You Called Me-ARE and Apple epub (9 page)

“I guess I should have asked if you like strawberry syrup first,” he teased and she caught the flush up his neck. She'd affected him just as much. Good.

This guy’s gonna have her sprawled out over this seat soon. “Strawberry is fine…slow down, Blakemore.” He moved faster than she could process.

“I don't come speed dial equipped, Kenya. If you don't like something I do, tell me not to do it…simple.”

“Fair enough,” she said, her internal heat rising under his attention. Bringing the fork down on the silken wedge of chocolate, the middle separated, Jonathan’s warm hand covered her hand around the handle seconds before fudge oozed from the center. She sucked in a breath. Jonathan ran a finger through the decadent pudding, held his finger up, slipping his lips around it, sucking the digit clean. Certain he would’ve placed it on her lips, she frowned.

A sinister gleam filled those wild eyes. “You wanted that?” He teased her again, and she bit her lip, suppressing the urge to lean in and suck the swipe of chocolate off with her tongue over that delicious lip. “Would you care for a lick, Kenya?” he offered, dipping his finger in the pudding, dragging the fudge sauce over the spongy cake, and swirling it through the pink strawberry glaze.

Her legs uncrossed from the building pressure.” No, the cake is fine.” Liar, liar, liar. She wanted him to smear it over his chest, so she could climb over the seat, straddle his lap, and lick him from top to bottom.
Relax, you just told him to slow down, your automatic good girl default response.

“Taste it for me then,” he suggested, scooping a fork full of cake. She opened her mouth, leaned in, and accepted the cake. He’d plucked it from the fork and dipped it in the fudgy sauce, holding it between his two fingers. When she leaned back he licked the residual chocolate covering the pad of his finger, setting those aluminum blue eyes caressing her lips along with the chocolate. She could feel her body begin to ooze like the fudge slipping from the cake’s center.

She raised a hand over her mouth certain she had chocolate on her teeth, “That’s indecent,” she said looking around licking her lips hoping no one heard her moan. “Who makes a cake that rich?”

“You should always have the best,” he told her, and it held a promise that he’d make certain he’d be the one to give it to her. The restaurant’s dark space offered a variety of opportunities for her not to be good much longer. Wanting to kiss this guy, she ignored the pulse of arousal between her legs. This guy is trouble.

Kenya licked her lips absently under the glow of candle light. The music played in her hair slipping down her neck to her ears, while Jonathan played with her mouth, teasing her with forkfuls of the rich cake. Her one hand's fingers threaded through his in his lap. Pushing the plate away, he closed his eyes and angled his head back until he rested against her shoulder, listening to the music.

Was this guy real? When the music stopped and the lights came up Kenya, found that she’d leaned against him as well, relaxing under the gentle music.

“Ready to go, pretty lady?” he asked.

Kenya caught a glance of his watch, seven forty-five. The man stuck to his word of one hour.” Sure,” she said, holding her hem as she scooted from the booth, Accepting Jonathan's hand, their fingers weaved together. They left the restaurant.

Inside the Bentley, she touched Jonathan's hand, bringing his attention to her. “I wanted to offer my condolences on your young friend...the one you said you'd just buried that day...” she offered gently and flexed her fingers over his, and continued, “was he terminal?”

The moment held swollen in the air as Jonathan's face fought to remain expressionless. She reached out to touch his face, could see he fought something, and pulled her hand back. 

“Suicide,” his voice trailed off along with his attention out through the windshield. He stared at nothing through the throng of cars as if waiting for approval to finish the sobering tale. “He blamed himself for his parent's divorce,” he said. She caught the tightness in his jaw under the parking lot light streaming through the car's window. He turned those eyes on her across the cabin of the car and her body reacted on impulse threading their fingers together. She held their hands pressed to her heart, allowed him a moment he probably hadn't given into on his own to mourn his friend. That chiseled jaw had held firm under the obvious pain he hid in his heart. She'd offered the only thing she had…quiet. He stared out the window over the car’s hood, not looking at anything in particular, just staring. Quiet pressed at the windows, over her face, down on her feet leaving no surface untouched by the anguish in Jonathan's body. When he turned those eyes on her the glassy glitter disappeared and his clear blue fire lit his face.   

She said, her voice patient, “I'm so sorry, Jonathan. Were you close to ...” She waited patiently for him to fill in a name. 

“Jeffrey…a good kid...liked drawing dragons,” his voice a calm, laced in memories of his young friend. She squeezed his fingers beneath hers and waited for him to continue. Jonathan’s shoulders relaxed. “The kid had talent, just needed direction.” He paused ran a finger over the steering wheel before turning to face her eyes pained and said, “A serious loss.”

She turned fully toward him reaching across the space and brought his face to hers. A hint of stubble rasped her lips as she brushed a kiss over his jaw, then whispered in his ear, “You're a good man.”

The rest of the ride through the dark night held silent. Kenya could see that's what he needed, quiet. Who was this man with the big heart and cold eyes...until he set them on her and then they transformed into blue fire?

In her building, crossing the hall from the elevator, Kenya pulled out her keys Jonathan standing beside her, hands in his wool dress coats pockets. Stepping in, she turned expecting him to follow her into the apartment. Instead, he rested along the doorjamb; ankle crossed the same way he was when they met in his bedroom.

“Get some rest, pretty lady.”

She hung her purse from the coat hook next to the door on the wall. “I liked the music. Not normally, a fan of jazz but that was nice. You want anything before you leave? Coffee or something? It’s only eight. I don’t want to seem inhospitable.”

“I promised an hour.” He nodded toward her kitchen counter. “Better put that flower in some water.”

She stepped to the counter and picked up the rose he’d brought in when he first came by. “The florist must love to see you coming. All the flowers were beautiful, Jonathan. The pj’s are sweet and thank you for replacing my stockings.” Dropping the bud in a tall glass, she stepped into the doorway, not expecting him to grab her coat, and pull her to him until they were a breath away from one another. Minty breath greeted her. When had he popped a mint?

“Come by the penthouse when you get off work tomorrow. We’ll order some dinner.” Then his mouth rubbed gently over hers. Did he just announce they were dating now?

She cupped his elbows keeping her body from pressing into his. She said, “I can’t. I’m going shopping with my mother and aunt tomorrow. It’s a monthly thing we do.”

“Family is important,” he said, unbuttoning her coat and pushing it down her sleeves. This man breathed charm. Reaching past her, he slipped her coat onto the hook inside the door along the wall. “I want to see you again before the weekend.”

“I’ll call you if something changes.”

“You just brushed me off, Kenya?” he asked more of a statement.

“No, I have other plans. If I had plans with you and someone invited me out, they would get the same answer. I have other plans.”

He said, “Honesty, very attractive quality.” Her lids closed behind Jonathan’s knuckles, brushing down her cheek, and found she’d leaned into his hand cupping her face.

“Call me when you’re done with whatever came up with your cousin. We can do something next week if our schedules mesh.”

Kenya found her back covered by Jonathan’s hands. His kiss was real, deep, and hungry this time. Tasting, licking, caressing her tongue. Jonathan pressed his body into hers, the length of him more than impressive jabbed her along the stomach beneath the dress. Melting as his hands cupped and massaged the nape of her neck. His mouth sent shivers to her toes. Kenya ground her hips along the hard plain of his body, heard herself moan. 

Jonathan angled away, smiling, his hand covering her behind. She removed his hand from her butt. The guy took liberties like she had them fanned out over the counter with a sign reading,
Free Feels, Cop One
.

He chucked her chin, then said, “Night, pretty lady.”

She caught herself along the door, breathing in his cologne still in the air and rubbed a hand over her face. He stood in front of the stainless steel doors of the elevator, tucking the scarf around his neck, popping the wool coats collar he winked over his shoulder before his back slipped behind the elevator doors. 

Inside her apartment, she hurriedly took a shower, lotion on everyplace that could ash up, and tied her hair in a scarf. She slipped on the silky pj’s, stuck the stockings in her top drawer then padded out to the living room. Sitting at the counter, she sniffed the one white rose.

Jonathan Blakemore was going to be trouble. 

Kenya parked her car then jumped out to jog across Pier One’s parking lot. Inside the picture played out the same each month. Her mother and aunt milling around the candles, sniffing each one before dropping them into the little wire baskets. Kenya just stared at them. Every month they'd smell the same four candles, never trying something new. You’d never know they purchase the same one’s every time. Shaking her head, she crossed the space touching the beaded pillows as she passed the upholstered chair.

The smiling salesperson greeted her and dipped her head knowing who Kenya looked for. They shared a grin and the woman walked off.

“Hey, Momma, Auntie,” she greeted, embracing each one.

Her aunt held a votive candle immediately to Kenya’s face. “Kenya, smell this. Your mother says it smells like a man.”

She leaned in took a sniff, blinking back a grin. “That smells like a man, Auntie…musky.”

“Something’s wrong with your noses. This doesn’t smell like a man.”

“It’s a man’s scent. The fact that you can’t stop sniffing it is your first clue,” she said, angling her Aunts hand with the candle away from her nose. “Clue number two, there’s only three left on the shelf.”

“It hasn’t been that long since I’ve smelled a man, young lady.”

Waggling her brows, she loved teasing her aunt. Twelve years younger than her mother, her aunt became more of a sister. They were closer than Morgan or Michael had been. “Want me to ask if they have more in the back? You can get one of those burners drop a candle, then throw on some Maxwell and call it a night.”

Kenya smirked fisting her hip.

“If I hit you in a public place how much time would I do…’Cause I can handle three to five, smart mouth.”

Kenya leaned in kissed her aunt’s cheek and slid the three candles from the shelf into her basket. She whispered scrunching up her nose, “Get your toes done because they wear flip-flops in prison and orange—sadly—is not your color.”

“Three to five,” her aunt taunted, stepping back hands in the air. “I’m retired on a medical, got nothing to lose. Come on!”

Kenya’s mother walked away mumbling, “You two gonna get us put outta here. It’s a wonder they even let us through the doors anymore.” Kenya and her aunt laughed out loud as her mother rounded the corner.  

She’d craved this relationship between her and Morgan, not the department she’d turned into since Kenya had started high school.

Kenya followed her mother to the next isle. “Momma, how’s daddy?”

“You two need to quit. “Her mother paused, gave them the shame stare, one brow two days higher on her face than the other and made that tsk sound. “Your daddy’s getting better, slowly.”

“He still got that dry cough?”

“Not as bad right now, but he’s exercising, trying to get into golf. Went to the indoor course on five mile and says his swing is getting better.”

“Right…okay…”Kenya eyed the floor in a sarcastic glance. “Long as it makes him happy, I’m all for it.”

“I saw that, Kenya Marie Claiborne,” her mother warned. “Next week I’ll tell him you volunteered to go play and put out his purple and red plaid pants with the green sweater.” Kenya’s jaw went slack and her aunt’s eyes widened.

Kenya put her arm around her mother, pulling her close kissing her face. Profusely apologizing praying she never saw the plaid pants. She said, “At least golf is physical and he’s not sitting around getting stiff all winter.”

Her mother said eyeing her sideways, “We're gonna get the Florida room insulated so he can sit out there when the weather turns cold. Doctor said, because he had bronchitis at his age, he needs to be careful of drafty spaces. Air settling in his lungs will have him back in the hospital with pneumonia.”

“Well if you need help with any money…”she started and her mother cut her off with a wave of her hand.

“Keep your money, sweetheart. You’re always the first to offer,” she complimented. “Your dad and I are fine. I just don’t want to open the walls up in the winter and take a chance on him getting sick. We can wait until the spring.”

“Good, but let me know if you need anything.”

Her mother stroked her face. “Whatever happened with that promotion at work you talked about?” her mother asked.

“I’m in the running if I get my volunteering hours up. It has to be satisfied in two weeks for me to be eligible.”

“That’s not fair to tell you with so much short notice,” her aunt admitted.

“I’ve known for a month.”

“Kenya Claiborne, that’s not like you.”

“Okay, scenario...hypothetical. You meet a man and he asks you to go away for the weekend to help chaperone some kids on a field trip. Do you go?”

“Were you raised by gypsies?” her aunt gritted out between clinched teeth, hands fisted on her generous hips. “He’s a stranger. You could be killed or worse.”