The Pleasure of His Company

by Lindsay Evans

  “Now we just need to let this soak for about an hour or so while we talk.” Her mother looked so pleased with herself that Adah didn’t have the heart to throw her out.

  She nibbled on her bottom lip despite the lipstick she’d freshened up a few minutes before. “In that case, there’s something I need to—” The doorbell rang, cutting her off.

  Her mother frowned. “Are you expecting someone else, darling?”

  I wasn’t expecting you, Adah thought. But she bit her tongue and threw a glance toward the front door, then back to her mother. “I invited a friend over,” she said, making her way toward the door.

  “A friend?” Her mother braced her palms on top of the kitchen counter, frown firmly in place. There was no way she’d misinterpreted what kind of friend Adah had invited to her apartment. “So soon?”

  Adah blushed and turned away, alternately wanting to placate her mother and needing to invite Kingsley in so he wouldn’t disappear again. “He’s actually someone I knew from before.”

  Her mother followed her from the kitchen, her high heels tapping against the hardwood floors like the sound of a telltale heart, which only made Adah’s actual heart beat faster in nervousness and dread. She drew a breath and pulled open the door.

  Of course it was Kingsley. And he looked...

  Her heartbeat raced in her chest, but this time the reason for it was completely different. Even with her mother behind her, Adah couldn’t stop her body from responding to him. He’d changed into another three-piece suit. This one was a dark gray with a tie and pocket square the same gold as his skin. The vest accentuated his flat belly, and she dropped her eyes immediately to where it parted in an inverted V just above his crotch. Adah licked her lips and swallowed.

  “I’m a little early,” he said, his voice a deep bass settling hard in her belly.

  If her mother hadn’t been in the room, Adah would have dragged him into her apartment and jumped him. Maybe it was a good thing her mother was there after all. In lieu of doing what she really wanted, she devoured his gorgeous body with her eyes.

  “Adah, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  Kingsley looked over her shoulder at her mother’s words, and Adah forced her mind to focus.

  “Um...come in.” She stepped back to invite him inside. To Thandie she said, “You’ve met him before. At the hotel in Aruba.”

  Her mother drew in a shocked breath. She started to speak the same time Kingsley said, “If this is a bad time, I can come back.”

  “No!” Adah practically shouted. She ignored her mother’s surprise, and half hoped she would allow him the same courtesy she’d shown Bennett when he showed up at her door in Aruba. But no such luck. Instead her mother stepped forward with her hand extended.

  “I’m Thandie Palmer-Mitchell,” she said. “And you are?”

  Adah squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment. “Mother...”

  But Kingsley was already stepping forward to shake her mother’s hand. “Kingsley Diallo, ma’am. I’m interested in marrying your daughter.”

  The resulting silence didn’t last long.

  “Why only interested?” Her mother glanced up at Kingsley with her arms crossed. From the look on her face, she might as well have been looking down at him. Kingsley didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. Instead, he stood respectfully quiet, nodding once at the loaded question.

  “Because your daughter hasn’t told me yes.”

  Her mother made a show of examining Kingsley from head to toe. The frown she’d been wearing deepened even more. “I know you,” she said.

  “Mama, I already told you. You met him at the hotel in Aruba. He just has more clothes on.” Adah bit her tongue after she said the last part, wondering what the hell was wrong with her.

  “No, there’s something else...” Her mother’s eyes widened, and a hand went to her throat. If she’d been wearing pearls, Adah swore she would have clutched them. “Are you one of the Miami Diallos?”

  “I am, ma’am.” Kingsley said it calmly while Adah was the one to frown now. What did where he lived have to do with anything?

  “Oh.” Her mother looked shell-shocked.

  “Mama? Are you okay?” Adah stared at her mother, then at Kingsley, confused.

  “Yes, love,” her mother said, but she still looked like she’d just received the surprise of her life. “I’m going to leave you to your...whatever it is you and Mr. Diallo have planned for tonight. You can have the sangria anytime you like.” Then she was gathering her purse and scarf from where she’d dropped them on the couch. “We’ll talk later.” She nodded at Kingsley. “Let me know how your proposal goes.”

  He smiled. “I will, ma’am.”

  Once her mother pulled the front door shut behind her, Adah turned to Kingsley. “What was that about?”

  “A business proposition my company presented to her last week. Nothing you have to worry about.”

  But Adah couldn’t let it go so easily. “Wait a minute. You’re from the Diallo Corporation?”

  He nodded. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

  “But...but...” She couldn’t even think of a proper objection. He’d basically saved her parents’ business, no, her family’s business. Because of his connection with her.

  “It was business,” he said with a shrug, walking toward her with a compelling and graceful movement of hips that made her mouth water. “It makes sense to us. You brought Palmer-Mitchell Naturals to my attention, but after talking it over with the board, they agree the partnership makes good business sense.”

  “Oh.” Adah felt like she was losing the basic ability to speak.

  “Now, about you and me...” A lopsided smile tugged at his sinful mouth and took whatever else was left of Adah’s reasoning abilities.

  She stayed right where she was while he stalked toward her. “What about you and me?” The words didn’t leave her mouth above a whisper.

  Earlier when he’d asked her that ridiculous question, she’d been shocked. This from the man who ran from the passionate bed they’d shared as if it were on fire. It didn’t make any sense. She’d just left one engagement behind, for God’s sake.

  But between the moment he’d left her at the day care and when he appeared at her front door, she’d relived what it had been like without him over the last few weeks. Not just the sex she’d ached for, even though it had been unforgettably good. But the way he’d brought his own light into her life. His fearlessness, his humor, his strength. It didn’t matter he was suddenly a millionaire or billionaire able to be the savior to Palmer-Mitchell Naturals her parents wanted. He was what she wanted.

  “Be with me.” His breath whispered against her lips. “However you want to do this, just be with me.”

  His words rang through her, resonating with every desire she’d ever had. “Yes,” Adah said while the feeling rose up inside her like the sun-washed tides of an unforgettable Aruban sea. “Always, yes.”

  She met his lips halfway and allowed his desire, and hers, to sweep her completely away.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  SURRENDER TO ME by Donna Hill

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  Surrender to Me

  by Donna Hill

  Chapter 1

  A warm leg brushed against his. Rafe Lawson glanced over his shoulder through dark eyes still lazy with sleep. He blinked slowly in the dim light of early morning, bringing the body next to him into focus. The night before began to come back to him in brief snapshots. His grandfather Clive’s birthday party. Bourbon. Music. Beautiful women.

  He gently lifted the pale blue sheet that covered her body and peeked beneath. Hmm. Very nice. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. And she definitely was not the woman he’d dreamed about all night—the woman he’d met at the party.

  They’d only had a few moments to talk. She was part of the Secret Service detail that was assigned to the vice president, who’d made a surprise visit for his old friend’s birthday. Avery! That was her name. The woman from last night.

  The unnamed woman in his bed moaned softly and he felt her lush body stretch against him. He eased out of bed and strode to the adjoining bathroom.

  Rafe leaned on the sink and assessed his reflection in the mirror. The residue from his night of partying was barely evident beyond the five-o’clock shadow that outlined his jaw.

  At thirty-six, his body still bounced back from the wear and tear he subjected it to; whether tearing up the highways on his motorcycle, hours in the gym or nights of indulgence in alcohol and women. He knew, however, that his often wild lifestyle couldn’t be maintained forever. He lived for the adrenaline rush of living on the edge, on his own terms, even to the dismay of family and friends. He did it as much to amuse himself as to piss off his powerful father.

  He backed away from the all-knowing mirror and turned on the shower full-blast in the hope that his head would clear about the events that led to the woman in his bed.

  By the time he turned off the taps he remembered—and it wasn’t good. The lovely lady was Shante Thornton, who worked for his sister Dominique. He muttered a curse while he knotted a towel around his waist. Back in front of the mirror he wiped the fogged glass with a cloth. His face appeared haloed by the mist. “You’re an idiot,” he grumbled.

  When Rafe returned, Shante was sitting on the side of the bed with the sheet pulled up around her. She glanced quickly at him, turned away and clutched the sheet in her fist, but not before he registered the look of uncertainty and maybe embarrassment in her eyes. Without makeup and the fancy gown that was now tossed on an armchair, he could see how young she was. Not underage jail potential, but younger than the women he was accustomed to dealing with. There was a vulnerability that engulfed her like the scent of great sex that still lingered in the room.

  He may be a womanizer in the eyes of some, but the truth was he loved women, adored them. He cherished the bodies of women, the soft curves of their shoulders and hips, the sexy spot behind the ear right down to the lobe, and the allure of the collarbone and the lovely space where he could dip his tongue and feel the pulse, and the sensual pull of a woman’s breasts when he held them in his palms was always exciting. Women’s bodies fascinated him and he made it his duty to explore, awaken and satisfy. He treasured their minds equally, and there was nothing more singularly sexy than an intelligent woman. But in every instance he treated them all with equal doses of charm and respect—a mantra that he lived by. Unfortunately, it had gotten him into more trouble than he needed on occasion.

  “Mornin’, sugah,” he said while he crossed the room. He sat beside her and felt her tense. “Sleep okay?”

  She barely nodded her head. Rafe smiled and that seemed to break the ice.

  “I haven’t slept that good in ages.”

  “It’s the sheets,” he teased.

  Shante laughed softly.

  “There’re fresh towels in the bathroom.” He stood. “I’ll fix us some breakfast. Bacon and eggs cool?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Coffee? Tea? Juice?”

  “Coffee,” she asked more than stated.

  “Got it.” He left and as he reached the door he heard her get up from the bed and scurry into the bathroom. Modesty was actually an admirable trait.

  * * *

  He deftly threw together his morning-after omelet special of cheddar and sharp cheeses, green and red peppers and diced bits of ham mixed with a dash of milk to keep the eggs light and fluffy; a trick he’d learned from his mom. He hummed while he worked and in between every other note he thought about or saw an image of Avery. Rarely did one woman leave that kind of impression on him. He was used to easily seducing the woman that he wanted; a full-on Lawson press. Not this time. He frowned as he replayed their brief encounter.

  He’d noticed her the moment she walked in and it was clear, even in an eye-popping black gown, that her presence was more than an invited guest. He could tell by the way her gaze covertly scanned the room, noted the exits and followed at a discreet distance from the vice president that she was part of his security detail—Secret Service. He had an image of a .22 strapped to her inner thigh.

  Unlike many highbrow gatherings of politicos and the like that were too reserved for his tastes, a Lawson party was the real deal full of loud laughter, louder conversations and the music to go with it. So of course he had to get particularly close to talk to her.

  He gave her time to assess the layout before he approached. He came alongside her. “Can I get you anything?”

  She turned cinnamon-brown eyes on him, fanned by long curved lashes. Her smile was practiced, distant, but Rafe didn’t miss the rapid beat of her pulse in the dip of her throat that belied her cool exterior. Her sleek right brow rose in question as she took him in with one long glance.

  “Clearly you’re not one of the waitstaff,” she said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

  “Rafe Lawson.”

  Her eyes widened for a split second. “Oh, the scandalous one.”

  He dramatically pressed his hand to his chest. “Guilty as charged, cher, but I have perfectly reasonable explanations for everything.”

  Her eyes sparkled when the light hit them. “I’m sure you do, Mr. Lawson.”

  “So what can I get for you that won’t interfere with you being on duty?”

  She tensed ever so slightly.

  “Trust me. I’ve grown up in this life. I can spot Secret Service a mile away. Although I must admit that you bring class to the dark suits and Ray-Bans.”

  She glanced past him to where her colleague stood near the vice president. In one fluid motion she gave a barely imperceptible lift of her chin, a quick scan of the room and said, “Nice to meet you,” as she made a move to leave.

  He held her bare arm. “Tell me your name,” he commanded almost in her ear. He inhaled her, felt the slight shiver that gripped her.

  “Avery.”

  Rafe released her and followed the dangerously low-cut back of her dress until she was out of sight.

  “Smells delicious.”

 
Rafe blinked, glanced over his shoulder. Definitely cute, but she wasn’t Avery. He took two plates from the overhead cabinet and set them on the table. “Help yourself to coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  He spooned the eggs onto a platter and added the bacon. “Toast?”

  “No. I’m fine with this.”

  Rafe poured himself a glass of orange juice, straddled the stool and sat. “How long have you been working with my sister, six months?”

  “Just about.”

  He watched her over the rim of his glass as she tried to remain ladylike when she took a half spoonful of eggs and one strip of bacon when he knew damn well she had to be starving because he was.

  He lifted the serving spoon from the platter, loaded it with eggs and plopped it on her plate, followed by two strips of bacon.

  “We’ve already experienced carnal knowledge, honey, no point in putting on a show now. Eat like you mean it.” He winked and filled his plate.

  “I...want you to know that... I don’t do this.”

  “What’s that, Shante, eat breakfast?”

  She sputtered a laugh. “No. I mean...spend the night with a man the first time I meet him.”

  He chewed thoughtfully. “Hmm. Okay.” He smiled, slow and deliberate. “I consider it an honor, cher.” He watched her sandy brown skin flush then tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. His fingers instinctively caressed the smooth lock. “Eat up. I’ll drop you home before I take care of the rest of my day.”

  * * *

  Rafe preferred the black Range Rover for his everyday use rather than either of his two cars or his motorcycle. Plus the roominess gave him an artificial sense of distance when he knew it would be the last official time he’d drop a woman at her door. The intimacy of a car made parting more difficult.

  “Thanks for a great evening...and breakfast,” Shante said. She smiled shyly.