by Judy Powell
Summer felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her but she held her head high and refused to be intimidated.
Derrick broke the tension. “Hey, man. We were just heading up to get dressed.”
Lance didn’t answer. He took a sip of his drink and continued to stare at the dripping, sandy couple. The tension became too much for Summer.
“I’ll be down by six,” she muttered and walked quickly to the elevator.
Once inside she leaned back against the mirrored walls and let out a long sigh. It was going to be a long night.
10
Lance watched Summer’s face as she spoke animatedly with the manager of Rock Steady Promotions. She was deep in conversation and seemed to be deliberately avoiding his eyes. He could understand that. She certainly had something to feel guilty about. He’d had a feeling that this girl, attractive as she was, would be something of a flirt. She had proved him right.
He leaned forward and took a sip of the fruit punch he’d ordered. As the rich, fruity mixture slid down his throat he watched Summer from under hooded lids. She was wearing a cotton dress the color of burnt orange, the perfect complement to her copper brown hair. Her usually wild curls had been brushed straight and were pinned on top of her head in a neat bun. Her full lips, which curved attractively each time she smiled, were accentuated with rich color. Her perfume was soft and sweetly seductive. Lance thought she fit perfectly in the Jamaican setting - she was like a tropical flower just waiting to be plucked.
As he listened to the lively discussion it was obvious to him that Rock Steady’s managers were impressed with Summer. George Morrison was listening keenly to her description of the strengths of the various artistes from Munroe Productions. Ann-Marie Garvey had seemed nonchalant at first but Lance knew that Summer struck a chord when he saw the woman pause in her note-taking to listen keenly to the description of the audience’s reaction to Super Cool’s performance the month before.
“Super Cool will be great on stage,” Summer said, as she spread the artiste’s publicity shots on the table. “He’s young, talented and so cute. He’s bound to be a hit with the girls.” She smiled and Lance could see that it was having an effect on George.
“I’m sure we have a winner. So - what do you think?”
“Well, when you put it that way, how could we object?” George leaned back in his chair with a broad smile and shook his head slowly. “Miss Jones, you are one determined woman. When you want something there’s no refusing you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Morrison. I go after what I want, and I get it. Well, most of the times, anyway.”
“If you ever decide to leave my good friend over here,” George stretched over and patted Lance on the shoulder, “give me a call. A woman like you would be a great addition to my team.”
“Why, thank you,” Summer responded breathlessly, obviously taken aback. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
Lance looked at her pointedly but said nothing. He could see that she was becoming flustered by his stare but he held her gaze until she dropped her eyes and picked up her napkin. As she dabbed lightly at her mouth Ann-Marie spoke, breaking the tension.
“Summer, the PR package you gave me -- it has the latest shots of Super Cool, I assume? It’s stuff we can use right away?”
“Of course,” Summer looked up, obviously glad to get back to the conversation. “It’s all up-to-date. In fact, I included a press kit so you don’t need to create anything new if you don’t want to. It’s all done.”
“Sounds good,” Ann-Marie patted the folder and looked across at George. “Looks like a go, George?”
“A fresh new face on our show? You know these young girls go crazy over the young DJ’s.” George directed his attention towards Lance, “Now, Mr. Boss-man, let’s talk money.”
******
Summer stared at her reflection in the mirror then tried to soften the frown that creased her brow. Lance Munroe was insufferable. He’d hardly said a word all night but simply sat there staring at her with those dark, unreadable eyes. She knew he was angry with her. He hadn’t come out and said so but his intense looks and his terse statements left no doubt in her mind.
And what right did he have to be angry with her, she huffed. She’d done nothing wrong. He’d acted like he had some claim over her and it irked her a lot. She’d always been independent and wasn’t about to start letting any man run her life, boss or no boss. If he thought she was some kid he could intimidate with his scowl then he’d better think again.
She gave herself a mental shake, and dipped into her purse and pulled out her lipstick. She slowly traced her lips with vivid color then smiled at her reflection in satisfaction. She’d had enough of hiding in the ladies’ room. She wasn’t scared of him. She was her own woman and he would just have to accept that, like it or not.
When Summer returned to the table the contracts were already signed and the visitors looked like they were getting ready to leave. As she slipped into her chair she heard the men talking about a recent cricket match.
Ann-Marie was packing papers into her briefcase. She looked up as Summer sat down then leaned towards her and whispered, “Are you alright? You were gone quite a while.”
Summer gave the woman a smile and said reassuringly, “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, though.”
Lance must have overheard Ann-Marie’s question because he glanced sharply at her but within a split second he’d turned his attention back to George and she didn’t know whether to be grateful that he was no longer staring at her or angry that she was of so little consequence to him.
After George and Ann-Marie had departed they sat in silence - he, sipping on a Strawberry Daquiri and she, toying with her purse.
Finally the tension got to her and she spoke. “Well, that went fairly well.”
His reply was blunt. “No need to be modest. It was a damn good meeting and you represented the company really well. I think you already know that.”
You could have said so. Did I have to dig that out of you? Inside she was rolling her eyes but she pasted a smile on her lips before she spoke again. “I’m glad I got a chance to put my negotiation skills to the test.”
He nodded but said nothing.
They sat in silence for a while longer then Summer said, “Well, I think I’ll head upstairs and rest up for tomorrow.”
As she rose to leave he stood and nodded solemnly to her. Clutching her purse tightly she strode quickly away, feeling his piercing eyes on her back.
Summer lay back on the pillows in the king sized bed and flipped through the channels of the hotel cable system. She’d returned to her room still wound-up and tense. She needed to relax and thought TV would do the trick.
But as she flipped from channel to channel she became more and more frustrated. Over forty channels and nothing sensible to watch. With a hiss she threw down the remote control and jumped off the bed.
She turned on the CD player and Sade’s sultry voice filled the room. She reached behind and pulled her zipper down, then let the soft folds of burnt orange slide down her body to the floor. She stepped out of the dress and without even bothering to pick it up, walked across the plush carpet to the bathroom.
The hot water felt good against her body, both relaxing and stimulating at the same time. She could feel the tension melt away as the water hit her back and shoulders. She rubbed her hands over her warm wet body, pausing to knead the flesh in the small of her back. She stayed there for a long time enjoying the luxurious sensation.
Reluctantly, she turned the tap off, pulled the curtain aside and stepped onto the thick white rug. She stood naked in the steamy bathroom and drew a huge smiley face on the mirror then grinned at her own childishness. The shower had rejuvenated her and lifted her spirit. She felt like herself again.
Summer toweled off then wrapped her body in the luxurious bathrobe provided by the hotel. She slipped her feet into the complimentary bedroom slippers and wondered at how flimsy they were in comparison to the bathrobe.
Sh
e padded over to the glass sliding door and pulled it open. There was a rush of warm, tropical air and the sound of a steel band in the distance. It put her in an upbeat mood and suddenly she felt like dancing.
Summer left the balcony and threw the closet doors open. Late though it was, she was going out tonight. She rifled though her clothes and pulled out a pair of black stretch pants with flare bottoms and a black silk top with spaghetti straps. She threw the clothes on the bed then bent to pull out a pair of silver high heeled slippers.
Within twenty minutes she was fully dressed and heading for the elevator. Silver earrings dangled from her lobes and bangles jangled on her wrist. Her thick hair bounced around her head as she strode down the hallway. She could feel the stretch pants hugging her round hips and her full behind, and she held her back straight as she walked. She knew she looked good.
It was eleven fifteen and the Mystique Nightclub in the lower level of the hotel was already packed with people. Reggae music pulsated from the huge speakers and people of all colors and ages were rocking to the rhythmic beat.
It surprised her when she saw some older couples on the dance floor. Then she remembered that many retired couples also came to Jamaica on vacation or on stopovers from the cruise ships. There were just as many tourists as Jamaicans in the nightclub. She could differentiate the visitors from the natives by the way they danced.
Wanting to blend in with the local crowd she adopted the slow, easy rocking style she observed. Bobbing to Bob Marley’s ‘We Jammin’ she drifted away from the entrance and danced her way to the middle of the floor. She’d always found that when alone at a party or nightclub, the best way to avoid unwelcome advances was to stay away from the outskirts and hide deep within the mass of dancing bodies. Here, in the heart of the crowd, she could lose herself to the music. As she swayed her hips and mouthed the words of the song she moved to the rhythm of the throng around her.
Suddenly, an appreciative roar erupted from the crowd as the disc jockey changed the pace with “Electric Boogie–Woogie”. As if directed by an invisible guide the crowd automatically formed lines along the dance floor and began to execute orchestrated moves so that a sea of people were now moving to the right, then all sliding to the left, then moving forward with a roll, then backward with a dip.
Summer knew the dance and all the moves that went with it. She fell into step immediately and was soon grinning just as broadly as everyone else around her as dancers missed their steps and bumped into others, caught themselves, and quickly fell back into the rhythm. She never missed her step once, and she noticed that several of the dancers were watching her every move in their efforts to keep in step.
A tall blonde man to her right almost tripped her up; he’d been watching the movements of her feet so intently that he did not step away in time and she stumbled into him. With an apologetic grin he grabbed her upper arms and righted her. She laughed back at him as he shrugged his shoulders as if in defeat then, still smiling, pushed away through the crowd.
After another ten minutes of music the DJ switched to Caribbean Soca and, for the first time, Summer felt unsure. She was not familiar with the fast-paced island music of steel pans, drums and horns but when she saw that all it required was rotation of the hips she quickly fell into step.
She watched, fascinated, as the locals gyrated their hips and moved close to each other then backed off, still dancing, only to move in close again. Many of them came in so close that their bodies rubbed in a twisting, erotic dance that made her own movements slow as she stared. But no-one seemed the least bit perturbed about what seemed to her to be extreme intimacy on the dance floor.
When a conga line of gyrating bodies formed she stood back and, with the rest of the dancers on the floor, clapped to the rhythm. The music went faster and the bodies bobbed quickly to the beat, then the music went faster still, until the line of bodies fell away and disintegrated into a laughing crowd of people.
It was then that the lights were dimmed and the deep husky voice of the DJ filled the room. “Now, for you lovers out there, a little bit of slow jam to get you in the mood.” Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual healing” filled the room and couples moved closer together in embrace.
This was Summer’s cue to exit. She turned and came up hard against a broad silk-covered chest.
She stepped back quickly, an apology already on her lips, but when she looked up she found herself staring into Lance’s gleaming dark eyes.
Before she could speak he pulled her into his embrace. Strong arms encircled her waist, bringing her deliciously close to the masculine body. Her heart pounded hard in her chest and, even as she began to move with him, she caught herself holding her breath.
“Relax.” Lance breathed against her cheek then moved his right hand to her back. “Just let your hair down - for once.”
Summer drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She wished she hadn’t. The masculine scent of him coupled with Marvin Gaye’s sexy rendition had her body tingling with awareness. She felt relaxed and languorous, and yet so tense and aware all at the same time.
At that moment Lance rested a hand gently on her left hip and pulled her just a little closer, then he rocked his hips to the rhythm and guided her body to follow. When she began swaying her hips gently to the music his hand moved again to her back. She moved hesitantly against him but then, as the silky sounds caressed her, she began to match his every move.
Slowly but deliberately, she slid her arms up his chest and clasped her hands at the back of his neck. She moved against his body and felt the solid strength of him. As if drawn by an irresistible force she lifted her head and gazed into his dark smoldering eyes. His lips softened in a gentle smile and she felt her heart ache at the intensity of his look. He lowered his head and she closed her eyes, lips softened and ready for his kiss.
But it didn’t come. Instead he rubbed his cheek against hers and pulled her closer, enveloping her in his warmth, drowning her in his sensuality.
It was almost one o’clock when Lance whispered, “We’d better go. We have a full day ahead of us.”
She smiled, her cheek resting against his chest, her body relaxed and fluid against his. She nodded in assent and he took her hand and led her from the dance floor.
Lance was still holding her hand as he walked her to the elevator and when he pulled her into his arms as the doors closed she relaxed into him without any resistance. He held her there, not speaking, just caressing her back with hands that seemed to burn through the sheer silk of her blouse.
When the elevator door opened he released her and they walked down the carpeted hallway to her room. She slipped her electronic key into the door and, when the light blinked green, pushed it open and went inside. She held the door open, waiting for him.
Lance raised one eyebrow and smiled then entered at her unspoken invitation. A single lamp glowed by her bedside but outside of that the room was in darkness. As Lance paused inside the doorway she stretched her hand to grasp his warm fingers and pull him farther into the room. Her fingers trembled slightly but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Are you thirsty?” she asked, her voice soft and husky in her own ears. She cleared her throat then continued, “I have some sodas in the fridge.”
“Thanks, I’d like one.”
“Just make yourself comfortable,” she said then stammered, “I…I mean, please…have a seat.” She gave herself a mental kick for sounding so lame and directed him to the small couch under the window. “I’ll have your drink in just a second.”
Summer kneeled down by the small refrigerator and pulled out two cold bottles of a local grapefruit drink. “Do you like Ting?” she asked, as she rose and pulled two wine glasses from the cupboard above her head.
“Yeh, mon. That sounds good.”
“Yeh, mon?” she giggled. “It always tickles me when you talk like that. You never say that in the office.”
Lance grinned back at her. “I guess whenever I’m in Jamaica I just fall b
ack into my childhood speech patterns. You really never lose it, you know.”
As he spoke he leaned back into the couch and peered up at her through half-closed eyes. She turned away from his gaze and quickly opened the bottles and poured bubbling liquid into both glasses.
“Here you go,” she said with a smile and handed him the drink. She sat on the edge of the sofa beside him but as far away as was polite. She put the glass to her lips and sipped the sharp cold liquid, feeling the bubbles bursting in her mouth.
She felt his eyes on her and gulped more liquid, then opened her eyes wide as it flooded her throat. Her eyes burned and she struggled to swallow but it was no use. Before she could cover her mouth she coughed violently, spraying her lap and the coffee table with soda.
Summer clapped her hands over her mouth, but too late. The damage was already done. Her eyes grew huge with distress and she looked across at Lance, hot with embarrassment.
“Are you alright?” He’d quickly rested his glass on the table and was leaning towards her, a large white handkerchief in his hand. She took it gratefully, still coughing. Then the spasms gradually subsided and she was able to look at him again. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
“Are you crying?” He looked incredulous, almost out of his depth, as he raised his hand and wiped away a tear with his thumb.
Summer dabbed at her eyes, sniffed, then looked up at him again, her lips curling into a grin. “Of course not, silly. I’m not crying. It’s the coughing that made my eyes fill up with tears.” Somehow, seeing him look so nonplussed had made her more at ease with him.
“Silly, huh?” He smiled back at her. “You’re the one who gulped down a carbonated drink too fast and ended up losing the whole lot all over yourself. So, who’s silly?”
While he was speaking Lance had rested his arm at the back of the couch right behind her head and had begun to gently stroke her nape with his thumb. Summer swallowed hard but couldn’t get the lump out of her throat.
“I guess…I am,” she said, her voice breathless.