The motel was less than ten minutes from the bar. She pulled up to the front to let him out.
“No, go ahead and park the car. I wouldn’t want you to walk back here alone.”
“It’s probably safe,” she offered.
“There’s no need to take the chance.”
She thought that was nice of him. A lot of customers wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but then a lot of customers wouldn’t have been sitting next to her in the front seat.
It was a warm, lovely night. She looked up at the stars she so rarely had a chance to see because of the city lights.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked.
Instinctively she knew he was talking about the stars. “They really are.” she agreed.
“They pale in your presence. Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your company this evening.”
“You’re welcome.” She couldn’t help but wonder if he was sincere or if he was trying to prolong their time to include sharing her bed. How do I feel about that? she asked herself. It had been a long time since it was even a consideration. Sex never was a big part of her relationship with Andre. She always felt he enjoyed the idea of her as his girlfriend more than her actual presence.
Ian certainly was appealing. She wanted to say he was just her type, but he was just every woman’s type. A woman would have to be the most self-destructive idiot ever to not want a handsome, polite, and entertaining young man. Then again, it sounded like he was wrapping things up.
“Don’t forget, we still have this wine. Unless you plan to make me drink alone?”
He laughed. “I’ll keep you company, but I’ve had enough for one evening. I won’t want to get up in the morning. Mornings are difficult enough without a hangover.”
He took her key from her at the door and opened it for her. A thrill ran through her as he closed and locked it. Calm down, Nesta, she told herself. It’s only a drink or two.
He had chosen that moment to listen in. It wasn’t easy to hide his smile.
“I’ll get the glasses,” she announced. It was her opportunity to use the bathroom and check herself out in the mirror. She would have wanted to reapply her lipstick, but it was in her purse, which she had dropped on one of the beds.
As soon as she returned, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
“Why did you do that?” she had to ask.
“I figured we needed to get it out of the way. I feel better; what about you?”
“I feel fine.” After she said it, they both laughed. “Let me pour you just a few fingers.”
“Are you trying to take advantage of me?” he asked.
He thought the shocked look on her face was priceless. “I’m just kidding, Nesta. You’re too young to know it, but that’s a line from the movie The Graduate. ‘Are you trying to take advantage of me, Mrs. Robinson?’ are the exact words.”
She handed him the glass. “I know the movie the same way you know it— after the fact on the late-night movie channel.”
He’d been in an audience the day it came to São Paulo, but he couldn’t admit that to her. He nodded. “Okay, my dear, touché.” He held up the glass. “To great old movies.”
They clicked glasses.
Chapter Six
They sat on her bed and talked, sporadically watched the last half of a cable movie, and finished the bottle. She told him her story and laughed so hard in telling it that her sides were hurting.
“I really want to meet your parents,” he said again.
“I can’t let that happen. No good will come from it.”
He took her hand. “You’re very lucky. It sounds like you have two parents who love you very much. How could I not want to meet two individuals with such first-class taste?”
The movie ended, and the theme music for HBO’s Real Sex started. They both looked up at the screen.
“When I lived in the dorm, this music would always bust me.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“It was bad enough just being in on a Saturday night, but then this silly music would give away the fact, all up and down the hallway, that I was alone and watching the sexy stuff.”
She had a way of telling a story that brought a smile to his face each time. Halfway through she would start laughing, and the ending was just barely language. He would find himself laughing with her more than at the story.
“So what’s wrong with watching Real Sex?” He waited until she finished laughing to ask.
“Have you ever seen it?”
“No, I don’t watch a lot of television, and I’m usually working nights.”
“Well, then we’ll just have to keep watching. Won’t we?”
He nodded. He thought the on-the-street interviews were the whole point, but in the next scene he noticed two men were making a very realistic life-size doll. He never would have thought a doll could turn him on.
“What are you thinking? You have such a strange look on your face.”
“I’m thinking, I’ve got to get me one of those dolls!”
She screamed as she laughed.
“Your laughter is scary,” he told her.
“I know. My friends say it’s when my real ghetto comes out.”
“I’m assuming Winnetka is not known for its ghetto?”
“You heard that, huh? I live with my parents, and my parents live well. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, is it?”
“Not at all. Are you ashamed of it?”
“No, but I’m conscious of it. Sometimes I feel like people want me to apologize, and then there’s those who seem to want me to explain. No offense.”
“None taken, but why would I be offended by that?”
“The ones who seem to want me to explain tend to be white.”
“Okay, and again, why would that offend me?”
“I know what you’re saying. You don’t speak or answer for all white men.”
“I don’t speak or answer for any white men.”
The Real Sex doll had been sent to a couple. A woman bought it for her boyfriend or husband, he missed which one, and they clearly planned to use it as the sex toy for which it was intended. “I’ve really got to get me a doll like that!” he said.
“I’ve seen this one before; those dolls are hecka expensive. But getting back to what you said. You do speak for yourself, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Are you trying to say you’re not white?”
“No, I’m saying I’m not white. Do I look white to you?”
“You have a great tan, but yeah, you look white to me.”
He laughed. “I was born in Mali. Didn’t we cover this at the airport? I thought you said Rico told you that you were driving for an African.”
“He did, but when I saw you I figured I misheard. And there are white Africans, aren’t there?”
“There are whites born in Africa. I consider myself a black African. I know it’s hard to believe with my skin looking as light as it does right now, but trust me, I know who I am. I have more African DNA than most African-Americans.”
“Wow.”
“Why wow?”
“Until now I thought you were the first white guy I was really attracted to.”
He looked at a few more minutes of Real Sex while the words found root in his mind. When he realized what he’d almost missed, he turned off the television.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because that’s not real sex, but I’d like to show you what is.”
They were sitting on the bed that was right in front of the television. Both had gotten as comfortable as a fully-dressed upright person can on a queen-size bed.
In a single move he embraced her, flipped her on top of him, ran his left hand through her hair, and tightly clinched her waist with his right hand after running it over her behind as he kissed her with more passion than she’d ever felt. The move told her two things: he was extremely strong, and he had considerable experience.
“Whoa, slow down, Skippy.”
With the language part of his brain not working at its usual speed, her words again took a moment to catch up to the smile on his face.
“Slow down, Skippy?” he repeated aloud. He opened his eyes and sat up. “Nesta, did I misinterpret what you said?”
She swung her legs back to the floor. “No, you didn’t. I did say I was attracted to you, and I am, but I didn’t say we had to do anything about that attraction. I’m not a slut—you paid for a driver!”
“I never. . .I wouldn’t.” He didn’t know what to say. “Do you think that’s how I see you?”
“Not yet, but the thought is likely to occur to you if I let you jump my bones tonight.”
He looked at her. Her hair was going in every possible direction, and to him it couldn’t have looked cuter. “Those curls are natural, aren’t they?”
She nodded hesitantly.
“That question embarrasses you?”
“No, not really.”
“But you don’t like talking about your hair because, like your height, it was one of the things the girls teased you about?”
She nodded.
“Because it was yet another thing that made you perfect and them jealous?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Darling, the great thing about looking like you is other people will say it for you.”
“As strange as it might sound, I’d rather talk about this embarrassing moment and not rehash past embarrassments.”
“Nesta, I would love to spend the night between your legs, but not if you don’t want me there. Do you want to continue watching television, or would you prefer I retire to my room?”
She didn’t have any idea of what she wanted to do. “I don’t know.”
“Okay,” he said softly. “What do you know?” He smiled. He could see how difficult this was for her. She looked so young and vulnerable. And, he had to admit, sexy; she looked sexy too.
“I know I want you to stay.”
“Okay, that’s a start.” He stretched out again. “Do you want the television back on?”
“Sure.”
He clicked the remote, and when the picture returned a woman was dancing with a pole. “Maybe we should find something other than the sexy stuff?” he asked.
“Good idea.”
He found a cartoon that was geared toward adults. “What about this?”
“I like this show.”
They watched for a few minutes. It was a funny show, and they both laughed aloud.
“Ian,” she said during the second commercial.
“Nesta,” he teased.
“I’m not a virgin.”
“Always good to get that pesky mess out of the way.”
She shoved him as she laughed, and it caused him to break his straight face. “You’ve got to stop teasing me.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“I know you probably didn’t think I would be at twenty-five, did you?”
“I hadn’t thought about it one way or the other. I would prefer to avoid virgins, if that’s what you’re asking me.”
“But there’s a big difference between not-a-virgin and Superman.”
“Now I’m confused again.” Normally he wouldn’t feel good about repeatedly admitting he didn’t understand, but he could see that she appreciated it. “Are you calling me Superman, and if you are, why?”
“I know a guy who looks like you would be experienced, but I’m not. . .”
“A virgin?”
“Right, but I’m not that experienced too, or neither. What would the word be?”
“The word is all right. It’s all alright, Nesta.”
“I know it is, but. . .but I do like you.”
“And I like you. I had a great time tonight and when I go to sleep, which needs to be soon, I will have a smile on my face thinking about this evening.”
“You can sleep in here, if you want.”
Her invitation confused him. He decided to listen in; he didn’t have a clue to her intentions.
He listened, and it was all right there on the surface. She’d never been in a motel room by herself, and the only other times had been with her parents. She wasn’t admitting it yet to herself, but she was afraid of the noise she was hearing outside their door.
He stopped and listened to the outside noise. There was a little traffic and some footsteps, but he’d been in much noisier motels.
“I’ll make a deal with you. We’ll have this sleep-over, but only if we share this bed. Deal?”
“Deal, but that doesn’t mean sex.”
“I can live with that.”
She smiled and he listened. She was happy that she would not have to be alone in the strange room.
“I need to wash my face. It’s one of my many night rituals.” She went to the bathroom without waiting for his reply—if he had one.
His hang up was not sleeping in his clothes. When he heard the water running he took off everything except his undershirt and briefs. He wanted to hang up his clothes, but he opted for carefully laying them across the chair. Ian figured hanging them would make him appear prissy again.
When she returned she was wearing a long, pale egg shell white gown. He couldn’t imagine a color that would have looked more perfect against her beautiful brown skin with its red undertones. She’d washed off her makeup, and her face looked at least five years younger.
“You look great.” he told her.
He was under the covers. She noticed his clothes on the chair immediately.
“Are there some more rituals I need to know about?”
“I did them all in there except one.”
“And that would be?”
She walked toward the bed, smiling. His heart raced in anticipation. How did a woman so young learn to tease so well?
She stopped on the side of the bed where she would sleep and looked at him. “I hope this isn’t going to be too weird for you,” she said.
He laughed. “I believe there’s something to be said for weird.”
With the only light in the room being at her back, she had no idea how lovely she looked in the nearly transparent gown. It wasn’t often that he met a human woman with the height and the soft curves he tended to associate with Hunters and Trackers. She really surprised him when he saw her getting on her knees. It wasn’t the move of an inexperienced woman, and he wondered why she got on the floor instead of the foot of the bed, but he wasn’t going to be the one to offer a protest.
He scooted toward her, but he stopped when he saw her clasp her hands together. She lowered her head until it was leaning against her hands. With her eyes closed, she prayed.
She’s praying.
He looked at the top of her curly mop of hair and fought the urge to run his hands through the black ringlets. Ian had slept with as many women as an attractive man could manage in multiple life times. He’d never had one of them get on her knees and pray before coming to bed with him. He suspected one of praying while in bed, but that had been at the turn of the twentieth century while living in a religious compound. A lot of them had called on God at that moment that the French call la petite mort—but that didn't count.
He scooted back to his side.
“I hope you put in a good word for me,” he said when she stood. Looking at her fresh face made him almost feel like a pedophile for his earlier thoughts.
“Actually I did, Ian.”
“Thank you.”
She got in the bed. “So do you want to see if we can catch a good movie?”
“You go ahead, it won’t bother me, but I’m going to try to get some sleep.”
“Okay.”
He heard the sadness in her voice. He stilled himself and listened to her thoughts before he had a chance to stop himself. He doesn’t want to kiss me goodnight, was the thought he heard.
“Nesta, would it be breaking the rules if I kiss you goodnight?”
She smiled and then caught herself
and tried to appear blasé. “I think a kiss would be within the rules.”
He scooted to her side and pulled her toward him. Taking full advantage of the setup, he molded his body to hers and sought her mouth by kissing his way up from her neck. The floral scent he knew he would forever associate with her was strong on her neck and in her hair. “What is your scent called?” he asked when he broke the kiss.
Scented Dreams ((A Dogon-Hunters Series Novel)) Page 5