Forever His Desire

by Valerie Lynne

  Hell-bent on creating the perfect atmosphere, Jennifer did her best to ignore her stomach as it roiled. Preparing a lavish meal for her man was the easy part, figuring out how exactly to tell Andre not so much.

  Oh, by the way, I’m pregnant. Jennifer grimaced as an image of Andre choking on a half-chewed piece of meat came to mind. She walked to the stove and picked up the lid of the stock pot in one hand. As she leaned over the boiling water and inhaled the hearty aroma, her stomach lurched, again, twisting into an uncomfortable knot. Jennifer sucked in her breath, stirring the contents as fast as she could, and then slammed the lid back down.

  She swiped the back of her hand over the sweat dotting her brow, relieved to have that task under control. Morning sickness, my ass, she thought, slumping into a kitchen chair to give her stomach a moment to settle down. Anytime, any-fucking-where sickness was more like it. The one saving grace was that it passed quickly.

  Breathing in another deep breath and slowly letting it out, she rose from the chair. Opening the kitchen cabinet, she eyed the stack of ramen noodles. Sweet Jesus, she loved the damn things. The beef ones, especially. Unable to resist, she snatched a package from the shelf, practically salivating as she thought of its salty flavor. Anxious to devour them, Jennifer once again held her breath and then removed the lid from the stock pot. Carefully, she poured a ladle full into a small bowl. With a large spoon, she wound the scalding noodles around it and then shoveled them into her mouth. Heaven!

  Holding the soup bowl to her lips, Jennifer slurped up the last of the soup and then resumed preparations for tonight’s meal: porterhouse steak smothered with sautéed onions and mushrooms, rosemary garlic potatoes, and glazed honey carrots. Followed by Andre’s favorite dessert, chocolate puffs with mascarpone cheese, drizzled with a layer of bittersweet chocolate.

  Jennifer opened the refrigerator door and smiled. Two lovely pink glass salad bowls were placed on a shelf. Made an hour earlier, the Lyonnaise salad looked gorgeous and would be chilled to perfection by the time Andre arrived.

  Satisfied with her creations, Jennifer whipped off her apron and walked into the dining room. Turning the switch, she adjusted the lighting. The dimmed room, with LED candles grouped in the middle of the table, made for a romantic atmosphere. Ahh...perfection.

  A LIGHT RAP SOUNDED from the door followed by the click of the lock. “Hey, Blue Eyes,” Andre called out as he strolled into the kitchen. A sexy smile flashed across his face as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. “It smells delicious in here. Are we celebrating something special?”

  “Umm...” Her mind went blank, everything she’d practiced saying earlier completely gone. A mixture of excitement and trepidation shivered through her. It wasn’t every day you told someone you were pregnant. Jennifer certainly had never told someone that before. “Yes.” She snaked her hands beneath his unzipped black motorcycle jacket. She smoothed her palms over the navy-blue cotton T-shirt that hugged his muscular chest in all the right places, nuzzling into his solid stability. “Us and our future,” she said, batting her lashes as she smiled up at him.

  Hotness warmed her cheek, his nose tickling her as he lowered his lips to her ear. “I can’t think of a better reason to celebrate.”

  Tingles jolted straight to her sex. Who knew being pregnant would make a woman feel hornier than ever? “Have I ever told you how hot you are?”

  “A few times,” Andre answered, nipping lightly at her ear. “But I still think you need glasses.”

  “I have 20/20 vision.” Jennifer’s nipples hardened as they brushed over Andre’s broad chest. “I’ll tell you what I do need, Officer Jenkins,” she said, tracing a French-manicured fingertip over his stubbled chin.

  “Sex?” he breathed sensually as he finished the sentence for her. Plump and velvety soft, his lips hovered above hers. His hands moved lower, cupping her ass between his palms to hold Jennifer even closer. Then Andre flicked the tip of his tongue out, trailing it over the seam of her lips, using it to urge her lips to part. A guttural moan ripped from his chest as his tongue delved into her mouth, hungrily seeking out hers.

  She arched her neck, her tongue twisting with his. She dug her fingernails into his back, clinging to him as their kiss deepened.

  “Keep this up, woman, and we’ll never eat whatever you’ve cooked up that smells so good,” Andre panted against her swollen lips as he broke the kiss.

  “That would be a damn shame since I’ve taken the time to cook my man all of his favorites.” Jennifer ran her hands over his well-defined biceps, reveling in the sheer strength of his arms. “Just wait until you find out what I made for dessert.”

  “Does it have anything to do with this?” he asked, grinding his hips against her sex.

  “Oh honey...that’s the icing on the cake,” Jennifer laughed throatily.

  Warm brown eyes bore down on her, their expression filled with desire. “I can’t wait to taste you—” He cleared his throat. “Excuse me”—he chuckled deeply—“I meant to say the dessert.”

  “Slip of the tongue?” Jennifer’s voice had grown breathy, her panties wet.

  “I’ll slip my tongue anywhere on you or in you,” Andre answered, his voice husky. “Do we have time for an appetizer?”

  Just then the buzzer on the oven went off interrupting their verbal foreplay.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jennifer hissed. “Raincheck?”

  “Guaranteed.” Andre shot her a mischievous grin.

  Reluctantly, Jennifer twisted out of Andre’s embrace, her pussy pulsing with need. “Just when things were getting interesting, I have to check on our damn dinner before it burns.”

  “Shame on you. And here you are a graduate with honors from Johnson and Wales Culinary Arts Program, almost burning our dinners because you couldn’t keep your hands off of me. What would your teachers think?” Andre teased, swatting playfully at Jennifer’s ass.

  With a girlish shriek, Jennifer bolted toward the kitchen. “You’re not fooling me, Andre Jenkins. I know the real reason you love me isn’t due to my charming personality—it’s due to your stomach.

  “Well, that and a few other reasons,” he said, following behind her. “Tell me, what can I do to help?

  “There is a bottle of sparkling cider on the dining room table. Could you open it?”

  “Sure,” he said and headed into the adjoining room.

  After a brief assessment of the entrée, Jennifer grabbed the salads and joined Andre in the dining room, placing the salads onto the table.

  “Wow! That salad is a meal in itself,” Andre said, filling each of their champagne flutes with sparkling cider.

  “Only the best for my man.” Jennifer lowered into the chair across from him. Picking up the stem of her glass, she held it in the air. “To the strongest, most handsome, honorable, and hottest man I’ve ever met. I love you.”

  “And I love you,” Andre said, tapping his flute to hers.

  “I was thinking.” Andre shifted in his seat. “Maybe, this celebration is your way of asking me to move back in.” He flashed a dazzling smile her way, his expression hopeful. “Am I right?” he asked.

  Oh my God! Yes. Pulse racing, her mind whirled. “I thought you wanted to wait until Michael was older,” Jennifer stammered, wondering if he’d change his mind once he learned she was pregnant.

  “I don’t want to waste another day without you. I’m all in, Jenn. And yes, I know we’ve both had our concerns about the influence living out of wedlock would have on Michael, but eventually that will change too.”

  “I’ll be right back,” she blurted, bolting out of her chair. She whisked their half-eaten salad plates from the table and started for the kitchen.

  “Hold up a minute,” Andre said.

  “No, honey. I can’t. I don’t want the entrée to burn. I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder as she scurried away.

  Jennifer rested her back to the refrigerator; the cold felt wonderful against her f
laming skin. It has to be at least a hundred degrees in this room. She tipped her head back, sucking in a labored breath. Now is not the time for a heart attack. Panicking won’t solve a thing. It never does. As hard as she tried to reason with herself, the heart palpitations seemed to worsen. Eyes squeezed shut, she tried to shut everything out and focus on easing her breaths.

  “Blue Eyes, what’s wrong?” Andre said as he burst through the kitchen.

  “I...I...can’t...breathe,” Jennifer wheezed, her chest heaving as she stuttered. Her fingers flew into the air, flailing over her chest. “I...think I’m...having...a panic attack.”

  Chapter 37

  Andre

  Somehow, after much duress, Andre had managed to convince Jennifer to lie down and rest. Now as he covered their half-eaten salads with plastic wrap, he wracked his brain, pondering over Jennifer’s odd behavior.

  After filling the remaining Pyrex container with potatoes, he stacked them onto one of the refrigerator’s shelves. Oh yeah! Andre thought when he noticed the container filled with pastries shoved into a corner of the refrigerator. Carefully he removed them from the shelf, handling the Pyrex with more care than he would the Holy Grail.

  I need to marry this woman soon. But first, I have to convince her that we can’t ever be apart. He bit into the pastry, his eyes rolling toward the heavens as the mascarpone spurted into his mouth. Making short work of the puff of pastry, Andre quickly took another and then placed the rest back into the refrigerator to share with Jennifer once she was feeling better.

  As he sucked the bittersweet chocolate off his fingertips, he picked up a pan from the stovetop and was about to scrape the remnants of the glazed carrots into the trash when he noticed the wadded-up pile of wrappers mixed in with the garbage. Binging on Ramen noodles? Since when do you eat anything prepackaged? Andre wondered as he closed the trash can’s lid. I suppose it’s better than vodka.

  Next, he moved onto the dishwasher, his mind still wrapping around the fact that Jennifer was eating Ramen noodles. After all, she’d once chewed him out for feeding them to Michael. Something weird is going on. There was no reason for her to have a panic attack.

  Leaning his back against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest. What aren’t you telling me? Each time he saw Jennifer, her normally sharp-tongued remarks and tough-as-nails attitude seemed to diminish even more. He was worried. No, worried was an understatement. Andre was terrified.

  There was no way he’d let Jennifer withdraw from him again. It was his job to look after her. Whether she liked it or not, Jennifer had been his main priority since he was twelve years old. Most people misunderstood her. They believed she was a hard-ass, and yes, sometimes, she was. But Jennifer was so much more. In addition to being the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, Jennifer’s heart overflowed with love. So much so, that it pained Andre every time he thought of what she’d endured because of him. The nasty names. The heartless rumors.

  What they didn’t know was just how fragile Jennifer was or how difficult it was for her to let down her guard. Only he and Victoria truly knew and understood her. He suspected Katie had a good idea as well. And Shane O’Halloran as much as he hated to admit it. Although even now, twenty years later, Andre still fought to slay her demons. They ran so deep. Yet, she rarely spoke of them. Her childhood remained somewhat of a mystery. Andre had no idea if she’d always kept a wall around her or if it was built as a result of her mother’s death. Tragic loss changes a person. Especially a kid.

  What’s wrong, Blue Eyes? Andre’s concern was at an all-time high; he felt heavy, weighted down with burden. He couldn’t help her if she wasn’t willing to open up to him.

  Eerily quiet, Andre realized he’d not heard a peep out of her in nearly an hour. He turned off the kitchen light and then trudged up the staircase, his legs laden. At the top of the stairs, he flipped on the light switch and walked to the end of the hall. The bedroom door ajar, a small stream of light illuminated Jennifer’s body, curled into the fetal position in the middle of the mattress. Her breathing shallow, she lay fast asleep. His chest squeezed as he stood in the doorway. Dear God, help me get through to her. Walking toward the bed, he pulled his T-shirt over his head. Then he sat down to untie his sneakers, the bed creaking under his weight.

  “Andre?” Jennifer questioned groggily.

  “Hush, go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Jennifer said stirring and turning onto her back. “I’ve got to clean up the kitchen.”

  “Relax. It’s already taken care of. You need to rest.”

  Bracing her weight onto her elbows, Jennifer lifted up into a seated position and then moved to her knees. From behind him, she snaked her arms around Andre’s waist, pulling his naked back flush against her chest. “Thank you,” she said, her lips soft and smooth as they brushed across his shoulders. “I think I’ll keep you around for a while,” she teased. Andre’s muscles flexed, a shiver rippling down his spine as her silken hair tickled the nape of his neck. Open palmed, she stroked her hands in a circular pattern over his abdomen.

  Andre closed his eyes. “That feels good, Blue Eyes,” he said, the tension beginning to ease from his limbs. He captured one of her hands in his. “You know, I’ve been in love, well maybe lust, with you”—he chuckled—“since I was a kid.” Bringing her hand to his lips, he placed a kiss on her palm. “You’re my world, Jennifer Jordan. You and Michael are all I’ll ever need.”

  He felt her lips quiver as she nuzzled closer against him, wetness cooling his skin. “I love you, too,” she said, her voice strained.

  As if a knife had been plunged into his chest, Andre’s heart ached. “Tell me why you are crying.” He shifted, hating the loss of her arms around his waist. One foot rooted onto the floor, he folded the other beneath him and turned toward her. Cupping his palms to each side of her face, he studied her glassy aqua eyes, searching for an answer. “Tell me,” he urged gently.

  “Rosalyn came into the shop today,” she said.

  Andre’s jaw tensed. “What did she have to say this time?”

  “The usual shit. Told me”—Jennifer drew out a long sigh—“actually, she warned me to stay away from Michael. Then proceeded to tell one of our best customers that she should shop elsewhere because I’m a whore.”

  “I’m so fucking tired of Rosalyn’s lies,” Andre said through gritted teeth. “I’m going to set the record straight.”

  “No, Andre. You can’t.” Jennifer placed her palm onto his thigh.

  “Enough is enough, Jenn.”

  “Just let it go.”

  “No. I’m not going to let it go. Not when she has you this upset.”

  “It’s just that I can’t stand the thought of Rosalyn using Michael as a pawn.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye.

  Andre nodded, and with his thumb, quickly wiped at her tear. “I can’t either. It’s disgusting and about as low as a person can go.”

  “I hate her,” Jennifer’s voice cracked.

  “Understandable,” he answered, caressing her cheek. “But I think there is something more troubling you than Rosalyn’s shit. It’s not the first time the two of you have had words.” Andre felt her stiffen, saw her jaw tense. Tell me, he pleaded silently.

  A heavy silence fell between them. Andre watched her, praying for Jennifer to give him something. Anything she’d tell him was better than nothing. She averted her gaze, pulling at a thread that had snared on the blanket, weaving it around a finger to tear it lose. Slowly, she shook her head and finally spoke, “You’re reading too much into this.”

  That’s not true. Dammit. Why can’t you fucking trust me? Silly question. Andre knew the answer. He just didn’t like it.

  Warmth crept up his thigh. His attention moved downward, his eyes riveted on the delicate hand inching up the length of his leg. His pulse quickened. Desire coursed through his veins. His dick began to throb and pulse with need.

  “What I think
is that we’re wasting precious time talking,” Jennifer said, popping open the button at the waistband of his jeans and then swiftly unzipping the fly.

  Dear God, how he loved when she looked at him like that. Her eyes sparkled, raw hunger radiating from their lust-filled depths as she gawked at his cock. A feminine, womanly sound of appreciation slipped through her slightly parted lips.

  “Fuck, Blue Eyes. You’re giving me a raging hard-on looking at me like that.”

  “Like what,” Jennifer said, a coy smile playing with the corners of her mouth. High and perky, her amble breasts jutted forward, the outline of her mauve-hued areolas teasing Andre through her thin, cotton tank.

  “You know damn well what you’re doing to me, woman,” Andre rasped. “You’re trying to distract me with sex.”

  She reached for him, her hand cupping over his engorged cock. “Is it working?” she asked, curling her fingers around his shaft.

  “Jenn,” he said, his voice strained. “Not tonight. You’re too vulnerable. I won’t take advantage of that.”

  “You’re not.” She picked up the pace, roughly pumping him up and then down. “I want to fuck, Andre.”

  It nearly killed him as he captured her hand, forcing her to stop. “No, Blue Eyes. You want to forget.”

  “Since when did you become a shrink?” she snapped.

  He stroked his hand down the back of her shoulder-length hair. Then forked his fingers beneath its weight, kneading and massaging her head. “What we have is too special for a mindless fuck.”

  She threw her head back, pulling away from him as her voice filled with bitter desperation. “Why the hell not? We have mindless sex all the time.”

  “Not me.” Andre shook his head. “I always know exactly what I’m doing when I’m making love to you. I won’t taint that. You’re too precious to me.”

  For several minutes she stared wordlessly as he waited with apprehension for her to speak. Talk to me, Andre willed silently. Confusion etched her brow, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Finally, she spoke softly, “Why don’t you want to have sex with me? Don’t you want me?”