BLACK FEVER

            I COILED A THIN RED DREADLOCK AROUND MY FINGER; its woolen strand obeyed my playful gesture as I peered down at the PM edition of the Urban Express.  My eyes were focused on its lead story and examining for the third time, the picture of a man fleeing the direct lens of a camera.

            I didn't feel good about the shot.  Or the story.  How could I?  It was only going to aid in the man's political demise, but I had approved both anyway;  I had to.  It was my job.  I was not here to filter the news, but report it.  Still I felt regret.  I never liked exposing one of my own, no matter how far he strayed from his people.

            And, Travis Tilton had strayed far.  He was no longer the young black lawyer of promise in the District Attorney's office.  He was no longer the leg work of the prosecution team-- doing all the tedious  research on the Nkosi Case. 

            And, he was no longer the man behind the scenes.

            No, now Travis Tilton was on his way to becoming the first black governor of the state.  He was loved by many whites and most blacks.  His was the voice of the poor or so everyone thought until the Urban Express ran its articles.  In it, the paper reported a story of an ambitious lawyer who sacrificed the life of a black man for his career. 

            The newspaper revealed how he had gone along with the status quo.  He had apparently not  wanted to alienate himself from  those who had the power to stifle his ambitions. 

            So, he sat back and allowed a man to be executed for the killing of two police officers. 

            Travis was the man who had kept quiet about withheld testimonies which could have saved a black man's life.  The concealed evidence might have acquitted the single father of  a double homicide conviction and cast a bit of light on a corrupt prosecutorial team.

            I turned the newspaper over and let out a long, gradual sigh.  I also let go of my hair and reached for a  cup of decaffeinated coffee. 

            I would have preferred the real thing, but my doctor forbid it.  My extensive intake of caffeine had finally taken its toll on my body.  It caused a lump to develop under my right arm and a soreness around the tops of my breasts. 

            Thank God it was not  breast cancer-- a concern of most older woman.  

            The scare made me get a mammogram.  It was a false alarm, but I knew how important it was to check out every lump and bump I felt. 

            I knew of too many women who had ignored serious  health issue and later paid an enormous price for it.  I had even written about some of those unfortunate individuals  in the health section of the Urban Express.

            I grimaced at the thought of drinking the coffee.  It was ineffective and of no consequence.  I needed caffeine.  I needed  it  to get me through the next few hours, but the doctor's orders said, 'No!'

            So I tried to fool my body which at this particular moment craved more of the stimulant than my primary practitioner  sanctioned.  

            He  had  also informed me that I could not quit drinking regular coffee cold turkey.  He stated that such a drastic change in my diet  wouldn't be wise.

            So now I was  trying desperately to ween myself off of the stuff and  avoid any adverse reactions-- headaches, upset stomachs, nauseousness...

            I took another sip of the decaffeinated drink and pretended to not notice the difference while  I battled with feeling  extremely tired.

            Since the story broke I hadn't been able to sleep.  Not with all of the phone calls--  people wanting to know if the story was true-- who my sources were-- how I'd  gotten the scoop first and if I had a conscious...

            Of course, there were the few threats which I refused to let rattle me.  I had an obligation to my readers and I took it seriously.  Still there was a part of me that remained cautious every time I left the  office. 

            Right now I was the only one here.  My staff had left hours ago.  I could not.  I was still too  troubled by the whole thing.

            I also didn't have anyone to rush home to.  More precisely put, I didn't have a man.

            No warm black body waited in my bed at the end of a long, enduring day.  No naked Zulu warrior lounging on my couch, legs spread apart waiting to offer me pleasure.  No firm arms waited to embrace me as I walked through the front door

            Stop it Tara!  Stop fantasizing!

            Having sex in my head wasn't going to help me!  Wanting a male companion wasn't going to make it happen.  Still I continued to think about that naked man.   Who else did I have?

            I took another sip of coffee and then set the cup down.  I leaned forward crossing my arms on the desk and nestled my face in their center.  I dreamily stared ahead not seeing the beautiful skyline or the magnificent city lights flickering outside of my floor length window. 

            The onyx sky caused my eyelids to waiver.  They became heavy.  I stifled a yawn and nestled deeper into my folded arms as clouds of unconsciousness settled around me. 

            I had no intention of falling asleep, but it happened.  I hadn't  planned on dreaming about an  intelligent, articulate  man, but it was inevitable.  My desire for physical pleasure seemed to somehow manifested itself into the beginning of  a delectable dream as I closed my eyes...

            I WALKED INTO THE  OFFICE,  and there he was; just as I had hoped. I boldly stood in the doorway and blocked  the entrance as I stared at the black man seated behind the desk.  

            He neither looked up nor acknowledged my presence. I brushed a red lock from my face and I contemplated my next move.

            Getting the attention of this man was becoming a challenge.  He never socialized with the other staff writers at the magazine-- he was usually out of the building and on  special assignment.

             But, today was different.  It was the first time in months that I had caught a glimpse of him working at his desk. 

            His computer was on and he was typing fast. I could picture the light blue screen littered with black characters.  The tiny text forming paragraph after paragraph. One sentence wrapping around the next as his lean fingers tapped the keys incessantly. 

            I took this time to savor his appearance.  He was dressed in a white turtleneck; it hugged his throat as I would have liked to.  His straight shoulders were concealed by a black and white sports jacket.  It hung open revealing a smooth chest and the top portion of a flat stomach.  I didn't need to see the rest of him to know that he was in shape.

            “What do you want?” he asked still not bothering to look up. 

            “You,” I said. 

            I was being honest again.  I had a knack of doing that.  It was a fault of mine.  When it came to people, the more I talked the more open I became.  And with this man, I wanted to tell everything.  How he made my body hot.  How he left fantasies on my pillow each night.  How I was obsessed with him.

            “I'm serious,” he said.

            “So am I.”

            “I do not have time for this,” he admitted still quite focused on his work.

            “Then make time.”

            “Tara I'm busy.  I have a deadline to meet.  This article is time sensitive.  It's important to the magazine.  I do not have time for distractions.  I won't abandon it for an inappropriate conversation with you.”

            “Don't stop working.  I'll help you.  What do you want me to do?” I asked waiting to be invited into his office.  “Research?  Proofing?  Copy editing?  What?”

            “Do not insult me.  I do my own work.”

            “I'm not.  I only wanted to assist you.”

            “Then leave,” he ordered quietly from behind his computer. 

            “No,” I said defiantly.  “I did not come this far to just leave you alone.  I really can help.  I'm good at my job. ”

            “Forget it Tara,” he warned.  “I am not ready for another relationship.  I'm not over the last one. ”

            “But that was a year ago.”

            “How would you know?” he asked suddenly raising his head and looking in my direction.

            Finally, I got his attention. The things a woman had to say in order to get noticed.

            “I checked,” I smiled in a confident yet modest way.  “I did not want to step on another woman's freshly pedicured toes.  That's not  how I do things.”

            “Really?  So you'll step all over  my feet instead?” he inquired still  looking up at the woman who'd just entered his office.

            “You're a big man.  You'll get over it.”

            He smiled. 

            Did he think I was funny?  

            I smiled also.

            Or did he consider me strange and a bit straightforward?  

            I believed so, for I had no qualms about telling the man seated behind the desk that I wanted sex. 

            If given the chance, I would have shown him exactly what I wanted and what I'd do to get it.  I'd even reveal exactly how much he would like it, if he'd only let me.  But, he didn't.

            I was sure he found me puzzling.  He was probably even wondering why such a successful, attractive woman was pursing him this aggressively.

            I had my reasons.

            The gorgeous black man eventually tore his eyes away from my face and slowly began to look me up and down. He seemed to be taking in my dreadlocks.  He appeared to like their color. The style was short, classy.

            I knew red suited me.  It complimented my brown skin and vibrant eyes.  It accented my Afro features-- my pronounced lips,  broad nose, wide mouth  and long neck.

            He also appeared to appreciate the snug black dress  I wore.  The white crisp collar  and matching detachable cuffs made the long sleeved dress appropriate for both work and play.  The tight knit outfit quietly bespoke my sexually.  

            Yes, I was definitely a woman-- feminine, refine.  My subtle natural body scent and freshly scrubbed face complimented the air around me. 

            I had a wholesome, womanly smell which he seemed to subconsciously notice as he leaned forward.

            He appeared to reluctantly acknowledge my presence as his stare became bolder.  I returned the look.  If he didn't care about modesty, why should I? 

            He took in my long, shapely legs and muscular calves. His face expressed his obvious approval.

            I silently thanked the shoe designer who'd created the  high heels I wore.  The 4-inch pumps were working their magic on this man's libido.

            I arched my feet and flexed my legs as I paused to reach for an obscure book on the top shelf of his bookcase;  I decided to exploit the intimate situation and give him a rear view of all that I had to offer. 

             Hey, it never hurt a woman to try.  And he was absolutely worth the effort, I smiled licking my bottom lip at the mere thought of provoking this man sexually as I brought the book into view and briefly scanned its title.

            “Do you think you are capable of making me forget about my Ex?” he quizzed. 

            I moved slowly, deliberately pass the bookcase  and ended my seductive prowl as I perched my  body atop his desk.  I then crossed those long legs he continued to admire.

            “Give me a chance,” I said leaning forward and into his direct gaze.  “I'll  make you forget you ever  met her.”

            “Is that so,” he paused briefly as if to consider the idea, but then his expression changed and he said, “No.  I'm not interested.”

            His blunt response should have startled me and damage my ego, but it didn't.  I'd learned long ago that  nothing worth having was worth letting go. 

            I was also perceptive enough to note the   flicker of desire in his brown eyes.  He may have recanted  his question, but I read so much more in his actions.

            “Just let go of the past,” I encouraged.   “I'm right here.  I'll catch you.”

             “This is getting out of control,” he stated as he backed away from me. 

            He had definitely changed his mind.  

            The man was backpedaling-- distancing himself from me.  It was as though he was adamantly refusing to allow himself the simple  pleasure of flirting. 

            He wouldn't let himself  get caught up in this, I surmised.  Damn!   His Ex had really done a job on him.  Another good black man downed by the warfare of love, I thought sadly.  

            The accomplished magazine journalist returned his attention to the computer screen and the unfinished article. A causal affair didn't seem like his style.  If he had sex, then he'd probably expected the relationship to go somewhere, but right now he appeared to be angry with the way things had ended with his Ex.

            “Are you afraid?” I paused before continuing in a soft voice.  “I won't hurt you.”

            “You might,” he smiled, then he spoke seriously.  “Why me?  I have never sent out any signals. I'm always professional.  I come in, do my job and leave.”

            “Because I like you,” I said truthfully.  “I appreciate everything about you.  You are a confident, engaging man with a dry sense of humor.  You aren't loud or boisterous.  You keep yourself on the sidelines.  I find that intriguing.”

            “Those qualities hardly merit so much attention.”

            “I disagree. You are also currently available-- which is another motivating factor.  Single black men don't stay that way long.”

            He smiled at my candor, but I was telling the truth.  Available black men over thirty were a rarity.  Just ask my girlfriends-- oh the stories they'd tell you, but I won't go there.

            I continued to explain why I found the man seated before me so irresistible, “Your hands are perfect,” I said picking one up and resting it on my thigh. Your eyes transparent.  I don't see deception in them and your lips-- they are so juicy, so tempting,” I purred like a kitten about to get a treat.  My voice became husky, “Your dark skin is smooth, even.  Your bald head is exquisite and I know that I'll love what lies beneath that expensive suit jacket.”

            “Do you only want what you can see?” he asked.  

            “For starters,” I teased.  “Then I'll take whatever else you have to offer,” I said picking up his other hand and placing it on my cheek.  I slowly slid it down my face and began kissing the inside of his palm.  I whispered into it, “If you don't like what I'm doing you can always move your other hand.” I challenged as I boldly stared into his eyes.

            He tried to do so, but I firmly held it in place, “Psych,” I said playfully challenging him. 

            “Are you playing games?”

            “No, but I'd like to.”

            My words seemed to take his breath away.  Was he faltering?  Did he feel he had to stop this before things truly got out of order?  I couldn't decide.  All I was aware of was that he continued to watch me closely.  Did he know he was being artfully seduced?  And, did it stir an excitement within him?

            He observed my brown eyes.  They were a startling configuration of vulnerability and lust which promised to yield to his every touch-- to his every demand.  He had to look away.

            “I don't play games.  And, I do not accept help from a rival.  How ethical can that be?”

            “I'm not your competition.  We work for the same company.     We simply have opposing views on certain subjects, but I won't tell if that's what you want,” I encouraged as I leaned over a bit more and whispered into his ear.  “I have other things on my mind.”

            “I'm sure you do,” he said retracting his hand from my thigh.  “But I'm not the one.  I like the view, however; I must say no thank you.”

            “No is a boring word,” I coaxed in a tempting voice.  “Try something else.”

            “My vocabulary is limited.”

            “Mines isn't,” I continued to speak.  “I can think of lots of other words I'd rather you use.” 

            I moved closer to him.  My fresh breath massaged the side of his cheek.  My lips were almost close enough to brush against his skin.  The spicy scent of spearmint assailed his nostrils.  I opened my mouth and spoke, “Unless you'd prefer to moan.  Can I make you do that?”

            His black eyes flickered at my invitation.  His mouth became moist.  I was baiting him and I knew I was good at it.

            “Do you want me that badly?”

            “Yes, I want you that bad.  You are everything I want in a man.  You are sexy, sensuous.  Gorgeously black.  Your body is strong, forceful.  You are like a black  ocean crashing against a yielding shoreline,” as I spoke he could hear the tremor in my voice.

            I continued speaking, “I want your eyes to devour me.  I want your lips to taste my neck, my throat, my desire for you.”

            I gently grabbed and pressed both of his hands against my thighs once more.  He didn't resist this time.  I felt his fingers and palms gently stroke them.

            I slowly reached for the top button of my dress and began to undo it. 

            His eyes curiously followed my action.  He seemed intrigued by my unexpected movement.

            “Count,” I ordered as I moved from button to button; I was skillfully unfastening the front of the knitted dress. 

            He obeyed in a very masculine voice, “Three, four, five--” He became distracted and stopped counting, but  his eyes never left my fingers.

            My sultry voice continued, “Six, seven, eight-- ”

            His voice joined and mingled with mine, “Nine, ten,   eleven--” my voice trailed off, but his didn't. 

            He could see every nuance, every curve, every soft turn of my breasts.  I liked the expression on his face.  Did he think  that they were magnificent, perfectly formed by a God who had intended them to be the weakness of a man? Did he feel defenseless against their soft allure?   I hoped so.

            A sudden desire seemed to overtake him.  His hands slid down my legs.  Their movements became intense.  He leaned forward and kissed my inner thigh.  I caught my breath.

            My hands froze as I enjoyed the feel of his lips on my hot flesh.  The feel of him was better than I'd dared to imagine.  I released a slow, thankful sigh of gratitude. 

            His beautifully formed lips seared my skin as his mouth gently kissed my legs.  I felt his roaming lips press delightfully into my skin.  His curvaceous mouth parted enough to release a groan.

            My fingers reached the last button.  Once that was unfastened, the dress fell apart exposing an ivory bra and skimpy panties.

            He took pleasure in the sight of me.  His eyes were drawn to my large breasts.  My brown skin spilled from the barely adequate cup size.  Did he want to reach out and stroke them one at a time?  Did he want to know what my skin felt like?

            “You can touch them?” I said.

            “What about tomorrow?”

            “I'm not afraid of the future.” I smiled. 

            “I could dog you out tonight.  Use you body in every conceivable  way.”

            “That's what I'm hoping you'll do.”

            “ -- and then walk away guilt free,” he finished.

            “You won't.”

            “How do you know?”

            “I know what kind of man you are.  You don't  mistreat women.”

            I slid from the desk and into his chair.  My weight caused it to tilt backward.  I smiled and exposed more of my cleavage. I let my legs drape over his as my butt pressed firmly into his lap.  He could feel its roundness settle against him.  My boldness shocked him. 

            I stared firmly into his eyes.  Did I see fear?  Did he think I'd hurt him?

            “I told you I like everything about you.  Even your reserve,” I said slowly bending my head.  My cool lips captured his gingerly, inquisitively.  I drew his mouth to me in playful little tugs.  I grasped it, released it and then grasped it again.

            My hands stroked the sides of his face, but I still couldn't get enough of him.  I permitted barely audible sounds to escape  my lips. I was consumed with desire.

            After a moment, I was able to speak again, “Give in.”

            He smiled kissing me back, “I have no choice.  You've made it impossible,” he said grasping me gently by the back of my head and taking control of my lips. He skillfully parted them and allowed his tongue to roam my smooth lips.  His tongue darted between them without any protest.  He explored my mouth teasing it as persistently as I teased his.

            His heightened desire set a more volatile pace.  He slid the silken bra straps from my shoulders.  He couldn't seem to do it fast enough.  He toyed with the white hook containing my beautiful breasts.  His fingers brushed against them; his hard knuckles coaxed them into a sensuous arousal.

            “Mhmmmmmm,” he murmured.  His tongue explored my dazzling cleavage.  The taste of my sweat seemed to fuel his hunger even more.  His entire body responded to my yielding frame.  The muscles in his body were becoming hard.  I could feel them tightening--

            I STIRRED AGAINST MY FOLDED ARMS.  The surface of the desk was uncomfortable.  My neck was stiff.  I turned my head one way and then I turned it in the opposite direction. 

            I heard a muffled thunder come from somewhere outside of my office window.  My eyes opened slightly and then closed again. 

            No!  Not now!  I didn't want to lose the dream.  

            I refused to raise my head.  I tried to reclaim the fleeing images of a man and woman deeply immersed in each other. 

            I wasn't finished!  It wasn't over yet-- he didn't get a chance to--

            The sound of the sky splitting open jolted me completely awake.  It destroyed any possibility of continuing the dream.

            Streams of rain poured down the window in front of me.  I had forgotten that it was supposed to rain this evening. 

            I watched the black sky split open again in several places. The visual display was spectacular.  The beauty of the heavens revealed themselves before my eyes.  I stared in absolute wonder--

             Then I jumped at the sudden clashing sound that filled my office suite.   I could never get used to the reverberations of thunder.

            The noisy weather and torrential rain were quickly dismissed as I recalled the pleasure of my sensual dream.

            “Damn it!” I said sitting up.  “I can't even get a man in my dreams.” 

            I was not ready to move.  I leaned back in my chair.  I titled my head toward the ceiling and closed my eyes.  I wanted to savor the pleasantness of the exotic dream.  I could still see the man's pure black skin, his anxious eyes and his willingness to give me his whole body--

            “He's gone,” I groaned as I straightened in the chair and popped open my eyes.  “And you aren't going to see him again.  So come on.  Let's get out of here.”

            Reluctantly, I stood up and straightened my black dress.  The white buttons triggered another image of the black man.  I was almost tempted to count the buttons on my dress, but decided against it.  Why ruin a perfect dream?  Well almost perfect, I smiled.

            I looked down at the overturned newspaper and thought once more about Travis Tilton.  I knew some people thought I was simply a pawn in the attempt to ruin his chances of becoming the first African American Governor of the state; but, that was not so.      Travis was the one who chose to violate the rights of one man for his own personal gain.  If he did it once, then he'd do it again.  The people of this city had a right to know what type of man they were about to elect as the next governor and his black skin did not prevent me from revealing that truth. 

            I realized my source was a part of the negative campaign against Travis, but the information supplied had been verified  against the signed statements and the collaborating testimonies of witnesses that were never called to testify during the  multiple murder trial.

            The Urban Express had run a three part series on Travis Tilton, the Democratic gubernatorial candidate.  Also to lend credibility to the story, I printed all of the supporting documents used in the news piece. 

            I tried to shake the bad feelings, but it was hard.  I realized I  too had a price to pay for printing the story.  My readership was definitely going  to suffer.  How much I could not predict, but Travis Tilton had  a lot of backers and they were already expressing their disapproval over my featured story.  Several boycotts had begun outside of the building.

            I unlocked a side draw within my desk and removed my leather bag.  I opened the side pocket and took out a makeup compact kit. 

            Popping it open, I peered into its oval mirror.  I didn't look tired. The nap seemed to have revived me.

            My eyes were two bright pools of warm brown.  My lips wore a faded shade of of red; they were large and attractive, but lacked their usual cosmetic appeal.  I quickly painted my mouth a crimson red and playfully puckered up for an imaginary kiss.  Now that was much better. 

            My face didn't look oily so I bypassed the foundation treatment.  At forty-one, I knew I looked good.  It wasn't a vain acknowledgment, but merely a fact.  And, I was thankful for it. 

            Although I exercised as much as my job allowed, I knew my looks were something that I'd been blessed with.  I also hoped they would last long enough for me to find a man.

            The unwed predicament I found myself in was  mostly   my own fault.  I could have dated in college and perhaps discovered love, but I hadn't.  I thought only of my career as a journalist.  Establishing a black newspaper had been a goal of mine since junior high school.  It left room for nothing else.

            I also blamed my parents for my unfortunate situation.  They were the people who made me think only of achieving.  Whether it was educationally, athletically or socially, I had to put my all into whatever I did. 

            I could also never forget to give back to the community I came from.  That was a big agenda for a young girl to be given, but I obliged my parents and excelled.

            Now I was the owner of a small black newspaper and had  several young college interns working for me.  In accomplishing so much, I hadn't made much time for a man.  Now I was alone and quiet lonely. 

            “It's not too late,” I consoled.  “There's a man out there for you.  You'll find him,” I pledged as I stood and pushed my chair closer to the desk.

            I turned out the lights in the office and closed the glass door separating my business from the outside hallway.

            The corridor was dimly lit and deserted.  I didn't even see the cleaning people.   How late was it?  Seven-thirty.   I walked to the elevator and pushed the down button. 

            Then I waited. 

            I studied my image in the mirrored doors of the elevator.  There was nothing else to do.   I tapped the newspaper in my hand against my leg.  My impatience was mounting.  I wanted to get home before the storm became worse.  I could still hear the thunder.

            'Come on.  Come on,” I insisted.

            I pushed the down arrow several more times.  I looked up at  the numbers above doors.  The elevator was stuck on the 22nd floor.  Maybe that was where the cleaning people were.  Could they be vacuuming the elevator floor again? 

            I didn't have time for this.  The last time I'd experienced the delay, it had taken fifteen minutes. 

            I reached out and pushed the up button.  Perhaps the other elevator would come first.  I watched the panel of numbers on the wall light up as the elevator ascended to my floor.  It announced its arrival with a lyrical ding and the doors slid open.

            I stepped inside of the glass elevator and marveled at the black skies that greeted my eyes.  The one thing I loved about this building was its use of  windows.  They were everywhere, in every office. 

            It was that feature alone which determined my choice in business locations.  Its calming views always had a soothing affect on me no matter how hectic the day and today had been just that.

            I pushed the number one and moved closer to the back wall as the elevator door closed.  I could admire the outside view for hours. 

            I continued to observe the skyline as the lift made another stop.  The doors opened behind me but, I barely noticed it.  I watched the heavy flow of rain slide down the glass panes as I listened to the hard pummeling sounds;  their mesmerizing beats relaxed me.  I thought I smelt the refreshing scent of the rainfall through the  glass.

            “It is tranquil, isn't it?” inquired a voice with a thick New York accent.

            I didn't answer, but instead turned to acknowledge the man speaking.  I was instantly surprised by the visual appearance of the stranger.

            His stature and excellent looks took my breath away.  That fast--without warning-- without a preliminary greeting-- without any help from anyone. 

            He stood tall, his beige suit tailored to fit his body.  I knew it to be so simply by the way the material draped across his shoulders  and then hugged his physique in all the  appropriate places as it accented a well maintained body. 

            His tie was a perfect choice for such a suit.  I looked down his pant legs and then at his feet. 

            My mannerism was bold, but I wanted to see his socks.  They peeked from the round front of his expensive shoes as he stepped further into the elevator.  I liked his choice there as well and gradually looked up the length of his body until I reached his face again. 

            It too was astonishing.  Tight dark skin covered a smooth face, high cheekbones and the best pair of lips I had ever seen on a man.  I could tell by looking at him that he knew how to use them.  My heart leaped at the thought. 

            His eyes were a blue-black that watched me in an amused way.  He had a 5 o'clock shadowed beard and a slight mustache.         Ohhhh...  if only I could just reach out and touch him.  I'd trace the faint hairs on his face and  enjoy the feel of their abrasiveness beneath my fingertips.

            I blinked subconsciously as I tried to control my thoughts.  They were seizing me with naughty ideas. 

            “Do you like the view?” he asked.

            “I-- I believe so, ” I stammered assuming he was talking about himself and not the weather.  “I have no complaints.”

            “Really?” he smiled contrasting white teeth against dark lips.  “Those are dangerous words.  I could interpret them the wrong way.”

            “I doubt it.  My meaning is quiet clear.”

            “I assume you aren't married,” he stated.

            “No, but if you are, please don't tell me.  Just let me enjoy what I'm seeing a bit longer.”

            “I'm not,” he said. “I am completely single.”

            “Good.”

            “Are you always this blunt?  Few women are.”

            “It's a bad trait of mine, but it usually gets me what I want.  Any complaints?”

            “Not yet,” he smiled again.

            “I'm glad,” I said afraid to take my eyes off him.  I didn't want him to vanish like the man in my dreams had.  I wanted him to remain tangible.  I needed the assurance that he would be there if I  reached out to touch him.  So I continued to stare.

            Do you like the rain?” the tall dark stranger asked while he listened to it splash against the glass walls. 

            “Of course,” I admitted as I sent him a flirtatious glance.  “It sounds so seductive sliding along the flat surface of this building.   caressing everything it touches.  I love the way it runs down my body during a heavy storm.  Soaking my hair to the scalp.  Have you ever made love in a  rainstorm?” I asked unexpectedly.  “Do you know what it feels like to stand naked beneath a hard persistent downpour?”

            He laughed abruptly.  He couldn't prevent the smile that spread across his lips, “Damn, you are straight forward!” he declared then paused to consider my words.

            I tried to hold onto my composure as I waited for him to  speak.  My heart was thumping, beating out of control. 

             “I can see you are a very sensual woman-- very earthy.  I like that.  Your locked hair and brass jewelry compliment your beauty well.  As for having stood completely naked in the rain,” he smiled again.  “I haven't done that, but perhaps you can convince me to give it a try. I'm sure that rain can be quiet erotic under those circumstances.”

            “Please continue,” I said softly.  “I'm becoming intrigued.”

              “No, you continue.  I think you are the one who's  been  fantasizing about the rain.  What desires do you have locked up inside of that pretty little head? ”

            I smiled self-consciously for the first time. Could this man read my mind?  Could he guess my thoughts?

            “Don't tell me you can be shy too?  A multifaceted woman-- bold and demure, intelligent yet not pretentious.  I'm impressed.”

            I smiled again.

            “So?” he encouraged. 

            “You are truly incredible!” I stated in a shallow voice.  I was almost speechless.  “I've  never seen an African God; but if I had to imagine one, you'd be the epitome of him.”

            He burst out in laughter and threw back his head.  He seemed absolutely entertained by my comments.  His eyes sparkled as he watched me and continued to laugh, “You are too much.  Should we skip the formality of first names and just go for it right here and right now?”

            He moved toward me and my eyes lit up.  I watched him in expectation.  My answer trapped on my lips. He seemed to knew what I was thinking and he apparently enjoyed the hunger in my eyes.

            He took his eyes off of me for the briefness of a second and   lift his hand.  Was he about to reach for me?  Did he feel the chemistry between our bodies?

             Was he affected by the pheromones-- those intense sexual urges that drew me so shamelessly  to him? 

            I wanted to think so, but then he turned his body slightly to the left in order to  push a button on the elevator panel.   

            “I don't want to miss my stop.”

            As his hand returned to its side, I wondered at how many floors we'd passed.  I hadn't  a clue.

            “Do you work here?” I asked.

            “I have office space on the 40th floor.  I own an advertising business.  Black Images.”

            “So this isn't a random meeting?  I'll see you again?”

            “Do you want that?” he asked.

            “That and more,” I said walking up to him.  I could smell his cologne in the air.  It affected me like a drug.  I stood on my  toes, arched my feet in an elevated manner and reached my arms around his neck.

            He didn't move. 

            I gently applied downward pressure hoping he wouldn't resist; he didn't.  His glorious face lower to mine.  His eyes widened with anticipation.  I marveled at his thick, long lashes.  This was one time I wouldn't complain about men being blessed with such a feature.  They did him justice. 

            I tentatively kissed his mouth.  He responded in like fashion, cautious of reacting to reckless with a woman he couldn't even say he'd just meet.  The encounter was even too brief for that. 

            He accommodated my hungry mouth with his own.  Controlling it, overpowering it, demanding that it kept his pace.

            I groaned against his mouth, “I want to feel warm rain on your back, gliding down your spine, trailing around your butt-- coating your legs with a glorious sheen,” I kissed the side of his neck and mumbled against his warm flesh.  “I want to see  streaming water run down your face and blind you to everything but me.”

            He began to demand everything from my kisses as  he slowly backed me up against a glass panel.  Locking his hands with mine, he raised them high above my head and flattened  them against the wall while he eagerly draining my lips of the lust that graced them.

            I wanted him badly.  My body surged with the need.  A softy cry escaped my mouth at the sheer degree of longing which  coursed through my body.

            Who was this man?

            I longed to know the answer.   I prayed that I'd get the chance to find out. 

            I could feel my body sliding down the wall.  Its coolness pressing into my back, but doing nothing to abate the hunger mounting within me. 

            As we progressed downwards; he caught my lips from every angle.  He kissed them, devoured them.  He liked the sounds which escaped my mouth.  They were primitive, almost desperate.  I responded to him like a woman who had almost forgotten how to make love to a man.

            “Should I slow down?” I whispered between happy smiles.  “I can barely control myself.  If this is another dream, I don't want to wake up.  I won't be able to handle the disappointment.”

            “What?” he smiled and seemed to not care that I wasn't making sense.  “It doesn't matter,” he dismissed my babbling.  “We may be complete strangers, but you are the one right thing that's happened to me in years.  I am certain of it.”

            “Are you trying to tease me into submission?” I joked lightly.  I felt at ease with this man.  I was comfortable in his arms and the playful attitude came  naturally.  

            “I could easily make love to you right here, right now,” I whispered.  “It has been far too long since I've even touched a man.  Don't you think five years is a long time to be deprived of  sex?”

            The physical urge for intimacy seemed to overwhelm me.  I paused trying to compose myself, to regain control over my emotions.

            “Are you alright?” he asked

            “No, but don't stop kissing me,”I said leaning forward to reclaim his lips.  “I don't want to waste any more time.  I've been waiting too long for this-- for you.”

            “I'm here,” he said seriously.  “But I won't make love to  you-- not in an office elevator.  You deserve more respect than that.  And, it won't happen today.  I want us to get this right before any clothes start coming off,” he said looking earnestly into my eyes. “I want to get to know the woman behind all of these strong, intense emotions.”

            As I listened to him, I realized that he was truly a man worthy of my respect.  I was suddenly enamored of his  composure, his strength. 

            “The more you talk.  The more I want you,” I teased.  “But I hear you clearly.”

            Neither of us expected the elevator doors to suddenly slide open.  We had reached the 40th floor.  We both became aware of the ringing bell as it announced our arrival.  We waited for the doors to close before we resumed speaking.  We didn't care if we rode the elevator all night long; however, it didn't move because neither of us bothered to push a floor.

            I reached out and placed my hands on both sides of his face.  I thought of wanting to touch him and now I was allowed to do so.  I leaned forward and sweetly coaxed his lips into obeying my commands.  My eyes watched his every expression-- his every half-smile.

            “I don't even know you name,” I said continuing my procession of kisses.

            “Ohhh now you want to get formal,” he teased. 

            “It wasn't important before.”

            “But now that you know we aren't going to have sex, you've got time to ask my name,” he couldn't help pointing out that small fact.

            “Are you going to answer it or not?” I refused to stop kissing him.

            “Darius-- Jones,” he replied returning a kiss for a kiss.  “And you?”

            I  trailed my tongue along the surface of his mouth as I answered, “Tara Woods.”

            “Tara-- Woods?” he paused.  “Why does your name sound so familiar?  I know I've heard it before-- recently.”

            “You probably have,” I said becoming serious.  “I'm the publisher of Urban Express.  Right now I'm not exactly the most popular person in this city.”

            He whistled, “You printed the article on Travis Tilton.”

            “Yup,”I confirmed.

            “I saw the protestors when I came in this morning.  You've got a lot of black people upset.  Must have been a hard decision make.   Printing that story has got a lot of people talking.”

            “It was hard.  I don't like being seen as a traitor, but I had an ethical obligation to myself.  I won't bury a story.  I don't care who it offends.”

            He became silent.

            “No comment?  No opinion?” I inquired.

            He still didn't speak until he assumed a comfortable sitting position on the floor next to me.  He permitted his back to rest against the wall and his head to turn slightly in my direction before he spoke, “I thought the articles were very informative.  I even viewed the copies of the documents you printed, but I do not think it will affect him too much.  Travis Tilton has too many friends.  They only see a man who prosecuted a savage cop killer.  He's a hero.    Yes, this article makes him look bad, but your paper doesn't reach the masses.”

            “I know,” I agreed glumly. 

            “Most of our black  people don't even buy the Urban Express and Travis still has a good  percentage of the white vote who are seriously questioning the credibility of the story.”

            “I've been following the news.  I heard the attacks.”

            “His public relation's department has already begun damage control.  He's been on several news programs refuting your  allegations.”

            “ I knew that would happen.” I conceded.  “But now that  the  articles are printed, I've done my job. The public knows. It's up to the District Attorney's office to review the case.”

            “How likely do you think that will be?” he asked.

            “I don't know.  I can only hope,” I said gradually rising to my feet. “This wasn't personal, Darius.  I'm a reporter-- a journalist.”

            “I know this was strictly business.”

            I smiled up at him, “Thanks.”

            “Are you hungry?” he asked stepping forward and pushing the lobby button instead of getting off at the 40th floor.

            “What are you offering--”

            “Don't start that again,” he said reaching out to silence me with a quieting finger; he pressed it against my lips.  I instinctively parted them and playfully bit his fingertip.

            “You can always change your mind,” I said capturing his hand with mine.  “In fact, I'd prefer it.”

            “I bet you would,” he said laughingly.  “But not this time.  I can see you have a one-track mind.  I'm going to have to be on guard.  You look like the kind of woman who'd show up at my office in a leather trench coat and nothing else.  Don't deny it.  I can see it in your eyes.”

            “Maybe you should be fearful.  Who know, I could just show up completely nude.  Then what would you do?”

            “Spank you butt,”

            “I don't believe you,” I said moving closer to him.  “Should I test the theory?”

            I reached up to unfasten the top button of my dress.

            He grasped my hands, “Why do our conversations keep reverting back to sex?  Don't you have anything else on your mind?”

            “No,” I said truthfully.  “But I'll try to behave.  I promise.”

            He gave me a skeptical look.  He obviously had his doubts.

            “How about Chinese food?” I suggested.  “I know of an excellent take-out restaurant nearby.   They make the best lemon chicken.”

            “That sounds good,” he said focusing on my shapely lips as they formed each word.  Everything about me seemed to mesmerize the man. 

            The excitement in my voice triggered a smile as I continued to describe the take-out  food.  My brown eyes sparkled as I gave details about each dish I'd tried.  The sheer energy from my words made me even hungrier.

            “But why take-out?” inquired Darius.

            “There's a film playing at the Carlton, Stolen Identity.  I've been trying to see it for weeks.  It's by that new director from Brooklyn-- ”

            “Nkoti Alei,” he finished for me.  “I was curious about it after reading the reviews.  I hear its making substantial money for an independent film.”

            “It is,” I agreed.

            “We'll have to find a paper to get  the show times.”

            “I have one right here,” I said retrieving it from the floor by my feet.  I flipped it open and began reading, “One started at eight-- we missed that.  There's another showing at ten.  What do you say?”

            “I'm down,” he said permitting me to step from the elevator first.

            I could sense his eyes watching the quiet way my body moved as it passed him.  I knew he was admiring my elegant form; the way my figure revealed itself beneath the dress. 

            Did he like the outfit?  It wasn't too tight or showed too much.  It was simple, stylish. 

            “Your hair is unique,” he uttered. 

            I gradually turned sideways to face him.  If he gave me one more compliment, I was going to melt all over the lobby floor. 

            Darius Jones reached out to caress a red dreadlock which had fallen into my face. 

            He examined the texture with curious fingers.  He seemed to want to drew me into his arms and kiss me  again, but instead; he released the lock and grabbed my hand.  “I am glad I met you this evening, Tara Woods.  Your timing couldn't be more perfect.”

            “Nor yours,” I said.

            “My life is going to be one hell of an adventure,” he stated.  “I can't even begin to imagine what the future will hold for us.”

            “Prepare for a tropical rainstorm.” I said giving him a seductive wink as we walked outside and into the damp weather. “We 're both about to get extremely wet” I giggled giving him a spontaneous kiss.

 The End