Always and Forever, page 17
“Don’t,” he said.
“He hates this estrangement, Jamal.”
“Don’t get in the middle of this, Phylicia.”
“What’s the point of keeping up this dispute if the two of you are both miserable?”
“Who says I’m miserable?”
Her gorgeous lips thinned in annoyance. “Why don’t you just hear him out? Don’t lose any more time fighting, Jamal. You never know how much you’re going to have left.”
God, she was stubborn.
“Leave it alone,” Jamal beseeched. “I’m begging you, Phylicia. Just leave it alone.”
“But—”
Jamal shut her up the only way he knew how, capturing the back of her head and crushing his mouth to hers. She fought his kiss for only a moment before Jamal felt her body relax against him and her lips slowly open. He would give anything to engage in a full-on, open-mouth kiss with her, but he knew it would leave him aroused and aching. And since they had a two-hour drive before they would get to a bed, he had to stop before things went too far.
Phylicia tore her mouth from his. The censure in her frown was ruined by the desire smoldering in her eyes. “You do not play fair,” she accused.
“I never claimed I would,” he returned.
“This conversation isn’t over, Jamal.”
Instead of arguing with her, Jamal gave her another swift kiss and guided her back to their table. The day had been too perfect; he would not spoil it with talk of his father.
Moments later, Lauryn and Michael bade their guests farewell, but the party was far from over. The ten-piece band was replaced by a popular local DJ, and the mood switched from sedate wedding reception to nightclub-style party.
As he and Phylicia danced the rest of the night away, Jamal knew there was no way they would make it back to Sedona tonight. Not only had he indulged in one too many drinks from the free-flowing bar, but after feeling Phylicia’s body brush up against his all night, he knew he would not be able to sustain a two-hour drive without having her. They would end up parked on the side of Interstate 17, stripping each other out of their clothes.
“I think it’s time to get out of here,” he whispered in her ear as they swayed back and forth to Maxwell’s “Lifetime.”
“I think you’re right,” she answered. “I’m not sure I can go much longer before I just pass out.”
“Oh, you’re not going to sleep,” Jamal warned her.
The smile that tipped up the corners of her mouth was carnal, and set his blood to high boil.
Jamal took her by the hand and headed straight for the front desk, booking a night’s stay at the Biltmore. As soon as they entered their room, Jamal took her lips in a kiss that resonated throughout his entire body. Within moments of closing the door to the suite, he had her naked and spread out over the bed. With one goal in mind, Jamal proceeded to turn her body inside out. Before the night was over, this woman would know that she belonged to him in every single way.
* * *
“I still cannot believe how beautiful this place is,” Phil said, her eyes gazing out the passenger window of the rental car. “Makes me sad to think about leaving.”
“All it takes is a phone call to the airline. We can tack on a couple of days.”
“No, we can’t,” she said. “We need to get Belle Maison finished before Thursday, because I am not spending my Thanksgiving working.”
“Let me guess, you want to spend it watching all the football games.”
“Shut up.” She swatted his arm. “The furniture is arriving tomorrow, and your first guests will check in next week. Oh!” She twisted in her seat to face him. “I completely forgot to tell you this. Mya left a voice mail on my cell phone last night while we were at the wedding. She said that Gulfscapes Magazine has agreed to feature Gauthier, and they’re going to come down for the Christmas in Gauthier celebration to take photos.”
“Whoa, that’s pretty huge. I’m surprised news like that didn’t send her into labor,” Jamal said with a chuckle.
“Maybe if we can convince them to stay at Belle Maison, they’ll throw a little extra advertising our way,” she said.
A warm smile traveled across Jamal’s lips. “I like the way you include yourself when you talk about the bed-and-breakfast.”
She hesitated a moment. “I guess it’s because we’ve been working so closely together on it.”
“Is that the only reason?” he asked. He reached across the center console and captured her hand. “I was hoping it was because you were starting to see yourself as a part of it, and not just someone I hired to help. Because you mean a lot more to Belle Maison, Phylicia. And to me.”
His words caused a maelstrom of giddiness, excitement and downright panic to swirl in the pit of her stomach. He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, rubbing it back and forth.
“I meant what I said last night, Phylicia. I’m in love with you. And it’s not going to go away once we’re done working on the house. I’m in this. Completely.”
Her throat tightened with emotion. “What are you saying, Jamal?”
“What do you think I’m saying? I’m asking if you’re in this, too. Do you see the two of us running Belle Maison together? Living our lives together? Maybe even getting married, having children?”
Oh, God, she could absolutely see it. All of it.
Phil’s free hand shook as she brought it up to her trembling lips. After everything she had been through over these past few years, a part of her was afraid to acknowledge what appeared to be true happiness within her reach.
“I can see it,” she said. “And I do want all of it. With you.”
Jamal let out a deep breath she had no idea he had been holding. An enormous smile broke out over his face. He leaned over and kissed her for so long that Phil was sure he would veer off the road. He drove one-handed for the remainder of the drive, his other hand never letting go of hers.
Phil had been afraid to even imagine that she could ever feel this kind of contentment again. Even though the burdens were still there—the pressure from the bank, dealing with her mother’s illness and the rising cost of her care—the peace that settled over her made them all seem inconsequential. With Jamal at her side, giving her his love and support, Phil knew she would get through it all.
They turned off the highway and onto the road leading to the Creekside Bed-and-Breakfast. As the house came into view, Jamal’s grip loosened on her hand.
“What the hell?” he asked.
Phil spotted what had caught his attention. A shiny black Bentley was parked in front of the inn’s entrance.
Jamal slammed on the brakes and threw the car into Park. “How in the hell did he know we were here?”
Her heart pounding, Phil sucked in a deep breath. “I told him,” she admitted.
His head whipped around, his usually soft eyes shooting daggers at her.
“I told you that we spoke at the reception yesterday,” she explained. “All he could talk about was how much he regrets what happened between the two of you.”
“Dammit, Phylicia.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I told you to stay out of it.”
The Bentley’s driver’s side door opened, and Lawrence Johnson stepped out, dressed in a tailored suit. Jamal’s nostrils flared, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.
“You had no right to bring him here,” he bit out. He opened the door and stalked right past his father.
Phil got out of the car and ran after him. She gave Mr. Johnson a hasty greeting but didn’t stop. When she got to the room, she found Jamal pacing back and forth in front of the bed.
“I was only trying to help, Jamal. I know firsthand what happens when you allow something to come between you and your family. It can eat you alive. I don’t want you to suffer with the same regrets I’ve dealt with these past three years.”
He pointed toward the door. “You don’t know anything about what happened between me and that man.”
“I know you and your father both probably said things that neither of you meant, and by not talking it out, you’ve only made things worse. It’s the same thing that happened with me and my dad.”
“I don’t give a damn about what happened between you and your dad!” he shouted.
Phil took a step back, the ugliness of his words slapping her in the face, the ferociousness in his voice sending a tremor of unease down her spine.
“This had nothing to do with you,” Jamal lashed out. “You think I’m going to just forget everything and play nice because that’s what you think is best for me? I’ve spent my entire damn life doing what he wanted me to do. I sure as hell won’t let you come in and try to dictate what I do, too.”
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” she protested.
“The hell you’re not!” His voice nearly shook the windows. “I told you I wanted nothing to do with that man, yet you go behind my back and tell him where to find me? You should have just stayed the hell out of it like I told you.”
Phil tried several times before she could swallow past the lump in her throat. She blinked rapidly, hoping to avoid the wounded tears that threatened to escape.
When she spoke, she barely recognized her own voice. “You’re right,” she managed to get out. “It was none of my business. I’m sorry.”
Jamal stopped pacing and stared directly into her eyes. He didn’t acknowledge her apology, but just stood there, fury radiating from his rigid frame. The rage sparkling like fire in his eyes was unlike anything she’d ever seen in him.
There was a knock at the door.
“Can I come in?” came Lawrence Johnson’s formidable baritone.
Phil didn’t think Jamal could look any angrier than he had just a moment ago, but the sound of his father’s voice brought his fury to a new level.
She turned and walked over to the door, opening it just wide enough to slip out of the suite. The look on Lawrence Johnson’s face would have broken her heart if his son hadn’t already crushed it with his cruel, unforgivable words.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
The man expelled a harsh breath. “So am I,” he said. “He takes after his father, even though you’d never get him to admit it. We’re both stubborn asses.” The older man gave her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry if this has caused problems between the two of you. I couldn’t help but overhear.”
Phil shook her head. “It’s okay.”
But it was anything but okay.
It was exactly what she’d feared—raw, gut-wrenching despair at the hands of the man she’d trusted with her most fragile, most treasured possession. Her heart.
“I’m sorry you drove all this way for nothing,” Phil told him.
“It was worth the drive if it meant finally getting past this with Jamal. I’ll get through to him eventually.” Mr. Johnson, with eyes so much like his son’s, took her hands in his. “Thank you for trying.”
“You’re welcome,” Phil returned.
He pulled her in for a hug, giving her an extra, reassuring squeeze. Phil closed her eyes tightly, but she couldn’t help the tears that began to flow.
How could Jamal not see how lucky he was to still have his father?
He released her from the hug, but he didn’t let go of her hands. Instead, he gripped them tighter and looked directly into her eyes. “Don’t allow my son’s stubbornness to come between the two of you. Just give him some time to cool off. Don’t let him give you the silent treatment for too long, either.”
“We have a six o’clock flight back to Louisiana. He won’t be able to avoid me for long.”
“Travel safely,” he said, then he turned and headed back for the entrance to the inn.
Phil stood outside the suite’s door for several minutes, trying to collect herself. She pulled in deep breath after increasingly deep breath, shoring up her nerve before reentering the room. But when she went back in, it was empty. The French doors to the patio were opened, the sheer curtains billowing slightly in the breeze. She walked out onto the private patio and spotted Jamal standing at the edge of the creek.
Phil made her way down the pebbled trail that stretched from their room to the creek. She stopped a few feet behind him, staring at his solid back as he stood with his feet braced apart, his shoulders rigid, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black pants.
“He’s gone,” she called in a hushed voice.
Her pronouncement was met with silence, the gurgle of the creek and squawk of a bird flying overhead the only sounds.
“Our flight leaves in less than four hours,” she said. “If we’re going to make it back to Phoenix in time, we need to start packing now.”
A long, pregnant pause stretched between them before Jamal finally spoke.
“I called a car service to pick you up in an hour,” he said.
The dull ache that had settled in her chest mushroomed into a cloud of hurt that enveloped her entire being. Phil wrapped her arms around her middle in an attempt to stop the pain from pummeling her to the ground.
“Don’t do this, Jamal,” she said in an anguished whisper. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me.”
His back remained rigid as he continued to stare out over the water.
“I’m sorry for overstepping,” Phil maintained, her voice breaking over the words. “But that is no reason for you to do this. Don’t shut me out, Jamal.”
His shoulders rose slightly with the breath he took.
“You should pack,” he said.
Phil pulled her trembling lips between her teeth. She stared at him until his body was completely blurred by the tears that welled in her eyes.
The tears cascaded down her cheeks as she returned to the suite and packed her bags. They streamed in earnest as she rode in the backseat of the hired car, as she boarded the plane in Phoenix and, hours later, as she lay her head on her pillow back at her house in Gauthier.
Chapter 15
Jamal sat on the edge of the rock-strewn cliff, looking out over the red clay that stretched for miles around him. He’d give anything to have his sax in his hand. He needed the solace that came with losing himself in a piece of music.
He rubbed at the ache that had resided in his chest for the past five days. It had started the moment he’d sent Phylicia away. No matter what he tried, the pain refused to let up.
Jamal pitched a rock into the hollow vastness that lay before him. He’d been so damn philosophic this week, he was driving himself crazy. But he could not escape the symbolism. The never-ending stretch of nothingness mimicked his life to perfection.
He’d reached a new low point. The most amazing woman he would ever have the luxury of knowing had told him she loved him, and he’d sent her packing.
Here he was, only a couple of hours from his family, and yesterday he’d spent Thanksgiving with two strangers at a bed-and-breakfast in Lake Montezuma. What did that say about the state his life was in? What did that say about him?
That he was a damn coward.
The ugly truth had hit him square in the gut as soon as he’d retuned to the suite he’d shared with Phylicia back in Sedona. She’d tried to save him from suffering the same fate she’d met, but he’d been too much of a coward to face the truth of her words. Too afraid to accept his role in the mess he’d made of his relationship with his father.
Jamal figured it was easier to just walk away, to lay the blame for his shattered relationships at everyone else’s feet. It was his father’s lack of respect that had caused this chasm to stretch between them. It was Phylicia’s dogged insistence at sticking her nose where it didn’t belong that had caused him to send her away.
But it was his own stubbornness that had him here, all alone, his mind reverberating with all the things he’d fought valiantly to keep at bay. The truth was laid bare now, demanding an audience, and Jamal could do nothing but see it for what it was. Phylicia had been right. He could spend the rest of his life coming up with projects to keep him occupied so that he could put off opening his firm. The only thing that had been stopping him was him.
And his gut-wrenching, soul-stealing fear of failing.
It was that fear of proving his father’s prophecy right—that he would have to come crawling back a failure—that was at the root of his fear.
But what if he didn’t fail?
What if he finally put to use those ideas he’d been stockpiling for years and they actually worked? He’d crunched the numbers countless times; he knew the tide was shifting and that making older homes more eco-friendly was the wave of the future. What was he waiting for? Some other architectural outfit to step in and make a success of his ideas?
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Jamal cursed. He pushed himself up from where he’d been perched on the cliff and quickly made his way down the side of the foothill. As soon as he got in his car, he pulled up the number for his Realtor in New Orleans, hoping she wasn’t out scouring the day-after Thanksgiving sales. When she answered on the second ring, Jamal’s chest nearly burst with relief.
“Is the house on Saint Charles Avenue still available?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” she said.
“I want it. I’ll be in New Orleans by tonight. Do whatever you can to make the sale happen quickly. I want to be in there as soon as possible.”
He returned to the bed-and-breakfast he’d found in Lake Montezuma and packed his things, booking a return flight home as he shoved his clothes into his bags.
Soon, Jamal was driving south, making his way back to Phoenix. But instead of continuing straight on I-17 toward Sky Harbor International, Jamal took the exit at Camelback Road and headed east toward the suburb of Arcadia.
