by Wayne Jordan
“I’m not sc-scared of you,” she replied, her voice belying her bravado.
He chuckled in response. “I’m glad to know that. Just wondering why your hands are shaking.”
She looked down at her hands. “Remember, I was in an accident. My body hasn’t totally recovered.”
His expression told her he didn’t quite believe that either.
He glanced down at his watch. It was almost eleven. He needed to get home. He wanted to go into the office early.
“I think it’s about time I go. I really enjoyed the evening.”
“I’m glad you did.”
He stood, then turned to go.
“George,” she said.
He stopped and turned around. “Yes,” he replied.
“I’m going to talk to Gregory tomorrow.”
Joy surged inside. He could not wait to be a real father to Gregory.
“Thanks,” he said finally. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Let’s hope that he’s ready for this. He likes you, so that’s a good start.”
“I like him too,” he replied. “He’s a good boy.”
“Yes, he is.”
“I promise you I won’t hurt him,” he said. His hand touched her cheek tenderly. His heart raced.
“Like you did with…” She stopped abruptly.
“Like I did with you,” he responded softly. “I know I hurt you, Rachel. I promise you, it won’t happen again.”
She looked up at him, her eyes moist. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“You can,” he said, reaching for her. “You can.”
He pulled her into his arms but felt her tension. She was stiff and unyielding, but he did not let go. Slowly, her body relaxed against him.
His raised his hand to stroke her hair gently.
When she looked up at him again, he bent his head, touching his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, tentative in exploration, until she groaned with her need.
He deepened the kiss, wanting to taste her sweetness. A soft moan escaped her lips and the music he heard in his head was the soft tinkle of the steel drums.
His heartbeat raced, beating firmly and powerfully against his chest.
He rubbed himself against her, aching to feel her naked against him.
“Please, I want you to make love to me.” Her request, sudden and unexpected, surprised him.
He wanted her, but he did not want this to be only about the moment.
“If we do this, it can’t just be tonight,” he said, emphatically. “I want you, but tonight will not be enough. Tonight will never be enough.”
At first she did not respond, but then the words seemed to drag from deep inside. “No, tonight will not be enough. Make love to me,” she pleaded.
“Your mother and Gregory,” he cautioned.
“My bedroom is on the other side of the house. It’ll be okay.”
When he lifted her off the ground, she wrapped her arms around his neck, giggling like a happy schoolgirl.
“Lead the way,” he said, loving the feel of her in his arms. His erection was hard and painful. He wished he were at his home. He’d take her right there on the floor, hard and fast.
He followed the corridor in the direction she pointed and stopped when she indicated a door with a Do Not Enter sign.
“Do I have your permission?” he teased, setting her down tenderly.
“Have you ever needed permission before?” she asked, playing along with him. The memories from their teenage years of lovemaking came racing back.
He pushed open the door, let her inside and then followed.
He closed the door behind him, searched briefly for the switch before he found it and turned the light on. The room exploded in a flash of brightness, startling his vision.
He pressed her against the wall, his body hot with his need for her. Her hand eased between their bodies. When she gripped his throbbing erection and squeezed it firmly through his pants, he groaned with pleasure, his penis jerking in response to her touch.
Drawing her to him, he raised her arms above her and pulled her shirt up and over her head. His eyes lingered on her breasts. They were different, fuller but the same smooth, creamy texture.
Instinctively, her hand moved to cover herself.
His hand reached out and stopped her. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t hide how beautiful you are.”
He lowered his head to her. His tongue parted her lips, wanting to taste her again. Their tongues touched and he suckled deeply.
When she rubbed her body wantonly against him, liquid fire surged through him, his knees almost buckling with his need.
George felt her hand by his groin, her hand fumbling with his belt. Eventually, grinning at her success, she unzipped his jeans, allowing them to fall to the ground. When he stepped out of them, her hand slid under the elastic of his boxers, and they too found their way to the floor. She trailed delicate fingers along the length of his penis, causing him to shudder with the pleasure racing through him.
She walked him over to the bed, placed her hands against his chest and pushed him onto it.
He reached up for her, pulling her to rest against him and he inhaled the sweet, flowery fragrance of her perfume.
He pushed her gently over until he loomed above her, his legs straddling her body.
His lips found hers, and her tongue licked him, sending a shiver of excitement down his spine. He pulled away, the sensation too much to bear. He placed his mouth against the pulsing at her neck, raining soft kisses there and then down to her nose and her eyes.
Beneath him, her hands found his erection. He tensed, groaning as the wave of pleasure took over his body, his excitement mounting.
He struggled to regain control. If he was not careful, he would be done before he had time to pleasure her.
A heated coldness tickled his ears and he tried to stifle his cry of pleasure. When she nipped on the sensitive lobes of his ears, he gripped her back, release too close for comfort.
He could not wait any longer. He kissed her on her nose and rose from the bed, finding the condom in the wallet of his discarded pants.
He returned to the bed, standing uninhibited, and rolled the warm latex onto his penis.
When he was done, he rejoined her on the bed. Her legs instinctively opened, allowing him to position himself between them.
“Please, George, please,” she moaned.
He kissed her while he guided his penis to her entrance. Her hands gripped his back, urging him on. He thrust his hips slowly forward, enjoying the feel of her tightness. He’d always loved how she felt in his arms. Her legs widened, giving him even greater access to her feminine core. Passion burned like molten lava.
His body tightened and he stopped his building movement. Instead, he sought one breast, already firm and aroused. He took the dusky nub in his mouth, suckling tenderly, enjoying the way she moaned, her eyes closed. He feasted on one nipple then moved to the other, its warmth filling his mouth with pleasure.
When he had regained control, he raised himself above her again, sliding deep inside her moistness with a powerful stroke. She held him tightly, drawing him deep inside. Her eyes were opened wide, pleasure-filled. Gripping his buttocks, she drew him closer and deeper. She raised her legs, locking her ankles around his hips, as he stroked her slowly and firmly. With every measured thrust, he discovered a new sensation, a new height of awareness, a deeper meaning to the art of lovemaking.
Gradually, he increased his movement, plunging smoothly into her again and again, feeling the knowing tingle of release. The hard thrusting of her body moved him toward the edge and when she screamed in pleasure, he joined her with his own cry of fulfillment.
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br /> * * *
The sun had already touched the island with its typical morning greeting when Rachel woke the next morning. The imprint on the bed next to her reminded her of what had happened last night and early into the morning hours. Her face heated with the memory. To say she had enjoyed what had transpired would be an understatement. George had made love to her and left her aching for more.
Even now she wanted him. Her feelings scared her. She’d always been unable to resist his charm, and he had been a charmer. But when she’d grown to love him, she’d realized that under that charm was a man who was sensitive and caring but so scared to be himself.
She’d loved him with an intensity that, even now, was worrying. Why? Because she knew that she still loved him.
Where would this all end? Was there any hope that they would find a life together? Last night had hinted at the possibility. They had always been so perfectly compatible. The first time they’d made love had been a humbling experience. Their joining had been more than the physical exploration of their bodies, but a deeper, more profound touching of each other’s souls.
That night she’d given herself over to him—body and soul. And in doing so she’d lost a part of herself…to him. She’d removed all of her inhibitions and surrendered completely to him, leaving her vulnerable and…his.
She was still his. All those years in Anguilla she’d fought the memories of him, and in the middle of the night, in the stillness of the night, she’d return to the island, his image vivid, until she would smell the musky, masculine scent of his favorite cologne, and in darkness, she would reach for him, begging to feel that wondrous lovemaking.
But she would wake up in an empty bed and realize it was no more. The tears would fall for a love, lost and never to be.
Now, she’d been given a second chance. But the fragility of its nature scared her. She no longer believed that love came without challenges. She knew the reality and respected the fickle nature of love.
There was a knock on her door and her mother entered.
“You’re all right?” Grace asked, her expression one of knowing.
She knew why her mother was here and expected to be embarrassed but strangely enough she wasn’t.
“I’m fine.”
Grace walked toward the bed. “Saw George this morning when he left.” She laughed. “He was so embarrassed he wasn’t sure what to do. Of course, I teased him a little. Told him I heard his shouting from my room. Boy, he almost sank through the floor.”
Rachel laughed in response.
Grace sat on the bed. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I always liked him. Always knew that, if he were my son-in-law, he’d take good care of you. He may be brash and somewhat on the arrogant side, but he’s a good man, the kind of man I want for you. When I am gone, I will know you’re in good hands.”
At her mother’s words, tears trickled down her cheeks.
“You make sure you give him another chance. Both of you messed up. You were young then so you’re allowed to make mistakes. If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for your Gregory.”
“I’m scared, Mom,” she confessed.
“About what, sweetheart?”
“About losing him again.”
“You think God is going to bring you all the way back to Barbados to lose him? I thought I brought you up to trust in God. With all the craziness in this world, you think God’s not pleased when two people love each other?”
“You always know how to make me feel better. Thanks, Mom.”
“Good. You plan on letting that boy know who his father is?” she grumbled.
“Today,” Rachel replied. “I plan on telling him today.”
“Good. Boy needs to know his father.” She got off the bed. “It’s almost seven o’clock. Breakfast is done. You’ll just need to warm it up in the microwave. Marjorie and I are going to town. I need to buy a new dress for that church service. That hussy Myrna Belgrave don’t hold a candle to my style.”
“And that’s why you’re going to buy a new dress?” Rachel asked.
“Not the complete reason. There’s also the new deacon I have my eyes on,” she said, her hands resting seductively on her hips.
“Mother!”
“Girl, I may be sixty, but I ain’t dead yet. You think you’re the only one who needs some loving?”
Before Rachel could respond, Grace escaped, her laughter echoing in the room.
Oh my God, Rachel thought, as she pushed away the image of her mother doing the…
She glanced at the clock on the wall. She needed to get up, take a shower and have some breakfast. It was her first day back at work and she was looking forward to getting back into the swing of things.
She rose from the bed, heading to the shower. Everything looked brighter today. Maybe what her mother had said was true. Maybe this time things would work out and she would finally find her happily ever after.
* * *
Late in the morning back in his own bed, George woke to the sound of the neighbor’s dogs barking. It was a morning he didn’t find at all unpleasant. There was a special kind of familiarity in the energy of their music.
Often they had saved him from being late for work. In fact, he rarely set his alarm anymore, relying on their morning salutation.
He slipped from under the blanket, his naked body startled by the chill of the room.
He walked over to the window, looking out. It was just after sunrise.
In the distance, he could see the gentle hills that skirted the St. George Valley, dense with their rich greenness. He loved it here in the valley.
This is where he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He’d thought he would spend it alone but now, he knew he’d spend it with Rachel and his son.
It was only a matter of time.
Chapter 14
That day, when Rachel entered the imposing, modern structure where her office was located, her mind was focused on the tasks ahead. Hopefully she’d be able to reacclimatize easily and be on track with her current cases, some of which had been deferred by the court to a later date.
She exited the elevator on the fourth floor and walked down the corridor until she reached the door to the prosecutor’s office.
She pushed the door and stopped when she noticed that her colleagues were standing there, and her secretary, wearing a broad smile, was holding a gift basket of fruit.
Carlos stepped forward and welcomed her back with an unexpected hug, an action that surprised her since her boss was not known for public displays of affection. She was not surprised when he quickly stepped back, looking as if he’d done something totally out of character.
Amid greetings of “Welcome back” and “Glad you’re better” she glanced around her, realizing that in the short space of time since she had joined the staff, she had made friends. She was confident about her ability as a lawyer, but she knew that starting a new job in her late thirties would not be easy. Having the acceptance of her colleagues made her feel as if she were really part of the group.
Briefly, she thanked them for their kindness and show of concern and watched as they returned to their respective workspaces.
Later that morning she was browsing through her towering paperwork when there was a knock at her door.
Michelle, one of the junior prosecutors, entered.
“It’s good to have you back, Rachel,” she said, avoiding looking Rachel directly in the face.
“I don’t want you to think I’m being presumptuous, but a friend who works in the administrative department gave me a call a short while ago. I’m not sure I should tell you this, but there were some papers filed a few days ago that I think you should know about.”
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“Papers?” she asked.
“Custody papers.”
No. He wouldn’t!
“George Simpson is seeking joint custody of Gregory.”
She couldn’t believe he’d done this! She tried to remain calm, but she felt like screaming.
Instead, she looked up at Michelle and said stoically, “Thanks for letting me know. I know I can depend on you to keep this quiet.”
“Of course, Rachel,” she replied, a finger to her lips. “I’m aware of the confidential nature of something like this.” She glanced at the photo of Gregory on Rachel’s desk. “He is a handsome boy.” She smiled sympathetically and left.
Rachel could not believe it. A wave of sadness overcame her and for a while she sat there unable to do anything. To say she was angry was an understatement. She was angry and disappointed. George had betrayed her. He’d smiled in her face despite knowing what he was planning.
He’d made love to her last night with an abandon that had left her feeling needed and wanted. And then he’d turned around and stabbed her in the back.
The pain of his betrayal was a sharp knife, not unlike that one she’d felt the day she was attacked. She bent over her desk in pain.
Eventually, she rose. He would not do this to her again. She’d endured enough hurt at his hands. She would not cower—she would fight him with every fiber of her being.
She would never have denied him the right to his son, but this…this was a travesty.
In the fog of the thoughts she heard the phone ring and returning to the real world, she picked it up.
Her secretary’s voice came over the line.
“Rachel, there is a George Simpson on the line.”
She paused, anger still ruling.
“Tell him that I’m busy right now and I’ll return his call.”
She would return his call later, much later. She knew that she’d have to talk to him inevitably, but she couldn’t right now.
She hung the phone up and returned to her work. An hour later, she realized that she could not focus. She packed her bag and left.
Maybe an early evening at home with her son would calm the rage boiling inside.