You Called Me-ARE and Apple epub (8 page)

Eat, pretty lady!

JB

Randall leaned on the counter then said, “Pretty boy sending gifts now?”

“Dinner,” she said distractedly. The pink bag captured her attention. Regardless of its contents, it goes back tomorrow.

“Whatever it is, I want some. That smells good. That’s from him too?” Randall asked, indicating the pink bag.

“Mm hm, but I can’t accept lingerie.” She grasped the bag handles, setting it on the barstool. If she left it on the floor, she’d miss it in the morning and forget to take it back. “I’ll take it back tomorrow. Yet, this I will keep,” she inhaled the tangy aroma rising off the sauce. She shivered down to her toes it smelled so good. She announced almost with a hint of pride, “Jonathan's stroganoff, I can't believe he sent me dinner.” Heat rushed up her neck at his thoughtfulness, not to mention she found the gesture sexy. Any man sending her a hot meal by a chauffeur can’t be all bad.

“He made that?”

“He made me a plate of it when I was in his penthouse, but I couldn’t handle the smell of sour cream.”

“Let me taste it to make certain he's not trying to poison you.”

Randall would get a meal if he was the only man alive and there was no food. She watched him take a healthy fork of the tangy scented noodles. “Oh, this is good.” Randall motioned toward the plate, mouth full of egg noodles, “I knew he was Irish Mafia.”

“What are you rambling about with your mouth full?”

Randall swallowed and grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser on the counter then wiped his mouth. “You’ve seen them old black and white shows where the king pin’s in his kitchen white tank, black trousers pulled up criminally high?” He swirled the fork in front of his groin. “Grape smugglers strapped to red suspenders. Cooking in the kitchen, the mob boss always had one meal they made better than anyone else. Of course they learned it from their mothers, while they cleaned the muzzle of their shot guns sitting at her feet.”

“What do you know about mafia? You grew up in Nigeria.”

He waved his fork giving her a dark stare. “In Nigeria not under it, and there’s a lot going on in Nigeria that would blow your mind lady. Regardless, I went to college in London. Mafia is not just in Italy and America. Don't change the subject. You know I'm right about lover boy.”

Kenya frowned. “I see why you’re in marketing. I just got the full picture and scarily enough I could see him doing that.” Especially after she’d seen him barefoot padding through his home. “I need to call and thank him for feeding my greedy neighbor.”

“I’m hungry…” Randall apologized holding a fork of the fat noodles to her mouth. Cupping a hand under the fork, she closed her mouth around the buttery creation. Kenya clutched a hand to Randall’s shoulder and closed her eyes let the sinful taste have its way with her.

“Good, isn’t it? You’re man can burn in the kitchen, I’ll give him that.”

“Oh that’s a culinary orgasm,” she said, rubbing the chill from her arms. “Don’t eat it all, Randall. I would like to have a little once I get out of these clothes.”

Randall shoved a forkful of the tangy noodles in his mouth, savoring every bite, moaning deep in his throat. The sounds brought Jonathan to mind when he’d kissed her on the couch. He’d moaned over her lips. A shot of pure lust tightened her breast and everything below to a painful state. The man could kiss.   

“Just don’t start touching yourself…It’ll kill me,” Jonathan groaned, propped along the counter, staring at her. Has she moaned that loud?

Embarrassed, she moved around him, went into the kitchen, and pushed a glass under the tap filling it with cold water. Drinking down half the contents, she set it on the counter then took the container of noodles from Randall.

He grinned. Randall covered his mouth, and said, “I’m being honest. Anyway, who’s your breakfast client tomorrow morning?” Kenya popped open the microwave setting the container inside then crossed into the living room.

“I can’t discuss that with you, stop asking stuff like that. I don’t care how cool we are you’re a client when it comes to work, Randall. But I hear he’s big time, so I want to get rest and be on point tomorrow.”

She left him to go to change out of her dress. She strolled back to her room, undressed, and slipped on yoga pants and a t-shirt.

Kenya padded out to the living room, tugging her hair into a high ponytail above her head. No sign of Randall. Shaking her head, she fixed a plate, then poured a tall glass of orange juice then curled up on the sofa. One tap on the remote and the news filled the television screen.

“Snow flurries in the forecast. We can see a possible inch by morning,” the weather newscaster announced.

“Flurries and an inch aren't the same thing, guys,” she complained, waving her fork at the screen. “Either we're getting snow or we're not.” She'd have to pull out her fur-lined knee boots. In Michigan snow fell the moment you weren't prepared. And as long as it fell on the grass she loved it, but on the streets...

Curled up on the sofa a mouth full of the buttery noodles, the doorbell startled her echoing through the room. Keeping her attention on the TV, she sidestepped to the door, pressing her eye to the peephole where white filled the tiny window. Her shoulders sank as she raised her eyes to the ceiling. More flowers.
Lord have mercy, man.
Enough flowers already, she thought. Wiping her mouth, she swung the door open and found herself inches away from hunky Blakemore, no deliveryman this time.

“Mr. Blakemore…”she covered her mouth, watching him shake his head, crossing her threshold, and began unbuttoning his cashmere coat.

“Kenya, I’ve seen you in bra and panties…call me, Jonathan,” he suggested playfully. His presence shrank her apartment, a weight she sensed the second she opened the door made her breath catch.

“Jonathan,” she muttered, swallowing the last of the noodles. She followed him with her eyes as he took the plate from her closing the door. Setting the one lone rose in her hand, he moved on her before she could think and kissed her nose. She never understood the term, blanched, until she met Jonathan. He kept her body on a low simmer. She watched him move into the living room…left her staring at his broad shoulders crossing the room.

Dumbfounded by his brashness, Kenya said, “I got your message about not going, you didn’t have to—”

“Come sit down,” he interrupted, eating from her plate. Her mouth watered. Jonathan slid her fork full of noodles into his mouth dragging it out clean and licked his lips. That one ballsy move announced his true intentions...a second maybe third kiss filled his agenda tonight. He’d cancelled the trip, so why stop by? They had no other business. Because he came for play, not business.

Absently touching her ponytail, she rested her back along the counter and tried not to stare at his beautiful mouth, then said, “Thank you for dinner, Jonathan.  What are you doing here? Did I miss a call?” The question came out tighter than she meant to sound.

He smiled. “You said you didn’t know me well enough to go away for the weekend.” Shrugging his wool dress coat off his impressive arms, he tossed it on the chair across from the sofa. “Kenya...you ate all this?” he questioned, tipping a glance to the plate then her stomach, then up her body to her hair atop her head.

She touched her hair, knowing she had her ‘I dream of Genie’ ponytail flopping around. Blinking she remembered he’d asked her a question. Stammering over her words, she said, “Huh…ah, no, my neighbor, Randall. You met him before. He made a plate. Jonathan, you don’t have to keep sending gifts and food.”

“I’m here so you can get to know me better. Or is there something between you and, your neighbor...Randall?”

“He's a good friend,” she defended. His eyes sparkled when she said that, a lurid red light district light. “He drops in from time to time.”

“Hmm...” he groaned and held an edge of male dominance around the edges. “You never tasted my stroganoff. I’d like to hear your opinion.” 

“You’re serious? Just dropping by to say…”She lost her train of thought catching the scene across the room Jonathan raising her glass of juice to his mouth, Adam's apple bobbing behind each thick swallow, until he lowered the glass licking the moisture from his bottom lip. Horrified she'd been staring, Kenya swallowed and crossed her arms over her quickly pebbling nipples under the thin tank top. His predatory smile held her captive. She forced the fog from her mind and complained, “Sure, help yourself to my drink too.”

He set the glass on the coffee table stepped over it and crossed the space to plant himself between her feet. His chest brushed her folded arms. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and her farther her head tipped back the lower his mouth came to hers. 

Why did she have so little restraint around this rascal? Because he smelled like a warm sunset no way to walk away from the glorious heat radiating down on her from his stare, that's why.

She gave in, allowed him to cradle her against the ripped plane of his chest. If she stepped back he'd see her hard nipples, she stayed and he said, “You look better,” tilting his face side to side, “and your complexion is warmer. Looks like you’re getting enough rest?”

A doctor now, big guy?

“I’m fine,” she assured him yet his bedside manner continued. Stunned by him placing the back of his hand to her forehead, she said, “Jonathan, honest, I'm fine. No need to continue checking up on me,” she urged to deaf ears. His gripped tightened on her waist, squeezing, flexing. Hands flat to his chest, she pressed him away until she could at least see him. “You know, there is a thing called personal space, Blakemore. I can hear you just fine from here.”

He slipped a hand into his pocket, gave an apologetic nod but didn't move back any farther. “Not going to work?” he questioned, eyeing her yoga pants and sweatshirt, making her more uncomfortable.

“I'm working a different shift this week.”

“I came to share my dinner; you never had a chance to eat in the penthouse.” He trailed his hand, moving up to her hair, threading fingers through her ponytail. “Cute, it suits you,” he said sweetly, eyeing it slipping through his fingers.

“This week I'm participating in a mentor shadowing program at work. It's sort of a protégé program, the CEO in marketing is my mentor. It's actually very informative.”

His brows rose before he brushed a finger over her nose so delicately it felt as if he’d kissed her. The tangy scent of the egg noodle’s rich sauce coiled under her nose with a hint of mint from his breath. His eyes held so many colors within the aluminum blue till she could make out shapes as if looking into a Monet where the colors where scrambled and slowly the real picture came into view...a sailboat on the ocean with a burning sunset in the background.

“Why don’t you let me take you out and we can listen to some jazz?”

Kenya felt his heart beat beneath her fingers gripping his sweater. Lord, she was clutching the poor man’s clothes. When had she even raised her hand? She unclenched her fingers, smoothing out the thick material. Even worse, his pecs were like stainless steel bowls turned upside down. She was going to be naked soon.

“Kenya…”

She blinked. “I can’t. I have an early meeting with another client. I've waited five months to be accepted into this program...I can’t show up tired and I’m not a big fan of jazz.”

Kenya’s breasts wanted to go because they stood up nice and perky when Jonathan’s fingers cupped her face. The green and blue cable knit sweater added multi-hues reflecting in his dark eyes. “Just give it a try. Hearing it live is a different experience. One hour, then I’ll have you back home and tuck you into bed myself,” he promised.

Fighting his offer would just prolong how long they’d be out and it was safer to be out in public then here in her home…alone.

“Nine, but no later, and we can skip the tucking in part, I'm a big girl.” She put force behind her words and hoped he didn’t comment.

“We’ll see,” he warned. It should have bothered her he'd made himself at home in her favorite chair in the living room...it should have...  

An hour later Kenya had slipped the navy dress back on, retrieved her shoes from her tote and slid them on. Brushing her hair back, a quick stop in front of the mirror she eased on her black headband padded out to the living room and let him lead her out to his car.

The man drove a Bentley. Who had she let into her world? Her private closed-off world. 

Stepping through a private room in The Pink Diamond, exclusive, private, upper crust all applied to this place. Jonathan braced his hand against her waist as they followed the host to a booth along the shadowed room’s richly paneled walls. Kenya tucked her purse in between her hip and the tufted cushion of the booth, feeling Jonathan slide in beside her. His arms in his lap surprised her as she was certain he’d put it around her shoulders.

The waiter took their order, came back, and set two icy Coke's on the table. Kenya slipped a straw into her drink and took a quick sip wetting her dry throat. The music started, Jonathan leaned into her shoulder threaded their fingers under the table and tugged her one hand into his lap.

She gave in, angled her body into his before he slid his hand over her hip and held her close. Crossing her leg brought his hand to move along her thigh. His light grip tickled her skin under the dress. Sultry music moved through the compact room. Lights dimmed gave way to each table’s gentle glow under one linen-shaded candle.

Saxophone and piano’s sultry vibe tied a sensual, twisted rope around their table. She dipped her head feeling something on her legs and found Jonathan’s fingers tapping out the rhythm against her leg his eyes intent on the band. He appeared to enjoy the music. It pleased her on a feminine level that her presence brought him comfort. 

“They have an amazing chocolate cake…”His voice, a soft whisper, crossed her lips with his face so close.  

“I’ll split one with you if you’re hungry.”

Jonathan tipped his head and ten minutes later a waiter placed a chocolate wedge surrounded by strawberry syrup drizzled over the edges.

“Open,” he said, lifting a fork full, and she couldn't refuse him when the sweet aroma flowed under her nose. She closed her lips around the fork, pulled the decadent dessert into her mouth, the fork sliding away from her lips. Jonathan's face lowering toward her mouth, mesmerized her with the tip of his tongue slowly licking out to swipe the strawberry syrup from her bottom lip, clearing away all evidence of the sticky dessert. He traced a finger across the seam of her mouth brought his face close enough for their noses to touch. Kenya missed his hand coming up between them cupping her chin tilting her face until his mouth found hers. The kiss; delicate, gentle, and unhurried, just the way she liked it. Their open eyes had to be the sexiest and most intimate way she'd ever been kissed and Jonathan was giving her his all. If this was an indication of other talents, put her name at the top of the list with a Sharpie. Squeezing her thighs together Kenya blushed as a soft pop hit the air when Jonathan released her bottom lip after sucking it as he sat back. Pressure shot through her sex making her squirm in her seat.