Nydia’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “You’ve never used a vibrator?” she whispered.
“No.”
“When was the last time you slept with a man?”
Jasmine paused. “It’s been almost three years.”
“Don’t you have urges?”
“Sometimes, but—”
“Say no more,” Nydia said, interrupting her. “This is a conversation we’ll have the next time we meet.” Leaning closer, she hugged Jasmine. “Thanks for dinner. The next one is on me. And don’t forget to text to let me know how it went with Cameron.”
Jasmine pressed her cheek to Nydia’s. “I won’t.” She and Nydia parted, and she walked in the direction of the indoor garage several blocks away.
Thirty-five minutes later she maneuvered into the underground parking garage across the street from her building and waved to the parking attendant in the booth. She had seriously contemplated selling the Yukon Denali because it was a gas-guzzler, and the only time she used it was when visiting her parents on Long Island. Also, her visits were becoming more infrequent because her retired high-school principal father and former trauma-nurse mother were busy volunteering for various charities.
She parked in her assigned space, walked to her building, nodded to the doorman on duty, and then headed for the elevator in the air-cooled lobby. She’d bought the one-bedroom unit in the luxury high-rise two years before she married Raymond, and despite his consistent urgings she had refused to add his name to the deed. The condo had been her first and most important big-ticket purchase and she had not wanted to share it with anyone—not even her husband. Making him a partner in her decorating business was a no-brainer once she changed careers, but after her divorce was finalized she reclaimed her maiden name.
Agreeing to have dinner with Cameron was certainly going to be interesting, although initially there had been something about the well-dressed businessman Jasmine had found disturbing whenever she discovered him staring at her; yet, despite this she still found him attractive. Classically handsome features in a deeply tanned face radiated good health, while flecks of gray shimmered like gold in his thick, fashionably styled light-brown hair. It was when she met his steel-blue eyes that she felt slightly uncomfortable. It was as if there was no warmth behind the penetrating orbs. But her uneasiness faded once he smiled. The iciness in his eyes had disappeared and after a while she had felt comfortable talking with him.
Jasmine smiled when she realized it had been years since she had had a date. Her smile was still in place as she retrieved her mail from the mailbox before she stepped into the elevator car. She punched the button for the eighteenth floor, the doors closed, and the car rose swiftly to the designated floor. Within seconds of opening the door to her apartment Jasmine felt the buildup of heat. When she had left earlier that morning she hadn’t bothered to turn on the central air-conditioning. Spring had come early and unlike in recent years the temperatures had not fluctuated between warm and cool. Most morning temperatures began in the mid-sixties and by late afternoon were close to eighty.
She slipped out of her shoes, leaving them on the mat in the entryway next to a bleached-pine table. Walking on bare feet, Jasmine switched on the living-dining room air-conditioning unit, and then repeated the action in the bedroom. She flopped down on a chair and rested her feet on a matching footstool. She hadn’t bothered to close the drapes covering the windows spanning the width of the bedroom. It was her time to sit and watch the lengthening shadows cover Manhattan like someone pulling down a shade to conceal the fading light.
There had been a time when she loathed sitting alone in the dark, but now she welcomed it. And she did not realize how much she had come to look forward to sharing dinner with Nydia because she could always count on her friend to lift her spirits. Before Tonya moved to New Orleans they had all met once a week, but now that there was only the two of them they switched to meeting twice a month.
I’m going on a date.It was her time for new beginnings and starting over and that meant a new attitude—something she intended to embrace with open arms.
Chapter 2
The rear door opened and Cameron Singleton stepped out of the town car when it stopped in front of Cipriani Club 55. He had made certain to leave his hotel in time to get to the restaurant before Jasmine arrived. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to go back,” he told the driver.
Cameron had flown into New York on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon he reconnected with eleven of his fraternity brothers living in the tristate area when they gathered for brunch in Harlem. They were still awaiting the arrival of others from different parts of the country, which would swell their confirmed total to fifteen.
It had been more than a quarter of a century since his college graduation and over the years he’d lost some of his friends because of illness, accidents, and a few who had died in combat. Several had had more than one marriage and the result was a loss of interest in attempting to revive what had been and would never be again. But Cameron, having never been married and now forty-eight, still reveled in his single status.
Over the years he had dated a number of different women, although there were occasions when he was content to be alone for long periods of time. He had earned the reputation of being a serial dater, yet the epithet did not affect him because he enjoyed living his life without restrictions and/or entanglements. What few knew was that his reluctance to marry stemmed from his parents’ turbulent marriage. They couldn’t live together, but were miserable whenever they separated. Cameron lost count of the number of times they had reconciled, and the irony was that in a few months they would celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
Ten minutes later a taxi maneuvered up to the curb and the rear door opened. Cameron went completely still. He held his breath as he stared at the beautifully formed feet of a woman wearing a pair of strappy stilettos touch the sidewalk before his gaze moved up and lingered on smooth, bare brown legs. A hint of a smile parted his lips when he saw Jasmine Washington for the first time in nearly seven months.
She looked different than he remembered. Back in October she’d worn an orange gown that concealed her legs and feet, but now the slimness of her body was blatantly on display in a de rigueur sleeveless little black dress with a scooped neckline and slightly flared skirt ending at the knees. Hair that had been pinned up in a sophisticated twist behind her right ear now bounced above her shoulders in a mass of curls.
Galvanized into motion, Cameron approached her. Everything about Jasmine enveloped him: her perfume, the flawless complexion that shimmered like burnished silk, the slightly slanting dark eyes, and the tiny heart-shaped beauty mark high on her right cheekbone, the pert nose, and the full lush mouth that other women paid plastic surgeons exorbitant sums of money to achieve. And the slight expression of shock that momentarily froze her delicate features faded when she recognized him.
Lowering his head, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You look incredible. Thank you for meeting me.”
Jasmine stared up at him through her lashes, clearly unaware of the seductiveness of the gesture. “Thank you for inviting me.” She shifted the black cashmere shawl and small evening purse to her right hand when Cameron took her left.
He gave her a sidelong glance as he led her to the entrance of the restaurant, his gaze lingering on her profile. Cameron did not know what it was about Jasmine that made him feel slightly off-balance; when he had first approached her at Hannah and St. John McNair’s wedding reception he felt her tension as surely as it was his own. Once they had shared a dance, he’d asked to take her out to dinner. She told him that wasn’t possible because she was leaving to return to New York the following afternoon.
Undaunted, he asked for her number while explaining that he traveled to New York every May. Jasmine offered him her number probably believing he would forget her. Well, he hadn’t forgotten her, because not only did she look different from any other woman he’d dated, she also appeared more sophisticatedandmore mature.
The door opened and they were greeted by the maître de. “Good evening. Welcome to Cipriani.”
Cameron smiled. “Thank you. The name is Singleton. I have a seven o’clock reservation for two in Terrace 55.”
The man nodded. “Mr. Singleton. I’ll have someone escort you to your table.”
