by Zuri Day
“You know I love you, Nicki. Feels like I always have, like, since the beginning of time. When I said no just now, it was because of being the type of man I am—maybe it’s that Drake thing. I know you’re independent. That it’s the twenty-first century and traditions have changed. But I couldn’t let you play my position. Sweetheart...”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out an aqua-blue box.
“You’re the very beat of my heart, the lulu of my life. And while you may have many others in your long and illustrious dance career, I want to be your one and only permanent dance partner.”
Several women in the audience joined Nicki in wiping away tears.
“I asked you once. If necessary, I’d ask a thousand times. But I hope that tonight, I’ll get the right answer.”
He got down on one knee. The audience could barely contain themselves, a symphony of whistles, claps, murmurs and shushes providing the background music to Julian’s declaration.
He raised his voice above the din. “Nicki Long—”
“Yes!”
“Will you do me the honor—”
“Yes!” Nicki screamed again, now laughing and crying at the same time.
Julian smiled broadly. “Let me finish, love. Will you make me the happiest man in the room by agreeing to marry me and to becoming my Mrs. Drake?”
“Yes!” Nicki shouted for a third time.
Jennifer whooped. The dancers jumped. Nicki grabbed the microphone, shouted louder.
“Yes, Dr. Julian Drake. I’ll marry you!”
There was no mistaking her words this time. She’d shouted them through tears before throwing her arms around his neck and planting a whopper of a kiss smack-dab on his lips. Jennifer cried, too, and dabbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. Julian pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Nicki’s tears before handing it to Jennifer.
The crowd applauding, the dancers cheering, he took Nicki into his arms.
“I almost passed out when you said no,” she whispered.
“I shouldn’t have scared you.” He wrapped her arms around his neck. “I just wanted to secure you.”
She kissed him again. He parted his lips. Her tongue scorched his mouth. His tongue darted out in search of hers, created an oral tango worthy of any stage. He felt himself harden—Nicki’s nipples, too. Nicki giggled, embarrassed. He knew that she felt him. Knew they needed to maintain the position until both calmed down. He handed his mother the mike.
“Now that’s a finale,” Jennifer exclaimed. “Thanks again, everyone. Good night!”
She walked off the stage. The dancers, too. The audience slowly filed out of the auditorium. Nicki and Julian remained where they were, two hearts beating as one for several minutes. They basked in the moment, in no hurry to leave. It had taken almost six years and two tries to get this commitment. For Julian, this lifetime dance of decadent desire had been more than worth the wait.
Backstage was a crush. Nicki smiled until her face felt frozen. Posed, shook hands and gave hugs across the room. Finally she made her way to the dressing room, where in the privacy of the room filled with flowers she spent ten glorious minutes with Julian.
“Baby, I need to shower and dress real quick. We’ve still got the private party, remember?”
Julian tightened his hold, pulled her even closer. “I’m enjoying the private party we’re having right now.”
Fifteen minutes later, they left the building through a side door. Nicki shivered against the chilly night air and wrapped her coat even tighter around her.
Julian noticed and placed his arm around her. “You want to wait inside while I go get the car?”
“How far away is it?”
“Just down the street. But your head isn’t covered, and I don’t want you to get sick.”
“I grew up in cold weather, babe. Let’s just hurry. I’ll be fine.”
She threaded her arm through his as they rounded the building and, once on the sidewalk, picked up the pace.
“Nicki!”
She stopped abruptly at the sound of her name. She shivered again, this time not from the cold. But from recognizing the voice of who’d called out to her. A quick glance around confirmed the fear. Vince.
“Let’s keep walking.” She urged Julian forward.
Vince called out again. “Nicki, wait.”
He stopped. “Babe, who is that?” She looked at him, aware as the answer dawned in his eyes. “Wait here.”
He turned and began walking swiftly toward Vince, his hands balled into fists.
“Julian!”
Vince held up his hands, began a fast retreat. “Hey, man. I don’t want any trouble. Just need to apologize to Nicki, that’s all.”
Julian stopped with a couple of feet between them. Nicki reached his side and grabbed his coat sleeve. Tension emanated from Julian’s body. Coiled, controlled, ready to pounce.
She glared at Vince as he began to speak.
“I’m sorry, Nicki. About everything. Hopefully one day you’ll be able to forgive me. I had a problem back then that had me out of control. It’s no excuse, but I was addicted. To gambling. A habit worse than drugs. One I couldn’t control. Ironically, you played a part in my healing. Ran into this girl on my way out of town, out of Paradise Cove. I’d hit bottom. A weak moment. Poured out my heart. She suggested a program called Gamblers Anonymous. I looked it up and found one here. So instead of going back to New York, I stayed out West. Got well. Now I hear she’s in trouble. Anyway, that’s a whole other story.”
“You ran into Natalie?” Julian asked.
“I ran into Ashley, who introduced me to Nat. Do you know her? Never mind. I forgot. Small town.”
Nicki shivered again.
Julian reached for her hand. “Let’s go, babe.”
She looked at Vince. “I forgive you, okay? And I’m glad you got help.”
“Thank you.” And to Julian. “I’m sorry, man.”
Julian nodded. They turned and hurried to the car, Nicki easily matching Julian’s long strides. She never looked back. There was no need. The only man she wanted was walking beside her.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this sexy story, pick up these other titles in Zuri Day’s THE DRAKES OF CALIFORNIA series:
CRYSTAL CARESS
SILKEN EMBRACE
SAPPHIRE ATTRACTION
LAVISH LOVING
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Keep reading for an excerpt from A TIARA UNDER THE TREE by Carolyn Hector.
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A Tiara Under the Tree
by Carolyn Hector
Chapter 1
Death by chocolate. Waverly Leverve licked the dark, shiny ganache off her fingertip until she cleaned her finger down to her chipped French manicure. Biting her bottom lip, Waverly glanced over the double cupcakes standing proudly on the crisp white china plate and settled on a Slow Torture Southern Peach Cobbler Cupcake.
For the last week Waverly had tried to wallow in self-pity and fatty foods. Why not? Any career as the future Miss Georgia and eventually Miss USA disappeared the moment officials forced her to give up her Miss South Georgia crown. So what if she’d colorfully told off a reporter? The journalist deserved her outburst. He’d propositioned her, assuming she was a naive pageant girl and when Waverly reacted, no one wanted to hear her side. He was the one with the recording. In hindsight, Waverly’s idea wasn’t a bright one, to tell a mic-ed reporter that the pageant establishment did not offer her enough money to sit around and smile in his face. There were a few f words dropped, along with her telling the man to self-fornicate. She should have just explained she was tired. Now here she sat in a bakery, shoveling carbs into her body.
The pink bejeweled cell phone rattled against the silver two-top table in the corner of The Cupcakery. Waverly flipped the gadget over and blinked back at the turquoise-blue screen and fat black letters.
You can’t drown yourself in food.
“Want to bet?” Waverly asked the phone. Her snarky response garnered the attention of the pretty cashier at the counter.
“Did you say something?” Tiffani asked her question from behind the register. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the arched glass protecting the cupcake display and shining against Tiffani’s face in a golden glow.
Waverly shook her head. Tendrils falling from her messy bun tickled the back of her neck. “I’m just talking to my cell.”
“Is that one of those phones you can see the person you’re talking to on?”
It was, but these days Waverly turned the feature off. The only person calling her was her mother. Jillian Leverve hated the idea of her daughter having to give up her tiara for the antics provoked by an angry journalist, but in the end she hated even more the derailed plans for the highest crown the two of them had dreamed of ever since Waverly walked in her first toddler pageant.
“Not this time, Tiffani,” Waverly said.
“You think after you finish we can work on my pageant wave and walk?”
Another ding sounded and Waverly’s phone lit up. Waverly expected a motivational quote from her tiara squad, her group of friends who understood the pageant life. Waverly picked a peach from her cupcake and savored the fruit while she read her text.
Remember, someone once said good girls seldom make history... Come and be a contestant in the pageant. The ladies are just gathering tonight. You won’t miss a thing.
Waverly responded with two letters. N-o.
At least come to the pageant and help if you insist on not participating...
And be around other people achieving what she’d failed? No, thanks. She scoffed to herself. Waverly turned her frown into a smile and grinned at the cashier. The last person she wanted to piss off was the only person not judging her for the dethroning ceremony: the cashier who supplied her with cupcakes. “Sounds like a plan to me,” said Waverly to herself.
Wallowing in her self-pity, Waverly cleared the text with her frosting-covered finger and took another glance at the latest meme. This one today captured Waverly’s ugly-cry face as she tearfully handed over her sparkly Miss South Georgia crown. The meme in question superimposed her body onto a basketball court. While her hands were on her crown, the star basketball player on the court blocked her crown as if it was a basketball.
Part of the deal for becoming Miss Georgia meant a contestant needed to maintain residency in the state for six months. Six weeks into laying her foundation and all hell broke loose. Instead of going home to her mother’s in Florida, Waverly sought refuge in the town of Southwood, Georgia, a small town just above the Florida border. Well, hell, since her dreams were placed on hold, why not give a few pointers for this weekend’s big pageant?
“Are you sure you don’t want to try out?” asked Tiffani. “Don’t you need the Miss Southwood title more than me?”
If only... Waverly thought with a frown. Talk about a conflict of interest. The sender of the recent texts was not just Lexi Pendergrass Reyes, but the Lexi Pendergrass Reyes, hostess of the Miss Southwood Beauty Pageant. The former beauty queen had herself survived vicious pageant rumors back in her reign surrounding a particularly revealing low-cut dress she designed combined with an inappropriate relationship with a pageant dad, and ended up with the last laugh.
In order to win a pageant, a contestant needed one of two things: a dress from Lexi’s store, Grits and Glam Gowns, or Lexi as a pageant coach. Lexi had coached Waverly when she first started out in pageants, and Waverly wore several of Lexi’s gowns. Any girl wearing a Lexi design won her title. But there would be too many things wrong with Waverly entering Lexi’s pageant. They were close personal friends, she didn’t have a dress and having been dropped by the pageant committee for Miss South Georgia, she had no sponsor—hence her factors hindering her road to the bigger title.
Depressed even more, Waverly picked up her fork and began digging into the Slow Torture Southern dessert. Chunks of vibrant, orange-tinted peaches clung to the sweet interior of the cupcake. The sweetness of the buttery frosting melted against her tongue.
“Hey, you know what?” Tiffani exclaimed with a curtsy. “When you’re done with the peach cupcake, I have one left for you.”
“You do?” Waverly finished the rest of her cupcake and scooted back in her seat. Licking the frosting off her finger, she headed toward the counter. Another chocolate cupcake would be dinner. In the time it took Waverly to stand up and get her plate together, Tiffani disappeared behind the black-and-white polka-dot French doors leading into the kitchen. Waverly sauntered to the counter and lingered over the curved glass. The varieties of the cupcakes tempted her. Her mouth watered at the rows. The dark chocolate with peanut butter frosting, the vanilla drizzled with caramel, the salted caramel, the chocolate wafer cookie and even the birthday cake cupcake with pastel sprinkles all tempted her.
Distracted by the hungry howl of her stomach, Waverly didn’t realize the bells over the bakery’s door had jingled until she saw the shadow of a figure blocking the blinding sun off the glass. He motioned for her to go ahead of him. Waverly turned to offer her thanks and to step out of the way for the customer since her order was on its way. Waverly’s mouth watered...and not from the yummy smells coming from the kitchen.
Over six feet tall with broad shoulders and bulky muscles poured into a dark gray suit with a yellow-and-gray paisley tie stood in front of her. The man oozed sex appeal and confirmed his status with a sexy, lopsided grin.
“Hello,” the deep, velvet voice crooned.
“Hi,” Waverly said, or at least she believed she did. It was hard to hear over the pounding of her heart against her rib cage. In the past, Waverly’s taste in men leaned more toward the obvious bad boys—the biker-guy type riddled with tattoos, ripped jeans, snug T-shirts and a reputation a mile long. One bad-boy boyfriend in particular had once got her banned from a pageant. Now, with nothing but time on her hands, Waverly might need to give men in suits a chance, just like carbs. And carbohydrates were delicious.
The man extended his copper-colored hand toward the counter. “By all means. You were here first.”
“O
h, no.” Waverly stumbled over her words. “I already know what I want.”
The man wiggled his brows. “A woman who knows what she wants? Nice.”
“Don’t be surprised,” said Waverly. “It’s not so hard to choose.”
“Not for me,” he responded. “I am here for one thing only.”
A jolt of electricity raced through Waverly. She pressed her lips together and, for the first time in a week, feared her looks. This wallowing-in-misery thing had allowed her to walk around in sweats, makeup-free, hair unkempt.
“The Slow Torture Southern Peach Cobbler Cupcake,” he announced.
Two odd feelings washed over Waverly. Jealousy and greed. Odd to envy a cupcake, right? For some reason she wished this stranger had meant wanting her. And now to realize they both stood at the counter wanting the same cupcake...
The French doors opened and Tiffani appeared with a bright red shade of lipstick Waverly had failed to notice earlier. If she wasn’t mistaken, Tiffani wore one of Waverly’s favorites—Go Get Him Red by Ravens Cosmetics. Waverly cocked her head to the side as she noticed the way Tiffani tried to control her rapid breathing. She recognized this tactic and had perfected it often when the backstage lineup changed at pageants. The cashier batted her lashes at the man.
“You’re back.”
Waverly took a step to the side. Clearly this was a tender moment between two long-lost acquaintances, right? How dare he flirt with Waverly at his lady friend’s place of business? Waverly frowned.
“You know The Cupcakery was my first stop.”
“And I have exactly what you want.” Tiffani awkwardly reached to the left while maintaining eye contact with the new customer.
“Ah, my Peach Cobbler cupcake.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Waverly said, stepping forward. “That’s mine.”
“You already had one.” Tiffani turned to Waverly with a cold smile.