“I’m not a very patient man. I do apologize for that. I’ve applied pressure that you’re not comfortable with. I’ll slow down but will not stop until you’re mine. But it must be your choice," Azmir spoke with conviction as we both gazed at each other through the massive vanity mirror.
“What irony, that the one thing I desperately want and am vigorously pursuing doesn't think she's enough. I’ve amassed $439 million in three years, all on gut intuition and knowing my opponents. I make no mistakes in acquisitions. I seriously doubt if that’ll start here.” His glaring through the mirror into my eyes said so much that ears couldn't hear.
It was in that moment that I knew indisputably that I had to work on me. I had to repair my broken spirit. I had to learn to be emotionally sound and independent. I had to learn how to trust people and be loved. I couldn't receive what this man was offering because I knew none of it.
“Come. Let's go to bed. It's late,” he ordered.
We retreated to his bedroom and I asked, “Can I borrow a T-shirt? Since I’ve soiled my only lingerie here...”
He squinted his eyes then let out a hint of a smirk. “In the third drawer from the top of the first set to the left.”
I trotted over into the enormous walk-in closet and located the drawer. As I pulled it out, attractive feminine colors popped out. I saw purples, pinks, soft blues, ivories and all in different fabrics. There was lace and silk. I couldn't believe he brought these for me and stored them at his place, further illustrating his desire for me to move in.
Hmmmmm... I went to the next drawer to find his underwear neatly folded and arranged by color. His cleaning lady does a hell of a job organizing. I opened the next drawer and found crisp white crew neck T-shirts. I quickly grabbed one.
When I returned to the bedroom I stood at my side of the bed as Azmir took inventory of my attire. “This is perfect!” I exclaimed like a goofy schoolgirl and jumped into bed not giving him a chance to respond. He turned off the only light that was on then immediately scooted over to me draping his long and warm arm over me, buried his face into the back of my neck and exhaled.
There’s that current. Damn. I hope he didn't feel my body jolt.
“Azmir, what was the name of that song you sang to me earlier?” I had to know.
“Mmmmmmm...” he hummed trying to regain consciousness from the sleep that was falling upon him. “Moody's Mood for Love. Quincy Jones,” he murmured into my neck.
Damn current!
Hmmmmmm... “That wasn't Quincy singing on it...” I quizzed.
“Nah. That was Brian McKnight, Take 6 and Rachelle Ferrell.”
“It was beautiful,” I whispered. “What made you select that song?” Again, I had to know. I'd never seen him so relaxed and spirited as I did during his performance.
He backed his head from my neck.
Shit. Did I screw this up again?
“Because it exemplifies how I feel about you. My pops would sing it almost every night to my mom when I was a kid. Frankie Crocker used to sign off to the original version every night on a New York City radio station. My dad said one day I’d sing it to a woman who captured my heart like my mom did his. I like Quincy's rendition. I've liked it for years. Finally, I can sing it with conviction...because I get it.”
I couldn't cry any more tears in front of this man, though they were impending. Although the words easily flowed from his tongue, I had no doubt that they were sincere. I envied that. I wanted the ability to express my convictions so boldly and with such ease.
“Azmir...?” I called out to him, though I knew he was listening. “I want the courage to sing Rachelle’s lines to you. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
There! Not so bad. Butterflies were still invading my belly, but I fought through it.
“I know, baby. And I can't wait,” he whispered in my neck and wiggled until he was well nestled.
~~~~~~~~~~
I heard the sound of an alarm. It played and played and played before I lifted my head.