Chapter 7
It was a miserable day for a miserable occasion. Jasmine felt her hair get steadily heavier and damper in the cheerless drizzle of the late April morning. She cast a rueful eye at the crowd of umbrellas in the cemetery plot some distance ahead of her. Nonetheless she stayed where she was.
A young woman began a song she had never heard before, her voice carrying clear and sorrowful over the verdant grounds.
Jasmine sighed in pure sympathy with their raw emotion; she was glad she couldn't make out the words. In front of her, a single tortured wail lifted from amid the otherwise subdued crowd.
Jasmine glanced away towards the main road, feeling uncomfortably like she was intruding where she didn't belong.
All along both sides of the road were parked many cars and this was the only burial in progress. For a notorious crime boss, Reginald Tremain McComb III's funeral was remarkably well-attended.
But then, he wasn't just a crime boss, was he? The reality was more complex. His most vocal defenders said he'd given people a ticket out of poverty, and a sense of dignity in real self-sufficiency.
Xavier and the rest could and would forever valorize him for this. As for herself, it was enough to simply be here, very quietly paying her respects. She hadn't known him, after all, as they had.
A movement near one of the more distant cars caught her eye. A huge man emerged from the driver's seat of a familiar black Mercedes. Then he stood with his hands clasped before him facing the cemetery grounds. Facing her.
Without another thought to the ongoing ceremony, Jasmine turned and ambled down the gentle slope. As she got nearer, Tiny caught her eye, nodded once then went round to re-enter the car.
The pleasant warmth of the car's interior touched her even before she got in the car. She held open the door as she threw a conflicted glance over her shoulder. No sooner had she climbed in and closed the door than Tiny pulled away, unlike her, without looking back.
"He knew I'd be here," Jasmine murmured to herself with a small rueful smile. To her surprise, Tiny answered her.
"He knew. Wanted me to personally take you home, soon as you were ready."
"Of course." She shook her head a little as she looked out of the window. "I should've expected as much."
"Always. When did he
not
have you covered?"
It was the longest conversation Jasmine had ever had with Tiny, and the wonder of it was still heavy upon her when he opened the front door to the townhouse for her. He didn't follow her inside but closed the door and left, leaving her to take off her boots and pad down the foyer into the living room.
Equally barefoot paced Reginald Rashid McComb in the lushly carpeted living room, a tumbler of nearly-finished whiskey in one hand and a phone in the other.
He cut a fine figure in a cream-colored ribbed sweater with the sleeves pushed back to the elbows and pearl-gray slacks. Not that this was any time to appreciate how good he looked.
His jaw was clenched, his brows drawn down above his nose in an unnerving scowl. His eyes lit on her the second she entered his line of vision; his expression never lightened.
"That's kind of you to offer," he told the person on the other end with increasingly strained politeness. "I'm actually okay, though. Not at all, it's the simple truth. No-no-no, that won't be necessary. Yes, really. But, listen, thanks for reaching...
Thank you for reaching out. I'm fine
."
His phone landed on the couch with a bounce and came to rest right on the edge.
"Jasmine." Reggie downed the last of his whiskey even as he walked to the corner to pour himself a refill. "You gonna give yourself a cold going out in this bad weather."
"It was only a little drizzle."
"Was it now?" His voice hardened to a sneering, distinctly unpleasant tone. "What else was going on there anyway?"
"Reggie-"
She bit her lip when he interrupted with false good cheer, "I bet you couldn't see the casket for flowers. He'd have loved that shit."
"I didn't get close enough to see the casket. And you're not gonna bully me into apologizing for showing up for the few minutes I was there. That isn't fair." She dragged her fingers through her nearly dry hair then crossed her arms. "He was a part of you, Reggie, or at least he used to be. I can't help being interested in everything with a connection to you. Even your evil father."
There was a long silence belabored by the unobtrusive patter of the rain.
For Reggie, it was never a simple pleasure to see Jasmine. There was also, particularly after one of her inexcusable absences, too-sharp relief, a deep gratification that she had answered his summons, a touch of resentment that she hadn't come knocking on his door of her own accord, frustration that he apparently had not finished convincing her he was exactly what she needed.
And the anticipation. Always, always, the predatory anticipation of her surrender - sexual and (especially lately) otherwise.
No denying it, she loved the sex. Hell, he'd go so far as to say she adored it even more than he did (it wasn't
his
orgasms that had numbered in the double digits that first night in Miami!) Not that great sex would be enough to keep her.
In fact, she resented him because of it, if that wasn't too strong a word. She definitely had qualms about how drawn she was to him. Poor baby, he thought with a remorseless smirk.
He supposed it was to be expected. Jasmine had always had deep, serious misgivings about him. Even now, when he was sure she had a much clearer picture of who he was, she still didn't love the fact that she was attracted, probably even by now attached to him.
He had no apologies to make on that front. If Jasmine didn't like that he knew exactly how to get under her subtly scented skin, that was just too bad. He had a full arsenal - greater experience, excellent control, an intuitive understanding of just what excited her - and he would continue to use all the artillery at his command, press his every advantage until her ruined defenses joined her panties around her pretty little feet.
Reggie reined in his wayward thoughts with a slow, cooling breath. There'd be time for all of that. But first things first.
She had been somewhere she shouldn't have been.
Although it took some effort to remember now, he still felt annoyed that Jasmine had been there at all. Annoyed enough that he wasn't pleased with himself (yet) for knowing her this well, just sending his car over there on a hunch and having her brought to him without a fight...
Oh yeah. We were feeling obedient today, were we?
He gritted his teeth with such frustration he should have cracked a molar. The fuck was wrong with him?
No!
Jasmine had
not
been brought to him for any salacious reason, and he really wished his imagination would give it a rest. Yes, she was looking at him with sympathy (he'd allow it, for now) curiosity and a likely unconscious regret but he wasn't looking to exploit any of it.
Uh uh, he needed her to understand that there was a line: anything to do with his father was out of bounds. Then once they'd gotten that out of the way, if she was in a mood to work her way back into his good graces, well...
"My father is dead, Jasmine." He turned to her at last, whiskey in hand. "But even if he was alive, he still wouldn't have anything to do with us. He didn't last week, when he was, and he won't start to matter now."
"I thought you were him once," Jasmine argued gently.
He exhaled a quiet sigh. Now why did she have to go and be right when he was trying to lay down the law?
