The Unexpected Affair Read online

  “Come on, I’ll show you around.” Whitney grabbed Lane’s hand, intertwined her fingers with his and led him through the colorful home.

  She peeked her head into the kitchen and whispered, “Raquel.”

  Raquel was the Grove’s cook. But she was more than that. She’d been a friend of the Talbot family for years. She’d helped Beverly Talbot with the children when they were small. Whitney had been especially fond of Raquel. She’d been her confidante when she was a young girl.

  “Hey, baby!” said the round woman with a caramel face. “When did you get here?”

  “Yesterday.” Whitney grinned. “Sneak me a couple of those conch fritters.”

  “You haven’t changed one bit,” said Raquel as she glanced over Whitney’s shoulder with a smile. “And who do we have here?”

  “This is Lane. Lane this is our very famous cook, Raquel. She makes the best Caribbean meals on the island.”

  “She’s exaggerating,” said Raquel and reached her hand out to Lane. “So nice to meet you.”

  “You, as well.”

  “He’s cute,” she tried whispering to Whitney. “You two make a cute couple.”

  Lane smiled at the compliment.

  Whitney quickly interjected, “We’re not a couple. Just friends. It’s his first time in the Bahamas.”

  “I see,” said Raquel thoughtfully. A grin danced in the corner of her mouth.

  “So what about those conch fritters?” Whitney reminded her.

  “You are a piece of work.” Raquel grabbed Whitney’s hand and led her deeper into the kitchen. “Lane, we’ll be right back, honey.”

  “I’ll be here waiting,” he said.

  They stood at the silver stove and Whitney grabbed three conch fritters and placed them in a napkin, wrapped them tightly.

  “You’ve never brought a guy to the islands,” said Raquel. “Not even...”

  “I know,” said Whitney. “There’s a first time for everything. Besides, I didn’t want to come home without a cutie on my arm.”

  “You like him?”

  “He’s okay. We’re just getting to know each other.”

  “Does he have everything on that silly Man Menu of yours?”

  “Not everything,” said Whitney. “Shoot, not even most things.”

  “There’s no perfect man out there, you know,” said Raquel as she escorted Whitney back to the door of her kitchen. “You’d be surprised who you fall in love with.”

  “Well, there’s no love here. And I don’t believe in marriage or commitment. All three are overrated and worthless. People aren’t faithful.” She thought of her friend Kenya and the news she would have to share as soon as she returned to the States.

  “Don’t compartmentalize everything, baby.”

  “I’m not. Let me just say it’s not for me,” said Whitney. “I’m happy.”

  “Are you?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Well, that makes me happy...if you’re happy,” said Raquel with a look of skepticism on her face.

  “No worries.” Whitney gave her a tight squeeze. “Thanks for the fritters.”

  “Always,” said Raquel as she watched the couple walk away and head toward the bar. “So good to see you, baby. I’m glad you’re home.”

  Whitney turned, blew her a kiss and then led the way to the patio. She slid onto a bar stool and Lane sat next to her.

  “What are you drinking?” she asked.

  Lane turned to the bartender. “You have some Skyy Vodka back there?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” said the bartender.

  “Vodka and cranberry, then,” he said.

  “And for you, my lady?”

  “A Merlot,” said Whitney.

  “What?” asked Lane. “Not a rum punch.”

  Did he know her that well?

  “I like to sip on a glass of wine from time to time.”

  “I see.”

  His eyes met hers and stayed there. They were locked, and she felt something deep in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to break the stare but couldn’t. He smiled, and she smiled back. He touched her chin with his fingertip. She wanted to kiss him at that moment and had no idea why—and certainly didn’t want him to know it.

  “One vodka cranberry.” The bartender interrupted whatever moment they were having. “And one Merlot for the lady.”

  “Thank you,” said Whitney, now looking at the bartender and taking a sip of her wine.

  Lane glanced at the television mounted behind the bar. Checked the score of the football game. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pants pocket. Studied it. She wanted to ask what it was but sipped her wine instead.

  “Yes!” he exclaimed after the team scored a touchdown. “If they can pull this game off, I’ll win three hundred dollars.”

  “Oh, those are wagers,” she stated.

  He was a gambler. Did he have an addiction or was this something he did for fun?

  “Yeah, I do a little betting.”

  “I see.”

  He wanted to explain, she could tell. But he chose not to—just carefully slipped the paper back into his pocket, grabbed his drink and took a long sip.

  “You’re a gambler.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “I’m not a gambler, but I do engage in a harmless wager from time to time.”

  “How often?” she asked.

  “Enough. I like a good wager.” His grin was entrancing.

  “You sure it’s not a habit?”

  “I don’t lie or beat around the bush. I keep it real.” He became defensive.

  She believed him. He seemed like the straight-up guy he proclaimed to be.

  “Don’t get all bent out of shape. I was just asking,” she said.

  “I don’t have anything to hide.”

  “I bet your team doesn’t win.”

  “I bet it does,” he retorted.

  She slammed a Bahamian bill on the bar. “I bet you five dollars.”

  “I can’t spend Bahamian money in the States.”

  “You can spend it here...in the Bahamas.”

  “Okay, five dollars says my team wins. And I raise you.”

  “What?”

  “My team wins and I get the five dollars, plus I get to finish what I started last night at the beach. What we started last night...”

  “You’re insane.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Are you bribing me for sex?”

  “It’s called a wager.”

  “Wager, huh?”

  “You wanted it just as much as I did,” he said.

  She did. There was no denying that, so she simply smiled. She turned her head and took a sip of her Merlot. “Okay, you’re on.”

  Had she just gambled her body away?

  * * *

  On the dance floor, Lane had moves. Whitney loved to dance and was impressed that he was able to keep up. She shook her hips as they danced to the Caribbean tune. He grabbed her waist and the two moved in a rhythm of their own. Though the room was filled with friends and family celebrating Edward and Savannah’s nuptials, it felt as if they were the only two people in the room. Whitney laughed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun.

  She’d already removed her heels long before. As the music slowed and Beres Hammond crooned from the deejay’s huge speakers, Lane pulled her close—aggressively. She gave him a look that said What do you think you’re doing? But part of her loved the aggression. She secretly appreciated how he handled her. His strong arms wrapped tightly around her and she rested her head against his chest. It felt as if she belonged there, in his arms. As if she’d known him forever. She raised her head and looked at him. He stared back.

&nb
sp; She was going to enjoy losing that bet.

  Chapter 16

  He thought she was sexy as she stood in front of him. The provocative, transparent nightie clung to her hips and revealed her flesh—plump brown breasts and every inch of her brown hips, thighs and curves.

  “Nice,” he said.

  “Nice?” she teased. “That’s all you have to say about it?”

  “Very nice,” he replied.

  He reclined in the high-back chair in the corner of the room. Sexy Caribbean music played on her iPhone. She moved to the music and danced her way over to him. She awakened his senses in every possible way, but he remained calm. He’d learned to hide his feelings and show no anxiety about things. The key was to never get too excited. That way you were never disappointed.

  When she reached him, she continued to move her hips to the music in front of him. He reached for her hips, caressed them underneath the nightie. He grabbed her bare ass and pulled her closer between his legs. He felt himself rise beneath his slacks. As much as he tried to control everything around him, he couldn’t control that. She turned him on. His heart beat rapidly.

  She straddled his lap and moved her face closer to his—kissed his lips, slowly and passionately. He removed the straps of the lingerie from her shoulders, caressed her breasts and squeezed her nipples. Moved his hands to the rhythm of the music before leaning in; took one of her breasts into his mouth. He alternated between sucking and licking each of her mounds. He stood, lifted her and carried her to the bed. Her brown legs wrapped around his waist, he gently placed her onto the bed. Removed his shirt, trousers and then peeled his boxer shorts off. He pulled a condom from the pocket of his slacks.

  He planted kisses along the inside of her thighs and then worked his way to the center of her sweetness. His tongue danced there and she moaned. She grabbed his head, stroked his scalp. He stayed there until her legs shook and she begged him to stop. The mischievous part of him continued despite her plea.

  Finally, he freed her from his grip, moved onto the bed and hovered over her. Kissed her lips slowly, passionately. His tongue danced with hers, and her chest moved up and down as she breathed heavily. He placed himself inside her warmth and she moaned. He moved to the rhythm of the music. He kissed her lips, nose and forehead. Her hips rose to meet his. He’d lost control, something he didn’t do very often. But this woman caused him anxiety every single time he encountered her. And now he was certainly at her mercy. He squeezed her tightly and unleashed every emotion he’d felt since the moment he saw her.

  He collapsed onto his back on the bed next to her. He was spent. He looked over at her and gave her a warm smile, pulled her close. No words were necessary. He let the words of the song that played, “Fight This Feeling,” serenade them and say all that he wanted to say. When he looked at her again, her eyes were lightly closed. A light smile danced in the corner of her mouth.

  He loved the Bahamas, the night and everything about it all.

  * * *

  The sunlight crept into the room as he struggled to open his eyes. Completely naked and uncovered, he looked around trying to remember where he was. He looked over at the empty spot next to him on the bed. She was already up and about, he thought. Thoughts of Whitney filled his mind. When he heard someone turning the handle on the door, he pulled the crisp white sheet up to his waist and placed his arms above his head.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” said the beautiful woman who had seduced him the night before.

  She was dressed in a white sundress and carrying a tray of food.

  “I’m awake,” he said.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought a little of everything.”

  “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

  “It’s the most important meal of the day.” She recited the line, and he suspected she said it often to her students.

  He sat up and leaned his back against the headboard. She placed the tray onto his lap, and he took a sip of orange juice. Took a bite of wheat toast.

  “Looks good.”

  “Raquel prepared it especially for you.”

  “I must thank her.”

  “You must.” She smiled. “What do you want to do today?”

  “Can we just stay here all day and do what we did last night?”

  “I would love to—” she crawled onto the bed, leaned in and kissed his lips “—but my parents are expecting us for dinner later.”

  “Until then?”

  Whitney laughed. “Okay, until then.”

  * * *

  They took the water taxi back to the Eleuthera Islands. Paul John waited for them at the boat dock. They hopped into the old pickup truck—Whitney slid into the middle next to her father, and Lane slid in close to her. He slammed the door and placed a pair of shades onto his face. The wind blew against his face as they drove down Queen’s Highway toward Governor’s Harbour and back to Whitney’s childhood home.

  Beverly Talbot met him with another glass of sky juice.

  “He doesn’t drink gin, Mother,” said Whitney as she eyed him from across the room. “He drinks vodka.”

  “It’s okay. I like it,” he said. Even though he wasn’t a gin drinker, he took it. It was his way of connecting with her mother.

  “He said he likes it.” Beverly Talbot smiled at her daughter. “Now make yourself useful. Go to the kitchen and check on the macaroni and cheese.”

  Whitney pouted for a moment but did as her mother instructed. Beverly escorted Lane to the living room, where Caribbean music played on an old stereo.

  “Have a seat, son,” said Beverly.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took a seat on the love seat.

  Beverly took a seat across the room from him. “My daughter has never brought anyone home, you know.”

  “Really?” he asked casually.

  “I was starting to think she didn’t like men at all,” said Beverly. “But I really think she’s just afraid of commitment. And afraid of love.”

  The conversation made Lane uncomfortable, mainly because those were his fears she’d just described.

  “Fear is very real,” he said and took a sip of his drink.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid, too,” said Beverly.

  “I’ve been known to be cautious.”

  “But you like my daughter?” She smiled.

  “Beverly, can I see you for a moment?” Paul John stepped into the living room and beckoned for his prying wife.

  “Right now?”

  “Right now,” Paul John said.

  Beverly stood. Reluctantly. “I’ll be right back, son.”

  Paul John grabbed her elbow and ushered her out of the room. Lane heard Whitney’s father gently admonishing his wife about her questions. He pretended not to hear, but a slight grin danced in the corner of his mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” Whitney asked as she returned to the room.

  “Your mom was giving me the third degree and your father rescued me.”

  “That sounds like him. Always rescuing someone.” Whitney smiled and shook her head. “You enjoying your sky juice?”

  “Not really,” Lane admitted.

  “You don’t have to drink it.” Whitney took the glass out of his hand and took it into the kitchen. “I’ll bring you a beer.”

  As she walked out of the room, Lane watched as her hips swayed from side to side. Thoughts of their lovemaking swarmed in his head. He wanted her again, imagined all of the things he would do to her once they were alone again. She must’ve felt him watching, because she turned and looked at him before disappearing into the kitchen. She was back just as quickly with that beer; handed it to him.

  “Thank you.” Soon the rest of Whitney’s siblings began to fill the house. And the family spent the evening enjoying a Baha
mian feast—baked fish, fried chicken, Bahamian macaroni and cheese, collard greens and johnnycakes. They drank, laughed and talked about the days of growing up on the island. And when the sun began to set, the family gathered in the living room and sang together.

  Lane hadn’t experienced family time quite like that, but it made his heart feel good. He felt closer to Whitney than he had when they first arrived on the island. He entertained the idea of opening his heart to a woman—something he hadn’t done in quite some time. He was feeling something. He wasn’t sure that it was love, necessarily, but it was definitely something.

  Chapter 17

  It had been three days. Three whole days since they’d returned from the Bahamas and three whole days since she’d heard from him. She had rested her head on his chest the entire flight home. His cologne had filled her nostrils for five hours. He held her hand as they stood at baggage claim waiting for their luggage to show up on the belt. They had taken an Uber to her home, and he’d spent the night—his strong arms wrapped around her through the night. He’d showered and gone home early that morning. Promised to call her after he’d gotten settled in and recovered from their long trip.

  That was Monday. Here it was Wednesday afternoon, and she was ushering her kindergarten class to their buses. She kept a smile on her face for the sake of her five-and six-year-olds, but inside, she was dying. Dying to know what she’d said or done to run Lane away. She’d left him two voice messages and texted three times.

  He’s an asshole, she thought. She couldn’t believe that she had let her guard down, left her heart wide-open. It was her own fault. After she’d ushered her children to their buses, she went back to her classroom and retrieved her things. She felt deflated as she sat behind the wheel of her car. Reminisced about the beautiful moments they’d shared in the Bahamas—the lovemaking, the walks on the beach, the time with her family. She was sure they’d connected. She revisited every conversation they’d had. Perhaps she’d said something, done something. She couldn’t think of one single thing that would make a man lose interest after a weekend such as the one they’d just shared.