What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [133]
Hmm. “Maybe . . . more than I thought,” she confessed. “But I’m still not sure I’m happy about it.”
He smiled at her. “Ah, that is not wise. Celebrate what you are.” He gave her a solid once-over. “I see a lovely lady who turns sad, and I’m sorry if I made you that way.”
Jenna shook her head, quick to absolve him. “Oh, no, it’s not you. It’s something else. And I’m more than happy to walk on the beach and try to think of other things.”
“And I am happy to give you something else to think of.” He still held her hand, so when he stopped walking, she did, too. Then he took her other hand in his, his eyes sensual and suggestive in the moonlight—after which he leaned in to gently kiss her.
The kiss left her stunned at first—she’d never kissed a black man before, and she found the experience powerful, different, deep. Because it was new to her? Or was it simply the way Andre kissed?
She kissed him back, and soon he lifted one hand to her face. His mouth was firm yet tender, and she sensed confidence there, knew he was a man with experience seducing women. It felt easy to drift from one kiss into another . . . until he sank smoothly to his knees in the sand, pulling her down with him.
He’d just begun to kiss her again when she understood . . . oh God, she was entranced by the differences between them, by the exotic romance of making out with a Jamaican calypso singer, and she was charmed by his thoughtful personality—but she wasn’t . . . aroused. She wasn’t driven to kiss him.
In fact, it felt wrong. Because he wasn’t Brent. And he wasn’t in a fantasy that Brent was watching or had even created. And only sensual acts sanctioned by Brent, it seemed, moved her now. Oh Lord, it was awful—but true.
The realization made her lift her hands to his chest and push him gently back. “I’m sorry. It was very nice kissing you, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“No?” Andre sighed. “That is a disappointment, Jenna.”
“For me, too,” she confided, shaking her head lightly. “I mean, you’re so nice, so strong and sexy—I must be crazy.”
“You, crazy? No,” he said with certainty. “Just . . . perhaps this is the wrong place, the wrong time.”
She nodded. “That’s it.” And you’re the wrong guy. Oh God, she was doomed. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
Rising to his feet and reaching down to help her up, he shook his head. “Please do not apologize. I got a lovely walk with an equally lovely lady. And a few kisses, too. Come, let me walk you back,” he said, motioning in the direction from which they’d come.
“You’re a good man,” she told him with all sincerity.
“And you’re a sweet woman. May I give you some advice?” he asked as they began heading toward the resort lights.
“All right.”
“Whatever happened here to upset you, don’t . . . let it change the way you view yourself. Because everything I see in front of me right now is good, all the way through. You’ve got a good heart, a good soul—I can feel that. So promise me you know just how good you are, Jenna.”
His kind words nearly took her breath away, and compelled her to more honesty. “I do know,” she promised him. “But I also think I’m . . . foolish. It’s not so much what I’ve done here that’s hurting me—it’s that I’ve . . . come to care for someone here who doesn’t care back. And I’m realizing it’s no one’s fault but my own.”
“Ah, a broken heart,” Andre said with consoling eyes. “Well, no wonder kisses weren’t enough to fix it. Hearts take time to heal. And it has to come from within—no one can do it for you.”
“Did your heart heal?” she wondered aloud. “After your wife?”
He seemed to be considering her question as they moved back up the beach, the tide still washing in around their feet, until he finally answered, “Very slowly. Now I am only sad to think what could have been. But I also appreciate what is. I take advantage of every goodness that comes my way—I appreciate every warm breeze, every sunny day, every smile, every walk on the beach with a pretty