by J. A. Coffey
Was he going to kiss her? A little earthquake rippled along her stomach as she imagined his lips on hers after so many years.
But his sharp tone interrupted her baser thoughts. "Who are they?"
His dark, serious expression made Jess whip her head around to see. "Oh. Those kids hang around back there."
His jaw set again, a look she was beginning to associate with him. "Local punks. Want them gone?"
He really meant it. Fearing he carried heat, Jess showed him her palms. "No. They don't bother me, I don't bother them. Deliveries come and they scatter."
He seemed to be evaluating the situation.
"Really." She touched his arm, trying to distract him. "I have to get back to work."
He checked his watch. "Five minutes left." He backed up ten feet so they were adjacent to her building. He raced around to her door and opened it. As he helped her out, he asked, "Since we accomplished nothing, may I take you out again?"
His smile did strange things to her. Strange, warm, tingly, clenching, wonderful things. Feigning boredom, she checked her nails. "I don't know. You really are a major imposition."
He grabbed her, twirled her around in a waltz and braced her against his car. It took a minute for her squeal of laughter to fade before she realized his intense look.
How his hands stroked her hips.
How he had her completely at his tender mercy.
"May I kiss your cheek, Jessalyn?"
That, and everything else. She swallowed, feeling her eyes were so wide open they would pop free. "You may." But she didn't offer it to him; she stayed perfectly still.
His fingers splayed across her back, drawing her closer to his chest. Then one hand braced her cheek as his head dipped to her jaw. An instinctive feminine response took over, making her go weak and close her eyes as she flashed him her throat. He murmured, "Your perfume is intoxicating."
"It's called, 'Barbeque wet wipe.'"
He chuckled, kissed her throat, the hollow under her ear. He drew her closer and trailed kisses along her jaw bone.
Her lips parted, and his fingers nestled into her hair at her temples. He combed through to the end and tugged on a few strands. His voice sounded husky when he said, "You cut it."
The tugging sent a little shiver down her spine, and she had to force her mind to pay attention to his words. "Yes," she whispered with an effort. "It was getting caught in the car door when I sat down."
A low moan preceded his words. "Pity. I always found your hair glorious."
"It's still long." His breath on her throat did crazy things to her pulse, making her breathless as she joked, "You don't find it glorious anymore?"
He stroked another tendril of it, making her shiver. "I'd say it's been downgraded to gorgeous." He kissed that lock.
Something pressed into her stomach, and she assumed it was the dreaded pistol.
Her eyes snapped open when she realized it was him.
He moaned her name, placed a dozen kisses on her cheek before moving to her eyelid. Then his cheek pressed firmly to hers as he drew her closer and tighter into his embrace.
Her fingers had been on his chest, but now she found her arms wrapped around his waist. Her stomach clenched with need, and a horrifying amount of liquid spilled from her cleft.
The realization of her reaction to him made her stomach clench even harder. As hard as the part of Darius that dug into her abdomen.
He didn't act like he wanted to ravage her. In fact, he stroked her and held her closer, whispering her name as he kissed her crown.
She should move to Florida.
Like, yesterday.
One or both of them was going to get burned.
He murmured, "It feels so good to hold you again, Jess."
It did, too. He made her feel like a precious gem. Treasured family keepsakes.
Cherished antiques.
"I'll call you soon." He stepped back, and it took every last reserve of her considerable control to steadfastly refuse her eyes from seeking what he had mashed into her stomach. She held his gaze with herculean effort as he lifted her hand to kiss before marching to his car door.
He got in and waved without a word or backward glance.
She watched him go, wondering why he had looked to be in agony.
Really, was it something she had done?
*****
Even though everyone watched her closely as she returned to work, Jess ignored them and headed straight for her office and firmly closed the door and drew the blinds. She grabbed her phone and dialed, needed to hang up and redial twice to make the connection.
The phone rang, and she chanted, "Pick up, pick up, pick--"
"Hi, Cookie."
"Jer, thank God. You have a minute?"
"Sugarplum, my customers have all the time in the world. What's wrong?"
She pictured him standing there, makeup brush in hand as he hovered over a corpse. She suppressed a shiver. What was wrong? "I...think my business lunch became a date. It did become a date." She paced as far as the phone cord would let her, then snatched up the base to give her a good six feet of ground to cover.
"Fab-o, darling. Did he ask you out again?"
"Yes." She began gnawing on a fingernail.
"Definitely a date. Did he kiss you?"
Somehow Jess found herself shaking. "Yes. Well, no. I mean, he kissed my cheek."
"Hm." He sounded disappointed. "That's all?"
She tried to swallow against a dry throat. "About thirty times. While he held me."
"Oh." He perked up. "So he was seducing you?"
She twirled her fingers into the cloth-covered cord on her antique-replica phone. "Well, maybe. I guess. But I didn't feel like I was being seduced."
"Sweetie, no offense, but you wouldn't know seduction if it came with its own champagne and bubble bath."
She sat down and ran her fingers over the cheek Darius had cradled. "You're right, but still. I felt...safe. He kept murmuring my name."
"Oh, honey. There's only two options here."
"Okay." She leaned forward, tried to lick her lips with a dry tongue. "Don't toy with me, Jer. I'm a nervous wreck."
"I know. I'm not. First, he's a typical guy trying to do anything to get into your pants, hoping by playing the seduction card he'll be able to win back his estate."
She nodded, felt the tears brimming. This was why she called. She needed Jeremy to set her straight. "And two?" She wiped the tears as they fell.
He hesitated. "Based on your history together, and what you just told me, Cookie...I think he's still head over heels in love."
Chapter Thirteen
Somewhere around here, there had to be a martial arts dojo. Darius found his beamer's GPS to be poorly equipped to find one, despite numerous attempts to type one in. After a half hour of random driving after morning rush-hour traffic, he dialed 411 on his hands-free. The nearest one was based on Russian techniques. Since he hadn't been trained on those, he opted for the next closest one on the Massachusetts border, another forty minutes away.
He programmed the GPS by address, then called and got some info.
He needed a good spar.
One master's class wrapped up as he got there, and the Sensei had another half hour before the next one started.
Perfect timing.
Darius stood before the younger trainer and bowed respectfully. "I request a spar with your Sensei." He peeled a hundred dollar bill from his clip and laid it on the counter. He eyed the younger man and added another Franklin to it. "For his trouble."
The man palmed the cash and called out to his Sensei in Cantonese. Darius understood enough of the language to pick up "crazy white man" and "upside down."
Sensei came out in a black dragon robe covering a white karate gi. Again Darius bowed. In Cantonese he said, "My name is Darius Covington. I am black belt in Aikido." He felt the younger trainer pale when he realized Darius had understood him, and he lost his concentration. He thought his next words came
out as, "Respect now match fight."
Sensei smiled and bowed. "I have heard of you, Darius Covington. You make good match at France. Beat American team."
"I did."
"Why match now?" The man hid his hands in his voluminous robe sleeves and awaited an answer.
Since he needed a favor, Darius found it better to be upfront. "A woman."
"Ah." The man smiled with mirth, damn him. But he inclined his hand to the locker room. "You black belt?"
"Ai."
"Good."
Darius accepted the white karate gi and changed in the locker room. He tied on the black belt and met Sensei Chang Ho on the mat. He knelt facing out, then came to center and bowed.
"Aikido?"
"Yes."
Chang Ho pointed to his chest. "Judo."
"I'm warned." Those kicks came out of nowhere.
Chang Ho threw the first blow, which Darius easily deflected with an open palm. Then Darius tried one, but Chang blocked.
Their eyes met, and the true volley began.
They were evenly matched. Most blows missed their target as each man sidestepped or blocked or used the opponent's own momentum to make them falter.
Then Chang began the kicks. Darius blocked one, caught another and flipped the Sensei to his back. The mat poofed under him before he flipped upright, then caught Darius on the shoulder with an open palm.
It felt like an hour, but only three minutes had passed. His muscles burned as he managed to grab Chang and flip him over his shoulder, back to front.
Chang returned the favor.
And then got in a kick to the same shoulder for good measure.
The sound of hands slapping forearms became the only noise for another thirty seconds.
A gong sounded, denoting the end of the match.
The next class began clapping. Darius controlled his breathing, bowed to Sensei, then knelt upon the mat.
He did it; he'd finally gone five whole minutes without thinking of Jessalyn.
He showered and dressed and watched the next few classes perform, even being asked to join in the teaching as an honored guest. One boy reminded him of himself at that age, and one girl had incredible talent. So few females continued on, though, that he had rarely sparred with any.
School must have ended, for he realized it wasn't even three o'clock and the classes were filled with children. No, it was school break, he remembered, which was why Faith was working at noon.
He wondered if Jess wanted children, and the very thought made him happy. In the aftermath of losing a beloved family member, he had found a reason to smile again.
A real reason.
He waited until the four o'clock class ended before saying goodbye, then headed back to his father's. Jess was right; he should go to Ollie's. Walk the halls, listen to the echoes of his youth, hear the voices of love resound with every footstep. He had the keys and security codes, after all. He could turn on all the lights and the TVs and pretend Ollie reclined in the back parlor, reading a novel.
Pretend it wasn't just a big empty house filled with big empty memories.
...Maybe he'd go tomorrow.
The GPS turned him down some tiny roads, presumably the shortest available route. With no cars to distract him, his mind wandered. He should pick Jess up for dinner, go someplace nice. A little wine, bring the Mustang. Or a picnic in the park, with the Model T. She would probably love that. Or maybe one of those chartered boat rides for a few hours. He knew someone with a boat who he could-
Bam. His BMW lurched forward from the rear-end collision, careening all over the road, making Darius grip the wheel as his tires stumbled and screeched on the shoulder gravel.
A car with black tinted windows swerved beside him, and as he recovered from the impact enough to keep the car under control, the vehicle rammed into his driver's door and drove him off the road.
He crashed into the gully.
The airbag deployed.
All went dark.
Chapter Fourteen
"Thank God for good friends," Jess whispered as she grabbed a few beers from the fridge. Jeremy and Rob sat snuggled on the couch, battling for supremacy as they played the board game, Sorry.
Jess hated losing.
By now, though, she should be used to it.
"Who's winning?" she asked as she served them their drinks.
"Rob," Jeremy grumbled, but he squeezed that man's knee.
"When's the loser's turn?" She sat and surveyed the board. She still had two pieces waiting to escape their holding pen.
"You're not a loser," Rob soothed.
"Not a winner, either," she muttered as she picked a card for her turn.
"He'll return your call, Cookie. He will. I promise." He pulled a card and moved a piece accordingly.
She glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty PM. "It's been almost five hours, and I don't think he's working. Not here. Maybe home in England or something." She frowned. "I don't even know what he does for a living." To Jeremy she asked, "What do rich people do?"
"Anything they want, Gummy Bear." He winked at her. "Whatever it is, he's got some very yummy biceps and six-packs."
A look of mock horror came over Rob's face, and Jeremy backtracked and patted Rob's cheek. "Don't worry, my little creampuff. You're still my favorite flavor."
"Gag me." Jess pantomimed sticking her fingers down her throat.
As Rob chose a card to move, he asked, "Why don't you just call him again?" The simplest solutions were not always the most socially acceptable ones, but Rob had yet to learn the subtleties of life. Still, she smiled at his efforts.
Jeremy knew better and swatted him. "He doesn't need to be chased by Jess. Here," he left the game and grabbed her cell off the kitchen counter. He began scrolling through her menu.
Panic gripped her, and she practically shouted, "What are you doing?"
He lit up when he found Darius' number. "555-9190?"
A growled warning of "Don't you dare," didn't stop him. "I'll chase him for you, Cookie." He pressed the send button and blew her a kiss.
*****
Chirps and whistles came from somewhere in the darkness. On and on it went, sending bolts of pain through Darius' aching skull. Suddenly he recognized the iphone ring for what it was and tried to grab it. Only it wasn't in its holder. Confused, he looked and scrambled for the glowing screen where it rested on the car seat and saw Jess' name on the caller ID.
Blood clots blocked his nose. Fresh blood dripped on his arm, and he pressed a palm to his damp forehead as he answered the phone. "God, Jess?" he moaned. "Thank God." Talking hurt.
A pause, then Jess' sweet voice came over the line. "Darius?"
He tried to laugh. "That's who you called, darling." And he groaned. "I...think I need an ambulance."
He heard the alarm in her voice. "My God, are you alright? Where are you?"
He tried to ignore how odd yet wonderful it felt to have someone truly concerned for his welfare. Men didn't need women fussing over them is what his father would say, but he couldn't shake how touched he felt by her need to help him, to be at his side, despite everything. He shoved at the car door, but it wouldn't open.
"Darius? Darius? Are you there?"
Cotton surrounded his every thought, choked it as he moved his head to look around. Everything ached. "I...think I'm in a ditch."
"Oh my God, are you okay? Are you hurt? How long have you been there?"
How long...he looked around. "I don't know. It was maybe four or so when I left? What time is it?"
"Oh my God, Darius, I'm calling 911. Where are you? Do you know?"
He found his GPS and determined his location. "Lawrence?"
"We're on our way. Do your lights work?"
He flipped the overhead dome light. "Yeah. Oh, shit. Man, that's bright."
"Okay, sweetie, keep your eyes closed and the lights on. We'll be right there."
"I will. Be careful."
She paused. "You, too."
*****
She could tell she'd gone white the second Jeremy had silently handed her the phone, all wide-eyed and pale himself. Alarm bells had gone off in her head and she knew he'd been injured. She now snatched her keys and purse and paused to look at the guys. "Coming?"
Jer touched Rob's shoulder before standing before her. "Your man needs you, Cookie. Now go."
The veracity of his words struck her hard. She blinked back fearful or grateful tears and buzzed his cheek. "Stay as long as you need to. I may spend the night at the hospital."
"We'll take care of the kids tonight. We'll stay here."
Rob stood and pulled out his keys. "You stay and take care of the pets. Her bed smells all girly. I'll pick you up tomorrow."
"Bitch," Jeremy hissed, then plopped back down on the couch with his beer. Queenie jumped into his lap, and he made hissing noises at Rob while using the cat's black paw to pretend she swatted at him. Queenie looked less than amused.
"Children, play nice." She took a deep breath. "Wish-"
"Good luck. Now go."
She did.
The ambulance, police and tow truck were already there by the time Jess had managed the twenty-minute drive. She thought she bent the key yanking it from the column as she ran out, screaming Darius' name.
A police man blocked her way, arms spread, and panic ate away at her. "I called in the crash. Is Darius here? Is that Darius Covington? He went off the road on Lawrence."
Am EMT called out her full name, and she ran towards the ambulance, the cop following. When she got to the open rear doors, Darius said, "She's with me."
She climbed in and froze at the sight before her. Blood had caked over his scalp, face and nose, obliterating the true color of his shirt. Stiff hair stuck out in random places, probably from bleeding on the airbag as he lay unconscious.
His bloodshot eyes made her lean closer. "Darius?"
"Hey, beautiful," he managed. His lips seemed cracked and painful, but he forced a smile for her. "Don't get too close; I might be contagious."
"Ha, ha." She sat where the EMT pointed and noticed the IV catheter in his right arm. She faced the black man in blue scrubs and asked, "Is he going to be okay?"