Ayron reveals her nearly perfect teeth with a wide smile.
“You weren’t much better.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to catch me,” I tease. She nearly toppled over performing several poses.
“True,” she concedes. “You win.”
“So, are you better at picking tea than you are at yoga?”
“Let’s hope so,” she answers.
We enter the quaint shop with a few patrons and a strong aroma of coffee beans. I think of a small café that I frequent in Seattle, the rustic wood and metal décor a naturalist’s haven.
“That was fun,” I say to her when we take our seats face to face at a small table near the window after ordering.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she says.
“I enjoy being with you,” I tell her.
My father once told me that I have an addictive personality. I don’t necessarily agree with his assessment. However, I like what I like and if I like it, I want it.
Thinking about Ayron, I conclude that I still like her, more now than yesterday.
“Smooth,” she says, batting her eyes. “But I feel like there’s something that I need to confess.”
She takes in a deep breath.
I brace myself because there are many secrets that women can keep that can be devastating.
“I feel like there is a possibility that we could spend more time together, and I don’t want to lead you on,” she says, biting her luscious bottom lip.
“I prefer that you’re honest with me,” I respond with a lifted eyebrow.
I have experienced liars, women who clutch on to secrets in order to keep a man around and then let the craziness explode once they feel they have a man trapped. The lesson—never get trapped. I’ve been down that road, and I never want to go there again. Gisselle, my ex, was a woman for the unwell, for those who didn’t like sanity.
The waiter brings our drinks.
“Thank you,” Ayron says to the portly woman who wobbles away with an empty tray.
I take Ayron’s free hand.
“You can talk to me,” I assure her.
“How important is it to you that we be intimate?” she asks quietly.
I clear my throat. Every time I look at this woman, I remember her thick ass pressed against my dick on the dance floor. Fuck the cute words. Intimate? I don’t want to be intimate—I want to fuck the shit out of her until she falls over, but I can’t say those words out loud. Ayron doesn’t strike me as the bitchy type, but there is a certain level of respect commanded by her presence. The straightness of her back when she sits, and the graceful tilt of her head. Her poised posture is elegant during the day, but then there is the wild woman that escaped the night we pushed our bodies against each other all over the dance floor. I am ready to meet that wild again.
“Can I be real with you?” I scoot forward in the chair, nearer to her.
“Please,” she says.
“I’ve wanted to be inside of you since the moment I met you,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says, sitting back. She withdraws her hand from mine. “That’s what I was worried about.”
I take her hand again and look into the pools of her brown eyes.
“I promise that I will take extra good care of you. There is no need to worry. I am a gentleman first.”
“That’s the point. I don’t want to be intimate,” she says.
I laugh again, a record for the day.
“Are you saying that you don’t want to be intimate with me?” I question with furrowed brows.
This is a first. Women usually fight battle-style trying to hop into my bed. I remember there was an employee at the shoe store who literally locked me in the storage room and started ripping off my clothes.
“At least not for thirty days,” she adds.
I blow my breath into my hands and sniff in jest. I then take a quick whiff at my armpits comically.
“What? Do I stink?” I question.
“No.” The sound of her laughter lifts a smile across my face. “Sex complicates things. It clouds my judgment and I want to make sure that I know you, learn about you for who you are as a person, and not just what your body can do to mine.”
I don’t say anything, but search her face for sincerity.
“I respect that,” I say finally and take a sip from my tea.
“Do you?” she says with more confidence than before. More like the woman who showed no shame on the dance floor.
“I do,” I say honestly. “But just to let you know, I don’t place any limitations on myself.”
She looks into her cup as though words could be found there, and then refocuses on me.
“Then this is the limit on our time,” she says, placing a kiss on my cheek.
“Ayron, wait.” I look at the unbelievably beautiful woman in disbelief. “Are you leaving?”
No woman had walked away in the middle of a date before. Ever. Had I ditched a few in the late hours of the night after a hotel tryst? Sure, but with that general understanding already established.
Her tempting body moves through the door with ease.
I look at my watch.
She can’t truly be leaving. She doesn’t have her car.
Through the window, I see her accentuated hips and remember that I haven’t sampled her yet. I like fine things; unique and complicated items that are difficult to find and can’t belong to everyone. I don’t spend excessively like Keith, flying people around the world randomly on private aircraft. I spend when and where it matters, for items that will benefit me in the future. The same rules apply for my time. Putting in time with Ayron, which I suddenly have an abundance of lately, will definitely be a worthwhile investment. I can’t let that get away yet, not without test-driving those curves first. If thirty days is what it takes to get a taste of her honey, I’m certain that the wait will be well worth it.
I catch up with her in a few steps and place a soft hand against her shoulder.
“I’m telling you the truth. Isn’t that what you wanted?” I insist, watching her eyes narrow against me. Her female bullshit detector is processing at high speed, but I continue. “At least let me take you to your car. I don’t want you walking away angry.”
“I’m not angry,” she assures me, folding her arms. “I just need your word that you’ll give me thirty days.”
“Thirty entire days and nights?” I question.
The glint in her eye lets me know that she isn’t playing, that she means every syllable leaving her perfect, pouty lips.
“Never mind,” she says, turning away from me, giving me a reminder view of her perfect ass.
I place a hand on her arm when I really want to place my hand against her backside.
“All right,” I concede. “But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Let me have the phone?” I request, placing my hand in front her.
“You’re taking it back?” she inquires, as though the act would hurt her feelings. A few seconds ago she was so sure. Her body stays resolved, but her eyes soften enough for me to know that no matter what I say today, I will not have to wait the full thirty-day period. She definitely wants me.
She hands over the phone.
“Nope. I’m adding an appointment for day thirty-one, midnight,” I tell her with a wink. “By then, you should have those yoga poses down. Be ready.”
“And if you want to keep that appointment, I have conditions,” she says, placing a hand on her hip, her uncertainty disappearing.
“Are these conditions negotiable?” I push, hoping that she may waver.
“Sorry. Iron-clad,” she replies.
“Let’s hear it,” I tell her through a sigh, curious about what she may say.
No matter what, I get what I want. I like having things go my way, for the most part.
“You have to always be honest with me. Regardless of what you think, or how you think I may react…tell me the truth,” she says. Her brown e
yes are open, honest, beseeching. I find myself wanting to agree to whatever she says, just to see that sunny warmth inside them, aiming its rays right at me.
“I’ve never had a problem speaking my mind,” I tell her.
Her eyes glide down the length of me as she wets her lips. I want to lick those lips.
“You know the terms. Are up for the challenge?”
“As long as I get to do this,” I say, pulling her close to me and taking in the warmth of her mouth. Spirals of electric heat descend me as I explore the warm softness of her mouth.
She smiles when I pull away.
“I’m all right with that,” she says.
“Deal,” I agree.
***
I have only been away from the building a few days and already it feels different. The first difference: my key card security access doesn’t work.
I swipe my badge across the magnetic strip attached to the back employee entrance and watch the light, which used to turn green, respond with a bright, blinking red. Locked out of my own company. This can only be Trevor’s doing. As Ayron and I were leaving the coffee shop, DJ Blast sent a shout out to my sister Dana Masters for her upcoming wedding. A wedding that would be taking place two weeks from now, when last week the pair hadn’t even set a date. I didn’t bother to go back to the yoga studio where Ayron’s car was. There was no time. I just brought her along with me.
I swipe the card again and get the same result before I let my fist come down against the irritating door.
“What’s going on?” Ayron asks, appearing next to me from the car, worry crowding her face.
“Nothing,” I lie. I may like her, but my family stuff runs deep, farther down than a minute conversation at the door.
“I get it,” she says, folding her arms. “You’re standing here slapping at a closed door because you enjoy it.”
Her foot taps out a rhythm as she waits for an answer.
I yank on the door again before rolling out my middle finger at the security camera.
“Did you lie to me?” she questions, her voice rising. “Did you tell me you were an executive here to impress me?”
“What? Why would I do that?” I ask, turning toward her. Even when she’s enraged, she looks gorgeous.
“I don’t do liars,” she says, before turning away from me and stomping through the parking garage.
“I was telling you the truth,” I shout to her back. “I just didn’t tell you all of it.”
My words stop her departure for the second time. I can’t blame her for knowing what she wants and not accepting anything less.
She turns to face me with a look of understanding. Her face softens.
“I’m suspended from my position for hitting a guy—my sister’s fiancé,” I explain. “He’s trying to push me out of the company by pushing up the date of their wedding.”
She steps closer to me with a smile crossing those kissable full lips.
“Was that so hard?” she says playfully.
“I got something that can get hard for you,” I joke, nearly forgetting the sole mission and purpose for standing in the middle of the parking lot.
I hook her against me.
“Are you trying to get into the building or into me?” she whispers, craning her neck to look into my eyes.
“Choice C, all of the above,” I answer, sliding a hand to her round behind.
“You can only have one.” She places a steady hand on my arm. “Take a few deep breaths and let’s think this through. Clear decisions can’t be made if your mind is clouded.”
I take slow, even breaths as we make our way back to my car.
She slides in softly, moving those luscious thighs into the passenger seat. Fuck, but I’m actually feeling jealous of my own damn car; at least it’s been given the privilege of cradling that soft ass.
“Let’s recap the situation,” she says when I take a seat next to her. “Thinking about the facts only, without the emotion, can bring about clarity.”
“Trevor told me point-blank that he wants me out. In the last conversation, he brought up my sister and him becoming a part of the family.”
“Have you talked to your sister? Maybe if you call her, let her know that you need to talk, she can buzz you up, or come to you.”
“We’re not that type of family, Ayron. We don’t do the fuzzy, warm conversations.”
“What conversation were you going to have in her office?”
“I’m going to see that slithering snake Trevor to let him know that I see what he’s trying to do.”
She crosses her arms before leaning back against the car door.
“Here we go,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “You should be glad that I like you, lady.”
“I’m just trying to help you think this through. What happens when you go up there?” she asks.
“I’ll let him know that I’m not sitting quietly by for his bullshit,” I say, raising my voice a little in the process.
“That’s basically telling Trevor, the enemy, your plan,” Ayron reasons. “Right now, he doesn’t have a clue that you see his moves. You running up the stairs and screaming at him, possibly having a physical altercation, will put you in further jeopardy of losing your position.”
I think about the truth in her words.
“I believe in doing, not waiting and wondering. I act, strike while the iron is hot and let the pieces fall as they may. I’m not scared.”
“Are you willing to risk your position in the company to prove how ‘not scared’ you are?” she asks in a voice that teeters on the edge of sarcasm, but reminds me more of the advice Sheryl used to give me in our kitchen conversations.
A month after my mother passed away, Sheryl came into my life to run the house. She was no-nonsense, but always let it be known that she cared for me. Conversation and pie is what I remember most about the woman. She believed that the world’s problems could be solved over food.
“Let’s grab some lunch,” I tell Ayron before putting the car in drive and head out of the parking lot.
Maybe it is wiser to have a plan before I pursue.
Chapter 9-Ayron
The exhilaration that the rumble of Devlin’s sleek sports car provides is enough to make me want to jump across the center console and shift his gears until he roars. A raw manliness radiates from his existence. I understand why women lose control around him.
“What are you thinking about over there?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I give a naughty smile.
He handles the powerful turbo car with ease, switching from one lane to the next as though the machine is dancing to a beat. If only he could control his anger like he does the car, I wouldn’t be here.
Devlin parks at a restaurant near the edge of the city, a quaint place with vines covering its limestone-and-brick shell. He opens the door, and I step out of the car as though I own it, as if fancy cars are an everyday part of my life.
He takes my hand inside of his as we make our way in.
The dim, candlelit restaurant automatically registers as expensive. Silver glitters around French words and accents. Fleur-de-lis, fake grapes, and vined, triangular leaf decorations stand out strategically amongst the light purple walls as people in white tops and black bottoms rush around the table clothed areas.
“Have you been here before?” Devlin asks, watching my expression.
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s a beautiful place, though.”
The fanciest place that Lance ever took me had cartoons on the menu.
“Ayron!” the hostess calls out as she steps forward.
I want to take off my face and drop it inside of my purse.
The uniformed woman hugs me quickly, with no regard for Devlin. Despite being enveloped in her powerful hug, I watch his face. His caramel eyes watch me. Do I detect a hint of suspicion?
“Jenny,” I say kindly, hugging her back.
Two years ago, I helped her escape an abusive relationship and provided
counseling to her and her daughter for six months afterward.
“How is your baby?” I ask, hoping to guide the direction of the conversation.
“Great. We’re doing so well,” she says with a genuine smile, before turning her attention to Devlin.
“Seating for two?” she asks, her voice becoming professional.
“Yes. Jenny, this is my friend Devlin.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says. “Someone else was supposed to be your waitress, but I’m going to take care of you two personally today.” She punctuates her declaration with a wink, officially knotting my stomach.
I had already lectured Devlin on the importance of him being honest with me, even though I continue to hide things from him. I am usually very open with my patients about my life and history. I always want them to feel comfortable when they talk to me.
Jenny guides us to a nice table near a wall, handing us our menus before we sit.
“You make sure to take good care of the doc,” she says before turning and leaving.
“Doc?” Devlin questions, lifting an eyebrow.
If panic were frequent flyer miles, I’d have enough for two trips around the world. I feel like we are making progress. I’ve gotten him to agree to a non-sexual relationship, open up about his family and rethink a rampage against his soon-to-be brother in law. I don’t want that to change.
“Just a nickname,” I say, calmly unwrapping my silverware.
“How’d you earn that?” he asks.
“I told you that I work as a professional organizer. Sometimes clutter is covering more than a home. Our physical cleaning can lead to some soul cleaning, sometimes.” I shrug. It’s not a total lie, but my stomach turns a little at the thought of not being completely honest with him. “Plus, I give good advice,” I add for good measure.
Jenny arrives with our drinks, but not alone. She comes to the table with a man dressed in a chef uniform.
“I promise that I’m going to let you enjoy your date, I just really feel like I need to say this.” Jenny looked between Devlin and me.
“It’s fine,” I reassure her, remembering how hard it was for her to open up about her feelings when we first met, how hurt she was. “How about we step over and speak in private?”
Entitled: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boys For Life Book 1) Page 4