An Island Affair

by Monica Richardson

  I planted a stream of kisses from her chin to her neck. My lips briefly kissed each of her breasts and my tongue lingered around her navel. I kissed the insides of her thighs and she lightly moaned. I stretched her legs apart and planted my tongue in the place where my fingers had explored just moments before. Jasmine closed her eyes tightly and leaned her head back onto the staircase. Soon, her whole body shuddered as she reached the highest of peaks. She must’ve known how badly I wanted to be inside of her because she began to caress my hardness—gently at first, and then vigorously. She pulled my briefs down and my manhood stood strong in front of her face. She kissed me there, gently took me into her mouth. I held on to the railing and steadied myself, trying not to lose control. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I grabbed her petite frame in my arms. Her brown legs wrapped themselves around my waist. I carried her the rest of the way up the stairs and gently placed her onto the bed in the Symonette Room. I lifted her arms above her head and held them there, restraining her. I entered her with vigor. Made sweet love to a woman who’d managed to swiftly hijack my heart overnight.

  Chapter 14

  Jasmine

  I eased out of bed and began to retrieve my clothing from the floor. I quietly searched my overnight bag for clean underwear, careful not to wake Jackson. Then I tiptoed toward the bedroom door.

  “Going somewhere?”

  I turned toward him. “Sorry, I was trying not to wake you,” I said. “I have to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Church. The Talbots attend church every Sunday morning. And if you’re a Talbot and you’re anywhere on this island, you’re expected to be there.”

  “Okay,” he said. “When will I see you again?”

  “Soon.” I smiled at him. It warmed my heart that he was anxious to see me again and I hadn’t even left yet. “We’re having this farewell dinner today for Denny. He leaves for the Royal Bahamas first thing in the morning. Edward and Alyson are both flying in.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “Come with me.”

  “To church? After the nasty little things we did last night, I don’t think so.” He laughed. “Besides, are you ready to flaunt me around in front of your family? I don’t know how my buddy Edward would take seeing me with his little sister.”

  “I wouldn’t care. It’s my life.”

  “It’s why they don’t respect your choices,” he said. “I wouldn’t want them to think this is some fly-by-night sort of fling. That’s not what this is, is it?”

  He was right. I had not had a moment to analyze this and what it might be, but knew that it definitely wasn’t a fly-by-night anything. I was beginning to feel things for Jackson that weren’t like anything I’d felt with anyone before. I didn’t need him to pay my rent or get me the next gig. I needed only his presence, his touch and his beautiful smile. I needed him to hold me the way he had and to interlock his fingers with mine. I felt protected when I was with him. I enjoyed his conversation and longed for his lips to touch mine. I needed him in ways that I’d never needed any man.

  “That is definitely not what this is.” I cleared my throat; it had gotten choked up at the thought of our lovemaking.

  “I’ll be here when you return.”

  Jackson lay in the bed, propped up on his elbow, the sheerness of the sheet just barely covering his waist. Then he rested his arms casually behind his head, as if posing for a photo shoot. I took a mental picture—one that I would sneak a peek at throughout the day. I gave him a gentle smile and then headed for the shower.

  As the warm water drizzled over my body, I thought of Jackson. With my arms wrapped around my own waist, I smiled. I contemplated Jackson’s words. Thought about what it was we were doing. Sexually he sent me to new heights, but more than that, I enjoyed our conversations. I longed for his smile, and his laughter was infectious. I experienced a new awareness. To call it love would be premature, but it was definitely a strong something.

  * * *

  I slid into the pew next to my father. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he planted a gentle kiss on my forehead. My mother looked around him to give me a look of displeasure. I was late. I knew I would be when I stood in the shower too long, contemplating my feelings for the man who lay naked in the next room. My mother frowned, but she’d have been more devastated had she known where I was all night. I smiled wickedly at the thought. I gave a little wave to Alyson, who sat on the other side of my mother. She gave me a fake smile, but I pretended it was real. I often pretended that she didn’t hate me so much, and that we were close. I envied my friends and their sisters who chatted daily, did brunch and shopped together, and bounced ideas off each other. I wished I had that with either of my sisters. Alyson was much too rigid, and Whitney and I were nothing alike. She was conservative; never pushed the envelope. I was the opposite.

  Strong arms hugged my shoulders from behind and someone kissed my cheek. It was my brother Edward, who was dressed in a tailored gray suit and smelled of expensive cologne. I turned around and glanced at his face, which wasn’t so clean-shaven anymore—he was growing a beard, which made him look distinguished and handsome. I blew Edward a kiss. Denny, who sat next to Edward, gave my shoulder a tight squeeze.

  “Where you been?” Denny tried whispering but it was all but a whisper.

  I placed my finger over my lips and mouthed, “Shhh.”

  “You went surfing yesterday,” my father whispered in my ear. It wasn’t a question.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Small island,” he said.

  If he knew that I went surfing, then he knew I hadn’t gone alone. Keeping Jackson a secret would be virtually impossible in a place like Eleuthera.

  Good thing no one knew what had transpired last night at the Grove.

  The windows were open to give the illusion of a small breeze. The ceiling fans seemed to work extra hard just to cool things off, but I used my program to fan myself anyway. Although I’d chosen a short-sleeved blouse and a knee-length skirt, the warmth inside the church was brutal. A boisterous medley of the pipe organ, drums and tambourines filled that small space. People patted their feet against the old hardwoods and caused a loud eruption. The choir sang with intensity, and at least two sisters caught the Holy Ghost in our little Baptist church in Governor’s Harbour. It was the church I’d attended my whole life, where I’d been baptized and took my first Communion. First Baptist Church had been home for many generations of Talbots. And Pastor Johnson had been like family—a brother to my father. He wiped sweat from his brow with an old handkerchief as he preached an intense sermon.

  Services never lasted very long on Sunday mornings. Pastor Johnson respected our time and allowed us to spend the better part of the day with our families.

  At the Talbot home, my father and Edward retired in front of the television set and watched the soccer game and sipped on Bahamian beers, while my mother, Alyson and I started dinner in the kitchen. Gospel music belted from an old radio that rested in the windowsill above the kitchen sink.

  “Jasmine, I need you to start the macaroni and cheese,” said my mother.

  I immediately tied an apron around my waist and washed my hands. I began to dice onions, sweet peppers and celery. Alyson seasoned the chicken with Caribbean spices while my mother stirred the huge pot of collard greens that she’d started long before church.

  “Just about there,” she said as she secured the lid. “Church was wonderful this morning, don’t you think, girls?”

  “It’s just so traditional,” Alyson complained. “Not like my mega church in Miami. We have huge screens where you can see our pastor and hear his message clearly.”

  “I heard Pastor Johnson’s message pretty clearly this morning,” I said.

  Alyson rolled her eyes at me and then turned to my mother. “And it was just so hot in there!
Why haven’t they installed central air-conditioning in that place?”

  “We have central air, but we’re conserving energy.”

  “Are you serious, Ma?” Alyson asked.

  “Yes. That’s why we have ceiling fans.”

  “Those ceiling fans are a joke,” said Alyson as she flipped the chicken over and seasoned the other side. “They don’t work.”

  I couldn’t agree more, but I’d never give Alyson the benefit of knowing that.

  “Mother, when you come to Miami, I’m going to take you to my church. We have roughly five thousand members, and I serve as head of the ushers, which is two hundred members strong.”

  “Two hundred members on the usher board?” my mother asked.

  “We need more,” Alyson added. “The ones we have are overworked.”

  “I don’t think it takes all that,” I said. “I love our little Baptist church here on the island. It’s our family church, and traditional. Our grandfather’s grandfather attended there. I think you miss a lot in the big churches.”

  “What do you mean it doesn’t take all that?” she asked.

  “I mean I love the simplicity of our church.”

  “Of course you do,” she said. “But life isn’t simple.”

  “Five thousand members sounds like corporate America, not church,” I added.

  “Church is a business and should be run as such. Not like First Baptist is run. Daddy shouldn’t have to run over to that church every other day and fix things. My father is a doctor, not a handyman. And if Pastor Johnson budgeted the church’s money better, he could hire a handyman and wouldn’t have to worry about using too much air-conditioning on Sunday morning!”

  “Your father enjoys fixing things, Alyson,” my mother interjected. “Gives him something to do. Now, enough about church. Let’s get that chicken and macaroni in the oven.”

  Edward walked into the kitchen, tossed his empty beer bottle into the trash can and grabbed another beer from the refrigerator.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Ma, but I invited my buddy Jackson for dinner,” he said. “So we should probably set an extra place setting.”

  “Jasmine should be happy to hear that,” said Alyson.

  “Really? Why?” Edward asked.

  “Yeah, why, Alyson?” I asked.

  “You know why.” She peered at me. “The two of them were pretty cozy the last time he was here.”

  Edward pointed the neck of his beer bottle toward Alyson. “You’re clearly mistaken. The two of them can’t stand each other. No offense, Jazzy, but he hates your guts.”

  “And I hate his.” I almost grinned. “He’s impossible to deal with.”

  Alyson wasn’t convinced and told me so with her eyes. She gave me a look of skepticism. “We’ll see.”

  * * *

  He looked debonair in his informal blue button-down shirt, skinny khaki pants and blue casual shoes. I couldn’t take my eyes off him when he first walked into the house. He gave Edward and my father a strong handshake, kissed my mother on the cheek and handed her a bottle of port.

  “I wasn’t sure if you drank wine, Mrs. Talbot, but I didn’t want to come empty-handed this time. It’ll go great with whatever dessert you have planned.”

  My mother checked out the label. “Thank you, sweetheart. We’ll have this with our coconut cake after dinner.”

  “Sounds delicious.” Jackson’s eyes found mine as the word delicious drifted from his lips.

  I had no time to dream about the taste of him, because my mother called us to the table.

  Dinner conversation was lively with us discussing Denny’s impending departure. Jackson and I seemed miles apart, but our eyes met several times during the evening. I couldn’t wait to be alone with him again. I noticed that Alyson watched us like a hawk, her speculative eyes bouncing between Jackson and me throughout dinner.

  Soon dinner conversation turned to that of business.

  “It’s not often we can get together around a table like this, so I think now’s a good time to talk about the Grove and where we are with the renovation,” said Edward.

  “The Clydesdale is very close to completion,” said Jackson. “I think you’ll be very proud of what we did with it. We begin work on the Talbot House tomorrow.”

  “I’ll definitely go by and take a look at the Clydesdale before I head to the airport tomorrow.”

  “We seriously need to find investors,” said Alyson. “Jackson, as much as we appreciate your contribution to this project, it’s not enough to sustain us in the industry. There are bigger, more elaborate resorts on Harbour Island, as you know, and we really need to be able to compete in the industry.”

  “I agree,” said Edward. “Jasmine, how are we coming along with that business plan?”

  “I’m just about there. I’ve done my research, and now it’s just a matter of pulling it all together. And I’m also developing a solid local marketing strategy as well as a management model with policies and procedures.”

  “I thought we’d decided to hire a company to do all of this,” said Alyson.

  “No, actually, I think we decided that I would be given a chance to do it,” I corrected my sister.

  “Fine. But we don’t have a lot of time with this. We need investors, and we can’t afford to waste any time,” said Alyson. “Just want to make sure you’re not too distracted.”

  “What kind of timeline are we looking at, Jasmine?” asked Edward.

  “Two weeks, tops,” I said to him and then glanced at Alyson, “and I’m not distracted at all.”

  “Good! Then we can expect to see your final product two weeks from today,” said Edward.

  “I hope it’s something that we can use. It would be ridiculous to waste all this time and still end up having to hire an outside company anyway,” Alyson interjected.

  “Jazzy’s on it. If she says two weeks, then we have to give her at least that.” Edward winked at me. “I have full confidence in her.”

  His statement meant the world to me, and I gave my brother a warm smile.

  “Hey, this is supposed to be my going-away dinner. Not a business meeting,” said Denny. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

  “Yes.” My mother stood and headed for the kitchen. “Let’s talk about dessert.”

  After dinner we all enjoyed coconut cake and port wine on the front porch. Laughter filled the air as Edward told Sage embarrassing stories about Denny. Sage giggled as a sheepish Denny dropped his head in his hands. I found myself watching the two of them throughout the evening and smiling at the thought of their young love. I wondered if it would endure the separation they were about to experience. Would she wait for his return? Would he still want to marry Sage after he’d had his first taste of real life? In less than twenty-four hours my baby brother would be leaving the Bahamas for the first time in his life. I was afraid for him, yet proud.

  Sitting on the steps, with my back against the wall, my legs stretched across the wooden porch, my feet crossed, I held on to the bowl of my wineglass. Jazz played on the stereo inside the house—it was Edward’s choice of music. He was a young man, but my mother always said that he had an old soul. From the conversation, I gathered that Jackson appreciated jazz, too. Many times when I glanced over at him, his eyes were closed as he enjoyed the music.

  “I really appreciate Afro-Cuban jazz artists like Jelly Roll Morton and Louis Armstrong,” said Jackson. “My family is from New Orleans and much of the music there was influenced by the habanera rhythms of Cuba. Musicians from Havana and New Orleans have collaborated for years. In the early days, musicians would take an overnight ferry between the two cities to perform.”

  “That’s interesting,” said my father. “I never knew the two places had ties.”

  “If you’ve ever vi
sited Havana...you close your eyes there and you’d swear you were in New Orleans. The ties run that deep. Not just the music, but the smells, the food, the scents from coffee,” said Jackson.

  “We’ve had many conversations about this in college,” said Edward. “It’s why we’re such great friends. We both have a strong love for music—”

  Jackson interjected, “And a yearning for information.”

  “A desire to know the history of things,” added Edward.

  “You guys are ahead of your generation. A rare breed,” my father said.

  “We appreciate the things that matter,” said Jackson with a quick glance my way and a subtle smile.

  “Jackson is quite the musician himself,” said Edward, “and he sings.”

  “Is that true, Jackson?” my mother asked.

  “Partly so, ma’am. I’m not a musician, but I do sing.”

  “Give us something,” said Mother.

  “Yeah, Jackson. Let us hear what you have,” encouraged Alyson, who was working on her third glass of wine by then.

  “I’m really not prepared,” said Jackson, “and I don’t have any music.”

  “He’s being modest. In college, we couldn’t get him to shut up,” said Edward. “You don’t need music. Do something a cappella.”

  I smiled inside, remembering how Jackson’s angelic voice had sounded when he sang to me. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his leg and started to sing. As casual as the gentle breeze that subtly blew across the front porch, he belted out the words of a love song that ironically I was familiar with. John Legend’s “All of Me” was a love song that the famous musician had written for his then fiancée. He spoke of loving all of her, all of her curves and edges, and all of her imperfections. I was lost in the words; the gentle melody nearly brought tears to my eyes. My heart was feeling things that my brain was having a hard time processing. I needed the two—my heart and mind—to be on one accord so that I could make sense of what I was experiencing. I fought the urge to cry and the urge to throw caution to the wind and kiss this man who seemed to be serenading me. I quickly dismissed both urges. My family would have never understood.