Chapter 6
Nina and Ian walked hand in hand along the cobblestone streets, stopping to peek in the different shops and boutiques before coming to where Ian took her for brunch.
Mixed with the thrill of getting to know each other, there was still the element of feeling easy and comfortable together.
They talked about their respective lives on opposite ends of the globe, their favorite books, music and movies, politics, hopes, and dreams. Ian told her how he’d gotten started painting. It was during his junior year in high school. His mother was very ill and part of her recovery was art therapy.
“She liked to paint in the mornings,” he began, his memory drifting off to the sunrises that glistened across the Caribbean, washing the whitewashed porch in an orange glow. He focused on Nina, who had a half smile on her face. “She wasn’t very good,” he confessed, “but she enjoyed it. I would sit with her on the weekends while she worked. I guess it started when I would make suggestions to her as she painted—about color combinations or objects. She started letting me use her paints to show her what I meant. Before long I was painting. I still have no idea where the skill came from. I somehow was able to see in between the lines, beyond the eye.” He shook his head as if still amazed by it all.
“Some talents come naturally,” she said and took a sip of her wine, looking above the rim of her fluted glass into his eyes.
Ian tried hard to keep his thoughts clear, but when she said things like that accompanied by that “come hither” look in her eyes, he lost all concentration. Fortunately the busboy came and cleared the table, giving him a moment to regroup. Nina was reapplying her lipstick, which didn’t help.
She dropped her lipstick into her purse and clicked it closed. She drew in a long, deep breath that made her luscious breasts rise and fall and sent his imagination into a million directions. He shifted in his seat.
“Have you ever taken one of the cruises along the water?” Ian asked as they prepared to leave.
“Only in New York, during the summer. There’s always a jazz cruise on the Hudson.” He was right on her when she stood as he helped her out of her seat. What she wanted to do was turn around into his arms and sample him right then and there. His scent was driving her crazy.
“I was thinking, if you want, we can do one of the cruises this evening, listen to some music, dance a little. It’s my last free night for a while. Tomorrow the lounge opens and . . . I’ll be all tied up.”
The heat of his breath brushed her neck and hot-wired her brain. She wasn’t sure what he’d just said—something about tying her up—but she agreed anyway.
“Perfect. I’ll make reservations and pick you up around seven. They shove off at eight.”
“I’ll be ready.”
He pressed his palm against her lower back as he guided her outside. “I know,” he responded in a thick whisper.
“Mind if we stop at the market before heading back?” Nina asked as they walked to Ian’s car.
“Not at all. One of my favorites is about two blocks down, near that light.” He pointed, but all Nina could see was the way the muscles in his arm rippled like the ocean, and she imagined herself held captive by them and carried away to some remote locale where it was just the two of them, exploring the hidden treasure of each other’s bodies and . . .
“This is it.”
She came up short, not realizing that they’d come to a stop or even that they’d been walking.
Ian reached around her and opened the glass and chrome door, and mercifully a cool air-conditioned breeze wrapped around her and lowered her rising temperature.
“Of course, nothing beats picking fruits from your own tree and vegetables from your own garden,” Ian was saying as they stepped inside.
“Back home?”
“Hmm, umm. My folks grew all of our vegetables in the yard. We had a mango tree and an orange tree out front. Came in handy when things got tough financially.”
Nina frowned as she picked up a cucumber. “How?” She turned to him and ran her thumb along the slick skin.
“We’d sell what we grew at the market. Make ends meet.” He looked down at the basket of sweet peaches, picked one up, and took a deep bite. The succulent juice burst in his mouth, slipped over the side, which he licked away with his tongue.
Nina felt her own juices flowing as she watched him tease and suck the tender fruit even as she mindlessly ran her fingers up and down the hard surface of the cucumber and across its bulbous top.
Ian did everything short of saying a Hail Mary to keep his building erection in check. He knew she’d taste just as sweet as the fruit he had in his mouth, and he couldn’t wait to sample her and . . .
“Ian? Is that you?”
He turned in the direction of a voice and did a double take. “Cara.”
Before he could get in another word, she walked up to him and kissed him full on the lips, looping her arms around his neck like a woman who knew her man.
Whoever this Cara was, she was nothing less than a bronze bombshell. Petite, maybe no more than five foot five, curves from head to toe, arresting gray-green eyes, and layers of strawberry blonde hair that bounced around her shoulders. She was an almost perfect shoo-in for the actress and onetime Miss America Vanessa Williams.
Nina didn’t know which way to look. Had this been Brooklyn, she might have said something to the woman who had totally disrespected her presence. But it wasn’t her call and Ian wasn’t her man and this wasn’t Brooklyn.
Ian peeled Cara’s arms from around him and held her away from him. He looked her firmly in the eye, then took Nina’s hand that still held the cucumber. “Cara Kingston, this is Nina Forbes.” He moved closer to Nina so that they became a united front.
Nina’s spirits instantly lifted. She could just kiss him. She pressed her hip closer to his and smiled sweetly at Cara. “Nice to meet you.”
Cara didn’t miss a beat. “And you as well.” She turned her full one-hundred-watt voltage attention on Ian, displaying impossibly perfect white teeth. “Imagine running into you here.” She made a little face. “I had no idea you’d left Barbados,” she said in the delicate mixture of British and Caribbean.
“Should you?”
She wagged a manicured finger at him. “I thought we were friends.”
Ian moved closer to Nina and casually put his arm around her waist. “So what brings you here?” he asked, diverting her question.
“I came down with friends. We’re staying for about two weeks. We have a condo just off the water. You must come by and bring”—she glanced at Nina for a moment—“Dina.”
“Nina.”
Cara lightly slapped her brow with the heel of her palm. “Forgive me. I’m so terrible with names.” Her deep dimples flashed. “Imagine being a public figure and not able to remember names.” She slowly shook her head as if the confession were the saddest thing she’d ever done. “In any event, the invitation is open. We’re having a ‘thing’ this weekend.” She dug in her purse, found a business card, and wrote the address and her cell number on the back. She handed it to Ian. “Do drop by. It would be good to have you . . . over.” She turned to Nina with wide eyes. “And you as well.” She reached up and kissed Ian’s cheek this time. “Try to make it, love,” she said into his ear. She turned away and strolled off, leaving her flowery scent behind.
Nina pushed out a breath and felt the stiffness in her back begin to relax.
Ian squeezed her hand. “Sorry about that. Cara can be a bit much sometimes.”
Nina laughed lightly and continued examining the fruit. She wondered if Cara tasted the sweet peach juice that had certainly lingered on Ian’s mouth when she stole that kiss. She was dying to know how well they knew each other, but she would walk barefoot on broken glass before she showed any interest or concern whatsoever.
“I’m going to get a basket. I see already that what I want will be too much to carry.”
Nina studied him as he walked down the vegetable aisle. She hadn’t had the opportunity before to get the full effect of his confident swagger, a Denzel kind of stroll that made her imagine him just walking right on up inside her and there would be nothing she could do to stop him.
Nina shook her head to scatter the vision as Ian returned, and the coming-right-at-ya view was equally as stimulating.
“I probably should have gotten one too,” Nina said, needing to speak some words to clear her head.
“We can share.” He winked.
They walked up and down the aisles, picking up strawberries, bags of bing cherries, peaches, tomatoes, romaine lettuce, baby carrots, and fresh string beans until the basket was near to overflowing.
“Either we check out or get another basket,” Nina quipped.
“Is there anything else you see that you want?”
Nina swallowed. Her throat was dry. She was a breath away from him, close enough to feel the steady beat of his heart thumping against his chest. Or was that her heart? “Nothing else from here,” she said, coyly.
His brow quirked. “Let’s go then.” He took their selections to the cashier and was placing them on the counter when Nina began plucking items from the basket.
“What are you doing?”
“These are the things I picked up. I can’t have you paying for them.”
He took the box of strawberries from her hand and put it back on the counter. “And why not?”
She blinked several times. “Well . . . because it’s not right.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Why?” he probed, enjoying her moment of discomfort even as he continued to unpack the basket.
“ ’Cause we’ll get our stuff all mixed up,” she offered.
His smile came full bloom. “I’m looking forward to getting our stuff all mixed up.” He bent his head and kissed her until they were interrupted by the throat-clearing of the cashier.
Ian released her lips and turned his attention on the cashier. “How much is that?”
“Forty-two dollars and sixty cents.”
He gave her his credit card. Nina picked up one of the smaller bags. Ian took the other two after signing the slip and getting his card back. They walked to his car.
“Thanks. I owe you.”
Ian opened the trunk. “Only if you want to owe me.” He put the packages in the trunk and shut it.
She stood in front of him, looked up into his eyes, let them roam over his face for a moment. “To be quite honest, I don’t know what I want to do with you,” she said with a husky note of invitation.
He held her chin between his fingers. “Shame . . . I know exactly what I want to do with you.”
Nina’s heart bumped in her chest. Her face was on fire.
Ian opened the passenger door for her and somehow she managed to get in. She wiggled into a comfortable position. If Ian didn’t put out the fire that was raging inside of her—and soon—she was sure she would combust.