Exposed (25 page)

Cynthia guffawed, rolling her eyes heavenward.“Now you sound like one of my brothers.”

“I wish I were,” Brandon muttered under his breath before draining his beer and setting the empty bottle on the desk.

Cynthia eyed him curiously.“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you wish you were one of my brothers?”

Brandon just looked at her.

She’d been sitting with her knees tucked under her chin. Now she lowered her legs to the chair, folding them into a half-lotus position as if she were preparing to meditate—as she did every day for twenty minutes. Brandon knew because he’d stumbled upon her when he entered her office late one night. He’d pulled up short at the sight of her seated on a mat on the floor, her back ramrod straight and facing the door, her skirt hitched up around her smooth, toned thighs. She’d glanced over her shoulder, looking annoyed by the interruption until she saw him standing there, saw the way he was staring at her bare thighs. He’d mumbled an apology, offered to come back later, and beat a hasty retreat. It was the last time he’d gone into her office after hours without knocking first.

Cynthia was watching him expectantly. “Hello? Did you hear what I—Hey!” she protested as Brandon suddenly reached over and pulled her glasses off her face.

He peered through the lenses.“Wait a minute. These don’t even have a prescription.”

“Yes, they do!” Cynthia insisted. She tried to snatch the glasses out of his hand, but he laughingly held them out of reach.“I told you I hardly need them. It’s a mild prescription!”

Brandon snorted.“Only if
mild
is another word for
nonexistent.
”

Cynthia jumped out of her chair.“Give those back before you break them!”

Brandon was on his feet, laughing and backing away as she came after him. “Hold up. You know what I think? I think these glasses are a prop.”

Cynthia stopped midcharge, hands on hips as she scowled at him.“What the hell are you talking about?”

Twirling the stem of the glasses between his fingers, Brandon grinned at her. “I’ve been trying to figure you out. You knock on my door at eleven o’clock at night to show me a
memo you could have just as easily e-mailed to me—a memo we won’t even need until we get back home. So you obviously just wanted an excuse to come over here.”

Cynthia opened her mouth to protest, but he talked right over her.“You knew it would be too obvious if you showed up in a sexy negligee. So you went to the opposite extreme and threw on some old sweats that look like they were dragged out of the back of your closet, completing the ensemble with these
Ugly Betty
glasses. You figured if you made yourself as unappealing as possible and we
still
fucked tonight, then you could ease your conscience by telling yourself that you hadn’t seduced me.”A slow, knowing grin crawled across his face.“Does that about sum it up, Counselor?”

He’d never seen a black woman blush as hard as Cynthia was blushing now. She held his stare for several moments, then covered her face with her hands and groaned. “I hate you, Brandon. I really do.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Damn, baby girl! That was some serious premeditation on your part. How long have you been planning to seduce me?”

“Consciously? Only a few hours. I got the idea after dinner.” Uncovering her face, she heaved a resigned breath and eyed him sheepishly. “Believe it or not, though, I originally brought the sweats and eyeglasses on this trip because I anticipated us working long hours together—in our hotel rooms, without the buffer of our colleagues. I figured if I made myself ‘unappealing,’ as you so eloquently put it, then nothing would happen between us.”

Brandon shook his head slowly. “But it wouldn’t have worked.”

She stared at him.“Why not?”

He moved toward her.“Because there’s nothing you could do that would make me not want you, Cynthia.” He laughed softly.“The whole time we’ve been sitting here, all I can think about is how you remind me of a naughty librarian in these
glasses. And covering yourself from head to toe only makes me more curious about what’s hiding underneath.”

Cynthia swallowed visibly. “What are you saying, Brandon?”

Stopping in front of her, he gently slid the glasses back onto her face.“Let me simplify it for you.”

He lowered his head and kissed her. She felt and tasted so damn good that he audibly groaned. Deepening the kiss, he sucked on her plump lower lip before snaking his tongue inside her mouth. She moaned with pleasure and wrapped her arms around his neck, but he was already pulling away.

She made a small sound of protest.“Brandon—”

“Shhh.” He kissed her forehead, then rubbed his cheek back and forth against her soft hair.“Things are so complicated with me right now, so fucked up. I think Tamia’s been cheating on me, but I haven’t proved it. There are ways I could, but I don’t wanna go that route. Not yet. Truth be told, I probably don’t
want
to know ’cause I’m afraid of what I might do.”

He pulled back, framing Cynthia’s face between his hands as he searched her eyes.“I’m really feeling you, sweetheart. Believe that. But as much as I’d love to carry you over to that bed and lose myself inside you for the next two days, I’m man enough to know that two wrongs don’t make a right. And you deserve so much more than a revenge fuck.”

She smiled regretfully. “Even though it’d probably be the best fuck of my life.”

Brandon chuckled, gently turning her around and swatting her round ass. “Go on. Get your naughty-looking self out of here before I change my mind.”

She sighed dramatically.“Well, all right, if you insist.”

“I must.”

And then he stood there, head lowered, eyes closed, until he heard the door open. Unable to resist, he cracked one eye open and hazarded a glance.

Cynthia had removed the glasses and unpinned her hair.
Pausing in the doorway, she tossed her dark mane over one shoulder, licked her lips, and smiled coyly.

“Sure you won’t reconsider?”

Swallowing a groan, Brandon croaked,“I’m sure.”

She winked at him.“Just testing.”

He glowered at her.

She grinned.

And then she was gone, leaving a trail of wicked laughter in her wake.

River Oaks.

Home to Houston’s privileged elite.

Located halfway between downtown and Uptown, the residential enclave boasted grand seven-figure mansions, perfectly manicured lawns and parks, blooming gardens, upscale shops and restaurants, and an ultra-exclusive country club. Considered one of the wealthiest communities in Texas, River Oaks was such a departure from anything Tamia had ever called home that it might as well have been located on a different planet.

Brandon’s childhood home was a palatial Mediterranean-style villa with a flagstone driveway shaded by tall oaks and guarded by high iron gates. The estate was set back from the road and situated on at least five densely wooded acres. By the time Tamia and Brandon arrived for the dinner party on Saturday evening, a procession of luxury vehicles lined the drive leading up to the mansion. Tamia had never seen so many Bentleys, Mercedeses, and Rolls-Royces gathered in one place. Speechless, she gaped out the window as Brandon steered his own $490,000 whip to a separate ten-car garage reserved for the family.

He killed the ignition and glanced over at her.“Ready?”

She stared at him, suddenly struck by the sheer enormity of this moment. Here she was, a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, dating a rich, handsome, successful man whose father could very well become the next governor. It was surreal.

She gulped a nervous breath. “Actually, I don’t know if I
am
ready.”

Brandon smiled gently. “Yes, you are. Stop worrying so much.”

“Easy for
you
to say. This is your home, your family.
You’re
not the one who’s gonna be under a microscope for the next five hours.”

“
Five?
Shit, I’m rolling outta here after two.” At her shocked look, he laughed.“Just kidding. My parents would kill me. Relax, baby. You look amazing.”

Tamia smiled demurely. “Think so?” She knew she did. After much searching and agonizing, she’d selected a glamorous black Versace gown with a halter bodice that revealed a modest amount of cleavage, because she didn’t want to give Brandon’s mother
any
reason to dismiss her as a hoochie. She’d gone to one of the top stylists in Houston, who’d slicked back her short bob and attached an elegant bun that looked so real, the hair could have grown from her own scalp. Her makeup was professionally done, and the diamonds glittering at her ears, throat, and wrist were a surprise gift from Brandon, who’d already ponied up for the expensive designer dress.

Tamia looked like a million bucks, but she knew it would take more than a glamorous appearance to win over Brandon’s parents, and that was her sole mission tonight.

As she and Brandon made their way toward the house, he was greeted warmly by members of his father’s security detail, who were checking IDs at the gate and monitoring the grounds of the estate. The front door was opened by a beaming elderly butler who shook Brandon’s hand and clapped him affectionately on the back before ushering them inside. Tamia’s eyes widened as she took inventory of the grand marble foyer
with a two-story ceiling, massive crystal chandelier, and curving dual staircases that swept to the upper level.

After Brandon made the introductions, the butler winked at Tamia.“I’ve known this young man since he was four. If you ever want a good laugh, I’ve got some stories about his childhood antics that’ll have you hooting into next week.”

Tamia grinned at him, playfully nudging Brandon. “I just might take you up on that offer.”

“Please do.”The butler smiled as he escorted them down the marble-floored corridor to a wide, arched doorway.“Enjoy your evening.”

Brandon and Tamia stepped into an elegant ballroom filled with a Who’s Who of Houston’s ruling elite. The men were decked out in black tuxedoes, while the women showcased a dazzling array of designer originals to rival a red-carpet parade at the Oscars.

As Tamia surveyed the fashionable crowd, she said wryly to Brandon, “I’m so glad I didn’t listen to you. You woulda had me showing up in a cocktail dress.”

“God forbid.” Brandon gave a mock shudder that earned him a playful punch on the arm.

Laughing, he laced his fingers through hers as they advanced farther into the ballroom. White-gloved waiters wove through the crowd balancing silver trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Music from a live orchestra served as a pleasant backdrop to the buzz of laughter and conversation.

“Darling!”

Tamia and Brandon turned to see Gwen Chambers striding purposefully toward them. She was resplendent in a long black Chanel evening gown, the epitome of style and elegance. Even from a distance she had that rare quality that few people possess: presence.

Reaching them, she warmly embraced Brandon, kissing the air beside his cheek so she wouldn’t smudge her coral lipstick. “I was wondering when you’d get here,” she gently
scolded.“Your siblings are the ones who like to arrive fashionably late, not
you.
”

Brandon chuckled. “Sorry. It couldn’t be helped. I didn’t leave the office until after five.”

“On a Saturday.” She
tsk-tsked,
years removed from her own days as an overworked trial lawyer.

“Mom, I’d like to introduce you to Tamia.” Brandon drew her gently to his side.“Baby, say hello to my mother.”

Tamia summoned her most charming smile and slid her hand forward. “Hello, Mrs. Chambers. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“How do you do?” Gwen clasped her hand, her fingers as cool as her tone. Dark, assessing eyes raked Tamia from head to toe.“What a lovely gown.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Chambers.” Relief washed over Tamia. At least her appearance passed muster.“You have a very beautiful home.”

“Why, thank you, darling. It’s been in the family for generations.” Gwen smiled smoothly. “Perhaps Brandon can give you a tour after dinner.”

“I’d like that.” Tamia’s smile widened. “Has anyone ever told you—”

“That I look like Diahann Carroll?” Gwen laughed gaily.“I hear that all the time, along with jokes about being a judge whose last name is Chambers.”

“Right. Judge’s chambers.”Tamia laughed, thinking,
So far so good.

Brandon looked amused. “Where’s Dad?” he asked his mother as he glanced around.

“He’s sequestered in his study with the mayor and the attorney general, if you can believe it.” Gwen
tut-tutted,
shaking her elegantly coiffed head.“I’m giving them ten more minutes before I break up their little tête-à-tête and
insist
that he return to the party to mingle with his guests.”

“Is the governor here?”

“No, David had a previous engagement, so he couldn’t make it.” Gwen smiled and waved at someone across the room. “It actually worked out better this way. It’s your father’s night, so he shouldn’t have to share the spotlight with anyone—not even the governor.”

Damn,
Tamia mused.
This bitch is cutthroat!

“I need to check on the caterers, make sure everything is right on schedule.” Gwen sighed.“If Brooke were here, I could at least delegate a few tasks to her so I can give our guests my undivided attention.”

Brandon scoffed. “Yeah, right. You never delegate, Mom. You’re a control freak, and proud of it.”

“How right you are.” She laughed, gently patting his cheek.“You and Tamia mingle. I’ll rejoin you shortly.”

As she moved off with purpose, Tamia grinned at Brandon. “Your mom is no joke.”

“I know. Scary, isn’t she?”

“Just a tad.”

Chuckling, Brandon held out his arm to her. “Well, you heard the woman. Let’s mingle.”

They made their way through the crowd, socializing with a broad spectrum of business, political, and civic luminaries. Brandon was charming and naturally charismatic—a bona fide superstar in his own right. He couldn’t take three steps without someone calling his name, snagging his arm, drawing him into conversation about his partnership and the upcoming trial. Shamelessly latched onto his arm, Tamia fantasized that she was his wife, that this was
their
dinner party and these were
their
guests. Brandon was her man, her nigga, and together they would accomplish great things that would sweep them up to the highest echelons of society.