As soon as she exited and closed the door, Ngozi dropped onto the long leather bench against the wall, letting her briefcase land on the floor as she pressed one hand to the side of her face and the other against her racing heart.
Chance. Chance. Chance.
Just when she had a nearly complete day without his invading her thoughts and creating a craving... BOOM! Nearly four months since their breakup and she was not over him.
Not yet.
Ngozi cleared her throat and stood with her briefcase in hand as she stiffened her back and notched her chin a bit higher, then made her way down the long length of the hall.
But I will be...one day.
I hope.
Chapter 10
One month later
Ngozi brought her swift run to an end as she came to Main Street of Passion Grove. She released puffs of air through pursed lips and checked her vitals and mileage via her Fitbit. She waved and smiled to those townspeople she knew as she continued to move her feet in place while she waited for her heart rate to gradually decline.
Feeling thirsty, she walked down the block toward the bakery, pausing a moment at the display in the window of the high-end boutique, Spree, that offered the latest trend in designer clothing. A beautiful silver beaded sheath dress with a short hem caught her eye, and she knew if she wasn’t still sweaty and hot from a run, she would have gone into the boutique to try it on. “Another time,” she promised herself, continuing on her way.
The large black metal bell sounded as she opened the door to La Boulangerie. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee and decadent sweets filled the air. There was a small line of customers awaiting treats in the pastry shop decorated like old-world Europe, with modern accents and brick walls. It was a warm Saturday in June, and the townspeople were out and about, milling around their small downtown area.
She checked incoming messages on her phone as she waited her turn. Soft hairs seemed to tickle her nape and she kept smoothing them with her free hand, also aware that she suddenly felt a nervousness that made her wonder if she’d caught a flu bug or something. When the hairs stood on end, she turned but didn’t recognize any of the people in line behind her.
“Welcome to La Boulangerie. How may I help you?”
Ngozi faced forward. Her eyes widened to see Alessandra’s cousin and her former client behind the counter. “Marisa, you work here?” she asked, her surprise clear.
Alessandra’s family, the Dalmounts, was a superrich family of prominence. She doubted her salary matched the weekly stipend Alessandra allotted her entire family, following the tradition her father had started when he was the head of the family.
Marisa, a beautiful young woman in her late twenties with a massive head full of natural curls that rested on her petite shoulders, smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve never had a job and I have to start somewhere,” she said, her voice soft and raspy as if she could bring true justice to a soulful song. Although Ngozi recalled that her deceased father was Mexican, there was no hint of a Spanish accent.
“That’s true, but I’m surprised Alessandra couldn’t get you something entry level at ADG,” Ngozi said, taking a small step back to eye the desserts on display in the glass case.
“I’m just starting to think a handout from your rich family isn’t the best way for me,” she said, sounding vague.
“Not many young women would feel that way,” Ngozi said, pushing aside her curiosity. “I’m proud of you,” she offered, feeling odd giving praise to a woman not far from her own age.
“Thanks,” Marisa said.
“Hey, Bill,” Ngozi said, smiling at the man with shoulder-length blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. As always, his black apron with Bill the Pâtissier embroidered on it was in place.
“Afternoon,” he said, his tone appreciative as he gave her a slow once-over in her pink form-fitting running gear.
Bill wants some chocolate in his life.
“Marisa, I’ll take a bottle of water and a fresh fruit cup for my walk home,” she said, politely ignoring his flirty look. She was used to it. Bill had long ago let his intentions be known, and she had always turned him down gently.
He just chuckled at her deflection before heading back to the rear of the bakery.
“Coming right up,” Marisa said, using the back of her hand to swipe away a long tendril that escaped from her top knot before pulling on gloves.
Ngozi was tempted to purchase a mini walnut Danish ring, able to tell it was packed with cinnamon sugar. She wasn’t ever going vegan, but she did try to fit in healthy eating when she could. Still...that Danish is looking like a treat.
“Let me get a walnut Danish ring, too,” she said, pulling her credit card from the zippered pocket on the sleeve of her running jacket.
Marisa gave her a knowing smile as she used tongs to slide the treat into a small brown paper bag with the bakery’s logo. She took the card and handed Ngozi her treats and a small foil packet with a wet wipe for her hands. Soon she returned with her receipt. “Thank you and come again,” she said.
“Bye, Marisa. I will,” Ngozi said, turning away with a smile.
She tucked the water bottle under her arm and the Danish in her pocket before opening the wet wipe packet to wipe her hands.
“Ngozi.”
Her body froze, but her heart raced a marathon, and those hairs on her nape stood on end. Now the nervous energy was familiar.
Chance.
Turning toward his voice, she spotted him sitting at a bistro table in the corner of the pastry shop with Alek. She hadn’t even noticed them there. Chance unbent his tall frame—his tall, well-proportioned, strong frame—and waved an inviting hand to an empty chair across from him.
Ngozi hesitated.
They had done so well avoiding each other for all these months. And now, just like that, out of the clear blue sky, here they were.
Fate?
Perhaps.
Finally, she moved toward him, and it was as if everything else in the bakery outside of her line of vision on him blurred. With every step that brought her closer to him, her nerves felt more and more frayed.
Alek tossed the last of his powdered doughnut into his mouth before wiping his hands with a napkin and rising. “Good to see you, Ngozi,” he said.
She just nodded, never taking her eyes off Chance.
Alek looked between his friend and his wife’s best friend before walking out of the pastry shop as if he knew his presence was suddenly forgotten.
Chance reached around her to pull the chair out.
“Still the gentleman,” she said, offering him a polite smile before she sat down and crossed one leg over the other.
“Of course, of course,” Chance said, offering her a charming smile as he sat back down.
Ngozi set her water and the plastic container of fruit on the table as she eyed how good he looked in a navy tracksuit with one of his dozen or so Patek watches on his wrist. “You look good, Chance,” she admitted, picking up the bottle to open and take a sip.
“So do you,” he said, eyeing her before shifting his gaze out the window of the storefront.
They both fell silent.
Then they spoke at once.
“Ngozi—”
“Chance—”
They laughed.
“Our goddaughter is growing up fast,” Ngozi said, searching for a neutral topic.
Chance nodded. “I got her a baby Lambo car. She’ll be driving around their courtyard in no time.”
“Only you would buy a baby a mini-Lambo,” she said. “Is it pink or bright red?”
His smile widened. “Fire red, of course.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
More silence.
So many questions were sitting on the tip of her tongue, ready to tumble out.
“You’re still running?” Chance asked.
Ngozi looked pensive. “Running from what?” she asked, instantly nervous an argument would ensue.
Chance shook his head. “No, I meant running. Exercising. Jogging,” he said, making back-and-forth motions with his fists as if he were running.
“Oh,” Ngozi said. “My bad. Yeah. I’m still running, addicted to the high of it. You?”
He nodded. “I did ten miles this morning,” he said.
“I did like five around the lake and then came here for a little snack before I head back to my house,” she said.
“Your house?” he asked.
Their eyes met.
Ngozi looked away first, opening the container to pop a grape into her mouth. “I moved out of my parents’,” she said, lifting the container toward him in offering.
He picked it up and poured a few grapes into his hand. “How is it?”
“The house?” she asked.
“Living alone for the first time.”
They shared another look.
“Necessary,” she admitted. “It was time to trust myself to be who and what I truly want to be. Right?”
Those were the words he had given to her that night they’d ended their relationship. She could tell he caught the reference instantly.
“I only wanted the best for you,” he explained.
Ngozi leaned forward to grasp his hand atop the table. “No, I’m not throwing shade. I needed to learn to want the best for me, too,” she said.
He looked down at their hands clasped together and stroked her thumb with his.
Ngozi shivered, feeling a rush she could only guess was like an addict getting their first hit of drugs after a long break of sobriety. Not wanting to stir up the desire for him for which she was still in recovery, Ngozi gently withdrew her hand.
* * *
Chance instantly felt the loss of her touch. He looked down at his empty hand for a few beats before closing it into a fist.
He hadn’t expected to run into Ngozi today. Even with sharing godparent duties for baby Aliyah and each of their best friends being married to each other, they hadn’t crossed paths. When she walked into the bakery, he’d watched her, but he wasn’t even sure he wanted to make his presence known to her. They had moved on from each other. Survived the breakup.
He was so intent on letting her go about her day that he never let Alek, who had his back to the door, know that she was there. But he never lost sight of her. Never took his attention off her. He couldn’t deny that he was pleased to see her again. And the jealousy sparked by Bill the Surfing Dude flirting with her could not be denied.
And when she reached for the door handle to leave, he had to stop her.
Now she pulled away from his touch.
“I saw they did a news story on your pro bono work,” he offered, shifting away from sensitive subjects.
Ngozi nodded. “Recently, I’ve been doing more of that, but I think it’s necessary. Not everyone is as privileged as we are to afford proper legal representation.”
“People forget I grew up in the hood, but I have never forgotten, and I remember young dudes getting locked up for small crimes but staying in jail for months or longer because no one could afford bail or owned property to put up as collateral,” he said.
“Maybe you could donate to help the underserved with that issue,” Ngozi offered, tearing the label off the water bottle. “I’m thinking of setting up a nonprofit to do just that.”
Nervous?
The thought that he still affected her made him anxious.
“Yes, or you could refer such cases to Second Chances, the nonprofit I’ve already set up to do that,” he said, remembering all of her urgings for him to give back more with his wealth.
Remember, to whom much is given, much is required, Chance. God didn’t bless you so that you can buy thousand-dollar burgers and million-dollar cars.
She looked taken aback. He gave her a wide smile, enjoying it. “Growth,” he pointed out.
“Right,” she agreed. “I will definitely send some referrals your way. Maybe I could talk to the partners about making an annual donation. It would be a good look for the firm.”
Chance looked around the busy little pastry shop to avoid getting lost in her deep eyes. “So, we’re teaming up?” he asked.
“For a noble cause? Definitely,” she said without hesitation.
His heart hammered, and he could hardly believe that this woman still had the power to weaken him at the knees. “And more?” he asked.
Now, that caused her to noticeably pause.
“You know what, forget it,” he said, shifting in his seat as he took a sip of the cup of Brazilian coffee he’d purchased. “You may have met someone.”
“I haven’t.”
He cut his eyes up at her over the rim of his black cup.
She didn’t look away.
Chance set the cup down as he wrestled with the myriad feelings now swirling inside him, creating their own little storm.
“Have you?” she asked, her voice soft.
He shook his head. “How could I? When I love you, Ngozi,” he confessed.
Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand that trembled.
“I dropped the lawsuit when I realized that not having you in my life hurt far more than losing a million damn dollars on a stupid wedding I shouldn’t be having anyway because she was not the love of my life,” he said with such passion, leaning forward to take her free hand in his.
“You are, Ngozi. You are the love of my life.”
Her grip tightened around his hand.
“I have tried to forget. Tried to move on. Tried not to dream about you. Tried like hell not to miss you. And until I saw you today, I convinced myself that I succeeded, but I didn’t,” he said, licking his suddenly dry mouth as his breaths quickened. He pressed a hand to his chest over his pounding heart, patting it. “You are in here. All of it. And I don’t know what to do but love you. To have you. To fight for you. To take care of you. To make love to you. To be happier than I have ever been...with you.”
Again, she tugged her hand, freeing it of his clasp as she rose, gathered her items and strode away.
His heart ached at her denial of his love. He clenched his jaw and curled his fingers into a fist to fight the regret that filled him as he watched her walk away from him. She tossed the water bottle and the fruit cup in the trash can before walking back over.
He stiffened his spine and cleared his throat, preparing for another of their epic arguments—those he did not miss. Especially in public.
“Let’s go,” Ngozi said, extending her hand.
His confusion showed on his face. “Where?”
“To my house, to show you just how much I love you, Chance Castillo,” she said with a sassy and tiny bite of her bottom lip.
His desire stirred in an instant.
As he grabbed his keys and took her hand to follow her, he was thankful that his heated blood didn’t rush to his groin and leave him to walk out of the shop with a noticeable hard-on.
* * *
They barely made it through the front door.
Ngozi gasped as Chance pressed her body against it with his, holding her face with his hands as he kissed her with unrelenting passion that left her breathless and panting. And when he lowered his body against hers, layering her with hot kisses to her neck and the soft cleavage he revealed as he unzipped her jacket, she spread her arms and foolishly tried to grasp the wood of the door, looking for something to cling to as her hunger for him sent her reeling.
With each press of his lips or lick of his tongue against her skin—the valley of her breasts in her lace sports bra, her navel, the soft skin just above the edge of her undies—she lost a bit of sanity.
And cared not one bit
.
* * *
Chance stripped her free of her clothing and her undergarments, leaving her naked and exposed to his eyes and his pleasure. And he enjoyed her long neck, rounded shoulders, long limbs, both pert breasts with large areolae surrounding her hard nipples and clean-shaven vulva with plump lips that only hinted at the pleasures it concealed.
With his hard and long erection pressing against the soft material of his pants, Chance hoisted Ngozi’s naked body against his and carried her the short distance to the stairs, laying her on the steps and then spreading her smooth thighs as he knelt between them.
“I’m sweaty,” she protested, pressing a hand to his forehead when he dipped his head above her core.
Chance looked up at her. “I don’t give a good goddamn,” he said low in his throat before brushing her hand away and dipping his head to lightly lick and then suck her warm fleshy bud.
He ached at the feel of it pulsing against his tongue, and when she cried out, arching her hips up off the steps as she shifted her hands to the back of his head, he sucked a little harder. Feeling heady from the scent and taste of her, Chance stroked inside her with his tongue.
“Chance,” she gasped, her thighs snapping closed on his shoulders as she tried to fight off the pleasure.
He shook his head, denying her, not caring if he pushed her over the brink into insanity as he pressed her legs back open and continued his passionate onslaught with a deep guttural moan.
“Please...please,” she gasped.
He raised his head, his eyes intense as he took in hers brimming with pleasure, and her mouth gaped in wonder. “Please what? Please stop or please make me come?” he asked, his words breezing across her moist flesh.
The sounds of her harsh breathing filled the air as she looked down at him. “Make me come,” she whispered. “Please.”
Chance smiled like a wolf as he lowered his head and circled her bud with his tongue before flicking the tip against the smooth flesh with rapid speed meant to tease, to titillate, to arouse and to make his woman go crashing headfirst into an explosive orgasm. He had to lock his arms around her thighs to keep her in place as she wrestled between enjoying the pleasure and being driven mad by it.
Tempting the Billionaire Page 15