A Preacher's Passion (14 page)

Stanley moaned too, rolling over and pulling down his shorts. He got on top of her, raised her nightgown and shifted her leg for better access. He kissed her again, briefly, before kneading her breast.

That’s not dough, Stanley,
she thought dispassionately as he almost tore her breast off.
But if it were, this bread would be set and ready to rise.
Carla giggled at the thought.

Stanley stopped. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing.”

Stanley raised up and looked at Carla until she opened her eyes. “What?”

“That’s what I’m asking,” he said. “What’s going on with you? It’s not just today you’ve been preoccupied. You’ve counseled women for years and I’ve never seen it affect you like this. Who is this woman?”

“Stanley, it’s con—”

“We two are one; there is nothing that can’t be shared between us.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant,” Carla said in response. “I promise I’ll do better.” To further appease him, she added, “Maybe it’s time for us to have a date. It’s been a while since we’ve done that. Go to San Diego or Vegas or something, just the two of us. Would you like that?”

“I’d like this,” Stanley said in response, rubbing the top of her mound with his hand.

Carla put her hand on top of his. “I’m tired, Stanley. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

Stanley fell back on his side of the bed. Carla turned on her side, her back to his. They were each thinking the same thing—that in ten years, this was the first time Carla had ever turned Stanley down.

Darius and Bo enjoyed each other’s caresses as they gazed at the fire, cocooned in the classic jazz guitar riffs of Wes Montgomery. The day, in fact their entire stay at Fairmont Le Manoir Richelieu, had been perfect, like a lover’s dream. Their days had been filled with indoor golf, skiing, and cruises down the St. Lawrence River, the nights with clubbing, casinos, and impassioned lovemaking.

“Where are you going?” Darius asked, as Bo untwined himself from Darius and stood.

“I’ll be right back,” Bo whispered with a wink.

Darius heaved a love-filled sigh as he leaned deeper into the couch and watched the flames dance within the fireplace. Snow-covered mountains lit by a thousand stars were visible from their floor to ceiling windows, a glorious contrast to the heat palpitating inside the suite. A thin layer of newly fallen snow lay outside their balcony doors. A log crackled, broke, and sent sparks of fire flying. Darius rose, placed another log on the flames, and sat back down.

A smile snuck onto Darius’s lips and refused to go away. For the first time in his life, he had everything he’d ever wanted: a lucrative record deal, hit single, and a wonderful lover. In this moment, Darius couldn’t imagine his life differently, and especially without Bo in it. It had been over three beautiful years with this man; Darius knew that Bo was the love of his life.

“A penny for your thoughts, gorgeous,” Bo said, as he walked back into the room with two flutes and an ice bucket.

“Oh, they’re worth way more than that,” Darius said, his voice low and husky.

“Hmm…” Bo popped the cork on the extravagant bottle of Krug, Clos du Mesnil and filled his and Darius’s champagne flutes. He looked deeply into Darius’s eyes a long moment before speaking, and was met by Darius’s love-filled gaze.

“There are no words to say how much I love you,” Bo began. “So I’ll keep this simple. I love you more than life itself, baby, more than the very breath it takes to speak this truth. I can’t see myself ever living without you.” His voice almost broke and a single tear slowly slid from his eye down his left cheek and dropped off his chin.

Darius set down his glass and took both of Bo’s hands in his. “I was just thinking that very thing before you came back,” he whispered. “That I can’t imagine life without you. Even though you’re crazy, I’m crazy about you. You’re my forever.”

They raised and clinked their glasses. “To forever love,” Bo said quietly.

“Yes, to forever love.”

Before long, the bottle of champagne was empty. Both Darius and Bo enjoyed a pleasant buzz, their magical surroundings creating an enchanting atmosphere. They kissed lazily, passionately, as if they’d just met, as if they’d known each other several lifetimes.

Bo broke the kiss and reached behind him. “This is for you,” he said simply.

“What is it?” Darius asked. He hurriedly unwrapped the medium-sized box only to find another box within it, and another one after that. His unwrapping became more frenzied with each opened box, until he reached the smallest one, about two by two inches. “What is it?” he repeated softly.

Bo leaned back against the sofa, crossed his arms and smiled.

In direct contrast to his previous frenzy, Darius slowly and carefully took the wrapping from the smallest package. A gold-plated container was inside.

“It’s locked,” Darius said as he tried to raise the lid.

Bo held up a thin, silver key. “Remember this, from the night I told you about this vacation? I knew you’d forget it.”

“You’re always looking out for me,” Darius said softly. His eyes locked on Bo as he opened the lid. Showcased brilliantly against the deep, chocolate velvet was a diamond-encrusted platinum wedding band. Custom designed along the lines of a Mokume puzzle ring, the two interlocking pieces were both platinum, one outlined with gold etching and the other holding a series of diamonds that totaled two carats. Together, they resembled arms around shoulders, interlocking perfectly, fitting together completely, like Darius and Bo.

Darius was stunned into silence. He prided himself on opulent jewelry, and had never seen anything so beautiful. “You can’t afford this,” he said, at last.

“No, now I can’t afford anything
else
,” Bo clarified. “As it is, yo’ ass bettah have another hit and
soon
, or we’ll find that sucka at Gold’s Pawn Shop.” Bo had never handled being serious for long, and once again used humor to ease his discomfort—and fear. Because giving Darius the ring was only part of what they would hopefully be celebrating.

“You nut,” Darius replied. “It’s beautiful. Thanks, baby.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” Bo said. “Here, let me,” he added, once Darius had taken the ring out of the box. Bo quietly slipped it on his finger.

“Man, Wes is the baddest. Listen to that.” Darius rose from the sofa and brought Bo with him. They slow danced to the serenading strings of Montgomery’s “Oh, You Crazy Moon.” Time stood still as they swayed to the beat, the plaintively sensual melody cascading around them.

The two stood motionless as the song ended, still holding each other close.

As the last notes of the guitar strings flitted against the soothing snare and tinkling piano, Bo pulled back enough to look deep into Darius’s eyes. “Lover, will you marry me?”

Darius’s heart jumped in his chest. It was the last question he ever would have expected. Quickly replacing the shock were feelings of complete and total euphoria. “Yes,” he said, thinking of nothing and no one but the present moment. He hugged Bo tightly. “Yes, you unbelievable, loveable nut…. You’ll be mine forever.”

“I mean, for real,” Bo continued. “I’ve researched it all, made all the arrangements. Our getting married is legal in Canada. If you’re ready, we can be one by this time tomorrow.”

Darius was stunned. He loved Bo with all his heart, but a
real
marriage? For the first time since they’d talked that morning, he thought about Stacy. A tiny flaw surfaced in Darius’s otherwise perfect moment.

“It can be just between us,” Bo said, correctly reading Darius’s thoughts. “She doesn’t have to know. No one has to know. But we’ll know; you’ll know and I’ll know. No matter what happens with”—he refused to bring her name into the moment—“anybody, we’ll always be together.”

Darius disengaged himself from Bo and walked to the fireplace. He absently stoked the flames before replacing the poker and walking to the balcony. He opened the French door and a cold burst of wintry air, along with a spattering of snowflakes, cascaded onto his face.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Darius said, taking a moment to breathe in the cold scent.

Bo came behind him with the wool throw from the sofa. He wrapped it around Darius’s shoulders. “You’ll catch your death of cold out here,” he scolded.

“Like I said, always taking care of me….”

“And I always will.”

“You’re right, you always will…because my answer is yes. Let’s do it.”

Bo didn’t trust himself to believe he’d heard what he thought he heard. “Let’s do what?” he asked tentatively.

Darius wasn’t sure he believed what he was saying either, but the words coming out seemed totally appropriate. “Let’s get married.”

Stacy feigned enjoyment as she sat with Hope, Cy, and one of Cy’s associates at the Gibson Amphitheatre. The Thanksgiving concert featured contemporary jazz artists: Peter White, Kirk Whalum, Boney James, Dave Koz, and others. The music was excellence personified, the ambiance classy. At any other time, Stacy would have enjoyed the evening. Even her arranged “date,” in another moment, would have been interesting. He seemed intelligent, clean-cut, and interested. But Stacy’s heart was elsewhere. It was in Canada, somewhere around Quebec, with Darius Crenshaw.

All day long she’d tried to focus on why she should be thankful, including her and Darius’s upcoming Big Bear Christmas vacation. But it still rankled her that she couldn’t accompany Darius on his last-minute Thanksgiving promotional visit to Canada when she knew Bo had gone. When she’d called Darius to wish him a happy holiday, she’d heard female voices in the background. Darius had told her they were in a restaurant, enjoying a late breakfast.
Late because…?
Had Darius and Bo enjoyed a foursome the night before? Or even worse, had they enjoyed each other?

Every now and then the gay rumors Stacy had heard about Darius would creep into her mind. She blocked them out, mostly. Darius and Bo seemed especially close, but aside from the beginning when he’d acted hesitant, Darius had proved to be an ardent and capable lover. Yes, he mainly liked it doggy-style but then, so did she. Was that a reason to make a person gay?
But he could be bi.
Stacy shook her head, hoping that, like an Etch A Sketch, the pictures forming there would disappear.

William, Stacy’s date, noticed her agitation. “Hey, beautiful, can I get you another glass of juice?”

Stacy was glad for the distraction. “Yes, in fact, I’ll go with you.”

Once outside the auditorium, Stacy and William decided to sit at an outside table and eat a bite along with their drinks. In her zeal to forget about Darius and try and enjoy the evening, Stacy decided one glass of Pinot Noir wouldn’t hurt the baby and after she’d had the first one, ordered a second.

“Looks like somebody’s trying to get tipsy,” William teased. “It’s okay, beautiful. I’ll buy a bottle if you’d like.”

“I’m fine, even though I am trying to get my buzz on.”
You really are a nice guy,
Stacy thought while smiling at him.
Too bad you’re not Darius.

“So, what’s a fine girl like you doing single?” William asked.

Oh, here we go—the “why are you thirty and single” dialogue. Not!
“I’m not really single,” Stacy replied, after another sip, more like gulp, of wine. “It’s just that my boyfriend had to go out of town on business.”

“On a holiday?”

“He’s in the music business.”

“And he didn’t take you with him? You ask me, that man’s a fool.”

Stacy stood, immediately feeling light-headed and a bit sick to her stomach. Her smart comment of “well I didn’t ask you” got swallowed with the gulp of air she took to try and quell her nausea.

“You all right?” William asked, standing up and putting his arm around her.

“I will be,” Stacy said. After a couple deep breaths the light-headedness disappeared and her stomach calmed. “Look, William, I’ve had a wonderful time, really. But I think I’m going to call a cab and go home.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” he countered. “I’ll drive you.”

“And I wouldn’t think of your missing half of an excellent concert on my account,” Stacy said. “Please, give Cy and Hope my best and tell Hope I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“At least let me wait with you until the cab arrives.”

“Thanks for your concern but there’s no need. I really am much better. I skipped our family’s Thanksgiving gathering—guess my empty stomach doesn’t appreciate red wine.”

“Well, I hope to see you again.” William leaned forward for a kiss.

Stacy turned her head and pressed her cheek against his pursed lips before spinning around and almost running away from her date. “Thanks again,” she yelled, without looking back. She made it all the way to the side of the building, and away from prying eyes, before she threw up.

The ginger ale she’d purchased while waiting for the cab eased her stomach. Now, as the taxi idled in holiday traffic on the 101 freeway, Stacy regretted she’d left the concert. It was stupid of her to drink wine. But her need to drown out thoughts of Darius had also drowned out her common sense for a moment. She’d left a fabulous concert, great company, and a good man behind. And for what? So she could go home and be alone? Watch the umpteenth rerun of
A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving
?

“That was stupid,” she mumbled under her breath. “He’s in Canada, having a ball, and look at you.”

“Excuse me?” the cab driver inquired.

“Nothing,” Stacy answered, barely aware she’d spoken out loud.
Nothing,
she repeated inside her head. Because that’s what she’d gotten out of ruining a perfectly good evening for someone who had not once cancelled a good time for her and who, even now, was undoubtedly in some five-star hotel, eating five-star food, enjoying champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

Once inside her apartment, Stacy determined to change her sour mood. Being involved with a celebrity was never easy.

Time and time again Tanya, Darius’s sister, had told her to chill the bump out, to stop being paranoid and acting like all the other insecure women. Tanya was right.