Sealed With a Kiss

by Gwynne Forster

  Chapter 10

  She needed nerves of steel to walk into that huge, crowded banquet hall with Rufus Meade. The commotion he’d caused at the registration desk should have warned her, but she had foolishly asked him to accompany her. Too late, she told herself. All I can do is look my best. And she did. When he greeted her with a sharp catch of his breath and a nod of approval, she was satisfied that her efforts had produced the effect she’d wanted. Rufus insisted on holding hands with her as they entered the hall, but she tried to hold back, claiming, “People will think we’re a couple, Rufus.”

  He acted as if he couldn’t care less; he was a man at ease with the choice he’d made. “Fine with me. I don’t let what people might think dictate my behavior, Naomi. I believe in pleasing myself whenever I can.” She looked first at him, handsome and elegant, and then at the admiring looks that they received, and she couldn’t help being proud and squeezed his hand almost involuntarily.

  He looked down at her. “When a man has a woman like you, he wants every other man to know it.” She bit her tongue. He has said that she should stop covering up her emotions, so she didn’t joke about it and she wouldn’t ask him what he meant.

  Instead, she winked at him and drawled, “We women like to show off when we’re with a great looking guy, too.” She laughed disdainfully. “We’re being just a little too polite for my taste, Rufus. You look terrific, and I’m enjoying the jealous stares these women are giving me.” Rufus grinned, and she could see that her comment pleased him.

  The fresh fruit cup, chicken à la king poured over flaky pastry shells, green peas, and potato croquettes had been pushed around her plate, and the tricolored three-layer coconut cake had been rejected. Naomi sipped her black coffee and consoled herself with the thought that at least she would lose some weight. The speeches that were somehow the same every year no matter what the occasion or who delivered them were over. People—mostly women showing off their expensive gowns—were table-hopping in order to be seen, and the band members had begun taking their seats on the bandstand.

  All through their forgettable standard banquet meal, Rufus had quietly watched Naomi, responding to her rare remark and wondering how she could let long stretches of time pass without saying a word or seeming bored. She didn’t feel compelled to talk. He admired that in her and hoped it meant she was comfortable with him. She slanted him a sly smile, and he felt it from his toes to his fingertips. He reached for her hand.

  The band swung into its third number, and he squeezed her fingers. “Dance with me?” She moved with him in a slow waltz until he switched to a sensuous one-step, sending her heart into a wild flutter, and she danced a little away from him.

  He nudged her closer. “I thought you’d planned on getting revenge. You won’t get it dancing a mile away.”

  Her nose lifted in disdain. “It wouldn’t be in good taste to bring you to your knees right here in front of all these people, especially since most of them are your fans.”

  Rufus angled his head to one side and drawled provocatively, “Say what you mean. You’re afraid of falling into the trap you were going to set for me. Go ahead, lady; work your magic.” He grinned at her and goaded, “I’m immune.” He wasn’t and knew it, but what the heck? He got a thrill just from looking at her; if she wanted to do her thing that ought to be something to watch.

  The band began a livelier number, and behind Rufus, Naomi saw a couple spinning and gyrating in the earthiest, sexiest dance she had ever seen on a dance floor. It would serve him right, she decided, and took up the challenge.

  “Wait until the band plays something earthier,” she promised daringly.

  He pulled her a little closer, held her there, and taunted, “It’ll be my pleasure.” As they walked back to their table, a light, carefree mood enveloped her. She hadn’t known that their sexual teasing could be so much fun. Happiness. It was wonderful.

  The music began, and she leaned toward him. A frisson of fire shot through him at the gentle squeeze of her delicate fingers around his wrist and the provocative glint in her eyes.

  “This one.”

  Surprised, he rose and held out his hand. So she wants to dance a cha-cha, he mused, and swung into the seductive rhythm. He relished moving to the hot, pulsating beat, dancing it off time, taking one step for every two beats of the drummer’s stick. Heat suffused him in response to her seductive movements, the slow, tantalizing undulations of her hips, and the provocative invitations of her hands as she tossed her head from side to side in wild abandon.

  Caught up in the storm of passion that she ignited, mesmerized by her frankly sexual gestures, he suddenly ceased to tease, and his mood for it deserted him. Blood roared in his head when she gazed at him dreamily, obviously half drunk on him and the music. Her words were almost slurred.

  “Had enough?”

  His lower lip dropped. The she-devil! “Yeah!” he gripped her to him, wanting her to feel his strength, to revel in his maleness. He took control of the dance, placing her left arm on his shoulder and her right hand around his neck. He held her to him and moved in a sensual step, the cha-cha forgotten.

  Rufus came slowly out of his trance when he recognized a tap on his shoulder and glanced around to a man who was asking to dance with Naomi. He scowled ferally; some of those movers and shakers belong to another era. Let the guy find his own woman.

  “Man, you must have left your mind back there in your chemistry lab,” he threw over his shoulder. Then he looked down at the woman in his arms. “You want to dance with this guy?”

  She moved closer. “What guy?” When a second man wanted to dance with Naomi, Rufus glared at him and stopped dancing. Then, without a word, he led her from the dance floor and out of the hall.

  Standing with him in the anteroom, she folded her arms and grinned mischievously. “Aren’t you supposed to yield when a man taps you on the shoulder?”

  “You’re putting me on.” He couldn’t appreciate humor right then. “Some of my fraternity brothers have a weird sense of humor. Yesterday afternoon, Watkins expressed a lot of interest in…what was that he called you. Yeah. ‘That little fox,’ I believe he said. Then he had the temerity to try busting up my dance. I’ve seen the day when I’d have made him pay for that stupidity.” Rufus laughed inwardly. He saw no need to tell her about the times during his university days when he had cheerfully done the same to Watkins.

  “Which one was Watkins?” she teased. His eyes must have reflected his murderous feelings, because she winced.

  “You don’t need to know. Would you like to go to Corky’s and dance? Or to the Maple Leaf? There’re a lot of live jazz spots on Oak Street. Or we could go to Preservation Hall and listen to some Dixieland.” He let his hand caress her shoulder. “Tell me what you’d like.”

  “I’m hungry. Let’s go around to the cocktail lounge and have some wine or something. Maybe they’ll serve hors d’oeuvres with the drinks. That dinner was awful.”

  Rufus grimaced. “Make that ‘something.’ I had a glass of wine with dinner. Besides, there’s an old Ashanti proverb that says, ‘When the cock is drunk, he forgets about the hawk.’ And with all these hawks here tonight and half of the wives back at home, I need my wits.” She drank white wine and he sipped Perrier while the cocktail pianist plodded along.

  He wanted to please her, but he’d had as much as he could tolerate. “Want to go to Preservation Hall?” he asked hopefully. “This brother needs to go back to music school.” She got a light stole and they took a taxi to St. Peter Street, but when they stepped out of the car, Rufus glanced around at the revelers, music makers, and crowds of onlookers, and the idea of a hot, noisy, and smoke-filled room held no appeal.

  He took her hand. “Let’s walk a bit. It’s a pleasant night, or it would be, if we could get out of this crowd.”

  “Okay. The next tim
e I’m here, I want to go down to the levee. Maybe some warm summer night. The Mississippi should be prettier at night in the moonlight, when you can’t see how muddy the water is.”

  “It isn’t summer, but it’s balmy and the moon is shining. We could get a taxi and go down there now. What do you say?”

  “How’ll we get back?”

  His arm slinked possessively around her waist as he hailed a passing taxi. “I’ll have the taxi wait.”

  “Where you want to go ain’t exactly across the street,” the driver explained. He turned up his radio, and they heard a great rendition of Jelly Roll Blues as the taxi sped toward the levee. At the river, Rufus faced the water and Naomi stood with her back to him, enveloped in his arms. Her conscience pricked her; she wasn’t leading Rufus on, she told herself. She just wanted to be with him, to push aside even for a little while the problems that plagued her. She fought the temptation to worry about her future; this was her night, and she was going to be happy. As if reminding herself to enjoy the moment, she began to sing softly As Time Goes By in a rich throaty alto.

  Rufus didn’t speak until she’d finished. “You have a lovely voice.”

  “Of course I have,” she threw out. “Don’t you know that all black folk are supposed to be able to sing?” They both laughed, but Rufus cut his laughter short, and she knew immediately that it was because she had done it again.

  “Naomi,” he asked grimly, “couldn’t you simply have said thanks? Was it necessary to belittle the compliment, to pretend that it was inconsequential? Stop shielding yourself from me.” He tightened his arms around her in a protective gesture, and she rested comfortably against him as they communicated in a way that didn’t require speech. The silence enveloped them, a full moon brightened the sky, and a fresh breeze swirled around them. Heaven must be something like this, she thought, as the voice of a nightingale pierced the night.

  They didn’t speak for a long time, and she savored his nearness, relished his strong arms around her, and had to fight the urge to face him and lose herself in him.

  “Have you ever been in love, Naomi?” Immediately she wished she hadn’t mentioned wanting to see the levee by moonlight. The scent of anything approximating a mystery piqued his interest, and there was no stopping him until he had the answer. She tried to think of a way of distracting him. But the full moon, fresh southern breeze, and mournful saxophone coming from a barely lit vessel that moved eerily and slowly downstream practically guaranteed that his mind would not waver from her.

  “Have you?” Emotion colored his low, husky tone. “Look at me. I asked whether you’ve ever been in love.” He took her face in his palms and gazed into her eyes, but with the sweetest, most loving expression she had ever seen on a man’s face. She trembled with sensuous anticipation and excitement at his powerful, wordless communication. She should move, but she couldn’t. She should remind him that nothing could ever come of their relationship, but she couldn’t part her lips. His slow smile lit his eyes, transformed his mouth, and made his handsome face glow.

  “You still haven’t answered me. Don’t you know?” He removed the scarf that had begun to dangle from her shoulder and draped it snugly, but attractively, around her neck, taking the same care with her as he did with his boys. Her heart constricted at his gentle gesture. Why was the forbidden always so desirable?”

  It would have been easy to reply with a quip, but she knew he didn’t want that and wouldn’t accept it. And she didn’t want to respond that way, so she took a deep breath and decided to trust him with the truth.

  “I don’t know the answer, Rufus, and I wouldn’t want to…well, I just can’t say.” She wasn’t going to lie, and if she said yes, he would want to know who. She couldn’t tell him that she loved him; maybe she never would.

  He pulled her to his side. With her nonchalant façade and outward calm, only someone close to her would ever guess she was so vulnerable. He pulled her closer, wanting to shield her from whatever it was that she seemed to do constant battle with. He had the cool Louisiana breeze in his face and a sweet woman in his arms and he was… Damn! He was out of his mind! Or was he fooling himself? Maybe. But he had to know her, what she felt, what hurt her, what made her happy, who she had loved, and what he had to do to make her want him, and everything and everybody else be damned.

  Why did she resist answering even the simplest question? He had to persist. He’d do it gently, but he’d get it. He was on the verge of falling for her against his good judgment and his repeated advice to himself, and it worried him. But if she had loved once, maybe he could teach her to love again. “Did you care deeply for him?”

  Her answer was a startled stare, the look of a deer caught in the rays of high-powered headlights. He didn’t need the words.

  “Whoever he was, he was a fool not to have kept you with him forever.”

  She relaxed, and her sigh of relief was so powerful that he felt it. “I did care,” she said in a guarded tone. “Or at least, I thought so then.”

  “What happened to make you question it?” He had the disquieting feeling that she was hedging, and he was certain that she didn’t want to talk about it.

  She looked into the distance, and after a moment, spoke as one who carried a tremendous load. “Time and age.” And you. The light in her eyes dimmed, and she leaned toward him unsteadily.

  “Sweetheart, what is it? I told you that I’m here for you, and I meant it.” She didn’t answer, but raised her parted lips to his. She’s what I want, what I need, he thought, when she clasped him to her, asking for more, taking him with her into a torrent of desire. When he was finally able to, he stepped back from her, shaking his head from side to side, running his fingers through the tight curls at its base. At some other time, he might have been amused, but there was nothing humorous about what he felt and the dilemma in which it placed him.

  “Naomi, I’d bet there isn’t another woman on this earth who starts the kind of fire that you do and never gives a thought about what will happen once it gets going. Honey, I’m in trouble here.”

  “What does that mean?” She snuggled close to him; talk about fires was clearly of minor interest.

  “It means,” he explained indulgently, “that I’m human, and one day we’re going to exceed my capacity for control.”

  She chuckled, obviously unconcerned, and teased, “If you lose it, we’ll work something out.”

  His eyebrows arched upward. “What?” She continually astonished him; surely she wasn’t that innocent.

  She seemed to throw away all caution. “Now, now! Don’t get your dander up. You told me to trust you, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Naomi, I am trying to have a serious discussion with you. Would you please not joke?” Sometimes he thought she might be playing a game. She couldn’t be as naive as she seemed, could she? It was near the end of the twentieth century, for heaven’s sake; how could such a beautiful woman insulate herself to the point that she knew practically noting about men? And why would she do it?

  Her voice came to him as if from a distance, disturbing his worrisome thoughts. “You’re right, I guess. But I already told you that I haven’t had too much practice with this kind of thing. Give me time.”

  He was about to probe dangerously deep when he remembered Judd Logan’s words: “It’s been almost fourteen years since she let herself get as close to a man as she was to you last night. And I know that for a fact.” Naomi forestalled any comment that he might have made by drifting into a soft hum of Duke Ellington’s Solitude. As she had no doubt hoped, he let the matter of his self-control drop. And there, beneath the Louisiana moon, he opened he jacket of his tuxedo, got as much of her in it as he could, wrapped her close, and began a slow one-step on the bank of the Mississippi.

  He disliked ambivalence in himself. After such an evening with a woman, he’d ha
ve expected them to spend the rest of the night together. And he was tempted, almost eager for it. But he needed more from her than what he was certain would be mind-shattering sex. He wanted total communication, all of her. The problem was that he didn’t know for how long, only that he needed it. When had he come so far, and how? When she was soft and loving, like now, he never wanted to leave her.

  She commented on the eeriness of a dingy lit barge that chugged down the river with the help of a ghostly tugboat. A hoarse horn warning an approaching vessel had broken the night silence and their mood. He looked down at her comfortably settled in his arms, but seemingly oblivious to her effect on him, and he wondered how he made her feel. His mood changed, and she eased out of his arms.

  “Maybe we should be getting back. That taxi driver probably thinks we’ve decided to spend the night.” She stumbled. “There goes my shoe heel.” He checked, saw that it was broken, lifted her, and began walking toward the taxi.

  He held her closer when she shifted in his arms and demanded that he put her down. “I may need help, as you impressed upon me on more than one occasion,” he reminded her, “but at least I know how to accept it when I get it. You’ve got to learn how to accept help—and compliments, too—graciously. I’m not putting you down. You can’t walk if one shoe has a three-inch heel and the other is flat.” He opened the door and put her in the taxi.

  “You’re attentive, and I like that, but I don’t want to be suffocated,” she mumbled grumpily. He sensed that she was distancing herself, putting her emotional barrier back in place, and he was getting tired of it.

  It was best to tell her good night in the hotel lobby. He wanted to spend the night with her, but he didn’t want to have to pick his way through her minefield of personal conflicts. And he had a choice of that or settling for physical release, something he rejected. Both of them deserved better. Rather than deal with the heat he knew would consume them if he walked her to her door, he’d just look up some old buddies. At the elevator, his kissed her quickly and left her.