Don't Worry--A Taj Jackson Erotica

If there's one story that's old as time itself, with as many variants as there are people on this here Earth is that of the celebrity and the fan. Fans come in all shapes forms and from all walks of life. Some are welcomed by said star and others are cast away like an old newspaper. And then there are some fans, whom are just what the celebrity has been looking for. This is the story of one of those very select few, lucky fans.

"Don't Worry"

A Taj Jackson Erotic Short Story By:

MJsLoveSlave

Harry S. Truman Airfield

San Diego, California

Autumn, 2010

Dawn was just starting to break, the sun, bloody-crimson, as it began it ascent over the horizon, throwing the first few heated rays of the day, a day that, though the calendars stated it was very nearly Halloween, the weather was warm and humid, more akin to a Labor Day or Fourth of July weekend.

Indeed, the private airstrip, only a few miles from the crystal-blue waters of the Pacific ocean, did appear abandoned. Its hangars sat shut, protecting the half-dozen Cessnas of varying size from the elements, the tiny brick building that served as the terminal, its windows darkened, lights extinguished for God only knew how long.

The only sign the airport was even in use that day, was the presence of the jumbo jet, idling quietly on the tarmac.

A grand example of aircraft engineering, it was fashioned with all the hallmarks so desired in a machine made to draw attention, adulation, and show off one's impressive supplemental income.

A deep, steely black it was, its underside striped in gleaming, twenty-four karat yellow gold.

At the very back, decorating the tail of this opulent airship, an emblem, bold and brilliant, again in gold, declared the joint owners of such a rich man's toy: 3T.

All seemed ready for flight; the jet had been gassed, and inspected. All the luggage loaded, the vehicles of its passengers, pilots and attendants set a few hundred yards away in the parking lot near the main road.

Except....

Except the door, which, when unfolded, doubled as a staircase, to allow for ease of entry and exit from the jet, had been left unfurled....and three steps down from the door, a man stood, hands balled anxiously before him.

His eyes, squinted and keen, stared across at the empty road leading to the field.

Hunting, searching, willing the sign of the car he so desperately sought.

And yet, as the sun rose steadily higher and higher in the sky, the man took in nothing but the still, unmoving blackened asphalt.

As the man lingered, another gentleman, older,whose wisdom shone in a face that mirrored the younger's exactly, a few shades darker, appeared in the doorway, wearing an exact duplicate of the expression of concern of the other's.

He stared at the back of his head, covered by a black cap, a tiny foreign label of an exclusive brand, stitched in gold, a long moment, arranging his words carefully.

“Son...you can only wait maybe...another ten minutes...then we'll have to go. It's over twenty hours to get to Johannesburg...”

The hands wrung harder as he added, more softly.

“Maybe....maybe she isn't coming--”

“Don't say that Pops!”

The man cried shrilly, refusing to look anywhere but the road,

“She wouldn't do this to me! She wouldn't! She knows I want....I need her here! She knows! I told her! She's going to be here, Pops! I know—just wait! You'll see!”

“Did you call her?”

A bone popped in his hand as the man nodded grimly.

“Yes Sir...but I keep getting voicemail—if she's driving, she can't talk on the phone!”

“Son...”

A knowing hand laid itself on his back and the man wriggled away, wheezing violently in his bid to maintain his sanity.

“We mean too much to each other! We always have! Since we met! She wouldn't just leave me hanging! I know it! I can feel it in my heart and soul! She is my heart and soul!”

“You haven't know her that long--”

“Pops!” The man insisted, raising on tiptoe, hunting further. “I don't need forever to find out...I just want forever...with...”

His voice cracked abysmally.

“...with her.”

“Okay, Son.” His back was patted a second time. “Ten minutes...if she's not here in ten minutes...we have to go.”

As his father retreated, the man pounded a fist into his palm, whispering woefully, a single, hot tear running over his cheek.

“Where are you, Baby? Where are you?”

One Month Earlier

Cansino Medical Pavilion

Beverly Hills, California

After only a fleeting twenty-seven years on Earth, Madeline Esperanza,had settled into a life that was somewhat jaded, and had largely grown unaffected by her given profession.

A registered nurse by trade, whom specialized in the branch of phlebotomy, hers was a day filled with needles, blood and the occasional frightened or ornery patient, depending upon age, wealth and status.

And in the affluent breeding ground that was Beverly Hills, Madeline has rubbed elbows with the rich, famous and wannabe, hangers-on for over three years since she had been employed at Orson and Associates.

It was nothing unusual to Madeline to see the latest pop sensation in with a fever and runny nose or have to locate a vein on a strung out heiress with no viable veins left to draw from.

Indeed, Madeline, thought youthful and commonly fifteen years her colleagues junior, or more, she was quite skilled and adept in her work, very seldom hurting those in her charge.

Often, repeat offenders would ask her by name, secure in the fact she could place a needle with the utmost of ease.

It was her aptitude that allowed her to rise rapidly throughout the ranks, leaving her as head of her department, with a half-dozen subordinates beneath her.

In the far east corner of the building, situated on the forty-sixth floor of a fifty story building, Madeline observed none of it, as she lounged lazily behind her glass and chrome desk, enjoying the last few minutes of her lunch hour.

Off to the side, the screen of her computer showed she had been placing bids here and there on eBay, and in front of her, the remnants of what had been Cranberry-Pecan Chicken Lettuce Wraps, lay in a plastic container, Madeline idly clicking here and yonder.

Absently, she picked up the last bite of food, consumed it quietly, discarding the container in a bin.

Rising, with five minutes to spare, she crossed her simple, mostly bare office to the full length mirror hung beside the door, giving herself a once over.

Madeline wasn't like other nurses, nor did she aspire to be.

Meticulous about her appearance since childhood—she had been called Obsessive-Compulsive, on more than one occasion—Madeline looked nothing like her peers.

While the others ran about in scrubs and sneakers, hair in messy buns if tended at all, without a drop of makeup beyond Chapstick and mascara, at best, Madeline was a breath of fresh air and studied, ardent blast from the past.

A woman of average height, Madeline was curvaceous—and fought hard to keep the curves only where they belonged—she had a uniquely exotic look to her.

She possessed a heart-shaped face, strong of jaw, with wide, cognac-brown eyes beneath dark taupe brows, whittled into skinny arches.

Of partial Latin blood, Spanish on her father's side, Scots-Irish on her mother's, her complexion was cool and pale, with a tint of olive to it.

Shockingly, instead of dark or jet tresses, Madeline's hair was a vibrant, yet natural, shade of auburn and if the color itself wasn't enough to turn heads, the hair had been permed and trained into a becoming mass of waves, which fluffed out over her shoulders and down to the mid-back.

A crisply starched, white nursing dress, trimmed in blue piping hugged her curves, stopping just below the knee, showing shapely legs and blue and white spectator pumps.

Madeline looked more forties screen siren than contemporary medical professional, but that was how she wanted it.

Wouldn't have dreamt being any other way.

Returning to her desk, she removed three items: a golden tube of lipstick, a single Kleenex and a white nursing cap.

Once the cap was secured at her crown with bobby pins, Madeline went to her mouth with a cool, coral-heavy shade of matte red, so as not to clash with her hair color, filling in, and slightly over drawing already plump, full lips--

The door cracked just a hair and the harrowed face of one of her minions,a skinny, pale thing called Grace stuck her head in, eyes consuming a ghostly white face.

“Yes Grace?” Madeline questioned curtly, slicking on more color and blotting for staying power.

“We...we have a...a problem in Exam Room Nine--”

“Which is?”

“There's a man here to have cultures drawn and we can't get a drop out of him--”

“Get me his chart, please.”

“I have it.”

Grace eased over, tall by nature, but with such a shy way about her, she seemed no larger than a mouse, scraggly hair falling in her eyes, manila envelope in hand which Madeline promptly opened and began perusing.

Name: Tariano A. Jackson, Jr.

DOB: August 4, 1973 Age:37

Height: 5'11 Weight: Not Applicable

Race: Black, Puerto Rican and Dominican

Blood Type: B Negative

Address:51990 Martes Lane, Encino, CA 56783

Further down the page were all the usual fare, lists of previous illnesses, surgeries, allergies, though nothing to alert Madeline to anything that would cause this Mr. Jackson to be a 'difficult stick'.

“Is he on drugs--”

“Lord no!” Grace shook her head violently in the negative. “He got pissed when we asked that! He doesn't smoke, drinks socially, and has absolutely no recreational drug use. He's as healthy as any patient I've ever seen.”

“Do his veins roll?”

“No...”

“Constricted?”

“No.”

“Then why can't you get a needle in him?”

“I'm not sticking him, Madeline, it's Nicole--”

“Nicole?!?”

Horrified, Madeline was in motion, scuttling, heels clicking on the marble flooring, hair bouncing with each stride, Grace scampering behind to catch up.

“How the hell could you let Nicole near anyone with a needle? Have you lost your damn mind? You know that girl couldn't hit the broadside of a barn, much less get a needle in someone's vein! The only reason her inept ass is still here, is because her grandfather is on the board of directors!Nicole with a needle! You'd do better giving a child matches and dynamite! Have you all gone daffy? Why didn't you call me--”

“You were out to lunch!”

“There's this great invention called the 'telephone'; you really must use it some time!”

“I'm sorry, Madeline!”

As the two reached the end of the corridor, she stopped suddenly, in trepidation.

“Who is this guy? Is he anyone important?”

It wasn't unusual with the parade of notable names, to have some big wheel in their midst on a daily basis...but to cross one in so careless a fashion!

Oh, he could sue them all into the poorhouse, if he had the right connections and wrong temperament!

Grace's eyes dropped to the floor, hands wringing, and Madeline's heart went into overdrive.

Again she looked to the chart.

Tariano Jackson from Encino.

Jackson.

JACKSON.

JACKSON!

Madeline braced against the wall, eyes closing, wispy false lashes fanning her rouged cheeks.

Her heart pounded so severely with fright, she worried she was having an infraction!

It took a second for her to regain her stability.

Trembling lips parted in question, voice strained and hoarse,

“He's....he's related to Michael Jackson...isn't he?”

Nicole would be jamming needles all helter-skelter into the arms of a blood relation of the most renowned, largest selling artist in the history of music!

Of all people!

Did Satan just have it out for her that day?

If someone associated with Michael Jackson sued them for malpractice, it'd all be over!

“Yes! He's his nephew. He and his brothers--”

“Brothers? You mean there's more than one?”

“There's three of them,...but....but they're with other nurses! They're with Alicia and April! They're in good hands, I swear!”

Madeline paused and in the very recesses of her mind, recognition fired up.

Michael Jackson's nephews...three of them....

“Grace, tell me...” A hand, with nails in the same coral shade on her lips, clutched the bony shoulder. “His brothers...did their names also start with the letter, 'T'?”

“Yes! Taryll and TJ!” Grace's eye were huge. “How did you--”

“They sing, just like Michael. Have a group called 3T. Even did a song with Michael a few years ago.”

“How do you know all this?” Grace was spellbound, as the pair rounded the corner.

“I went to one of their concerts in the nineties. They were pretty good...”

Briefly, Madeline wandered, no longer with the here and now, but back, some fifteen years ago.

Pressed against a steel barricade, her ears filled with screams, so many delighted, breathless screams, over twenty thousand whom had packed the old Seaview Heights Stadium that hot, muggy night in June.

The way the air had been thick with anticipation, palms sweaty as they clutched a banner with all three of the young songster's faces imprinted on it, her very favorite framed by a brilliant red heart--

Catching herself, Madeline turned and pinched Grace's shoulder causing her to hop.

“You let Nicole poke holes in music royalty? Those boys were called The Princes of Pop, at one time!”

“I'm sorry, Madeline, really I am!”

“I'll certainly bet you are!” Madeline replied, stretching her form into more rigid, authoritative lines, as befitted the head of Phlebotomy and Nursing,

Tossing her waves, Madeline started around the corner and stopped abruptly a second time.

It was a rare occasion for Madeline to have trepidation when it came to hobnobbing with celebrities, but the thought of meeting one of her girlhood idols washed over her and she felt the adrenaline kick in like a mule, guts all a-flutter.

The door to Exam Room Nine stood open.

And in it was a real, live, direct scion of the most famous family in music.

Music that had been the soundtrack of her life.

The peaceable silence of the corridor was shattered by what sounded like metal hitting the floor, snapping Madeline from her daydream!

“OW! Stop sticking me! Stop sticking me! What? What happened to this vein? OW! Damn you! You need another-- HELL NO! Don't you dare get another one!”

At the shrill wail, Madeline turned on Grace barking,

“You left him with Nicole?!?!?!”

“I didn't know what else to do! Oh Madeline I'm sorry--”

Ducking through the door Madeline ran in onto what could only be described as a scene out of a slasher flick.

Splatters of blood littered the white floor, several footprints traipsing through it along with balls of gauze, and more of the shrink wrapped packaging the sterile needs came in.

On the back of the chair, a fine-quality leather jacket had been draped, though its occupant was elsewhere.

In the far corner of the room, a man cowered, looking something akin to a caged animal, eyes huge in an embattled, reddened face, dark, curls sticking all over, a few matted down onto a short forehead streaming perspiration.

He stood, in a black tee and cargo jeans, right hand gripping his left bicep, eyes fixed and steady on something across the room.

Following the gaze, Madeline spied Nicole, that big, bumbling, pimple-faced oaf, the sorriest person to ever scrub in and call themselves a 'nurse'.

Anger rose within her like lava in an active volcano and she struggled with her professionalism.

Adding to Madeline's consternation, Nicole held a needle, still in it's blister pack!

She really was preparing to stick that man again!

Madeline looked back to the man in the corner, pressing himself back so hard, his shoes were leaving skid marks on the flooring.

Her eyes took in that face, angered and frenzied, justly so, a face she remembered so keenly from her childhood.

The buttery, olive skin, the dark eyes with the merest touch of gold hidden within, the soft button nose and fleshy pink lips above a slightly recessed, clefted chin.

Fifteen years had added a bit more weight to his frame, a bit shorter than that of his siblings, and his face appeared rounder, it was the face Madeline remembered.

The face that had been circled by the heart on her banner.

A banner which had declared a twelve-year-old's love for her favorite member of a boy band of yesteryear.

Beside of Madeline, Grace stood, eyes widened and unblinking, mouth agape at the scene, a scene that should have made the hair rise on the arms and neck of the likes of Stephen King or Dean Koontz.

There was so much blood, pints worth!

How did he have blood left?

Madeline regarded the face, so familiar in a relative stranger.

Then she caught sight of his arms.

“Oh, Jesus!” A hand clamped over her mouth in disgust.

His arms were mottled over with bruises, some black, some blue, others purple, all up and down his forearms, and even onto the tops of his hands.

What kind of torture had he endured at the hands of that fat fool?

And worst yet, the clear plastic tubing, used to siphon blood into vials for testing and typing, dangled from his left forearm.

God Almighty! There were still a needle in his arm!

At once, Madeline returned to herself, removing the giddy schoolgirl of her youth from her, immediately commanding respect and taking control.

The red head swung and sought out the dumpty figure in green scrubs. How much Nicole resembled Shrek.

“Nicole, you're relieved of this patient. Put down that needle and leave.” She spoke pointedly and green eyes widened at her in disbelief, Nicole burbling.

“Madeline, I was just--”

“You were just turning this man into a Human Pincushion. This isn't the sideshow at the circus. You are relived of your duties. Do not make me repeat it, Nicole.”

Cognac eyes took in mint and eventually, the mint eyes fell to the floor, remorsefully, and flinging the needles aside, Nicole waddled a retreat, tearing off her latex gloves as she went.

“Grace.”

Leaning just inside the door, she again hopped as her name was called,

“Yes, Madeline?”

“Run fetch some ice packs to help with Mr. Jackson's bruising and swelling, and get Chuny and Briana to come try to clean this blood off the floor before someone slips.”

“Right away!” As Grace ran, Madeline was slow in approaching the man on the wall.

“Mr. Jackson--”

“You're not sticking me again!” He wheezed, shaking his head, a head that was once covered by many little plaits and braids, that had hidden half his face fifteen years ago. Braids gone and in their place, his natural hair, in loose, damp tendrils, tapered on the sides and thicker on top.

“That....that butcher you had me in here with...she kept sticking and sticking and sticking me. I told her to stop, that it hurt, she wouldn't! What kind of sadists are you employing here? I told her to stop! I know my rights—I have the right to refuse whatever in the hell you called what that woman was doing to me!”

His voice, though agitated and cracking, bore a note of intellect and maturity...a voice that called to Madeline's retention.

“I apologize, Mr. Jackson. That was an oversight on my part. Nicole shouldn't have been trying to draw blood from anyone, much less a gentleman like yourself.”

There was a coolness and calmness to Madeline's voice, a voice that could be a haven within a storm, no matter how bad, how horrendous.

“Now, Mr. Jackson...” She stepped up to him, as Grace returned with an armload of frozen sponges in plastic bags, serving as “ice packs”.

“You've got a sharp needle in your arm. I need to remove it, before any further damage is done. You don't have to worry about Nicole. You won't see her again, I'll make sure of that. Please...”

She motioned to the chair.

“Please have a seat, and I'll remove the needle from your arm.”

“Don't stick--”

“I won't.” Madeline cross the room to a glove dispenser, removing a pair and donning them, the two other nurses, Chuny and Briana entering, bleach-soaked wipes in their hands to clean the floor.

As they dropped on hands and knees, Madeline returned to the man, whom had returned to his seat, arm propped on the rest.

Scooting a small stool over, Madeline sat before him, instructing, as she crossed one leg over the other.

“Grace, set those sponges on the counter behind me, and bring me some gauze and tape.”

The materials soon appeared, and she told Grace, wanting a quiet zone in which to work,

“I'm quite sure Mr. Jackson's is thirsty following such an episode. Go down to the Starbucks near the elevators and get him an iced coffee—put it on my tab.”

“Yes, Madeline...do...do you have a special preference?” Grace wondered bashfully, the gazed of the red-faced man on the red-haired woman sliding gloves over her small hands.

“Sir? Your coffee--”

“Venti, with Almond Milk and Extra Sugar, please.”

“Yes, Sir!” Grace sprinted away, leaving Madeline and the man alone. Up close, Madeline saw that the havoc wreaked by Nicole had been far worse than she suspected, seeing that along with all of the bruising and swelling setting in, here and there she could make out at least ten different pinpricks where a needle had been inserted at, but not into, veins lining his arms.

It was downright deplorable to look at.

This man possessed healthy, full, pulsating veins that stood up off his hands and arms, very clearly visible, and all of which should have been easy to stick and draw samples from.

Madeline was just going to have to write Nicole up for negligence, and complain to the board to have her let go for such gross stupidity.

Frankly she wanted to beat her with a steel bedpan, but she was much to soft to be jailed for assault and battery.

Scooting in closer, and folding a piece of gauze to assist with clotting once the needle was out, Madeline tried to make conversation,

“My associate informed me that you're to have blood cultures done, Mr. Jackson. Are you ill?”

How did he manage to look so young, so unchanged from 3T's heyday? How was it possible?

“No...a month from now, my brothers and I are performing a charity gig in South Africa. Proceeds go to build a school there in a rural area. My brothers and I came here to get our blood tested to make sure we didn't have anything, and to receive an anti-malaria vaccine. It wasn't supposed to take any time at all. My brothers are through. They were waiting on me...then I got turned into Swiss cheese.”

He explained, with a loud sigh, eyes falling to his discolored dermis.

“I'm all tracked up like a junkie!”

“And you've never had this kind of trouble before?” Madeline leaned closer to him, close enough to smell the warm, cinnamon-laced cologne on him, hovering over the needle, placing the gauze where the needle met the skin.

“No...” He shook his head, a single tendril on his forehead moving.

“No...I've always been easy to draw blood from. One or two sticks at the most—hey!”

That quickly, the needle was out, and cast into a receptacle, the gauze taped down.

Rising, Madeline retrieved the sponges and carefully, placed his arms in his lap, balancing the sponges on top.

“Let these sit for a few minutes. And once you get home you can alternate between heat and ice packs to help the bruising—take an ibuprofen for pain, if needed. I can get you one now, if you'd like.”

“I'd...appreciate that...” He drew out his words, Madeline, once more crossing to the far end of the room and removing a bottle from a cabinet.

“Here's your coffee, Mr. Jackson.” Grace reappeared, placing the cup of coffee and ice on the small metal table which had been righted.

“Thank you.”

“Do you need anything else Madeline--”

“Yes, please put an Insubordination Form on my desk, so I can write up Nicole. Then return to your rounds.”

“Yes, Madeline!” Grace again took flight, and two pills were portioned out.

“Your...you name is Madeline?” The man questioned, as she returned to him, taking her seat.

“Yes, Madeline Esperanza, open, so you don't move your arms.”

Obediently, his jaw loosened, allowing for the pills to be popped in.

The drink was put to his lips, and he took a deep pull on the green straw.

“I hope the coffee is to your liking.” The cup was set aside, and Madeline busied herself replacing the gauze with a band-aid.

“It is...thank you, Dr. Esper--”

“Nurse.” She corrected him, smiling up through her lashes.

“Nurse.” He echoed, meeting her tooth for tooth with a grin. “My name is Taj--”

“I know who you are.” She cut him off, politely, glancing at him sheepishly.

Madeline knew him well, as well as any fan who leafed through teenybopper magazines over a decade ago could.

She knew him by name, favorite colors, hobbies...circa 1995, anyway.

Honestly she wanted to jump up and down, dance about the hall, and hug his necks, even warble off a few of his hits.

However, protocol kept her in check.

“Do...do you always look like that?”

“Look like what?” Carelessly, Madeline began to slowly rock back and forth on the stool, hands out, holding the ice packs in place.

“The white dress, the cap...you look more like a movie star playing a nurse, than a real one. No offense.”

“None taken.” Another drink of coffee was given with her adding, “I don't really like how nurses dress now, the scrubs and things. Perhaps I'm a snob, but I prefer this type of uniform. My mother and grandmother were both nurses and wore white. I suppose I'm upholding tradition.”

“I like it.” Taj nodded with conviction. “You remind me of a certain movie star...she was in that film, 'Gilda'--”

“Rita Hayworth, I've heard that a few times.” Madeline giggled, as she had been compared more time than she could count with the forties sex symbol. “Thank you, that's a lovely compliment.”

“You're welcome...” He continued to smile shyly at her. “It's a sin to see a beautiful woman and not pay her a compliment.”

“Is it now?” Madeline tittered again. “I'll have to remember that.”

A lull fell between the two, Madeline momentarily speechless, struck by the idea Taj Jackson had not only noticed her looks, but called them out.

It seemed to good to be true.

She stole another glance at him, and found he wasn't looking directly at her.

His eyes were downcast and she discovered why.

As she rocked, her skirt had risen, revealing the white satin and lace garter circling her right thigh.

“We should...” Madeline stood quickly, dress falling back in place. “We should reschedule an appointment for you to get your cultures done...Mr. Jackson.”

“Call me Taj, please?” He asked sweetly, as the ice packs were removed hastily, Madeline motioning for him to stand.

“Okay...Taj, you can call me Madeline, if you like--

“I intend to.” He rose, standing over her, lips curling. “You've been such a wonderful help to me. How long do I have to wait before I come back?”

“Um...a...a week from today?” Her eyes went to her shoes, as Taj picked up his jacket, slipping it on. “Stop by the front desk and set it up with Chuny. Won't take more than a minute.”

“That's fine.” Adjusting the jacket to his liking, he questioned,

“You will take care of me again, won't you?”

“If you insist--”

“I do.”

He continued to loiter, shifting from one leg to next.

Madeline didn't know what came over her, but she blurted,

“May...May I hug you please? I...I've wanted to...since I was a kid...please?”

Taj looked her over a moment longer, arms spreading and wrapping her tightly.

Madeline returned the embrace, her hands on his broad shoulders over the fine leather.

She lit like a rocket, feeling his moist lips brush her cheek.

He....he kissed her!

Pulling back, he picked up his drink, stopping to pinch her little chin.

“More nurses need to be like you...I'd get 'sick' more often.”

With that little anecdote, Taj Jackson ambled away.

Legs no longer attached to her body, Madeline collapsed onto her stool.

The seven days following her unprecedented meeting of Taj Jackson were something of a whirlwind to Madeline Esperanza, an experience on a level unlike any she'd ever shared with a man before.

Though he'd come across relatively shy and perhaps only a trifle flirtatious in the barest trace of the word, by the very next morning, his intentions were made clear as glass.

Madeline hadn't been on the clock an hour yet, when Grace had come running for her, pale as a bleached sheet, eyes wide in her face, lungs voided of air as she was so breathless telling her to come to the lobby, quickly.

Fearing a dire emergency, she had taken flight, Grace pulling her by the wrist.

She had expected the worst, a person in cardiac arrest, a wound that reused to clot, something horrendous.

The stares, she'd never forget the stares.

From her colleagues, from other patients.

At the receptionist's desk, a delivery man stood, holding onto a cut lead crystal vase overflowing with roses and peonies in varying shades of pink, a few white baby's breaths thrown in for good measure. And beside him was a hot pink, three foot tall, dyed-mohair teddy bear.

Accompanying the items was a simple card, reading only as,

Thank You-- Taj Jackson

It was a cute, moving gesture, one which left Madeline rather warm and gooey on the inside, but also a bit embarrassed from the needless attention that had been called to her.

Madeline never had been one to handle too much attention gracefully.

Right away the teasing had begun, with everyone referring to Taj, not by his given name, but as “Your Jackson.”

Not to mention the other compulsory jokes, hinting that she had “snagged” him and would never have to work another day in her life if she “played her cards right.”

She had hoped it were a stand alone event.

But owing up to the extravagance his last name indicated, each morning, right around an hour after Madeline work day had begun, more trinkets of affection trickled in.

Boxes of Imported Belgian Chocolates, several classic films all starring Madeline's doppelganger, Rita Hayworth, more flowers and stuffed toys, things which Madeline took lightly, with a grain of salt, unable to fathom someone as famous and illustrious as a Jackson truly had an interest in her.

The fourth day in of such spoiling, stunned her back to reality.

Instead of all the attention grabbing fare that had danced in the past few days, Madeline, now awaiting the delivery man was handed only a small, red leather box.

And her gasp rang throughout the halls as her eyes took in the embossed name in gold: Cartier.

One of the oldest ad most renowned jewelry houses in the world—he'd sent a costly gift to her, from there?

Everyone within a country mile looked on as she opened the box, all expecting some form of jewelry.

Alas, it wasn't a bauble for her wrist, but shocked Madeline just the same.

Inside lay a vintage compact, of gleaming frosted rock crystal, accented with deep blue, leaf carved, cabochon sapphires and twinkling diamonds set in white gold.

Just a glance at it, Madeline knew it was an extremely costly piece, something she couldn't see herself actually accepting and darted to her office.

It was far too extravagant...and such extravagances opened doors to unwanted liberties being taken.

In short order, Taj's personal information was onscreen, with her dialing him no less than two dozen times that day to insist she couldn't keep it.

And each time, following her initial voicemail pleading he come pick it up, she noticed her calls were immediately deflected to the voicemail—he was rejecting her calls on purpose!

This continued all day, much to her biting chagrin.

Incensed, Madeline went so far as to drive to Encino to return the compact in person.

Compounding her dismay, he lived in an exclusive gated community, and no matter how she begged, pleaded and cried with the flashlight guard keeping vigil, she gained no entry.

Adding insult to injury, after two hours of fruitless bartering, Madeline began to drive away, in which she passed by an adjacent golf course.

In time to see Taj, followed by a young boy serving as a caddy walking away from her behind an iron fence, putter slung lazily over his shoulder.

She yelled after him, but received no response, not even a glance over his shoulder, back at her.

The buck didn't stop there.

It appeared Taj Jackson was something of a connoisseur of vintage jewelry, Cartier his brand of choice.

Like the compact, he was specifically choosing pieces from the forties, a diamond bracelet in an open, repeating geometric pattern, the next day the matching earrings arrived.

And an emerald-cut diamond ring...

More calls were deflected. No matter how she tried, at all hours of the night—no reply.

Oh why didn't he answer?

Didn't he know he was driving her to the brink of madness?

Friday morning, there was a break in the 'monotony' of Cartier.

Instead, there was a fanned flask of Lalique artisan glass, the front marked by the nude silhouette of a woman, filled with a dark gold liquid—a fine perfume, heavy of musk with notes of rose, lavender and gardenia.

That was the final straw for Madeline, whom added the flask to a box of all the other trinkets she planned to return to Taj.

An action that prompted her usually silent subordinate,Grace to speak.

“Three o'clock can't come fast enough.” Madeline declared, shutting the box and starting to tape it up, Grace opposite her desk looking on forlornly.

“I don't know what kind of game he's playing, sending all those things and then I can't even get in touch with him. I even broke protocol trying to call him,and risked getting fired, using the database for his personal information!—I got nada! The nerve--”

“Maybe...maybe he's just shy, Madeline.” Grace piped up as Madeline bent to set the box on the floor.

Standing back upright, she held onto her hips, tossing her waves, and causing her cap to tremble.

The light brown eyes sweeping the scant, harried woman, that served as her right hand.

“He can't be that shy, Grace, sending me Cartier! Diamonds! The man sent me diamonds! I just met him! What kind of man is he to do this--” The redhead tossed fragrantly and tiny white hands began to wring.

“I can only imagine what he wants--”

“He wants you.” Grace surmised and thin brows came together. “He's working overtime from what I can see. And...maybe...maybe he's just avoiding you...because he doesn't want to be rejected.”

“Rejected? HA! You tickle me Grace.” Madeline snarled, picking up her clipboard. “He's a Jackson! Not bad looking either—he can have any chick he wants, I'm sure--”

“And he still chose you.” Grace spit back, hands wringing harder. “He...he likes you, Madeline. And you've told me all week how you used to be crazy about him, as a kid. Posters, CDs, you even went to a concert. You liked him! You told me he was your favorite!”

“I was only twelve years old, Grace!” Madeline's temper flared. “You expect me to still be nutty about a man who I pined for as a child! I didn't know anything about men, much less someone, like him, from such a prominent, famous and noteworthy family--

“That may be...” Grace blew a lock of scraggly hair out her eyes, voice rising shrilly. “...but if Axl Rose walked in here flinging jewelry and roses and things at me, he'd need a crowbar to get me off of him. A star like him--”

“I don't care if Taj were a star or the stock boy at the grocery market! He just can't move so fast—”

“Then tell Taj, THAT, Madeline! Tell him THAT! Don't just throw it all away! TELL HIM!”

“Grace!” Madeline had never heard Grace raise her voice, except the time she'd accidentally put a needle through her thumb, trying to draw blood from a child.

“He likes you Madeline. I saw the was he was looking at you when I brought that coffee to him! He was staring at you, looking you over, checking you out! I...I saw him, Madeline.”

“That's enough Grace!”

“A marching band could have gone by and he wouldn't have noticed. He saw you, and only you—Oh, Madeline! The man likes you, give him a chance--”

“Grace St. Albany!”

Realizing she'd grossly overstepped her bounds, Grace fled the room, running from sight.

It wasn't until Madeline sat behind her desk, she realized she was shaking.

She didn't want to think it...God, she didn't want to admit it...not even to herself.

She didn't want to feed into...this beast of wooing that Taj Jackson had crafted for her.

There...had been men like him before.

Moneyed, well connected, men who didn't think anything of plunking down funds to 'treat' her.

Men who had only been after one thing...and once they got it, they were gone.

Leaving only meaningless items and a broken heart behind.

Madeline didn't want history to repeat itself, not again.

Not with a man whom had been her girlhood fantasy.

She didn't want the illusion shattered.

Not like this.

She had to protect herself, and her heart.

Two-thirty arrived much more quickly than Madeline had anticipated and when the little hand pointed out the two and the big hand pointed out the six, as denoted by the brass clock on her desktop, she rose up on shaky legs, ankles wobbling as she tried to maintain her balance in her two toned pumps.

Taj's appointment was for a quarter to three, the last of the day, as all that needed to be done was several vials be filled for cultures. And that anti-malarial shot.

Trying vainly to gather herself and something that resembled courage, Madeline crossed to her mirror, giving herself a once over.

Perfection as usual, not a hair out of place, makeup minimal, but accentuating her natural features, dress form-fitting, but not vulgar.

She looked herself in every sense, but she didn't feel it.

Not at all.

Madeline felt strange, weightless, as though she were having an out of body experience.

She felt more of a ghost of herself than anything else.

Her pulse raced, her hands were clammy, her mouth devoid of moisture.

Collecting her clipboard and pen, Madeline, filled to the gills with trepidation, exited her office, heading for the lobby.

Though it wasn't necessary, she wanted to meet Taj Jackson in the lobby.

Madeline hadn't a clue as to what she'd do or say once she laid eyes on him, but she'd just have to cross that bridge when the time came.

If only her legs didn't feel so weak and rubbery beneath her, each step threatening to make her face-plant on the cold marble tiles.

She bypassed Grace, packages of needles loaded in her skinny arms.

Quietly,tersely, she instructed,

“Prepare Exam Room Seven for Mr. Jackson.”

She was given only a nod, eyes huge, and proceeded out to the lobby/waiting room.

The bright, airy space, facing huge bay windows overlooking the medical district had maybe a half dozen patients. A couple of bored husbands left to tend expensive Hermes bags, a nanny tending a baby in Burberry, a quartet of pre-teen girls gossiping in Polo.

The typical fare...minus Taj Jackson.

That is, until the steel and lead glass door leading out to the hall opened.

And through it, Taj strolled effortlessly.

Unlike those seated around the room, though Taj was dressed casually, yet well, in another black tee and relaxed jeans with a faded army green coat tossed on, and left open for good measure, there were no obvious labels visible on him.

That was a point that confused Madeline to no end, as she recalled the first time they'd met, his clothing had been laid back and subdued, with no hint of his true wealth.

Yet, this was a man whom had burned through the Cartier catalogs like a hot knife through butter, roses in crystal vases, that pricey perfume, with seemingly no restraint and no worry about such frivolous things as price tags.

How could both sides belong to the very same man?

How could he be such a Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde—without the murderous streak?

Taj didn't notice her right away, she observed, as he took a few steps into the room, one hand on his waist.

His eyes weren't on her, but instead, just to the side of her, at the open, frosted glass receptionist window, where Chuny sat, typing wildly, attending to her work, oblivious of the powder keg set to spark off.

His expression was one Madeline wouldn't soon forget: it was of disappointment.

His mouth pursed slightly and under the brim of a plain black cap, his eyes were down, and she witness the visible color draining from his round cheeks, leaving them a sallow, sickly color.

He had been looking for her.

Were his feelings....hurt?

That quickly, his entire figure changed, shoulders dropping a bit and he seemed to fold up within himself as he neared the desk, and picked up the ballpoint pen to sign himself in on the ledger.

Taj

The 'J' at the end of his first name, showed up much more vibrantly than the other two letters, as, in the middle of writing, his eyes suddenly came up, taking in the figure in white and only the figure in white, off to the side.

Color surged back to his face. His cheeks became shiny and rosy, his full visage all aglow at the sight of her. There was a bright, loving fondness in his eyes, and for a moment, Madeline felt herself falter, and she briefly forgot her intentions to return all of the things he'd bestowed on her.

His hands were on her shoulders. Warm, strong and squeezing, not to hurt, but to register his happiness.

“Madeline...” He murmured coyly, leaning in, an action which she didn't stop, and felt his lips, soft and cook pressing her cheek, “...you look so beautiful...my little nurse.”

Again flustered at being made conspicuous in front of her subordinates—Chuny was giving her a big stupid grin—Madeline took a step back, pulling free of his grasp.

“Right...right this way, Mr. Jackson.--” Her attempt at staying professional went down in flames as she started to turn, and found Taj's hand in hers, fingers intertwining.

“Lead the way...” He cooed before reminding her, “...and my name is Taj...to you.”

There was no way to loosen his grip, not without literally yanking her hand from his, and Madeline allowed the hold to remain, as she led Taj through the door, and off towards Exam Room Seven.

Though a short jaunt, it was markedly quiet, with Madeline well aware of the constant gaze Taj was paying her, eyes drifting up and down her body with each step they took.

Checking her out, seeming to memorize every nuance and curve to her.

It didn't help matters that as the pair went along, Madeline could see the other nurses peeking out of exam rooms after them, knowing, smug little smirks on all their faces.

Reaching the chilled, austere room, Madeline was relieved to see that Grace had gone ahead and set out everything she needed: a butterfly needle to draw blood, the five vials that needed to be filled and sent off for testing and a syringe of the anti-malarial drug, had been placed alongside a pair of latex gloves, a tourniquet and several packs of sterile alcohol swabs.

Indicating the empty chair, Madeline instructed, her voice going hoarse,

“Please...remove your jacket...and have a seat.”

Finally, Taj released her hand and doing as he was told, slipped the army coat off and draped it on the back of the chair.

But he neglected to sit.

Instead, as Madeline busied herself, donning the gloves, keeping her eyes trained downward on the supplies in front of her, she found she could not ignore Taj Jackson, no matter how ardently she tried.

She became acutely aware of his presence, of his nearing her, the aroma of his cologne, the strong notes of juicy coconut and fruity apple, with an underlying spiciness of musk, playing havoc with her nostrils.

He didn't speak right away, and it was in the unspoken interval that the hairs on Madeline's neck rose, deliciously, as he came so close to her, she could feel the wind from his nose against her cheek, with each breath he took.

No longer able to endure being looked at, without returning the favor, Madeline forced herself to turn her head.

And was caught in a fixed, direct, burning stare.

His head was cocked to the side a bit, his eyes sleepy and dreamy under the brim of his hat, features stoic and lax.

Her breath rested in her throat, lungs neither expanding nor contracting.

Madeline had ceased breathing altogether.

Their eyes, so similar in shade, sought each other out.

Her throat was tight, her chest even tighter, as the tips of his tongue, pink and shiny, darted out, moistening his plump lips.

Madeline was transfixed.

Said lips parted, with him inquiring luridly and luxuriously, his voice several shades deeper,

“Did you like all of the nice things I sent you?”

Straight groomed brows rose in expectation, and Madeline blinked, realizing he wanted her to answer him.

“Oh!...um....” She hesitated, eyes lowering to the supplies yet again, her pulse rate fluctuating dangerously. “...you...you shouldn't have done that, Taj--”

“And why not?” His breath was so warm, smelling sharply of Starbucks espresso, with him adding,

“Beautiful women deserve to have beautiful things...”

“It's...it's not that I don't appreciate the gestures...believe me, I do...” She stammered, and was unconsciously backing away from him. “It's just...we've only known each other a very short time, Taj. I didn't know you, until a week ago. This is all so sudden...”

Large hands fell to his hips and Taj sucked in his bottom lip, eyeing her, letting silence fall between them once more.

“Perhaps it is, sudden....” He agreed solemnly, turning away from her, his head drooping in remorse. “...but I've learned, the hard way, that if I drag my feet, when I feel strongly about a woman—as strongly as I feel about you, Madeline—I come out a loser. I come out miserable...and sink into an abyss of depression over what may have been. It's happened too many times before....”

He spun on his heel to face her again, his eyes wide and glazed, nostrils flaring, cheeks darkening swiftly.

There was a touch of madness in his face, and yet, Madeline felt no cause for alarm.

His chest heaved, his eyes sweeping her.

“...and then I saw you, Madeline. Last week...I was having such an awful time with inept excuse for a nurse. Got poked and prodded at least a dozen time—I lost count, I just know my arms were all bruised and sore... it hurt like all hell....”

Taj inched closer to her...so much closer...

And Madeline remained planted to the floor, unable to move away.

She couldn't.

Not with the way he was staring at her so intensely.

More intensely than any man had ever looked at her.

“I was angry...so agitated...that was the closest I've ever come to striking a woman...and I've never laid hands on a woman to do harm...I never would, I'm not that kind of man...but...it was so awful, I was at the end of my rope, Madeline. I was hurting, begging her to stop, bleeding all over the floor. Feeling weak because I had lost so much blood. And then you came in.”

Hands, large and warm and strong were on her shoulders, Taj hovering a few inches taller , peering down at her, eyes appearing to grow moist.

Was...was he on the verge of tears.

“You came in, took charge, talked me out of the corner, calmed me...soothed the savage beast.”

His chest bumped hers and Madeline felt instantaneously blazing hot and icy cold at the same time.

“A vision...an angel in white. It took me less than a second...from the moment I laid eyes on you, Madeline....I knew you were for me.” He confided, tongue slicking across his lips a second time, breathing plainer to the ear.

Overwhelmed, all she could manage was his name, in a bare squeak,

“Taj...”

“Maybe I overdid it.” He admitted, shoulders going up and coming down in a complacent shrug. “I heard it enough from my brothers and my father--”

The redhead came up with a start, eyes searching the round, bronzed, glossy face.

“Your brothers and father?” She echoed, incredulously, at once remembering who he was, who his people were, who they all were.

“They...they know about me?”

She couldn't fathom it. It was already hard enough to process that Taj was interested in her, but he had told other people about her? Told his famous family members about her?

A pleased, soft smile lit Taj's face and he nodded, the brim of the cap bumping her forehead.

“Yes...I...I wanted to wait until after you took care of drawing my blood and giving me my shot, but...” He let go of her and crossed to the chair, where he began digging inside his discarded jacket.

Madeline watched him a moment, her brow furrowing in confusion as he came up with a slim, sleek, red leather booklet, the interlocking “C” logo of luxury brand Chanel visible on the bottom right corner.

“This...” His voice cracked as he paced back to her, holding it under her nose. “This is for you, Madeline. It's a passport case.”

“Passport--” Madeline stared up at him,numbly.

“Yes...you know I'm going to South Africa soon. I'll be gone for an entire month. Madeline....”

The pricey piece of leather was tossed on the table with the rest of the supplies and his hands were on her, this time, holding her waist tensely.

“Madeline, it was hard enough being without you this week. I can't imagine the torture it'd be to not see you for a whole month! I know it's fast, I know its crazy, but I care about you so much Madeline. I want you to go with me to South Africa. I want you to be there with me. I wanted to ask you early enough in case you had to put in for vacation days or something with your job. I'll even make an appeal if they won't let you go. Say you'll go...please.”

After all she had been through, after all she had done, in preparation to all but sponge this man from her life, Madeline Esperanza heard herself coo, so quiet and unfamiliar, it was as if spoken by a ghost, and not herself.

“I'll go.”

Unbridled glee was all over Taj's face, turning tomato red, and he snatched his hat off, revealing short black, loose and shiny tendrils, short on the side and a longer, yet tamed mop atop his head a few curls accentuating his forehead, where a few beads of excited perspiration had sprouted.

The next thing Madeline knew, he was kissing her.

Taj Jackson was kissing her!

Arms wrapped tightly around her hips, Madeline was crushed against Taj's tall, stocky, powerful figure, his lips mashing hers with the force of a speeding train.

His lips so tender, so tasty, so pillowy...

Every so often, sending shockwaves through her again and again, his tongue penetrated her mouth, laying itself on top of hers, and sensing her trying to jerk away, each time, clutched harder, forcing it.

“Hmmm....mmm....mmm...”

Madeline could feel herself going, accepting his impertinence, pressing her hands against his chest, feeling his heart beating so rapidly.

So wildly.

“Madeline do you have—oh my!”

At the exclamation, the two sprang apart, Madeline whirling around so quickly, she threw Taj off balance and he stumbled a few paces to avoid hitting the floor.

The door to the exam room had been cracked and in it stood Grace, hand clapped over her mouth, eye wide in shock above it.

By some grace of God, though she could feel blood surging to her face, coloring it the same shade of scarlet as her hair, Madeline maintained her wits, questioning with blistering authority,

“What is it, Grace?”

“I...I...I came to collect the blood for....for Mr. Jackson's cultures--”

“I was just about to get them...wait just a moment...” She directed over her shoulder, “Sit down, Taj.”

Those straight brows rose, but he did obey, slipping into the seat.

Straight away, Madeline was seated before Taj on the low stood again, one leg, crossed over the other, with her taking hold of his right hand, inspecting the top of it.

Though there was still a bit of minor bruising from his run-in with that numbskull Nicole, several veins stood up proudly.

Quickly, the top of his hand was swabbed with alcohol, Madeline addressing him in a low, mellow tone,

“I'm going to draw from this vein coming off your ring finger, is that alright?”

Through long, false lashes, she peeked up at him.

Taj gave her a trusting smile, but said nothing.

A needle was picked up and pilled from its sterile wrapping.

“This is a twenty-two gauge butterfly needle...” She explained scooting closer to him, rocking idly. “...it's much smaller than the eighteen gauge you were previously gouged with.”

Holding his hand up so that she was practically eye-level with it, she advised,

“Be absolutely still for me, please and this shouldn't hurt one...single...”

The needle was in his hand.

“...bit...”

“I didn't feel a thing!” Taj half-gasped, half-laughed, as Madeline, went to speedily filling the vials with bright, rich blood.

“You weren't supposed to.” She smiled saucily up at him, arm extending with the tubes to Grace.

“Take these to the lab for me please.”

“Yes, Madeline! Right away!” With that Grace was scuttling away, leaving the pair alone in peace.

“Are....are you always this handy with a needle...Baby?”

She beamed dumbly at the addition of the term of endearment, and nodded,

“Yes....that's why I'm the head of both Nursing and Phlebotomy.”

The brows shot up again, this time with being impressed, as Madeline eased the needle from his hand, mashing a piece of rolled up gauze over the teeny wound to stop any bleeding.

“Head nurse....you're in charge...” Taj's voice was hit that low register, and her hairs shot up.

“Yes.”

“H-h-how old are you?”

His eyes were down, Madeline's skirt having risen, revealing the ivory lace garter circling her thigh, interwoven with a peachy-pink satin ribbon, fashioned into a bow.

This time around, she made no moves to conceal the detail from his view.

“I made twenty-seven in June.” The gauze was replaced with a small band-aid.

“Mighty young to have so much responsibility.” Taj commented as she stood and paused to pinch his cheek, quipping,

“And yet, I handle it, with such ease....do you prefer to take your shot in the left or right arm?”

“Left, please...” Taj cleared his throat, as Madeline picked up a syringe, filled about halfway with a faintly yellow liquid.

“Now I do have to use a slightly larger needle, as this will be an intramuscular injection, but I'll do my best to get it over as quickly as possible, and I apologize for any discomfort you might feel.”

Armed with another swab, she passed around behind Taj and unable to control herself, she plucked the back one of his prominent ears.

Automatically, Taj buckled over, hand to his ear.

“Madeline, don't!” He cautioned, and she stiffened with alarm, worried she'd hurt him.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize they were so sensitive.” She was quick to apologize, laying a hand on his broad shoulder.

It was then Taj mumbled, hardly above a whisper and Madeline had to actually strain to hear him.

“I'm trying my damndest to control myself around you and then you go play with my ear and set me off...!”

Taking the statement in stride, but pretending she'd heard nothing of the sort, Madeline pulled him back, gently, into an upright position.

“This won't take but a second, Taj.” She assured him, her own voice dropping slightly and by the way only one of his eyebrows shot, she knew he'd detected the inflection.

Standing at his side, she lifted the sleeve of his tee, exposing his upper arm, while tight and toned, was not overdone.

And barely, just barely, the skin was a shade or so lighter than his forearm, showing a hardly perceptible tan line.

“Try to relax...” The skin was disinfected. “...you may feel a pinch, but don't jump or anything. You'll only hurt yourself, and possibly me.”

The curled head bobbed with understanding.

“I trust you, Madeline...”

He trusted her.

“Here we go, one...two...”

“Ouch, I feel that!”

“...three.”

Quickly the medicine was injected, the needle removed showing only a pinpoint of blood, and was slapped over with another band-aid.

The used needle was cast aside, Madeline leaning on the chair behind Taj.

“Is...is that everything? You're done?” He questioned, starting to turn his head to look back at her.

“That wasn't so bad--”

He tensed, the small, tender fingertips commencing the caressing of his earlobes.

Starting at the bottoms, Madeline slowly, deftly worked her way up to the tops of them, rubbing the cartilage

“What are you doing to me?” He huffed, falling back against the cushions of the seat.

Pecking the top of his head, smelling of a pungent, coconut-oil based pomade, Madeline snickered into his curls.

“What do you think, Tariano?”

Her hand fell to the back of his chunky neck, pinching the flesh between his vertebrae, and to her delight, the dermis grew redder at her touch.

Dark eyes spied the clock on the wall across from them, the time reading as ten past four.

Lips to his ear, she confided, breaths scorching,

“I have to close today, please wait in my office. Go to the end of this hall, make a right and its the fourth door to the left...can't miss it, my name is on it.”

She smiled, Taj rising, all of his visible skin getting rosier by the second, a wide, curling grin on his lips, corners of his eyes crinkling so attractively.

“I'll count the moments...” He whispered, leaning in, lips on her hot cheek, fingers intertwining with hers, as he grabbed his jacket and cap up with the other.

Holding onto her hand, he started away, causing her to stretch after him, until they could no longer maintain the grasp.

He lingered in the doorway, blowing a kiss back at her.

Which she caught.

Then he was gone, and Madeline was in motion.

Clearing the exam room and shutting off the lights, racing through the halls to ensure the entire floor Orson and Associates occupied was now vacant, save for an overheated nurse.... and her charge.

Yes...the exam rooms were empty, and tidy.

Seated and still dutifully typing was Chuny, Grace loitering behind her, texting on her smartphone.

“You're still here?” She questioned, scarcely hiding her surprise, and causing both heads, one tow, the other raven-black to pop up.

Fingers never stopping, though her eyes were off the page, Chuny nodded,

“Just finishing up the last of some insurance work dealing with 'your Jackson'!”

At the mention of the moniker, both women snickered, Madeline's fists clenching at her sides at the ribbing.

“Are you quite done? I still have to take care of things in my office. I don't want t be here all night.”

How she sounded so like herself was a marvel.

“Yes, Madeline.” Chuny's eyes, made blue by contacts widened, “Calm down, Chica...I had to make sure his payment went through. Those cultures in particular are expensive. Dr. Orson will kill me if I don't make sure every--”

“I know very well how meticulous Dr. Orson is.” Madeline snapped, impatience taking her over, and she was regarded smugly, Chuny, the braver of the two continuing to tease and as shut down the computer, finally,

“Come on Grace. Madeline must have 'her Jackson' waiting on her--”

“His name is Taj, and you will refer to him as Mr. Jackson!” Madeline snapped, the insubordination grating her nerves, Chuny retrieving her purse and elbowing Grace,

“Let's go before she does one of those Michael Jackson-style kicks and knocks the glitter out my ass!”

Sniggling, the pair slid by Madeline as she proceeded to do a slow burn, her colleagues humming the baseline to arguably Michael's most iconic hit, Billie Jean, as they hit the door.

Madeline did fume after them a while, but eventually smoothed the front of her dress, tossing her fiery waves, convinced there were jealous.

They had to be.

She'd caught the fancy of a scion of music royalty and there were green as Shrek--

Madeline stopped herself, passing back into the silent corridor.

She didn't want to get a swollen head. Not now, not yet.

Not with what she was about to do—what was she about to do?

Anything.

Anything he wanted.

Anything Taj Jackson wanted...she would provide.

She was his little nurse and he did so need her care.

Tossing her head, secure in her looks, charms and womanly wares, Madeline started for her office.

Yes, she would take the very vest 'care' of Taj.

Finding the door slightly ajar, lights on, she paused, encouraging herself, willing herself...

To finish what it was she had started.

The door was pushed and swung noiselessly on its hinges.

Something was amiss, she picked up on that right away.

Taj had such an odd, queer expression on his face.

He stood behind the desk, near her leather armchair, his handsome, freckled face unreadable, mouth puckered strangely.

And his eyes...they weren't on her.

For once he wasn't ogling her.

Following his gaze, Madeline's blood turned to sleet in her very veins.

The box.

The box....the box she had packed all his gifts to her sat wide open on the desktop and he was staring down at it.

He'd discovered the box!!!

Hands clammy and wringing, she began, throat closing up with trepidation, a cool mist running down her back.

“Taj--”

She was interrupted, the seething in his voice, in his being, scathing.

“I thought you liked all the nice things I sent to you, Madeline. I thought you liked me. I thought you wanted me...”

His voice cracked on the last word, her heart breaking along with his.

“I....I...I do want you--”

She was cut off, with him demanding, voice going up shrilly,

“Then why is everything packed up like its trash day?” The box was shoved, it's contents rattling.

“The candy, the bear, the jewelry, the compact—everything I gave you! I put a lot of thought into every single piece I sent you, Madeline! I liked how your treated me, I liked your style! I even went through an antiques broker to find stuff from the forties since that seemed like it was your jam—your aesthetic! Don't you like me? I worked very hard to send you things I thought you'd like! Things you'd enjoy!”

“I like you—Taj! I liked, I love everything you sent me! I appreciate it all! Oh, Taj!”

Frantic, the bottom falling out from beneath her feet, she crossed he room in one leap, hugging to the towering, stocky body.

“That was a mistake! That was a mistake! I...I was trying to return the things to you. I kept calling you. Over and over. I never got a reply--”

“I don't have my phone.” Taj spoke over her head making no moves to hug her in return. “Saturday, my niece took my phone and hid it to be funny, she likes pranking me, and forgot where in the hell she put it. I assume the battery died. TJ replaced it for me, I've got a new phone— I never got any of your calls.”

“Taj--”

“Why did you want to give the things back, in the first place? Why, Madeline? Why? Why? Why?...”

Taj proceeded to repeat the word why over and over as she sputtered, faced with this reality, a reality she didn't want to face.

“Why? Why? Why?”

She didn't want to say it, didn't want to admit it.

“Why? Why? Why?”

It was too terrible. It hurt too much to even admit.

“Why? Why? Why?”

She couldn't possibly--

“WHY?”

The word was barked, and she jumped, peering up into a low-lidded, scowling face.

Darkening to a violent violet, eyes becoming slits of treachery.

The hatred....God, the hatred....!

The warmth and fondness gone, and falling into his tightened chest, Madeline wailed, fearing what she'd lost in a matter of seconds,

“I was scared! I was scared, Taj! Scared of you! Your name! What it meant to be with someone like you.!Oh, Taj, please understand! I was scared! You're a celebrity. Your entire family are! Everyone knows who you are! Taj! I'm just a nurse! I'm a nobody! All I do all day is juggle needles and try not to get splattered by blood! You...you're a star! You're...you're playing a charity show in South Africa—I haven't even seen South Central LA! We're two different people. From two different worlds. You're a star and I--”

His hand, cool and soft, smelling lightly of his cologne covered her flapping mouth and above it her eyes swelled, as he stared deeply into them.

When he finally spoke, Madeline trembled at the nonchalance,yet pointedness of his tone.

It had shifted so rapidly.

“Didn't it ever occur to you, that part of your appeal to me, is that you are not a celebrity, Madeline?”

He inhaled deeply blowing off into the paling face.

“I've never wanted a 'high-profile' relationship. Why team up with someone who's going to land me in the tabloids, and then if it doesn't go well, I'll be ridiculed for ages and ages after? I've seen it happened to members of my family—I don't want it! I don't want that lifestyle. It sickens me! I want someone I can be myself with...not the persona. Not on display. Just man and woman.”

Slowly, his hand fell from her mouth and he hung over her, searching the stricken, colorless face.

The enormous eyes, reflecting back at him, the reddening cheeks, the coral lips, parted showing her two front teeth.

All framed by those fiendish red locks.

“You don't know how I've looked, Madeline. How I've searched for someone like you. How many faces I've looked into. Hunting, seeking, searching for that spark. Then last week, I saw you...and I felt it. The spark, the electricity flowing through my veins. I saw you and I just knew...”

His chest heaved, and the eyes swept her, Madeline's breath stalling in her airways.

“...I knew I was in love with you.”

Madeline sagged against the desk.

Love....he was in love with her?

“Now this may all be too quick...too sudden...” He continued, digging into the box, coming up with a smaller, flat, rectangular box, embossed all over with a crocodile skin-like pattern.

The lid was lifted and discarded, revealing an assortment of chocolates, noticeably, only one had been consumed leaving about twenty more treats behind.

“...but I hope one day, you will love me, Madeline.”

A dark chocolate was plucked free, in the shape of a little log, drizzled over with white chocolate.

Taj brought it to his plump lips, easily biting it in half, a drop of caramel littering his bottom one as he pulled it away.

Pressing the other half to her open lips, indicating she consume the rest after him, he added,

“Do you think you can grow to love me?”

Allowing the candy into her mouth, Madeline ate it, nodding tentatively.

He was in love with her. Taj was in love with her.

He loved her!

“Good.” Her mouth was pecked and Taj rummaged in the box again, retrieving the three Cartier cases containing the diamond earrings, bracelet and ring.

“Perhaps, I came on a bit strong...” The earrings, each a row of flawless princess-cut stones, culminating in a larger pear-shaped drop, set in white gold, were freed.

Madeline shook as he tucked her hair behind her ears, exposing the bare lobes.

“...but I was taught to treat a lady like a queen, place her on a pedestal...”

Carefully they were placed on her.

The earrings were quite heavy, surprising to Madeline. The weight of genuine diamonds and gold.

Taj's love measured in fine gems.

Next the bracelet, comprised of intertwining, alternating lines of princess and pear shaped gems, in a thick, inch-wide cuff, was slipped onto her right wrist, followed, by the ring.

A frankly large pear stone, verging on the side of obscenity it was so big.

Slipping it on her ring finger, Taj brought her hand up to his mouth, pecking the back of it and admiring the stone.

“How could you even think of returning all of these things...when they all fit you so well?”

His eyes left her, looking past her.

“See for yourself. You have a mirror. Go on...”

At his encouragement, Madeline, heart pounding, and heavy by the weight of her new additions, took her time, picking her way across the carpet to the mirror.

“Oh!”

How fine she looked! How the gems caught the light and sparkled.

Even with her standing completely still, they sparkled brilliantly.

Back at the desk she saw Taj, mouth bouncing as he ate another piece of candy, removing his jacket and tossing it on her chair. Along with it, his cap came off.

Partaking of a third candy, he reached into the box, coming up with the ostentatious perfume bottle.

Moseying up behind her at a relaxed speed Taj held the bottle around her, pressing it against her hands, making her hold it.

“I...made this fragrance special for you, Madeline...chose the oils, the notes, the bottle...all for you.”

He confided, removing the frosted dauber, waving it beneath her nose, offering the scent.

She gasped; he'd crafted a custom scent, for her?

“No one else has this perfume...because no one else is you.”

Again, she trembled as Taj swiped the scent behind her ears.

Dipping back into the bottle, Madeline became aware that he was pressing himself against her.

He was so warm....so alive!

“...and I don't want...”

He trailed off, sliding the dauber around her throat and down towards the faint indention of her cleavage, as revealed by the overlapping neckline of her uniform.

“...anyone to have what my woman has....”

Madeline was near flames as Taj pecked her cheek, placing the stopper back in the bottle, pulling it from her hands, and placing it on the small, side table next to the door.

“...I'm selfish that way.”

He leaned on her further, hand going out and flipping the latch in the center of the doorknob.

Locking them in.

Together.

Once more, he was staring, corners of his eyes dipping, mouth open, focused on her reflection.

Her face...her all.

His hands were in her hair, removing the two clear bobby pins holding her white cap at the crown of her head.

It was laid beside the bottle.

“You are so beautiful to me...” He commented, sweeping the waves over he left shoulder, exposing the tab of the zipper running the length of her spine.

“...like a rare blossom...waiting to be plucked....”

Madeline's nostrils flared, a startled intake of breath occurring involuntarily, as, swiftly and easily, Taj tugged, disengaging the zipper, all the way down to the base of her spine.

Uncovering the peach satin slip beneath.

The white uniform drifted from her figure, the undergarment revealed in its entirety, where it was suspended from her slim shoulders by straps of off-white, floral lace, a detail that spread down onto the plunging neckline, framing her bosom, the natural, rounded, proud globes on display, the fabric just sheer enough for the deeper, pecan brown of her areolas to be visible and in contrast to the rest of her tanned, tawny complexion.

Further down the outline of a pair of lace tap-style panties were visible.

She did so look like a Classic Hollywood screen siren.

Curved and soft all over, no hard lines to her body.

Just all the womanly, feminine attributes of a by-gone, much-missed era.

And it was a look that screamed to certain parts of Taj Jackson's anatomy.

The slim shoulders, globular bust, flat tummy, long legs, heart-shaped backside.

Taj stepped around her, resting against the locked door, a hand to his chest, eyeing her.

Chewing on his lips in a bid to control himself.

“Do...do....” The hand in his chest shook, slapping at the loose pectoral under it, covered by the black cotton of his shirt. “Do you know what I'm going to do to you?”

The pointed little chin raised defiantly, Madeline meeting his gaze bravely.

And those painted lips quivered,

“I have a fair idea...since you've undressed me...”

Playfully Taj ran his fingers under Battenburg lace each strap.

“And how do you feel about that, Madeline?”

Her eyes brightened and those feather thin brows went up, as she smiled devilishly,

“I want it.”

Straight brows lifted on Taj's forehead, with him chuckling.

“Well then...I'll just have to give you what you want...i refuse to deny you anything, Baby...”

The straps, were yanked, Madeline pulled forward, against Taj, mouth colliding with his.

Corybantically, the two kissed at one another, rekindling the spark that had been ignited earlier in Exam Room Seven, but Grace was long gone and nowhere around to disturb them now.

In short order, so very quickly, Madeline had no idea how it happened, Taj had been reduced down to nothing more than a pair of black and white micro-dot designer boxer briefs clinging to wide, strong, dense thighs, his excitement overwhelmingly apparent as there was a large bulge pressing the fabric and trying the threads.

He'd said she was beautiful, but Taj himself was quite stunning to the eye.

That plump stocky form, round all over in the most becoming way, flesh a slightly lighter shade of gold, faint tan lines on his arms and at his throat.

His chest rising and falling,the deepest of his breaths revealing the dents of his ribcage, Madeline's small hands finding their way way onto his broad shoulders, taking him in.

The loose pecs, the brown, small nipples, the little belly, with its innie bellybutton right above the band of his shorts, long, lean toned legs.

The legs of an athlete, and oddly enough, they were as smooth as Madeline's.

The beautiful face, eyes piercing her like a red hot blade, a lone curl dancing between them on his forehead.

Thumbing after the dimple in his chin, Madeline smiled, but said nothing, sharing this peaceful moment with him.

The quiet before the storm.

“I...I need you...”

While she hadn't witnessed his lips moving, Madeline was quite certain she had heard the utterance from Taj.

It had to have come from him; they were the only souls on the floor.

His hand was on her satin-clad hip...pushing her.

Pushing her towards the quilted black leather divan on the other side of the side table.

Obeying Madeline turned to walk to the couch and found Taj directly behind her, so closely he was mirroring each step she took, as though a choreographed dance.

Until they arrived at the couch, where Madeline was seated on the nearest end, Taj remaining on his feet, looming.

Her temperament swaying between sassy and shy, she stared down at the baubles decorating her wrist, inquiring,

“Now what?”

And started to cross her left leg over her right....

Only to find Taj's hand under her knee, preventing her from completing the simple move.

His stare...

It was positively haunting!

Was Madeline even breathing?

Eyes fixed in a burning stare, nostril flaring ever so often as he breathed, his brow puckering just a hair, jaw muscles flexing and retracting just past the surface of his dermis, going a shade of maroon Madeline didn't realize could occur in nature.

It was a consuming, chilling, direct glare, and there was no way for her to escape it as Taj tossed her leg aside, the heel of her shoe clacking on the white marble tiles.

What was he thinking? What was going on under that mop of tendrils?

What was he planning to do?

He was getting shorter...no...

Taking one of the decorative plaid throw pillows from the couch to use a cushion between himself and the cold flooring,Taj rested on his knees, looking up over her skimpily dressed, curvy and generously proportioned body.

She did want this man so badly.

It was a feeling that had laid dormant in wait since her adolescence.

Before she even knew what it was to truly want a man in such a fashion.

Unaware of it until that very moment, Madeline's breaths were coming quicker, harder, louder.

Madeline didn't have to wonder for very long as Taj's hands, warm, and tender, fell onto the outer rims of her thighs, pushing the thin, diaphanous fabric of her slip up, revealing the vintage-inspired panties.

The floral lace so delicate and sheer, every inch of her that it supposedly“covered” was more than visible.

And Taj's eyes quickly found and ogled the bare, sumptuous slit decorated by the barely there silk threads.

His tongue was again seen, tracing the perimeter of his lips greedily.

Madeline tensed straightaway, hands falling to the smooth, satin piped waistband...and tugging.

She allowed the panties to be pulled down, lifting herself a bit to ease the removal, and eventually they dangled from Taj's left hand.

Then they were gone from sight, dropped to the floor, hands first on her knees, sliding over the inflamed flesh, until they rested inside of the thighs.

Madeline gave no resistance, Taj pushing her legs apart, situating them upwards so that both her feet rested on the leather cushions, leaving her completely open to him.

Unconsciously, Madeline was chewing on her fingertips, watching Taj.

She was really doing this.

She was really giving her body to Taj Jackson!

Allowing him to see her most intimate parts.

Lord, she wanted to faint.

Taj, who was staring down at the little division, so smooth and pink, the surface breaking out with goosepimples as the cool air of the office hit it.

“Damn....” He spoke through clenched teeth. “It's even prettier than I thought.”

Hand went to his lips, but he paused, thinking better of it.

His fingers mingled with the lace at the top of the slip and with a single tug, the fabric had been freed of the breasts, unleashing them, Taj grunting,

“You've got the most perfect set of tits in the world—natural too!”

“Did you think they were fake?” The question popped from Madeline's mouth in a tartish manner and she was beamed at.

“You can never be too sure, I mean this is Los Angeles!” Taj quipped and both snickered.

“I'm all natural.” She assured him, laughing harder.

Her chuckles were cut short, as without warning, Taj forced the middle finger of his fright hand into her mouth.

All joking was cast aside, Taj leaning over her, studying as she sucked on his digit, her hands coming up to hold onto his.

His left hand rubbing after her mounds, raising her temperature.

“You've got a good little mouth on you...don't you...?” He whispered, pulling the dampened finger from her mouth.

“Oh!” She gasped, his lips passing over each of her breasts as he let himself back down on his haunches.

“Tell me something...” Taj was staring off into her. “If you scream, can anyone hear you?”

“N-n-no—OH!” Madeline's head fell back, the wet finger tip poking directly into her clit.

“I barely touched you.” Taj stated matter-of-factly, poking again, and seeing how the little slit flapped smiled. “Are you that excited, Baby? You that excited to have me...Maddie?”

“Yes—OH GOD!” She cried, Taj falling face first into her loins, tongue colliding with the little bulb.

“Taj! Taj! TAJ! Taj! Taj Please! Taj! Stop Taj! Taj—STOP! Tariano! Taj!”

She was adamantly ignored, large hands pressing on her thighs, and preventing her from closing her legs, Taj's head began bobbing up and down, with him licking the length of that quivering little gap, tearing Madeline down to her foundation.

“Taj! Quit it! Oh my God! Taj! Taj Jackson! TAJ! Damn you! Stop it! GOD! GOD! GOD! GOD!”

Was he trying to kill her?

Alternating back and forth between licking and sucking on the little bud, all she could do was kick and scream.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Her hands were in his curls, pushing at his head to get him away from.

“Naw...” He spoke off into her. “ You taste too good to stop!”

“Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!” She shrieked at the ceiling tiles, Taj employing his thumbs and spreading the begging pink folds further, tongue plunging inside.

“TARIANO!”

“Ugh....ugh....ugh...” His tongue was so deep in her, he was starting to actually gag on the puss.

“Oh my God! Taj! Taj! Stop it! Good Lord! TAJ!” Madeline bounced, as Taj pushed her legs up further, so that in addition to the little heavenly split, her buttocks were visible to him.

“Taj...” She whimpered, running her hands through his curls trembling with wanton, as he kissed after her bits and pieces, lips moving off onto her ass cheeks, pecking wildly at each one.

“I need you...I need you...I need you...” He began chanting the lusty mantra in between each smack.

“Damn it!” Madeline cried, his tongue slipping off into a different hole.

What was he doing to her? What kind of sex was this? Could she handle it?

There was no time for such thought, Taj pulling from her, wiping at his mouth.

“Come on...up...” He encouraged, hands on hers, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, Maddie Baby.”

It was a tough task, her knees were knocking so, but Madeline managed steady herself in front of him.

The slip tumbled to the floor, the straps pushed off her shoulders leaving her wholly naked.

Greedily, his eyes took in every peak and valley, every nook and cranny to her immaculate form.

“I can hardly stand to look at you...” He hissed, grasping her globes tightly, pressing them together, pulled her closer to him. “...do you know how badly I'm throbbing for you?”

He was attacking her neck, kissing and sucking the tawny, fragrant flesh continuing to mash her breasts, sending those delicious ripples and waves all through her.

Hugging her to him, fingers mashing into the sinewy flesh of her backside, Taj confided,

“I'm trying to hold out as long as possible, my little nursie...HMMMMM!”

The statement broke off into a animalistic growl, Madeline's red-orange nails grazing over his earlobes.

“I've told you before—do not do that to me!” The curled head was jerk back, moving it from side to side, trying his best to keep Madeline from grabbing him again.

“I'm sorry...” Madeline apologized meekly, right hand dropping.

“It's alright...” He trailed off abruptly, eyes growing in surprise, glazing over, that peachy mouth falling open.

His chin dropped, seeing the small hand caressing his inhuman bulge through the dotted cotton.

“You just flat out refuse to stop touching me...” His voice came out in a strained wheeze.

“Don't you know what's going to happen when I let that thing loose?”

Hand perfectly cupping his scrotum, Madeline raised up with it, producing an odd, honking noise from Taj, like a goose being hit by an eighteen-wheeler.

Her lips touched his earlobe, that so very sensitive earlobe and he jerked,

“Show me.”

“Aaahhhh—fuck!” Taj cried Madeline slapping his junk.

Turning from him, Madeline draped herself across the end of the couch, supporting her upper half on the arm rest, nestling in on her knees.

Flipping her red waves flagrantly, she looked up at him innocently, while the devil lurked behind that facade.

There was a cool, evil expression on that bronzed face....the briefs falling down to his ankles, being stepped from and kicked aside.

Madeline's look of nonchalant rebellion transformed into one of complete confoundedness.

While she had long been entranced by the bulge that had filled Taj's shorts, going so far as to fondle him through the fabric, with the underwear out of the way, his true size was plain to the eye.

At least a foot long, if not more, his 'member' was wider than she had expected, all blossoming from a patch of black curls exploding from his pubis. And his scrotum, just as fuzzy, swayed between his thighs.

Fully erect, his cock was a few shades darker than the rest of Taj, a detail made more apparent, as there was a more apparent tan line, a fleshier, paler gold than the accompanying dermis, in the obvious shape of a Speedo. The engorged ti was a bright, deep shade of purple, belying his arousal.

Her own arousal was getting the better of her, her mouth dry, vision blurry, pulse through the roof.

Hand under her chin, Taj brought his face down close to her.

“You know what I need...don't you?” He questioned, thumb up and on her bottom lip, Madeline nodding.

“You're gonna give it to me?” One brow went up and was met with another obliging nod.

“You're willing to do anything, aren't you?”

Eyes so similar in shade to his own lit up.

“Yes....”

Taj's hands came together, rubbing with satisfaction.

“Perfect.”

* * *

“Ah! Ah! Ah! AH! AH! TAJ! AH! AH! AH! TAAAAJ! TAJ!”

The entire leather divan, which until that day, had only had a variety of people sit still, lounge and loiter on the quilted, tufted cushions, now, wiggled, jostled and invariably slid back and forth along the floor from the intense movement that had commenced atop it.

“Taj! Please! Taj! Taj! Noooooo! Taj! Tariano! Taj! Damn it! Taj! AH!”

Madeline's throat was mashed to the armrest, allowing nothing more than a shallow breath here and there, her beggings of mercy, on that strained breath, ignored.

“Taj!”

His hands were planted firmly on her shoulders, used as leverage for himself, and each time Madeline tried to raise herself up, she was promptly shoved back down.

Further down her body, Taj was ramming into her constantly, nonstop, no break in rhythm whatsoever.

He was large...so very large.

Larger than any other lover she'd ever had.

And it with each pass of that massive shaft she wondered how she was managing to take him all in.

How he wasn't ripping her to shreds and tearing her apart.

“Yes! Goddamn yes! Yes girl! So tight! So perfect! Why are you so fucking perfect?”

He was in her ear, sucking on the cartilage, around the diamond earring, tongue flicking along her cheek.

“Fuck You sound so good, look so good, feel so good to me!”

His hand was under her throat, lifting her to where she could breathe easier.

“Ugh—Taj!”

“Keep saying my name! Keep saying my name!” He snarled at her, the relentless pounding increasing ever more. “Say it—I'll explode all in your little ass!”

Sweat flowed like water off his body, and the slick bodies began to emit a profound clapping noise, Taj's crotch repeatedly ramming against Madeline's backside.

“AH! TAJ! AH! TAJ! AH! TAJ! TAJ! TAJ! TAJ! JESUS—TAJ STOP! TAJ!”

Her shrieks bounced off the walls, Taj's hands clutching after her swollen bosom, hot wet cheek to hers.

And he was speaking off into her ear...

“Here it comes....here it comes....here it comes....goddamn me...here it comes....”

“Oh God!” Madeline cried, a penetrating, searing dampness flooding her, Taj's grip lethal on her.

He...he...he was ejaculating.

“Aw...shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”

He swore, heaving into her ear, the thrusts of powerful hips finally slacking, then slowing, then coming to a halt.

“You're so good to me. So very good to me...” He was wheezing, his exertion catching up to him, as he firstly slid from her, and stood , stooping over to catch his wind, eyes going over the weakened, reddened body of his lover , clinging limply to the side of the couch.

Squatting at her side, he brushed her mussed and perspiration-soaked waves back, exposing her face.

The stricken, doe-eyed face of his young lover.

“I've dreamt of having you since I first saw you, Madeline...” His lips mashed hers. “...and I can honestly say, this far exceeded my fantasies.”

The lips quivered from exhaustion.

“M-m-m-mine too...I've....I've had a crush on you since I was a kid...”

“Crush no more...” He pecked the top of her hand and held it to his chest, heart beating rapidly at her tuch.

“...you have me. And I have you. I love you.”

* * *

Head hanging with a nagging, overtaking, heart-wrenching feeling of dejection, hand over his chest, Taj Jackson slowly turned and started back up the steps to plane, to drown his sorrows in unlimited martinis.

TOOT!

In the distance, what sounded like a car horn blew.

Taj glanced up forlornly, then stiffened, a double-take, causing the bones in neck to crack.

Flying down the tarmac, like a bullet out of Hell, was a silver BMW.

His chest tightened, the car coming to a screeching halt near the staircase, the driver's door flinging open.

And from the vehicle, a figure emerged, in a smart, hunter green tweed skirt suit over a beige blouse, topped off by a large, vagabond-style hat in the same shade, adorned with an ivory sash, off setting the thick, carefully arranged scarlet waves and covering one warm brown eye.

An eye that sparkled like all the diamonds adorning her wrists and earlobes.

And the ring worn over the glove.

Feet in small heeled pumps carried the figure to the base of the steps.

“Taj!”

Madeline called, gripping onto each of the metal banisters.

“Madeline?” Taj, stunned, could only say her name as she mounted them two at a time to him, throwing her arms around his midsection, and squeezing.

“There was a pile-up on the freeway! Oil tanker overturned. Oh! I was so scared I was going to miss you! I was scared I was going to miss the flight! I'm sorry! Taj! Don't leave without me!” She pleaded, leaning back to stare into his face.

“I wouldn't miss this flight for anything! I swear. I....I have to be with you! I...I love you, Taj!”

Strong arms wrapped her.

“I love you too, Maddie...” He gasped,voice breaking, mouth finding hers.

“Son, your ten minutes are up--”

“I don't care, Pops!” Taj announced, griping the small, shaking gloved hand in his own, turning to beam up at his father. “Come on, Baby!”

He was pulling her towards the open door and as an after thought as they brushed past him gleefully, he added,

“Madeline Esperanza, this is my father, Tito Jackson—Pops, have someone get her bags, please!”

“Hello, Sir!” Madeline giggled as she was tugged along.

“Hello!” Tito smiled watching the pair as they jogged off into plane, then as he had been asked, flagged to an attendant.

What had Taj called her?

“His heart and soul”.

And now with his heart and soul aboard the plane, finally, they could all continue on their merry way to Johannesburg.