by Rita Vetere
"Hey. Happy birthday,” he said awkwardly when he reached her.
She saw he was about to embrace her in a hug and quickly proffered her cheek. He took the hint and kissed her lightly on the cheek, but remained standing a bit too close.
Noticing the look of disappointment on T.K.'s face, and finding herself suddenly uncomfortable in his presence, Jasmine said, “Damn. I forgot to stop for cigarettes. I'm out. There's a place around the corner. I'll be right back."
Before T.K. had a chance to stop her, she left, walking as quickly as her three-inch high heels would allow to the end of the block. Once she turned the corner, relieved she was out of sight, she slowed her pace a little.
* * * *
Carla watched Jasmine sashay down the street until the flash of her red dress disappeared around the corner. As usual, everyone turned to gawk at her as she passed. Her best friend was a hard act to follow, that was for sure. It wasn't that Carla didn't think herself attractive. She had her share of admirers. But the minute Jasmine showed up, all eyes immediately gravitated to her. Jasmine's peculiar thought-projection ability aside, there was something about her that caused people, men in particular, to swarm to her like bees to nectar. Jasmine just oozed sex appeal. Carla had spent most of her life emulating her best friend. She copied the way she talked and walked and dressed. Yet, no matter how hard Carla tried to define and duplicate that special quality Jasmine possessed, she never quite managed it. Never one to be jealous, and despite the fact that her best friend had always been a bit of an enigma, Carla loved Jasmine like a sister. After Carla's parents passed away three years ago, it was Jasmine with whom she shared her grief and the sense of isolation that had ensued. Jasmine had understood better than anyone else what she'd gone through, and their friendship had only deepened after that.
Carla sighed and turned back to the group. She smiled brightly at T.K. She had a feeling Jasmine was no longer interested in him and, as far as leftovers went, T.K. would do nicely.
* * * *
Don't sweat it. Jasmine walked to the convenience store. Once they got inside the club, things would be more relaxed. A couple of drinks and she'd be back in party mode and on the dance floor.
She entered the shop, asked the clerk for a pack of Lights, paid with her last ten, then decided she better stop at the ATM inside the store to get money for a cab, and whatever else she might need. She intended to keep her promise to Aunt Dora. In fact, she had decided to do everything in her power to improve their relationship, starting tonight.
As she stepped out of the store onto the street, she spotted a man standing across the intersection, dressed all in black and leaning against a lamp post. He was staring directly at her. Just looking at him sent a chill up her spine and, despite the heat, her bare arms broke into gooseflesh. For some reason, the sight of him filled her with absolute dread.
She didn't move, unable to tear her eyes from him. He was tall, six-three or four, maybe. His ebony hair glistened under the streetlight, falling to his broad shoulders in waves. Even from across the crowded intersection, she could see the incredibly arrogant look on his handsome face. She couldn't be sure because of the distance between them, but she got the distinct impression that his eyes were black. Flawlessly attired in a formal black suit and dress shirt, he managed to appear magnificent, and at the same time, terrifying. The man remained motionless and continued to stare at her, as if he knew something she did not. Something Jasmine felt sure she did not want to know.
They stood staring at each other across the street for what seemed like minutes, until her instincts screamed at her to leave before something awful happened. She turned away from him, in a hurry to get back to her friends and safety. Before rounding the corner, she allowed herself a backward glance. The man, she noticed with alarm, was making his way across the street toward her, moving quickly and with deliberation. Jasmine just knew something horrible would happen if he caught up with her, and she had to exercise all of her self-control to keep from running.
In her rush to get away, she ran headlong into a middle-aged, bespectacled man, dressed in blue jeans and t-shirt.
"Oh. Sorry,” she blurted out.
The man placed his hand lightly on her shoulder to steady her. The moment he touched her, Jasmine felt calmer.
The stranger gave her a reassuring look. “Don't worry,” he told her, “you're all right."
Jasmine turned to see if the man in black was still following her, only to find he had stopped in the middle of the intersection. The light had changed and, incredibly, with traffic whizzing by him in both directions, he remained stationary in the middle of the street, staring at the two of them. Jasmine turned back to the stranger. He was looking directly at the man in black. The two of them appeared to be engaged in a stand-off of some kind, each trying to stare the other down. Finally, the man in black sneered, then looked away, retreating back across the street.
Jasmine looked the stranger, who smiled kindly at her and patted her shoulder once more. He waited until the man in black disappeared from sight.
"Thank you,” said Jasmine.
"No trouble. My name's Tom,” he said, offering his hand.
"Mine's Jasmine,” she said, taking the man's hand. “Well. Thank you again, Tom. I'd better get back to my friends."
The man nodded and continued on his way. Jasmine satisfied herself that the man in black was gone and then hurried down the street to get back to her friends. What had just happened? Trembling all over, she felt as if she'd just averted a terrible accident.
Her friends were getting ready to enter the club when she caught up with them.
"Jazzy, did your friend find you?” Carla asked.
"What friend?"
"A guy stopped us to ask if we knew where you'd gone, an older fellow. He said he was a friend of yours."
"What did he look like?” she asked, frowning. Her heart sped up again at the thought of the man in black.
"Oh, fiftyish maybe, salt-and-pepper hair, glasses. He didn't give his name, but he looked harmless enough, so I told him."
Her heart lurched. Carla had just described Tom, the man who had helped her moments ago. “Was he wearing jeans and t-shirt?"
"Yeah."
The strange encounter left her feeling oddly vulnerable and more than a little creeped out.
"Everything okay?"
She considered telling Carla what had happened and decided not to. The whole thing sounded crazy, even to her. “Sure,” she said. “Let's go inside. Time to celebrate, right?"
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Chapter 8
The club throbbed with frenetic energy, the music blaring from the speakers so loud Jasmine could feel the vibrations in her teeth. Patrons were jammed up against each other in the area surrounding the dance floor, holding onto their drinks, yelling to make themselves heard over the pulsating bass.
Jasmine and her entourage made their way along the perimeter of the dance floor to the table reserved for them close to the bar, and took their seats. T.K. sat down next to her and immediately ordered a round of drinks. She downed her first too quickly in an effort to put the strange encounter with the man in black behind her. At the same time, she tried to figure out a way to distance herself from T.K., who seemed glued to her side. The answer presented itself before the next round of drinks arrived.
She spotted him standing near the bar, a black-haired Adonis. He looked a little older than her, and was dressed in slacks and a black crew-neck top emphasizing his muscular chest and arms. He had the most incredible body she had ever seen, and she found herself thinking she could stare at him all night. He appeared oblivious to the effect he was having on the women in his immediate vicinity, most of whom were staring openly at him. One of them, a girl-next-door-gone-wrong-type dressed in silver lycra, moved next to him and leaned in close to say something. He turned away from her after shaking his head ‘no’ and stared directly at Jasmine instead.
A fever seemed to fall ove
r her as his smoldering eyes, the color of smoke, locked with her own, making her body sizzle. Unable to take her eyes off him, she watched as he set his drink down on the bar and began to walk purposefully toward her.
She quickly glanced at T.K., who had not only noticed the man but her reaction to him as well. His scowling face underscored his displeasure. She had a feeling things were about to turn ugly, and tried to diffuse the situation. “T.K., listen, I—"
"Forget it.” He got up quickly, almost overturning his chair. “Knock yourself out,” he told her, his face full of resentment. He left the table and headed for the exit. Carla flashed Jasmine a look she wasn't able to decipher and hurried after him.
Jasmine sighed, shrugging her shoulders at Jenna and Anne, who had taken in the exchange and appeared a little uncomfortable. Some birthday party this is turning out to be.
But then he was suddenly standing over her, looking at her with those smoking eyes of his.
"I was hoping you'd dance with me. Unless, that is,” he said, turning toward T.K.'s retreating form, “you're here with someone else."
Jasmine couldn't help smiling at his formal tone. “Apparently not,” she said, glancing in T.K.'s direction as he disappeared into the crowd with Carla close behind. Carla signaled to her that she'd be back, and Jasmine nodded. Returning her attention to the man standing next to her, she took his outstretched hand and followed him onto the dance floor.
The music switched to Mariah Carey's latest just as they reached the floor. She adored the way he moved, sleek and sinewy, like a panther. They were close enough she could feel his body heat, and every time he brushed against her, she felt lightening strike. Her overwhelming attraction to him was undeniable. Something about this man told her he could lead her to places she'd never been before. When the music changed to a slow, grinding tune, he moved in close, pressing her to him. They joined in a rhythm that felt timeless, almost ritualistic.
What was happening to her? She had never felt quite this way with a man before, and she'd been with many. She brushed her smooth cheek against his and broke her rule. She pressed a thought on him. Are you feeling this?
He didn't miss a beat, nor did he pull back to look at her or otherwise acknowledge that he'd heard her.
She tried again. I could love you.
Aside from pulling her a little closer, he did nothing to indicate that her thought had reached him.
Unusual. In fact, this was a first. Apparently, some people weren't capable of hearing it. In a way, she was glad. It leveled the playing field. They could get to know each other on an equal footing. And she did intend on getting to know him, she decided.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked her suddenly, moving his cheek away from hers to look at her.
Relief flooded over her when she realized the attraction was mutual. What's wrong with me? Desperation was just not her style. “I don't know. Maybe,” is what came out. She cursed herself. That was smooth. “I don't even know your name,” she said, looking up at him.
"It's Christopher.” He smiled. “And yours?"
"Jasmine."
He pulled her close to him as they danced, and she felt his heart racing in his chest. A secret smile touched her lips as she anticipated what the rest of the night would bring.
* * * *
Later, at his apartment, she prowled naked around his expensively furnished bedroom as he slept. She paused to admire the tasteful artwork, and ran her hand along the arm of the soft velvet tub chair next to the window. As she moved about the room, wriggling her toes every now and then in the plush oriental carpet, she picked up objects and returned them to their place, wanting to know everything about him. Because Christopher was the one. She had known it the minute their long bout of lovemaking ended. Afterward, she had wanted only to stay close to him; the thought of leaving him felt unbearable.
She had studied him as he slept, marveling at the perfection of his muscular physique and facial features that could only be described as renaissance. Christopher had the perfect body—and he knew how to use it.
She heard the rustling of sheets behind her and turned to find him awake.
"Come back to bed,” he said.
How she loved that deep voice of his. Playfully, she pounced on top of him, wrapping her lithe body around his muscular one. He flipped her over easily and, already hard, entered her again. She closed her eyes and remained still, breathing in his masculine scent while he moved over her. As he explored every inch of her body with his hands and mouth, she abandoned herself to the heady sensations that ran through her, submerging herself in the ocean of his lovemaking. Her mounting pleasure was matched by his, and by the time she felt his release inside her, she'd been rocked by multiple orgasms. Afterward, as they collapsed into each other's arms, Jasmine understood she had discovered something precious with Christopher, something not to be taken lightly.
So this is what it feels like to be in love. She rolled over to lie next to him while he ran his hand up and down her body. She didn't speak, unable to put into words what she felt had just happened between them.
She glanced at the clock on the night table to see that almost four hours had gone by since she'd come to his apartment, and remembered Aunt Dora would be expecting her home soon. Not wanting to ruin the fragile harmony that had sprung up between her and Aunt Dora by disappearing without a call, she got out of bed and pulled her cellphone from her purse.
He looked at her. “The fellow from the club?"
"No, my aunt. I live with her. I'm expected back,” she said, taking the cell back to bed with her and kissing him again.
A look of relief crossed his perfect features. “Jasmine. I know we don't know each other very well, but we will. If you give me the chance, that is. You're different from anyone I've ever met. Special."
"Yes,” she said happily, “this feels right to me, too.” She brushed her lips against his lightly, then dialed Aunt Dora's number to let her know she'd be back in the morning.
She frowned when her call went unanswered. Aunt Dora was a light sleeper. She couldn't imagine why she wasn't picking up.
"That's strange,” she muttered, dialing the number again. When her aunt didn't answer on the second try either, uneasiness crept over her.
"I might have to leave. Something's not right,” she told him, her concern growing. It wasn't like Aunt Dora not to answer a late night phone call.
He must have seen the worry on her face, because Christopher didn't argue, although a look of disappointment crossed his face. He called a taxi for her while she dressed, then wrote his number on a slip of paper and handed it to her.
"I'm sure it'll be fine,” he said gently, “but let me know if anything's gone wrong.” His concern sounded genuine, and it touched her.
"I will ... thank you for tonight."
He shot her one of his smoldering looks. “Believe me,” he said, “the pleasure was all mine."
Mixed emotions ran through her when she walked out of his apartment to the waiting taxi, as her concern for Aunt Dora fused with the feeling that, for the first time in her life, she was really in love.
* * * *
Dora tossed and turned restlessly in bed. Her thoughts, which for some reason kept returning to Lilli, were unsettled, and intertwined with a strange sense of apprehension she couldn't explain. She glanced at the clock again to find that only five minutes had gone by since the last time she'd checked. At three in the morning, sleep still evading her, she donned her robe, intending to retreat downstairs to the living room to read.
As she was about to descend the staircase, she heard a noise from downstairs and froze, her hand clutching the banister tightly. She stopped, listening intently, but heard nothing else. Just then, the phone rang, making her jump. She turned, intending to pick up the call from her bedroom. She had barely taken her first step back, when the sound of voices floated up to her from the floor below, striking fear in her heart. She remained perfectly still, straining to hear ov
er the sound of the ringing phone. When the telephone became silent, she distinctly heard voices coming from downstairs. Could Jasmine have returned to the house with some of her friends?
"Jasmine?” she called out tentatively.
No answer.
"Jasmine? Is that you?” she asked, louder this time.
She listened as the murmuring voices continued, and her trepidation turned quickly to alarm. The sounds she heard were not the convivial voices of Jasmine and her friends. The hushed voices sounded menacing. She took a hesitant step down, but thought better of it. What if intruders had entered her home? Her safest course would probably be to call for help. She could use the phone in her room and wait there until the police arrived.
The telephone began to ring again, the shrill sound resonating in the darkness. Soundlessly, she made her way back to her bedroom, avoiding the loose floorboards that squeaked, and hoping whoever was in the house had not heard her call out for Jasmine a moment ago. By the time she got back to her room, the phone had stopped ringing. She picked up the handset to call nine-one-one. And blinked in surprise. The line was dead. Now what? And on the heels of that, she cursed herself for not getting a cellphone last year, as Jasmine had suggested.
She felt the first bite of panic. A picture of tomorrow's headline flashed through her mind: Woman Found Dead Following Home Invasion. She scolded herself for being dramatic, but took the precaution of locking her bedroom door. Then she rummaged through the closet and located the antique walking stick that had belonged to her father. The heavy brass-and-wood cane provided her with some small sense of security. Maybe they'll take what they want and leave, she hoped, sitting down on the edge of the bed to wait it out. But then an awful thought occurred to her. Jasmine. She might arrive home at any minute. What would happen to her if she walked in on the intruders? The mental picture this conjured up spurred her into action.
She tried the phone once more. Again, there was no dial tone. She would have to leave the house to get help.