Provocative Territory. AlTonya WashingtonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Jazmina Beaumont’s clipped phrase was punctuated by a low sigh. “Baby, no, I can’t. I’m already taking a chance with having Terry bring you out here to see me about this.”
“You know I’m starting to worry, right?” Clarissa’s question harbored the same clipped tone Jaz had used earlier.
“Oh, don’t do that. I promise you I’m not losin’ my last bit of sense just yet but this ain’t somethin’ I want to talk about over the phone. Now stop asking questions and just get here.”
“All right Auntie, all right. Calm down and I’ll be there soon.”
Jazmina expressed another low sigh. “I love you, baby.”
The connection ended before Clarissa could return the sentiment. Regrettably, she didn’t have long to mull over the particulars of the conversation. Terence was announcing their arrival just outside Philadelphia, at the stop Clarissa had asked him to make en route to her aunt’s home.
“Terry, has Aunt J seemed short-tempered lately?” Clarissa asked absently while tucking her phone back into the beige leather tote she carried.
Terence Egerton laughed, the robust sound filling the car’s spacious dark cabin. “You mean more short-tempered than she usually is?”
“Yeah.” Clarissa’s agreement carried on a gust of abrupt laughter. “She didn’t sound quite like herself just now, though.”
“Probably the usual mess. Maybe a little more of it.” Terence drew to a halt, flashing the high beams to instruct a car facing him to go ahead with its left turn. “You know she’s about to start that construction for the remodeling and then she’s got them nosy committee people houndin’ her about that award,” he said.
Clarissa’s laughter sounded more genuine. “You sound just like her!”
Terence scrunched his nose. “Now why am I not sure that’s a compliment?”
Clarissa continued to laugh.
* * *
“So what lucky lady you planning on taking to the Reed House Jazz Supper in November?”
Elias Joss stood working his thumb against his palm in deep circular motions. “Looks like I’ll be goin’ alone since my date stood me up,” he told his tailor.
Stanford Crothers chuckled while taking the measurements of Elias’s inseam. “You sound put out over it.” His observation carried a teasing element.
Elias couldn’t help his grin. “It’s not a boost to a man’s ego to be stood up by his own mother.” He managed to fake an agitated tone.
“Never took you for a mama’s boy, kid.”
“Stan, I swear, if you keep on rubbin’ this in—”
“What? You’ll tell her to turn me down, too?”
Elias laughed long and loudly with the man who would be escorting his mother to the annual dinner for the organization that benefitted Philadelphia’s elderly.
“So has Lilia been talkin’ about our date?” Stanford queried. He was seated on a stool where he worked on the cuffs of the trousers. At Eli’s laughter rising again, the man gave a slow shake of his head which was covered by a neat salt-and-pepper afro. “So much hate,” Stan groaned. “I won’t force you to admit your mama’s got herself a real catch.”
“Whew.” Eli feigned relief. “Yeah, Stan, thanks for not makin’ me admit that.”
“Sure thing, ’cause it’s so sad when a younger man has to admit he don’t have what it takes.”
“I swear.” Eli rolled his eyes and pretended to be at his limit with Stan’s needling. “Having a suit made just isn’t the pampering experience that it once was.”
“Aah, kid, there’s always the rack,” Stan sang.
“Or another tailor,” Eli playfully threatened.
“They’d never find the body.”
The phone interrupted the laughter between the two men when its ringing emerged from somewhere in the depths of the downtown shop.
“Saved by the bell,” Eli cheered.
“Watch those pins,” Stan cautioned, pressing his hands to his thighs and pushing himself from the stool. “Be back in a jiff.”
Elias stepped down from the raised platform and padded around the room in his socks. Cloth swatches were pinned to the suit pattern adorning his tall, broad frame. Left on his own, he was soon at work with his phone—checking the emails and texts that had come through during the forty-five minutes of the tailoring appointment.
Elias was perusing his missed messages when the sound of humming wafted down from the wrought iron staircase that snaked into Stan’s parlor from the sales floor of Crothers’s Apparel and Alterations.
At first, Eli only idly listened to the vaguely familiar tune. He was still pretty involved with the phone. As the volume of the humming rose however, his attention veered toward the direction of the sound.
When a dainty pair of tan platform pumps appeared on the landing of the stairwell and Eli caught sight of the legs they were attached to, the phone was forgotten.
Slowly, he strolled closer. Sadly, further insight on the owner of the shapely stems was thwarted by the overhang of the wall.
The humming quieted. “Stan?”
Elias stepped back from the staircase and waited.
“Stan?”
Eli heard her call out again, watching as she made her way into the tailoring parlor.
“Stan?”
He heard the soft call once more as she took the last step down. Elias Joss’s greenish-blue eyes gazed at the woman who left the stairs as though she were taking a light stroll. Her unhurried steps echoed faintly on the parlor’s walnut flooring while she angled her head in an array of poses during her search for the proprietor.
Elias didn’t bother to make his presence known. No doubt she would notice him soon. It had never been easy for him to blend into the shadows, so he had never tried.
Besides, Eli thought, the woman in his line of sight clearly had her mind set on seeking out Stan. Her steps picked up trace amounts of speed and sound as she searched around corners and the tall racks of clothing cluttering the fitting room.
Elias appreciated her preoccupation, for it allowed him the chance to observe her unaware. The phone vibrated once in his hand to signal a new text or email coming through. It was promptly ignored.
Using one word to describe Elias Joss, it would have to have been workaholic. Elias smiled at the familiar dig his partners never failed to sing in his presence. They knew him well enough, however, to agree that work always took a backseat when the opportunity arose to conduct an appraisal of the feminine form.
And this one certainly demanded a closer, longer look Elias decided. His uncommon gaze surveyed the abundant curves beneath the provocatively cut dress gloving the woman’s Coke-bottle frame. Elias found himself appreciating the day’s forecast. The chill of autumn had not yet set in and many were enjoying the unseasonable warmth of the climate.
The dress on Stanford’s appealing visitor was appropriate enough for business wear yet Eli surmised that the woman in his midst couldn’t have managed strictly business wear if she tried. Her body simply would not allow for that.
She wasn’t quite short enough to be classed as such. He seriously wondered if the fullness of her ample bottom and bustline would even allow her to shop in the petite section. Elias cleared his throat to mask a softer, more basic sound which was gathering there. Subtle nudges of arousal were beginning to rattle his hormones.
* * *
The throat