“Six. The boat sails at seven, so I’d like us to be there before six-thirty.”
Jasmine massaged the back of her neck. “I’ll be ready. Do you want me to call down to the lobby and have the doorman hail a taxi for you?”
Cameron cradled her face in his hands, his eyes moving slowly over her features as if committing them to memory. “Don’t bother. The weather’s nice, so I’ll probably walk back to the hotel.”
“Be careful.”
Lowering his head, he brushed a light kiss over her mouth. “I will.” He kissed her again, this time a little longer. “I really enjoyed today.”
“I’m glad, because I did, too.”
“I’ll help you clean up before I leave.”
Jasmine pulled his hands away from her face, and looped her arm through his. “There’s nothing to clean up except to put cups in the dishwasher. Come. I’ll walk you to the door.”
Cameron sat on the chair in the entryway and put on his shoes. Walking back to the hotel would give him time to sort out his feelings for a woman who had him counting down the time until he would see her again.
He rose to his feet when Jasmine opened the door. “Good night, sweets.”
Going on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “Good night.”
Cameron took the elevator to the building lobby and walked out into the warm night. He made his way down Second Avenue and then toward Columbus Circle. Instead of meeting his frat brothers and their significant others for a scheduled gab session in the hotel bar, he wanted to take a shower and just hang out in his room. He managed to make it to his room without encountering anyone in his group and hung the DO NOTDISTURBplacard on the doorknob.
The day had been one where he had experienced a gamut of emotions: impatience when he stood outside the hotel waiting for Jasmine to arrive; surprise once she revealed they were going to spend the day on Long Island; uneasiness when meeting her aunt and uncle because he wasn’t certain how they would react to him; pleasantly surprised that he and Keith had bonded so quickly during their tour of the winery; shock and horror once Jasmine revealed the details of her failed marriage; and the unfamiliar feeling of an awakened sense of himself and his rightful place and purpose in the world.
Walking into Jasmine’s apartment was akin to entering an ethereal garden that calmed a restlessness he had denied for years. She admitted to redecorating the space in an attempt to discard everything that reminded her of her ex-husband, and begin anew. She had been betrayed by a man she loved and trusted, while he’d denied her the prospect of having his child. It was apparent her ex had underestimated her, because Jasmine possessed an inner strength that belied her physical fragility.
Cameron had told himself he didn’t need a woman for other than occasional companionship, but knew that was a lie. He had convinced himself that he did not miss fathering children, but was aware that was also a falsehood. Whenever he interacted with his nieces and nephews he was the funny, indulgent Uncle Cam whose intent was to listen to their complaints and give them whatever they wanted despite their parents’ objections.
Within minutes of seeing Jasmine to her door after their dinner at Cipriani Club 55, he had asked himself what it was about Jasmine that made her different from other women. It wasn’t until he saw her again that he realized it was not only her beauty that attracted him but also her intellect. She was well-spoken and her interests were varied. He wondered if they’d met ten years ago, would she have changed his views about marriage.
Stripping off his clothes, he left them in the bag for hotel laundry. Walking on bare feet, he entered the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and showered. Cameron patted his body dry and returned to the bedroom. Normally he would’ve sat up watching late-night talk shows or encores of baseball and basketball games, but this night was different. He got into bed and turned off the bedside lamp. His last thoughts before Morpheus claimed him were of a slender woman with a golden-brown complexion, raven-black hair, and a sensual mouth he had barely tasted when he had wanted to devour.
* * *
Jasmine had just slipped into her dress when she registered the distinctive buzzing of the intercom. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was ten minutes before six. Walking across the bedroom, she tapped a button, and then closed the hidden zipper.
“Yes.”
“Ms. Washington, there’s a Mr. Singleton here to see you,” came the voice through the speaker.
“Please send him up.”
She returned to the sitting room, slipped her feet into a pair of black, silk-covered peep-toe stilettoes, and then picked up a matching cashmere shawl and small evening bag covered with bugle beads. Jasmine opened the bag to make certain she hadn’t forgotten her keys and made her way to the door.
She had gotten up earlier that morning and stopped at a neighborhood coffee shop for breakfast, then made it to the nail salon for her scheduled mani-pedi and facial. She had arrived early for her hair appointment but fortunately her stylist had a cancellation and was able to take her. Jasmine walked out ninety minutes later with her hair shampooed, deep-conditioned, set, and blown out before being brushed off her face and pinned into a chic chignon.
After returning home, Jasmine took a bath in lieu of a shower because she did not want to cover her coiffed hair with a plastic cap, and afterwards devoted an inordinate amount of time to meticulously applying makeup. The last time she had attended a formal affair Hannah had arranged for professional artists to make up the faces of her bridal party.
Nydia had complimented Jasmine’s fabulous taste in clothes, but what her friend didn’t know was that it had come from her being an older man’s companion. Her involvement with Gregory had thrust Jasmine into a revolving door of formal dinner parties, fundraisers, gallery openings, fashion shows, and art auctions—some of which required formal attire. Gregory paid for her clothes, hair, makeup, and jewelry. He also acquainted her with potential clients, while introducing her to them as his protégée. Jasmine later realized she’d been naïve because she believed no one knew she and Gregory were lovers, and when questioned as to their association she was quick to explain that he was her mentor.
There was a soft knock on the door; she opened it and for a brief moment she held her breath. Cameron stood there, resplendent in a slim-cut tuxedo, with a stark-white spread collar shirt and black-and-red striped silk tie fashioned into a Windsor knot. His tawny-brown thick hair was cut in precise layered strands, while his tanned face shimmered from a close shave.
A slow smile parted her vermilion-colored lips. “You look very nice.”
* * *
Cameron stared at Jasmine like a deer in the blinding glare of a vehicle’s headlights. He could not believe she could improve on perfection, but she had. His eyes moved slowly from the smoky shadow on her lids to the blood-red color on her lips that was an exact match for the lace sheath dress hugging the curves of her slender body; and then down to the black silk obi sash accentuating her tiny waist; and finally to her feet in the sexy heels. The red color on her mouth, fingers, and toes illuminated the yellow undertones in her golden-brown complexion.
