After the Storm (All I've Ever Needed) (5 page)

Stephano had showered and tumbled into bed expecting to immediately fall asleep, but more than an hour later he was still wide awake.

Natalie’s behavior was totally out of character for the woman he thought he knew.
 
She was an intensely private person and at first none of her colleagues had known if she was married or single.
 
Some of the guys, attracted by her brains, good looks and sexy body had even speculated about her sexual orientation when she hadn’t been forthcoming about her relationship.
 
Stephano had never thought that she was a lesbian—from the first there had been an unacknowledged sexual awareness between them.
 
He’d often thought that he’d caught a look of interest in her eyes but it always faded before he could be certain.
 

When she’d started working for the company, he’d been living with his now ex-girlfriend.
 
Renata’s possessiveness and lack of trust in him had soured their relationship, and convinced that Natalie hadn’t been seeing anyone at the time, he had waited, not wanting to immediately wanting to rush into another relationship without giving himself some time for reflection.
 
But just as he had thought about making his move, he’d answered Natalie’s phone and spoken to a man with a deep voice and a much more pronounced Trinidadian accent than Natalie’s.
 
The man had left no message, just said that he would see her at home later.

When he had informed her of the call, hoping that she’d shed some light on the man’s identity, she had just thanked him politely.
 
The man had been equally tight-lipped months later when Stephano had answered her phone when she had stepped away from her desk to grab a cup of coffee, just saying to tell her Nathan had called.

Stephano had wanted to kick himself for not immediately grabbing her once he’d broken things off with Renata.
 
Then last Thursday he had eavesdropped as Morgan had asked Natalie how she planned to spent her weekend.
 
She’d would give her house a thorough clean on Saturday as usual, she’d replied, and attend an art exhibition with her brother Nathan and his fiancée on Sunday.

Nathan!
 
Of course he’s her brother!

Stephano had realized belatedly that he’d missed the similarity of their names.
 
He had been so stunned by the man saying that he would see Natalie at home later, his mind had conquered only one interpretation.
 
On reflection he realized that Natalie’s accent did deepen when she was on her mobile phone talking to family members.
 
Sometimes she called her parents ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy’.
 
He’d chuckled silently when he’d first heard her do it, but he had somehow gotten used to the fact now.

He’d barely refrained from punching the air with glee on hearing that the man was not his competition.
 
They both had busy weekends, so he would make his move on his return from Harry’s wedding, he’d decided.
 
Then she had hurt her wrist and all his protective instincts had been awakened as he’d gone rushing to her aid.

He had never touched her silky skin before, except for a brief handshake on her first day of work and he had marveled at the texture, neither had he ever been close enough to smell her subtle perfume.
 
It had gone to his head like wine, laying waste to all his plans.

He knew most women liked to wined and dined, before having sex with a man.
 
He hoped that Natalie didn’t feel cheap because he had done neither.
 
Even though they knew each other pretty well as work colleagues, she was more reserved than any woman he’d ever dated.
 
He’d prepared himself for the months of waiting before she slept with him, never anticipating the fire under her cool exterior.

He was still stunned that he hadn’t used protection.
 
He no longer walked around with condoms in his back pockets as he had done as a teenager, but he ensured that he prepared if there was a likelihood that he would engage in sexual activity.
 
But lust had hit him like a fist that Friday and at no point, from kissing Natalie’s wrist to coming harder than he had done in years, had he thought about protection.

Despite what she said, he knew that she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her.
 
The proof had been there in her rapid response to his touch.

It would be tough, but he would back off a little and allow her some space, a chance to miss him a little.
 
A week, no more than two, and then he was going in for the kill.

***

Natalie reached over, turned the radio on and grabbed the topmost of the pile of brand-new romance novels on her bedside table.
 
She snuggled deeper under her vanilla-scented duvet, just leaving her face and her hand outside.
 
It was cold and she needed her morning coffee, but she was too lazy to get up.
 
The central heating would come automatically on in an hour at eight, and she needed to reduce her caffeine intake, anyway.

She re-read the blurb of the interracial romance novel before she turned it over and admired the picture of the couple on the cover.
 
She had always loved the subgenre, but never in a million years had she imagined that she would contemplate one of her own.
 
Sometimes the couples in the novels had to go through a lot for the sake of their love and she often wondered if she would be strong enough to make whatever sacrifice was needed for the sake of love.
 
Things worked out in the end in romance novels, but it wouldn’t be that easy in real life.
 
Not that what she and Stephano had shared could be termed a romance—it had been a shameful one-night fling that hadn’t even lasted the night.

It had felt like she was ripping her own heart out telling him that she wanted them to be ‘just friends’, but he had taken her decision well, embarrassingly so.
 
They had been coolly polite with each other for the rest of the week.
 
She had joined him and their usual group of colleagues for lunch when meetings hadn’t taken her out of the office, only because not doing so would have seemed odd and raised suspicions that were already heightened by her and Stephano’s less-warm-than-usual camaraderie.

Forget Stephano
, she rebuked herself and focused on the book again.
 
She hoped that the description of the characters matched the cover.
 
It was a silly peeve of hers, but she got annoyed when the picture on the cover looked nothing like the characters inside the book.
 
She knew it must be difficult to find stock art that matched the characters writers dreamed up in their heads, but sometimes publishers didn’t seem to even make an effort.
 
She had even read books with sketched or painted covers that didn’t match the characters—that she found totally unacceptable!
 
It probably meant that she needed a life, she acknowledged.
 
After all, what did it matter if the characters looked nothing like the cover?

She opened the book carefully, trying not to crease the cover.
 
The charity she donated the books to after reading were able to charge a little extra if the books were in good condition.
 
Buying four new books each weekend, six if there was a bank holiday on the Monday was a guilty pleasure, but knowing the charity benefited and other readers were able to buy the books at a reduced price made her feel less guilty.

Yesterday she had done her household chores accompanied by music in an attempt not to think about Stephano.
 
But later in the sauna, after a hectic and very enjoyable Zumba class, he was all she could think of.
 
Slipping between crisp, clean bed sheets was usually the highlight of her Saturday, but all she thought of as she’d done it yesterday was how much better it would be having a hard body to snuggle up to instead of soft sheets.

She had awoken feeling refreshed and rested.
 
With nowhere to go and all the time to get there, she decided to spend the morning in bed reading with the radio softly in the background, providing companionship of sorts.

Whitney Houston dead at 48…

It took several moments for the words to register in Natalie’s subconscious mind.

Did the announcer just say…?

Hastily, she reached over and turned up the radio.

The words the man was saying made no sense!

Whitney was too young.
 
The same age almost as Natalie’s mother.

Throwing back the covers, she scrambled out of bed.
 
Whitney was her mother’s favorite singer.
 
The news would be a huge shock.

***

Taking a deep breath, Natalie opened her car door and got of the car on arriving at her parents’ three-bedroom house in Raynes Park.
 
Whitney’s death was sobering.
 
She’d never given a thought to her parents dying.
 
Her mother was forty-seven and her father fifty-three.
 
They were both healthy and she naturally assumed that they would live to ripe old ages as both sets of her grandparents did in Trinidad.
 
Her parents had joint gym membership of the nearby private club and went there weekdays for an hour on the treadmill each morning at six.
 
On weekends they went for a walk in the park instead.

“Hi, Daddy,” she greeted as she slipped off her shoes at the front door.
 
He was sitting in his favorite recliner reading
The Independent
, which he would read from cover to cover before the end of the day.
 
Sometimes she missed being a child, snuggled into his side as he read her stories from the newspaper.
 
Most of it hadn’t made sense to her at the time but she’d loved the sound of his deep voice and the fact that his Trinidadian accent was more pronounced than normal when he read aloud.

“How’s my sugarplum?”
 
He took off his reading glasses and raised his cheek for her kiss.

“I’m fine, Daddy.
 
And you?” She laid her cheek against his and hugged him.

“I can’t complain,” he replied.
 
By which he meant life was generally good and he had little to complain about.

“Is Mummy in the kitchen?”

“No, she’s upstairs somewhere.”
 
Her father waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the stairs and went back to reading as Natalie turned to head up the stairs.

Her mother was lying on the covers, looking composed but Natalie could tell that she had been crying.
 
Whitney’s
My Love is Your Love
was playing softly in the background.
 
She turned her head as Natalie tapped on the open door and entered the bedroom.

“Did you hear?”
 
The fact that her mother didn’t elaborate spoke volumes.
 
Natalie suspected that she would break down if she said the words.

“Yes.
 
That’s why I came over so early.”

Usually Natalie came over for lunch on Sunday.
 
Her mother liked cooking a proper Sunday roast and complained that it was no fun just cooking for her and her husband.
 
Nathan and his fiancée Folasade often joined them.
 
When they did, her mother referred to it as a ‘Soul Food’ Sunday.
 
The movie was another of her favorites and she complained bitterly that it didn’t get the recognition it deserved.

“This is why I always tell you to live your life to the full.”
 
Her mother patted the covers and Natalie obediently lay on the bed next to her.
 
It had been a long time since she’d been wrapped in her mother’s arms Natalie realized as they came around her and held her tight.
 
With them lying down instead of standing, her five-inch height advantage over her mother disappeared.
 
Feeling like a little girl again, she closed her eyes, she luxuriated in the feeling and let go of her cares for a few precious seconds.
 
“You never know which day will be your last.”

“I do enjoy my life, Mum.”
 
She may not be partying every Saturday night, but she loved having the time to read at leisure.