“It’s not only because of my career, Jordan.”
“Then what is it?”
“What he did to me—what I’d allowed him to do to me—made me feel dirty. At first I kept asking myself what did I do or say that would make him turn on me. Then I began to second-guess myself when I thought about what Lamar said about the clothes I wore. Were they too provocative? Perhaps I couldn’t see what others saw.
“I lowered my hemline, made certain all the buttons on my blouses were buttoned and even wore long sleeves in the warmer weather so as not to show too much skin. I did all of that and the SOB still came after me. So, if you want to know if I’m ready to take him down, then the answer is yes. I’m tired of playing the victim. I let Kenny Moore victimize me. I let Lamar victimize me. And I became a three-time victim when the D.A. threw out the tapes as inadmissible evidence, then asked if I’d bought my law degree because I should’ve known better than to waste his time with bogus nonsense.”
Jordan went completely still. “You keep mentioning the tapes, but what about the condom?”
Pushing against Jordan’s chest, Aziza met his eyes. They were more gray than green. “What about it?”
“Had you told him about the condom?”
“No. I’d decided it was my trump card just in case he decided to go forward and charge Kenny. We know DNA doesn’t lie.”
“You, my darling, just gave me what we need to bury the pig.”
Aziza’s heart was beating so fast it made her feel lightheaded. Her first reaction when she’d seen the condom had been to throw it away in disgust. But, like the results from a rape kit, it could be used as admissible evidence. “I can’t believe it.”
He brushed a kiss over her parted lips. “Believe it. I have a few connections at the Manhattan D.A.’s office—someone I know who would love to prosecute a case like this. And she happens not to be a member of the old boys’ club.”
Aziza looped her arms around Jordan’s neck, pulling his head down. Twin emotions of joy and relief raced through her as she kissed him with a passion she hadn’t known existed. The silent expression communicated trust, appreciation and repressed passion that had long been denied.
Jordan deepened the kiss, his tongue finding its way into her mouth. He knew they were treading into dangerous waters, but not only was it too late, he no longer cared. He wanted Aziza Fleming in his life and in his bed. But he didn’t want her to come to him out of gratitude, but because she wanted and needed him as much he needed and wanted her.
“Make love to me.”
He heard her entreaty, believing he’d imagined it. It was what he wanted to hear her say more than anything else. “Tell me again.”
Aziza pressed closer, her breasts flattening against his chest. “Don’t make me beg you.”
Jordan’s hands were busy, searching under her shirt. He covered one lace-covered breast, feeling the rapid pumping of her heart through the delicate fabric. “Tell me, Aziza,” he repeated.
“Please, make love to me.”
Needing no further prompting, he swung her up in his arms. Taking long, determined strides, he carried her out of the room, down the hallway and up the staircase to his bedroom. He was about to break every rule he’d made for himself, yet was willing to accept the consequences.
Jordan placed her on the twisted sheets where he’d spent a restless night tossing and turning, fantasizing about making love to a woman who’d become an invisible itch he hadn’t been able to scratch. He followed her body down, supporting his greater weight on his arms.
Burying his face along the column of her neck, he breathed a kiss there. “Will you allow me to make love with you because you want me? Not because you need me.”
Aziza closed her eyes. She was so overcome with emotion that she felt like sobbing. The man holding her to his heart was offering her a second chance to live her life without doubt and mistrust. It no longer mattered how long she’d known Jordan. She’d known Lamar for more than twenty years, yet she hadn’t really known him. What mattered was that the man in whose bed she lay had reached out to help without asking for anything in return.
“Yes, you may.”
Jordan smiled. “You probably don’t have any condoms in your handbag, so we’re going to have to use mine.”
She pounded his back with a fist. “That’s not funny.”
He raised his head, his expression sobering. “What isn’t funny is an unplanned pregnancy.”
“That can’t happen.”
“It won’t, Zee, if I use protection.”
“Thank you very much,” she whispered.
Jordan kissed her again. “You’re very welcome.”
Aziza’s eyelids fluttered closed, and she was more than content to lie with Jordan without moving or talking. She breathed in his body’s natural scent mingling with his cologne. Everything about Jordan Wainwright seeped into her, making them one without him being inside her.
Foreplay was something with which she was totally unfamiliar. The peace she usually felt following an orgasm was what she was now experiencing. She lay, completely clothed, in bed with a man languishing in a fulfillment she hadn’t thought possible, and at the moment she realized making love wasn’t two naked bodies slamming into each other. It wasn’t about moans, groans, sweat and the ribald utterances that would leave her feeling dirty and cheap.
Her breathing slowed and deepened until she found herself drifting off to sleep. Jordan must have moved, because she woke up with a start. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter,” he said in her ear. “I’m going to get up and take off my clothes.”
Now Aziza was fully awake. Jordan had moved off the bed. He kicked off his shoes, removed his socks and then his hand went to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. She managed to smother a gasp when she saw what had been concealed by tailored suits and custom-made shirts. Well-defined pectorals, rock-hard abs and a flat belly were a testament to a diligent workout regimen. Jordan Wainwright’s body equaled his face when it came to perfection. Her gaze lingered on his when he reached down to remove his jeans and underwear. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until the side of the mattress dipped slightly when he sat down beside her. She sat up, her hands going to the buttons on her shirt.
Jordan leaned closer, his hand covering hers. “Please, let me.” Not dropping his gaze, he undid the buttons on her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders. But he was forced to look down when she exhaled an audible breath. A swath of heat shot through his groin when he stared at the soft swell of brown flesh rising and falling under white lace as she breathed out through her parted lips.
Aziza was right. She wasn’t thin. She was womanly, curvy and as lush as ripened fruit. He slid the straps to her bra off her shoulders, then, reaching around her back, unhooked the lace garment.
“Oh, sweet—” He bit down on his tongue, stopping the blasphemous word that would’ve been certain to make his mother gasp in horror before she lit a candle for his wayward soul.
He knew of some women who’d paid thousands to a plastic surgeon to achieve the breasts Aziza had been blessed with. They were full, firm and perched high above her rib cage. He cradled them as if they were fragile glass, then his mouth replaced his hands, tasting and placing kisses around the nipples until the areola hardened like tiny pebbles.
Jordan had wanted to get into bed and lie with Aziza until she was completely comfortable with him, mindful that she’d had only one prior lover and ever mindful that she’d been sexually harassed. And he did not want her to come to him out of a sense of gratitude; he wanted her to want him because they complemented each other as male and female and shared a love and passion for law. Both had walked away from high-paying positions and well-heeled clients to represent the indigent and underserved.
The most glaring difference was that at thirty-one, Aziza Fleming knew who she was and where she’d come from.
However, when Jordan Wyatt Wainwright h
ad been thirty-one, he had discovered for the first time in his life who he was and where he’d come from.
Placing his first two fingers between her breasts, he traced an invisible line down her ribs and flat belly to the waistband on her jeans. Jordan felt the shudders racing through her body under his fingertips.
An audible sigh filled the silent room at the same time Aziza rose several inches off the bed. “Please, don’t tease me,” she pleaded.
She was pleading with him not to tease her when that was what she’d been doing since their initial introduction. Each and every time she lowered her lashes to glance up at him—it was teasing. When she’d pressed her breasts to his chest the night before—it was teasing.
Jordan slid a hand under her buttocks, while the other unsnapped her jeans, easing the denim fabric down her hips to her thighs. White bikini panties were decorated with tiny red hearts. “Cute,” he drawled, smiling.
Aziza wanted Jordan to stop talking and make love to her. It was becoming more and more difficult not to move her hips. She felt the blood, hot and sluggish, sluice through her lower body and the arousing passion she’d locked away long before she’d ended her marriage.
Then, he did stop talking, removing each article of clothing in what seemed like a stylized ritual. Her blouse was first, then her bra, socks and jeans. The only thing that remained was her panties. Jordan moved over her, her gaze going from his face to the area below his waist. She smothered a gasp. Although he was semi-erect, Jordan was large—much larger than she could’ve imagined. Just the thought of his rigid sex inside her resulted in a rush of moisture, followed by a soft pulsing where it was impossible not to move her hips. She did gasp when his hand cupped her mound through the layer of silk. His eyebrows lifted a fraction. He knew. He knew by the dampness that she was aroused and ready for him.
Jordan forced himself to go slowly. Leaning over, he opened the drawer to the bedside table and removed a condom. He hadn’t realized that his hands were shaking until it took two attempts to open the packet and roll the latex sheath down the length of his fully erect penis.
Smiling, he removed the remaining article of clothing that had kept him from viewing all of Aziza’s beautifully proportioned body. He’d found her perfect with flawless brown skin the color of chocolate mousse, full, lush breasts, hips wide enough to carry children without difficulty and long legs with curvy calves, slim ankles and slender arched feet that seemed to go on forever.
“You are more than I could’ve ever imagined.” His voice was filled with awe.
Aziza wanted to tell him that he’d shocked her, too. He had a lot more between his thighs than she could’ve ever imagined. “Thank you,” she said instead. Extending her arms, she invited him into her embrace and inside her body.
She thought she was going to climax when his fingers searched the folds at the apex of her thighs, finding the swollen nub and applying pressure with the pad of his thumb. “Oh, my! Oh…oh…” She was babbling like an idiot.
Jordan answered her, positioning his sex at her wet vagina, pushing gently. His own groan echoed hers as he felt her body opening, stretching to accommodate the length and girth of his blood-engorged penis. Aziza was tight, tight enough to make him feel as if he were deflowering a virgin.
He hadn’t slept with so many women that he hadn’t been able to remember their faces or their names, but for a reason he was unable to fathom he wanted Aziza to be the last woman in his life. He wanted what Kyle, Ivan and Duncan had—that special woman with whom they planned a future that included marriage and children.
Before he was introduced to Alexander Fleming’s sister he hadn’t known what had been missing in his life because growing up wealthy had provided him with whatever he wanted, not necessarily what he needed. He’d known her a week, but it was long enough time for him to admit he was willing to fight to hold on to her.
Jordan rolled his hips, pulled out an inch and then with a sure thrust he found himself fully sheathed inside Aziza. They shared a sigh and a smile. “Did I hurt you, baby?”
“No. You feel good. Real, real good, Jordan.” And he did. He hadn’t begun to move and she felt him so deep inside her it was if he’d touched her womb. Curving her arms under his shoulders, she held him tightly, as if he were her lifeline.
He moved again, this time establishing a strong rhythm that Aziza followed as if they’d choreographed the steps to an intricate dance. He felt her heat, her flesh close around him in a long, measured pulsing at the same time his own passions quickly spiraled out of control.
Jordan covered her mouth with his, cutting off the whimpers heating his blood; he quickened his thrusts. She felt so good. The rising scent of sex, mingling with her perfume, had become an aphrodisiac. He wanted to pull out and taste every inch of her body, but didn’t want to shatter the sensual spell making them one.
“Jordan!” Aziza breathed out his name when the first ripple of release held her prisoner before easing. The pressure in her vagina built steadily as Jordan’s sex swelled to enormous proportions until there was no more room.
“Yes, baby. I feel you.” His breathing was deep, labored. “You’re going to have to let it go.”
Her head thrashed from side to side. “I don’t want to let it go. I don’t want it to be over.”
Closing his eyes and gripping the pillow beneath her head, Jordan clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “It’s not going to be over, baby. Not for a long, long time.”
And during the nanosecond where time stood still, before he ejaculated into the latex covering, Jordan vowed to hold on to Aziza Fleming at the risk of losing his own life.
Aziza cried out as the walls of her vagina contracted around Jordan’s rigid flesh; she felt as if she were floating outside herself as the orgasms grew stronger and stronger, overlapping one another in what had become freefall. She lay motionless, breathing heavily and savoring the aftermath of complete fulfillment.
When she did move it was to trail her fingertips over his damp back. “Thank you.”
Jordan smiled into the pillow. “No, baby. Thank you.” He wanted to tell Aziza that she was exquisite—in and out of bed. He loathed moving, but he had to get up and discard the condom. “I have to get up.”
Aziza moaned in protest when he pulled out. She missed the weight pressing her down to the firm mattress and his warmth. Turning over on her side, she pulled the sheet and lightweight blanket up and over her body. She giggled like a little girl when Jordan returned, got into bed and pulled her hips to his groin.
“What are you doing?” He was simulating making love to her again.
“What does it look like? I’m humping you.”
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, counselor.”
He caught the tender flesh on the nape of her neck between his teeth. “You think I can’t get it up again?”
“I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?” Jordan asked.
“If you’re not taking something for erectile dysfunction.”
Jordan reached between her legs, his fingers working their magic until Aziza was moaning and writhing as she felt the familiar flutters that signaled she was going to climax again. Then, without warning, he withdrew his hand and turned over.
With wide eyes, she sat up, staring at his broad back. “You can’t leave me like this.”
“Oh, yes, I can. It appears as if I’ve just run out of my pills.”
The seconds ticked. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.
He turned and smiled at her. “I’m not, Zee. I haven’t spent a sorry moment since I’ve met you.”
Curving her arms under Jordan’s shoulders, she pressed her mouth to the side of his strong neck. “I think I’m going to enjoy being your girlfriend because you’re so good for a woman’s ego.”
Jordan wanted to tell her it wasn’t about boosting her ego but about falling for her—hard. It also wasn’t about spouting the flowery phrases—phrases she’d probably heard before. W
hat he intended to do was show her. Show Aziza how important she’d become to him.
Chapter 13
“This is Jordan.” He’d picked up the receiver before the second ring.
“Jordan, darling. This is your mother. Wyatt told me you were taking time off from work, so I thought perhaps you weren’t feeling well.”
Cradling the receiver between his chin and shoulder, he executed tying his tie without looking in the mirror. He had less than twenty minutes to finish dressing before the driver arrived to take him and Aziza to Ivan’s brownstone, which was within walking distance of their offices.
He would’ve taken his car, but trying to find a parking space in Manhattan during the winter months was like finding a needle in a haystack. However, from the Memorial Day weekend through the Labor Day weekend, many residents left the city for Long Island’s East End, the Berkshires or the Jersey Shore. Every Fourth of July weekend, Christiane closed up the Fifth Avenue mansion and relocated her household, including the live-in staff, to the family compound at Chesapeake Ranch Estates, Maryland.
“I’m quite well, Mother.”
“I got a call from Deborah Westerbeck earlier this morning. She’s in charge of seating arrangements for the museum’s midwinter fundraiser, and she wants to know if you’re coming unescorted. If you are, then she will pair you up with her niece.”
“Tell Mrs. Westerbeck I’m bringing a guest.”
“Who is she, darling? Do I know her?”
Jordan tightened the knot before turning down the shirt collar. “No, you don’t. But I think you’ll like her.”
“Do you like her, Jordan?”
“Yes, I do, Mother. I like her a lot.” A distinctive beep came through the earpiece. Jordan glanced at the name and number on the display. This was the call he’d been waiting for. “Mother, I’m going to have to ring off. I have a very important call coming through. I’ll see you Friday night.”
Because of You Page 15