On-Air Passion

by Lindsay Evans

  She ached for that caress.

  “Let’s go sell some romance.” Elle clapped her hands once and managed to dredge up a smile.

  For the rest of the evening, she kept to his side as he introduced her to his friends and colleagues in the activist, sports and celebrity communities. They joked with Ahmed and teased Elle for allowing a player like him to take her out. They all seemed to genuinely like him. By the end of the night, she’d passed out all her business cards and sent the website details for Romance Perfected to more than one smartphone.

  The only hiccup had come when the champagne-spilling girl in the red dress came up to Ahmed wearing a pout.

  She interrupted as he was reassuring a friend and former teammate that he would keep sending controversial tweets to stir up the haters and prod the people who were still deeply asleep instead of being “woke.”

  “Ahmed, baby.” The woman’s voice was much sweeter than when she’d talked to Elle. “I’d love to get your new number before I leave here. Like I said earlier, it’s been far too long and we should catch up.” She pressed close enough that her breasts pushed into his arm, and Elle had to clench her hands behind her back to stop herself from wrenching the woman away and dropping her on her fat ass in the middle of the ballroom.

  But Ahmed finished what he was saying to the ballplayer, not even turning to look at the woman when his friend just about dropped his eyeballs into the woman’s cleavage.

  “Christine.” There was no trace of warmth in his voice, merely polite interest. Barely. “There’s no ‘catching up’ that we need to do.” He jerked up his sleeve to look at his watch then briefly touched it. “Would you like a ride home?” he asked Elle.

  And Elle quickly swallowed to stop the immediate “yes” from flying out of her mouth. If he took her home, she wasn’t sure she’d want him to leave. Not until the morning anyway.

  Even with the Christine woman standing there, Elle couldn’t do it.

  “Thanks for offering,” she said instead. “But I have my car here.”

  Ahmed didn’t hide his disappointment. “Maybe next time.”

  “After your next date maybe?” his friend suggested with a teasing laugh, and Elle could’ve kissed him because Christine looked like she’d swallowed her tongue. Surprise was not an attractive look on her.

  All in all, the night was a success.

  But why did she feel like she’d badly failed when she walked into her empty house alone later that night?

  After turning on the living room light, Elle kicked off her shoes and sank into the softness of the sofa. With only the distant hum of the fridge and the purr of the air conditioner, the house felt far too empty. She picked up her phone to text Shaye but paused when she heard a key in the door.

  Sometimes she wondered why Shaye even kept her own house when she was over at Elle’s place so often.

  Moments later, her friend walked in, a smile, loose and relaxed, shaping her mouth, which had been wiped or most likely kissed clean of lipstick. Only the faintest trace of red remained on her slightly swollen-looking mouth. She dropped her purse onto the coffee table, ignoring it when the clasp popped open and the contents spilled over the freshly polished cedar surface. Shaye sat beside Elle.

  “I don’t know how you can do it,” Elle found herself grumbling, jealous suddenly, when she hadn’t been in all the years she and Shaye had known each other.

  “What?”

  “This.” She gestured to her loose-limbed contentedness, low-necked dress and the purse she’d thrown on the table with the condom packets spilling out.

  “Oh.” Shaye curved her lips into her favorite smile. Pleased and happily exhausted. “It’s just fun. Sex is easy. It’s the other stuff that’s hard.” She gave Elle’s cheek a lazy caress. “How did the rest of the party go? Did you and the basketball stud at least talk?” Shaye toed off her shoes and curled her legs under her, leaning back into the overstuffed sofa to give Elle her full, if sleepy-eyed, attention. “You’re already home and here alone, so I assume you didn’t rescue Ahmed from the pasture to give him the ride of his life?” She playfully waggled her eyebrows.

  Elle fought a blush as she remembered Ahmed talking to Christine. The way the woman had seemed so certain he would give her his number or at least promise to call her, only to have him ask Elle about needing a ride.

  “A princess should never drive herself anywhere,” he’d teased while walking her to her car. But even that comment didn’t dull the electric snap of attraction between them.

  “There was no riding happening anywhere near me tonight,” Elle said. Not that she didn’t want to, obviously.

  “Too bad.”

  “Yeah. Too bad…”

  “Do you really mean that?” Shaye’s voice was low, thoughtful.

  She rested her head on the back of the couch. Despite her sleepy gaze, she looked at Elle like she could see past all her issues to the very real need throbbing beneath her surface denials. “Do you really want that man?”

  Elle swallowed. She’d never hidden anything from Shaye. Not the good parts of herself and certainly not the bad. The sexual being inside her craved Ahmed Clark with an unfamiliar hunger that started low in her belly then radiated out until every part of her ached for his touch.

  “I do.”

  “Then take him, honey. You deserve pleasure.” Shaye was like the devil on her shoulder in the disguise of an angel, complete with heaven-tousled hair and wide eyes. Her slow wink was sly.

  Elle smiled at her in agreement.

  Chapter 11

  Ahmed strolled into the kitchen from the garage, keys jinglsing, and flipped the light switch to flood the space with light. He flinched from the sudden brightness, but that didn’t slow his footsteps to the fridge. He was starving. Nothing they’d served at the party had been enough to satisfy him.

  Nothing except Elle.

  And damn, how he wanted her.

  The hunger from that want growled in him, twisted tight in his belly and lower, leaving him constantly and achingly hard. All night at the party, he’d had to keep his hands in his pants pockets so he wouldn’t embarrass himself with his obvious lust. That lust tightened in him even more knowing Elle wanted him, too. It hadn’t been plainer than when she showed her jealousy over Christine.

  His mouth twisted in contempt at the thought of his greedy ex.

  Christine had had the nerve to walk up to him like she hadn’t tried to steal his money, trampling his pride and trust in the process. She’d been seductive and friendly, probably putting on a show for her latest victim, but instead of acting on the twin engines of fury and revulsion that nearly drove him to the opposite side of the room from her, Ahmed had stood still while she pawed him, acted like her presence didn’t make him want to warn every man in the room to check their wallets and bank accounts for theft. She belonged in jail. Or at least very far away from him.

  Ahmed took a piece of roast chicken from the fridge and sat down to eat at the breakfast bar.

  Christine’s presence had only briefly dimmed his fixation on Elle. Once he’d dismissed her and the overinflated ego she’d ridden in on, Elle was firmly back at the center of his attentions.

  He took a bite of a cold chicken leg and chewed slowly in contemplation, not quite ready to name Elle an obsession but very much aware she was close enough to it. And the hunger for her didn’t even feel like it was about sex. Well, at least not completely.

  Halfway through his late-night snack, Sam lurched into the kitchen looking only a few steps removed from death.

  “Where the hell have you been?” his cousin demanded, although his voice was thready and weak, barely above a whisper.

  Sam had been sucker punched by crippling migraines over the last few hours, trapped in his bed and unable to deal with even the weakest light or sound. It was good to see him upright again.

  “The coalition party downtown.” Ahmed pushed the platter of chicken toward the empty seat across from him that his cousin automati
cally took. “Remember?”

  “I remember telling you not to go without me.”

  “And I remember telling you I can take care of myself.” Sam had been in no condition to leave the shadowy darkness of his room much less shadow Ahmed to a party filled with bright lights, loud conversation and Ahmed making a fool of himself.

  Sam brooded across from him, his mouth drooping and the corners of his eyes tight from strain. Ahmed got up and turned the adjustable overhead lights to their lowest setting without leaving the kitchen completely in the dark. His cousin muttered his thanks then spread his fingers against the granite counter, staring at the slight tremor in them.

  “Christ…”

  Ahmed knew better than to ask Sam if he was okay. His cousin was double listed in the dictionary under stubborn and self-sufficient. PTSD and occasional migraines took their toll on him on an all-too-frequent basis, but he was determined to function as close to normal as possible. It had taken a near miracle to have him agree to live in the pool house, and he only did that because he insisted on paying Ahmed rent.

  Eventually, Sam got himself together to start scolding Ahmed again.

  “You don’t know what people will do.” Then he stopped and squinted at Ahmed, leaning close. “Did you see that woman? Elle Marshall?” Sam sat back on the stool. “Actually, you don’t even need to answer that. I can practically smell her all over you.”

  “Don’t be creepy, Sam.”

  “I can’t help it,” he said, his voice sounding stronger now that he had a cause to fight for. “It’s in my job description.”

  Technically, he had no job description except to keep Ahmed safe from outside threats; what Ahmed did to himself was entirely his own responsibility.

  “That wasn’t smart. You don’t know what or who is out there waiting for you—or me—to mess up.”

  “Like those reporters from the other day? That was just Clive being a manipulative bastard. After my date with Elle, they lost interest. I can’t speak for what’ll happen at the radio station tomorrow, though.” Once he was back on the air and Clive decided what other crazy stunt he was going to pull, who knew what the audience reaction would be?

  “So what happened with Princess Elle?” Sam asked.

  Ahmed shrugged and went back to eating his cold chicken. “I’m sure you already have some idea, since your sense of smell is working so well.”

  “You slept with her? Already?”

  “No!” Although he would’ve been doing that right now if not for Elle’s good sense. He finished chewing and swallowed the small bite. “She told me no.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad one of you is thinking clearly. You don’t need to get involved with someone we haven’t vetted.”

  Ahmed froze. “Are you for real? Weren’t you the one telling me to give a chance and be nicer to her? Where was all this coming from?”

  “Being nice doesn’t mean having sex with her. Every other day, you act like you’re the one of us with PTSD when a pretty woman comes near. You grab your wallet like she’s going to take you for everything you’ve got.”

  Even though his cousin was exaggerating, Sam reminded Ahmed of the reasons he didn’t get involved with women whose agenda he wasn’t sure of up-front. He’d gotten hurt in the past not checking things out and only had himself to blame for being so damn naive. But he wasn’t a rookie ballplayer anymore. He didn’t have that excuse.

  He liked Elle, though. She was firmly under his skin. One date and two unplanned encounters later, he was already thinking of when he could see her again. And just how far they would take their…acquaintance.

  Their flirtation was electric, and despite her reluctance to fall into the nearest available bed with him, he knew she wanted the same thing he did—her gasping his name, writhing beneath him in a bedroom thick with the smell of sex and impending satisfaction.

  But Sam was right. Ahmed couldn’t be irresponsible about this. Seeing Christine again made that point all too clear.

  “Fine,” Ahmed said. “Do what you need to, but don’t invade Elle’s privacy.” Was that even possible given the means Sam had at his disposal?

  “Cool.” Sam’s face settled into lines of calm now that he had a purpose, the signs of strain and discomfort nearly erased.

  “And don’t break any laws while you’re at it,” Ahmed muttered.

  Sam gave a mock salute, a much more restrained one than usual, before slipping quietly from the kitchen.

  With his cousin gone, Ahmed reached for his food again, but his phone vibrated on the countertop, loud and insistent, before he could put anything in his mouth.

  “Hello?” A soft breath came at him through the line. He glanced down at the caller ID. “Elle?”

  “I…I want to see you,” she said.

  And just like that, he was back in his fantasy of her in his bed, straining toward her pleasure under him. She breathed into the phone again, a soft and trembling noise that rushed any remaining blood above his shoulders fully south.

  “Come to my house.” His hand clenched into a fist near the forgotten platter of food, a useless effort to stem the tide of lust rolling through him. “Can you?”

  “What’s your address?”

  Ahmed breathed deeply, evenly. When he could speak again, he gave her the address and the code to get through the gate.

  “I’ll meet you at my front door,” he said, quickly thinking about the journey she would have to take up the winding drive to the mansion, the circular driveway, the marble steps.

  “In an hour,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  After he hung up, he didn’t know what to do with himself. The conversation replayed itself in his mind, her tone of voice, the excitement galloping through his veins. Ahmed took a breath then another until he was as close to calm as he was going to get. He hadn’t felt this worked up about a woman since he was a teenager. Damn, maybe never.

  What was the big deal, though? It was a hookup. Nothing he hadn’t done before.

  Except he’d never invited a woman to his home before, not for sex. And certainly never someone like Elle.

  Before the hour was up, he took a shower, made sure his family stayed as far away as possible by sending a few subtle texts and making a couple of calls. When Elle rang the doorbell, he was already back in the kitchen, nervously tabbing between his social media pages on his phone.

  He wiped his slightly damp palms on his thighs before opening the door.

  “Hey,” he muttered like an idiot and stared.

  Elle had changed from the sexy little black dress into something less formal—another dress, a pale pink thing that shimmered against her chestnut skin and reminded him of the morning they first met. The dress flared out around her slender thighs and hips, the high waist drawing attention to her subtly hourglass shape and the curve of her small breasts under the close-fitting fabric. She was absolutely gorgeous, but that wasn’t why he stared. Elle carried a small bunch of red and white tulips.

  This was different. “Are those for me?” Ahmed asked with a grin.

  “Yeah. I figured this would feel less like a typical booty call if one of us brought flowers. Since I’m the one coming to your house, it might as well be me.” She thrust the flowers at him, a shy smile curving her lips.

  “They’re nice.” Ahmed damn near didn’t know what to say. This was the first time a woman, or anyone, had brought him flowers. The bright red-and-white blooms were nice, but the gesture was even more so.

  “I have to admit—” she said with the flowers still held out “—I feel a little silly with them.”

  Ahmed grasped her hand with the flowers but didn’t take the blooms from her.

  “Women with flowers are never silly.” And he brought her hand, flowers and all, to his lips. He kissed her knuckles. One by one.

  The softest of sighs left her mouth, and she whispered his name. Her inhibited response took him by surprise and sparked an answering warmth deep in his belly.

  H
e kept going. Kissing her fingers, the smell of the flowers took over his senses, the stems firm under the brush of his fingers and the petals velvety when they touched his cheek. Her skin was just as soft, faintly salty and incredibly addictive. Ahmed kissed the back of her hand, her wrist. Elle sighed again and the sound went straight to his groin.

  Damn, she was sexy.

  He took her other hand, kissed its palm and sucked one of her fingers into his mouth. She gasped again, and she dropped the flowers, the faint sound of them tumbling to the floor like a dress falling from soft shoulders. He groaned and sucked her finger deeper, watched from beneath his lashes as her lips fell open on a whimpering moan. She stumbled back, but the wall stopped her fall, and Ahmed followed with his body, still sucking and kissing her finger, which smelled like flowers.

  “What are you doing?” She breathed the question, her voice barely audible.

  “Giving you a proper welcome to my home.”

  Elle licked her lips, her lashes low over lust-glazed eyes. “I think—” Then she gasped when he nipped the center of her palm with his teeth.

  “Yes?” He teased her, although he was far gone himself, desperate enough to have her that the bulge in his pants was damn near obscene.

  Breathless, Elle tried again. “Someone might…might come.” And the sound of her broken voice made Ahmed want to wreck her even more.

  “Hopefully, it’ll be one of us.” And he sank to his knees.

  He’d never been so grateful for a dress in his life. Ahmed pressed his face into her lap, searching for the scent of her arousal through the layers of cotton, and found it. He shuddered and mouthed at the material over her lap.

  “I want to taste you,” he growled, hands already diving under her dress to get at what he suddenly craved.

  He tugged at her panties, pulled them off and stuffed them into his pants pocket. The smell of her was strong in the room, an earthy scent that made his mouth water.

  “Can I put my mouth on you?”

  “Yes,” she gasped softly, her head dropping back against the wall with a soft thud.