Like Slow Sweet Molasses (42 page)

Angela,
however, did.

She
burst into consciousness, her eyes trained on the muted blue ceiling above, wrangled
there by the guttural moans beside her. Chance thrashed for his freedom
prompting her to soothe his distress with affectionate caresses to his jaw.
“I’m fine, Chance,” she uttered into his ear guessing at the cause for his
turmoil, her voice uncommonly husky.

His
first response was to kiss the palm stroking his cheek, relishing the softness
next to his lips. “How you can say you’re fine after such an awful experience
is beyond me.” The scene played out like a reverent moment all because of the
hush in his voice. Secondly, he snuggled Angela against the full length of his
body.

“I
made it to this day for a reason, Chance. From this moment on my sights are on
the future not stranded in the past.” He looked so tired to her. Angela gave in
to the urge and brushed her fingers down his face, closing his eyes. “You’re
worn out. Go back to sleep.”

“That
should be my line,” he laughed quietly, rewarding her with a titillating kiss.
“You won’t disappear, will you?”

Angela
knew his question was no joke by the emerald sparks defining his look. “I
promise.”

She
lay still surrounded by his abounding love to hear regular breaths pouring from
his body. A sense he slept in earnest was the profound sigh hauling him to the
depths of oblivion. Her test of that fact was the placement of her lips next to
his ear. His response was the belly flop flattening him to the mattress where
his consciousness abandoned reality. Angela’s exact movements freed her of the
bedcovers as she slid from the sheets feeling December’s icy chill welcoming
her.

Her
sense of belonging enticed her to rifle through his drawers for the socks she
now crushed down on her calves. Love for Chance swelled as she took in the
haven of safety he offered. He took an awful experience and made it something
beautiful, changing her outlook on life. Angela strolled into the living room
walking directly over to the windows for a look at a day she was grateful to
behold.

A
tanker, the multi-colored flag atop its highest point stiffening in the wind,
split the Mississippi River sending rippling waves to the shores. Her vantage
point laid New Orleans’ port, in addition to the warehouse district within her
scope of vision. As she watched, a car drew closer slowing as it approached and
stopped under her nose. The woman exiting shook her head a time or two while
pulling something from the trunk and all at once looked up revealing her
identity.

It
was Sasha.

Angela
scampered for a quick peek in on Chance prior to racing her to the door to
avert the use of the bell. She narrowly made it as Sasha’s dumbfounded features
attested.

“You’re
up,” Sasha marveled.

There
was no use pretending, Angela decided with thoughts of the dark half-moon under
her eye, and answered honestly. “Yes, I’m up and am no worse for wear.”
Stepping aside extended the invitation for Sasha to enter with her bundle.

“I
told Bro I wouldn’t linger,” she relayed with a shaky laugh. “Anyway, I’m on my
way to work and only wanted to deliver these things as promised.”

“A
hair dryer?” Angela asked looking down on the hood at her feet.

“And
what I hope will take out the tangles Bro’s shampoo left.”

A
gush of laughter signified Angela’s humor still intact and forced her to blot
the noise out of concern for waking Chance as well as admit to the aggravation
it caused to her throat. “I guess I scared him with that “witchy-woman look”
this morning.”

“You
scared him alright,” Sasha agreed, “but not for that reason. Trell said he’d
never heard fear in Bro’s voice even when faced with uncertainty in the line of
duty.”

Angela
confided nervously, “I thought I’d seen him for the last time, Sasha.” She
permitted Sasha’s tentative hug refusing to wallow in her own fear. “I take
what happened as a sign Chance and I need to cultivate this relationship of
ours.”

“You’re
right, Angela. Everyone’s not afforded a second chance.” Sasha moved backwards.
“I took the liberty of bringing you a change of clothing. Hope that’s okay.”

“Thank
you. I’ll get these things back as soon as possible.”

“No
hurry. Take your time.” Calling over her shoulder as she opened the car door,
Sasha said, “I’ll check on you later. Tell Bro I didn’t overstay my welcome.”

“I’ll
do that,” she returned, smiling as she watched her drive out of sight.

Angela
stepped inside with her hands full, managing to shut the door minus a sound
only to break that silence with a choking shriek. Her senses reacted to the
smoky scent of her clothes stored in the washer-dryer cabinet on the other side
of the garage.

Most
of the day was long gone when Chance’s eyes reopened and Angela was absent from
his side. The covers took flight when he bounded out of bed—on the run—only to
pull up short when zooming passed the window where he found her below him
engaged in conversation with Sasha. The lengthy exchange filled him with hope
for Angela. Its culmination, in his opinion, ended on a bonding personal note.
He left the window after witnessing their interaction, regenerated by the
sight, rested by a pretty good sleep and buoyed by high spirits.

Angela’s
scream burst his bubble.

His
bare feet slapped the iron steps as he stumbled his way down to her. Strong
arms banded her waist, hindering her madcap clamor at the door.

“I-I…c-can’t…breathe,”
she wheezed.

Chance’s
strength had the door bash the wall as he provided her body what it required.
“Take a deep breath, Angel.” Her troubles were his as he melded his body to
hers while supporting her attempts at reducing the anxiety. “You’re safe. I
won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her
distress gradually got smaller compelling her to explain. “It’s the clothes. I
can smell them. It’s the clothes, Chance.”

“What
do you want me to do with them?” he inquired, obeying her insistent tug on his
hands for release.

“Get
rid of everything. Please.”

A
car straggled by with its occupants openly staring from Chance’s half-dressed
state to her leggy barely-dressed state, leaving wolf whistles behind.

Chance
saw her shiver in the frosty air. “I’ll take your clothes to the cleaners.”

“I’m
not wearing them again,” she threatened.

“They
can be cleaned, Angel. Somebody—”

 
“They’re no good to anyone. Trash them.”

There
was no use in arguing with her. The set of her mouth told him so. Chance stole
by on his way inside. His voice traveled out to her. “I’ve got the dress and
intimate apparel—”

“Take
the coat, purse and shoes, too.”

“Angela!”
he balked.

She
knew he thought she overdid it, but, the likelihood of another episode was too
frightening. “I guess I’m superstitious,” she groaned.

He
reappeared with a black garbage bag tied for disposal. “Are you sure?”

“I’m
sure,” Angela authorized his actions, observing as he rounded the side of the
building. The lid banged shut broadcasting his unhappiness with the outcome.

Chance,
swaggering back, slapped the purse’s contents into her cupped hands and stared
her down. “Satisfied?”

“N-Not
r-really.”

Her
teeth-chattering answer persuaded him to shuttle closer to swathe her in a
warming bear hug. “What about now?”

Arms
squeezed tightly at this waist, it was the sigh of contentment substantiating
her one-word reply. “Completely.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The
image staring back from the bathroom mirror mimicked her actions although the
eyes exhibited none of the frantic scenes careening in her head. Angela batted
and Chance came into view. How long he sat on the commode top studying her was
unknown. But, there he was—stroking her with his eyes. Realizing she stood
stone-still, her fingers found the brush on the vanity and started unlocking
the hair wrapped around her head. Silky strands loosened in their fall to her
shoulders. Apparently, his yearning to run his fingers through her hair was too
tempting for soon his hand replaced hers on the brush.

Watching
her wash, style and dry her hair was a most sensual activity. One so affecting,
Chance had to leave the room previously to cap his runaway desires. He used two
hands to tenderly brush her locks copying her strokes until hair framed her
face. Standing behind her, looking into the blank eyes of the woman in the
mirror saddened him. The pain she thought hidden from him revealed itself
there. His lips brushed hair aside as he kissed her ear—just because. That
seemed to bring her back to life.

She
needed to gain control of her rampant thoughts choosing to plug in the curling
iron as a diversionary measure to remembering her ordeal. “I’ll be out in a few
minutes.” Angela’s awareness lit in on his mode of dress. Chance threw on a
t-shirt over the pajamas he continued to wear from last night. Surely, by now,
as late as it was, for it was after three in the evening, he’d not only be
dressed but probably on the job.

“No
hurry,” he assured her, failing to temper the urge to hold her, nibbling at the
skin on her shoulder. “I’ve got time.” He recognized the uncertainty shining in
her eyes before she voiced her concern.

“What
time are you leaving for work?” Angela shifted the hair at the nape of her neck
granting him free reign to the area, tested the heating element with her
fingers and steeled herself for his answer.

“I’m
not.” He could tell his reply surprised her by the flash and quick
disappearance of a twinkle in her look. “Does that make you happy?” For an
answer, Angela’s one hundred eighty degree revolution settled her comfortably
in his arms, her ear to his chest.

“Absolutely,”
she said, squeezing a little drawing his eyes down to hers. “You won’t be reprimanded,
will you? I mean for not reporting for duty?”

“That’s
sweet, Angel,” he said. “You’re exhibiting acceptance of my job even though I
know it scares the heck out of you.”

“My
lesson was a hard one. Look at me,” she spoke urgently. “These bumps and
bruises are my medals of honor in the war against fear and repression. I love
you, Chance Alexander. I can’t beat down the feelings I have for you. I won’t
be afraid of loving you, either.”

“That’s
my girl,” he uttered, smiling his approval.

She
thought it peculiar how that term took on a different meaning while wrapped in
the arms of the man who loved her.

Chance
kept his eyes on hers as he lowered his head for a kiss. “You make loving you
so easy. And it feels so good.”

“I’ll
bump my hair and let you have the bathroom.” Chance let her go with a look that
said he had no idea what she meant. “Want to watch?”

“Hmmm,”
he moaned suggestively.

“Watch
me bump my hair, that is,” she elaborated.

“Bumping,”
he repeated, his lips twitching in delight as he dropped to the commode top.
“Sounds like something that’ll give me pleasure.”

Angela
laughed. A real—full—rich sounding laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And
you wouldn’t have me any other way,” he supplied arrogantly.

Angela
looked down at him, her face beaming with love as she stepped between his
knees. “You’re right, Chance. I wouldn’t.”

He
grinned.

Moving
from his embrace, she began the task of curling her hair giving it the lift and
body that brought her features back to life. She did a two-handed fluff to loosen
the ringlets for a softer, curlier look than before. “I’ve got to call home,
again,” she announced to him while disconnecting the curling iron.

Chance
rose observing as she tried hard to disguise the sadness fogging her eyes. She
blinked furiously but the mist remained. All he did to pry out her concerns was
look at her. She spilled her heart out to him.

“I
think something’s happened to Daddy, Chance,” she relayed. “It’s not like them
not to keep in touch.”

“Angel,
that’s not necessarily the case. It’s two days before Christmas. They’re
enjoying the holidays. That’s all.” He wished that was true.

They
left the bathroom through the door adjoining the living room with Angela going
straight over to grab the phone on her hike to the windows. By the time she got
there, the ringing in her ear and the doorbell started simultaneously. A pivot
and she peered through the glass to see a uniformed chauffeur standing at
attention at the door. Her anxious gaze swung to Chance as he headed towards
the stairs.

“Who
is it?” he asked from his stance on the second step down.

“I
don’t know,” she responded absently more interested in why there was still no
answer at her parents’ home. “It’s a limo driver.”

The
bell gonged again forcing Chance to speed up his descent. His foot touched the
cement floor of the garage when he heard her yell his name in distress. There
wasn’t a doubt which individual rated his immediate attention as he shot back
upstairs.