by RaeLynn Blue
“I had to be at this one, because you’re here.” Doran inched closer. He’d effectively closed them off from anyone approaching to talk or break the spell he wove. Everything around them fell away and only he remained—Doran. His sensual scent, his burning gaze, the heat emitting from his body, and the rumble of his voice comprised her entire world at that moment.
As if there’d been any other man of interest.
“Thank you,” Kenyatta croaked, her throat thick with desire. Doran was so hot; she was melting into a puddle of pure longing at his feet. She adjusted her stance and tried to fight the pull of his attraction. It was similar to trying to catch smoke.
“You want to go some place where we can talk?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the sudden surge in noise.
He leaned in so close their noses bumped. A spark of warmth zipped through her, pouring the cozy feeling into her toes. She even rose on her tiptoes when he leaned back, wanting to keep the contact going. Not to mention he smelled so darn wonderful.
“Yes,” Kenyatta answered, unable to say more, not trusting herself.
He took her hand and led her through the throng of partiers. People danced bumping, grinding, and slurping all over each other. To Kenyatta they all blurred into human smears as if she’d been encased in a bubble that failed to burst. Her feet didn’t touch the ground once his large hand closed over hers.
Doran swept through the double doors that emptied out into the mansion’s decadent hallways. They opened into a series of hallways and elegance. When the doors closed behind them, she leaned back against the wall, panting out the adrenaline saturating her blood.
“So many people are going to be sorry on Monday.”
“Maybe. That color looks good with your dark hair. You look beautiful tonight.” Doran gave her an appraising glance, taking his time to study every inch of her.
“Just tonight?” she teased. Her heart slammed against her ribcage at her boldness. He leaned in to her. This close and the butterflies in her belly whirled in anxiousness. The way he looked at her with those crisp, dark blue bedroom eyes made her heart pound.
Oh no!
“You know, I’ve wanted to tell you for so long that I—”
“Doran! Stop!” She pushed off the wall, and dipped around him. “Don’t.”
He turned to her with a frown spoiling his handsome face. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” She sighed. “You didn’t say anything wrong, but I need to stop you before you do.”
Doran fingered the necklace around his neck. Something he did when he was worried or confused, she noticed. “You didn’t let me finish saying it, so how do you know it was wrong?”
“I don’t want you or me making a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“Yes.”
He smirked again, shaking his head. “Nothing could be wrong with how I feel about you.”
Reaching for her face, Doran’s fingers brushed her cheek. The moment his fingers made contact with her skin, another jolt of electricity shot through her. Flinching, she tried to keep her wits about her, to keep from dissolving into the hazy hunger burning through her. But it proved incredibly difficult. If she didn’t like him, didn’t find him funny and didn’t think him smart and articulate, she could just chalk it all up to sexual chemistry and walk away.
Doran’s attractiveness had everything to do with how he treated her, from opening doors, to carrying boxes, to fixing the copier and making sure she had a napkin when they ate lunch in the break room.
“We, we work in the s-same place…” she stammered, her resistance crumbling under Doran’s gentle strokes across her cheeks, her forehead, and her ears. Goodness if his hands felt this wonderful on her face, the way they would feel palming her breasts would be pure sinful pleasure.
“We work together, but you can’t tell me you don’t feel this between us.”
“I do,” she confessed. “But…that’s the problem.”
He stepped back. She missed his hands as soon as he took them away. Distancing himself, he stood across the hallway from her. “Explain it to me.”
“We’d have to see each other every day at work.” Now that she’d said it aloud, it didn’t sound as important as it did when she told Cree and Chloe. But come to think of it, they laughed at her too.
Doran broke into a smile. “What are you thinking lass? That we'll sleep together and and pretend like it never happened come Monday morning?”
Kenyatta sucked in a breath of courage because that was exactly what she had thought.
Before she could answer, Doran stalked across the hall to her. “I thought you knew me better.”
She bit her lip. “I do. I like you a lot, but I am not some easy score.”
“And I want more than just that. I’m a man, not a horny teenager, Ken. You enchant me, frustrate me, and torment me. And you know what? I love it. I love you!”
Doran’s accent grew thicker the more impassioned he became. Kenyatta’s worry dissipated in light of it. He had a point. Ten months into their working relationship, and he had never given any indication he’d do something coarse or base to her. Her fear of rejection had forced her to seal herself off and now that protective wall kept her from a man she really wanted. Before she knew it, a giggle had escaped.
“Ye laughin’ at me?” Doran froze, but a soft smile lit up his face. “The damn accent, eh? Let’s start over.”
Kenyatta nodded. “Okay.”
Doran coughed and grinned. “I’m Doran Richards, and I’m in love with you.”
Chapter Four
“You’re in love with me?” Kenyatta said the words like she’d never heard them before.
“Yes.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You know better than that. I’m Irish. I don’t get drunk.”
Doran watched Kenyatta fight within herself. She wanted to run from what they could become. He wanted to beat the shit out of the asshole that fractured her faith in love, because she acted like women he’d met before that had been betrayed and destroyed by lousy lovers. Their chemistry alone didn’t mean squat in the greater scheme of things. Their friendship, how well they got along, how both liked the same movies, ate the same take-out and dealt with the same family craziness, those were the things that linked them, the things he loved about her. She’d been crafted from clay for him. He knew it. Knew it with a deep down soul-sure knowledge that only some people are blessed with—an Irish knowing. Potato famine, snakes, and the Normans, no Irish luck ever came easy. Getting Kenyatta wouldn’t be easy either. So, he steeled his determination. Nothing in his makeup would allow him to let her shy away from the greatness that was them as a couple.
Fingering his charm and calling on his Irish luck, he closed the distance between them. Tonight he wanted to do more than long for her. She watched him carefully from those warm maple-brown eyes. Resisting the urge to touch her, he simply waited for her to let him in.
“Don’t run from me. It’s me, Ken. It’s me, Doran.”
Maybe it was his use of her nickname or the emotions in his voice, but she reached out to him. With her eyes wide and full lips trembling, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. He quit talking and felt her melt into his embrace. That told him all he needed to know.
So perfect in his arms, Kenyatta felt right. He knew it. Lifting her chin, his eyes met hers. “Let me kiss you.”
He claimed her mouth at once. Tasting as sweet as her demeanor, Kenyatta’s soft lips drove him wild! How many nights had he lain awake, his cock rock hard in his fist, dreaming of her wet, thick lips fastened around his rod? Too many. His arms tightened. Yanking her to him, he held her firm against his chest. The kiss deepened and her breasts pressed soft and flat against him, further tormenting him. Kenyatta moaned, so deep and delicious, it turned him on more. His jeans had become greatly restrictive. His growing hunger pressed impatiently, thudding against his zipper. With the stirring of his desire roused, he
released her, breaking the kiss before he took her right there on the floor.
“Wow.” Kenyatta blushed.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”
Her lips lingered close to his when they split into a wide grin.
“Me, too.” Her hand sought his. It made him glad she wanted his touch.
“Was it so bad?” He dropped a kiss on her cheek.
“No.” She squeezed him, and again, he relished the contact. “It was very wet.”
Doran laughed. “You have been kissed before...”
“Not like that. Not by you.” Sincerity drove those words into his heart. He hugged her close.
Just then, laughter erupted as three people spilled out of the ballroom doors. “Get a room!” one of them shouted. Doran peered at them. One, a graphic designer, added in slurred speech, “Lucky bastard!”
Doran noted all hailed from CAKE. One, Jillian Graham, worked in accounting. She spied them and approached, bleary eyed and staggering. He hoped she would not get behind the wheel of a car.
“Oh my God. It’s Jill!” Kenyatta buried her face into his chest. “Darn it.”
“I’ll take care of it, lass.”
“Is that you, Kenyatta?” Jillian smashed the words together, peering intently at Kenyatta. She stumbled back a step and then tried to touch her.
Doran rolled Kenyatta out of the drunken woman’s grasp.
“Obviously, you’ve had a good time tonight,” Doran scowled at Jill.
Jillian flashed a broad grin that broke through her confused expression. “You too, Richards.”
He nodded. “Touché.”
She glanced at the woman wrapped in his arms. “’Bout damn time you two got together. One more week of y’all mooning over each other, and pretending not to, and we voted to lock you both in the closet until one of you came out pregnant.”
Kenyatta squeaked. Jillian roared in laughter and stumbled off toward the pair waiting for her at the end of the hall.
“Rose, you driving them home tonight. They’re toasted,” Doran called down to a shapely woman dressed in a black suit and heels. She’d arrive at the party with Jill and her brother, Enrique in tow. Rose was a driver for Carte Seay’s law firm. Doran knew her because she often came by in the company car to fetch her brother.
Rose nodded and gave him a wink. “That you, Miss Kramer? So glad to see you and Mr. Richards have finally connected. You’re such a cute couple.”
Grabbing Enrique’s hand, Rose guided him down the hallway where Jill waited leaning against one of the tables. The three of them vanished around the corner.
Doran shook his head and looked down at Kenyatta. “See? To them we’re already a couple.”
Kenyatta laid her head against his chest. “She’s drunk.”
“I’m not drunk, and I already see us as a couple,” Doran said softly. He kissed the top of her head.
“Can we go?” she asked.
“Look at me.” She lifted her head and with her chin on his chest she met his eyes. “I am not ashamed of us. I’m in love with you. I won’t hide it. Not from the people we work with. Not from anyone. Ever. Now, if you’re not on board with that say so now.”
She untangled herself from his embrace. “Why do you have to make it so darn hard?”
“What’s hard? You want to be with me or not?”
How much simpler can it get? The rest they would face together, work out together, tackle together, as one.
“I do want you!” she crossed her arms in a huff.
“But…” He could hear it in her tone.
“But what if we go south or it sours or—”
“Or the Mayan calendar is correct and 2012 is the end of the world?” Doran interjected. “Every time you leave your home there is risk. Love is a risk. Life is a risk. You’re right about that. I’m Irish. Tonight is St. Patrick’s Day. Use a little Irish luck and take a chance. Take a chance on me. On us.”
“Us,” Kenyatta said, as if she was trying it out. “Us.”
“Yes, us—you and me.”
“And on Monday you won’t…”
“Do you have to even ask?” He scowled at her. He took her hand and placed it against his heart. “Listen.”
She pressed her ear to his chest. After a few moments, she straightened.
“And?”
“And you’re crazy if you think your heart can speak.”
Laughing, he held her hand tightly. “You ready to try your luck?”
“Yes, I think I am.”
Chapter Five
Absolutely no way would Kenyatta allow herself to engage in the horizontal hello inside her boss’s sprawling mansion. She followed Doran down the massive central staircase—marble two-tiered stairs that consumed most of the foyer. It bottomed out into a sprawling and gleaming foyer that led to the double front doors. Her heels clicked on the tile and her heart seemed to jump at each sound. Beside her, Doran held her hand and spoke in soft tones to her. With her throat dry and her panties wet from the excitement, she managed to croak out a, “I have to call Cree.”
Doran paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Cree?”
Kenyatta nodded. “I came with her.”
He shrugged. “Text her.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Kenyatta frowned. “Doran, she’s going to want to know.”
He squeezed her hand. “I don’t give a damn what she wants to know. The only woman I care about is you.”
“Well, I want to know.”
Kenyatta did not like how this was going. Truthfully, her choices were slim. She either wanted to go with him or she didn’t. She either trusted him or she didn’t. Her fence sitting had done what her nana had told her fence sitting would do—give you a sore backside. Doran made her feel so alive. So wickedly sinful and sexy she couldn’t not go with him—to the ends of the Earth if need be.
“You are stalling,” Doran said, clearly calling her bluff. “Are you really that afraid of me, or the option of what we could be together? You said you were ready. So, are you?”
When Doran spoke to her like this—full of command, certainty, and warmth, it made her want to do exactly what he said—all while wearing nothing but black lace and a tiny thong.
“I’m not stalling.” To her surprise, she meant it.
“Text Cree, and let her know you’re with me—”
“No need.” Cree appeared at the top of the staircase. With a nod at Kenyatta, she looked down her nose at them. “Doran, you’re not taking my baby cousin out of this house. You’ve both been drinking. We’ve got thirteen bedrooms. Pick one and sleep it off.”
Kenyatta’s cheeks burned. Her cousin sure did know how to embarrass her.
Point. Blank. Shoot.
Cree spun on her heels and clicked off back to wherever she’d magically come from.
“You heard the boss,” Doran said. With mischief fleshing out his dimpled cheeks, he pulled her to the east. They’d been given carte blanche to run through Silver’s home by the future Mrs. Silver herself. No CAKE employee would pass up that opportunity. She followed him down the eastern corridor, past several rooms. When he came to one with the door closed, he opened it, entered the guest room and flipped on the wall light switch. Decorated in soft Carolina blue, the rectangular room had been washed in Tarheel décor. It crawled over the walls, into picture frames and across the single bed’s comforter, sheets and pillowcases.
Doran stepped inside. “Um, wow.”
Kenyatta followed. “Mr. Silver went to Chapel Hill. I’ve never seen this room.”
“She said thirteen bedrooms.”
Kenyatta laughed in agreement. Doran softly shut the door, and pulled her to him.
“I love your laugh.” His voice deepened along with his accent.
When his arms slid around her waist, Kenyatta’s stomach rolled over. How many lunch breaks had she sat imagining this moment? Too many to count, and far too many turkey sand
wiches to remember.
He dipped his head lower, and placed his lips so close to hers that when he exhaled, she inhaled.
“Doran,” she breathed.
Her hands glided up his neck, across the nape and into his hair. Those silky strands felt good against her fingertips—cool to the touch. He shuddered against her, laughing in her ear, before taking the outer shell into his mouth. Nibbling the edge, his tongue licked a line down to her lobe, where Doran, sucked it into his mouth.
It raised goosebumps across her skin, made her nipples harden to the point they hurt, and caused her to clutch at this neck, her nails biting into his skin. His soft kissable lips traveled further down her throat, nuzzling her sensitive spot and making her moan. Kenyatta stopped fighting and released the pleasure she’d pinned behind her emotional Kevlar vest, her wall. Doran had successfully infiltrated her defenses and with each soft kiss, naughty nibble, and nuzzle, he dismantled her objections until there were none.
In the warm yellow light, she opened her eyes and saw Doran clearly. There was no denying he meant to make love to her. She closed her eyes and threw her head back as a rush of pleasure wash over her. Doran took his time licking her collarbone, and palming her ass. His hands slipped under her dress and felt good and strong as they squeezed her butt. He ran his tongue over her cheek and right to her lips.
He kissed her briefly on the lips, so light she barely felt it at all.
“Look at me, Ken.”
Her eyes flashed open. His gravel tone, the seriousness of it brought her back to the room, to this place and time. Doran’s crisp blue eyes were so close she thought she’d drown in them. Despite this, they offered comfort, bliss, and peace she hadn’t known since, well…ever. She’d always had to look out for herself, especially when her cousins had moved on with their lives, except for Cree. Her brother and sister were a good six and eight years older, respectively.