Chapter 22 Zuri
zuri
. . .
The night air nipped at my toes through my new black leather peep-toe booties.
Didn’t matter. Not when the moon hung full and soft over Paris, glowing against the cobblestone, washing the ancient buildings in its glow.
Definitely not when Montana’s broad frame in that dark peacoat became a permanent, protective fixture at my side.
The world around me was no longer a stage for a painful slapstick, with the echo of others’ laughter after I endured every emotional blow.
Every few steps, I risked a glance. He carried himself as usual—big, calm, confident.
But tonight, something was different. His head tilted back every so often as he studied old buildings with their glowing balconies and explained architecture.
While I enjoyed the lesson, I relished how I didn’t stand before Big Country, the legend.
Instead, my date, Montana Babineaux, gave me all his attention.
“Here we are,” he said as we approached another street. “La Goutte d’Or.”
Music spilled from cafés, and a sweet smell drifted through the air. “So, this is Black Paris?” I grinned at a woman on the corner offering to braid anyone’s hair who glanced her way.
As his arm claimed me again, and we walked over, my shoulders lowered. I could breathe again. I didn’t have to clamp my mouth to stop from blurting: I killed a man. My son’s would-be abductor.
Though I’d acted in self-defense, the weight of death never left my chest.
How could I force this concern on Montana? He already carried his probation with the Dodgers, the media painting him as a villain. Couldn’t hand him my darkness.
So instead, I followed this man into one of the most diverse arrondissements of Paris. The air smelled like spicy plantains.
He said, “Got a little Tremé in Paris?”
“Tremé?” I smiled.
He tilted his head. “Don’t tell me you don’t see it. Music in the street, food hitting before you even step inside. This feels like home. NOLA.”
“Oh? Never seen that part of New Orleans. After work, Darius and I stayed inside. Then you kidnapped us.”
His jaw worked—grinding regret. “We gone fix that.”
“Fix what?”
“When we get back, I’ma show you NOLA. You can wear this.” He touched a strand of my wig. “Darius won’t even have to wait in line at Café du Monde.”
“You want to show my son too?” My voice strangled at the thought. I appreciated how he paid attention to Darius. But I thought this dating stuff was private. Just for us.
“Chère, please. Little Dude deserves to see it. Hide those cute toes, and you can come.”
“No. I feel sexy and confident when I put on a pair of heels.” A chuckle escaped me, and I stretched out my leg to show off my new heels.
“I’m not carrying you all day if you step into mysterious yellow street gravy.” Montana’s chuckle rumbled deep enough to make me forget the rest of the weight on my chest. We started toward a bar when the sky cracked open. God, are You up there tossing buckets? I need this.
I squealed as a drop smacked me. Maybe that was my answer? God was telling me to cool it. Montana scooped me into his arms and strode over the slick sidewalk.
“Wait! You said you wouldn’t carry me, Montana.” I protested, clutching his peacoat.
He smirked, water dripping from his beard. “Circumstances changed, chère. Those little legs will have us drenched before we get there.”
Miles. He carried me miles, as puddles splashed over his dark jeans. I watched lovers huddling under awnings. I almost snapped my neck looking back. “Hey, let’s—”
“Non,” he growled. “Your legs too damn short to keep up. You’d drown in the puddles before we hit the block.”
Enjoying the arms wrapped around me, I smacked his chest, laughing. “Excuse me? I meant we could’ve waited under those, yet you badmouth my legs?”
“You heard me. Lil’ baby legs. One of my strides is four of yours. Be grateful, bébé.”
“I was grateful until Big Country started talking smack.”
He hoisted me higher in his arms. “I saw you steal half a pistachio from my ice cream and couldn’t finish it. Lightweight.”
I gasped, half laughing, half scandalized. Rain slanted into my face, so I rubbed my eyes against the peacoat covering his broad chest. “That’s because I hated it. So, stop. I throw down when the food’s good.”
When the hotel finally emerged in the rainy distance, Diana Redux plastered wet against my face. The Paris lights blurred through the rain. The doorman hustled forward with an umbrella. Montana cut him off with a low, dismissive rumble. “She ain’t hiding under nothing but me.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, replacing the cold. I chuckled, mortified, and secretly thrilled, as he carried me, our bodies dripping on the granite lobby floor. “Now I get why we couldn’t wait under the awning. ‘She ain’t hiding under nothing but me, huh?’ ”
Montana didn’t put me down when he pressed the elevator button with his elbow. His wet beard dripped onto my shoulder. The beard oil smelled sweet and succulent. His chest solid against me. “Relax. He didn’t understand me.”
“You better hope so,” I murmured, though my pulse fluttered wild.
Because I understood.
Weeks ago, Big Country was easier to deny.
The legend helped me draw a parallel to Edwin.
Not in any sick, twisted way—after Doctor Jekyll became Mr. Hyde.
But the other parallels—the playboy ways, which I was confident he justified.
He had to justify them. His mom was a saint!
I know she raised Montana better than that.
So, I was sure Big Country told himself he only dipped into girls who didn’t care.
However, too much laughter and tension stood between me and denying him anymore.
Here I was in Paris, clinging to Montana. My only safe place left on earth.
My … safe … place.
Jesus, if You wanna make him my forever home, I’m up for that too.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Montana carried me past a couple eating each other’s faces, who blocked the elevator exit. They gasped when our wet clothes got on them.
I buried my face in his neck to hide my laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
He bent close, his breath hot against my ear. “And I’m yours, Zuri.”
The words dropped into me like a stone rippling in water, so peacefully I lost my breath. Speechless. For thirty days or …?
By the time he carried me into the suite, my nerves stretched tighter than a violin string. He put me down real soft and removed my leather jacket and shoes. His hands then massaged my toes before he pressed them against his mouth.
“So glad you aren’t worried about any puddles here.” I moaned, laughing.
“Nope.” He popped my big toe into his mouth, then put my feet down before tugging from his peacoat.
Threw it somewhere over his shoulder, somewhere outta sight.
His hand stayed firm at my waist, anchoring me.
My curly wet wig clung to my cheeks. My dress plastered against my skin.
Almost every inch of me was available to him.
He glanced past me. “The Great Wall of China gotta go.”
My laughter trembled, a shaky sound escaping my lips as frigid air and anxious anticipation gripped me. We still had on clothes. And his muscles rippled beneath his soaked shirt. “You’re really gonna—”
Pillows thudded against the carpet behind me.
His smile had vanished when he faced me again.
His eyes softened, darkened, and I relished his protection.
How he uplifted me. Helped me become salt until he was ready to come to my level?
Technically, he was on my level. He locked eyes with me, gazing at me as if the world had narrowed down to the two of us.
“Zuri,” he said, voice low.
This. This was what I’d wanted to hear since we met. My name. But from those seductive lips. Just like this. My breath caught at that same raw, tortured Creole tone he’d used on day seven of me nurturing him back to health. He’d said my name … Just. Like. This.
He lifted his hand, brushed wet hair from my face, fingers lingering at my jaw.
Before I could stop myself, I felt the warmth of his muscle-rippled chest. His lips met mine, a delicate exploration that asked for more.
My lips trembled as I answered, kissing him back.
My speechless offering a whimper, and my eyes flashed betrayal when he pulled away.
Montana removed the wig from my head. “Ah, there she is.”
Of course, he spoke to my Sisterlocks. And my hair sang his praises as he massaged my scalp. My girls hadn’t had any attention in years. A man’s attention? Never.
“I have so many ideas for you,” he said.
Yep. Still conversing with my hair.
My only response was a drawn-out “Mmmm …” as I listened intently. My gaze fixed on him, desperate to be a part of this moment. Between him and my hair. Montana’s fingers plunged into the hair at my scalp, his tongue on the same pursuit with my mouth. Deliberate with each stroke.
I clutched his shirt, tugging, needing him closer.
The soaked fabric stuck to his chest, heavy, and mine felt all achy and uncomfortable against my skin. My complaints? Gone with the wind. The massaging of my scalp, of my tongue? Heaven.
Montana sank back onto his haunches.
“Mon-Montana, wh … what are you … doing?” I stitched that sentence with the butchery of a beginner knitting class.
“You gone leave, Zuri?”
“What—no.”
His chest expanded, as if that were possible, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Non, chère. I’m talking about leaving NOLA. Leaving …” Voice a rasp, I had to wonder if he said me. “Zuri, we already talked about me finding you.”
“I’m staying, Montana. We have the … contract.
” Luckily, a raindrop in my hair dripped into my eyes, mirroring the tear that escaped.
I slid off the bed, legs wrapping around him as he kneeled on the ground.
I clutched his shirt, tugging, needing him closer.
“Not leaving, Montana.” Never leaving you first is probably my weakness.
Somehow, my trembling fingers got him out of his shirt. Those damn fixations weren’t helping when my hands stilled. Broad shoulders. Hard muscles. Water slid over his skin, a smooth mahogany stone.
“You’re staring, bébé,” he teased, voice rough as if fighting the same nerves I was.
Probably for a different reason. I worried the contract would be the only tangible memory of him I possessed.
He probably feared epididymal hypertension.
That uncomfortable, achy sensation men got after experiencing prolonged arousal.
Blue.
Balls.
I swallowed, heat flooding my face. “You’re staring too.”
His gaze traced the curve of my body, lingering on the silk of my dress and the heat of my legs around his hips. He reached behind me, gripping the hem with careful fingers. The soft zip? Deafening.
Instead of standing, we remained in our position. He lifted me a little and slipped the dress over my head. My body embraced him.
“You tryna hide from me, chère?”
I giggled. This wasn’t the best position for a mother. Seated. The knot in my stomach felt as large as the small pooch of thick skin on my lower abdomen from conceiving.
Once again, his lips touched mine, but this time the kiss was slower, meant to coax and not to demand.
With each kiss, the promises from his lips intensified, growing firmer and more passionate until I found myself trembling within his embrace.
With a reverent touch, his hands explored the curve of my breast and the swell of my hips. A map of my every movement.
I tugged at his belt, clumsy, desperate, until he helped, fingers brushing mine.
The rest of our clothes fell away one by one.
Laughter tangled with moans, nerves melting with heat.
Every barrier stripped. Every kiss more breathtaking than the last, until nothing was between us but hot skin and pounding hearts.
He played with my hair again. No, that word seemed juvenile.
He praised my tresses with each caress. Pressed his lips to the top of my head and said something in Louisiana Creole that warmed my insides.
Montana picked me up and laid me on the bed, his presence filling the air as he loomed above. His forehead pressed against mine, breath ragged. “Ain’t no walls tonight, bébé. Just us.”
“Yes,” I rasped, my voice low, sultry, desired.
“Before Big Country makes this real for you, you gotta promise me something.”
As long as I’m in the presence of Montana and not that crazy fool. I tried to get the words out. Too many words. Too many hardened muscles for me to preview. I murmured, “Anything.”
“That you’ll never leave again,” he said between planting kisses on my eyelashes. “Coz it would be the worst pain you’ve ever caused me.”
Because my actions got him stabbed. My breath caught in my throat and then escaped in a stutter. I nodded. “I won’t go. But I want the man, not the legend.” Yay, I wasn’t that delirious.
When his mouth claimed mine again, the world blurred. Paris no longer existed. No past. No secrets. No dead body between us. Just rain outside, heat inside, and a truth too loud to speak.
This had to be love.