His mother had been just seventeen and fresh from a move to America from the Dominican Republic with her grandmother. She met and fell in love with Jeffrey Castillo, a young and handsome Afro-Cuban street dude whom she later found out to be more fabrication than truth and more lust than love. When she told him she was pregnant, he ended the relationship and began seeing another young woman who lived in the same Bronx apartment building as Esmerelda—something that caused her great pain and shame. In time, that relationship of his ended as well, and he soon moved out of their neighborhood. She never saw him again.
“¿Has perdonado a mi padre?” he asked of her forgiveness of his father, using Spanish to connect to the Latino heritage in them both—the mother he knew and the father he did not.
Esmerelda’s face became bitter. “For breaking my heart? Yes,” she said. “For breaking yours? Never.”
Chance came around the island to hug her petite frame to his side, pushing aside the pang of hurt he felt at the truth of her words. He’d never spoken of the hurt of not having a father in his life. The questions. The curiosity about him. The regrets. At times, the anger. “I’m good, Ma,” he reassured her.
“You are better than good, mi amada.”
My beloved.
Bzzzzzz.
His phone vibrated atop the island. He moved away from her to retrieve it as she turned back to the stove. Flipping it over, he looked down at the screen. Jackpot.
“I gotta take this,” he said to his mother, picking up the phone and padding barefoot across the tiled floor back to his office. “Hello, Ngozi.”
“Mr. Castillo, my staff has been attempting to reach out to you to set an appointment to come in and discuss the facts of the case you want to take to court,” she stressed, her tone formal and indicating clear annoyance.
He held the phone to his ear with one hand and massaged his bare chest with the other as he stood at the windows behind his desk and looked out at his pool. “I apologize for that. My schedule has been hectic. In fact, I’m in the middle of something right now but I didn’t want to miss your call.”
“Chance,” she said, in warning.
“Can we meet this evening? I know it’s last-minute, but I will be flying out of the country later tonight—”
“Chance,” she repeated slowly.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Where are you?”
He paused. Should I lie? No, never lie. “I’m home.”
“Do you have the information I requested?”
“Yup,” he said, eyeing the folder of information he’d had prepared for her the day after their first appointment.
“I’ll be there by seven to pick it up.”
Even better than his original plan to have her meet him at the airfield.
Click.
Whistling, he left his office and reentered the kitchen. “Ma, I appreciate the food,” he said.
“No problem,” she said. “I felt like some oxtails, and I like your kitchen better than mine.”
“Do you want to have it remodeled?” he asked, always wanting to spoil her.
“No, Chance, it’s a new house and I lied. I love my kitchen, but I love my son more,” she stressed, giving him a stern eye to let him know she meant it.
“How long before you’re done?” he asked with feigned nonchalance.
Esmerelda raised a brow and rolled her eyes. “A girl.”
“A woman,” he corrected with emphasis.
She shook her head. “You’re kicking me to the curb for some noony-knack,” she said, glancing back at him over her shoulder.
“I don’t think sending you home to your four-bedroom French Tudor is kicking you to the curb,” he drawled, crossing his strong arms over his chest.
“I could go get a mani-pedi at seven,” she said.
“Throw in a massage and be gone by six,” he bartered.
“Deal. No cash. I’ll charge it,” she assured him, patting her pocketbook.
“Same difference,” he said.
He gave her a weekly allowance, paid her monthly utility bills and gave her an unlimited credit card—that she refused to use without his permission.
“I’m glad you’re dating, Chance. You deserve to be loved again,” she said as she emptied a bowl of diced onions into a pan that soon sizzled.
He frowned deeply. “Love?” he scoffed. “No, I’m not looking for the lies of love again. You can forget about that. Helena taught me a lesson I will never forget. Trust no one. Nah.”
Esmerelda pointed the tip of the spatula at him. “You’re smarter than that. No one can live without love forever,” she said.
“Says the woman who has only loved one man in her life,” he rebutted.
Esmerelda looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a horn in the center of his handsome head. “Says the silly man who thinks his mama has only loved—or been loved—by one man in thirty years,” she said, widening her eyes at him as she released a short laugh. “Silly Chance.”
His mouth opened in shock.
“Just because you didn’t see it, baby boy, don’t mean it wasn’t going down, o-kay?” she said, her Spanish accent thick. “I wasn’t hot to trot, but I got me. O-kay? And that wasn’t any of your business. O-kay?”
Chance frowned, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I’m done with this conversation,” he said, tilting his head back to drain the last of the water in the bottle into his mouth.
“Yeah, I thought so.” Esmerelda chuckled. “Ain’t nothing dead on me.”
“Let yourself out, Mama. Love you,” he said over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.
“Bless his silly heart.”
Chance pushed aside thoughts of his mother having a sex life and made his way through the massive house, then jogged up the stairs to his master suite. Standing before the walls of his closet, he admitted to feeling excited at seeing Ngozi again as he selected an outfit.
You deserve to be loved again.
He paused.
He desired Ngozi. He liked her spunk and cleverness. Being around her made him feel good.
But love wasn’t in the equation.
Love—or what he thought was love—led to him being made a fool, and a public one at that.
“Nah, I’m good on that,” he said to himself, selecting an outfit. “A brother’s just trying to have fun with a beautiful lady. That’s it. That’s all.”
Right?
“Right,” he said, as if to reassure himself while he laid the clothes on his bed and made his way to his bathroom.
When he returned downstairs, fully dressed and subtly smelling of Creed Viking cologne, the scent of the stew permeated the lower level of the house. He headed to a large framed mirror on the wall beside the front doors, opening it to display the security monitors. He was scanning each room and both three-car garages to make sure his mother had taken leave when one of the monitors showed a red sports car pulling to a stop in front of the secured gate.
The driver’s side window lowered, and Ngozi sat behind the wheel with rose-gold aviator shades in place.
Chance smiled at the sight of her as she reached out and tapped the touch screen. Just beautiful.
His security system was automated, but he tapped the pad on its wall base anyway. “Come on in,” he said, watching as the gate slid open, and soon she was on her way up the short driveway to him.
He closed the mirror front and then checked his appearance in it, smoothing his beard and adjusting the lightweight V-neck silk sweater he wore with linen slacks. He pushed the sleeves midway up onto his forearms before opening the door and walking down the steps to his stone-paved courtyard.
She parked at an angle before climbing from the car.
With his hands pushed into the pockets of his pants, he watched her, loving the way her hair was pulled back into
a sleek ponytail that showed off her high cheekbones. The gray metallic sheath dress she wore fit her frame and complemented her shapely legs. The sun was just beginning to set, and the white uplight began to glow, casting a gleam against her deep brown complexion as she walked up to him. “Nice ride, Ms. Johns,” he said. “You sure you can handle it?”
Ngozi slid her shades on top of her head as she glanced back at her vehicle and then looked up at him. “I’m not giving you an opening for a double entendre,” she drawled.
He chuckled before giving her a smile. “Welcome to my home, Ngozi,” he said.
“And a beautiful home it is,” she said, looking around at the manicured lawn and the wrought iron accents on the French villa exterior.
“Would you like a tour?” he asked, surprised that her opinion mattered to him.
Ngozi crossed her arms over her small bosom and tapped one toe of her shoe against a stone paver. “Nope. I’m not falling for the banana in the tailpipe again, Eddie Murphy,” she said. “Over the last two weeks, you have been elusive. I have suggested meetings in every possible location except my office.”
Chance nodded.
“And yet, each and every time I have been unsuccessful,” she said, undoing her arms and splaying her hands. “Do you have the paperwork and the timeline of your relationship—including its demise—with Helena Guzman?”
“Yes,” he said, fighting hard not to smile because he knew her annoyance with him was genuine and understandable.
She clapped a few times and then clasped her hands together. “Thank you, Lord. Now...do you have it here?”
“Yes. It’s in my office.”
She arched a brow. “Here?” Ngozi stressed again.
“Yes.”
“Would have been so lovely if you had it in your hand to give to me right now, and send me on my way,” she said.
He reached down for her hand, clasping it with his own before turning to walk up the steps. “What fun would that be?” he asked.
She followed him up the stairs and into the house, but when they stepped inside the grand foyer, she eased her hand from his. “Wow,” she said, turning on her heels to look around at the elaborate metal chandelier and the towering height of the ceiling. “Nice.”
He watched her as she walked up to the sculptures of the nude figures. He didn’t miss when her mouth opened just a bit as she reached out to trace from one clavicle to the other on a few of the figures. Chance’s gut clenched at the subtle and seemingly innocent gesture.
Damn.
“This is a lot of house,” she said, glancing back at him as she withdrew her hand.
“Big house for a big man.”
Their eyes met.
His heart pounded.
She looked away with a lick of her lips as if they were suddenly parched. “The...the paperwork,” she reminded him gently, raising her hand to smooth the hair pulled up into her ponytail.
There were things Chance knew for sure, and other things he could only assume or guess—but his gut instinct rarely let him down. And there were two things he knew for sure over the time they’d spent together in the last two weeks. He desired Ngozi with an intensity that was distracting.
And Ngozi Johns wanted him just as badly.
The thought of striding up to her and pressing his lips against hers captured his attention at random moments throughout his day, and curiosity if her attitude in bed was as fierce as it was in court dominated his nights.
All of the telltale signs were there.
Long stares.
Little licks of her lips.
Catching her watching him.
Hunger in her eyes.
Moments where the will to resist him was seemingly weak.
But each time, she fought and won over her desire for him, leaving him disappointed and craving her even more.
But this chess game of desire between them was always her play. Her move. Her time.
Releasing a short breath that did nothing to quell the racing of his pulse, Chance pointed beyond the wrought iron stairs. “This way,” he said, clearing his throat and leading the way into the chef’s kitchen.
“Whatever that is smells so good,” she said, eyeing the stove as they passed the massive island. “Kudos to your chef.”
“My mom made oxtail stew,” he said, opening the door to the office and turning on the ceiling light.
“You live with your mom?” she asked from behind him.
Chance picked up the folder and looked at her in disbelief. “I am a grown-ass man,” he said as he handed it to her. “I live alone.”
She held up her hand as if to say my bad before taking it from him and flipping through it. “I have people on staff and couriers on call to pick up stuff like this, Mr. Castillo,” she said, chastising him.
He leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his legs at the ankles. “I enjoy your company, Ms. Johns,” he countered smoothly. Honestly.
Again, their eyes met.
That vibe between them pulsed, electrifying the air.
“I don’t mix business and pleasure, Chance, not with clients nor coworkers,” she said.
He wasn’t sure if she was schooling him or reminding herself about the line she had drawn in the sand.
He eyed her, finding himself unable to stop. His eyes dropped to her mouth.
“Show me your beautiful house,” Ngozi offered, turning from him to leave the office.
Her invitation to remain in his company both surprised and pleased him.
“You think I can get a to-go box of some of your mama’s stew?” she asked with a coquettish smile that brightened her eyes.
“Or you could stay and have dinner with me,” he offered, coming to a stop before where she leaned back against the island.
Ngozi swallowed hard as she looked up at him. “Chance,” she whispered softly, her eyes dropping to his mouth as she licked the corners of her own. “Come on, help me out.”
He put his hands on either side of her, leaning toward her, feeling drawn into her as he inhaled the warm scent of her perfume in the small and intimate space between them. “Help you what?”
He saw her tremble. It made him weak. That attraction—an awareness—throbbed between them. It was hard to resist. Passion. Chemistry. Electricity.
“Fight this,” she implored, her eyes soft and filling with the heat rising in her.
“Nah,” he drawled slowly and low in his throat as he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.
It was softness. Sweetness.
“Chance,” she sighed with just a little hint of aching in her tone.
He shook his head as he smiled and then pressed his lips against hers.
The tip of her clever tongue darted out to lick at the little dip in the center of his bottom lip.
He grunted in hot pleasure, feeling his entire body jolt with an unseen surge, a current. This power created by a connection between them had been stoked over the last two weeks, taunting and tempting them with a force that could not be ignored.
There was no woman he’d ever wanted so much in his life.
When she brought her quivering hands up to clutch at the front of his sweater, he followed her lead—her unspoken acceptance—and gripped her hips to pull their bodies close together as they deepened the kiss and gave in to the passion that could not be denied.
It started out slow, as if they were trying to savor every moment.
Chance brought his hands up to her back, massaging the small of it as he drew the tip of her tongue into his mouth and suckled it. She whimpered as she brought her hands up to hold the sides of his face.
He felt her hunger and matched it with his own, relinquishing control as he gently broke their kiss to press his mouth to her neck. He inhaled deeply of the warm scent of her perfum
e, and he enjoyed the feel of her racing pulse against his lips. And when he suckled that spot, she gasped and flung her head back.
“Yes,” she whispered hotly, her hands rising from his cheeks to the back of his head to press him closer.
Chance felt a wildness stir in him as he suckled her deeply, not caring if he left a mark as he brought his hands down to pull her body from the edge of the island and glide his hands to her buttocks. Cupping them. Massaging the softness. Loving the feel of his hardness pressed against her stomach as he ached for her.
“Ngozi,” he moaned against her neck, feeling lost in her. Her scent. Her presence. Her vibe. Her energy.
Her being. Her everything.
He grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up on top of the island as he undid the zipper on the back of her dress. Eased the top of her dress down, moved back to take in the sight of her small but plump breasts in the black strapless lace bra she wore before he quickly jerked off his sweater and flung it away.
Chance stood there between her open thighs with the skirt of her dress up around the top of her thighs, eyeing her. The hint of her lace bikini panties peeked out between her legs, with her chest slightly heaving as her hard nipples pressed against the barely there lace, her eyes glazed and the gloss on her swollen lips smudged from his kisses. He had never seen anything sexier.
Ngozi Johns was allure personified.
And when her eyes took in the sight of his chest and abs, and moved down to his hard curve tenting his linen pants, he saw both her appreciation and anticipation. Never had he wanted so much to live up to expectations.
One small move forward and she was back in his arms, her flesh against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck when their lips met again with one kiss and then a dozen more. Small but satisfying, and leading to more as he offered her his tongue and she touched it with her own with a hungry moan.
The sound of one shoe and then another hitting the floor echoed in the moments before Ngozi wrapped her legs around his waist. The heel of her foot dug into his buttock, and Chance couldn’t care less. He kissed a trail down her body until he lightly bit the edge of her bra to jerk it down below one breast with his teeth. The first stroke of his tongue against her nipple caused Ngozi to arch her back.
Tempting the Billionaire Page 6