to-one.”

  “That’s why I like him. I usually go for the longshot.”

  “I’m a little more scientific,” she admitted.

  “How’s that?”

  “I put all the names of the horses in a hat, shake them up, and pick one. I do the same with the jockeys. I repeat the process until I’m able to match the jockey with a horse, and that’s who I bet on.”

  Levi laughed until his ribs hurt. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t have to, Levi. I’ve managed to pick two winners in eight years, so I’m not doing too badly. There was a time when I’d bet on the Oaks, but two races in two days has lost its appeal.”

  “What is the difference between the Oaks and the Derby other than one is run on Friday and the other on Saturday?”

  “The Oaks is for three-year-old fillies. That’s why it’s called “Lilies for the Fillies.” The length of the Derby race is one and a quarter miles. But the Oaks is one and an eighth. The purse for the Oaks is one million and the first-place winner gets six hundred thousand. A silver Kentucky Oaks trophy is presented to the winner along with a large garland of lilies.”

  “How do you know so much about horseracing?”

  “My paternal grandfather loved horseracing. He used to take me to the stables to watch the farmhands groom and exercise the thoroughbreds. He was such a racehorse enthusiast that he would follow the races. If it wasn’t Saratoga Springs, then it would be the Preakness at Pimlico or the Belmont in New York. It drove my grandma crazy because she’d believed he was gambling. And for her, gambling was an unforgiveable sin. I never knew him to bet on a horse. It was just that he was fascinated by them.”

  With all the talk about horses and races, they barely noticed how quickly they’d reached Levi’s apartment. Levi drove up to the gatehouse, and drove through once the barrier automatically lifted. The shadows cast from the setting sun off the rooftops of the chalet-style townhouses reminded Angela of postcards of Alpine resorts. The only thing missing were snow-covered mountain peaks.

  “These look new,” she remarked.

  Levi pulled into his reserved parking space and shut off the engine. “They are. They were built to accommodate additional staff once the hospital expanded. I’ll bring the cat and the bags up,” he said, exiting the car.

  He helped Angela out, holding on to her hand as he unlocked the door leading to his apartment. “I get to live in the penthouse apartment.” They walked up the staircase and he unlocked another door.

  Angela stepped into a living-dining room with gleaming wood floors. She slipped out of her shoes, leaving them on the thick straw mat outside the front door. Turning, she smiled up at Levi watching her. “May I have a look around?”

  Dipping his head, he kissed the end of her nose. “Of course. Mi casa es su casa,” he said.

  Angela wondered if he meant that his house was her house literally as she walked past a galley kitchen with granite countertops, white cabinetry and stainless-steel appliances. She opened a door opposite the kitchen to find a stackable washer-dryer unit. There were two bedrooms, one with a full bath and the other with a shower stall. Both bathrooms were accessible from the bedrooms.

  There was something about the furniture that reminded her of a dormitory. It wasn’t fancy, but it was functional. It took several minutes before she realized what was missing: a woman’s touch. It needed framed prints, plants, colorful throws, pillows and area rugs.

  She peered through the half-open blinds in the larger of the two bedrooms. Sliding doors led out to a balcony that overlooked a parking lot. Light shone through the windows of the hospital that was a short distance away.

  Sterile. That’s the word that best described the space where Levi lived when he wasn’t at the hospital. When Duncan bought a house outside Maywood Junction he’d asked her to help him decorate it. Her brother had given her his credit card and told her to buy whatever she thought he needed to make his house a home. He had no patience for or interest in going from store to store to purchase beds, sofas, tables, chairs and accessories that gave a house its personality.

  “I’m going to put Miss Divine in the smaller bedroom.”

  Angela turned to find that Levi had come into the room without making a sound. Her garment bag was slung over his shoulder as he cradled the crate to his chest. “Okay. Is there anything you want me to do?”

  “No. Just relax. As soon as I bring your other bags up I’ll start dinner.”

  She smiled. “What’s on the menu?”

  “We’re having Italian tonight—chicken Francese, linguine with garlic and oil and a green salad.”

  “It sounds scrumptious. Do you need me to help?”

  He shook his head. “No, baby. I’ve prepared everything. It just has to be cooked.”

  “Can I at least set the table?”

  Levi gave her a look parents usually reserved for their children when they were at their wit’s end. “Don’t you know how to sit down and relax?”

  “Of course, but I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing.”

  “You sit around doing nothing when you watch your movies.”

  Closing the distance between them, Angela slipped the garment bag off his shoulder. “I jot down notes whenever I watch a movie.”

  This week she’d altered her writing schedule to increase the number of hours she worked at the Garden Gate to accommodate the tourists who were in town for the Derby. Instead of using her desktop, she’d brought in her laptop in to the shop, and whenever there was a lull she went into the small office at the rear of the shop to write.

  “I’m going to hang my clothes up in the other bedroom,” she said to Levi.

  It took Angela less than fifteen minutes to unpack the garment bag and her tote and leave her toiletries in the en-suite bath in the smaller bathroom.

  Miss Divine refused to leave her crate even when Angela tried coaxing her out with a treat. “Whatever,” she drawled, closing and latching the door. Dimming the recessed lights, she went into the bathroom to wash her hands and when she emerged she saw that her cat had curled her body into a tiny ball.

  Angela walked into the kitchen, stopping when she saw Levi standing at th
e stove in a pair of jeans, a white tee and leather flip-flops. She extended her right hand. “Here’s a little housewarming gift.”

  Drying his hands on a towel, Levi took the gaily wrapped box. “You didn’t have to do this. After all, I’m only going to be here a couple of months.”

  Resting her hip against the countertop, she studied his lean face. “It doesn’t matter, Levi. It’s still your home even if it’s only temporary.”

  He untied the bow and peeled away the gift-wrap paper. His eyebrows lifted when he took out a quartet of crystal candleholders for votive candles.

  Levi stared at Angela as if seeing her for the first time. She was the first woman who’d given him a gift. Usually he was the one to do the gift giving. He took a step, pulling her gently against his chest. “Thank you. They’re beautiful. Whenever I look at them I’ll think of you.”

  Closing her eyes, Angela wanted to tell Levi that she would never forget him, even if she lived to be an old spinster with half a dozen cats. By that time, she would be too old to care about them leaving pet hair everywhere.

  “You’re not going to be that easy to forget, either,” she whispered against his shoulder.

  Cradling her face, Levi made love to her with his eyes. “Come on, baby. Let’s not get all weepy. Isn’t that what happens in your romance novels?”

  She nodded. “Sometimes.”

  “I’m not leaving now. So let’s enjoy the time we have together.”

  Angela nodded again as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. She didn’t want to acknowledge that her feelings for Levi had gone beyond merely liking him. Every time they were together, her feelings for him deepened and she couldn’t help imagining herself falling in love with him. Yet she was well aware of the consequences of falling in love with Levi.

  After he’d told her he lived in the suburbs of New York, she’d gone online to search for Mamaroneck. She read that it was a bedroom community for commuters who worked in Manhattan. Easy access to the city meant nights on the town with his friends and hot dates with women, who were probably lined up at his door. In other words, it was a hop, skip and jump from one of the most exciting and romantic cities in the world.

  And it was obvious Levi did not have a problem attracting the opposite sex. He was a trifecta—looks, brains and money.

  Angela had given herself a pep talk. She wasn’t going to fall in love with Levi Eaton and she wasn’t going to fall apart when he left Louisville. And, he was going to leave, but this time she wouldn’t be blindsided.

  Anchoring her arms under his shoulders, she hugged him tightly. “I promise not to get weepy if you promise to show me a good time.”

  A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I can’t carry a tune worth a damn, but I’m going to try and sing, “Time of my Life.”

  Angela patted his shoulder blades. “Don’t worry. I’ll sing it for both of us.” She pulled back from his embrace. “Where do you keep the dishes?”

  Levi pointed to a cabinet. “You’ll find what you need in there. You can take out two wineglasses. They aren’t as nice as yours, but they’ll do.”

  He didn’t know what made him bring up leaving Kentucky since it was a subject he didn’t want to think about. His relationship with Angela was so effortless that there were times he thought he was imagining it.

  There were no demands from her wanting to see him, and she didn’t blow up his phone like some women he’d been involved with. The only time she called him was when he left a voice-mail message.

  Her initial reservations before they made love had been put aside. When he’d asked her to spend the Derby weekend with him she’d willingly accepted. She, more than any other woman he’d met, complemented him and his lifestyle.

  Levi turned on a radio on the countertop, tuning it to a station that featured pop and old-school jams. He and Angela moved around the kitchen like a couple who’d choreographed their dance moves. She set the table in the dining area and lit the candles. He dredged the seasoned chicken cutlets in flour and an egg mixture to create a light batter, and sautéed them until they were thoroughly cooked. Then he transferred them to a warm platter.

  He tested the linguine, and drained off the water to serve it al dente. The fragrant aroma of sautéed garlic and fresh herbs in olive oil filled the kitchen.

  Angela rested her elbows on the waist-high counter separating the kitchen from the dining area, watching Levi as he prepared the food for their dinner. He stepped away from the stove, and opened the refrigerator to take out a clear bowl filled with salad greens, a cruet of vinaigrette, and a chilled bottle of Pinot Blanc.

  Levi plated the chicken with a savory lemon-and-wine-infused chicken stock topped with chopped flat-leaf parsley, and placed the linguine in garlic and oil in a large pasta bowl. He put the dishes on the dining room table, and pulled out a chair for Angela to be seated.

  “Dinner is served.”

  Her gaze swept over the table. “I can’t believe you cooked everything in less than a half hour.”

  He turned off the lights in the kitchen, dimmed those in the living room and then sat down opposite her. “It would’ve taken much longer if I hadn’t prepared everything beforehand.” Uncorking the bottle wine, Levi filled both glasses. He held his glass aloft. “To my beautiful Southern belle.”

  Angela lowered her eyes as a demure smile softened her lips. “Thank you.” She raised her glass to make her own toast. “To the perfect hero for any romance novel—on and off the page.”

  Levi took a sip of wine, his eyes crinkling in a smile. “I’m going to have to read one of your dirty little novels to find out just what the attraction is.”

  “They’re not dirty, Levi.”

  “Do they have love scenes?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then they’re dirty.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I think naughty would be a better word.”

  Levi picked up the salad tongs. “I like wicked better.”

  There was very little conversation as they ate and listened to music. Angela realized what had been missing in her life—a gentle peace, and the man sitting opposite her was responsible for that.

  You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince, she thought.

  Levi sat up in his bed, his back supported by a pile of pillows. They’d finished dinner, followed it with a dessert of fresh berries and coffee. He invited Angela to share his shower, but she declined. The object of his musings walked into the bedroom in a pale blue silk robe, after taking her shower. Smiling, he pulled back the sheet and lightweight blanket as she slipped out of the robe, leaving it on the chair.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” he crooned when light from the bedside lamp slanted over her slender curvy body.

  The heat from Levi’s hungry gaze rose as his eyes traveled from her face to her breasts, her belly and settled between her legs. She slipped into bed beside him, his hand grazing her thighs.

  Rising slightly, Angela pressed her mouth to his ear. “I’m on the Pill.”

  He went still. “I told you I would protect you.”

  She smiled. “You told me you would write a prescription. Don’t look at me like that, sweetie. When you said you’d protect me I believed you. But taking the Pill will make our lovemaking more spontaneous.”

  Combing his fingers through her hair, Levi held it away from her face. “So you like spontaneity?”

  Angela moistened her lower lip with her tongue, bringing Levi’s gaze to linger there. “I love spontaneity.”

  “What about foreplay?”

  “I like that, too.”

  His gaze met and fused with hers. Levi’s right hand skimmed her body, grazing the backs of her thighs. He continued his slow, deliberate journey, with his fingers splayed over her mound.
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  Levi’s gentle touch sent tremors of desire racing through Angela. His hand continued its exploration, sweeping over her belly and breasts. Her entire body was on fire, simmering with heat.

  “Levi,” she moaned. Whatever else she wanted to say was left unspoken as his hand came up, and his thumb touched her chin. Exerting the slightest pressure, she opened her mouth.

  His tongue traced the outline of her mouth with an agonizing slowness before it slipped through her parted lips. His tongue worked its magic, moving in and out of her mouth and precipitating a familiar throbbing between her thighs. She’d become a lump of soft clay with Levi Eaton as the sculptor. He could mold her into whatever shape and form he desired.

  Angela couldn’t get close enough to him as she pressed her swollen, aching breasts to his chest. She was on fire—everywhere. It was her turn to be a sculptress, her fingers feathering over the solid muscles in Levi’s broad chest.

  “Angie. Oh, Angie,” Levi chanted hoarsely. He couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t believe the silkiness of her skin, the clean sweet scent of her body. He touched her breasts, squeezing gently as if testing the ripeness of fresh fruit. Slowly, his mouth replaced his fingers, his lips molding to her breasts.

  Gasping, Angela arched her back. Her nipples pebbled in hardness against the ridge of Levi’s teeth. Writhing beneath him, she couldn’t stop the moans from escaping her lips.

  Levi, his mouth fastened to one breast then the other, uttered a silent admonishment so that he could prolong the foreplay. His body was on the verge of exploding.

  He’d fantasized about Angela Chase from the first moment he saw her, and knowing he was going to relive that fantasy pushed his libido into overdrive. He trailed a series of slow, slippery kisses down her neck, chanting her name as he tasted every inch of her flesh. Lingering between her legs, he licked and suckled like a starving newborn.

  “Levi,” she answered, whispering his name.

  Levi responded by grasping his penis and pushing it slowly into her tight, warm, wet folds until there was no more room. They were joined flesh to flesh, man to woman, lover to lover. He kissed her deeply, his tongue keeping the same rhythm as his thrusting hips, and giving Angela a taste of herself. He heard Angela’s gasps of pleasure, and his own groans as they crested, their bodies entwined so that they ceased to exist separately and became one with the other.