* * *
The steam from his piping-hot mug of tea filled his nostrils and made him relax against the wall behind the large jewelry display area. His gaze lingered on Justine. “I summoned you here from San Francisco. Did you know that? I remember the exact day, time and month it hit me: July 28, 5:06 in the afternoon. I knew you were coming, Justine.”
His words got her attention. “July 28? You’re kidding. Darrius, that was the exact day and hour my editor called me into his office. He had taken Wilfred Sands off the New Mexico story and was assigning it to me. He just suddenly took him off it, saying I had more insight and ability to capture the essence of the West. I was just glad for the opportunity.”
“I did that. I know you probably think I’m nuts, but something roused me at that particular time, 5:06. I had fallen asleep at my computer desk for a brief afternoon nap. I had been tired, but I snapped awake and could feel you coming. I didn’t tell you this before, didn’t know how you would take it. I couldn’t make out what you looked like—how tall, short, hair color, but I knew your spirit. It called to me.” He sipped his tea, taking in the robust aroma as though it gave him courage to tell his tale of vibes, tribes and vision quests. “It must have been some kind of quest because days before, I went to the mountains behind my house for my prayers and something was so strong in my heart, but I couldn’t capture it. Days later, I had the vision of your spirit. Please don’t think I’m crazy. I’m not.”
“I know you’re not, Darrius, but tell me, you don’t have Elvis sightings, do you? I mean, you don’t see Elvis working at Burger Kings throughout Santa Fe, right?”
“I’m serious!”
She set her mug down and moved next to him, feeling the pressure of his leg against hers. “I’m sorry, and I know you’re serious. This is just so much for me.”
He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her delicate fingers and then looked deeply into her eyes. “I know exactly when you arrived in New Mexico. Your plane arrived in Albuquerque at 9:38 A.M. You stayed two days at the mission school and then departed. You had to wait hours for the bus but it never showed and you had to wait for the train. You stepped foot on Gallup ground at 3:12 Monday afternoon. You rented your car and then came here.”
“I…did look at my watch. I remember it being almost 3:15, figuring I had lost time waiting for that damn bus.”
He kissed her hand again, pulling her even closer to him. “It’s karma, wisdom, callings.”
Justine heard voices from the CD player—singers calling in a native chant. Everything was so mystic, strong, powerful—romantic. His hair brushed against her shoulders, tickling the skin above the neckline of her dress. With his hand still covering hers, she got on her knees, lifted the dress and sat between his outstretched legs.
He allowed her entrance, allowed her the opportunity to be that close to him. A gutsy move, and he loved that she did it. It meant she felt the closeness he felt—the same calling, perhaps. Turning and leaning back, her head rested against his chest as she continued to sip the tea. She smelled enticing, irresistible; hints of peach and avocado scent were in her hair, her skin, and the overwhelming desire to caress her tender skin haunted him. He restrained himself, but his hand still covered hers.
As for Justine, she had found her new safe place, her new haven, and he felt good. His hard stomach muscles teased her back, causing her to remember how they felt when her fingers had trickled across them in the darkroom. It was glorious, and she wanted more. She sipped her tea and then remembered something Derrick had mentioned. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Not at all.”
“Why don’t you dance anymore, Darrius?”
“Where did that come from?”
“Your brother said you don’t dance anymore.”
He rested his head against the wall again. Just thinking about how he used to dance made him uncomfortable. Words seemed to stick in his throat as he tried to explain. “Derrick didn’t tell you anything about it?”
“No. I guess he figured it was up to you to tell me. Does he even know?”
“Yes, he knows the entire story, and a sordid one it is.”
Her hand smoothed the soft denim on his thigh. “You don’t have to tell me, you know.”
A soft brush of a kiss atop her head made him settle in. “I still dance sometimes, but not at the ceremonial anymore. Sometimes I’ll dance at the lodges, sometimes for educational purposes at schools, but not often.”
“I’m sure the kids get a kick out of it.”
“Sure, but it’s mostly for educational purposes—to carry on the oral tradition of our heritage. That’s the main reason I don’t do it anywhere else.” He finished his tea and crossed his hands over her stomach. “There are a lot of visitors at the ceremonial each August. Some know the nature and tradition of the dances, but most don’t. They come here for the shows, the crafts, the excitement, but they don’t see the underlying meaning behind it. They just see tribes getting together to celebrate. And that’s okay; I love to see tons of people trying their best to understand the plight and lives of a trampled people.”
“I guess that would include me and my cameras.”
“Yes and no. You take pictures to share with the world, bringing them into ours, and I’m sure your photos will be very enlightening.”
“They will be, and I’m getting so much knowledge from you.” Her face lifted to his. “I just want to do my best here, tell a great photographic story, do Native Americans justice.”
“It’s okay to say Indians, if you like.”
“I’d rather just say Darrius.”
A brush of a kiss landed on her cheek, so close to her lips that she could almost taste him.
His slight breath caressed her skin. “I hope I answered your question about the dancing. When I dance, I want people to know what it is for, to understand it. Sometimes it’s not possible with large crowds. You understand?”
She saw the exact sharpness of his features not exposed by candlelight. “I understand because I feel the same way. I don’t want people expecting me to cook great soul food because of the black in me. Hell, I can’t even cook.”
“You can cook, all right. Your kisses are steaming hot and delicious.”
“Is that so?”
“Trust me.”
And that she did. Leaning into him again, she still felt the after-burn of their kiss the other day. His warm chest gently heaved against her, his arms held her tighter, the wildness of his stiff erection probed her lower back. It felt like raw unadulterated sin, wicked, thick, hungry, savage and ready to make her savage as well. She shifted against him, wanting to feel more heat, passion, feel the length and mass of his erection move across her back.
Justine listened intently as he released a deep breath and spoke words only Darrius Red Sky could speak to her. “Stay right there. Ah, yes, that’s a good spot.”
He reclined deeper against the wall and slightly bent his knees. At that position, she could really feel him, feel his girth, his power, and her hands trembled under his. “Are you okay, Justine?”
Her dreamy voice floated into the air. “Never better. This is the perfect night.”
“And the perfect company. Do you mind being this close to me?”
