Black Diamond (7 page)

“Don’t…” Her protest escaped in a hushed whisper. Her head fell back against his shoulder and she moaned. He allowed his hand to move lower. Pressing her body to him, he entered her.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” he said in rhythmic cadence with gentle strokes of his fingers.

“You can’t control me.”

“Please stay.”

He continued to plead with his hands, stroking her until she had trouble breathing. He watched the rapid movements of her chest until she screamed a hoarse release.

“All you have to do is ask,” she stated with her eyes closed.

“I’ll remember that.”

She laughed. He joined in, once he felt her body relax in his arms. He looked down on her face searching for any traces of her anger. Harold had to control his emotions with her. He had never had to censor himself with a woman. They always did what he said, when he said it.

“Harold, I can’t stay the night. Sit with me for a second. I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me what?” The edge in his voice hung in the air as she turned to face him. Her brow lifted. “I’m sitting,” he said.

He sat on the end of the bed with his hands clinched in tight fists on his knees. Ashanta climbed in the bed and patted the space beside her. Without a word, he laid next to her. He extended his arm and she snuggled down, laying her head on his shoulder, running her fingers through his chest hair. The smooth texture was different. How would she tell him?

“I’m listening.” He interrupted her musing.

“Harold, there are some things you don’t know about me.” She felt his body tense underneath her. She continued, “I had a different life before moving to America.” She paused, appreciative that he remained silent as she collected her thoughts.

“I cannot tell you everything you should know, but I will soon. I promise.” For the first time in her life, she felt insecure. She would fix this. She knew she could. She needed him to understand.

“I don’t like being in the dark. Are you in trouble? Is there something I can do?”

The questions rushed at her with lightening speed, she had to handle this carefully. She decided to tell him a story of how it all began.

“You know that I’m from Angola. It’s where I lived until moving to America to attend graduate school. I was around thirteen years old when I had a run in with some young thugs while walking home from school.” She felt his body react. She began to stroke his chest.

“We didn’t live in the best part of town, but my parents worked hard. My mother cleaned many houses to pay for my private school and my father took any job he could to support our household. The only thing they expected in return was for me to do well in school and make something of myself.” Ashanta smiled, seeing her mother’s face. She felt Harold’s thumb run across her cheek, drying her tears. She did not realize she was crying. She kissed his knuckles.

“That day, I saw them gathered several hundred yards ahead of me. There were about six or seven of them. I scanned the area and didn’t see anyone else around. My instincts didn’t kick in until it was too late.”

She felt him pull her closer. His chin rested against her head. She snuggled closer, seeking his warmth. She had to finish.

“They spotted me. It was as if I could read their minds. I dropped my backpack and ran for my life. They followed. I screamed for help.” Her tears were flowing. She had never shared this experience with anyone. Not even her mother.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here.”

She could hear their laughter as it hung in the air like the sounds of jackals. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her on the dirt-paved path. Her white dress shirt turned orange from her tears mixing with the airborne dust. She continued amidst the quivers moving through her body.

“They gained on me. I could hear their heckling. I thought they would catch me. Then I made it to the clearing and a man stopped me.”

She sat silent. He invaded her thoughts by asking, “Did you know him? Did he help you?”

“No and yes.” Her frosty tone stunned them both. Ashanta struggled to hold her temper knowing that she needed to make her point and move on. How would she tell him? He gave her the space she needed to finish. She placed a trail of kisses on his chest appreciative of his support. He moaned, rubbing her arm in support.

“He helped me. But later he would use that trust to deceive me and my family.” There she finished. She waited, knowing that he would want to know more than she was prepared to share.

“Are you in danger?”

Honestly, yes and no.
She had a plan. She just needed time to pull together the pieces. Hearing her mother scream for her life had shocked her into action. She had to do something.

“I take your silence to mean yes.” His voice sounded different. She lifted her head from his shoulder and saw something foreign in his eyes. What was it…anger? The darkness in the room hid the finer details of his face. She ran her hand along his jaw. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm.

“I won’t pressure you into saying more, but I’m here. And you know I’ll do anything I can to help.”

He caught her tears with the tip of his tongue. Flipping her onto her back, he let his kiss communicate everything she needed from him. She felt so lucky. He was giving her the courage to face her demon.

He pulled back and she whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Harold did not return to bed after she left. He would call a few people and have an investigator look into it. He knew there was more to Ashanta’s story, not knowing made him feel uneasy. His decision to look into it further helped improve his mood.

He sat in the small family room for a while, reliving the moments they’d shared. Shaking it off, Harold walked to the bar, dropped a few ice cubes in a glass, and poured himself a double Bourbon.

He heard a knock at the door. The time on the wall clock showed closed to two o’clock in the morning.

“Ashanta,” he whispered. Maybe she changed her mind. Harold placed the stopper into the fluted neck of the crystal decanter. Gently storing it away, he made his way to the front door and opened it.

What is he doing here?
“Son...” Harold stepped back, allowing Saul to enter. “Making late night house calls?” Saul gravitated to the family room. Harold walked closely behind.

“No, I just wanted to come by and apologize about earlier tonight,” Saul said sitting on the stiff sofa.

“It couldn’t wait until some other time? A phone call would have sufficed.” Harold finished pouring his drink. He suggestively held the cantor up towards Saul.

“I probably shouldn’t, but I’ll have a quick drink with my ole’ man.” They laughed. Harold poured another drink. He placed Saul’s drink on the coffee table positioned in the middle of the family room and sat in the nearby recliner. He took a long drink, placing the glass on the end table beside his chair.

Harold watched Saul, who appeared more relax than earlier tonight. He wondered whether he should ask Saul why he disliked Ashanta. But he really didn’t care. So why ask? They drank in silence. Both men sat silently assessing each other.

Saul stood and asked, “Would you like a refill?”

“Sure.”

Saul returned, passing Harold his drink.

“So, son do you have anything else you want to discuss?” Harold asked reclined, enjoying the quality of the brandy. He swirled the glass causing the ice cubes to tap in a singsong rhythm before nearly draining it.

“No, sir, I think I’ve had enough family drama for one night.” They stood and walked to the front door.

“I understand. I think that last drink did it for me, too. I’m going to bed. Do you need a ride home?”

“No. Goodbye father.” Saul stood motionless with an assessing eye.

“Good night, son.” Harold watched Saul, the eldest of his four children leave. The two constantly clashed over the smallest things. Saul needed to toughen up.

Harold felt the effects of one too many drinks while he climbed the stairs. His feet felt like lead as he slumped to the bed.

The phone on his nightstand rang and the caller ID displayed Ashanta Kenani. He quickly answered and they talked for a few minutes. She had arrived home safely and she thanked him for a wonderful night. At the end of the conversation, Harold pulled back the covers, climbed into bed and turned off the lamp. He and Ashanta had passed a great hurdle tonight. He was certain many more would come before things smoothed over between them.

Harold was willing to do what was necessary to have her and with that declaration, he closed his eyes, thinking of his ebony queen before drifting off to sleep.

Two margaritas, a kiss from a handsome stranger…what was she thinking?

Her head was protesting and she would laugh if she didn’t feel like it would explode. Camille usually passed on the drinks, but stuck to her vow and had a good time.

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling willing her body to move. She’d skip her run, shower and work on transcribing her notes from last night. She would start with Harold and Saul after witnessing their little spat.

Camille pulled herself into a sitting position, grabbing her glasses as she noticed the time. It was close to nine o’clock. She groaned because she hated waking up late.

“Coffee first,” she declared. She made a mental note to call Ashanta.

Ashanta and Harold?
She still couldn’t believe they showed up together as if it were nothing. Camille shook her head and pain ignited due to the unwelcomed movement.
No more margaritas.

Lethargic, she placed her feet on the floor, moving toward the kitchen. She actually had two margaritas and they were delicious, especially the strawberry one. However, despite loving the fruity drink, her low tolerance for tequila was the cause for her hangover.

Moving with precision, she prepared her coffee. She pressed the power button only to stand and watch the dark liquid gather in the pot. The coffee settling in the pot made her think of Mr. Hershey. She caught her breathe thinking about his dreamy eyes and alluring body. She still felt the effects of her body fused to his in a slow dance.

Camille walked to the sink and splashed cool water on her face. She turned, leaning against the counter and wondered whether giving him the wrong number was a good idea. She had a feeling that she would have liked spending time with him.

“No, you don’t have time for that,” she chided herself. Secretly she wished she did. Her life was not her own, so pursuing a relationship was out of the question. She was not Camille Blackwell in Houston, but Camille Carmichael.

She recalled the look that Ashanta and Harold shared and she didn’t blame Ashanta for being attracted to him. Employment issues aside, he
was
good looking. His gray-streaked hair added to his appeal. He had it all – the looks, the money and he seemed to be in love with Ashanta. Who would have ever thought?

She reached for a coffee mug, ready to clear her mind of the remnants of the happy hour
and
Marc. Pouring her coffee, she began to wonder about the source of the little spat between Harold and Saul? Camille watched the powdered creamer lighten the hue of her coffee as she considered whether Ashanta knew more than she realized.

She grabbed her cup and made her way to the living room to read her notes. She had another two weeks before her monthly meeting with her boss at the bureau, Derek Lewis, to report on her findings. Between now and then she hoped her promotion would give her access to the contacts they needed to end this case.

Camille lowered her body to the couch, placing her cup and files on the table. She liked Harold. In their interactions, he was fair and gave credit where it was due. Her personal feeling aside, Camille knew she could have a long road ahead.

* * *

Sandy wild curls, streaked with blonde highlights and a perfect nose covered with little freckles.
He would classify her as adorable if her petite body didn’t send blood rushing to the very organ that made him male.
Cute.