Forever An Ex (28 page)

It felt like he was amused by me. And like he was challenging me, daring me to let him in my house. “You know what? Come on by. I'd love to show you what I've done to the cottage. It's really nice now.”

“Great,” he said, looking like he'd just won a bet. “I'll follow you. Just make sure that you drive slow enough so that I can keep up.”

When he laughed, I rolled my eyes. I didn't know what he meant, but I knew that he was still teasing me, and I really didn't like it. But I was gonna be cool, show him my place, and then show him the door. In and then out, he wouldn't be there long.

I glanced around the backyard, looking for Sheridan and Asia so that I could say my good-byes and I saw them huddled by the door to the house. With the way their heads were together and whispering, I knew they were talking about me.

Asia said, “You better wrap that man up and take him home. Don't let him walk out of here by himself.”

“He won't be by himself,” I said.

“That's what I'm talking 'bout.” Asia raised her hand to give me a high five, but I left her hanging.

I said, “He's walking me to my car and I'll get in mine and he'll get in his.” I knew my friends would infer that we'd go separate ways. And that's the way I wanted it.

Sheridan held my hand. “I like him and I hope something comes out of this.”

“Something has . . . a wonderful friendship.”

I hugged my girls good-bye, stood as D'Angelo thanked Sheridan and then said good-bye to Asia. Then the two of us walked out together. When he held my car door open for me, he said, “Remember, I'll be right behind you.”

I nodded because if I'd opened my mouth, I would've told him that I had changed my mind. That he was welcome to come to my house during any daylight hour.

But I said nothing, switched on the engine, and then sped through the streets like I was trying to lose the car behind me. As if that would've helped. D'Angelo knew where I lived.

“What are you doing, Kendall?” I whispered to myself, and glanced at the car lights that shined in my rearview mirror.

But then the other side of me asked why was I stressing? He was just coming to see the house. It was as simple as that.

And that's what I kept telling myself . . . over and over again.

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

I
didn't see any car lights behind me when I made that left onto my private road, and for a moment I wondered if I'd lost D'Angelo. I released a long breath, but just as I was ready to inhale again, headlights beamed through my rear windshield.

D'Angelo had found me.

I waited until he got out of his car, and then I got out of mine.

“I thought you were trying to lose me back there,” he said as he walked over to me.

“How can I do that when you know where I live?”

“I was getting ready to call you and tell you that!”

I chuckled and hoped that D'Angelo didn't hear any of my anxiety in that sound. My hands shook just a bit as he followed me to the door and I put the key in the lock. I stepped inside, clicked on the lights, and moved aside so that he could walk in front of me. “Here it is!”

He stood in the center of the living room, exactly the way Sheridan had done, and did a three-sixty, turning and taking in what I liked to call my Ivory Room. This was the main room of my house, which was the living room and an open kitchen.

I'd decided that with the space being so small, I'd use the same light color with everything, from the sofa to the tables, even to the floor lamps. The pots that held my plants were ivory, too, as was the entertainment center. The only things of color were the sketches that I hung on the wall of flowers and seashells.

He said, “If that spa empire doesn't work out, you have a future in interior design.”

“Thanks, but it wasn't hard to decorate. This is such a great house. The challenge was that with only seventeen hundred square feet, I had to be a minimalist. Didn't want to overrun it with furniture, you know?”

“It's like a third of the size of the house that you had before, so I didn't know what you were going to do with it.”

“I actually like it better. I didn't need all of that room now.”

With the way D'Angelo moved around the perimeter of the house, taking everything in and nodding his approval, I was glad that I'd let him come. I'd made a big deal in my head over absolutely nothing and I loved sharing this with him.

When he opened the deck and stepped out, he said, “And this is the best part of the house.”

I joined him. “This is why I wanted to come back to Malibu.”

“It doesn't get better than living on the beach. Someday I might want to do this.” He nodded and stuffed his hands into his pocket. “Yeah, I love my loft in downtown, but beach living . . .”

I smiled. “Thanks again.”

“And again, you're welcome, pretty lady. So . . .” He turned and faced me. “Can a brotha get a drink?”

“Do you mean like water?”

He laughed. “I was thinking of something stronger.”

“Well, your choices are water, tea, and I may have some hot chocolate. But that's it.”

“I guess tea would be cool . . . if it's not too much trouble.”

“It's not. Go ahead and have a seat,” I said, pointing to one of the two loungers. “Unless you want to come back inside.”

“No . . . I'll chill out here. It's worth having some cold toes to take in this view.”

Inside, I set up the teapot, and as the water boiled, I breathed, surprised at how calm I was. D'Angelo didn't have any ulterior motives and neither did I.

Minutes later, I tried to hold two mugs steady as I stepped onto the deck and D'Angelo jumped up to help me.

“I would've carried this out for you.” He took both cups from me and placed them on the table.

Then we sat down, with the table separating us. We leaned back, picked up our cups, and sipped as we watched the waves crash onto the sand.

The April night was much cooler than the daytime had been, especially at the beach. But even though I shivered a bit, I didn't want to go inside. There wasn't much to see in the dark of the night, though lights glittered from the island of Catalina. But it was the still of the night that I loved so much. The still of the night at the beach.

As we sat in the silence, I added another tick to the list of what I loved about D'Angelo. I loved a man who could be comfortable in the quiet; actually, I liked anyone who could appreciate moments without noise. But high-powered people who didn't have to always be movin' and groovin' were difficult to find.

Five, ten, maybe even fifteen minutes passed before D'Angelo said, “What is it that you want, Kendall?”

For a moment I said nothing, but before I could speak, he added, “And I'm not talking about your empire. Don't tell me that you want ten or fifteen more spas. Don't tell me that you want to rule the spa world. Those are things you want to achieve. I'm talking about what's right here.” He bumped his fist against his chest. “What do you want for you? What do you want out of life?”

I had to roll back my thoughts because before he explained, I was set to tell him that I wanted to rule the spa world. But now my mind was a big ol' blank. Because what I wanted for myself—that was a hard question to answer. The spas were for me. Achievement was what motivated me.

“I haven't really thought about it,” I said, taking another sip of what was now almost iced tea. If he didn't want to hear how I was going to open up a gazillion more spas, or if he didn't want to hear about having this home on the beach, I didn't have anything for him.

When I stayed quiet, he said, “Let me help you out . . . do you want to get married again?”

The question was barely out of his mouth when I said, “Absolutely not! I shouldn't have gotten married the first time.” I paused, then added, “My mother went through something really tough when I was a kid, something that affected me more than I thought.”

He nodded. “You're talking about your dad's affair . . . and Sabrina coming from that.”

I looked at him. “Dang, did everybody in Compton know about that?”

“I don't know about anybody else, but I knew the story. And I always thought it was something the way your mother accepted Sabrina and raised her with love.”

“She did. My mother was a saint. But I'm convinced that every bit of love she poured into my sister broke my mother's heart just a little bit more. I tell you, D'Angelo, I will always believe that my father's affair, and then him bringing home Sabrina, killed my mother. I was smart enough as a kid to recognize that it was grown folks' business. So, I stayed out of it and still loved my daddy. But my heart broke every time I heard my mother crying. And I swore that I was never going to get married; no one was ever going to get a chance to do that to me.”

“But you married my brother anyway.”

“He was a great business partner.” When D'Angelo looked at me, I shrugged. “I'm telling you the truth.”

“At least you understand yourself,” he said.

“So, what about you?” I said, tossing the question over to him. “What is it that you want? Do you want to get married?”

His response was as swift as mine. “I'm not marriage material.”

“Why do you say that?”

“ 'Cause I'm not settled. I live all over the world, and even when I'm back in L.A., I'm involved in so much. I can't see making the time for a wife.”

I tilted my head, and before I could think about my words, I said, “You make time for me.”

“Do you wanna be my wife?”

“No! Definitely not! I mean, you're a good catch and everything, but like I just said . . .”

He laughed. “I'm just playing with you.” Then he shook his head. “I move around too much to get married.”

“I was going to ask are you headed back to Iraq soon?”

“I don't know yet. If I don't go back, I won't miss it, that's for sure. Honestly, sometimes I'm ready to give up all of that. But then I think, Who will I be without it? If I were to try to settle down, what would that look like? Am I the settling-down type?”

It was interesting that D'Angelo had just as many questions about what was ahead as I did. That surprised me. He seemed to have it all together, but then, when people looked at me, that was they thought about me. Maybe it was all of us “together people” who had the most issues in life.

“Well, pretty lady. I think it's time for me to get on up out of here.” He stood and stared out into the ocean for a couple of seconds, a moment of appreciation. Then he turned toward the house.

I followed him, but right before he stepped inside, he stopped, turned around, and looked down at me. “Thanks for showing me your home. I know it took a lot for you to let me in.”

I shook my head. “No, it's fine.” It was his look, so intense, that made me lower my eyes.

With the tips of his fingers, he lifted my chin. Tried to get me to look at him once again. “You don't have to be afraid of me,” he said.

“I'm not . . .”

“But sometimes you act like . . . you're afraid. And I want you to know that you don't have to be. I really care about you, and I think you know that.”

I nodded.

“I do,” he said. “I really . . .” He lowered his head. “Really . . .” His lips began a slow descent toward mine. “Really do.” And before I could say a word or move out of the way, our lips met.

It was a reflex . . . I closed my eyes and fell into the kiss. It was soft, it was gentle, it was natural and felt so good. And then it got better when he parted my lips. I didn't want to do this, but then again, I did.

It had been such a long time and I was just going to stay in the moment and enjoy it.

But then . . . D'Angelo touched me. And I shivered as he pulled me closer. I was just about to push him away. Until I felt his manhood pressing against me. That was when I moaned. I wanted more.

So I used my hands. And I pulled him closer.

He lifted me up and another reflex . . . my legs wrapped around his waist. It was like my body knew what it wanted, even when my mind kept telling me to stop.

We stayed connected, groaning as we held each other. He backed up into the house, and though my mind was swirling with emotions, I captured a single thought—where was he going? But then I remembered, he knew this house. He knew where he was taking me.

D'Angelo took the few steps to the bedroom, with my legs like a vise around him. Without letting go, in moments we were on the bed—he on top of me.

My mind was still trying to control me. Still telling me not to do this. But my body sang a different song. Every fiber of my being needed this.

This felt like the first time, the way his hands caressed me, his tongue teased me; I was dizzy.

If I ever had to tell this story again, I would never be able to explain what happened next. I would never be able to tell anyone how my clothes came off or how he ended up naked. I would only be able to tell about the way I floated above the bed. And then the moment we connected and became one.

“Oh!” I cried.

I would have been embarrassed by the way I shrieked if D'Angelo hadn't called out my name at the same moment. And then our cries became a moan, a mournful melody that was a song of joy.

D'Angelo filled my body with his, but that wasn't enough for me. I wanted more. And so, as our tongues stayed connected, I rolled over, and in just a moment I was on top. As I looked down, I saw the glow of his smile. But I had no time for cheer. This was serious business.

I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let my body move with the waves. I rode like a surfer, riding up and then floating down. Each time, the waves became higher and I climbed and climbed until I reached the top.

I cried out once again and squeezed my legs as tight as I could, trying to hold on to that feeling. And when it finally slipped away from me, I collapsed on top of him.

Breathless!

 • • •

I have no idea how long I lay in my bed, staring into the dark, listening to the silence that was broken every few seconds by the soft sound of the nighttime waves smashing against the beach.

I searched my heart, I searched my thoughts. And I had no regrets. Not a one.

What I had was vindication.

At least, that's the way it felt. Revenge against Anthony.

Even though Anthony might not ever find out about what happened with me and D'Angelo, this felt so good to me.

Maybe if there was a way for me to get revenge on Sabrina, maybe I'd be able to move on. But for now, this was enough.

I let more time pass and then I reached for the lamp beside my bed. The room brightened with hundred-watt lights.

“Whoa!” D'Angelo said, his voice filled with surprise. He frowned and then raised his hand to his forehead as if he was shielding his eyes from the sun. “What's with the light, pretty lady?”

“I just thought you'd want to see.”

“See what?” Then he rolled over and faced me with a grin. “Oh, see you. In the light. That's what I'm talking about.”

He tugged the sheet from me, but I snatched it back. “No! That's not what I meant.”

With a tilt of his head, he looked at me, and then said, “Oh, it's me that you want to see in the light.”

Before I could tell him that he was wrong again, he jumped up, then stood with his arms open, his stance wide, and right then I lost my mind. I'm telling you, I could not remember what I was going to say.

It actually took a couple of seconds before I was able to focus and get my thoughts back. “Oh, no. No! That's not what I meant.” I looked down at my fingertips so that I could maintain my concentration. “I was thinking that you would need the light to get dressed.”

“Get dressed?”

“Yeah, you know. So that you can leave.”

“Leave?” he said, sounding like a parrot. “You're kicking me out?”

“Yes, I mean, no. I wouldn't put it like that. I just figured we did this, it's over, and . . .”

He shook his head. “And what? Finish your sentence.”