Pleasure Under the Sun, page 14
“That sounds nice,” Bailey murmured.
He laughed. “Not when you’re a teenage boy and want to get away with everything under the sun.” His laughter misted out into the night, wrapping around her like the coziest of blankets.
“Like what?” she asked, meeting his lingering smile with her own. “What did you and Simon do as kids?”
“The real question is, what did we not do?” Seven chuckled. “One time…”
Bailey leaned closer to hear the story.
Chapter 19
Bailey smiled at Seven as they finished their walk at the steps to his parents’ house. His mother sat in her chair, lightly fanning herself, feet up as she looked into the night.
“She’s something, sweet, nuh,” his mother remarked with a satisfied light in her eyes, watching the two of them.
“Just like honey,” Seven responded.
Millicent Carmichael laughed out loud. Her fan slowed. “Dinner is almost ready. Simon is washing up, you two should do the same.”
His father had made ackee and saltfish, with the Irish potatoes and pumpkin from the garden, along with dumplings and boiled bananas. A favorite of Seven’s. His mother blessed the food and they began to eat.
During dinner, he watched Bailey. Glowing and fresh from their walk, she looked more relaxed than ever. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She was the magnet to his steel, the flower to his hummingbird. The water for his thirst. He wanted her so badly he could taste it. He wanted to taste her. Instead, he drank deeply from his glass of water.
“Did you enjoy your walk in our little neighborhood, Bailey?” his mother asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Millicent, I did. There wasn’t much to see by starlight, but your son was a very entertaining guide.” Her eyes met Seven’s across the table. She was smiling.
“Good. This boy of mine could make an anthill seem interesting with the way he tells a story.” She jerked her chin toward Simon. “And that other one would dissect the whole thing to show you how it worked.”
The pride in her voice made Seven sit up a little taller, and he felt his brother do the same.
When they were growing up, his parents had never skimped on their compliments, always letting Simon and Seven know they were proud, that they loved them and that the boys could do anything. Some days, he thought his parents’ love and complete acceptance were the reasons he’d come so far in his work. They believed. He believed. He achieved.
After dinner, he washed the dishes, and though he wanted to pursue Bailey and take her away somewhere quiet to talk, he let her go off with his mother to talk about American politics and race and anything else Millicent Carmichael came up with. Instead, he went in search of Simon, who was staying at their parents’ house yet again. His brother was in his bedroom, looking at something on his laptop when Seven walked in. Simon glanced up from his work.
“Your girl is fire, man.” His brother closed the computer and looked up at Seven with a smirk.
“She is.” Seven sat at the head of the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “I thought you had a hot one of your own.”
Simon made a dismissive noise. “Winsome is too ghetto, man.”
Seven laughed. “But didn’t you ask her to marry you?”
“Yes. And she just about turned me down.”
“As if she’s going to catch another doctor, with the way she acts up.” Seven raised an eyebrow. “She’s playing more games?”
“When is she not playing games?” Simon put the computer aside and sat next to Seven against the headboard. “That’s what I get for running after a Spanish Town girl.”
“Plenty of girls in Spanish Town are sane. You just found the wrong one.”
His brother turned to him as if to defend the sanity of the woman he’d chosen to marry, but he only looked at Seven with frustration pinching the corners of his eyes. In the end, he couldn’t say anything.
“When you first got with her I thought you were crazy, too. Remember that night she burst into the kitchen, saying she was going to show Papa how to cook?” Seven chuckled. “Mama almost threw her out on her butt.”
“It was a long time before she got invited back to dinner again.” Simon nodded, smiling. “She is crazy, but that’s one of the things I love about her. And she’s amazing in bed.”
The men shared a rough, masculine laugh.
“As long as you’re getting something out of her other than headaches, man.”
“I get plenty, don’t you worry.”
They laughed again.
“Is that what’s up with you and that American girl? She has plenty of fire but seems to run a little cold.”
Seven thought for a moment before answering. Although it had been only a few weeks, his pursuit of Bailey was coming to mean more than it should have. He wanted more than just sex from her. Aside from the wild, sheet-tearing passion they’d already shared, he just plain liked her. There weren’t many people he could say that about.
“I want her to have my babies,” Seven finally said.
And he wasn’t exactly joking.
Chapter 20
Bailey wanted him. But she knew that she couldn’t, shouldn’t, have him. Seven was the finest example of a man that she’d ever met. And his parents loved him, supported him and were extraordinary in their own way. But he still wasn’t the man for her. His career relied too much on chance. He was reckless. He’d kidnapped her, for God’s sake!
Unable to deal with the never-ending conversations pulsing in her head, she left the house to go for a walk. She needed to clear her mind. Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael had already left for work, and Seven was paying a brief visit to his brother’s house in Kingston to pick “something” up. Though left alone, Bailey could no longer stay in the house.
She didn’t know where she was going, but from the walk she and Seven had taken the night before, she remembered certain details of the small town.
In the daylight, the town was green, expansive and strangely beautiful. It was scattered here and there with tin-roofed huts, charming cottages like the one the Carmichaels lived in, even large, multilevel minimansions. The main road had tiny lanes shooting off from it, leading uphill into hidden paths bursting with wild growths of red hibiscus and bright yellow and orange ginger plants with their bristled coxcomb petals. It was lovely. She could see why the Carmichaels loved it.
Bailey had been to Jamaica once with her parents when she was a child, but didn’t remember very much of the experience. Only the strange accents and the endless summer fruit she and Bette had eaten until they were stuffed.
A teasing wind ruffled Bailey’s loose hair, brushing the thick, frizzy mop against her shoulders.. The wind molded the dress to the front of her body, whipped the wide skirts behind her like a flag.
Up the road, two men and a woman walked toward her, talking excitedly. The woman was pretty. Thick and a deep milk chocolate, she wore her long, permed hair in a ponytail, had on navy shorts and a black T-shirt advertising a cell phone company. Her male companions were shirtless and wore shorts.
When they noticed her, the conversation stopped. The woman stared hard at Bailey as she came closer.
“You,” she said when Bailey was only a few feet away.
“I guess.” Bailey shrugged. “I’m always me.”
“I heard you were out walking with the Carmichael boy the other night.”
Bailey looked at her. She’d never heard anyone refer to Seven as “the Carmichael boy” in her life, but that was his last name.
“It was a nice night.”
The woman actually snarled. “Stay the hell away from him, he’s my man!”
Bailey couldn’t have heard right. “What?”
“You heard me, bitch!”
The men watched their friend with admiration while Bailey stared. “Are you serious? I just got here from Miami and now you’re threatening me over some man?”
The woman snapped her fingers a few feet from Bailey’s face. “He’s not some man, he’s my man, and you better stay away.”
Bailey shook her head. “I can kiss—” she deliberately used the word to see the woman’s furious expression grow “—any man I want to. If he wanted you, obviously he wouldn’t have been with me.”
Seven had a woman in Jamaica? She was never the type to fight for a man, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.
“Bitch, you better—” The woman bucked at Bailey only to have her two friends laughingly pull her back.
“Leave the gyal alone.” The young man in khaki shorts spoke up. “If you want the man, just take him. He’s not playing hard to get. He let you know plenty of times he would marry you if you gave him the chance.”
The woman sucked her teeth, still trying to get at Bailey from the strong grip on both of her arms. “Back off!” she called out.
Bailey was getting annoyed. “You back off! If you want him so bad, how come he’s not with you?”
“Because your American pum pum turn him into a fool!”
“What?” Bailey shook her head, truly annoyed now.
The day’s beauty had dried up in the face of the woman’s rudeness and wild claims. Who the hell attacked a stranger just because they suspected someone was trying to steal their man? This woman was really stupid.
Growing up, Bailey had been witness to some truly ridiculous behavior—girls willing to go to jail or the hospital over guys who wouldn’t spit on them if they were on fire. That was so damn simpleminded.
She wasn’t about to get caught up in that, no matter how fine Seven was. Bailey gave the girl a narrow-eyed glance.
“You should check your man, not me,” she said. Then she walked past the girl and her keepers to head back toward the house.
*
When she got back to the Carmichaels’ house, Seven was already back and waiting for her on the veranda. Wearing a much-washed white T-shirt that was nearly transparent over his muscular chest, knee-length blue plaid shorts and sandals, he was the very picture of relaxation. He looked satisfied. Happy.
“Where have you been?” he asked, looking up from the newspaper he was reading.
“Taking a walk.”
Bailey wasn’t particularly in the mood to talk about what had happened out there with that woman. It still felt so damn unreal. Some strange woman confronting her about a man? Even thinking it sounded ridiculous.
The newspaper in Seven’s hand rustled as he looked carefully over her face, frowning. “It must not have been a very peaceful walk. You look a little riled up.”
Riled up was an understatement.
“I’m fine.” She made an effort to control the hardness in her voice that threatened to smash through their civilized conversation. “Did you get what you went into town for?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He tossed the newspaper down in the chair next to him. “Are you ready for a field trip?”
“Field trip?”
“Yeah. To get out of here for a while. Take in some new scenery. I love my parents and their house, but I know that after a while, this rural scene can seem a little too sedentary. Especially for someone who grew up in a city like Miami.”
“It’s been wonderful here. I haven’t been bored once.”
Seven was still for a moment, watching her with a small smile curving his lips. “Of course you would feel that way,” he said. “You are my mother’s dream.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Let’s go.” He stood up, pulling a set of keys from his pocket.
While Bailey waited, he locked up the house, then gestured for her to follow him. They left the veranda side by side, waking in silence toward the backyard. There, in a well-maintained shed with a zinc roof, waited an early-model Range Rover truck.
“Get in.”
The old SUV smelled faintly of leather cleaner and faded potpourri. The black leather seats were supple and soft under Bailey’s thighs. The comfortable confines of the truck were a pleasant respite from the heat. Bailey buckled hear seat belt as Seven checked the mirrors, started the truck. The mellow sounds of a local oldies radio station filled the vehicle.
He didn’t say anything, and Bailey wasn’t in any hurry to break the silence, either. Soon, they were driving down the back way from the house, then retracing Bailey’s earlier steps through the town. Not long after, unfamiliar roads rolled under the tires, an even greener landscape with flowers blooming here and there among the lush forest.
“So, where are we going?”
Seven glanced over at her with that faint smile of his. “A garden not too far from here.”
“That’s not much of a change of scenery. Your parents have a fantastic garden back at the house.”
“This one is a bit more unique than that.”
She raised an eyebrow at his smug tone. “This garden better be the most amazing and unique thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Wait a minute, now! I never promised you that.” He chuckled.
“Make big promises and you get raised expectations.” She found herself smiling back at him.
“Damn, I’ll have to remember that for next time.”
Bantering back and forth with him, Bailey rediscovered the feeling of camaraderie and ease she’d shared with Seven the night before. She purposely pushed the encounter she’d had with the woman on the street to the back of her mind. It was too painful, too confusing to deal with yet. Instead, she focused on the simple pleasure of being with an attractive—though off-limits—man.
Soon, they were driving into a more populated area. Trees cut back. Grass manicured. White stone fences. They passed large squat-shaped houses. They drove past a man riding on his donkey, his bare chest glistening from the morning heat, a red bandanna tied around the plodding donkey’s neck. A slim young woman with a basket balanced on her head walked just ahead of him.
The truck pulled into a roundabout. On the other side of the roundabout stood an elegant marble sign bidding welcome to Park of the Maroons. An arched gateway soared over the paved road leading into the park, which reminded Bailey of a European sculpture garden.
Strategically placed all around the acres of green grass were whirling, dancing, looming figures in steel, stone, wire and various other materials. Seven pulled the truck into a parking space near half a dozen other vehicles and turned off the engine.
“Come,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
He hopped out of the truck, pocketed the keys, then came around to Bailey’s side in time to open the door for her and help her out. Instead of releasing her after she stood outside the truck, his arm slipped around her waist and he drew her close to him. The motion was so natural, so unremarkable, that Bailey didn’t truly realize what he had done until they were walking, pressed hip to hip, toward a trio of statues.
For a moment, she was overwhelmed by the fresh, clean smell of him. The hint of sweat combined with a faint sweetness, as if he’d been walking through a field of roses. Bailey simply inhaled him, closing her eyes as they walked together, savoring him in her lungs.
“Careful,” he said, his hand tugging her even more against him.
Her eyes flew open in time to see him guide her around a low formation of rocks on the ground—another sculpture. The park was lush and green, the grass a deep and vibrant shade under the bright sun and blue skies. They weren’t the only ones enjoying the scenery.
Nearby, a family of three sat on a large blanket. Two women and a little boy. The remains of a picnic lunch were scattered around the blanket. Paper plates, half a sandwich, empty soda bottles. They looked happy. All around them, other families—along with some couples and singles—walked through the winding paths of the sculpture garden, touching the figures with wonder, some laughing or sheepish at the nudity on display in a few of the pieces.
Having been surrounded by art and artists most of her life, Bailey loved art of all kinds. Even with her resentment of her parents and the way they had raised her and Bette, she still loved and respected the immense talent it took to bring something from the imagination into being. Looking around the garden, she saw many beautiful things, and some disturbing things, things she would have never thought possible.
“This is one of my favorite places in Jamaica,” Seven said.
He gestured around the park to the art and the people enjoying it. “When I doubt that my work connects with any sort of audience, all I have to do is come here and see how people interact with the pieces.”
Bailey nodded, looking even more closely around the park. He was right. Even those who had been ignoring the art in favor of their own meals or conversations occasionally looked up at a piece and pointed, gaze fluttering over the sculptures that were much more than scenery.
“This is a wonderful place,” she said.
Their footsteps moved in sync over the cement walkway, their hips touching, his smell a beautiful intoxicant. Did he “belong” to that woman she had met earlier that day? Would she ever put herself in the position of having to fight for him? The question frightened her. She would never have even asked herself something like that before. The hand in her pocket twitched. Bailey licked her lips and glanced up at Seven. He was already looking down at her.
There was a slight nervousness to him that she hadn’t noticed before, as if he was perched on an edge. And waiting. Their footsteps stopped. To distract herself from him and his intense look, Bailey turned to the sculpture closest to them.
It was tall, the apex reaching nearly ten feet high. From where she stood, the piece seemed to be made of steel, of hundreds of connected hands with their fingers spread wide to shape a larger female figure, round hipped, high breasted, hands lifting a laughing girl child toward the heavens. The child reached up for the skies her mother offered to her. The detail in the hands making up the figures was amazing. They were long hands, feminine, with slender fingers and short nails. Bailey noticed that each hand was roughly the same size as hers. She turned away from Seven to look closer at the piece.
