She listened to the waves lapping against the shores and basked in its beauty for almost fifteen minutes. The cool breeze fluttered the laces lining the edge of her shimmery baby blue chemise. The scripture really was true, she thought. “How can a person see this and not believe in God? Impossible.” When she didn’t hear a forthcoming reply, Colleen looked behind her and saw that Terence had drifted off to sleep. “Figures.” She meandered her way through sandals and clothes tossed on the floor as a result of their passion and shook Terence’s shoulder.
His eyes slowly opened to focus on her.
“Let’s go enjoy the water. We’ve been cooped up in here for almost a week,” her champagne eyes pleaded.
Terence said nothing but held up the duvet covers. His arm snaked out to drag her down next to him. Giving her a light squeeze, Terence kissed her on the nose. “All right, we’ll go, although I could stay right here under the AC.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to spend my entire honeymoon in Jamaica in bed—as tempting as it is.” Colleen slid from under the covers. Her long legs caught in the sheet, and she ended up in a huge puddle on the floor. Unabashed, she held onto her stomach as she laughed. Terence slid out of the bed alligator-style and joined her on the floor.
Disentangling herself out of the sheets, Colleen bowed with a flourish and swooped her arms. “And now, for my second act . . .”
She ambled over to the chest. Pulling the drawer open, she tossed clothes this way and that, before triumphantly saying, “Aha!” She grabbed the lime-green two-piece, hid it behind her back, and scurried into the bathroom to freshen up and change.
When she came out of the bathroom, she expected Terence to salivate at her tantalizing show. But he didn’t look pleased. Perched on the bed, with one arm crooked under his head, he coolly assessed the garment she displayed. “You’re going out like that?” His peculiar facial expression and disgusted tone gave her slight pause.
“Yeah.” Quizzical, her smile collapsed. Now she felt uncomfortable. Did she look funny or fat or something? She appraised herself in the mirror. Nope, no difference there.
“It’s revealing.” Terence shrugged in a way that said more than his words. “I don’t want all those men’s eyes ogling my baby. Why don’t you wear something else?”
Colleen bit her bottom lip. Insecurity blossomed and took root. “Okay, I’ll change, although . . .” She shook her head, deciding not to voice her objection. Personally, she thought the two-piece harmless—especially compared to the skimpy thong suits that other women were wearing. But it was her nature to please. “Well, I do have the black one-piece I packed on a whim. I’ll change.” She wanted her new husband’s approval. It meant everything to her.
With unsure, stilted steps, Colleen changed outfits. Though she felt dowdy now, she dutifully turned to face Terence.
She remained silent but stoically watched him swing his powerful legs and walk over to cradle her in his arms. “My baby looks good.”
Colleen felt her spirits rise. He was happy. Her husband was pleased, and that was all that mattered. “Whoosh,” she sighed. “If you keep that up, we won’t make it out to the beach. I can’t go back home without ever hitting the water.”
She felt the rumble of his chuckle, and her body chilled when he stepped back. “Point well made, my wife. Give me a moment to put my trunks on, and then we’ll head out.”
Feeling cherished, Colleen nodded. She waited while Terence grabbed his trunks and took his turn in the bathroom. When he came out, her eyes popped open when she saw his barely-there trunks.
She bit her tongue to keep from seeming catty about the whole bathing-suit thing. Resolute, she pushed it from her mind.
They left their suite arm in arm. Colleen felt giddy. She swung her hips from side to side. Inside she raved . . . I’m not alone and bitter like my mother. I am married, and I got me a good man with a job. I don’t even have to go back to work when school starts ’cause my baby got money.
Colleen and Terence frolicked in the sun. Its rays viciously pelted into their skin, leaving them well-tanned, but thirsty. They bought lots of water and punch for sale at a shanty on the beach. Soon, Colleen’s bladder protested. “I’m going up to the room. I need a potty break.” “I’ll bring us some more,” Terence slurped, greedily.
“Yes, please do,” Colleen added, with a brisk nod, addicted to the flavorful punch—a swirling, colorful concoction of ice, pineapple, passion fruit, and syrup—and, a perfect cure for a parched, dry mouth.
Colleen hauled her sun-beaten body up to the hotel, dragging her towel in the sand. She dusted sand off her body. Ugh! It was everywhere. She wished she hadn’t caved when Terence had insisted on burying her in the sand.
Colleen entered the suite and stripped. She left a seductive trail of clothes to entice Terence to join her for a shower and whatever else. She grinned as she headed into the oversized stall to wash the gunk off her body with vigor. Ten minutes later, wrinkled and disappointed, Colleen stepped out of the shower.
Clad only in flip-flops and an oversized towel, she sank her body in the nearest armchair. “Where is he?” He was probably chatting with the bartender or somebody about something. The man sure loved to talk.
Adrift, Colleen sauntered to the sliding door that led to their private patio that overlooked the beach. Her eyes scanned the beach trying in vain to spot her husband in those skimpy trunks. Oh, and don’t think she didn’t notice the other single women checking him out with their come-hither looks. Not that she’d minded, of course, but what irked her was how Terence had preened under those hot looks. Yet, he had serious problems if another man just glanced her way.
Men and their crazy, infantile, double standards. Since Terence was nowhere in sight, Colleen wandered back into the suite.
She thought about Gina back in New York. It had only been a few days, but she missed her girl. They usually spoke every day. Terrence was generous, but she didn’t need to spend money on a phone call to the States from Jamaica. She’d wait until she got home.
Colleen could understand why the members of the Apostolic Church of God Seventh Day were considering making him an associate pastor. When he spoke, he was mesmerizing and dynamic. His golden tongue could swindle a dollar from a beggar. Everybody liked him and flocked to him like bears after honey. He worked a room like nobody’s business wherever they went.
Gina, however, didn’t buy the hype. She remained leery—dubbing him Shifty Eyes. Colleen pooh-poohed her concerns. Cynicism ran through Gina’s bones.
Or maybe jealousy?
Naw. Colleen dismissed that notion. Gorgeous, petite with curves like Scarlett Johansson, Gina could aptly be described as a Man Magnet. Wherever she went, admirers flocked who hung on her every word. She pointedly ignored them, not caring for the spotlight.
Next to Gina, Colleen felt gauche and lingered in her friend’s shadow—or so it seemed to her. She placed the blame on her height of five foot ten—from that vantage point, pickings were slim.
Until Terence. He was six foot four and drawn to her. Best of all, she could wear heels without worry.
She dried herself and reached for one of her scented oils.
Once she finished oiling herself down, Colleen chose a pink and white teddy with ruffles and a delicate trim. Slipping into it, she thought about Terence and sizzled. She eased onto the bed and practiced several seductive poses.
Then she heard the lock click.
Finally.
Quick, she struck her most tantalizing pose. Her chest heaved with anticipation as she waited. He stopped at the sight of her.
“Wow.”
“Come and get it, big boy.”
Terence hesitated for a split second before beginning to undress.
Not fast enough. Colleen flipped her long, curly hair and beckoned him to her bedside. Terence complied. She held her hands out for him to embrace her, but he paused.
Curious, Colleen asked. “What is it?”
“I feel grungy, y
ou know, from all that sand,” Terence explained.
“Oh.” Embarrassed by her brazenness, she unposed her body and stretched her legs as they had fallen asleep in that awkward position.
“Let me take a shower. Wash all this grime from me.” He was in the bathroom in seconds.
“Okay, what just happened here?” she said softly.
Somehow that is not how that scene always played out on the soap operas. However, she clamped her disappointment because she knew how fastidious Terence was.
Chilled, Colleen went under the covers and closed her eyes. She’d rest because when he came back, she was going to show him a thing or two. She had a creative mind, and now had the right to use it.
Suddenly, she felt something buzz against her leg and jumped. It was Terence’s cell phone vibrating. She curved her leg to move it upward and grabbed it. She peeked at the number.
Why was Francine calling Terence on their honeymoon?
Colleen debated for a second before she pressed the redial button. “Hi, Francine, is everything all right?”
“Isn’t this Terence’s phone?”
Wasn’t she Terence’s wife? “I—um—he’s in the shower—and I saw your number, so . . .” she rushed to explain.
“That doesn’t give you the right—just have him call me.”
With that, Colleen heard the dial tone. Her brow furrowed.
Terence came into the bedroom. He wore only a robe and used a hand towel to vigorously dry his hair.
“Why is your mother calling you on your honeymoon?”
Terence tensed. “My mother called?”
“Yes, just now. What’s going on?”
“Why didn’t you let it go to voice mail?” he asked instead. Without waiting for an answer, Terence seized the phone from her hand. “Don’t answer my phone.”
Colleen shivered at his harsh tone. “In my defense, I didn’t think it would be a problem if I answered your phone. It could’ve been an emergency.”
Terence repeated with emphasis, “Don’t touch my phone.”
Colleen didn’t understand, but she nodded her head. She turned away from him and moved to the edge of the bed. She felt the bed sink under his weight. Hurt, Colleen squeezed her eyes shut to hold the tears at bay. Who was this man?
Terence knew Colleen felt rebuffed by his tone. He ached to comfort her, but he needed this moment to gather his thoughts. He knew why his mother had called—but first things first.
He heard another sniffle and knew he had to set things right. Terence reached over to touch Colleen’s arm. “Are you hungry?” No answer. Just an indrawn breath followed by an even bigger sniffle. He moved closer so he could tilt his head and see her face. His heart melted, and he flicked away her tears. No one should cry on their honeymoon, unless they were tears from passion.
“Wife, do you want something to eat?”
She adjusted herself so she could look at him. Her thick lashes spiked, and dampened hair stuck to her forehead. Gently, he moved the hair away from her face. He traced a finger along the side of her arm and toyed with the frills on her teddy. “What do we have here?”
Her stomach muscles tightened, but Colleen remained silent. The ruffles in front provided a thin covering. He pushed them aside and splayed his hand across her abdomen. He could rip the flimsy material with just a shake of his wrist. Terence wanted his wife, but knew he needed to return his mother’s call.
He gave her a perfunctory pat, leaned in, and kissed her ear. Then he ordered, “Call room service. Get me the salmon dinner. I’ll be right back.”
Expecting her compliance, he slid from under the covers and picked up his cell phone that had fallen to the floor. He took two steps before—Wham in the back. Terence spun around. What the—
She’d thrown a pillow at him!
Wham—another hit him in the chest.
With a low growl, he warned, “Colleen, cut that out. That is just childish and frankly—”
Wham. This time the pillow smacked him across the face.
With two huge steps, he took her flailing hands into his. She stopped resisting as she realized her puny strength wouldn’t prevail. In a controlled, firm voice, he declared, “I’m going to talk to my mother; and then we will eat. We are not going to fight on our honeymoon. I insist.”
Colleen huffed and stared him down for several seconds. Then, her shoulders relaxed and she apologized. That’s better, Terence thought. He crooked his head toward the menu by the phone and went to call his mother, whom he knew would be peeved. Five minutes was her maxim for a return call. He’d kept her waiting long enough.
Chapter Three
With a whistle and a spring in his step, Michael left his Fifth Avenue Upper East Co-op located across from Central Park. He enjoyed his daily jogs in the park, loving the smell and bustle of the city.
He swiped his private access card to activate the elevator that would take him from the penthouse to the lobby. Once inside, he returned to his whimsy. Where was he? Yes, Gina. Her curves and that body made her dangerous. Her intelligence and quick wit kept him on his toes, but her eyes struck him like a tidal wave—dark chocolate pools that sparkled with mischief and devilish humor.
After Karen, Michael vowed to stop using women as playthings. He gave up the marionette strings, choosing, instead, to treat them with respect. At thirty-two, he was ready to settle down. No more games. No more drama. That’s why he was moving slow with Gina—real slow. This time he was in to win it—to borrow the mantra from Randy Jackson.
When he exited the elevator, he greeted the front-desk clerk and doorman by name. “The Porsche please.” The clerk—Maureen—made the call.
Boy, he was a smiling fool. His good mood could only be attributed to one person. Gina Price.
They’d been all over New York City—on picnics, to the theater, on excursions through Washington Square and the Village—and, as the weeks flew by, his determination grew. In his business life, he pursued his goals using tenacity and perspicacity. And within one minute of meeting Gina, he’d spotted a keeper—a must-have.
Gina had grit. She had spunk.
Michael grinned. He just loved a challenge. He pressed the voice activation on his car phone and dictated, “Call Keith,” to secure a dinner invitation to his brother’s house. Two months was long enough. It was time for Gina to meet his brother.
Michael watched Gina tug at her dress for the third time. The black spaghetti strap dress fit her like a glove and featured a dip in the back that went on for days. She carried a light jacket in her hand as the September air could get crisp at night.
“You look fabulous,” he felt the need to say again. He took her hands in his as they entered Café Baci’s—an Italian restaurant in Westbury, Long Island. He’d chosen here, because with its brick-faced floors, wraparound bar and wooden chairs, the restaurant boasted ambience, superb service and impeccable cuisine.
“Now, leave your dress alone before you rip it and cause a Third World War in here,” he teased.
She smiled sheepishly. Her hands were back in her hair ensuring that it was still tight. “I’ve no idea why I’m so nervous—well, I do know. Michael, you speak so highly of your big brother, and you adore him. I just want him to like me.”
“I understand, Gina. But, please don’t be nervous,” Michael replied. He bent over to look her in the eyes. Tucking his finger under her chin, he said, “My brother is cool, and you’re going to love Eve. Trust me when I tell you that you have nothing to worry about.”
“I know, but I just want to make a good impression.”
“Keith will love you,” Michael predicted confidently. “You’re stunning! You’ve got it going on, girl!”
Gina took several deep breaths. Even that simple natural act fascinated him. This woman was special and worth waiting for. He sounded whipped, even to his own ears.
The hostess ushered them to Keith’s table, but his brother wasn’t hard to miss. Keith did to women what gasoline did to fire. Keith
was exceptionally fit and well dressed. To top it off, the man was ridiculously handsome, and that was no exaggeration. He had piercing dark brown eyes, dark chocolate skin, and a smile that could melt ice. Michael always teased that Keith should have been a model for one of those romance novels that women seemed to enjoy reading, but his brother scoffed at the idea, stating he’d prefer to use his brain over his body any day.
Michael hadn’t been forthright with Gina. Keith wasn’t so easy to please—probably a result of his uncanny penchant for picking up undercover psychopaths. Ever the big brother, Keith deftly identified several reasons why they weren’t suitable—er, stable. Michael hated Keith’s prying. But, to his chagrin, Keith was usually right.
Well, not this time. Gina Price was the one. He was sure of it.
Michael introduced Gina to Keith, and they took a seat. Within minutes, a waiter came to take their appetizers and drink orders. Michael ordered zucchini fritti and calzone bambini for them to share.
“Where’s Eve?” Michael asked, once their food had arrived.
“She couldn’t make it. She had a new client. Eve’s in the real estate business,” Keith directed the last part of his statement to Gina, before taking a huge gulp of his iced tea.
“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Gina said, still nervous. She gripped Michael’s hand under the table. He squeezed her hand to encourage her.
“She’s also very pregnant with his child,” Michael declared.
“Yes,” Keith confirmed. “She is . . . very pregnant.”
“Well, that was a pregnant pause,” Michael noted. He laughed at the obvious pun, and waited for Keith to provide an acerbic response. But, their waiter, Peter returned to clear their appetizer plates, then took their dinner orders, so the moment passed.
Michael chose the salmone rosato; Keith the chicken parmigiana; and Gina decided on the penne ricche. Michael kept the dinner conversation lighthearted and humorous. Keith could get real deep and philosophical as he went on, but he also made an extra effort to put Gina at ease. Pretty soon, the three of them were talking and laughing like old friends.
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