Too Little, Too Late (33 page)

A
LEXIS HAD COME HOME EARLY
just to do this.

She lay back on the bed. Closed her eyes. And imagined.

Imagined Brian next to her. On top of her. Beneath her. Imagined his lips on her lips. His flesh on her flesh. Imagined his fingers and his tongue doing what she used to love. Imagined again loving it, loving him.

And then, there was Jasmine.

Right in the middle of her fantasy, Jasmine arrived. Lay between her and Brian. And stayed.

Alexis pushed Jasmine and her image away. Sat up, disgusted.

A week ago Pastor Ford had given her the advice to get back into bed with Brian. But every time she imagined herself with her husband, Jasmine was there.

She just couldn’t figure this out. She’d been able to find her way back to Brian after she’d found out about his addiction and all the other women. But none of them had faces. Even Tonya had a face that she couldn’t remember.

But Jasmine had a face.

And Jasmine had a baby.

Get past this.
That’s what she kept telling herself. To get back to Brian, she had to get rid of Jasmine.

She smiled and counted the ways Jasmine’s extermination could happen. But since she wasn’t willing to spend time in a federal correctional facility, she’d have to come up with something else.

She would.

Tonight. I’m going to make love to my husband. Tonight.

Determined, she lay down again. And imagined. Imagined hard. Imagined love with her husband. Love before Jasmine.

T
HE ICE CUBES CLICKED
together as Brian twirled the glass in his hand. Then in one quick motion, he turned the glass up and emptied his drink. The vodka burned a trail down his throat and after a moment, he turned and faced the dance floor. A merengue beat pulsed through the club.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come to de Janeiro. Certainly, it had been way before he’d made that fateful trip to New York where he’d found a pregnant Jasmine. Just the memory of that moment made him want to order another drink—a double.

Brian turned back to the bar. Raised his glass toward the bartender.

He’d have one more drink. Then go home. He didn’t have any reason to be here.

Except for Alexis.

He shook away that thought of blaming his wife. She was not the reason. He was in this place because this decadence was already in him. Just a part of who he was.

No!
he protested. He wasn’t that man anymore. He was overcoming his addiction. The fact that Jasmine had kissed him and he hadn’t let it go any further proved how far he’d come.

So what am I doing here?

He sipped his drink and kept his back to the dance floor. He didn’t need to see any of those legs kicking or hips swaying. He kept his eyes behind the bar. Trouble wasn’t waiting for him there.

“Is this seat taken?”

The voice was throaty, sexy. He didn’t want to see those lips. So he just shifted a bit so that she could sit.

He kept his eyes away. Stared at the rows of liquor bottles that lined the shelves.

And the music kept on bumping.

“I haven’t been to a place like this in a while,” the voice said. “What about you? Do you come here often?”

Flirting words. Pick-up words. Ones he used to say.

He took a sip of his vodka. Still didn’t look at her, but didn’t want to be rude. Turned slightly. Gazed instead at her legs.

Big mistake.

“I’ve been here a few times,” he said to her limbs that were crossed at her knees. Shapely legs that he could already imagine wrapped around him.

Not as shapely as Alexis’s.

The voice said, “Is it always like this? Always this loud?”

Now he looked at her. A beauty. Even though she sat, he could tell that she was long. And lean. The way he liked. Her beige knit dress broadcasted her curves, told him that he wouldn’t be disappointed.

He thought again of his wife.

She tilted her head. “Great. Of all the guys in this place, I had to pick the quiet one.” She shook her head. “And that is not what I need tonight.”

What he needed was to get out of there. But it was her skin that kept him in place. Her skin that—even in the dim light—looked so silky, he had to fight not to reach out and touch.

“I’m not quiet,” he said finally, cupping his glass inside his fingers to keep his hands occupied. “It’s just that the music is loud. Kinda difficult to hold a conversation.”

“Then we need to get closer.” She scooted the barstool over until they were almost one.

He didn’t back away.

The woman said, “This seems like a fun place. Do you salsa?”

He took another sip of vodka. Felt the burn. And then felt his shoulders ease. “I don’t dance much.” He chuckled. “I stick to what I do best.”

“And what is that?”

Alexis.
“Lots of things.”

“Care to share?”

He took another sip, glimpsed at her over the rim of his glass. “I don’t share anything without knowing a name.”

She chuckled. Held out her hand. “Natasia Redding.”

“Nice name.”

“And what about you?”

He leaned against the bar, his arm touching hers. “What about me?”

“What’s your name?”

“Call me Doc.”

“Doc?” She chuckled. “Is that what you do, or is that the games you play?”

“That’s what I do.”

“Too bad. I was thinking we could just play.” She leaned closer. “I make a great patient.”

He laughed. “I haven’t met anyone like you in a while.”

She motioned toward the jammed dance floor. “I know that’s not true. This place is full of people looking for a one-night hook-up.”

He took a final swig of his drink. “That’s what you’re looking for?”

She raised her eyebrows and looked to the sky. “After the few weeks I’ve had. And then yesterday,” she blew out a long breath, “I need a quick hook-up to release this pressure. And then, I can get focused again on what I have to do.”

“What is it that you have to do?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a man thing.” She waved her hand. “But I don’t want to talk about him. Tonight, it’s all about you.” Before he could respond, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and glanced at the screen. “I’ve gotta take this call.”

“Leaving already?”

“I didn’t say a word about leaving.” The tip of her tongue grazed her top lip. Made Brian shudder. She called to the bartender, “Get him another one of those and I’ll have a glass of white wine.” Then she slipped off the barstool, whispered in his ear. “Do me a favor and watch my drink. I wouldn’t want anyone slipping something into it.”

She was pressed against him, but Brian didn’t budge. His hand touched the flesh of her arm. And he felt it—the familiar stirring. “How do you know
I
won’t slip something into your drink?”

“Oh, you won’t,” she said, stepping away just a little. “You already know you don’t have to.” She took his hand into hers. Leaned so close, their lips almost touched. “I’ll be right back.” But she didn’t move, just stayed, letting him inhale the fragrance of her. Daring him to press his lips against hers.

He felt it—his stress—rising.

As if she knew she’d done enough, she pirouetted, then slowly, sensually, swayed along the edge of the dance floor. Gliding, knowing his eyes were plastered on her.

“Here you go,” the bartender said, sliding a fresh glass toward him. Brian heard his voice, but didn’t move until he couldn’t see Natasia any longer. Then he faced the bar. His vodka was there. And next to it, Natasia’s wine.

Brian stared at the drinks—side by side. A pair. A couple. Like husband and wife.

His wife didn’t want him.

But this woman, Natasia, she did. At least for tonight. He thought of her legs, her arms, her lips. And what they could be doing in an hour. Playing doctor.

It would be such relief.

Alexis.

He was tired of telling her that he loved her.

Alexis.

How many more times was he supposed to say it?

Alexis.

But he loved her—always had, always would.

He pulled three twenties from his wallet and laid the bills next to the drinks, then glanced back to where he last saw Natasia. There was no sign of her.

Maybe that was the sign.

He pushed through the crowd and didn’t look back. He had at least one more “I love you” within him. And he was going home to say it again to his wife.

A
LEXIS GLANCED AT THE
clock once again. Two hours ago—that’s when she’d expected Brian to walk through the door and into their apartment. He was supposed to take one look at the candles glimmering, inhale the fragrance of lavender, then lift her into his arms and carry her back to the place where they used to be.

For two hours, this had been her dream. She and Brian. Alone. With no signs of the others. Or Jasmine.

But he’d never come home.

Alexis pushed herself from the sofa where she’d been waiting. Slowly, she strolled the perimeter of the living room, blowing out candles, even though most had already lost their flicker.

She kept her mind on the task at hand. Didn’t want to give into the thoughts that were taking her to a place where she didn’t need to be.

But it was difficult keeping the questions at bay. Hard not to wonder if Brian was locked up in some hotel. With some faceless woman who was taking her time and her pleasure in meeting every single one of his needs.

This is my fault.

No. There was no fault here. Brian just had an emergency and he wasn’t in a place where he could call to explain to his wife who was loaded with doubts. He wasn’t with another woman. And he certainly wasn’t with Jasmine.

She had to close her eyes to rid herself of that image. Jasmine. Why was she always thinking about her? Surely she wasn’t on Jasmine’s mind. Jasmine had moved on with her happy life and her happy husband. Hosea—he was the kind of man that she should have married. Jasmine never had to worry about him being with another woman.

“And I don’t have to worry about that either,” she whispered. Brian had a disease. He was fighting to be cured. Fighting for their marriage. Fighting for her to love him again.

She inhaled, blew out the last candle, when the front door lock clicked. She stood in the darkened living room, covered only by her camisole and matching thong. The soft light from the balcony was behind her.

The moment he opened the door, he stopped. Took in the clouds of fading smoke that remained from the now unlit candles. Then took in his wife.

“Sweetheart…” His eyes traveled up her body, then down again. “Baby, you look beautiful.”

It took effort, but she found her smile. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She took slow steps, and then without any more words, wrapped her arms around him.

Their kiss was gentle at first. But then he pressed against her and she felt his passion rise.

She squeezed her eyelids tight, keeping away the images. All she wanted in her mind was her husband.

Brian lifted her up—just like she dreamed—and carried her into the bedroom. He broke their embrace long enough to rip her camisole away.

He moaned as he caressed her bare skin. “I want you so much,” he panted.

She invited his tongue to hers and they kissed as if they’d never done so before.

As she held him, he slipped from his shirt, then tossed his pants aside. He lay his body against hers, flesh against flesh.

He was fire hot.

She was shivering cold.

Still panting, he raised up for a moment. “Do you want the blanket over us?”

She shook her head. “I want you.” Grabbing him, she pulled him back to her. Kissed him. Deeply. Urgently.

He touched. He caressed.

She felt him. Tasted him.

But it wasn’t enough to keep the pictures from her mind’s eye. The women.
Their
hands.
Their
lips. All. Over. Him.

It wasn’t a moan of pleasure that she released. She fought to push all of it away from her.

And she won the fight. The images were gone.

But now, there was the sound.

She flinched when she heard it. The baby—gurgling, giggling. Pushing Brian up, she whispered, “Did you hear that?”

His lips, his tongue were on her neck and he moaned his no. With the way he groaned, with the way his hands danced over her, he told her that he hadn’t—and didn’t want to—hear a thing.

He recaptured her lips.

But it came again. Louder this time. So close. The sound of a baby. Crying. Jasmine’s baby. Her husband’s baby.

She shifted and shoved Brian so hard that he grabbed the sheets to hang onto the bed.

“You didn’t hear that?” She rocked onto her knees; her eyes darted around the room. Where was the baby?

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice deep with longing. “There’s no one here.”

But he was wrong. They were not alone.

“Sweetheart, it’s all right,” he spoke softly as he leaned forward, his lips on target toward hers once again.

He came closer, closer. And she looked into his eyes. In the reflection, they were there. Jasmine. The baby. Staring right at her. From inside him.

She screamed. Jumped from the bed. Grabbed her bathrobe.

“Alex, what’s wrong?”

She heard his concern, his confusion. But she couldn’t look at him.

“Alexis!”

At the door, she stopped. Turned back. And let him see what he’d never seen before. Her eyes wide—filled with tears and fear. She was losing her mind because of him.

In that moment, she knew there were not enough “I love yous” or “I’m sorrys” left to save them.