An Island Affair Page 6

  “Fine.”

  With a nod and a half smile, he looked ahead. “Seems like you have a lot on your mind.”

  “Just thinking about the Grove.”

  “I see. It’s a complicated project, the Grove is. Isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I’m sure it has you thrown off guard a bit. Projects like this tend to make us rethink everything in our lives, and the interesting thing is, they only come around once in a blue moon.”

  “Are we still talking about the Grove?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Daddy said. “What did you think we were talking about?”

  “The Grove,” I mumbled and gave my father a sideways glance.

  He grinned and then began to hum along with the old Caribbean song that played on the radio in his truck.

  Chapter 8

  Jackson

  I found some contemporary jazz on my iPhone and continued to work until I had Jasmine’s desk completely sanded. I brushed my hand across the smoothness of it and felt a sense of pride. It felt good to do something nice for her. I was feeling strange things for a woman who had gotten under my skin just days before. As much as I hated to admit it, she’d awakened things inside of me. More often than I cared to remember, I thought of her long after I left the Grove some evenings. I wondered what she was up to—and if she thought of me, too.

  Fitting her into my world didn’t seem feasible or practical. We were too different. Our priorities were as far apart as the continents. Our lives were far from parallel, and I couldn’t think of one thing we had in common—other than the Grove. We both loved that place.

  I loved watching her walk, and I adored her smile. Her eyes were intoxicating, and her curves stirred my senses.

  I spread the first coat of dark walnut onto the sanded desk. Then I rested on the floor with my back against the wall as the stain dried and thought of Jasmine Talbot. I wanted her. I was man enough to admit that—even if I admitted it to only myself.

  I wanted to wrap her brown legs around my waist and kiss her sexy lips. I wanted to make her feel things between her thighs that she’d never felt before. I wanted to nibble on her round breasts and drive her crazy with the dancing of my fingertips. The chemistry between us was undeniable, although I’d tried hard to deny mine.

  I began to clean up my mess, wash paintbrushes and pack up my toolbox. I left the Grove feeling a sense of accomplishment. I’d managed to put a smile on Jasmine Talbot’s face, and she had done the same to mine. And I had fully intended to finish whatever it was we’d started, but maybe her father’s interruption was a sign. A sign that I needed to refocus my energy. I’d allowed my physical attraction for her to get in the way of my good sense. And the last thing I wanted to do was make the Grove awkward for either of us. We shared a business relationship, and that was all.

  Back at my hotel, I took a long shower and tried to wash away any thoughts of Jasmine. It was foolish to think that anything would come of this. Neither of us was looking for romance—at least I wasn’t. I already had my hands full with work, and that was my priority.

  I don’t know what made me do an online search for phone records of Eleutheran residents. Who knew there was actually a telephone directory that listed every Island resident by name? I went straight to the Ts and searched for the Talbots. With my finger skimming carefully across the computer screen, I located the name of Paul John Talbot—Jasmine’s father.

  I contemplated calling the house. Perhaps Jasmine would answer and I wouldn’t have to go through the formalities and the embarrassment of asking to speak to her. I could pretend to talk business, ask her about her visions for the Grove. But the truth was, I needed to hear her voice.

  Why don’t you just call her brother Edward and ask for her cell number? My inner voice never seemed to know when to shut up. It constantly got me into the silliest of predicaments.

  I called the house instead.

  “Hello,” a woman’s sweet voice answered.

  “Hello. Is this the Talbot home?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  What do you say now, genius?

  “This is Jackson Conner. I’m the contractor for the Grove. I’m a friend of Edward’s from college. Is this Mrs. Talbot?”

  “Yes, it is!” Her voice seemed to smile. “And how are you, Mr. Conner? Edward has told us so much about you. We can’t wait to meet you.”

  “Likewise, ma’am.”

  “Well now, it’s good you called. I was going to invite you to dinner this Saturday. Are you free?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “Good, then. I’ll have Paul John pick you up at your hotel. Where are you staying?” she asked.

  “At the Coral Sands. But I wouldn’t want to put Mr. Talbot to any trouble. I can find my way.”

  “It’s no trouble at all.”

  “Thank you, but I can manage. I’m really quite the navigator,” I told her.

  “Okay, baby. Four o’clock, then.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good! Was there something else you needed, honey? Did you call to talk to Paul?”

  No, I really called to talk to your beautiful daughter. Wanted her to know that she’s turned my world upside down. Got me behaving like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I don’t even know why I’m on the other end of this phone with you right now.

  “No, ma’am. I just called to say hello and introduce myself. I promised Edward I’d get over there to visit with you and Mr. Talbot.”

  “Well, good. Saturday’s perfect.”

  “What can I bring?”

  “You bring yourself and an appetite. That’s it.”

  “I’m already looking forward to it.”

  I hung up and then stood there for a moment trying to make sense of what had just happened. I thought I was losing my mind, calling the Talbots’ home like a young schoolboy. Had Jasmine answered, I’d have been at a loss for words. And what about Mr. Talbot? Surely he knew that Jasmine and I were doing more upstairs than sanding her desk. I’d have done better calling Edward for Jasmine’s cell number, but then I wouldn’t have dinner plans for Saturday night.

  Chapter 9

  Jasmine

  The house smelled of Caribbean spices. Calypso and goombay sounds played on my father’s old record player. My parents loved the old-school sounds of George Symonette and played his albums only on special occasions. Which was strange because it was just an ordinary Saturday. In fact, I had just completed my ordinary Saturday afternoon errands and shopping at the Market Place Shopping Centre in Rock Sound. Denny wore his Sunday shirt, khakis and loafers, a change from his usual graphic T-shirts, denim shorts and flip-flops. I knew something was up.

  “What’s going on?” I asked him. “Why are they playing George Symonette, and why are you wearing khakis?”

  “Someone’s coming for dinner.”

  “Who?”

  “That contractor fellow,” said Denny as he placed my mother’s antique dinnerware on the table. “Edward’s friend. The one they hired to do the construction at the Grove.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked.

  “Not at all. He’ll be here in an hour,” he said. “Ma wants you to get changed and help her in the kitchen.”

  “Why do they have to be so...so...cordial?”

  “They entertain all the time. What’s the big deal?” asked Denny.

  It was true. My parents had always entertained people in our home for as long as I could remember. They were friendly and welcoming, a trait of most Bahamians—especially when people visited the island from the US. They made a point of introducing them to the traditional tastes of the islands. So I wasn’t surprised that they’d invited Jackson over for dinner, but I would’ve liked a heads-up.

  “It�
��s just that it’s a regular old Saturday,” I tried explaining to Denny.

  “Well, Saturday or not, he’s coming. And I think they invited him to sleep over.”

  This was getting worse by the minute.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Ma just put fresh sheets on Edward’s old bed.”

  I groaned and then rushed down the hall to my bedroom. I needed to check my hair and find something subtly sexy to wear, and I didn’t have much time. As I searched my closet for an outfit, I heard a light tap on the door.

  “Jazzy.” I heard my mother’s voice on the other side of the door before she opened it. “Come on into the kitchen. I need you to cut up the vegetables for the conch salad and I need you to prepare the batter for the johnny cakes.”

  I was no stranger to the kitchen. My mother made sure my sisters and I knew how to cook. She taught us how to prepare every Caribbean dish imaginable from pigeon peas and rice to conch fritters. Although my mother wasn’t from the Bahamas, my grandmother had taught her everything she knew about the native dishes. Over the years she’d even picked up the native tongue, her Bahamian accent just as strong as those who were born and raised on the island.

  “I was just about to hop in the shower,” I told her.

  “It can wait, child. Mr. Conner will be here shortly.”

  She didn’t give me a chance to object. Instead she shut the door. With my father, there was always room for negotiation. But Beverly Talbot didn’t negotiate with her children.

  Reluctantly I limited myself to pulling my hair into a ponytail and refreshing my lip gloss. Then I joined my mother in the kitchen and grabbed an apron from the pantry.

  She chopped the conch fish into small pieces for the salad and then pulled the baked grouper out of the oven. She stopped for a moment and shook her booty to the Caribbean rhythm, and then she took a sip of her sky juice—a mixture of fresh coconut water, sweet milk and gin. She barely drank, except for special occasions. She grabbed my hands and forced me to dance with her. Calypso wasn’t my style of music, but it was definitely familiar. We were a musical family.

  “What’s on your mind, Jazzy?” my mother asked.

  “Nothing really.”

  “Your father tells me that you’ve already bumped heads with this young man, Jackson Conner. What’s your trouble with him?”

  “He’s just a bit arrogant and cocky. That’s all.” That was my old opinion of Jackson. I’d since changed what I thought of him.

  “And he’s very handsome, I hear,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “And who on earth would’ve told you that?” I asked.

  “This is a small island, sugar. And people talk,” said Mama as she walked over and stirred the pot filled with steamed cabbage.

  “He’s not hard on the eyes, but his ego is bigger than the island.”

  “You must be referring to Jackson Conner.” I heard my sister’s all-too-familiar voice. “Hey, Jasmine.”

  “Alyson. What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Besides the fact that this is my family’s home and I have an open invitation to come here as often as I want,” she said, “I was invited for the weekend.”

  I glanced at my mother, who gave me a wicked smile. It was obvious that she was playing matchmaker, and I didn’t like it one bit. I didn’t necessarily have dibs on Jackson, but I didn’t want anyone else to either. Not before I had the opportunity to tread those waters myself.

  “Well, it’s good to see you,” I lied as I gave my sister a tight squeeze. I couldn’t remember the last time I was happy to see her. She made my life a living hell every time we entered into the same space. “When did you get here?”

  “Daddy just picked me up from Governor’s Harbour Airport.”

  “You look fabulous!” my mother raved. “You’ll have to share your secrets for slimming down. I could stand to lose a few pounds myself.”

  “I don’t mind sharing with you, Ma,” said Alyson. “Everybody can’t look like Jasmine. Some of us have to work hard and make sacrifices for the things we want.”

  I rolled my eyes at my sister. I knew her comment wasn’t about weight at all. She looked wonderful, but her attitude was still the same and I wasn’t up for a challenge with her. I had my own issues. In just a short time, Jackson Conner would be in this house and that was too much sexual energy for anyone to deal with. It had been only two days since our awkward almost-kiss. No doubt, there was something between us, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to figure out what it was or deal with the emotional ramifications of it over dinner with the entire family. I’d had enough heartache to last me a lifetime. In California, I’d rushed into a whirlwind relationship with my agent. I’d simply been one of his many client-turned-girlfriends. And when he became bored with me, he moved on to his next pursuit. I didn’t need a repeat of that.

  It seemed to be the story of my life. I attracted men who wanted a nice lay, but who didn’t take the time to get to know me—the real me. It cost me many tears and many hours of therapy, trying to understand what was wrong with me. Why I couldn’t attract a decent man who would love me for me. The answer was simple. I hadn’t loved myself enough for someone else to do the same. I hadn’t taken the time to know the real me, so how could I expect someone else to do it? Being home had given me such freedom.

  “I’m gonna go get settled into my old room,” said Alyson, her overnight bag draped over her shoulder. “I’ll change and help out in the kitchen.”

  “No need,” Mom said. “Jasmine and I can handle it. Go freshen up for dinner.”

  Kissing my forehead as he entered the kitchen, Daddy said, “Our dinner guest is here.”

  Suddenly, my heart pounded rapidly.

  “He’s early,” said Mama. “We’re not quite ready yet.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll entertain him on the porch for a while.” Daddy grabbed two bottles of Bahamian Sands beer from the refrigerator. “Holler when you’re ready.”

  I wanted to rush to the porch and sneak a peek at Jackson. I wondered what he looked like when he wasn’t barking orders to his men on the construction site. Wanted to know what type of clothes he wore to family dinners. Yesterday, I’d purposely kept away from the Grove altogether, opting to work at home instead. I wanted to avoid all interactions with Jackson until I had time to absorb our last encounter. I had analyzed every touch, every glance and every word we’d spoken.

  “Let’s get this food on the table, Jazzy,” my mother said, breaking into my thoughts. She began putting food into serving dishes and ushered me to assist. I had no further time to think about Jackson or how he’d look.

  * * *

  Dressed in a white button-down shirt with gray casual slacks and loafers, Jackson looked as if he’d just stepped from the pages of GQ magazine. With a curly head of hair and his skin as smooth as a baby’s, he was hard not to look at. I forced myself not to stare, even though I wanted to study him. His cologne lingered in the air as he walked past me to take the seat directly across from me at the table. If his goal was to torture me through dinner, to make me feel uncomfortable, he was definitely off to a good start.

  “Good to see you again, Jasmine,” he said.

  “Likewise.”

  “And this is my daughter Alyson,” said Mama.

  Alyson stepped into the dining room. She wore a conservative light blue sundress with a cropped denim jacket draped over it. Her hair brushed freely against her shoulders, and, surprisingly, she wore eyeshadow and lipstick. Makeup was a rarity for her, but for some reason she’d chosen to wear it to dinner. For Jackson? As much as I hated to admit it, she looked beautiful. All of the Talbot women were beautiful in their own natural sort of way.

  She took the empty seat next to Jackson. “So, Jackson, I understand you’re from Key West.” She didn’t waste any time ju
mping into questions.

  “Yes. Born and raised there.”

  “Is your family from the islands at all?” she asked.

  “No, my parents are from Louisiana originally. They moved to Florida long before I was born.”

  “That’s a rarity. A black family migrating to Key West from somewhere other than the Bahamas. And from Louisiana, of all places. Oooh.” She frowned.

  “What’s wrong with Louisiana?” Jackson asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just so...” She paused for a second. “...it’s just unheard of, that’s all.”

  She always tried to be an authority on everything.

  “It’s really not so rare.” Jackson set her straight. “People migrate from all over.”

  “I too grew up in the Keys,” Daddy said. “My wife and I followed my parents here after they retired.”

  “I live in Old Town. I refurbished a little two-story historic conch house there a few years ago.”

  “I’d like to see Old Town again. I bet it’s changed quite a bit since the last time I was there.”

  “When were you last there?” asked Jackson.

  “Oh, about twenty years ago,” Daddy explained. “Once I started my medical practice here, it was almost impossible to leave the island for any amount of time. Doctors are rare in the Bahamas—almost nonexistent when I came over. I was virtually on call twenty-four hours a day before I retired.”

  “Is your wife from the Bahamas also?”

  “No, my mother is not Bahamian,” Alyson interjected, as if the question had been posed to her. “You must’ve noticed that her accent is not as strong.”

  “I think her accent is just as strong as most islanders,” I said.

  “My wife is from Washington, DC.” Daddy smiled at my mother. “Although she’s not from the Bahamas originally, she’s an island girl now.”

  “I am definitely an island girl now.” Mama smiled back at Daddy.

  “We moved here when my father took sick. I wanted to be near him before his death. All of our children were born here, with the exception of Edward, who was born in Old Town just like you. So the two of you have more in common than you probably knew.” My father loaded his plate with another piece of fish and two more johnny cakes.