Sun-Kissed Secret Baby by Leigh Jenkins
Chapter 19
Sam eased up on the accelerator. Speeding into town on a holiday night wasn’t the way he wanted to end his days, and besides, he was getting way too old to take out his frustrations by hurtling down dark highways. In addition to that, Gloria Saturday was a big night for parties, and the roads were crowded with people heading to clubs and open-air events.
He was in turmoil, both in mind and body. His rage at Chinos had bubbled down to a simmer, but the resentment he felt on Allie’s behalf still rankled. How could a man treat a woman like that? He was glad he’d sent him packing, and prouder still that he hadn’t dislocated the guy’s shoulder before he’d done so.
And as for Allie, he could sense her humiliation, her chagrin at being caught in such a weak and vulnerable position. He tried to convince himself he wasn’t mad at her, but on her behalf. But it still rankled that she’d gone on a date with this creep, so much so that rather than try to battle his jealousy, he gave it free rein.
It should have been him she’d dressed up for. Looked pretty for. He should have been the one at the dinner table, looking over at her, trying to find ways to make those brown eyes sparkle. Asking her to dance.
As he entered the secure compound where Nisha lived, the barrier was immediately raised, as the security officer at the booth recognized his car. He’d been to see her at home countless times, both during the day to discuss work when they wanted to avoid the formality of his offices in St. Cillian, and late at night, when they desired each other’s company.
The guard lifted a hand in welcome, and Sam waved back, pulling his car in to the guest parking lot and getting out. When he felt like this, it was good to know he always had someone to turn to for comfort and distraction.
Her apartment was on the fifth floor, and, restless as he was, he decided not to take the elevator, but instead to sprint up the stairs. In the stillness of the night, his feet thumped loudly in the stairwell, and he sent out a silent apology to other tenants who might have wondered if the building was being stormed.
Nisha answered the door immediately, making him suspect that the security guard had phoned up to tell her he was on the way. She leaned in the doorway, blocking his access mockingly, wearing full-length fleece pajama bottoms and a white tank top. Her long black curls were twisted up and pinned into a bun and her face was devoid of makeup.
“Did I wake you?”
“Nuh-uh.” She stood aside to let him in, but not after briefly pressing her lips against his mouth. He tasted rum.
She went straight over to the side cabinet and held aloft a bottle and a glass in invitation. “Valée D’Or? Nice new blend; 25 years old.”
“Wow. Fancy.”
“Only the best for me,” she said, and winked at him. Once she’d handed over his drink, she went straight to the point. “Business or pleasure?”
“Uh… business,” he said weakly, even though as she stood there before him, enticing and barely clad, pleasure did run across his mind.
“Oh, you came to work, huh?” She smirked, letting him know without a doubt that she saw through him. “The fifteen emails we already exchanged today, and the five or six calls weren’t good enough? What? Did some official somewhere pull a concert permit or something? Has one of our performers come down with the chicken pox?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Okay, not work, then.” He knew her well enough to be honest. “I just needed some company.”
She pointed in the direction of her luxuriously appointed living room. “Then I guess we’d better have a seat.”
They sat side by side on a large, heavily upholstered leather couch, and Nisha drew her legs up under her, regarding him intently, dark eyes searching his face.
“What?” he demanded, almost irritably.
“Soo… whatcha want for Father’s Day?”
He groaned. “You heard about that?”
“Aw, honey; this is Sabina. Everyone’s heard about that.”
He shook his head ruefully, not doubting her for a second. It was a small island, and here, gossip was a national sport. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradled his rum in his hands contemplatively.
“You freaked out?”
“Of course.”
“Charlie Brown says you’ve met her a couple times.”
“Charlie Brown has a big mouth.”
“That he does.” She waited for his response, and when he didn’t give one, needled him further. “Well?”
“Well, I want to be a part of her life—”
She slapped him hard on the shoulder causing him to sputter. “You goddamn well better. If you turned out to be a deadbeat like my own dad, I’d beat you up myself.”
He smiled at her, truly appreciating her friendship and honesty.
“And is she the reason you rushed over here at eleven in the night, with your panties all bunched up?”
He shook his head. “Nah.” At least, not directly, he thought.
“What, then?”
He really didn’t feel like getting into it, so he said, “Had a run-in with a guest. Impromptu eviction.”
Nisha carefully set down her glass on the coffee table and then got up and stepped towards him, hips swaying. She took the drink from his hands and set it down next to hers, and then stretched, back arched, arms to the heavens, like a languorous cat, sighing softly. Making sure he was watching her.
“Want some nookie to help you feel better?”
He laughed. “You’re the only woman I have ever met who uses the term ‘nookie’.”
She scoffed. “I’m the only woman you’ve ever met who does a lot of things, buddy.” Then she straddled his thighs, facing him, and sat down. She was small enough that even then she had to tilt her face upwards to kiss him. His arms encircled her automatically, and he kissed her back, but when she pressed her breasts against his chest, he pulled away, shaking his head.
Something was wrong. Something wasn’t working.
Maybe he should kiss her again, he thought. Maybe he could try again.
But there was a heaviness in the pit of his stomach that he sensed would be added to, rather than diminished, if he did. He ruffled is own hair in frustrated defeat and looked away. “Sorry, babe.”
She rose, disentangled her legs, and regained her seat beside him. She finished the rum in a single swig, picked up the remote and clicked on the large, flat-screen TV that dominated the facing wall. She flicked to a channel that was showing what appeared to be a Thai kickboxing tournament. “I’ve got $500 riding on this,” she informed him.
He turned his head to her, brows shooting upward. “You’re kidding.”
She slid her eyes in his direction, and then they were on the screen again. “I never kid about money, son.”
They watched for a few minutes as one scrawny, wiry boxer kicked the snot out of another, and then Nisha asked, “She pretty?”
“Who?”
“Your child-mother. I’m guessing she’s what this…,” she made a vague hand gesture towards his reticent midsection, “is all about? Is she pretty?”
“Very.”
“Prettier than me?”
He chuckled, unsurprised by her question. “You know I’m not answering that, right?”
“Yeah. Because you’re too much of a ‘gentleman’!” She made air quotes with her fingers.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is when your gentlemanliness—is that a word?—prevents me from getting my num-nums.”
He laughed and rolled his eyes. “‘Nookie’ and ‘num-nums’ on the same night. You’re on a roll.”
The side-eye was back, and she murmured with an exaggerated air of persecution. “Well, looks like I won’t be rolling you, so….”
He dropped his arm around her and they returned their gaze to the screen. He let his head fall onto her shoulder and sighed, glad to be able to relax awhile.
She responded to the sigh. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re just so comfy.”
Nisha responded with great dignity. “Check yourself: I am not ‘comfy’. I am ‘slammin’.”
“Apologies.”
She snorted, and then pointed. “My guy’s winning,” she informed him as the boxer continued to flatten his opponent.
“Congrats. I guess you have a good eye for carnage.”
“You know it. Popcorn?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Thanks.”
“In the kitchen.”
He looked at her. “I’m supposed to get it? You live here. I’m the guest.”
She looked at him as if he was the Prime Minister of Stupid Questions. “And I’m the queen. Go get it.”