Caress (27 page)

“Now, missy, you don’t start acting like that.”

“Jerry,” Nya said to Michael, pointing at the driver, “is a thief.” In a louder voice, catching the attention of a tourist walking by, she announced, “He has never charged an appropriate fare in his life—I could tell you stories—and I refuse to get into that taxi with him.”

Michael blinked and started taking the bags out of the trunk. He didn’t see the smile Nya was hiding behind her hand. She looked at Jerry and opened her mouth to start another tirade when he started waving his hands to shut her up.

“Nya Sheranne Seymour,” he said in a perfect imitation of her parents. “You stop running my customers away with that stuff. I charge you fair and square.”

“You shouldn’t charge me at all,” she pouted and finally let herself be pulled into the embrace she had wanted since laying eyes on her parents’ oldest friend. As he said into her ear, “I haven’t seen you in donkey years, girl.”

Michael scratched his head for a minute before deciding it was time to put the bags into the trunk again. When the older man held Nya away from him and smiled, Michael simply waited for an introduction, which wasn’t long coming.

“Michael Harrison, meet Jerry McPherson, one of my daddy’s oldest friends—”

The old man sniffed.

“Enemies,” Nya corrected.

“Man still owes me money,” Jerry grumbled.

“He wouldn’t if you’d come into the company like he asked you to,” Nya retorted. Jerry led her to the car and Michael got in the backseat, feeling forgotten and a little bruised by Nya’s lack of attention.

“And work for him? You always crazy, girl.” She just laughed in response to the insult to her intelligence and they chatted amiably until she realized that he wasn’t heading into Charlotte Amalie.

“We’re going to the docks, Jerry. I was planning to come here later.”

“I just do what I’m told,” he replied cryptically.

“What are you talking about?” Nya asked, suspecting already.

“Your mom knows you’re here. She wants me to bring you home. And before you start asking questions, I tell you now, I won’t answer. She just said bring you there. Who can tell that woman no?”

He couldn’t, and Nya knew it. However, she didn’t want to go home just yet. She had a feeling that Hattie was in a mood, which meant that she was in for it. Nya grimaced and then remembered that Michael was also in the car. He couldn’t go home with her.

“At least take him to the hotel,” she pleaded.

“No,” was Jerry’s response. “She wants to see the both of you.” Nya didn’t say anything; it was useless to do so. She just sat there with her arms across her chest, seething. It was the only way to handle her apprehension.

She hated this anxiety she was experiencing. Oddly enough, though, she had more discord with her father than with her mother. He never intimidated her the way Hattie did. And the fact that she had wanted Michael to come, too. Nya had to wonder if just based on what she had heard, her mother had come to one of her infallible deductions about her feelings for Michael. Because whether she acknowledged them or not, they were there and if her mother saw it, she would want to talk about it. And there was no way around Hatsheput Seymour if she wanted to talk about something. She was the most willful woman anyone ever did see. Jerry was right; no one could every really tell her no.

When they arrived Michael took in the large house. It was a simple and beautiful place. Simple, Michael guessed, because a tropical storm wouldn’t allow for much more. The worn wooden walk that led up to the house was surrounded by brightly colored flowers and bushes. He recognized many plants from the galleries and considered how authentic the counterfeit breeze in the garden had been. Not the same, but close though. The walk bridged a meandering waterway and he could see a tiny baby iguana and several other small animals in as many colors as the beautiful vegetation.

He followed Nya and Jerry into the house as they continued to bicker. He followed them through room after beautiful room. On the walls were more original paintings than he’d ever seen anywhere outside of a museum. What was so amazing was the talent that pushed its way through each rendering. They were not, however, all characteristically Hattie Andersen, and Michael began to wonder which ones belonged to which Seymour artist. The last one he saw, though, he recognized to be Hattie’s: the two girls, older now, asleep and leaning on each other on a front porch swing.

He started to feel a little anxious, remembering that he was about to meet his absolute favorite artist. The thought of actually meeting her had never occurred to him before that moment, and he swallowed deeply. That, compounded with the fact that she was the mother of the one woman who made his pulse race whenever he was around her—even thought about her—did not help matters.

“She’s working?” Michael heard Nya ask.

“Yeah, but no worry,” Jerry answered. “She wanted to see you.”

When they reached what Michael assumed was the back of the house Nya pushed open a door and they stepped into a room flooded with light from large windows spanning three walls. There was a rust-colored sofa and a green desk but, other than that, there were only easels covered with partially finished pieces of art done in many mediums. At one easel there was a round dark-skinned woman with a red and yellow scarf tied around her head concealing her hair. It matched the flowing figure-concealing native gown. Her hands were stained blue as she colored in a rolling horizon on the canvas.

She didn’t turn her head but rather called, “Nya, it’s about time you show yourself.”

“Yeah, Ma, if you tell this crazy man here not to bother me, there’ll be no problem,” Nya retorted. Michael heard the subtle change in her accent and was dumbfounded. She had never spoken like an islander before. He hadn’t wondered about it, had simply assumed that her life in Birmingham had robbed her of that fabulous and sexy lilt. The sound slipped beneath his shirt, causing ticklish spots all down his spine. He had always wanted to hear her talk this way.

“My daughter is home.” The woman turned golden eyes on Michael, who was slightly startled by the beautiful light color against her dark skin. Then it set in that the woman had seemed to read his mind.

“Who are those boys, there?” Nya asked, pointing out of the window to three boys outside the house disappearing down an overgrown trail.

“Not grandchildren, I tell you.”

“Don’t start,” Nya replied, dropping down onto the couch.

As the woman openly stared at Michael, he found his voice. “Hello, I’m Michael Harrison, a big fan of yours.”

“A fan we have here? Thanks,” she said, smiling as she set her pastels down and dunked her hands in a pail of water set on the desk. She toweled her hands dry and then moved as if to clasp Michael’s hands. When he stretched his palm out, she turned it upward and looked into it. All he heard was a muffled, “hmph” as she let it go. “Which is your favorite?” Hattie asked, motioning for him to sit on the sofa next to Nya.

“
Attending the Sunset
,” Michael replied, recalling the picture with the three small youths that hung in his living room. “But I guess I like all of the ones with the two girls. They have so much personality and life.”

“Ah, yes. You want to know why?”

Michael was confused; however, he nodded.

“They are of Nya and Jenine. They give me the spirit with which I work.”

“That’s them?”

“Of course. In the one you like, Nya is the wee one ’cause she’s always too skinny.” Hattie continued, “She’s holding her sister’s hand and Elphonse is watching over like always.” Michael stiffened noticeably at the name. “He’s not as bad as you think, Michael—”

“Ma’am, I—”

“Everybody talks about everything in this family. Remember that.” A sparkle came into her eye. “You’ll stay here, right?”

Michael looked to Nya to find his answer. She spoke right up. “No, he’s staying at his hotel.”

“No, no, no. He can stay here.”

“Mother dear, he’s just here because of the case. I don’t see why he has to stay here.”

“Nya, you speak to me like that again and Lord! He stay here. If you stay, he stays.”

“I’m family,” Nya retorted.

“Maybe one day he’ll be family, too. Now you go show him where to sleep. Dinner will be ready soon and I want to talk to you.”

Nya realized that there was no point in arguing. There never was with Hatsheput Seymour. Sometimes she wondered who had the bigger mouth, her mother or her friend Lysette. And in front of Michael. She’d never felt this way since she was a teenager and her father frightened off her date to a big dance. She seemed to be constantly surrounded by people who believed that they knew better than she how to run her life: her mother, Lysette, Nyron, even Michael now. She knew that it was only because they cared, but she was a grown woman, successful at business and stable. Why couldn’t they all just leave her to handle things on her own?

Nya led Michael to the guest room. “I’m sure you think her the strangest woman you’ve ever come across.”

“Not at all, I like her,” Michael responded with a smile as she pushed open the door to the room. He followed her inside, closing the door behind them. “And by the way, thanks for using your old, stateside accent again.”

“What do you have against my native tongue?” Nya asked with an indignant scowl.

“This,” he replied, sweeping her into a deep and mesmerizing kiss. Viciously he plundered her mouth, making her feel all the desire that had been consuming him for the past months, the passion that had consumed him since they’d landed on that mystical island once again. He was nearly undone by her wholehearted return. There was not the slightest morsel of hesitation as she returned his kiss hungrily, proving that her desire matched his own.

He forced himself to slow down as he began to kiss the soft skin of her jaw and then her neck.

“Oh, Michael,” she moaned as her hands roamed over his back and neck. “I’ve wanted…I’ve wanted…”

“What?” he asked, lacing his hands in her twists and kissing her shoulder and collarbone. “What is it you want?”

What she wanted was for him to go on kissing her forever and ever, but her conscience invaded her hazy pleasure. She forced herself to resist that intoxicating kiss and pull away. “Mama…” she ground out hoarsely.

“You want your mama?” he inquired teasingly.

Her face heated as he watched her and she bit down on her lip, “No, I meant she’s in the studio.”

Michael’s brows furrowed. “It didn’t seem like she’d mind,” he said, still tracing feather light kisses over her face.

“No, she wants to talk to me. I’ve got to go.”

Michael released her grudgingly, and as she reached the door he called to her, “I hope that isn’t just an excuse.”

“Excuses are for people who want to go.” She cast him a seductive smile and slid around the door.

Michael ran a hand over his face, wondering when she had become so sexy and teasing, wondering if he could behave himself without her being cold and accusing, as usual. He was convinced he could not. Not with that voice that drove him crazy with wanting her. Just being in her presence made his blood boil. If he was going to support her and help her, he certainly couldn’t go around trying to make love to her at every turn. But ah…the idea.

h

Michael was unpacking when he heard crashing sounds outside his room. He got up and peered outside. Nya was crouched over a basket collecting various dropped items. He moved to help her, but she was done before he got there.

“Hey, where you going?” Michael asked, rubbing his eyes as she moved toward the back door.

Nya looked back at him. “I’m going for a swim. It’s best around this time. There aren’t so many people out. My mother isn’t going to let me go into the city until she’s satisfied that I’ve eaten, I’ve swum, and am behaving normally by all her standards.”

“Well, wait a minute,” Michael said, “I’ll go with you.”

“That’s not necessary. You can get some sleep if you want to.”

“What I want,” he said, brushing his fingers lightly across her cheek, “is to go swimming with you. I’ll be out in a minute.” He went back into his room and returned shortly wearing black trunks and a t-shirt. Then he took in for the first time what Nya was wearing. The ivory top of her swimsuit thrust her full breasts out over her taut, flat stomach, and he could see the high-cut matching bikini bottom she wore through the cream and gold wrap that hung lazily from her hips. Around her bare ankle was a string of delicate white coral. Michael swallowed, then swallowed again seeing those lush curves displayed tauntingly before him.

“You ready?” she asked hesitantly.

“For what?” His eyes snapped up to catch hers.

“To swim,” she laughed and turned to walk out the door. They moved down the overgrown private path to the beach and the water that stretched on forever. Michael felt for the hand that accidentally brushed his and captured it. For a moment, when they reached the bottom of the path, Michael just stood looking over the scenery, feeling the warm breeze on his skin and listening to the sounds of peace. Nya stood beside him.

“You know, I always like the wind. It feels to me like a touch…a Caribbean caress,” she said and looked up at him. Their eyes held for what seemed an eternity. Then Nya turned and laid down her towel. She let the sheer wrap fall to the ground and she ran out into the surf, her twists cascading down her curving back. She looked like an angel disappearing into the water and Michael was quick to follow her in.