The afternoon sun had shifted, sending pinpoints of gold through the leaves of trees flanking Trace Road. The cargo area of Veronica’s truck was crowded with shopping bags from several of the boutiques she and Candace had visited. Much to her surprise she’d purchased quite a few sheer and lace-trimmed undergarments. On a dare from her sister, she had bought a lacy black thong panty and matching bra. She would wear the bra, but doubted whether she’d ever wear the thong. The cooler mountain air flowing through the vents of the Lexus was refreshing, unlike the humidity smothering Atlanta like a weighted blanket.
She pulled into the driveway to her home, smiling. Shutting off the engine, she left the SUV, retrieving the shopping bags from the rear; a minute later she unlocked the front door. She’d been away for three days, and it felt good to be back.
Walking up the staircase to her bedroom, she dropped her purchases on a chair in her sitting room, checked the messages on the telephone on the bedside table, listening while undressing.
She raised an eyebrow when Kumi’s voice came through the speaker, greeting her in French and telling her that he’d enjoyed spending time with her. The next message was also from him. In this one he confessed to missing her, hoping she would return his call. He left a number. The third and final message stunned her with his intensity. “I miss you, Veronica. Please call me when you get this message.” Then there was a pause before he spoke again. “I love you.”
Sinking to the bed, clad only in her bra and panties, she stared at the French doors. Each time she saw Kumi, her feelings for him intensified. She was totally entranced whenever he was near and she ached for the protectiveness of his strong embrace. Her eyelids fluttered wildly as she reached for the telephone.
Kumi paced the floor in the small cottage like a caged cat. His initial reunion with his father hadn’t gone well. While his mother clung to him weeping inconsolably, his father had stood off to the side glaring. He’d acknowledged Dr. Lawrence Walker’s presence with a nod, and then walked out.
He had expected the reunion to be strained, but thought his father would have at least said something—even if he were to just yell at him, proving that his relationship with his father would never change, not even after a fourteen-year separation. Kumi had ridden back to his cabin saddened, tears not for himself but for his mother, because she’d always ended each of her letters to him with a prayer of reconciliation for him and his father. It was apparent that all of her prayers were in vain.
He stopped pacing long enough for his thoughts to stray to Veronica. He hadn’t seen her in three days, although he’d left several messages on her answering machine for her to call him. When she hadn’t his frustration level had gone off the chart. After the third message he thought perhaps she had taken ill or injured herself and he had ridden over to her house. When he didn’t see her truck he knew she had gone away.
He refused to believe that she’d returned to Atlanta. She’d said she planned to spend the summer in North Carolina. He could handle any disappointment—his father’s alienation and his mother’s tears as long as he had Veronica in his life.
When, he mused, had he become so dependent on her? What was there about her that sent his emotions into over-drive? Why had he fallen in love with her and not some other woman in his past?
The phone on a table in the parlor chimed softly. Turing slowly, he stared at it as if it were a foreign object as it rang again. It rang a third time and he was galvanized into action. Taking three long strides, he picked up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Bonjour, Kumi.”
His smile matched the warm glow flowing through his body. “How are you, darling?”
“A little tired, but glad to be home. If you’re not busy tomorrow evening I’d like to take you out to dinner. My treat.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t permit you to pay.”
“Why not? Every time we go out you pay for everything.”
“I’m an old-fashioned Southern guy—”
“You’re more French than Southern and you know it,” Veronica said, interrupting him.
“I’m French on the outside and Southern inside.”
She laughed softly. “What if we compromise?”
“What are you proposing?”
“We split the check.”
“I’m only agreeing because I want to see you,” Kumi admitted softly. “What time is dinner?”
“Be here at around five-thirty.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Kumi ended the call, exhaling a long sigh of contentment. It would be less than twenty-four hours before he saw Veronica again.
A threat of rain persisted throughout the next day with dark clouds and an intermittent roll of thunder. Veronica had made dinner reservations at Gabrielle’s. The restaurant, with its beautiful Victorian dining room, offered Southern dishes that were transformed into classic entrées without losing their roots. The highlight of dining at Gabrielle’s was a splendid view of Asheville from the restaurant’s wraparound porch.
She’d spent the day putting up several loads of laundry, dusting and weeding and pruning her flower garden. Now she looked forward to relaxing and spending time with Kumi. She smiled when she thought of the man who’d put the glow back in her cheeks and her eyes. He’d become her friend and confidant—someone she’d confided her most closely guarded secret. There was so much about him she liked—so much she could love if only he’d been older. She still had to convince herself the ten-year difference in their ages wasn’t an issue.
When, she thought, had she become so insular and narrow-minded? Had she become like the very people she’d left Atlanta to avoid? Could she open her mind and her heart to accept whatever life was offering her? A knowing smile softened her delicate features.
Yes, her heart sang.
“Yes, I can,” she whispered softly.
The doorbell rang and she left her bedroom, made her way down the winding staircase and crossed the living room to the front door. A bright smile tilted her eyes at the corners when she opened to the door to find Kumi staring at her as if she were a stranger. Her penetrating gaze lingered on his impassive expression.
Unlatching the screen door, she pushed it open. “Come in.”
Kumi stepped into the living room, his gaze fixed on Veronica’s face. She looked beautiful, but fragile and untouchable.
Moving closer, he curved an arm around her waist, pulling her up close. His free hand cradled her chin, raising her face to his. “I missed you like crazy,” he whispered seconds before he claimed her mouth with an explosive kiss that sucked the breath from her lungs.
He kissed her with the passion of a predator tearing into its prey, holding her in a strong grip that brooked no resistance. The uneasiness and frustration that had welled up in Kumi overflowed as he staked his claim. He’d confessed to Veronica that he loved her—that was something he’d never told another woman. And his confession made him vulnerable to a pain that was certain to surpass his alienation from his family and country.
Veronica opened her mouth to accept everything Kumi offered. Pleasure, pure and shocking, radiated from her mouth to every nerve in her body as she was transported to a place where she’d never been before. Her senses reeled as if short-circuited. The blood pounding in her head rushed to her heart, and then down to the lower part of her body, pooling in the sensitive area between her thighs. Her trembling knees buckled, and she slumped weakly against Kumi’s solid chest. He’d aroused her to heights of desire that threatened to incinerate her with its hottest flame.
Winding her arms around his waist under his jacket, her fingertips bit into the muscles in his back through the crisp fabric of his laundered shirt. Tasting him, inhaling his distinctive male scent nearly sent her over the edge.
Kumi’s ravishing mouth moved from her lips to the side of her neck, his chest rising and falling heavily. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he groaned close to her ear.
Veronica went completely still, her heart pumping wildly under her breasts. “Do what?” she gasped.
Kumi’s large hands slipped down her spine and cradled her hips. “Go away without telling me.”
The scalding blood in her veins suddenly ran ice-cold. His words and coolly disapproving tone slapped at her while her delicate nostrils flared.
“I didn’t know I was obligated to apprise you of my every move.”
Easing back, he glared at her. “You’re not obligated to me, but out of common courtesy you could’ve at least let me know you weren’t going to be home.” He’d made a fool of himself calling and leaving three messages on her answering machine.
The tenuous rein she had on her temper snapped and she jerked out of his embrace. “There’s one thing you should know about me, Jerome Walker. I’m my own woman and I don’t answer to or check in with anyone—especially a man.”
He winced when she called him Jerome. He’d grown up with everyone calling him Kumi—everyone except his parents. His father had attended college with a young African student who’d become his roommate and a lifelong friend. The two men had promised each other that if they ever fathered a son they would name him after the other. Years later, Lawrence kept his promise. However, it had been five-year-old Deborah Walker who had begun calling her parents’ last-born Kumi, which meant strong in Ghana, and the name stuck.
Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile he didn’t feel. “I don’t want to monitor your whereabouts, Ronnie. I just want more involvement in your life.”
She waved a hand. “How much more involved do you want to be? We eat together practically every day.”
“I’m not talking about sharing a meal. I want to take you out. I don’t like hiding out here.”
“We go out,” she countered hotly.
“Where, Veronica? We ride my bike,” he said, answering his own question. “We’ve gone to one movie, then ate at a place situated so deep in the woods that even the regulars have a problem finding it in the dark.”
His accusing tone stabbed her. Why was he making her the bad guy? “I didn’t come to North Carolina to become involved with a man,” she countered, “especially not one as young as you.”
Reaching out, he caught her shoulders, pulling her to his chest. “You’re back to that, aren’t you? You’re beginning to sound like a broken record. You’re not old enough to be my mother, so I suggest you drop what has become a lame, tired-ass excuse about my being too young for you.”
Rage rendered her speechless until the silence looming between them became unbearable. Veronica felt her body trembling—not from fear but a rising fury.
“Take your hands off me.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I think you’d better leave before I say something I might regret later.” She was surprised she sounded so calm when all she wanted to do was scream at him.
Kumi’s hands fell away and he moved past her, taking long, determined strides to the door. Veronica did not turn around until she heard the soft click of the screen door closing, and then the sound of a car starting up. After he’d driven away she turned around, her golden eyes shimmering with un-shed moisture.
He’d ruined it. She was ready for Kumi, ready to sleep with him, and ready for whatever they would offer each other and he’d sabotaged everything with his display of wanting to control her life. She’d believed he was mature enough to have an affair without becoming obsessive.
Turning on her heels, she headed for the staircase. Ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and a pair of running shoes, she walked out of the house and headed for the narrow path leading into a wooded area several hundred feet away. She had to think and she always thought best when she walked.
Kumi lay across his bed, in the dark, listening to the steady beats of his own heart resounding in his ears. A warning voice had whispered in his head that he was going to lose Veronica even before he claimed her—all of her. He hadn’t realized what he’d said to her until after the words slipped past his lips—words he could not retract.
“I can’t lose her,” he whispered. Not because of a few carelessly uttered words. Sitting up, he turned on a bedside lamp, and then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He hadn’t stood up to his father—to demand his respect. He’d taken the easy way out and run away, and he’d been running for fourteen years.
Pulling on a pair of jeans, a pullover cotton sweater and boots, he made his way out of the small bedroom, through the parlor and out into a lightly falling mist. Opening the door to the Camry parked under the carport, he slipped behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition and switched on the headlights.
His expression was a mask of stone as he concentrated on navigating the dark winding road. He did not intend to give Veronica Johnson up without a fight. A muscle throbbed spasmodically in his jaw as he maneuvered up the hill to Trace Road. The half-dozen structures along the stretch of paved road were ablaze with light.
He hadn’t realized how fast his heart was beating until he turned into the driveway behind Veronica’s vehicle. Inhaling deeply, he cut off the engine, pushed open the door and placed a booted foot on the wet driveway. Golden light from table lamps illuminated the first floor, beckoning him closer as he made his way to the open door.
He peered through the screen at the same time he rang the bell. The melodious chiming echoed throughout the house. Waiting a full sixty seconds, he rang the bell again before trying the doorknob. It opened to his touch. She hadn’t locked it.
“Veronica,” he called out, stepping into the living room. He called her again as he walked through the living/dining room, into the kitchen and to the patio.
He searched the downstairs, not finding her, then headed for the staircase. “Ronnie!” His voice bounced off the walls in the hallway as he rushed in and out of bedrooms. A rising panic enveloped him; he couldn’t find her. A wave of hysteria paralyzed him until he heard the familiar voice behind him.
“What are you doing here?”
Turning, he breathed out an audible sigh of relief when he saw Veronica standing less than five feet away from him; she was safe. She stood motionless, moisture dotting her velvety skin. Her silk blouse was pasted to her chest, offering him an erotic display of large dark nipples showing through a sheer bra.
Veronica stared at Kumi, light smoldering in her gold-flecked eyes as she battled the dynamic vitality he exuded. She’d fought her emotions and lost miserably. Since meeting Kumi, she had made up so many excuses, spoken and unspoken, as to why she should not permit herself to become involved with him that she was even tired of them herself.
And the reason was always the same: his age.
Why was she so fixated on his being ten years younger when she’d married a man thirty years her senior? She knew the answer as it formed in her mind. It was because she wanted to shield Kumi from what she’d experienced with Bramwell: the sly looks, whispers, alienation and the blatant references to her husband being her father. All she wanted to do was protect Kumi—she loved him that much.
A small smile of enchantment touched her lips. She loved him; that much she could admit to herself, and it was only a matter of time before she would reveal to Kumi what lay in her heart.
Kumi saw her smile, taking it as a clue that her former hostility had faded. Taking two long strides, he pulled her to his chest, burying his face in her wet hair. She smelled like a clean spring rain shower.
“Kumi?” Veronica’s face was pressed against his shoulder, her arms hanging stiffly at her sides.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Why did you come back?”
He tightened his grip on her waist. “I’m surprised you’re asking that question.”
The heat from Kumi’s body seeped into Veronica’s, warming her. She’d walked too far from the house and couldn’t get back before the heavens opened, soaking her and the earth with its life-giving moisture.
“I have to ask, because I need to know.”
“I came back to apologize for saying what I said.” He pressed a kiss along the column of her neck. “I don’t want to fight with you. Please, Ronnie, don’t send me away again.”
“Why shouldn’t I send you away?”
“Because I love you, Veronica Johnson. I love you more than life itself.”
Wrapping her arms around his slim waist, Veronica moved closer. He loved her and she loved him. Loved him despite his age and his arrogance.
Easing back, she tilted her chin, meeting his tender gaze. She could no longer deny herself his presence or his touch.
The fingers of her right hand traced the outline of his mouth. “I’m not going to send you away—at least not tonight.”
Dipping his head, he brushed a kiss over her parted lips. “If that’s the case, then I want to spend the night and wake up with you next to me in the morning.” He wanted to tell her of the dreams that kept him from a restful night’s sleep. Increasing the pressure, he deepened the kiss, his tongue parting her lips. “May I stay the night, Ronnie?”
His kiss left her weak, pulling her into a slow, drugging intimacy. Her tongue met his, testing the texture before she pulled it into her mouth, making him her willing prisoner.
Veronica kissed him back with a series of slow, shivery kisses that left his mouth burning with fire—a blaze that matched the inferno raging out of control in his groin.
Kumi groaned aloud when her fingers searched under his sweater and found his straight spine. She was touching him, but he wanted to touch her.
“Yes, Kumi,” she moaned against his searching, plundering mouth. “You can stay the night.”
Raising his head, he stared at her. His eyes appeared larger, near black in the diffused light in the hallway lit by wall sconces outside each bedroom. Bending slightly, he swept her up in his arms, her arms curving around his neck.
“Merci, ma chérie.”
Veronica rested her cheek on his shoulder, closing her eyes. There was something else she had to tell Kumi before what they shared could be taken to another level.
She opened her eyes, staring up at him. “You’re right about my not being old enough to be your mother. You being ten years younger than I is really not an issue.”
A slight frown furrowed his forehead as he shifted her weight. “Then what is?”
“My late husband was thirty years my senior, and there were people in Atlanta who reminded us of that in every subtle way imaginable—especially his children.
“They were vicious, Kumi, and if I hadn’t been so in love with Bram I would’ve divorced him to spare him the insults and humiliation. I’ve been called everything from a hooker to high-price whore.
“I want to invite you to my family reunion in early August, but I shudder to think of the reaction from those—”
“Don’t worry so much, Ronnie,” he said, interrupting her. “Words are harmless.”
Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “Not when you’re on the receiving end,” she countered. Pressing her nose to his sweater, she sneezed softly.
“We’ll talk later after I get you out of these wet clothes.”
She nodded. “You can put me down now.”
He ignored her request, asking, “Which one is your bedroom?”
“It’s the one on the left.”
It took less than half a dozen steps before Kumi found himself standing in the middle of the bedroom with a four-poster mahogany bed covered with a sheer creamy drapery. His gaze swept around the space, cataloging a massive armoire carved with decorative shapes of leaves, vines and pineapples, and a matching triple dresser and rocker boasting the same design. Diaphanous sheers, flanking a double set of French doors, matched the filmy drapery falling sensuously around the bed. Soft light from a table lamp in a sitting room cast soft golden shadows throughout the large space.
He carried Veronica over to the bed, wondering if this was where she’d slept with her husband. Parting the sheer fabric, he placed her in the middle of the bed, his body following. He stared at the serene look on her face. There was no doubt she was as ready for him as he was for her.
Leaning closer, he buried his face against the side of her slender neck. “I’m not going to do anything to you you don’t want me to do. If at any time you want me to stop, just say so.”
Turning her head, she gave him a bold direct stare. “Will you be able to stop?”
He returned her penetrating look, nodding slowly. “With you I will.”
And he could. He loved her too much not to adhere to her wishes. She’d carried pain too long for him to compound it because of his own need to pour out his passions inside her fragrant body.
Raising her arms, Veronica circled his neck, pulling his head down. Then she kissed him, offering all of herself—holding nothing back. She kissed him with a hunger that belied her outward calm. Her tongue slipped between his parted lips, tasting, testing and savoring the flavor and texture of his mouth.
Kumi kissed her, his slow, drugging kisses masking the explosive fire roaring unchecked through his body. There was something about Veronica that wanted him to forego a lingering foreplay. He hadn’t known her long, but it felt as if he’d been waiting for her for years—for all of his life.
His lips continued to explore her soft, lush mouth, as his fingers were busy undoing the buttons on her blouse. The silken garment parted and he pulled back to stare at her heaving chest. A groan escaped him when he feasted on the fullness of a pair of golden breasts tipped with large nut-brown nipples clearly outlined under a sheer white bra.
The image of a child suckling from her ripe breasts—his child—flashed through his mind and he froze. Did he love Veronica enough to offer marriage? Did he love her enough to hope she would ever bear his child?
Yes, the inner voice whispered to him. He wanted Veronica as his wife and the mother of his children, but he would wait to ask her, wait until she’d come to love him as much as he loved her.
Sliding his palms under her back, he released the hook on her bra, eased the thin straps off her shoulders and then slid it off. He stared at her for a full minute before closing his eyes to conceal the lust in his gaze.
“You are perfect,” he murmured in French.
Veronica lay motionless, watching the gamut of emotions cross her soon-to-be-lover’s face as he continued to slowly undress her. Desire pulsed her veins like a slow-moving stream of burning lava incinerating everything in its wake.
It was her turn to close her eyes when he removed her blouse, jeans and shoes. Only her panties remained—a thin barrier concealing her femininity from his gaze and his possession. She opened her eyes and stared at him as he left the bed to undress. Watching intently, she admired the muscles in his long, ropy arms as he pulled the cotton sweater over his head.
Her mouth went suddenly dry when he bent over to remove his boots. Turning his back, he unsnapped his jeans, pushing them down over his firm hips. She breathed audibly through parted lips as he removed his briefs. He paused, retrieving the small packet of protection from a pocket of his jeans and slipping it on his redundant erection, and then turned to face her. The shadowy light from the lamp in the sitting area silhouetted his tall muscular body. Her gaze slipped down the broad expanse of chest covered with a fine layer of dark hair, flat, hard belly and then even lower to the rigid flesh jutting majestically between powerful thighs.