Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) (29 page)

“There is absolutely nothing, and I mean
nothing
, ugly about you…” He took her hand again and held it tight. His grip was strong, almost painful; yet, the feeling bordered on comfort. He looked at her so intensely, his eyes like beacons of light shining straight through the lacey layers of her soul.

“Thank you.”

“I owe
you
the thanks.”

She looked down at her tan pants, the corners of her mouth curled in a gracious grin.

“Thank you for agreeing to come over tonight, and have dinner with me,” he added. Looking slowly back his way, she took notice of a well of warmth emanating from his eyes. The vibrant green had mellowed in the mix of candlelight and streams of moonlight that caressed the room via the large window, partially shielded in thick, deep purple drapes. “Some people would have freaked out and flat out refused after what you know about this place, and well…” He clicked his tongue against his inner jaw, his brow arching ever so slightly. “I suppose rightfully so.”

She ran her hands up and down her thighs as she wove thoughts into words. “Honestly, my Aunt Sugar was quite concerned when I told her I was coming over but—”

“Wait.” He traced the edge of the glass ashtray, a mischievous grin creasing his face. “You told your Aunt Sugar about me?”

“Yeah, so what?” She smirked, knowing full well what he was driving at.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘So what?’” he mocked, followed by a husky burst of laughter. “It means I’m in!” He pumped his fist playfully in the air, drawing a burst of mirth from her. “We’re a thing, an item! You want me… I knew it,” he teased with a sultry wink.

“How do you figure that?” She squelched a giggle by sinking her teeth into her lower lip and bearing down.

“ ’Cause Aunt Sugar causes you a lot of grief, but you love her a lot and the things you bother tellin’ her are important to you.”

“You got all of that from the little I told you about her? You read into things too much, Mr. Author.” This time, the laughter couldn’t be held back.

“You like me… you like me a hell of a lot.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Just admit the shit so we can move on.”

His superciliousness sickened her. “All right! You’re right.” She saved herself from drowning before it was too late.

“I know I am,” he stated smoothly as he lit another cigarette, leaving it hanging between his fingers. He turned to the side in his seat, as if about to sleep off a hangover. “I’d like to meet your Aunt Sugar one day.”

“She’s crazy. But she’s one of those people that don’t know she’s crazy. She thinks everyone else is out of their mind except her. I got lucky for a while. She wouldn’t call me during a thunderstorm, even if she is on a cell phone. So I tried to start tellin’ her it was raining all the time and that kept our calls down but then she started watching the National Weather Channel. She’s on to me now.”

They both burst out laughing.

“You’re funny… that’s great.” He said the words slowly, real lazy like. His eyes hooded and the seductive nature of his expression tore her to lust-filled shreds.

“Yeah, you told me that before.”

“I know I did…but sometimes we need to be reminded about how wonderful we are, and how we make people feel.” They stewed in a bit of silence as he brought his wine glass up to his lips and seemed to savor the flavor of the very last drop. “Emerald?”

“Yes?”

“How do I make you feel?”

He said the words so simply, but her pussy throbbed with the effortlessness of the utterance and turned it into something wicked.

“Let’s see, how can I put this?” She tapped her lower lip with her index finger as she kept her gaze on him. “What makes me tense is how open you are; yet, I always feel like no matter how much we discuss, share with one another, I still know so little about you.”

“And that’s why we’re getting to know one another, spending time, developing our connection more and more.”

“You’re right. That’s the purpose of us dating, this entire process we’re doing.” They stopped talking for a bit, growing comfortable in the extended silence. “You know what you remind me of?” she asked after a while.

“What?”

“You remind me of an exceptional gold bound book that you notice sitting all by itself, covered in dust, on a big shelf in an old library. Glints of sunlight from a broken skylight beam down on it, bringing it to your attention. It looks magical and heavy, as though it holds the answers to the world’s problems, just by its appearance alone. You walk over to it, stroll over to it actually, tryna act real cool like you don’t even notice it. Before long, you grab a step stool, stand on it, and stretch your arm as far as it will go to pull that book down. It almost lands on top of your head.

“You feel the heftiness of the thing, its power right in your hands. You recognize it could bowl you right over, but it doesn’t. It seems to situate itself just right in your grip, and you no longer know who is holding who… You open it, turn to the very first page. The ink is faded in some spots, like it’s tryna play hide and seek with the meanings, make things hard for you, but before you finish that first page, the text turns black and crystal clear. You begin to really get into it.” She moved her fingers as if flipping sheets. “But you are never able to reach the end of that book, Sloan. No matter how hard you try.

“You see, when you believe you are almost finished, there is yet another chapter that was never mentioned in the Table of Contents. But you’re grateful for it; what a wonderful surprise, because you’re enjoying the heart of the story and a part of you never wants those butterflies in your gut to stop fluttering, the lust to turn sour or the words, ‘The End’ to ever show their disappointing faces.

“But you’re a realist, and you’re honest, and you know the truth. You were born knowing the truth, each breath you took was a struggle, yet you never knew why. It was all a lesson though, reminding you just how precious life was, and how each page is a day of our lives that none of us can get back.
Every
thing in this world has a termination period. Everything has a final chapter, Sloan. Hatred, loathing, even evil and good in this world… Love is the only thing that never perishes.”

The man stared at her without even blinking. She had no idea where these words that poured out of her mouth were coming from, but she needed to say them, let him know how he made her feel.

“It just goes from person to person, carrying on the legacy. So inside, you break down a little, because you’re falling in love with that book…”

“…And that book is falling in love with the one who holds it,” he finished for her.

She swallowed at his words, his confession meshing into her own.

“Sloan, those moths that have eaten some of the pages became a part of the experience. They’re called your character flaws… and I accept them, ’cause everything I’ve seen inside that book is fine, so far is so good, right and real—and a few bitten pages mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. But now, you’re back at square one. The end is coming… it always does.”

Her voice cowered within her throat, afraid of the next words she’d dare to emit, but she kept the course despite it all. “Like my first marriage ending, crashing to the ground in a depressing heap. I chose someone knowing in advance it wouldn’t work; that way, I wouldn’t be surprised. I now avoid endings, so much so that what I do in my spare time for the love of it is what tells the
truth
of what lives inside my broken heart.” Tears budded in her eyes as she spoke, working each utterance hard, a verbal grind to the bone.

“Keep going…” he begged, his request urgent, as if he needed it just as much as she did.

“I restore old furniture, trying to give it new life so it, too, can live on and on…” If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve sworn that Sloan’s eyes glossed over, yet she ignored that suspicion, didn’t want to make a scene about it; besides, she was barely hanging on herself…

“And I’m attracted to the beauty and wisdom in others. Wisdom is sexy to me; it means the person knows something. It means you can feed my mind, not just my body with a wonderful home-cooked meal, but you can feed my soul, too. You have both of those things, Sloan… beauty
and
wisdom, and you’ve got pain and distress too, so…” She swallowed. “So those book moths are bitin’, but you let me see it, the pages all tattered on the ends. At the same time, your cover is impeccable and your story is enriching, addictive, and downright delicious.”

He swiped at his eye so fast, the motion was a blur. He looked away from her, but she could see the smile on his face.

“I’m attracted to you beyond the physical, Sloan. It’s been a while since I felt so connected to someone in a romantic sort of way. I don’t want it ruined, or for it to burn out prematurely. I’m tryna be cautious, but not afraid, if that makes any sense… so I keep on reading, and I don’t worry about when ‘The End’ comes because I just enjoy turning the pages, and right now, that’s good enough for me.”

“Are you uh, are you sure you’re not a writer, too? You have a way with words.”

A warm glow spanned her cheeks. “I’m not a writer, but I admire those who are.”

“I want you all to myself.” His husky, deep voice rumbled inside her spirit, shook it with an iron grip.

“All to yourself?” She repeated behind a swallow, knowing damn well what he was driving at.

“I know that earlier tonight you felt like I was moving too fast, but I’m no longer convinced I read you right.” A mischievous gleam twinkled in his eyes.

“You hadn’t,” she said lightly.

“Good.” He scratched his inner elbow distractedly and exhaled a deep breath. “So, it looks like you’re stayin’ the night.” He tossed his napkin onto the table.

“Looks that way.” She swallowed. Hard. “My Aunt Sugar is going to call me a whore.”

“Well, what Aunt Sugar doesn’t know won’t hurt her…”

The Naked Truth

S
wirls of cherry
incense filled the air as he closed the drapes in his bedroom. “Lowdown” from Boz Scaggs played on the radio. Emerald had disappeared into his master suite bathroom, closing the door behind her. He carefully removed his Rolex watch from his wrist, laid it on the nightstand and unbuttoned his shirt. He slid it off, then placed it on the back of his desk chair. He took his sweet time undressing as he swayed his hips to the music. On the dresser he’d set two glasses of wine, just in case.

“That’s a good song!” Emerald called out from behind the sounds of gushing water.

“Yeah it is! Maxim has some really good radio stations. I’m impressed.” He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes and socks, taking note of the ridges left behind from the elastic of the things. He grimaced.

“Oh yes! We’ve had some great singers start out here. Motown used to come here and literally shop for talent.”

“That’s amazing.” He removed his pants, kicking them off to the side. “So you’re a real music fan, huh? That’s good. So am I.”

“Definitely. My radio in my car and townhouse is on all the time if I’m not playing my own records… Records? Yeah, I play records!” She laughed.

“I have a record player still, too. Our kids don’t know what they’re missing.” He chuckled as he stood and flipped the covers back. “The O’Jays, Steely Dan, Ambrosia… the list of my favorite bands goes on and on.”

“I knew you had good taste in music on our first date.” Just then, the bathroom door opened. “You were playing music in your car when you drove away.” She stood there in the over-sized shirt he’d given her, her hair tucked behind her ear. She’d washed off all of her makeup and a natural glow bloomed across her cheeks. The sight of her left him speechless.

“Are you okay?” She smiled at him as she walked over to the bed, and lay down with him.

“Yeah.” Scooting close to her, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “You’re gorgeous… I’m serious, Emerald. I mean, I knew that before, I’ve told you many times, but you look so good without makeup too, you know that?”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks plumped at his compliment.

“Not that you looked bad with it,” he said sheepishly. “It’s just that… wow… you look so much younger than you are, especially without the lipstick.” He ran his fingers along her cheek, admiring her beauty up close and personal. “You must have a hell of a beauty regimen.”

“Not really. Black don’t crack.”

He burst out laughing at her declaration, and nodded in agreement.

“Well, all I know is I have a stunning woman in my bed and I plan to do… some real…
nasty
things… to ’er…”

Adjusting her on her back, he lay on top of her and bent down to deliver light kisses all along her neck. Their bodies created a cocoon of warmth, the kind he’d craved from her for so long. He stroked up her shoulder and curled his hand behind her neck. Pressing his lips onto hers, he slicked his tongue within her mouth and worked it slow and steady. With his free hand, he explored her body, paying close attention to her breathing, her scent, her sounds…

He cupped her left breast over the material of the shirt, then reached for the hem, raising the thing up. Eyes closed, he focused on feeling the contours of her supple skin, trailing a hand up her curves to cover her nipple with his palm. Running a trail of kisses down her chin, he made his way to the hardened, dark bud. He took it in his mouth, drawing a loud sigh from her. His heart rate increased tenfold when small, delicate fingers played in his hair. King Harvest provided a beautiful background, crooning, ‘Dancing in the Moonlight.’