Private Lessons (4 page)

Naomi sighed. “Yeah, you're right. I may as well enjoy it while I can.”

“And girl, I know I don't have to tell you to use your own protection. I mean of course, if it gets that far.”

Naomi flushed. She could barely imagine what it might be like to make love with Brice Lawrence. Her heart started racing just thinking about it. “I will, but I doubt it will go that far.”

“Why? You said he told you that if he had his way he would be curling your toes. Well, not in those exact words, but you know what I mean. Sounds like he's hot for you.” She paused. “Look, men do it all the time. Remember Stella in Terry McMillan's
How Stella Got Her Groove Back
?

“No.”

Alexis shook her head. “Anyway, you need to get your groove back. I mean, come on Nay, there hasn't been anyone of note in your life since Trevor, and that was almost two years ago. If you don't use it, it might just dry up.”

“Oh, stop,” she chided, mildly embarrassed. She hadn't thought about Trevor in a long time, and that took some doing. They'd been seeing each other for nearly a year. She'd thought that he was the one. He was a professor at Morehouse, intelligent, fun, sexy—but a liar. He'd lied to her for the entire time they were together. All along he'd been seeing someone else, and she didn't find out until she got a call from
his fiancée! That nearly broke her. She'd never been so hurt and humiliated in her life.

After that she buried herself in her books and work. Attaining the position of dean became her single focus. It filled her hours and her mind, but it didn't fill the empty space in her heart.

Alexis was right. She hadn't had sex in twenty-two months and counting. And up until she met Brice, she'd been able to convince herself that the celibate life was fine with her. But she knew better. As much as she might protest, she loved sex. She loved being sexual. She loved what a skilled man could do to her body and she to his. But she covered that all up under the guise of propriety, drab suits, minimal makeup, black pumps and a stereotypical teacher's bun. But there was another Naomi Clarke that was begging to come out.

“You still there?”

“Huh. Oh, sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was saying to just relax and enjoy yourself. And bottom line, Nay, no matter what I say, do what's in your heart to do.”

Naomi thought about that while she changed clothes and prepared for her day and night ahead. She put her lipstick, her phone, room key, money and identification in her purse. Then she went to the dresser and took out her little makeup bag from the drawer. She unzipped it and stared at the pack of lubricated condoms. Before she could change her mind, she opened the box and took out two and
tucked them in the zippered compartment in her purse.

Just in case,
she thought as she headed out.

B
rice was looking forward to his day with Naomi with unexpected excitement. It felt more important than it should. He'd spent more afternoons than he could count with wonderful women. There was no real reason why he should feel so new, so scrubbed clean, as if he'd taken a hundred rain forest showers. But he did, and it was jolting—as if he'd walked in on a surprise party and was actually surprised.

His smiling reflection stared back at him. He felt genuinely good inside. He pulled his cotton polo shirt over his head and tucked it down into his slacks. A new kind of anticipation made him move with precision and purpose, from the clothes that he chose to wear to the cologne he splashed on his jaw to the
extra care that he took with trimming the edges of his hair.

Every move and decision that he made was inexplicably with Naomi in mind. He wanted to please her, to see her smile and have her eyes take on the light, the way they did when something made her happy. For the life of him, he couldn't understand it. He felt as if he knew her, really knew her, even though that was impossible. And it was more than simple sexual attraction.

A part of him wished that's all that it was. At least that was something that made sense and was something that you could deal with and move on from. But there was this invisible string that kept tugging him in Naomi's direction, even though he knew the chances of it going any farther than these next days was slim.

He took his wallet from the top of the dresser and slid it into the back pocket of his slacks. If he didn't know better, he'd swear the woman put some mojo on him when he wasn't looking. He chuckled at the ridiculousness of that thought and headed out to meet her. His grandmother had been a great believer in signs and symbols and old African legends and sayings. For every event in one's life, his grandmother had a saying, a proverb or an herbal remedy to go with it. He chuckled to himself as he strode down the hallway to the elevator. He wondered what Grandma Mae would have to say to her grandson now.

When he arrived at the lobby he took a slow look
around to see if Naomi had already arrived. When his sweeping gaze found her, a burst of heat popped in the center of his chest. She was seated in the center of the room in the circular lounge area that had a waterfall as its centerpiece. From where he stood, she looked like a young girl instead of the very mature woman he knew her to be. Her long hair was pulled back and away from her face into a ponytail. She wore hoop earrings, a white tank top and white shorts that came halfway down her gorgeous thighs. Her legs were crossed and she was casually swinging one while she flipped through a magazine.

“Hey there.”

Naomi glanced up and a smile lifted the corners of her glossy mouth, and he realized how much he liked that way her eyes tilted upward when she smiled.

“Hey.” She put the magazine down on the table.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not a problem. I can very easily keep myself busy. Between catching a glimpse of some of these outfits…under the guise of reading a magazine I kept my time well occupied.”

Brice chuckled at her mention of the outfits that some people had on. It was clear that some clothes were not made for
every
body.

“Ready?” He extended his hand and helped her to her feet.

“Lead the way.”

He held her hand as they crossed the lobby, and nothing could have felt more natural to Naomi.
The pressure of his fingers around her hand was as comforting and familiar as her favorite quilt, making her want to snuggle up in it.

Last night, after dinner with him, she had a hard time believing that it had all actually happened—and to
her
. Especially after the fiasco at the poolside bar. There was that skeptical, analytical part of her that thought that he very well might not show up for dinner. That the night before had only been a nice diversion, a way not to spend the evening dining alone.
But then there was the kiss
, her inner voice whispered. Was that imagined? A put-on? And when she'd come down to breakfast he was there. It was some false hope, some wishful thinking on her part. She stole a quick glance at him just to check one more time that he was real.

“Since this is your first time, I thought you might be interested in the farmers' market. Great place to pick up some souvenirs for your family and friends back home.”

“Perfect. Is it far?”

“About fifteen minutes. I rented a car.”

“Really? Do you know how to drive on the wrong side of the road?”

He chuckled as he pushed the door open. They got hit with a blast of hot air that was in deep contrast to the almost arctic air of the hotel. “It took me a while to get the hang of it, but I won't run us into a ditch. How's that?”

She gave him a droll sideways glance. “That's comforting.”

“We'll be fine. Promise.”

They emerged onto the winding front entranceway of the Sandals Hotel. Immediately a red-jacketed valet was at their side.

“Yes, how can I help you? Do you need a taxi?”

“No actually, I rented a car.”

“Oh, yes. Then please walk down to the booth and they will get your keys and your car, sir.”

“Thank you.” This time he put his arm around Naomi's waist. “This way,
madame
.”

His arm felt too good, if that were possible. Not possessive, not matter-of-fact, as if he had the right, but simply there where his arm was supposed to be at that moment. The sensation of something greater than them bringing them together toyed with her head, even though she was a firm believer in fact not fate. She pulled in a short breath.
Let it go, Naomi,
she told herself.
Relax and enjoy. Don't analyze.

They walked up to the booth and Brice gave his name. Moments later a navy blue Honda hybrid pulled up in front of them. The driver hopped out and came around to open the passenger door, handing the key to Brice, who gave him a tip before helping Naomi into the car. He came around front and got in behind the wheel.

“This will be a double new experience,” Naomi said while she fastened her seat belt.

“What's that?” He adjusted the mirrors.

“One, driving on the wrong side of the road, and two, in a hybrid. I've never been in one before.”

“Me neither,” he said, looking for the ignition.

“What?” Her voice had risen two octaves.

He turned to her with bad-boy merriment in his eyes. “Just kidding.” He stuck the key into the ignition, put the car in Drive and pulled off.

“Do you want the windows open, or do you prefer the air?”

“Let's keep the windows open,” she said. “I want to get the full flavor of the island.”

“You'll get a great breeze. I drive really fast.”

Her head snapped in his direction, her eyes wide.

He reached over the gear/shift and patted her thigh. “Just kidding.”

“Oh, I see it's going to be one of those days,” she teased.

“It's going to be a spectacular day,” he said, turning for an instant to look at her. And then he winked.

 

The view on the trip into town was completely amazing. The brochures focused on the beaches and restaurants and the mountain views. They didn't show pictures of rural Antigua, where the real people lived in communities that were taken out of the pages of history books. Unpaved roads; homes made of wood and stone; goats that roamed the streets as freely as the people; children playing barefoot; roadside vendors selling sweets and handmade crafts. Old,
worn men and women sitting on drooping porches and steps. It was a completely different world, and she wasn't sure if she should feel enlightened or saddened by what she saw.

“I know what you must be thinking,” Brice said, slipping into her thoughts.

“What am I thinking?” She angled her body in the seat to get a better look at him.

“All of this poverty surrounded by lush beauty.” He glanced quickly at her.

She nodded her head. “It's like this in so many places,” she said. “In parts of Mississippi, there are still plantation homes and sugarcane fields less than two streets away from the palatial government offices.”

“The ninth ward in New Orleans,” Brice added.

“Southside of Chicago. Huge parts of Detroit, New York.” She shook her head. “It's a shame and a disgrace that we're allegedly one of the richest countries in the world, and yet we have people who live with virtually nothing.”

“The haves and have-nots. That's why I need to get to our young boys while they are young. Get in there and show them the power of education and what it can bring you. It's the only way out.”

“I completely agree.”

They launched into a deep discussion about the educational system, testing practices and curriculum. Brice was amazed that Naomi was so versed in the
details of educational institutions and had many solid ideas of her own on how things could be changed.

“I'm totally impressed,” he said when she'd finished conveying her thoughts on revamping the testing system.

She blinked back her surprise. “Impressed?”

“Yes. If I didn't know better I'd think you were down there in the trenches of teaching.” He grinned.

Her stomach jumped. She could kick herself. She was a bookseller that worked and lived in Florida. Not a tenured professor at an HBCU, or Historically Black College or University, in Atlanta. Her smile fluttered like birds' wings. “I, um, just try to keep up with the news.” She swallowed and turned to face forward in her seat.

He looked at her for a moment, thrown off by the shift in her seat and in her tone. “I wish more people were like you, and paid attention to what was happening,” he said, wondering if he'd hit an unseen button.

But he didn't have time to address it as they were entering St. John, the capital city of Antigua. It would take every bit of skill and dexterity to maneuver the tight, congested streets that overflowed with cars, people, vans and carts, on roads that were barely wide enough for a one-lane roadway, let alone two, with no real sidewalks to speak of.

The architecture, however, was breathtaking, with the church of St. John as the centerpiece. The
cobblestone streets were lined with quaint businesses, fruit-and-vegetable stands and craftsmen, while the aroma of sautéed seafood and seasoned vegetables wafted in the air. The busy streets bustled with tourists and residents intent on selecting the best bargains and jockeying for position on the narrow avenues.

Miraculously, Brice found a parking spot which was actually half on the curb and half in the street—in a line with all of the rest of the parked cars. He got out and helped Naomi to her feet.

“Wow,” Naomi breathed in awe when she got out and began to look around. The buildings, small and tightly packed together, all had a welcoming openness about them. Splashed in bright tropical colors, it was like walking through the feathers of a peacock.

Brice took Naomi's hand, and she held on tight as they bobbed and weaved between the people and the carts, the cars and the buildings.

She moved closer to him as they squeezed by a brightly dressed woman with a cart of fresh island fruit.

“Those look delicious,” Naomi said, following the woman's cart with her eyes.

“Want to try something?”

“Sure.”

They backpedaled a bit until they were in front of her. Naomi's eyes ran over the array of fruits.

“Try the tamarin,” the woman suggested, holding up a wrapped piece of what looked like a ball of
brown sugar that had been melted and then shaped. “It's sweet, chewy and a bit spicy.” She held it up to Naomi and smiled a wide gap-toothed smile.

Naomi took the candy from the woman's hand. “I'll give it a try.”

“Make that a half dozen,” Brice said, “and how about some Kiwi fruit and a two mangos.” Then he turned to Naomi. “Sorry, I don't share my mangos. So you'll have one of your own.”

Naomi laughed.

“See anything else you like?” he asked her.

She wanted to tell him what she really thought, that for as long as it was possible, he was what she wanted, but of course she didn't. “This is fine.”

“Great. How much?” he asked the woman.

She gave him a total and put his purchases in a bag. They continued down the street and spent the next few hours exploring the shops and the museum, where Naomi bought a piece of pottery for Alexis.

“How do you feel about water?” Brice asked.

“Water? What do you mean?”

“Can you swim?”

“Enough to save myself.”

“Do you mind getting your pretty white outfit a little wet?”

“Depends,” she said, angling her head to the side in question. “Just how wet are we talking?”

“Come on. We'll find out together.” He took her hand and they headed off toward the docks, where an array of catamarans were moored.

Naomi's eyes widened.

“In for a bit of sailing on the Caribbean?”

Her smile was radiant. “I'll try anything once,” she said, surprising herself.

“Great. I love a woman who has a sense of adventure.” They walked together toward the rental stand.

Naomi moved away to look more closely at the beautiful boats, while Brice talked with the rental agents. Moments later he was at her side.

“There will be another ship sailing off in about a half hour. The tour is along the beaches and around the mountainsides. Food and refreshments are on board.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

He stepped up to her, taking her by surprise, and kissed her softly on the lips.

“I've been waiting to do that all day.”

“What took you so long,” she said in a heavy whisper, looking up into his dark eyes.

“Why don't I just make up for lost time?” He leaned down and kissed her again, not a brushing of warm lips, but a full, deep and stirring kiss, and it made her head light and her heart race.