Mine (Falling For A Rose Book 7)

by Stephanie Nicole Norris

  “I sure did. Thought about you in every moment. What are you doing to me?”

  “Mmmm, time will tell I guess.”

  Quentin tightened his arm, pulling Phoebe’s face to his lips. A kiss, soft and warm, sank into her skin with a lingering drone. Whenever Quentin touched Phoebe, her nerves scattered with exhilaration. It was so dangerously different from the way she felt with any of the guys she’d previously dated, who never stuck around long when they’d found out Phoebe wasn’t putting out.

  For Phoebe those guys had only been in her life to pass the time until she and Quentin could be together. Of course, she never knew when that was, or if it would even happen, yet she was willing to wait, biding her time patiently. Phoebe fell in love with Quentin slowly growing up. His protectiveness, his kindness to her, the way he listened whenever she had a problem. Even when she cried at times, his eyes would also water as if he could feel her direct pain. It softened her heart and opened her eyes to the possibility of a love everlasting. Now, to be here in this moment, snuggled next to the man himself, it was like a dream come true, and she couldn’t help but feel thoroughly whole.

  It was 6:30 p.m., and the street lights were barely on. Their limo made a left turn, riding to the west side neighborhood of Chicago. Phoebe frowned.

  “Where did you say we were having dinner?”

  Quentin kissed the side of her head. He too, felt as if being with Phoebe was a dream. Never in his life had he ever felt so remotely comfortable and at home with any other woman.

  “I didn’t say,” he responded.

  “Ooou, it’s a secret,” she joked.

  “Something like that,” he responded.

  The limo pulled to the rear of the United Center. It was home for the Chicago Bulls NBA team and also home for Chicago Blackhawks NHL team. Phoebe glanced to Quentin.

  “I hardly doubt there’s anything fresh off the grill in this thing.”

  Quentin’s grizzly laugh ticked Phoebe, and she side-eyed him.

  “Just go with me, lady love. I promise to feed you right tonight.”

  For some reason, that sentence passed Phoebe in a non-nutritional type of way. At least when it compared to food.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  “You sure? I’m feeling a little hesitation.”

  “I’m fine, just messing with you anyway.”

  “Oh okay.”

  Quentin knocked on the partition, and seconds later, their door opened. He slipped out first, and Phoebe was drawn into his arms. They left the limo and strolled hand in hand through the back doors, then was escorted to a main hall where restaurants sat in a quiet corner.

  “I didn’t even know this was back here,” Phoebe said.

  “Nobody knows this is back here, unless you’re VIP of course.”

  Phoebe raised a brow. “Are you saying I’m not VIP?”

  Quentin chuckled. “Not at all, but you’re not a sports kind of girl, are you?”

  “Since you know me so well, you tell me.”

  “Hmm testing my knowledge, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “All right, I’ll humor you. Kickball was your favorite game of all time. Next to that volleyball, then track. You used to love the Spice Girls until Geri Halliwell left the group in 1998, in which you swore you would never support anything of theirs again.”

  Phoebe chuckled.

  “The singer you idolized was Whitney Houston, and you cried like you’d lost a best friend when she died. When it comes to religion, you believe that Christ died for your sins—”

  “Our… sins,” she interrupted. “Go on, I couldn’t help myself.”

  Quentin chuckled. “That’s what I meant of course; however, you also like some ideologies of the India culture.”

  “I swear I’m part Indian, I just know it,” she partly whined.

  Quentin smirked. “You can always get a DNA test done to find out your ancestry.”

  “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “We should do it together.”

  Phoebe stopped walking and turned to him. “We should, shouldn’t we?”

  “Absolutely,” Quentin’s voice bolstered, holding a James Earl Jones beat. “For all I know, I could be an African prince around here.” His intimidation made Phoebe giggled and before long she burst into laughter.

  “And I an African princess.” She laughed.

  Quentin pulled her in for a hug. “Or a Nigerian princess,” his thick voice drummed.

  It made Phoebe shudder, and she pulled Quentin’s face closer to hers. “Or you a Nigerian prince,” she said.

  Quentin leaned even closer, with his mouth hovering right above hers.

  “Or you an Indian princess,” he continued.

  When his mouth sank into hers, Phoebe purred, “Or you an Indian prince...”

  The spark started in their ears then tinkered down their face, and mouth, covering their body entirely. A guttural growl fled from Quentin, and a soft moan skittered from Phoebe.

  Their mouths meshed with a twinge of energy, and Phoebe shuddered again. Quentin couldn’t be certain the vibration wasn’t because she was cold, so even though he could stand their kissing her all night, he slowly pulled away.

  “Let’s go.” Quentin grabbed her hand, and they began strolling inside the establishment.

  “Wait,” Phoebe said. “Did you bring me here to watch the game?”

  “I was hoping you might enjoy the game with me, but I know you’re not into that, so it’s cool.”

  “If you have tickets, then I want to go.”

  Quentin turned full circle to her. “If we go to the game, we can’t eat here, or we’ll miss most of it.”

  “Well they have a hotdog stand or something, don’t they?”

  Quentin chuckled, amused that Phoebe would be such a team player that she would eat hot dogs from the concession stand.

  “Okay, since you insist.”

  Phoebe pursed her lips. As if he didn’t want to go to the game in the first place.

  “Ha ha, you are so funny,” she said.

  “I thought so, too.”

  Quentin drew Phoebe in, tucking her shoulder underneath his arms as he slipped his around her. In sync they left the hidden area of the restaurants and lounges coming to a set of double doors where two security guards stood.

  “Good evening,” the security chimed. “You are more than welcome to venture through this door, but once you do, you’ll be in the mix with everyone else here to see the game.”

  Quentin glanced down at Phoebe.

  “Surely, if Lupe Fiasco or any other celebrity can sit at the game with no security, we can, too,” Phoebe said.

  “We shall see,” Quentin nodded, and the security stood to the side and opened the doors.

  Quentin and Phoebe strolled through, running right into a pack of Chicago Bulls fans. They meandered about, and so far, no one had noticed the elite couple. They made their way to a concession stand and Phoebe paused.

  “Wait,” she said. “Which one of us do you think is more popular?”

  Quentin raised a brow, but Phoebe waved him off. “Never mind it’s definitely you. So, let me grab our hotdogs, and we can possibly make it to our seats without disrupt.”

  “Hold on, how do you figure I’m more popular? You have a whole family enterprise behind your name.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a man, and fine at that, women are thirsty, they’ll notice your face long before they notice mine.”

  Quentin laughed. “You’re serious?”

  Phoebe straightened her face to show her sincerity. Quentin could understand Phoebe’s point, but he still didn’t like standing by the side while she stood in line.

  “Eden!”

  Quentin and Phoebe whipped around to find a rather large, tall woman running toward them. In her hand was a bag of popcorn, and more than enough hotdogs to feed a family.

  “Oh my God, it is you!” she screamed, settling up in front of Phoebe. “What are the odds! I tried
to talk my husband out of coming to this game tonight and look who I meet!”

  A heavyset guy ran up behind the cheerful woman with a hand on his hips and out of breath.

  “Mickey, what in the world has gotten into you?” the man huffed.

  “It’s Eden!” Mickey was saying. “In the flesh!”

  “Actually,” Phoebe started when Mickey’s husband glanced at Phoebe then Quentin.

  “Quentin Davidson!” the man said, holding his hand out. “Oh man, it’s so good to see you in person. I’ve tried to get in your class several times, but there’s always a waiting list of about a thousand people and as you can see, I really need the guidance.”

  Phoebe glanced from Mickey to her husband and decided not to let them know she wasn’t Eden.

  “Oh by the way, I’m Earl, and this here is my wife, Mickey.”

  “Good evening, Earl and Mickey,” Quentin greeted, “As you know, I’m Quentin, and this beautiful woman here is Phoebe.”

  Mickey gasped. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, hun. I can never tell you three apart.”

  “Shouldn’t have been calling names out then,” Earl fussed.

  “Oh, I was just so excited when I saw you.”

  A crowd began to grow around them, and Quentin clutched Phoebe’s hand. He slipped his other inside his coat pocket and retrieved a business card.

  “Contact my assistant tomorrow afternoon. She’ll have your name, give her your info, and we’ll get you in the next class,” Quentin said to Mickey. “You folks have a nice night.”

  Quentin wrapped Phoebe under him and quickly walked away.

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe!” Mickey apologized.

  “I thought you said I would be noticed first,” Quentin said.

  “First time for everything,” Phoebe retorted, and Quentin laughed.

  They moved through the crowd at the same pace, weaving around and about. Ducking off into the arena came with an exciting delight. The stadium was like a thunder dome with a massive crowd of fans. The sea of people wore red and black to favor their team’s color. The game was underway with the Chicago Bulls with the ball. Quentin slipped Phoebe in front of him and guided her down the steps to the VIP section on the second row right behind the team. They found their seats, and Quentin helped relieve Phoebe of her coat.

  “Thank you!” she shouted as the crowd went wild when Rajon Rondo made a two-point shot.

  “My pleasure,” Quentin responded, tossing their coats over the seat next to them.

  Phoebe looked over at him. “Don’t those seats belong to someone?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “me.”

  Phoebe smiled. “Did you plan on bringing more people?”

  “No,” he said, “just you.”

  Phoebe didn’t press him on the issue further, deciding he’d gotten the extra seat for that specific reason, as a coat rack. They both got comfortable, Quentin tossing an arm across her seat and propping his leg over his thigh. Phoebe also crossed her legs as she sat back in her seat and cuddled under him.

  “You know I’ve never been to a live game before,” Phoebe shouted.

  “What do you think so far?”

  “It’s pretty exciting.”

  “Let me know if you still feel that way when it’s over.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you have plans with the family for New Year’s Eve,” Quentin asked.

  “There’s a small party for friends and special guests, but I hadn’t decided whether I was going or not. Are you?”

  “Nah,” he said, “I don’t think I’m invited.”

  At the saddened look on Phoebe’s face, Quentin reached over and tugged her nose. “Cheer up, my lady love, everything will be all right. You’ll see.”

  That seemed to make her feel a little better, and she leaned further into him, wanting to be closer. “Let’s place a bet,” Phoebe offered.

  “Well, there’s something I didn’t know about you,” Quentin said. “You’re a gambler. No wonder you lost all that money in college.”

  Phoebe’s mouth dropped, and she swatted him across the arm. “Did not, that was Eden!”

  Quentin tossed his head back and guffawed. He’d known it was Eden, but he and her brothers had always messed with Phoebe, stating she was the culprit. Everyone knew Phoebe managed every dime she earned, even when she sold lemonade at her stand when she was young, so it turned Phoebe’s ears red and made her nose flare up when someone accused her of flushing away her money.

  “I’m just kidding, my lady love, don’t look so disappointed.”

  Phoebe cut her eyes at him, and a grin creased her lips. The live recording of the game went to commercial, and the players ambled off the court. During the commercial break, several cameras scanned the crowd, stopping on a few other celebrities in attendance. Quentin and Phoebe were no different as the camera zoomed in on the two.

  The announcer spoke their names, and the crowd cheered to be in such good company. Suddenly their faces appeared on the overhead monitor, and the kiss cam lit up with roses outlining the frame. Phoebe gasped as she and Quentin noticed at the same time. The crowd began to cheer, mass clapping and thundering stomps.

  “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” they chanted.

  Quentin looked to Phoebe, and she blushed as his firm hand tickled her chin and lightly pulled her in for a kiss. Their lips tingled upon meeting, and the fiery torch that always consumed them spread throughout. The crowd went bananas, and cameras snapped as the pair enjoyed the tangle of their tongues. Their bodies held a searing concentration, and both hearts knocked in sync. A fluttering tinkered in their chests, and Quentin found himself reaching for Phoebe’s waist to pull her in. The crowd continued to scream as he deepened the erotic kiss, sending a trail of nerves splitting down their spines.

  Phoebe moaned, and her hand slipped up the side of his neck as she welcomed his probing tongue. The crowd was at its high point, screaming with a thunderous sound, and Phoebe smile against his mouth. I love you, she thought. I always have. Her thoughts continued, and a cove of heat simmered between her thighs.

  Feeling on the edge, Quentin pulled his mouth from hers as bad as it pained him to do so. His smile was devilish, and with one hand, he reached out and wiped the corners of her mouth with his thumb. Phoebe smiled in turn, shivering under his touch as they held each other’s blazing stare. They had just turned the night up, and Quentin was exceptionally hungry, but it was Phoebe who would fill up his plate.

  Wrapping an arm around her, Quentin pulled her back into his chest, trying to casually refocus on the game coming back from commercial. With his leg propped back up on his thigh, and Phoebe in his arms, he added a quick kiss to the side of her forehead. The crowd was still hyped but had also turned their focus toward the game, and they cheered along as the Bulls went on to win.

  After the game, Phoebe and Quentin were quick to leave the arena, knowing if they didn’t get out before everyone else, they’d be caught in a parade of people. Phoebe laughed with a sweet giggle as they dashed through the stands and ran for the door while holding hands. When they made it through the second door guarded by security, the two slowed to a steady pace, still laughing and catching their breaths.

  “Are you good?” Quentin asked with a charming smile.

  Phoebe nodded. “Yes,” she panted, a little out of breath. “I’m good.”

  “You sure, I might need to work you out at the gym. I can’t be having my girl out of breath. Being together means we have to become track stars.”

  Phoebe doubled over in laughter, and Quentin held on to her smile with one of his own.

  “You know it’s true. We got to duck and weave, girl.”

  She giggled, and Quentin reached for her chin then tugged at her nose. “Come here you,” he said, drawing her into an embrace, loving her beautiful beam. They walked slowly, making their way to the parked limo outside confident in the moment they shared.

  Inside the car, Phoebe sat with her
butt in the seat and her legs laying leisurely over his lap. She cozied in her perfect space with a head on his shoulder, one of his arms draped casually around her. Looking into his face, she kissed his jaw with one, two, three sweet kisses when he turned his face down to meet her lips. Again, they indulged in one another, heated, and feeling connected on another level.

  “I enjoyed my time with you tonight,” Phoebe said.

  “I’m happy to hear that. I thought for a minute I’d chosen the worst date to possibly take you on.”

  “No, this was fun. The next time we do it, I’d rather be in jeans and some comfortable shoes though.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, but I must say, you are the real MVP, running in those heels like the track star you once were.”

  “Once were?” She pulled away from him and placed a hand on her hip. “I’ll have you know I can outrun you and anybody representing your fitness center in these heels any day.”

  Quentin laughed a deep thunderous guffaw.

  “You find that absolutely too funny for my taste.”

  Quentin’s hand slipped up the side of her face, and he pulled her in, kissing her lips softly. “I don’t mean anything by it, I promise.” They shivered from the heat of their mouths. “I love it when you put on that face. It lets me know when I’m in trouble, and that you mean business.”

  Dreamily, Phoebe asked, “What face is that, show me?” She wanted to see his imitation of her.

  Quentin straightened his posture and dropped the smile, giving Phoebe slightly narrowed eyes and a firm voice. “I’ll have you know,” he mimicked, “I can outrun you, and anybody representing your fitness center in these heels any day.”

  His voice was Foxy Brown, like that of Pam Grier. Quentin threw his head back and roared, and Phoebe sucker punched him in the arm as a smile spread across her lips.

  “There’s another one you do, I call it your lawyer look.” Quentin chuckled. “When you relax your face, and give a sultry stern glare to the jury.” Quentin straightened his posture again: “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the prosecutor would have you believe that my client was responsible for initiating the encounter that cost a young man his life. It’s a serious heinous crime, and the person behind it should be punished to the full extent of the law, but fortunately, that is not Dr. Daniels, and I will tell you why.”