A Yuletide Affair

“I’m not afraid of marriage. I just don’t think it’s necessary. There are too many beautiful women out there to settle down with just one.” Samson sighed. “But that’s just the world according to Samson. Obviously you have a different opinion about it, bro.”

“I absolutely do. And you will, too, someday. Some little honey is going to snatch your ass up one day, have you making her an omelet wearing nothing more than an apron and your birthday suit.”

They both laughed. It had been months since Samson had joked like that. There hadn’t been much to laugh about.

“I can’t live without her. I had to make her my wife.” Jackson was more serious then. “She changed my life.”

“I’m truly happy for you, Jax man. I wish you the best.”

“What about you? What’s your next move?”

“Don’t know.”

“Come over here for a few weeks,” Jackson had insisted. “Relax a bit. Get a new perspective.”

“I don’t know, man.”

“I’ll have Jasmine hook you up with a room at the Grove,” Jackson said emphatically.

The Grove was a trio of old homes that had been transformed by Jackson’s construction company into beautiful beachfront properties. Each home had its own distinct personality, theme and name. Ironically, Samson had chosen to stay in the home that happened to share his name, Samson Place. It was tranquil and bold, much like him. Decorated in Caribbean colors—pink, blue and yellow—Samson soon found his temporary home there. After settling in at the Grove, he’d resolved to only return to Chicago when his head was clear, and not a day before.

When he’d first laid eyes on Alyson Talbot, he thought she was beautiful. Her hard exterior was a dead giveaway. She was able to fool everybody else, but he had her figured out from the beginning. She was insecure. He flirted because...hell...he was a flirt. Samson was charismatic and loved women—and they loved him. He knew he’d never settle down with any of them for any significant length of time anyway. So he had fun—enjoyed life. Not because he had a fear of commitment, but because he knew he’d never find everything he wanted in one woman. It was impossible.

As beautiful as Alyson Talbot was, she wasn’t his type. In his opinion, she was snooty and judgmental—two qualities that he wouldn’t tolerate. He’d already read her, and had met a million other women just like her in his lifetime. And concluded that she’d been hurt by someone in her past, which was why she’d decided to take it out on every man alive. And that, he didn’t have time for. He was too busy healing his own wounds, which was why he was in the Bahamas to begin with.

He sat on a stool, the acoustic guitar resting on his leg, his fingertips fretting the strings. He closed his eyes for a moment. Listened as the music resonated through the room. It was a beautiful love song, and the band’s lead singer sang the Caribbean ballad with confidence. When Samson opened his eyes, he caught Alyson eyeballing him from across the room. Her eyes were focused on him, and his on her. For a brief moment he thought she was feeling him. That is, until she seemed to realize she’d stared too long, and looked away. She began toying with her phone.

She was dressed in business attire, and he doubted that she even owned a pair of sweatpants or jeans. She probably didn’t dress down very often. Always on guard, always prepared, regimented. A pair of black slacks hugged her ample hips. A gray jacket barely contained her generous bosom. He thought she was sexy as hell, with long flowing hair, high cheekbones and a gorgeous, fleeting smile.

He wasn’t interested in settling in the Bahamas, but he was interested in getting in between Alyson Talbot’s thighs. If spending time with her meant he had to look at beautiful properties along the island’s coast, then he’d entertain it. Contrary to what she believed, he could own just about any property he wanted on the islands. He’d invested his money well and had built quite the nest egg. He had money and could afford any of Alyson’s properties, but it wasn’t real estate that he was interested in at all. Besides, he was sure that the island life wasn’t for him. After all, he was a big-city man with big-city hopes and dreams. And the thought of living on an island seemed too constricting.

Chicago had been his home all of his life. He grew up in Hyde Park. His grandfather Conrad Steel had served for many years as a Chicago police officer before retiring. His father, Cecil, had followed in his footsteps, and joined the force at a young age. Becoming a police officer had never been Samson’s dream, and even with the pressure of preserving the family’s tradition, he chose law instead. He’d attended the University of Chicago on a music scholarship, with hopes of becoming an accomplished guitarist. However, an undergraduate law class had changed all of that. Becoming a lawyer was inevitable at that point.

He hopped down from the stool and handed the acoustic guitar back to its rightful owner. Shook hands with every member of Onyx, the band that had welcomed him like an old friend. He talked music for a few minutes with the band members and exchanged phone numbers. He laughed with them as they all promised to get together again.

“I’m thinking you should play with us at the wedding,” said Justice, the band’s guitarist. “I have an extra guitar.”

“I think that would be great,” the lead singer, Kosmo, agreed.

“I brought my own guitar with me. It’s in my room.” He rarely traveled anywhere without his cherished instrument, affectionately known as Bailey. “But I don’t think I’m quite ready to play at the wedding.”

“Why not?” asked Kosmo. “You’re no amateur.”

He looked across the room at the spot where Alyson had stood playing with her phone. She was gone.

“You were absolutely wonderful,” said Bijou. Her gentle hands caressed his back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do. The Caribbean beauty had been a beast on the drums. With copper-colored eyes, a petite frame and a head filled with curly tresses, Bijou was drop-dead gorgeous.

“Thank you. You’re quite the musician yourself. How long have you played?”

“All my life,” she said, and then changed the subject. “How long will you be on the island?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” It was an honest answer.

“Maybe I could take you on a tour of the island. Show you around a bit.”

“So you live here?” He disregarded her invitation. Needed time to absorb it.

“I’m here in the Eleuthera temporarily. I’m from Cat Island. Are you staying here—at the Grove?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good! I can pick you up tomorrow evening. I’ll show you some of the best beaches on the island.” She wasn’t shy at all. “Wear your trunks.”

He was intrigued by her wickedly sexy smile. A cropped top revealed toned abs; a silver ring pierced her navel. Tight denim shorts hugged her hips, and revealed a set of smooth, cappuccino-colored legs. A heart-shaped tattoo played peekaboo on the inside of her right thigh. Samson couldn’t wait to kiss his way from that heart all the way up to her sweet spot.

“I’ll wear my trunks,” he flirted. “Will you be wearing yours?”

She moved closer in, brought her lips to his earlobe and whispered, “I usually don’t wear anything at all when I swim.”

She walked away, moving her hips from side to side. He watched her, admiring her round ass. She must’ve known he was watching because she turned around and gave him a grin and a wink. He exhaled.

“Damn,” he whispered to himself.

“I’m only going to have a small window of time tomorrow.” Alyson startled him as she walked up from behind. “I’ll meet you at the water ferry at three. Not a minute after. Not three fifteen. Not three twenty-five. I don’t like being late, and I will not wait for you to arrive. You have my business card—call if you need to cancel. My time is valuable. Please don’t waste it.”

She was walking away before he had an opportunity to respond. Her round hips moved to their own music. He thought that watching Bijou walk away was nice, but watching Alyson walk away was downright delightful.

Chapter 3

Alyson thought Samson was a musician and a drifter, and couldn’t afford the guesthouse of some of the properties in her portfolio. However, she’d managed to find a few condos and a villa that she thought might be in his price range and fit his tastes. She arrived at the water ferry a few minutes early, stood on the dock and answered a couple emails on her phone.

Butterflies stirred in her stomach as she waited for him to arrive. She pulled a small compact from her purse and checked her hair and makeup, again. She’d spent too much time preparing for this encounter. Way too much time. And she didn’t like what she was feeling. She was nervous, and for no good reason. As strong and as independent as she was, her knees still felt somewhat weak when she was in the presence of Samson Steel.

Well, that was yesterday. Today would be better. She’d exhibit more strength. He wouldn’t make her feel vulnerable again. She wasn’t his type anyway. She saw the way he gawked at that young girl in the band—the drummer with the small waistline, skinny legs, exposed flat stomach. He looked all goo-goo eyed. If he liked slight girls, then Bijou was more his type, not her.

She sent a text message to the owner of one of her listings, Jennifer Madison: I have a strong buyer for Madison House. All cash. Full price offer. Quick closing.

Jennifer replied after a few moments: Great. Send over the contract and I’ll take a look at it.

I’m also showing it this afternoon.

The Madisons weren’t any ordinary family. Jennifer Madison’s father had built a successful real estate development company. They were a prominent family that owned homes on Miami’s Palm and Fisher Islands, as well as properties along the coast in the Bahamas. But of all the houses that they owned, the Madison home was Alyson’s baby. It was her first listing that even came close to a million dollars. Her firm had listed plenty of homes on the islands, but she’d personally nurtured this one. It was by far her most expensive listing yet, and was sure to net her a substantial commission—one that would change the financial face of Alyson Talbot and Associates. A sale of that magnitude would earn her the business of every one of Jennifer Madison’s rich friends and associates. She desperately needed it.

The pant legs of her linen Armani suit blew in the wind. Her recently pedicured toes peeked through her shoes, and she’d worn a professional-looking blouse but made sure she showed just a little cleavage—just to tease Samson a bit, show him what he couldn’t have.

He stepped out of a taxi wearing denim shorts, brown leather sandals, a snug gray T-shirt and a gray plaid newsboy cap on his head. He was clearly dressed down, but he even made dress-down look sexy. His perfectly manicured beard caused him to have a strong resemblance to Omari Hardwick. Alyson found it difficult to peel her eyes from his muscular, tattooed arms. She thought it ridiculous for any human being to defile their body in such a way, but there was something tantalizing about Samson’s body art. She looked away. Didn’t want him to catch her staring. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing that she thought he was one of the sexiest men she’d met.

He paid the driver and then headed her way.

“You made it on time,” she said.

“Better than that. I’m five minutes early,” he boasted.

She looked at her watch, and then up at him. His arms were folded across his chest, and a smirk danced in the corner of his mouth.

“That you are.” She avoided eye contact.

“Good seeing you again, Alyson. I appreciate you fitting me into your busy schedule.”

She ignored his greeting and instead ran down their plans for the day. “We’re going to take the water taxi over to Governor’s Harbour. There are a few houses I can show you over there. They aren’t as elaborate, but I’m sure they would fit into your price range.”

“You don’t even know what my price range is. You haven’t asked.”

“You’re a musician. And not a professional one. I admit I’m being a bit presumptive, but—”

“I’d say you’re being extremely presumptive,” he said. “Is this how you handle all of your clients, or just the ones you devalue?”

“Are you telling me that you can afford a property that costs more than two hundred thousand dollars?”

“I’m telling you that you never gave me the courtesy of asking what my price range was. You assumed that I couldn’t afford the properties in your portfolio,” he mocked her. “Isn’t there a process to this? Shouldn’t there be standard questions that you ask a potential client?”

“I do have a few questions, Mr. Steel. Like, what are you doing in the Bahamas for an extended period of time? What are you running from? Do you have a woman or a baby mama in the States who’s chasing you for child support?”

“Those are really inappropriate questions,” he said.

“I apologize. I think we got off on the wrong foot.” She handed him a sheet of paper from her briefcase. “Here’s a list of properties that I thought you might be interested in. If this is not your price range, we can adjust.”

He took the list and gave it a quick review. Handed it back to her. “Actually, I brought my own list.”

He reached into the back pocket of his shorts, pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to her. She opened it. Gave it a quick scan.

“These properties are close to a million dollars!”

“Your point?”

She ignored his question. “And besides, the Madison property already has a buyer.”

“That’s the one that I’m most interested in. I saw it on your website this morning. It was the only one that had a video. You should do that with all of your properties, by the way...add a video. Excellent selling point. And your website didn’t indicate that that property was sold, by the way.”

“I just spoke with the owner this morning, and she’s waiting for me to send over the contract right now.” Why was she explaining this to him? “I already have a solid offer on it.”

“But you haven’t accepted that offer yet, right?”

“Well...”

“I would like to see the place.”

“Why would I show you a property that’s not for sale? And if I thought for one second that you could afford it, I couldn’t show it to you today anyway. It’s on Abaco—over a hundred miles from here. It would take us too long to get there by boat.”

“I don’t have anything but time.”

“It would be a complete waste of time.”

“It’s not the only property on Abaco that I’m interested in. There are others in the same general vicinity.”

“We don’t have transportation.”

“Actually, we do. Jasmine told me that your cousin Stephen owns a boat, and he often transports you between the islands. She even gave him a buzz, and asked if he was available today. He was more than happy to oblige. So what’s your excuse now?”

He was right. Their cousin Stephen was very accommodating whenever she needed use of his boat. Often if his schedule permitted, he’d drive Alyson between islands to meet with clients and show properties. But she didn’t need her sister planning her day for her, or telling Samson Steel all of her business. She’d address that with Jasmine the next time she saw her.

Sooner than she would have liked, Stephen pulled the boat to shore and tied it to the dock. He waved for them to come along. Alyson gathered herself and walked toward the boat. Samson followed closely behind.

She wasn’t sure what the day would bring, but so far she wasn’t pleased with its start.

Chapter 4

On Sophia, Stephen’s powerboat, they traveled at a fast pace across the Atlantic Ocean. Stephen steered the boat through the clear turquoise waters. Alyson reclined on the leather seat on the port side of the boat, behind Stephen, while Samson relaxed in its bow. His back was to her, so she had an opportunity to check him out without his knowledge.

Samson and Stephen chatted about everything under the sun—whatever it was that men chatted about. Occasionally she’d tune in to the conversation, which didn’t really amount to anything more than a conversation about the ocean, deep-sea diving and the Islands of the Bahamas. Stephen was a diver, and boasted about it every chance he got. He’d go diving for fish and lobsters. Stephen told Samson about his and Alyson’s upbringing. As first cousins, they spent a great deal of time together as children and even as teens and adults. The Talbots were a close-knit clan.

When they arrived on Abaco, Stephen tied a rope from the cleat of the boat to the dock. He helped Alyson climb out of the boat first, and then helped Samson.

“I have a couple that I’m taking on a sightseeing tour,” Stephen said. “Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, Chicken.”

Chicken was a nickname that she’d never outgrown. It was a name that clearly didn’t describe her, as she was not afraid of anything. However, some of her family members saw fit to give it to her anyway, and she hated it.

“An hour? Are you kidding me?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you had business on Abaco before you brought me here?”

“Alyson, this is my livelihood. I always schedule other business when we come here. You know that. I have to take advantage of every opportunity to make money.”

Stephen was definitely an entrepreneur. He owned a rental shop along the beach on the Eleuthera, where he rented jet skis and surfboards by the hour. He used his powerboat to transport tourists between the islands. Though Alyson often complained, she appreciated him allowing her to tag along on his moneymaking trips. But because he was her younger cousin, she felt obligated to give him a hard time—each and every time. It was a habit that she hadn’t quite grown out of. She didn’t care about Stephen leaving her for an hour, but spending time alone with Samson was what she feared most.

“Hurry back.” She kissed her cousin’s cheek. “I need to get back to the Eleuthera before nightfall. I have an early meeting that I need to prepare for.”

“Good luck with her,” Stephen told Samson. “She’s impossible to deal with.”

“I’m not impossible! I’m just a woman who knows what she wants.”

Stephen shook his head, and then stood on the deck. Lit a cigarette. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.”

* * *

Madison House was one of the most alluring properties in the Abacos. Positioned at sixty-eight feet above sea level and overlooking the Sea of Abaco, the magnificent beauty boasted six bedrooms and a great room all connected by massive breezeways. Each bedroom had its own private balcony. The vaulted ceilings, Brazilian wood flooring and the glass walls were by far the main attractions. The view of the beach from the great room was stunning.

“There are no words to describe this property,” said Samson. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.”

“You like, huh?” she asked.

“It’s breathtaking.”

Samson followed her across the mahogany floors and into the kitchen with its upscale stainless-steel appliances and a dumbwaiter. French doors off the kitchen led to a porch that wrapped all the way around the property. She stepped outside and felt the tropical air against her face—breathed it in.

“I could live here.” Samson said it softly.

“Unfortunately it’s not for sale. But since you insisted on seeing it, here it is,” she told him.

“Here it is, indeed.”

They stepped back inside and took the winding staircase to the second level and to the master suite. Huge glass French doors led to an enormous private balcony with a view of the ocean.

“This is unreal,” said Samson.

It took them more than thirty minutes to finish the tour. When they were done, she set the alarm and secured the property.

“We can use the golf cart from this house, and I’ll drive you over to a nearby property. Of course it’s a little more quaint, but still very beautiful.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” he said.

They drove the golf cart along the road to a smaller three-bedroom house on Marsh Harbour. Tall palm trees greeted them in front of the well-manicured yard.

“This one seems a little more practical,” Samson said as they entered the home. “I like the kitchen. It’s much bigger than the other house.”

“Why would you care about a kitchen?”

“I cook. And very well, as a matter of fact.”

“And what is it that you cook?” she asked with a bit of skepticism in her voice.

“A little of everything, but mostly soul food. Collard greens and the best fried chicken you’ve ever tasted,” he boasted. “I make a mean sweet potato pie, too.”

She looked at him. “You make sweet potato pie?”

“A mean one,” he insisted.

“That’s my favorite pie. I can eat a whole one all by myself.”

“Well, maybe I’ll make you one someday,” said Samson. “Do you cook?”

“All my life. Mostly Bahamian dishes. Our mother made sure we all learned how to cook. Said the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” She laughed. “Not that I care about getting to a man’s heart. But it’s nice to know how to cook, nonetheless. At least I’ll never go hungry, right?”

“Why aren’t you interested in getting to a man’s heart? Aren’t you interested in men?”

“Of course I’m interested in men.” She set her purse down on the kitchen counter. “But I’m just not interested in the whole drama of a relationship right now. Don’t have the time or the energy. My life is fine just the way it is.”

“Relationships don’t always have to bring drama. Maybe you’re unhappy by your own choosing.”

“I never said I was unhappy! I’m quite happy, in fact.” She was convincing herself more than him. “But I’m just not interested in the whole drama of a relationship right now. Don’t have the time or the energy. My life is fine just the way it is.”

“Relationships don’t always have to bring drama. Maybe you’re unhappy by your own choosing.”

“I never said I was unhappy! I’m quite happy, in fact.” She was convincing herself more than him. “But what about you? You have a wife, girlfriend or baby’s mother back in...wherever it is you came from?”

“Chicago. And none of the above. I’m a happy bachelor.”

“So you live in Chicago?”

“Southside.”

“What part?”

“In a historical, black neighborhood. A lot of culture there.”

“Isn’t there also a lot of crime?”

“Not any more than anyplace else. And where do you live, on Miami’s Fisher Island somewhere?”

“Downtown.”

“Should’ve known.”

“What do you mean, ‘should’ve known’? I’ll have you know that downtown Miami is very cultural. A lot of history there, as well,” she explained. “And why do you live in Southside Chicago, anyway?”

“It’s my home. I was born and raised there. It’s where I grew up. I’m proud of my home. I envy your upbringing. Must’ve been nice, growing up in the Bahamas.”

“It was restricting. I outgrew this place. Quickly!”

It had been years since she’d lived on the islands. A native of the Bahamas, she’d gone away to college and vowed never to return to the islands permanently. And even after the completion of her family’s bed-and-breakfast, the Grove, she still had no desire to return. However, visiting properties with Samson caused her to remember why she loved the Bahamas so much. It was still her home, where her family lived, and still one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Her father was a retired physician, and he was the best example of what she wanted in a man. Genuine and caring and very intuitive, he was part of the reason she’d never settled down with anyone. No one could ever compare to him. That and the fact that her mother’s voice was forever in her head about everything. Her mother’s little anecdotes and lessons lived in her mind. She didn’t know why she listened to her mother, though. Beverly Talbot had done the opposite of what she constantly encouraged her daughters to do. She told them to follow their dreams, when she’d abandoned her own dreams only to follow their father’s.