“What does Je t’aime mean?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why? Who said it and in what context?”
“Katrina, just tell me!”
“Oh my God, did Beau say it? To you? In a nonjoking way?”
“Katrina!” I snapped impatiently.
“It means I love you.”
I exhaled slowly, doing nothing to calm the flutters in my stomach. “I thought so. But then I thought, maybe it’s more casual like I really like you or I enjoy being naked with you.”
Katrina shook her head vehemently. “Nope. It’s love.” She shrieked. “Woo! What did you say back?”
“Well, since he told me it was just a simple term of endearment, I just said, ‘Okay, let’s go.’ ”
Katrina slammed her hands onto her hips and glared at me. “You left my brother hanging with the love thing in the air?”
“He didn’t admit that it was the love thing,” I justified.
“Now that you know, what are you going to do?”
I pulled out my phone and opened the app for French-to-English translation. I looked up a phrase and smiled. “I’m good, sugar. I got this.”
“What are you going to do?” she persisted.
I patted her on the shoulder. “Stay outta grown folks’ business, Katrina. Get on out there and dazzle some buyers, will ya?”
She pursed her lips. “That’s how it’s going to be?”
“That’s how it is.” I freshened my lipstick, smirked, and zipped out of the bathroom. Walking down the stairs, I walked out onto the terrace. Beau was out there talking to our new banker.
“Hey, Greg, glad you could come out,” I greeted him and leaned into kiss his cheek. Gregory Samson was the buppiest brother I’d ever met, but he knew money. He knew how to keep it and make it multiply. He was cute in a preppy way, hovered around six feet tall, with the complexion of a Hershey’s Kiss. I didn’t need him to be cutting edge on fashion as long as he could help us grow the business. He was in a gray jacket and navy pants with a white shirt underneath. Basic, but he wore it well. On his arm was a tall, gorgeous, curvy woman with shoulder-length natural hair, olive-toned skin, and a beautiful, wide-mouthed smile. I extended a hand to her. “I’m Belle.”
She ignored my hand and gave me a hug. “I know, honey. I’ve been a fan forever and ever. Now if you would just come out with some women’s sizes, I’d be even more grateful. I’m Veronica.” We stepped away from the men for a second.
“Well start sending gratitude my way, because all of the new line goes up to a size 24. What are you, a 16 or 18?”
She nodded. “Depends on the cut.”
“I might have a thing or two for you to preview; swing by next week. Just be sure you mention me on your show.” Veronica hosted a sexy nighttime radio show that was syndicated nationally. It was a blend of music and talk. She went by the name of Veronique.
She beamed. “I wasn’t sure if you knew who I was.”
“With your distinctive voice? I don’t miss much, sugar;just like I am not missing that rock on your hand! Congratulations—when’s the big day?” Veronica was sporting a canary yellow diamond that was no joke. That ring was so flawless that I had to look at Greg in a whole different light.
Her whole expression turned tender thinking about it. “September. We’re just going to run off to the beach, lift a glass of champagne, and call it a wedding.”
“Ni-ice. Do you have a dress yet?” I could already picture the perfect one in my mind.
Her eyes grew wide. “I don’t . . . could you possibly . . .”
“I’m thinking jeweled straps, surplice bodice, very blinged out, and then it floats away in sheer layers to the ankle. In a champagne color.”
“Ooooh, I want it!” she breathed.
I smiled. “You shall have it, and you’ll look incredible.”
“She always does,” Greg said, stepping over to put his arm around her.
I couldn’t resist teasing him. “I must say Greg, having this lovely lady on your arm has upped your cool factor significantly.”
“That’s why I keep her around,” he joked.
Veronica jabbed him in the ribs. “Boy, I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Beau laughed. “She definitely has your number, Samson.”
“Who picked out the ring?” I wondered.
Greg inclined his head. “You can say that my taste is impeccable, go ahead.”
We all laughed.
A voice from behind us interrupted. “Well, isn’t this an interesting group. Nothing like running into my exes.”
As one we turned to see Renee standing at the entrance to the deck with a snarky pinched expression around her face. I squelched a sigh. I hated drama, but I had the feeling that Renee dined on it.
Did I mention that I really didn’t like this woman? Beau slid beside me and we linked fingers.
“Bonsoir, Renee,” Beau murmured.
“Ray,” Greg said, acknowledging her presence while keeping his arm around Veronica.
“Greggy, you look well. Roni Mae, I guess picking up my sloppy seconds is working out for you.” Renee was instigating in a sing-songy voice. Slapworthy.
“No one really calls me Roni Mae anymore, but it always took you a second to catch up with reality. Yes, I would say life is rather sweet for me right now, Nay Nay.” Veronica lifted her hand to push her hair behind her ear and that ring caught the light. Renee’s eyes went straight to it. Renee’s face turned hard and her eyes narrowed. She was not pleased by the ring or the nickname.
Oh. Ouch. This could get messy. I didn’t need the publicity that a scene would generate. I decided to try and defuse the situation before it turned ugly. Uglier, rather.
“Not that it’s not great to see you, Renee, but what brings you to the party?” It was invitation-only, and I knew damned well she wasn’t on the guest list.
“I came with a friend. He has a fashion blog. Here he is now.” A slim Hispanic male wearing a pink plaid jacket over a white polo shirt and white skinny jeans approached us. She laced her arm through his. “This is Ricardo. Ricardo, this is the designer, Belle Richards.”
Ricardo was making a name for himself as a popular blogger who went behind the scenes to get in-depth interviews with the hottest designers. He had actually been invited. I was more than a little stunned to see Renee as his plus one. For a number of reasons.
I shook his hand. “So pleased you could attend. This is—”
“Beau Montgomery,” Ricardo reverently announced. “I remember you from that cologne ad when you wore the blue Speedo on the rocks in Greece.”
Beau grinned and gave Ricardo what I called the full Cajun twinkle. “C’est très aimable à vous. I always enjoy meeting a fan. That was a flattering photo, for sure.”
Ricardo looked as though he would pass out. “Are you still modeling—is that how you met Belle?”
“Actually, we met through my sister. I’m the creative director for BellaRich Men,” Beau explained.
“How marvelous! Is this one of the designs you’re wearing?” Ricardo ran his hand down Beau’s arm.
Beau leaned in closer. “It is trés magnifique, no?”
“I love it!” Ricardo gushed.
“Merci, maybe you can give us a shout-out on your wonderful blog?” Beau produced a business card seemingly out of thin air and handed it to Ricardo. I knew for a fact that Beau had never heard of this kid or his blog, but he made that sound smooth as silk.
“I’d be honored; can we take some photos?” He pulled a small digital camera out of his pocket and handed it to Renee. Then he slid in between me and Beau.
“Why not?” Beau exchanged an amused glance with me as we posed beside Ricardo.
“This is such a thrill for me, you don’t even know. You look great, too, Ms. Richards.” Renee took several pictures before handing the camera back to Ricardo.
“Thanks, darlin’,” I said, struggling to keep my model smile in place and not dissolve into g
iggles. Upstaged by my man at my own launch party. Typical Beauregard.
“We don’t want to take up any more of your time. Thanks for the invite. Beau, I’ll be calling!” He grabbed Renee and practically bounced away.
We stood in silence for a moment after they left.
“Do you think she knows he’s gay?” Veronica queried.
“Yes,” Greg and Beau answered simultaneously. Then they exchanged glances.
This caused me and Veronica to exchange glances. She didn’t like their shared history any more than I did.
I had no idea what Renee was up to. “Good for him and all that, but do you think she thought she could pass him off as not gay for some reason?”
“Who knows why Renee does what she does,” Beau sighed.
“I doubt she even knows,” Greg agreed.
There was something that had been bugging me for a while about the entire Renee story. Finally, I had to ask. “May I ask you two something?”
“Mais oui, chérie,” Beau responded as Greg nodded.
I clarified. “Well, two somethings. First, what did you ever see in her? Besides the obvious.”
Greg shifted uncomfortably. Beau raised and lowered a shoulder. “I’ll admit to getting stuck on the obvious.”
Veronica said, “She wasn’t always this bad. She actually was one of my best friends. But where before she was a little self-centered and snarky, now she’s completely self-absorbed and bitchy. It’s not pretty. But when she first met Greg, she was a softer person and her flaws were more . . . redeemable.”
I understood. “My second question, how is it that the two of you are friends after . . . you know?”
“You mean after I caught Beau in a compromising position with the woman I thought I was going to marry?” Greg asked.
“Well . . . yeah.”
Greg explained. “It occurred to me that if it wasn’t Beau it would have been someone else. Renee is a woman never satisfied with what she has. She always thinks there is something better just around the corner. So, in retrospect, he did me a huge favor.”
I had never thought of it like that. That whole things happen for a reason ideology was probably the best way to look at it.
Beau added, “Plus, I apologized by bringing in a few large accounts for Greg to manage.”
“I accepted his apology.” They chuckled.
“So all’s well that ends well,” I concluded.
“Always been my philosophy,” Beau stated.
“That doesn’t surprise me.” I sent him a look.
He tugged at my hand. “C’mon woman, we have a party to work. Clothes to sell. People to dazzle.”
I waved to Greg and Veronica as we walked away. “Veronica, call me!”
“Don’t think I won’t!” she called off with a rolling laugh.
We walked back inside the main room. Renee was nowhere to be found. I had to admit, that was okay by me. We mingled for another two hours or so before the party started winding down. Yazlyn came over in all her glory in a tight red mini-dress and heels that put her well over six feet tall, not counting the towering curly Afro.
“We rock,” she announced as she handed me and Beau glasses of champagne.
“Yes, we do. What specifically for this time?” I asked with a smile.
“The preorder app that Beau dreamed up—huge hit.” Beau had suggested that beside each of the large displays we mount a touch screen where buyers could click a button to inquire about ordering the item they saw. “The hottest items are the clothes you two are wearing right now. I’m thinking the two of you will need to revisit the catwalk at the Dallas show.”
I looked at Beau. “What do you think?”
“I like life off the runway just fine.”
“Me too.” I did not miss my catwalk days at all.
“But I’m game if you are. Whatever it takes.” He smiled down at me.
When Beau said things like that, wholeheartedly supporting me without a thought, I knew exactly how I felt about him. He needed to know, too. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text message. He gave me a curious what is this look as his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. I held my breath as Beau retrieved his phone and read the message: Je t’aime aussi. French for I love you, too. He looked at me with a strange expression on his face. It was a cross between bewilderment and joy. Then his eyes heated to that laser intensity as he tucked the phone back in his pocket.
He turned to Yazlyn. “See you later, Yaz.” The next thing I knew, he took my hand in his and hustled me toward the exit. He literally growled at me as we trotted along. “Here or your house?”
“Beau . . .” So much for that delayed gratification.
“Here. Or. Your. House?” He was not playing. The look on his face told me I had a very narrow window to answer him or he was taking matters into his own hands. Just thinking of those hands had me liquid and heated.
“My house.”
“Bien.”
Maybe I should have been embarrassed as we hurried past the last of the party attendees, including his brother and sister, with barely a wave . . . but I wasn’t. I wanted to get behind closed doors with the man I’d fallen in love with and celebrate the night.
We were in the back of the limousine in the blink of an eye. Deliberately, we sat apart and did not touch. I crossed one leg over the other and Beau sent me a look. “Fifteen minutes. Wait.”
I nodded, trying to gather my emotions and composure and failing miserably.
“So did you mean it?” His voice was soft, his eyes intent.
“The text?”
“Yes.”
“I meant it. Did you?”
“I did. I do,” he answered sincerely.
“Then, why did you try and take it back?”
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear it or even if I was ready to say it. I’ve never said it to anyone who wasn’t related to me and biologically required to reciprocate.” He gave a wry grin.
“No one?” That surprised me.
“Not a soul,” he adamantly confirmed.
“Not even your ex-fiancée?”
“Not even her.”
“Wow.” Our eyes met. “I need to thank you for those words then. With repeated enthusiasm.” I uncrossed my legs and recrossed them in his direction.
He wrapped his hand around my ankle and lifted my leg onto his thigh. He stroked a hand along my calf. “Wasn’t delayed gratification your idea?”
I shifted on the leather seat. “It seems like a silly one right about now.”
“So impatient,” he teased.
“I know what I want.”
“I plan to give it to you.”
“Promise?” I shot a sultry look his way.
“Have I failed you yet?” His hand crept up past my knee to draw lazy circles along my thigh.
I shuddered. “Not once, no.”
“I don’t ever intend to,” he answered gravely.
That was quite a promise. “Not ever?”
“Not if I can help it.”
It was the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me. “See now, that makes me hot.”
“You make me hot. I’m trying not to rip your clothes off right now,” he muttered, casting a look at the stoic limo driver.
I wished he would move that hand just a little higher. “There we go embarrassing Gary again.”
“It could be worse for him,” Beau said.
“Right—he could be Samantha, the smiling flight attendant.”
With a laugh, he recalled the flight. “Her face when we walked out of that tiny bedroom.”
“Maybe if you’d put your shirt on first. I don’t know if the sight of your bare chest or the knowledge of what we’d been up to flustered her more.”
“Ah well, these things sometimes happen.”
“Around you? Yes, they do. Frequently.”
He squeezed my thigh and put my foot back on the floor. “Five minutes and we’ll be home.”
I smiled. It was the f
irst time he’d called my place home.
26
Are You Done Playing?
Beau—Sunday, June 20, 1:08 AM
“Are you ready for this, sugar?” Belle’s sultry Southern drawl teased as she slithered into position over me.
“Woman, quit playing,” I ground out between gritted teeth.
In the months that Belle and I had been together, I’d taken control in the bedroom. But on this night, she demanded to have her way with me. I acquiesced, and have her way she did. She teased and touched and tantalized until I was hanging on with the barest thread of restraint.
I held back when she performed a striptease that almost sent me to my knees in supplication. When she dropped to her knees instead and took me in her mouth, I called on all the saints to preserve me. She pushed me onto my back and made it her mission to explore every nook and cranny on my body, paying special attention when I drew in a quick breath, broke out in a sweat, or swallowed a groan.
At long last, she slid a condom on me and then settled her moist warmth on top me and rocked back and forth without letting me inside. “Belle.”
“Hmm?” She licked the side of my neck.
“Are you done?” I arched my hips up and let my hardness slide through her moistness, making sure to hit that tiny pleasure nubbin with my tip before settling back near her entrance.
Her eyes drifted shut and her head fell back. “Am I done doing what?”
I repeated the action once and then twice. “Are you done playing?” I twisted my hips away when she tried to take me inside.
“Beau,” she groaned.
“Yes, beautiful?”
“Help me.”
“Mais oui, cherie.” I grasped her hips in my hands and guided her onto my shaft. With an upward thrust, I fit myself inside her as deeply as I could.
“Dear God, that just gets better.” Her walls gripped me. We fit. I was home.
“It really does. Now go, baby, take us there.”
She sat up and pulled her thighs in close and then began to ride. Slowly at first with a slight swivel on each downstroke. I drove up to meet each stroke. Her head came down and our eyes met. I watched as a myriad of emotions rolled across her expressive face, I caught my breath as the passion turned into so much more. “Beau . . .”
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