The Accidental Incarnate From Another Lifetime (Part II of IV)

Embassy Hotel and Suites          
Later That Evening   
   
Nursing Convention    
St. Louis, Missouri 2018  
   
Romancing A Rose              
           
My seductive eyes mischievously looked at my reflection in the oval mirror perched on top of the antique dresser; I pivoted my person for a better posterior view.          
The silk dress enticed the eyes of my rounded apple-shaped bottom.          
           
“Everything looks great from this viewpoint.”          
           
I turned back to face the mirror and reached down for the bottle of my favorite perfume, Beautiful from off the dresser. I sprayed the fine mist to my lower ankles, up my toned thighs, and then replaced the bottle back on the dresser; I stepped back again.          
           
“Darn it.”          
           
One of my pencil thin braids slipped out the French coiffure positioned on top of my head.                 
The Spa treatment and facial made my skin feel like I could defy gravity of time.          
           
Someone knocked on my door.          
I reassessed the peach-colored strapless mini-dress; hugging my voluptuous hips. I hope I would not appear too easy for deleting the option to wear a bra.          
The weather in St. Louis was nice, and I wanted to see if I still have it, and only if he’s worthy enough for me to share it.          
Thank goodness my stilettoes sandals added two inches to my five-foot four inch height.          
I took a deep breath and lifted my chain purse from off the dresser. I looped the strap over my bare shoulder blade and walked out the master bedroom of my suite.          
           
“And why am I doing this again?”          
           
Going out with a complete stranger was not on my agenda, and a handsome stranger to add.          
I took a deep breath, and then gradually exhaled. I leaned down and grasped the door handle; I twisted it and slowly pulled the door open.          
Ladies, if you could only see the complete package, I am looking forward unwrapping later.          
Aristotle stood there at my threshold.          
A sinewy physical of pure undulated masculinity clothed in a double-breasted dark-blue suite, blocked my forwarding sight. He removed his sunglass and placed them inside his suit jacket breast-pocket.          
Those entrancing dark-brown eyes drew me in.          
And I was about to back out on this, smart woman that I didn’t.          
           
“You look nice.” Aristotle stepped back and looked down at my thigh. “I was hoping to get a definite glimpse of that tattoo.” He found my eyes. “Oh, with the fairy.”          
He winked at me.          
           
“Thank you, and you will.”          
Did, I just say that?       
“You look handsome.”          
           
As if he didn’t know that already.          
           
“Thank you.”          
He pulled his hidden hand from behind his back.          
           
“A rose for a beautiful rose.”          
           
I accepted the long-stem red rose.          
“Coming from a handsome philosopher, thank you.”          
           
Aristotle looked down at his Movado watch and then back up at me.          
           
“Are you ready?”          
“For you, yes.”          
“You are bringing it beautiful lady.”          
“Half of it now.”          
“I guess, I will bring the other half later.”          
           
I could not contain my blush even if I wanted too.          
I pulled the door to my hotel suite close.          
Aristotle grabbed ahold of my hand as we walked down the quite carpeted corridor to the elevators.          
I noticed the elevator we stepped on earlier was now out of commission.          
A yellowish piece of caution tape guarded the entrance.          
           
“It looks like our time capsule is giving us more time than one should be allowed. And in this lifetime, I would certainly use it wisely. He looked over at me. “With much pleasure.”          
           
Mmm... do your thang handsome.         
           
Aristotle dropped my hand from his and leaned forward. He pressed the elevator down button. He pivoted to face me.          
           
“How was your day, beautiful?”          
           
He coiled a spiral braided tendril around his forefinger; his eyes never wavered from mine.          
I licked my lips.          
The movement of his eyes darted down to my mouth.          
           
“Nice, and yours?”          
“Informative. You know the planets when aligned plays an importance in our life.”          
           
Aristotle scooted closer. I held my breath, waiting for the unknown.          
           
“Is this natural?”          
           
Wow, what man asks a woman that?        
           
“Yes.”          
           
He allowed the braid to spring back into place. He traced over my eyebrows.          
           
“You are an enigma to behold.”          
“I guess the color of my dress contributed to that observation, huh?”          
“No, it’s your mystic aura.”          
           
Aristotle traced down my nose, his finger, outlined my lubricious lips.          
Darn I am no good in this department, my life is my patients first, writing second, and then running marathons throughout the year.          
He gradually declined his face. I slightly arched on the balls of my feet.          
           
The elevator doors slid open.          
Dammit I thought.      
           
“We will continue this much later, without the interruptions of course.”          
           
Aristotle palmed the lower bend in my back and propelled me on the elevator. Somehow his hand slipped down, cupping one of my buttocks.          
Did he just squeeze my derriere?          
We both stepped on.          
Aristotle lifted his hand from off the face of my buttock and pressed the L button.          
I turned to face forward, securing my purse strap over my shoulder blade.            
The elevator doors slid close and slowly descended.          
I felt Aristotle evaluating my profile from the side. My D-size breasts heaved in nervousness.          
He placed his hand over the center of my chest.          
I looked down at his palm, and then pivoted my head, capturing his eyes.          
He read the question in my eyes.          
           
“No need to be nervous. Rather, you want to believe it, we have been at this crossroads in time.”          
           
Please tell me I have not agreed to retain a sociopath’s company. I refuse to feel cheated with this expensive thong, I purchased from Hustlers.        
           
Aristotle at a snail’s pace removed his palm from off my chest.          
Hopefully, he did not measure the increased size of my nipples.          
           
“I am not nervous.”          
           
For goodness sake I pen several novels with much intimacy than this scenario.          
           
“Very well then. However, in a past lifetime, I did avow I must keep my rose vibrant and blossoming.”          
           
I peered closer, no dreads, there goes another one of those comparison. I need to rush this evening along, to get back to Philadelphia.          
           
The elevator doors slid open.          
           
Aristotle grabbed onto my hand. I lifted the rose and inhaled the delicate petals. He looked over at me          
           
“The petals do not even compare to your skin.”          
Aristotle squeezed my hand as we stepped off the elevator.          
           
Bristol Seafood And Grill       
           
Aristotle escorted me through the doors of Bristol Seafood Grill.          
           
“Seafood.”          
“Yes, you being a vegetarian, I thought I would surprise you.”          
I do not recall me advising this man I am a vegetarian.        
           
“Could I ask you a question?”          
“You can.”          
“How did you know I am a vegetarian?”          
           
He palmed his mouth down.          
           
“Yes, like I know, your dress size is a size five, your perfect breasts, a 38D-cup, you tend to bite down on your bottom lip when you are undecided, and your sexual appetite is catered only to my needs.”          
           
“Excuse me.”                 
Was I more chagrined he knew those facts about me, or he voiced them without hesitation?        
           
“Does the study of astronomy grant you some form of clairvoyance?”          
“No, you granted me sovereignty over a Rose, many lunar moons ago.”          
“Listen, I have pepper spray in my purse.”          
“No need to fear me, Gabriella. As I stated, this time was granted by the starts, and by a Haitian Creole Loa.”            
“A what?”          
           
Aristotle lifted my hand and kissed my inner palm.          
           
“I will explain everything to you when the time is upon us. As we speak, I think, I will like to sit down and look into eyes, I’ve envisioned glimpsing into from many light-years away.”          
“Welcome to Bristol Seafood Grill.”          
“Thanks man.”          
“You and your lovely companion, may follow me.”          
           
Aristotle retained my hand in his firm hand.          
We both followed the waiter to an intimate table for two.          
Aristotle pulled my chair back.          
           
“Thank you.”          
           
I claimed my cushioned seat.          
His fingers indiscreetly glazed over my bare back.          
God, his touch felt familiar, as narrative words of another came into mind.          
       
‘The rose is breathing through the ambience of the wind. The two petals dancing to the melodies of the lake’s waves. I still feel its life even though it’s been pulled from the ground. Maybe I give it life with my thoughts, feeling the presence of the Rose within the ground itself.’          
       
“Gabriella, the waiter is speaking to you.”          
“I’m sorry.”          
“Would you like something to drink, ma’am?”          
“You may bring her a non-alcoholic Cosmopolitan.”            
“And you sir?”          
“A glass of Hennessey on the Rocks.”          
           
The waiter bowed, turned, and walked away from the table.          
I placed my purse and the rose in the empty chair later to me; I glanced around the intimate restaurant.          
What a shame I had to utilize several sky-miles, to meet the most handsome man in my lifetime.          
Aristotle lifted his sunglasses from out the breast pocket of his suit jacket, and then settled them near his plate.                  
“Don’t forget, you owe me a poetry reading.”          
“You were serious?”          
           
His dark-brown eyes homed in on mine.          
           
“Of course.” Aristotle looked around the restaurant. “Not unless you will like to recite a piece now to arouse me, and nothing from one of your novels.”          
“Here?” I also surveyed the restaurant. My eyes fell back on his presence. “And how did you know I write?”          
           
He wolfishly smiled at my surprise.          
I glanced around at the other seated patrons.          
Am I being punked from one of those television shows, or, on some form of candid camera?         
I faced Aristotle once again.          
           
“I never told you I write romance novels.” I lifted my dinner napkin from off my lap and slammed it down on the table. “Are you some kind of con man, and I demand to know how you know so much about me, and I have never met you in this lifetime.”          
           
“Not in this lifetime, a past lifetime.”          
“Please discontinue talking in riddles, you are starting to frighten me.”          
           
He slid his hand across the table and palmed mine.          
           
“Close your eyes,” his deep baritone voice festered in me a need to remain rooted, yet, the intoxicating voice under his request, gave me an excuse to close my eyes.          
Aristotle stroked my hand.          
“What do you see?”          
“Darkness.”          
“What do you feel?”          
“Your palm over mine, relaxed.”          
           
Aristotle removed his palm from off my hand          
           
“Now open your eyes.”          
           
I obliged and looked around the restaurant.          
“What do you see now?”          
“A handsome man sitting across from me.”          
“Yes, when your eyes were closed, you could not see me.”          
“Well no.”          
“Look me in my eyes. Search your heart, and you will find me.”          
           
Looking like you do; how could I have lost you I thought?        
           
“Aristotle, do you study the stars.”          
“Yes.”          
“Do you believe in reincarnation, destiny, fate, or karma?”          
“Reincarnation is quite possible thanks to consciousness’ energy on a quantum, subatomic level it is contained in our bodies, and not a part of them. Why do you ask?”          
“This moment in time, appears to me as if I have walked this path before.”          
“And you have, we both have.”          
           
The waiter interrupted our conversation.          
He placed my glass of Cosmopolitan in front of me, and lifted Aristotle’s drink from off the serving tray and placed it down in front of him.          
           
“Would you and your companion like to order now, sir.”          
“Yes.”          
            
Aristotle looked across the table.          
           
“The Cod Fillet for the beautiful woman, and you could bring me the Maine Lobster.”          
           
The waiter lifted both menus from off the table, tucked them under his arm, and bowed his head, He turned, and then walked away from the table.          
I fine-tuned my ears to the smooth sounds showering out the embedded ceiling speakers.          
The sultry lyrics floated throughout the restaurant.          
Aristotle scooted his chair back and stood. He walked around the table and held his hand down to me.          
I looked up, dumfounded.          
           
“Would you like to dance?”          
“Yes.”          
           
I scooted my chair back, clasped my hand in his hand, and stood.          
           
“Wait, there’s not a dance floor.”          
“Standing among the stars is our dance floor.”          
           
Aristotle circled my waist, and slowly pulled me within his embrace.          
My palms crept up his massive chest wall and linked themselves around his neck. My body, natural settled against his six-foot two physique. I had to angle my head back to look up into his eyes.          
The man’s opulent lips were sinful.          
The next song simultaneously played. I almost cried, words could not compare how I felt at that particular moment.          
The lyrics of Sam Cook’s, Darling You Send Me, encompassed the mood, and heightened the awareness of the handsome man who held me like a storyline could never describe.          
           
Aristotle looked down into my face, as I lifted mine. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Do I really send you?”          
           
I inched back, the question, caught me off guard. He pulled my body back against his manly stature.          
I played along with the question, since he put it out there.          
           
“Honest you do.”          
           
Aristotle dipped his face. His lips tenderly brushed mine. His hold around my waist, tightened.          
My lips surrendering, drowning into a pool of bottomless ecstasy; this man, expertly webbing my emotions, as my tongue sought refuge inside the warm comforts of his mouth.          
           
“Umm,” two voices blended as one.          
           
Aristotle inched his face back. He kissed my nose, over my eyes, arresting my lips once again          
This is definitely a body to hibernate under the covers.          
Aristotle’s palms meandered up and down my back.          
If this is some kind of mentally time warp, I am in, please do not let my mind crash back down to earth.          
           
“Mmm,” I moaned out.          
           
He slowly lifted his lips from off mine.          
           
“Save some of that anticipation much later,” he whispered against my temple.          
           
I did not hear anything beyond his deep voice, and the blanketing of his palms still caressing my skin, disturbed my libido.          
           
“Gabriella,” a hot and minty breath, beckoned in my ear.          
           
I opened my eyes.          
I noticed the music had stopped.          
           
“I’m sorry.”          
           
Aristotle inched my body closer.          
Mmm, what a God given talent I prayed lurked beyond that zipper.          
Aristotle inched his face back and looked down into my eyes.          
           
“Don’t be. You can’t cage a Dove; not in this lifetime, or the next.”          
           
He kissed my temple.          
We lessened the closeness of our bodies and reclaimed our seats.          
           
“Where are you from, Aristotle?”          
“I have roots in Louisiana.”          
“Are you from Louisiana?”          
“Yes, however, once I enrolled in college, I moved out west. Do you still live in Philadelphia?”          
“Yes. However, I still have several Haitian relatives in the bayou area.”          
“I remember that.”          
“Could you please not do that?”          
“And that is?”          
“Speak to me as if you already know things about me.”          
“You ask me a question, as believing in, fate, destiny, karma, and reincarnation. You will have to stand on your own judgment when the time arrives.”          
           
Dammit, what time? I wanted to scream. I must admit the man was handsome, but he is making me appear foolish as the minute grows.          
           
“And I suppose, you cook, have the phrase, forgive, written across your chest wall, write such narratives that could.”          
“Send you.”          
           
Between your poignant written words and my vibrator in the right place, I swear I would never tell.          
 “Ahh.”          
“Here is your order, ma’am.”          
           
The waiter removed a covered dish from off the silver serving tray and placed it in front of me.          
           
“Thank you.”          
And for the sudden interruption, I thought.         
“And you sir.”          
He lifted Aristotle’s covered dish and placed it in front of his presence.          
“Would that be all sir?”          
“Yes. I think I could handle the rest.”          
The waiter looked down at me.          
“And you ma’am.”          
“I’m fine.” My eyes dashed across the table “For now.”          
“Yes, you are,” Aristotle chimed in.          
I blushed behind his assertion.          
“Enjoy your meal.”          
Aristotle looked across the table at me          
“Much later for me.” He looked up at the waiter. “Thanks man.”          
The waiter turned and walked away from our table.    


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