The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque) (2 page)

Chapter 2

J
onas looped his arm possessively around Ophelia’s small waist. “I’d say that your
friend
doesn’t seem too happy with our news.”

“Who—Solomon?” Ophelia frowned as she accepted another piece of the teardrop coconut cake. “He’s just surprised. Probably starting to feel left out since I’m following in Marcel’s footsteps.”

“Nah.” Jonas’s gaze cut away from Solomon’s lone form at the bar to settle on her. “That’s not it.”

“Sure it is.” She sank her fork into the dessert, and then moaned in ecstasy as she took her first bite. “This cake is the bomb,” she muttered, and quickly shoved another forkful into her mouth.

Jonas laughed and shook his head. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“You don’t understand, baby. Here, try some.” She prepared a bite for him and lifted it for him to sample.

He opened his mouth obligingly and then mimicked her exaggerated, orgasmic moans, complete with dramatic eye rolls.

“Oh, quit it.” Ophelia smacked his arm. “You’re not funny.”

Chuckling, he pulled her close. “What? I love it when you make those sounds,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m looking forward to hearing them for the rest of our lives.”

She giggled and glanced around to see whether they were being watched. Her body stiffened when her gaze caught Solomon’s from across the pavilion.

He lifted his glass in a silent salute and then turned away.

“You still want to tell me that there’s nothing between you two?” Jonas’s voice sharpened with sarcasm.

Ophelia ignored the sudden queasy tightness in her stomach and shrugged indifferently. “It’s not what you think.” She pulled out of his arms.

“And what exactly am I thinking?”

Ophelia drew an impatient breath, but somehow managed to hold on to her smile. “Can we just drop the subject? Once you get to know Solomon, you two are going to be as thick as thieves.”

Jonas’s expression radiated doubt.

“C’mon.” She set aside her half-eaten cake and reached for his hands. “Dance with me.”

“Who me?” he asked, as she led him back across the pavilion and over to the dance floor. “I can’t dance, remember?”

“Sure you can,” she insisted and navigated them to the center of the floor.

“Ophelia, I don’t know about this.”

She faced him with another wide smile and showed him how to properly position his hands. “Now just follow my lead,” she coached.

“I have a feeling that’s not going to be the last time I hear those words,” he joked, and then concentrated perhaps a little too much on his dance movements.

“Relax.” She slinked and wiggled against him. “Just feel the music. Let your body go.”

Jonas followed her instruction, but still managed to look as stiff as a board, so much so that Ophelia had a hard time suppressing her amusement.

“Okay. All right. Enough.” A lazy grin hugged his lips as he grabbed her wrist and led her off the dance floor. “I’d like to reserve making an ass out of myself to private parties only. If you don’t mind.”

Ophelia’s head rocked back with a hearty bark of laughter. “But you were so cute,” she whined playfully.

Jonas slowed down when they reached the lawn, which was still jammed tight with people. He gave a cursory glance around and drew her back into his arms. “So, are you ready to blow this taco stand so we can do a little celebrating ourselves?”

“Oh?” She lifted her head in keen interest. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

Glancing up at the clear blue sky, Jonas mulled the question over. “I’m thinking about a candlelight dinner for two.”

“Italian?” she suggested her favorite.

“Of course. We can put on some music—”

“But there’s no dancing.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I might be able to manage a little cheek-to-cheek action. But then afterward—”

“Ah, ah, ah, lover boy.” She waved her finger at him. “There will be none of that.” At Jonas’s confused look, she added, “We’re engaged.”

“I’m following you so far.”

Ophelia’s body warmed deliciously as she playfully walked her fingers up the center of his chest. “Well, I was thinking, since we’re going to have such a short engagement that maybe it’s best that we…abstain until our wedding night.”

Jonas’s body stiffened, and his eyes widened in stunned disbelief. “Come again?”

Ophelia couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Don’t you want our wedding night to be special?”

“It’s already going to be special.” He hugged her tighter. “It will be the first time we’ll make love as man and wife.”

“You know what I mean.” She lowered her voice. “I mean in the traditional sense. No sex before marriage.”

“If that’s the case, we’re already S.O.L.,” he said, leaning toward her and stealing a kiss. “I’m already familiar with every inch of you.”

“Good,” she cooed. “Then you won’t have any problems hanging on to those memories until our wedding night.”

Their eyes met.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Jonas’s voice ended on a note of horror.

“Dead serious. Our waiting is supposed to heighten the anticipation. I’m up for the challenge.” With a teasing smile and a flirtatious wink, Ophelia slowly eased out of his arms and sashayed away from him. It was a game she loved to play with him. In her head, she timed how long it would take for him to follow her. This time, she counted to three—a new record.

“Okay,” Jonas said. “Let’s say that I do agree to this crazy idea.”

She faced him with a syrupy smile.

“And I’m not saying that I am,” he clarified. “But if I did, what exactly
can
we do until our wedding night?”

Once again, Ophelia slid her arms up his chest and locked them around his neck. “We can still kiss and cuddle.”

“What am I—in kindergarten?”

“Kindergarten?” She laughed. “I didn’t receive my first kiss until I was in junior high—and that didn’t really count.”

Jonas frowned. “Why?”

Ophelia shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Because it was just Solomon.”

* * *

“I wish those two would just go get a room,” Solomon said in disgust. He tossed back his fourth shot and then growled through the burn. “Hit me again,” he commanded the bartender.

“Are you all right, sir?” The lanky man reached for Solomon’s poison of choice and splashed out another shot.

“Peachy,” Solomon answered, and then downed the drink in the same breath.

“There’s my favorite nephew,” Willy’s voice thundered a half a second before his heavy hand swatted across Solomon’s back. “I wondered where you took off to.”

“Well, you found me.”

“Boy, I tell you that Marcel really knows how to throw a shindig. Of course, if it were my party, I would have thrown in a few strippers.”

“It’s a wedding, Uncle Willy.”

“Yeah, so?”

Solomon shook his head and then barked at the bartender again, “Hit me.”

“Whatcha doin’?” Willy asked.

“Getting drunk.”

“Sounds like fun. Mind if I play?”

“It’s a free country.”

“Not to mention an open bar.” Willy laughed and settled his large frame on a stool next to Solomon before he signaled the bartender. I’ll have what he’s having.” When he received his drink, he held it up. “Should we at least toast to something?”

“Sure, why not?” He lifted his glass. “How about to…no more women?”

Willy pulled his glass away. “Good Lord, I can’t toast to that. I adore women. Of course, I can’t say that they’re always overly fond of me… But I always seem to find another fish in the ocean, if you catch my drift.”

Solomon grunted and rolled his eyes. “Well, you can have them.” He set his drink back down on the bar, uncertain whether he would be able to handle another shot without tipping off his stool.

Willy’s boisterous laugh rang out and drew attention from people across the pavilion. “What’s with this crazy talk?” He swung his meaty arm around Solomon’s shoulders. “There’s more than enough fish for the two of us, especially now that Casanova Brown has hung up his shoes. Hell, I’m practically salivating at the possibilities. You saw the little saucy number I came here with, didn’t you?”

“Nora Gibson?” Solomon laughed. “Let me give
you
some advice, old man. Run. Run like hell and don’t look back.”

“Ah, hell, Solomon. There’s nothing wrong with a lady who has a little spice…or a dangerous edge. It keeps things interesting. You remember Glenda?”

Solomon rolled his eyes. “How could I ever forget? She put you in the hospital for what, six weeks?”

Willy nodded. “Uh-huh. Good woman—salt of the earth.”

“She’s doing five to ten for stabbing you.”

“Hey, I was to blame for some of that. I should’ve never gotten caught nailing her sister in Glenda’s bed. Of course, who knows, Glenda and I might get back together when she gets out. The things that woman can do with her mouth… .”

Solomon frowned. “Didn’t you marry Glenda’s sister?”

Willy sighed dreamily. “Yeah. It was the best sixty-two hours of my life. But then there was a third sister—”

“Stop. Please stop,” Solomon begged, and then tossed back his last shot. “None of this is convincing me not to give up women.”

“What’s the alternative?” Willy lowered his voice to a normal level. “You’re not trying to tell me you’re a little…funny, are you?” He quickly held up his arms. “Not that I’m saying there is anything wrong with that. It’s just that I would have never thought—”

“Relax. I’m not gay.”

Willy’s shoulders slumped with obvious relief. “Well, then. What are we talking about? You can’t just give up sex—you’ll explode. Trust me, I know. One time…”

Solomon slumped his head against the palm of his hand and tuned out another one of his uncle’s wild sexcapades. Right now, Solomon just wanted the alcohol to kick in and numb the sharp pain of his broken heart. The problem was, he had no one to blame but himself.

He couldn’t count the number of times Marcel had urged him to come clean with Ophelia—nor could he remember how many times he’d practiced doing just that in front of the bathroom mirror. But in Solomon’s heart, he knew such a confession could ruin their friendship. And he never wanted that.

He also didn’t want to watch her marry someone else.

“—So I guess my point, nephew, is that the best way to get over a woman is to find another woman.” Willy pounded Solomon’s back. “It’s a hell of a better solution than giving them up.”

Solomon nodded and glanced across the lawn again to see Ophelia and her fiancé climb into a limo. “You know, Uncle Willy, I just might take your advice this time around.”

Chapter 3

“A
lone at last,” Jonas whispered from behind Ophelia as they stood in one of his spacious bachelor pads in the heart of downtown Atlanta.

Ophelia stood still while her fiancé took his time lowering the zipper on the back of her blush-colored dress. She smiled at the sound of his soft intake of breath, and then trembled at the feel of his lips pressed against her shoulder blade. This was undoubtedly a test of his restraint, and Ophelia loved every minute of it.

It was true that in her younger years she was a tomboy, but by the time she finished college, Ophelia had mastered the art of seduction. Men were reduced to mere idiots in front of a pretty face and a curvy body.

However, her charms rarely worked on one man: Solomon Bassett. Who knows, maybe that was why she had such a crush on him for as long as she did. He was a challenge—and what woman didn’t like a challenge?

Jonas kissed her other shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it until our wedding night,” he whispered. “It’s only been a couple of hours, and I already feel like I’m going crazy.”

Ophelia pushed all thoughts of Solomon to the back of her mind. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?” She faced him and winked. “I’m jumping in the shower.”

Jonas groaned and pulled her closer before she could step away. “Are you sure that I can’t talk you out of this nonsense? I mean, it
is
the twenty-first century.”

Ophelia smiled and shook her head. “C’mon, baby. You’re not even trying. If we do settle on a winter wedding, we’re only talking about a few months.”

“If?” He laughed. “Seven months it is. Any longer than that, and we’ll just have to live the rest of our lives in sin and not get married.”

“Then it’s settled. January it is.”

Jonas’s adorable dimples flashed while his head lowered for a kiss. “You know I’ve always been partial to November.”

“Five months? That’s hardly enough time to—”

Jonas pressed his finger against her lips. “It’s plenty of time. We’ll hire the best damn wedding planner money can buy.”

“Don’t forget my mother…aunts…and cousins.”

“See? We have plenty of help.” His confident smile widened. “We’ll have the most beautiful wedding the state of South Carolina has ever seen.”

“South Carolina? We’re getting married there?”

“Of course we are.” He frowned and laughed at the same time. “My family is there.”

Ophelia stepped back. “I know, but my family lives here in Atlanta.”

He shrugged. “I’ll buy them airline tickets.”

“We can’t just buy everyone airline tickets,” she protested.

“Why not? I can afford it.” He chuckled and pulled her back into his arms. “Or did you forget you were marrying a very wealthy man?”

“Just because you have money doesn’t meant you have to be so frivolous with—”

“Frivolous?” he barked. His eyes danced with amusement. “We’re talking about our wedding—not about some luxury toy we don’t need.”

“But flying my whole family—”

“Fine. We’ll have the wedding here in Atlanta, and my family will fly down. Problem solved.”

He leaned in for a kiss, but she quickly pushed him back. “How is that solving the problem? Your family is larger than mine. That’s even more money.”

“Hardly,” he laughed. “My family can afford their own tickets.”

“And what—my family can’t?”

Jonas’s expression twisted in confusion as his arms dropped to his sides. “Did I miss something?”

Ophelia stared at him, unsure where her sudden wave of irritation came from.

“Are you purposely trying to start an argument?” Jonas laughed.

Closing her eyes, Ophelia expelled a tired breath. “Forgive me. See? The wedding is already stressing me out.”

He gently drew her back into his arms. “Well, I know a few things that can relax you.”

One flash of his dimpled cheeks, and Ophelia was putty in his hands. “Are we back to that again?”

“I have a feeling that this is going to be a hot topic for the next few months.” His hands cupped and then lightly stroked her chin. “But if waiting is something you truly want to do, then we’ll do it.”

He smiled again and she watched as his head descended. Closing her eyes, she waited patiently for their lips to connect. This time there would be sparks—that magical something to reinforce her belief that this man was her destiny.

At last his soft lips pressed against hers and, just like the times before, her heart dropped in disappointment. It wasn’t a bad kiss—far from it. However, she didn’t get that warm tingling rush like when…

She abruptly pulled away from him. “I better jump in the shower.”

When his expression twisted, she eased the situation with another smile. “You promised me Italian, remember?”

He studied her a second longer before bobbing his head. “Yeah. I’ll speak with the chef.” Jonas backed away and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Take your time.”

Ophelia nodded and then sashayed her way toward the bathroom, knowing full well Jonas’s gaze followed her every move. Once she closed the door, she quickly moved over to the shower.

What the hell was wrong with her? Jonas was an ideal catch. Any woman would be happy to have him. Not only was he good looking and successful, he was kind, caring, and attentive. What was there not to love?

She laughed at herself. She was being silly. Of course she loved Jonas. That whole speech Solomon gave about not knowing Jonas was just his way of playing the role of protector. That was what he’d always been to her, really—him and Marcel.

Casanova Brown married.
She shook her head. She would’ve definitely put her money on him being the last—not the first in their screwball group to walk down the aisle. After all too many women, so little time had always been his motto.

Well, she was going to be next. Instant warmth radiated through her at the sweet memory of the day she’d met Jonas—“the asshole” as she and her business partner, Stevie, had affectionately christened him. As owners of Missler & Lambert Sports Rehabilitation Center, she and Stevie had actually worked for the Carolina Panthers for years. However, when the NFL team got a new owner, Ophelia and Stevie received a pink slip almost immediately. Having never been fired in her life, Ophelia stormed over to the Hintons’ sprawling mansion determined to give the team owner a piece of her mind. Who knew the man would actually capture a piece of her heart as well?

Ophelia slipped out of her gown, grabbed a satin hanger from the top of the towel rack, and hung the gown up on the back of the door. She admired the dress for a few minutes while her mind transformed the pink dress into a white wedding gown.
Mrs. Jonas Hinton.
She smiled. She could get used to that.

* * *

After Jonas gave his personal chef, Raul, the night’s menu, he quickly found himself pacing the floor of his bedroom. So far, he’d only managed to remove his tuxedo jacket and loosen his tie. He wasn’t at all thrilled with how the day’s events had played out.

By all accounts, he should be a happy man. He had, after all, proposed to the woman of his dreams, albeit without a ring, and even though she’d said yes, he feared that he could actually lose her.

“Solomon Bassett,” he spat, and then shook his head. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? In the four months he’d been dating Ophelia, she’d talked of little else. There was always the time when she and Solomon did such-and-such or had a ball at this place or another. Hell, she’d actually managed to convince him that this guy was nothing more than a brother figure. But after what he saw today, that b.s. was no longer going to fly.

“But how in the hell am I going to keep those two apart?”