Black Diamond (5 page)

She settled in a seat watching them search for a place to sit. She scanned the club, nursed her drink, and started rocking to the music. The DJ had the place jumping. Camille let the music and the margarita erase the awkward scene with Harold.

The dance floor was full and she waved at a few of her of her co-workers seated in a reserved area. She turned to the bar and noticed Saul sitting at a table alone. It was hard to make out his expression, his body appeared rigid, and he had a firm hold on his beer. She leaned forward in her seat to follow the direction of his glare.
Ashanta and Harold.
 
Interesting.

* * *

They entered Club VIP, a new Houston establishment catering to young professionals. Jarvis located a table and leaned into Marc to speak over the music.

“The crowd is light. But it usually picks up around 6:30 or so with the after work crowd.”

They placed their drink orders and both scanned the club captivated by the music and the atmosphere.

“Great choice,” Marc said as the waiter sat their drinks on the table.

“So, man, what brings you back to Houston?” Jarvis asked.

“I’m tired.” They laughed, but Marc sobered wanting to get Jarvis’ take on his career move. “I think I’m ready to leave the agency and I need some time to mull it over.”

Jarvis took a swallow of his longneck beer. Marc waited for his response. He valued his brother’s opinion and some part of him hoped Jarvis would aid him in deciding since he was still unsure.

“That’s a big step. What would you do?”

“I don’t know. I have enough money saved to travel and figure it out.”

“But you’re no spring chicken, brother.”

They laughed. Marc knew where this conversation was going. “And your point is?” He lifted his beer to his mouth, scanning the open layout of the restaurant and bar. He liked the vibe he admitted while rubbing his hand over his fade.

He would let Jarvis speak his peace while keeping in mind that his brother was the safe and practical one. Jarvis married right out of college. His family had a nice home in an upper middle-class neighborhood. His wife stayed at home with the kids. They had everything, except the mini-van and a dog.

Everything about his life screamed
boring
. However, he couldn’t deny that Jarvis and Darlene were happy; but would
he
be happy? Probably not.

“You know what I’m talking about. Wife…kids…house.”

Jarvis signaled for the waiter.

Marc knew his brother had good intentions but he didn’t plan to settle down any time soon. When he married Ebony, he planned to commit to her for life. She, apparently, had other plans.

“I don’t think that’s in the cards for me. Right now, I just want to take some time to figure out what my next step is. Then whatever happens; happens. I have no other expectations beyond that,” Marc said while peeling at the beer label on the empty bottle in his hand.

“Just remember, you two were young. All marriages are not like that.”

Marc’s head snapped up and met Jarvis’ direct stare. Leave it to him to bring up the past. They rarely spoke of his failed marriage or his inability to commit to another woman since. He knew he wasn’t still in love with Ebony, but the sting of the betrayal was as fresh as it was twenty years ago. He did not intend to subject himself to that type of deception again; not in this lifetime.

“I talked with Derek today.”

Marc welcomed the change of subject. “Really, what’s he up to?”

“He’s planning a visit. He asked about you and asked for your number.” That caught Marc’s attention and he angled his head towards Jarvis.

“Did he say what he needed?”

“Naw, I’m assuming it had something to do with a case.”

The DJ was spinning some of the hottest songs on the radio. The noise level was increasing as more people made their way to the dance floor. Jarvis selected a good table because Marc was able to view the front entrance, bar and dance floor with limited obstruction. His brother was the consummate investigator.

“Is he still with the bureau?”

“Yeah, as far as I know. We’re planning to get together when he comes to town next week.”

Marc was curious about why Derek wanted his number. It had been a few years since they last talked.
Whatever it is must be important
, he reasoned, since agents rarely crossed department lines, especially between the FBI and the CIA.

“Hum.” He finished his drink. Curiosity held the silence between them.

“That’s the second ‘hum’. What’s up?” Jarvis stopped moving to the music to focus on Marc.

“You know it’s rare for agents to work between the FBI and the CIA. It’s some old sibling-rivalry type mess dating back to when Truman was president. The tension only heightened after the release of the investigations following the 9/11 attacks. Playing politics is becoming too much to handle. It's not enough to just do your job.”

Just as he finished, Darlene entered the club. She still looked like the woman Jarvis brought home during college, having kids only filled out her figure in a womanly way.

“Hey, isn’t that Darlene?” Marc tilted his head toward the entrance of the club. Jarvis followed the direction of his stare.

“Yeah, man, let me go over and meet her.” He stood to leave the table. After walking a few steps, he retraced them and asked Marc to order another round of beers.

Marc watched his brother walk away. Jarvis and Darlene exchanged a quick hug. They made him believe that marriage wasn’t so bad. Marc surveyed the room and saw the club was indeed full. He glanced towards the bar while looking for a server and noticed a group of chatting women. One, in particular, caught his attention. The path between him and the bar seemed to clear, giving him full view of the beautiful woman with a halo of curls.

Her attention averted from her companion’s as if sensing his interest. They openly assessed each other and she slightly tilted in her head in his direction acknowledging their brief exchange. She turned back to her companion, but stopped, glanced over her shoulder and smiled. That was all he needed. Marc stood, finished his beer, and walked in her direction.

* * *

He’s coming this way.
What should I do?
The tequila in her margarita gave her the bravado to toss him her best sexy smile. Camille didn’t think he’d act on it. Placing her cup and tip on the bar, she noticed Mr. Hersey closing in on her.

Oh hell
, she thought watching him cover the distance in long strides. He moved through the crowd as if he was Tyson Beckford commanding a runway instead of one of a couple hundred people in this small club. She might as well enjoy the view.

Camille settled back on the bar stool, legs crossed, elbows resting on the edge of the bar.
Live a little
, a small voice said and with that, she ordered another drink.

She started at the top of his close cut hair and ended with his casual shoes. She would have pegged his stroll as graceful if he wasn’t such a large man. He had to be close to six feet.

Camille knew he appreciated the redirection of her attention because he rewarded her with a sexy smile, which she brazenly returned. They held eyes until he stopped about a foot from her to let a couple move past without breaking eye contact.

She’d flirted with him and now here he was. He closed the space, moving in so that she could hear him over the music. He smelled good; almost edible.
Where had that come from?

If she didn’t know any better, she’d bet her retirement on knowing that he was undressing her with his eyes, and she was doing the same.

“Would you like another drink?” he asked, holding her gaze.

“No.” His eyebrow peaked, as if something she’d said had amused him. He stepped closer allowing someone to move past. The smell of his cologne tickled her nose.

“Would you like to dance?” He extended his hand. Her stomach flip-flopped.
Oh, boy
. She hesitated before taking his hand. Their brief exchange was throwing her senses off.

“Yes, she would.” Ashanta answered, dousing cold water on their sensual moment. “Hi,” she continued, “I’m Ashanta.”

He briefly directed his steamy, spellbinding gaze toward Ashanta.

Camille realized her chest was tight and her breathing was heavy. Had she held her breath the entire time? He was dangerously sexy and off limits.

After tonight…
the traitor in her head beckoned.

“Marc, Marc Fulton.” He made his introduction while staring at Camille. She appreciated the way his husky voice caused a delightful sensation to travel the length of her body.

“Nice to meet you,” Ashanta said.

 
“And you are?” he asked her, not missing a beat.

“Camille, and yes, I would love to dance.” He approved of her response because his expression beamed with a smile that would have pegged his previous expression as an irritated smirk. It reached his smoky eyes and revealed a slight dimple in his left cheek.

Camille felt like a skittish teenager and threw caution to the wind as she placed her slender hand into his. Electricity moved between them. His eyes flashed with awareness, but it quickly disappeared.

Did she imagine it? No, she reckoned. His breathing pattern changed and his full nose flared as he placed his hand on her lower back, leading her to the dance floor.

“Thank you, Camille,” he murmured close to her ear.
Where had this sexy Adonis, come from?

“For what?” she asked, trying to maintain her composure. Camille felt the length of his body along her left side as they stood inches apart. She let her eyes linger on his full mouth, wondering what he tasted like.

“For making this evening interesting,” he answered, unaware of her racing thoughts. She had concluded that drinks mixed with abstinence equaled insane sexual tension. She had to shake it loose.

“How so?” she asked when they stopped at the edge of the dance floor.

The selection shifted from upbeat to a slow. She noticed the younger crowd moving towards the bar and couples taking residence on the dance floor.

Marc placed his hands on her waist. Camille followed his lead and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, as if they had done it for years. He nudged her closer bringing her body next to his muscular frame.

His large hands braced her lower back and she noticed the differences in their size. She had been wrong about his height. He had to be over six feet and compared to him, her five foot six inch height seemed comical.

“Where should I begin?” Marc paused to look down into her face. His gaze was smothering. She saw it coming. He wanted to kiss her and she wanted him to kiss her. It felt brazen, but she did. She reasoned that maybe the kiss would settle the fire brewing in the pit of her stomach that was slowly moving south.

Marc lowered his head and captured her mouth in a fleeting kiss. The controlled fire in her stomach was now a full alarm inferno. She opened her eyes to see his sparked with awareness as he pulled back.

Camille saw raw sexual energy beaming in her direction. She glanced around the dance floor and noticed that the song had changed. She stepped back. He stepped forward, closing the space. Her eyes ventured back to his full, soft, kissable lips.

Camille needed some space to breath. She stepped back, extending her hand, “Thank you for the dance.” He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed her gently on the back of her hand.

“Camille, do you know that you’re beet red?” He chuckled and she joined in, relieving some of the sexual tension.

“No, but it happens from time to time.”

“I like it. It’s cute.” She found herself back in his arms. “And you’re beautiful. Can I see you again?”

She paused and looked towards the bar. Something was going on and Camille knew she needed to get back on the job.

“Sure.”

She knew he noticed the change in her mood because he followed her attention towards the bar. He didn’t say anything, but they both knew their time together was limited.